SVS, ! w Au Independent Journal: For the Promotion ot* the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. jinwisk.omst,pummw.
VOL. l. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 24, 1855. NO- 20.
? ??PMTIM HIM ll'?l WBaWMWMMMBMMMMMMPMMMMMMBBMBeMMrarWMBMPMaMM:
* * i?l?l *' -A^ ? V.?1t ^Ua #i no nf' til mi*
?riginal |)aetnj.
_ .. ... . **" ""jr ? j
Written for the Vorkvilk- Kn'juirer.
TUB ANTIDOTE.
Sr 11 m lit tcrt'f'it fiu' .
n\ woos? n.vuitsoN.
I i.iin /lc v.itli the li?ht i t? :y t?. Jhfi-x- their Mirth
tl'vl JT'OO :
Tii*- sii:nh>w> tiv i.iy sombre t>rc>w. w\ puke bouti'U
light yivl free. ;
Ai..| ga/iii;.* on the j;!o wins forms thai r- unci me gaily
glide,
I yi'-l<l me t<> 'hx*. -pell f:tu) fl<t on pns*l? u'? surging i
ti-le:
r.ut when alone.?nil, :il! il .ne.T!m*p
heart-waves <|iiiet scom:
I ik<r nil o'er troubled water.- thrown i
A vr.MOKi ?oothesthe stream.
') lit l .;lnn !i.iuv ot twilight c.i1N im musing-tens to
-troy, j
Ap.lft with one. ?.< ?/;. g?.i;th% out-',?from die pr<v-y 1
town ft way:
A feeling gli h. s with gu.-h, while gazing on
that Pom. .
That o\ v my h.vm.?cr<- I'm hw.nv,?awake* wil l
l'rvliiig'-" t'.i-m :
Hut whonalone.?all. alone, ?
That wi! 1 -e.liti at- thrill
Yi<?M-.to a mk.mopy's g??utlev tone
( unmuudiug. >l
ii.u mkmoiu ha- a power t-. .-lay the wildest .-tonus
that ri-i.
Or -till to imt-i - - inehxlv di-eordaut i..i-d<u;'- crie*:
1
Ami power to wake fr-iin apathy the ciiiilc-t hour of
gloom,
Or gild with <lawaN a-u-.uai: hue- t! 0 uiid.light of
the tonili:
A.v.i whviialone,?in son/ alone.?
That ;.;t;j>iORY - pen is bright
Vpon that midnight page :>f tone
Hope s promises to write.
Vi'ixx.sBono', S. 0.
_ arm !
ii dale ui ^taliifi. j
From Dickens Household Words.
WHY MY IWCLE WAS A BACHELOR.
It had often oceured to me to speculate on j
the reason which could have induced my uncle
to remain unmarried. lie was of such a
kindly temper, so chivalrous towards women. 1
so keenly alive to domestic enjoyments, and
-rithil cn.ih mi rnmps: nrr motor of marriiiffc
" i"- - r
iu all his relations and dependants, that it
seemed to me perfectly inexplicable. Bur for
* S cilices, I r4l'i SUNS it would have be?n
imposiioi^ tor me u La\e induced my father
to consent to my marriage with Maria; the
cottage in which we live, furnished as i~ is with
its well-stocked garden and coach-house, was
the wedding-present lie made us; my si.-ur
Kate, too?what unhappiuess he saved her by
his kindness to Charlie Evans, who every one
knows was something of a scapegrace.' But
my uncle saw the ?rood iu him which nobody
el-e but Kate could discover, and had him
down at his parsonage, and by his sweet and
pious wisdom won liitu over to a steady and
earnest pursuit of his profession. And uow
people talk of his brilliant talents, and say how
much good Kate has done him ! But we all
know who it was that gave him help and eountouauce
just at the right moment, aud we all
love my uncle the more dearly for his guod
w..ik.
When I was still a lad, aud Maria's blue '
eyes had lir?t turned my thoughts towards j
matrimony, it oucured to me to u-k my mother,
in the course of one of our pleasant even-;
in_rs alone together, why ntv uncle had never
v # ' *
been married.
A grave sadness came over iuv motner s |
face, ami she softly shook her head, as she replied
in a suppressed to ic. 'Your uncle had a j
great sorrow in his youth, my dear; we must ;
respect it. What it was, T do not know; he i
lias never told me, and I have never inked
him.'
It was 110 matter of surprise to me to hear J
my mother speak thus; for, in spite of the i
gentleness of my uncle's manners and his warm
affection, there was a diguity about liiui which
rendered it impossible to intrude upon a confidence
he did not offer. I felt that his sorrows
were sacred, and never again made any j
attempt to gain information respecting them:
although I could not refrain from a tender!
speculation as to the character of that grief j
which had deprived him of a happiness he was '
eminently calculated to enjoy.
In the summer of l^-IS, my uncle, accord-;
iug to his custom, caiue to spend a week with
us. lie was iu tine helath and spirits, and |
we and our children enjoyed the festival even
more than usual. On the Friday evening, uiy j
uncle had been into town, and it was growing j
dusk when he returned. He eauie as usual
into my study. I looked up on his entrance
to welcome him; but was struck by the pallor
of his countenance, and by the traces of
emotion which disturbed the tranquil dignity
Knorinrr T nlonivl 1 for
Ol HIS UIUIU.il ) 1/v.miiif.. ^i.ivvvi ? |
him, and he sat down in sileuee?a silence
which for sonic momeuts I felt almost afraid
to break. At length I said in a low \ulce,
'JIus any thing occurred to distress you, Sir?'
'No, Edward,' he replied, slowly and like
one who has some difficulty in collecting his |
thoughts, mothing that ought to distress ine; 1
but I am very weak ; my faith is weak?aud 1
heard it suddenly. I have heard to-night,' he
continued, after a pause, and speaking more
eoutinously, 'of the death of a lady whom 1
used to kuow man) years ago. She was young J
and full of life when lknew her. I have al- j
ways thought of her as so young, so full of life,
that the great change to death seems almost ,
impossible. Edward you will not think me I
wearisome if I speak to you of what was, long \
and long ago, before you were born, when I
your mother was still a child ?'
?I assured him by my looks rather than by ;
uiy words, of the interest with which T should j
listen. He sank again into silence; hut, after
a considerable interval, during which lie '
seemed to be Collecting his thoughts, he re-1
suuuxl: j
My father, as you know. was the head of
the yountrer braneii of the crveat Northumberland
family of the Watsons; my mother was
a daughter of Sir (Jeorgo Mildinay of I'obliam
Ilall. I refer to these circumstances, not from
any pride that I take in having what, i^ termed
good blood in my vein?, but merely because ,
they exercised an important influence over my
life When a child, 1 was very much spoiled,
for [ wa> considered handsome and intelligent,
an I n.y mother ' ; > proud ?. u c. Sho \\ a
woman o; f?-w but >troii^ ui'oetions and ut a
very decided will. >l\ father. who had been i
a .soldier contented himself with maintaining
almost military discipline in his household,
hut left. to my mother the interna! administ -a- j
tion of affairs. J-Viiing uneonsei.m-!y tin superior
activity of mind. Ik- allowed to '
depend, in till important. They were united
hy a veiy strong attachment founded ? n a similarity
of principles?prejudice- perhaps in
some eases?and favored ni t a little hy the
di tier one-:* ?f their {iivsieal constitution-. The
line proportions of father'-- figure, and hi- gn at
manly heuUty, ga\c him >n? h a material -upcriority
to my mother?who wa- -mall and delicately
made, and withal tioi h:ind>'?m??that
lie with greater ca.-e submitted t< her tm-ral
supremacy and. without knowing it, allowed
his mind to he fed and guided hy her.-. For
a. lone time [ was an onlyehild?your mother,
as \ ?u know, i> ten years y.linger than 1 ? -0
that the absence of playfellows and companions
<>f my own ag< fostered?perhaps created
?in me a pensive and meditative disposition;
an inclination to dwell uym small in iilc-nt-,
to keeji my emotions soviet, to ivpro>- tlio outward
-how of feeling?but 10 f?vl only the
more deeply.
I was brought up at Rugby. and ih.o independent
eiri/cn- of our rough school republic
were the only associates of r. y boyhood, ihiring
the holidays, indeed, my mother used to
take me to Cobban. Hall, the to.-t of my undo
Midmay, where i us d to see my cou-in Grace,
a girl of somewhat about my own ago Rut
she was nc-vcr away from her governo--, and
to to hr-r Mv mother nlwav? exDl'esSjd
a great affection for Grace and when :ho wrote
to me at school, especially as I began to grow
older, there was invariably some mention of
her in her letters, as, 'Your cousin Grace,
whom I saw yesterday, sends her love ;' or. ?I
went to C^bhaui a few day; sine:; they arc aii ,
well; your cousin Grace is growing fast; her j
figure promises to be very tine: she hopes to
see you soon, and scuds her love.' And so matters
went on, tiii the time came for me to leave
Rugby, when my mother informed me that,
as there was a goo.1 living- m the family, she
and my father ami ray uncle wishgl me to go
into the church
I a;n sor:\ e>?s..v ctwit r
was then nineteen. I had never seriously
thought of ray future oalli.ig; r??y wants hud
always been carefully provided for ; and. in the
security of r. contemplative temperament. I
had glided duwn the stream of time with very
little perception of the nobler portions of my
nature, of my higher capacity for etiyy mcnt
and firsufforiug. My mother'- proposal f c<-ceded
to without difficulty, and without any
serioit- retieeti n. So. I went to Oxford. met
many of my old Rugby associates there, and
lived very much a- I had lived before; only
spendiug a little more luotmy. Rut this was
not to continue?I was to be iou-vd from this.
-,-iritual t"rj.?; ; I v.as to hv.rn what was in me.
If the lesson was bitter, it was w hulesome :
and L can recho that deep and wRo saying of
your modern poets. Iv.lv, urd, wl L-L is the fruit
of suffering :
Potter to have low. I aa-i t<;-t
Thau never t?> have l?.?vt-l ut alt
1 went to spend part of the stinimev vacation
of the year 1*10?1 have good reason to re
member the year?with a friend at his father's
house, a pleasant place iri the neighborhood of
Warwick. There were no field-sports i<> beguile
the time: and Topliam and [ were neither
of us fond of study, so that we had some'
difficulty in disposing of our leisure. Oh>nel !
Topliam, my friend's father, was little better '
off in this respect thau ourselves?he could |
hardly find occupation for himself during more
tlnn three or four hours in the morning: so it i
was with great exultation that one afternoon,
on his return from Warwick, he brought its j
the intelligence, that the threatre was to be '
opened on the following Monday, and that it
was announced that .Mrs. Siddons would be,
passing through the town, and would play
Catherine in Henry the Eighth lor one night;
of course, he had secured places for all our party.
Theatres were hardly then what they have
become since; either the audience possess less
intellectual culture, and were satisfied with ,
less, or the actor understood his art bettor; '
at all events, the amusement was very popular, '
and the announcement of the opening of a |
country threat re was a signal for a pleasurable j
excitement in the neighborhood. ^ ou may !
imagine, then, how much the excitement was J
increased by the prospect of seeing the great- j
est actress of her own, perhaps of any time, of |
whose retirement people already began to talk. I
'I shall not attempt to describe to vcu what !
I should want words to convey?Ihc suffering j
majesty of the wronged Catherine, almost di- <
vine as she appeared by the side of the ranting
Henry. She bore herself as if she knew that (:
she was every inch a queen, her dignity giv- ' <
ing a most moving pathos to her womanly ten- j <
dtrncss; while lie, uncomfortable with pad- j I
ding and vainly endeavoring to speak in a voice ' 1
suitable to his artificial propoitious, rendered ! <
absurd the violent but princely tyrant of the ! i
poet. Such inequalities, painful as they are, j!
looked upon as matters of course in a country
theatre. Wc had come to see Mrs. Siddons, i
and expected nothing but amusement from the 11
blunders and misapprehensions of the rest of j i
the company. My lViouds were familiar with j
most of the actors?several were native to the
place?but the name of the actress who was to j:
play Anne Boleyn had already given rise to j i
some speculation in our party. .No one was h
acquainted with it, no one had seen the lady !
who bore it. When she entered in her grace- i
ful and modest costume, there was an iuvolun- '1
I' ? .1. t. iL.. U ! ,
uuy Siuri OI iUllUiiaij'Hi iuiuuj;u wc nuu^v.? j I
Any tiling more lovely was never seen; and j:
wLuu spoke, Uwi" wuxib woi'e duivcivd wiik , j
j?i ?2?ri;-tv and intelligence, bm in a Mibdu-.-d
and rather timid tone, which added ereativ r?> ir
her charm. Y\~e held our breath, lest wp ^hoiiid w
lose ouc tremor of her i?iiI: h voice, ratio- si
rine l.ei*lt' was almost forgotten in sjympnfla
and pity for Anno Ih lryn. m
Iii the after-piece, ttic younsr n"tivss plated
n??ain. Tliij time -hehad a part which entire- ii
Iv suited her : she had to play a jvih.-d child w
sent to "jche.il lo be taught inanoev-. 1 lie d
eh iivtf-.- .v; - e.\,-K-j.lt stti'-d 10 Iter \f- r- and m
to her ta-te. .She acted without oft'..it and ; el
with perfect ?ucco-*. h tva* evident chat for ui
the time -he tva- living in the -cone. It vva- 4
illlpu -ill .- to CXV.ri'^ tlr-u'iit wiiiis ^Isi1 Y.";t> Ol
-ptakiivj >t if I moving?\vc ft'vred to lu^o ono
dam .* the mi-oiiol-lminji* f-vos ? ?: to-- > ! *
tI;Iwatnii'itl head : hut. uh* ii : t la-{ Wc Lui^t <
out iiiTu loo.l applause, -if o.ok?d r-.-.ir.il ;n w
niuazotiioa' ?u l"??r whom tlf d*"i!f it-fration <-i
was moan? : :<u<I vli-.u ? i;r :vuo\*vi? el'ic* and m
the wlii-pt i-.-> of out vim >i? mI iu*:ir If *
convinced h^r that -!i<- v.;- ?!.o ol-joct of ??ur o
:t<tinii-ufi?.n a look of h?M?. i|i|. n.fnt w!-i< h ha?l i'
liUu ll hO'if "f ili-j'h-.i-:ii' than of fv!lJi!ij.!i in l:
it, lu-okf .A .r If r C: I. l lift*; Uiifh 1, }
ua-t\ SI'roar loll. uin! ..in Ti tin: *'a?: . *j
Xi.l.mU limit. 1 i. iit-I?, .!\ vjink . "f : ;?y 1
thiiiiT hilt theliitiful s.v'.-o V."? i lesini- n.
< 1 that >hi* W;.> a ni..:.e to tlf* III-ir. aifl h<
w'a- lv-idiim in the t with lr*r niMfJu.r. a
wiil'i'A, aioi tlii'* <4 or i> ?u* hr< riior- :i': ! -I>n t *. ;
W ? WOIit In the till*:*!!:'* whi lU'VcT -?: u> : i. I
M?>. 'i'npiiam in\it*-.! L?>?* to h. r h- ii?e: -ndi*i
all 11 to i:f !i- - ill t!u> to inhhoi !iia 1. ]il ilf"
mot'uiiij -In1 l' nkf l 0v.,*;; more lo civ sir.i: < i -
tho si.: -In* \va- hardly seventeen ; h?-.* com- *?'
]>|o\i<>ii had ilio traii-j .ivcRi v and rlie v:r.!abiiitv
of ?ar!v y.'irh ; ' .1 *r u.in,! :mi i:.ann<-r-.
the- simple nr.-*; >ir. v rl?*:* vh.'M v::i- n:
hlemled with the epemit'-r - -n-il.il: f i! vr
woman. Ii i- ir..j <>* -ii !? r.? ?ive y;i any :>u ;
.. i ? . t
'"'i t llC Cl?f.t!C --Uv OS i ?>T mo iiiSr*
vcikus and ovm chat mi mi re-ion* of L--r '
CouUtOuai.cC ; 11 '?Iilli_? ! k ! a: ' Ve .ehcd I:."'." k
could witmrund her v. L
'As a i. .ultra! eor.-'epuonce of her p .an 1
nnn n.iv oinrn'lor nrtontr y ^ i-iaf
capricious and proud .tne di.i nor attempt
10 conceal her dislike* of ?. me of ihc ior.va..: ccscc-Uibs
who prcrel their u:?cnti;?s up.n ^
her. cr li.-r (lisp ton ure at an i.l-oitprossr"..
too open compliment. How i. was. Ikr.'.v
not; perhaps, because my ;.IeDt auiuiratr.
was better ouited t j Let ta?te *. r.-map5. o: 1
lather incline to :hi; k, from the natural kind- d.
nes= of her heart, which kd i.-.r to see tii?.
londine-r : ! luiue. aud to com e u; -km an* tin -|
nervous tremor v. itk whick Lor j roseuoo ..i- a<
spirea nu .'. o ii _ or vti.cr re.i- . a.": she so. "
distinguished u.e, and shor.v Irden-ure :n et:i- n.
versing with nsc. She took mo ir.v. Lor <. .ij
udenoo. doinnuded lit*le !e : * <f -i.e. tr-.et- ri
i in.. ?? it f'l-IotMi, ami ii'flfcl ttic h >1110 tn *?. ? *
.or nioikoi. rk.n. she .ore t w. L : do v.. too ar
though > jincriiuc; ..iivtatoriiil rtSbttiv.u. If be re
looked ioveiy amon*: the gay and wealthy. la
where her only bu-iness uv.s ; > bo an.used, pi
10 w much Hi''iv ioveiy did km appear in h*r 1
-1...<" 1 o h? me. i!;*. supi errand oru.iii cut -*t to. '
humble Lu-okold! Ike. ail paid.; ail '0.-traint
w> J--,t in her CiTceti-.-n J-.-r her m i. r i
?a !e a >T ii I cini.e'i.tiv haild-oi j1'
and. not b.*y> u 1 ihc middle age?n:d in h.r t..
c 'ldial and playful iove lbr hery imgor I r -tit- il
ers and k-tors. I i:uk net dwell oil thisp art
of my story. tlion^h ( I' d know* ! could lin : r I
over it f-r hours. la
'Tha* 1 loved her with a inn* and earnest ai
passion, I m.-od hardly toll you. .She return- L?
011 uiy love. [ had tin- a.-su ranee from her own it;
de.il li; v Aftei the torn ol my vi-it at Top: ' .
ham Court had expired, I took Induing- ??ot y
far from Warwick accounting to myself ami t" r'
my tn-'tlier for nor going liomc hy the neve-- h<
kty of reading for iny approaching extiuiii.a- m
tion. hy nio'lter viotc ro me fifjimntly. and m
ooiuiuiutllv mentioned m\ i.*ou>iu Cracc. J his pi
I did >ii?: re mark at the time. Old merel) rmni
and replied to iier letters in an aWnf mariner. : li
1 was wrapped in thc>w?*cf delirium of u liisrlu m
or existence ; all that was gross and material ;
about rue seemed to be laid to rest. Violet :
was all in ali t>? me. 1 had uo. thought, no in
apprehension for any thine-except her. Cren- ,
tion seemed clothed in divine beauty; lite in j v;
its larger, fuller sense, was opening upon me. ! lc<,
for I drank deep of the golden waters of love, ta
lThns passed half a year. I returned to . w:
Oxford, but we corresponded almost daily. I i as
did not communicate any tiling relative to \ re
Violet to my mother, from an instinctive ap- j 0f
prehension, I suppose; for certainly it was not Je
the result of design. Besides, 1 never had ; ni
been accustomed to speak of my feelings to her 1 uj
or to any one, and I was such :i child in word- ! \
ly matters that I had never yet formed any V
plans for the future. AY hen I returned to j re
Warwick at Christmas, however, Mrs. Elder . to
gently required of me some explanation, some ! ju
statement of my iutentions. She told me that! ec
it was very much against her wish that hc-r ;
daughter had ever embraced the profession of th
the stage; that nothing but the representations M
of her brother-in-law and the necessities of ali
her family had induced her to consent to her
mnlrtnrr ik.i nf hpr tulonts in this W.'IV ! that Tvl
it would be a very great happiness to her to th
>ce her nulled to me, convinced as she was of dl
our mutual attachment; that she felt the dan- foi
gers of Violet's position, and was extremely sh
auxious to place Violet in the care of one move til
congenial to her tastes and better calculated to on
develop the softer- portions of her character, an
She concluded by informing me that Violet ad
had lately received an extremely advantageous Vi
oiler of an engagement in London, but that of
they had delayed accepting it until she had m<
spoken with me. j th
?I replied that I was just ready to take or- j ga
tiers, that there was a good liviug waiting for , hu
me, and that I would write to my parents by j a 1
that night's post to request their consent. Mrs. j be
Kldcr looked u little grave that evening, but , wi
Violet and I wcr" talking of our future. I de- sc<
scribed to her the Parsonage and the surround- ini
ing country; spifkeof my father, of my moth- $h
cr, and of my grand relations at Cobham Hall, r'm
' The next day was also one of uniningled : bu
happiness. We walked in the bright winter ! sp
weather along the hard roads, her brothers run- j ha
niiig races past us. Her complexion assumed
i more transparent brilliancy ; her eyes spar- ill
iiod with Lwitb <md liappiaes* , po
That ijiirht, when I returned fc my lod?r- : v
'--.I found mymothcf nwaitinjr farmo. She c
a* wliite with passion. Ju unmeasured terms Y
te upbraided me \virhdi>simil'tion and cvi ry e
eeics oi' mUcoudnet. in her nti?r?-r she tohl i
o that uiy hauii had lonjjr since been di-po- f
iI of; ri;at f was afliain od to niy cumii Grace i
ait -in; and her brotlnr had -otiled it when i ^
e weir both children. She reminded me of t
locallii:? lor which 1 wa*> intended. and do- .v
nnd-d f I thought ari actre" a I t uiibr a i
rrjyin tri and a \W.i -.iiAt fr-t h- r\cIiC- <
icnce ?tunn? d me. and ( listened in hewil
'. r?-d di-;na\ : but tin .ntcinpti--us month n
f Vi'ii'-r iVii. < f| t!itionmnt ji:-<;io:i* within ji
,0. j -?? !itly :iti'.i iii'liu ntniti) proto.-.fcd Hint !
i r v.n? v,.-rrii\ >{ s inuc-h criV-'i'er foi'fufle t
. I.: 1 ' ilu ..." her. i ^ that I :i
c;i'.I iii ; ;n.? l.iMiiinJ hv :i ("iTrnp*:' 7Ti;tw ?\ ifii- i
It i'iV Klii-U'lii'.lii'c. I :i.?surt-(l that 1 Vnlll'l V
i:*\ l"!?'-t iu\ \\iti ?that in hi- -iu'llt of S
'.i \\\ v re :siii\nl\ unif.Ml. M\ tiiiiflu r ?u* v
I ll?* r fUili .iMOillliil'd ; >llt: i* - II.- j < < ' ?-?l f
.:! I i 'i- t'ir--i 1 ?ii i11 11-!i ll i* ?\\ ii It*tll]< .!*. >
rum ?, ti-tiiiiieiati"ii-h tnrji <1 tn currc-.i- I
. ; > j j !.' < .'.ti'in. 1 111?* f I: - - r t ii tin: -i J i *.
'ilil. I I ??*'_; _ i! !: !' to "tO \ ii.Sft?11? j 'I'.i'ji" I
>. It. She :il??u!ufi !\ ! Iii- i; ami u.ii'ii
i! l'li*. it I v.ilin ! i11j-r '>li-~>!11tr. t<". ntt*'tnl l
i'i' In>11)i' ;j11 llii1 l.n.nTuU* '
[ l?v!i ton l'?liu :iri-n?rv'.ifl I > ill " V
i* I" tvflt-. ' '.'injilini.ee, I :i:i!!y a.- >. liO ell- i
lVi't I: 'liriiliiisiniiii t i rll in-- inert iv.y fathers
ii!ll??. ami lit' ill- rive <U-iiv t'? 1
. ll'-ii!.-. I vv;:> iriuhi i!i -l :tt the I
. _ti? i?t lit;* nv.i j.n inn. ;i ji.i Ii .- Oil tv be !
if it. n her. i > win uiv fu.her t> \u\ \
II v ' i V
U i,i! J:I?. ir.-itiici" v.:? tire- mor- T
lI'lO. M. 1 villi'.' til ['. >M-I'llU !? > Ill Wl.IC'ti 1
if r rn\*e! Vi uat til: 1 , I I* \
. . II t . Vi 'I r It vit.VN.'i \.ry
. ; 11 1 1 I..ai r.i v." i' !u?; h. ..?it- ''i.-turo ? i- *
t n. i iii.ii i. r I... :!i l- 1. n. i
i'i i cl"-i ! in\ ? i I <
. iv?.>t > ii::_. J..r -lit* f.r.f t WlKLi -Uc '
ix nil?
1 't -i
.V-. 'i lit ! . i .;il 0!:i V 001:1'' t'" ?:?V !
va-V. l ' . C" to t h*:- X"l'th
! . I ..... _ j T [ ; c,j,\ HI Q :i
v. i..i:_t,?.;r.cii -Si.o iad her ?.
;.:i ! lovii, ;:y i .. ;,rui. 1
i w..vv I-.-.o to.- 1 Ik.-: Uo r.ii i
?a oct.i.i :.i : tiijt v.u triii not bo msuv *'
" ono i
i I'.-.-y xoro :v ..j .. J i..or i- "'1 1 -oi*
culi O-'Uhl II' t r.'?:li* hoi" t.'U .t. tc:?uOi'* *
h.\ tenia choki'1.1 111V Uttc-l-ilJ?*-'
ii. . in v iiiijti.vi*'J'.i i r i.. i in v Utters; Lvii i
y UikIo l:iiii-..ll'wi-nt to U :mV. *. saw \ U.K-: t
1 r-alvu i nor j'li'io. v U ho- t i..t it" L ii ar.*
i -i.. uUl bo '.li-'.'Wn "<i b l>'ny laiuily. '
i.i l"lii.fl ; IiuW If. n I*.-** I?li c '
:i . i i a r . a incuts m- ? w.i. X ."?.i tie.
r.i.:. ; -ti ii'V Cuaooi.'int ei\ atij a:
-t iii'.iuoo?l iior to sci:-.l n.e btc.v a!l :nv iitt'ie .1
o>or.f?. ail'! all inv ! . ici^. I livvir know until '
i.y &IU-;w.ii'i,]-. She -out ino 'iVw linos?ii; :
Uitw?with tliviii. but I <li'i i-t iv.-.-ivf it <
tli."- time?nor until i.-nir. I. \i afterward-, r
!. ..'t t!u* r}: !"_ - ulsivii ! -teak are l-.i.. ?t.
tin uoh thv i a: ; !- volhi? with atre, am? i
W'.rij* tr*n.r?'i in h-._tii: !i hand are *
lotribiv. I k'i"Wti...-m by h'-.-us. '?
P'-'t'iv-f. L -l'aii nover vr. to } a-ain.
.-end buck my j-rc-o:ami what i? much t
,?rd?*r. vtitirl-'U.'!*-. Y?.nr m-tmr mi miclt.4 c
o i'.lit. [ i.rv?.-r itn 'tjlit I was tit to 1
. \f.ir wife. 1 v.i?!i y??u may be von. veiy 1
u-j,I?> M*.'t thiol* I I'lai.; y.'U Mali? t
..d i.J; - J ...a I Vi J;; 1 0 .d.r !.. i-Ul\ f'W 1
h. l>it! L cannot help k r: and L d?? rot r
uiik inv prayer- ?.au do \>hi harm* It ou know
?'.v .I arlv 1 lovod }ou ; but I not Imvo y-jti 1,
,'\v. -ir:co It would be your run.?Ob I it' I
ui-t become ver\ wicked. H' T hum crow o
..rid and ^inl'ul, -till pray Or me, you who ( k
v >o who are to live a pure and holy a
ll-: 3our prayer-; will be hea l ; and it can- r
do any harm to pray tor n o. w
V OLEl' ELDER. |'1
? ' J\ S.?I hope y<,u will narry your cons- (
and that you will be liappo "
[ do not tliiuk my uiothc;. fertile- as she I r<
as in expedient-;, could ha e succeeded iu ; h
;e-ping me away from Viol t, but for my : ^
titer's continued and serinn illness. As it ,
as, I wrote again and again to Violet, and, J';1
I received no au.-wer, no explanation of the j 11
turn of my letters, 1 was in t continual state j ^
agitation. An idea of the'.ruth?that my i r:
Iters were detained?sometiijf flashedacross \ n
y mind ; but I found it hard to believe that! ?'
y mother would have reeourso to such means, i -l
t rare intervals I felt displeasure against
iolet. At length, my father getting no bet-! tc
r, but rather worse, the doctors ordered him , h
a warmer climate. I am,nut sure that my j h
-jther did not saggo 14Jkttfljiy >-she was ! r^
rtainly very eager in adopnfig.it, j li
? While we were in London on our way to | tu
e Continent, I insisted on going to Warwick. , k
y mother made no difficulty ; she was prob- : tl
ilv aware of the inutility of my visit. ai
' When I reached the lodgings which the
Iders had occupied, I found them empty, ni
g theatre was closed, all the company were m
spcrscd. The keeper of the lodgings in- ri
tuned me that Violet had been very ill; that pi
e hud gone to Scotland?she believed 10 ful- in
an engagement. We wc;e to sail for Italy to
the morrow. ToTollow her was impossifc'e ! m
d the woman could give me no clue to her ty
dress. It was even a comfort to know that ; tl:
iolet had been ill; that might be the reason : It
my letters remaining unanswered. Her ; u]
other, too, would probably be offended at : cc
e refusal of my parents to sanction our en- j to
gerneut. Violet had been very ill, the 1 st
ldlady said, for three weeks. She had had j vi
fever, and they had cut off nearly all her | te
autiful hair. She used to cry out and talk I lu
Idly when she was ill; but her mother nur- tfc
J her herself and allowed do one else to ero
to the room. She w5s almost well before ri
e went away. She used to {so out in a car- j h<
ige, and she revived and smiled asrain, too; j m
t somehow, there seemed a weight on her li
irits : it wasn't her old suiile?but then she ai
d been very ill. ui
' Perhaps the women had connected Violet's in
ess with me. Women have an intuitive I
ax'jjUo* ui' iiUuL axLita:*. At iket si*o wna is
ory cold, and little disposed to be communi- j
alive. ilat I .suppose my own countenance
Hire some traces of the suffering I had under- \
one. Perhaps she saw in me something that i
uoved her compassion; be tliat as it may, she
hrow off the constraint she had at first put;
ipon herself, told me many touch it g details of
fiulet's weakness, and permitted me to visit
la* room where I had so often sat with her.?
dm a No gave me a braid of tho hair which j
? "] been cut oir; how she came to have it I'
toil i kinns ; i have* so.nctiruex hoped it might |
iau- been !elt with her ibr me.
f accompanied my parents to Italy with re-!
ssurol spirit-. Violet loved mc, and my j
mart wa? .strong within me. I would make}
he ho-t Use of my time while L was abroad, j
mi if on our re in uij mother still refused |
icr consent, i v.bnld be able to .support my !
rife by in\ exertions.?Time and distance
cined a- nothing. A little year, and \*iolet j
voiihl be mine. l>ut the year lengthened into
v.m. My father slowly declined ; he pined to
ct; home a-.'sin, and we set out. on our journey. ;
Jut lie wa- never more to set liis t??e?t on Lu- J
dish irrouml; he died, at Naples and there he j
i'-s buried.
When my mother had a little recovered
roii. the shock, she, my .si.-ter, and 1 set out
n our return, i'crimps in that saddened state
i" her Ibelimrs -he might have softened tovar<i
\ i ib r.. but. it wa- iiuW fun late.
Ihuiu^ our stav in Italy I had heard of
Nioler only ia her public character. I had
ienrd of her appearance in London, and of
. >t triumph My clletre friend. Tophaui,
o>te me account- of her. He told me she
r.is -uiToundcd by admirers, among whom
he-, w. iv in'.re than one of rank and -tation
vlio a-pin .1 t.? her hand : but he said that she
.as cr.'Wii very haughty: more beautiful than
v i?uutjin -tiiiiiably n <>re beautiful, but
iian.a ly pr-.u.!. di.-dainful, and wilful. He
'?nfi ? d th-u -he had treated him with markI
and with what he considered .-upcrcilious
.I?iiifc>. 'lfpham was by tio means the peril
t" w limn I eoii!< 1 con tile the secret of my
itlei cioit. lie bc'luliaed tu LUe eda^c ol y'oUIIg (
nCii > no haw no ueolii oi leeitlla inouiaelves,
lid wlpj-e - .-telnet Ik-liui' has Ho relercileu to
my tHi. _r bev.iii ! the opinion of the narrow
i'V:-; ill whicll tlieV liiole 1 imagined th.lt
i i"i." Know tin1 -rri iv.rh and constancy ofiny
ve. ti.at .-he had laith m me. and t-.?r my sake
i-stmi'si rhi? repulsive man tier to her -uitors.
vn 111hernu-tful temb.-riie-.s and abundant
ilieeti-'il. this seemed t.i lnO nothing but a Veil j
virl. which she viiulit to hide the siltiering.- j
r h.r heart. i panted tor the muincnt when
-hould see her on.e in jre face to face, and ,
..ii lit i- ail I had endured and hoped.
Mv iiii-J'-. >ir George, met ns on our arri-'
r:.. in London- V? o Were to >tay at a house
v'itvrli Uo thou occupied in Grosvenor Street; '
;ij> .t.u.t ; . ii ... WCTt also there j
i;d iJcor-.e Mildmav. a line boy ot' seventeen,
us: returned !:*? m Kton. Alter the iir>t eino-,
ions of meeting were over, the ladies withdrew j
.other; my unelo retired to his library; and v
ioonre and 1 were left to ourselves. I could j
tot help looking with adn.iratiun at the liaudtune
intelligent face, and listening with suri
i.-c tt the masterly niauncr in which my cou-!
in. nhom 1 had never thought of but as rather |
po!I' d h- c, dealt out the news of the town. j
Voii 11 like to see what's doiug at the thearos,
I ihue say*,' said he, when a pause in the
Hiiversatioii >uggiMod the introduction of a
icw subject ; we'll run down to Drury Lane
iv-aud-l've. if you like; n?t that rheiv's any
him: worth looking at in the way of wouien.
t w. - : nsoii.trniii -hame of Wood house to.
mi ott with our little Sultana.'
With whoiu V inquired 1, mechanical- j
\Y hy. the very princess and fairy <|ueen |
f aciresacs: the brightest eyes?the loveliest:
air?such a glorious laugh?and a foot and i
nkle ihat were delightful to look nr.. It's a
plendid thine: for her. Wood house has some- i
here about four thousand a year in esse, and I
oiible as much in possee; though, to be sure
K he ought, for he's a slap-and-dash fellow,
'hey say lie is growing tired of his prize al
:n<ly; and she'> so confoundedly cold and
roud ! But you know her; you were at
Warwick when she came out.'
4 Vcs, I did know her. I had known, ever
ince he began to speak, of whom lie was talkig;
but the sudden and unexpected blow
ad stunned nie, and I was glad to let him
itilo on. Violet, uiy Violet?she whom I had
ever for one moment ceased to love?she, my I
wn tender Violet?married, and married to i
lcli a man!
' The boy talked on, retailing all the little I
>wu gossip respecting her who dwelt in my I
part's core. An irrepressible desire to see j
er, to assure myself of the extent of my misc-!
came over me. I asked the boy where she
ved; he replied by mentioning a street not
ir distant. How I broke from him I don't
now, nor does it matter now ; I only know
lat 1 hurried to the street which he had named
id almost by instinct found the house.
11 must have inquired for Violet by her
;imc, for I was admitted?in a minute I found
ysclf in her presence. The room was luxuously
furnished; Violet sat beside a lady,
robably a visitor, on a sofa. She looked emlently
handsome, but with a beauty different
i that which I had loved; her carriage was
ore stately, and there was something haugh
iu her expression; her dress, too, had lost :
le girlish simplicity which was familair to me. i
, was but for a brief space that I conld gaze 1
pou her unobserved?and at the time I was t
inseious of none of these things; but all, even i
i the minutest details of her dress, were j
aumed on my recollection with the truth and I
<ror of a daguereotype picture. Oh how of- i
u have I wept over that vision, so gloriously i
linf orun tlipn mnrrprl :irw] snllipH hv
?*-V ' ~j
ic world I s
< Violet looked up and perceived me. The !
ch color fled from her cheeks, the pupils of i
2r eyes dilated, her whole countenance assu- :
ed au expression of horror and despair, her
ps trembled with the attempt to form a sound,
id she half stretched out her arms towards <
e. The sijrht of her emotion over-whelmed
o. I trembled from head to foot; something
believe I said, or strove to say, and hurried
out ibo iiuuao. lu tliot I bud rwui kci'
soul and sh ; mine I in the electric shock or
spirits, hers had revealed its depths to me as
clearly and as truly as a landscape is shown in
the instantaneous flood of lightning. 1 knew
her story then as truly by iustinct as afterwards
I knew it by facts; yet, in all the heartstruggle
of that dreadful time, it was a comfort,
it was a triumph to nie to feel that even
as I had loved Violet, Violet had loved me.
< 1 forced from my mother a confession of
her interference; I compelled her to acknowledge
the means she had employed to keep us
apart; I extracted from my uncle an account
of his interview with Violet; I saw how his
heart had almost, softened to her youth and
tender lov,e ; in short, I gained such comfort
as was left me?the memory of Violet, in all
her innocent beauty and trusting affection; but
I never tried to see her agaiu.
4 Vears went on; her husband's fortune was
dissipated by his lavish expenditure. Violet
was compelled to return to the stage ; her
1Hvintv drew nrmn her the miserv of manv ad
.....?J -1-- ? - - ?
mircrs ; her notions did not escape censure.?
Her husband died, and she married a second
time. Iler children?for she had two whom
she must have loved with all the ardor of her
' nature?turnedout badly ; they were both
boys. Sorrow and even poverty darkened her
declining days, bodily suffering was added to
mental disquietude ; but T have heard from
; those on whom I can depend, that she learned
; the lesson sorrow and trial are sent to teach?
that >he put away the world from her heart,
that she died in hope and rests in peace.
; Since the /winter when [ lu.st beheld her,
in the pride of her young womanhood, eight:
anti-thirty years have passed. She has fallen
| asleep, and my pilgrimage is nearly ended;
hut never on one day of those eight-and-thirty
years have I ceased to pray for her ; morning
, and evening I have prayed for her, and many
a time besides. It was of the innocent girl
that I thought, o .t it was for the suffering woI
man that I prayed. My mother earnestly
strove to awaken in me some affection which
might replace the remembrance of Violet.?
i might have been happier I cannot tell what
might have been moved within mo; but I had
entirely loved Iter, and I knew her to beset
in the iuid-t of so many and great dangers,
that I eould think of her alone.
< She i.-> gone whore the children of the
Father shall at length be pure and holy?where
the sorrows and misapprehensions of this world
d.aik#e scattered like mists before the risen
?un?where 1 hope to see her ; the same, yet
more beautiful in the majesty of completed
-u tiering.
My uncle ceased, and large tears rolled slowly
dewu his cheeks. Ho died after three
years, strong in the faith in which he had lived.
A locket, containing some curls of auburn
hair, and a letter, the characters of which were
legible, wore found in his breast. We did
not remove them ; and;beside the pprch of his
little country church we reverently laid him
to rest, with these remembrances of her whom
^hoJiatHo\^h5oj|em
ifti$tcI(ancous IlcaMng.
FrouivHie A then- (Ga.) Banner.
SINGULAR EXPERIMENT.
We roenivofl the communication below, from
:i gentleman in Walton county, relating how
ho was lifted up on the fore fingers of four
persons. We have heard very sensible intelligent.-men
say they have seen such, but we
have never witnessed it. Yet as nothing
-hould astonish us these days, we give the letter.
and you can try it or not, as they may
strike you. A thing may seem a trifle, and
yet who can toll what results will come from
it.
* A pel?ble in the streamlet cast,
lias changed the course of muuy a river,
A dew-drop ??n the baby plant
Has warped the giant oak forever."
Monro, Walton Co., Ga.?A few nights
since I strolled out from my room endeavoring
to "find a killer of time/' when I accidentally
fouud myself in the room of oueofmy friends.
The instant I entered the threshold, I was saluted
with the words:
" Here is S , let him try it."
" Try what V said I.
" Four of us can raise you 011 our fore fingers,"
saidP .
" I don't believe it," was my instant reply.
My friend G said he was confident they
could do it; and in order for them to try it, I
must lay at full length on the floor.
I consented and did as requested. Then
they all four gathered around me, one opposite
each of my shoulders, and one on each side
opposite my knees. When they were thus
situated they all raised their arms above their
heads and expanded their chest, and told me
when their hands descended, I must blow out
my breath; and do this three times, every
time letting my chest be contracted, as each of
their Angers rose placed under the above described
parts of my body. I instantly suspec
ted a tri.k, and sprang up, and asked their
real intention. They all declared upon their
honors that they were not fooling me.
After being sure that a laugh was not what
they were after, I finally consented to let them
try again. They all hovered around me and
began their slow motions; each with his fore- '
1
finger extended, and the rest clinched fast,
they raised their arms with a uniform motion
breathing loud and long. They did this three
times, and the third time, when their hands 1
descended I felt each of their fingers under me ^
ind was raised up by those at my head, but ]
those at my feet failed, which induced me to
exclaim ; " I knew you couldn't do it! You
ire mistaken." They said no they were not; *
ind if I were willing thev would trv acrain ? 1
- o J J -O 7
iod that t must blow out my breath when their
hands descended, which I had neglected to do s
in the former trial. They began again the <
same ascending and descending with perfect l
regularity. This looked very odd indeed as I lay
there beneath them, watching the vibration 1
of their arms and expecting every moment to 1
rise. The third time come; I felt their fin- ,
gers under me, and I began to rise?yes, not
as a man of weight not as anything heavy, but
a* light as air. They almost throw mo up to
rne ceiling, wnu uuunu^ uut tuc hj/.-j ui
fingers.
Now, this is true, every word of it; and
some who may read this, may have tried, or
heard of it before, but to me it was entirely
new; and as I was being raised above their
heads, upon the tips of their fingers, there really
appeared something magical about it; and
the manner in which the gravity of any one
who tries it is a subject which might engage
the attention of philosophy and science. If
any five who read this should doubt it, they
have but to try it. But with cae, it is an "Anti-Spiritual
manifestation," draped in a mystic
veil; and if this experiment was known at the
North among the enthusiastic class, who are
always ready to be carried away upon the wings
of imagination, or anything wherein they can
make a hobby or noise, it would be ranked in
the Spirit Rappings, in the first degree.
THE CARE OP THE EYES.
Until one begins to feel the effect of impair3
--- -- 3 1 Jl? ?.! i. it. 1 _V
ea vision, ne can nuruiy estimate me vaiue 01
eye-sight, and consequently, from ignorance or
carelessness, he is apt to neglect a few simple
precautions, by the observance of which his
sight might be preserved. We are aware that
the columns of a newspaper do not afford the
space, nor is an editor qualified to treat scientifically
of the injuries which accrue to the organs
of vision j but certainly the knights of the
sanctum ought to have some practical experience
upon artificial light, more of which they
consume than falls to the lot of other men.
Let us then give our readers a few hints
upon the preservation of sight, which we deduce
from our own experience, and if we are
incorrect, our medical friends, and particularly
opticians, are welcome to our columns, to
correct our errors. We are not about to interfere
with those who have resorted to spectacles,
for the optician alone can benefit them;
but there are multitudes, who, perhaps, ought
to wear spectacles, but will not, either from
their inconvenience or from an idea that thereby
they confess that time has taken too strong
hold upon them. Such ask, whether they can
see better than they now do without the Uae
of glasses'? To the most of these we answer,
yes?provided you will follow these simple directions.
First, never use a writting desk or
table with your face towards a window, in
such case the rays of light come directly upon
: the pupil of the eyes, and causing an unnatur|
al and forced contraction thereof, soon per1
manently injures the'sight. Next?when your
table or desk is near a window, sit so that your
face turns from not towards the window, while
you are writting. If your face is towards the
window, the oblique rays strike your eye, injure
it nearly as much as the direct rays when
you sit in front of the window. It is best always
to sit or stand while reading or writing
with the window behind you; and next Uo that
with the light coming over your left f sidethen
the light illumines the paper or book and
does not shine abruptly upon the eye-ball.
The same remarks are applicable to artificial
light. We are often asked what is the best
light; gas, candles, oil or camphene. Our answer
is, it is immaterial which, provided the
light of either be strong enongh and do not
flicker. A gas fish tail burner should never
be used for reading or writing, because there
is a coustant oscillation or flickering of the
flame. Candles, unless they have self-consuming
wicks which do not require snuffing, should
not be used. We need scarcely say that oil
wicks which crust over and thus diminish the
light, are good for nothing; and the same is
true of compounds of the nature of camphene,
unless the wicks are properly trimmed of all
their gumary deposite after standing twentyfour
hours.
But whatever the artificial light used, let it
strike the paper or book which you are using,
whenever you can, from over the left should,
er. This can always be done with gas, for that
light is strong enough, and so is the light from
camphene, oil, &c., provided it comes through
a circular burner like the argand. But the
light, whatever it be, should always be protected
from the air in the room by a glass chimney,
so that the light may he steady.?Boston
Herald.
A Dutchman's Logic.?In travelling in
the cars from Cleveland to this city, some time
since, we got into conversation with . young
gentleman who chanced to occupy a seat directly
in front of us. As he was under the
necessity of turning his head to talk to us we
suggested that when the cars stopped again,
he should turn the back of the seat facing us.
There was occupying the same seat with him,
a pretty good looking but raw Dutchman.?
Acting upon our suggestion, when we had arrived
at the next station the gentleman stepped
out into the walk of the car, and politely
requested the dutchman to do the .same while
he "turned the seat." The Dutchman looked
at the seat very critically, and inquiringly
said "turn mm I yaw V
"Yes" answered the gentleman. "Jusf step
out and I will show you how it is done."
The Dutchman did as he was desired, when
the gentleman turned the back of the seat and
requested the Dutchman to take the sa.me position
again, but of course, with his face toward
the other end of the car.
"Nix, nix 1" exclaimed the Dutchman ih
jvident alarm. "I've paid for Cincinnati, and
nust go to Cincinnati. Dem so, carry me right
aack to Cleveland!"
No explanation would satisfy him and he
would not be content till the gentle uan occupying
the seat with us changed places, and
permitted him to ride with his face towards
Cincinnati.
The passengers were convulsed with laugh;er
at the logic of the Dutchman ^Ciiiciri'
iati paper.
Killing Fowls.?Only turkeys and geese
hould be bled to death j the flesh of chickens
becomes dry and insipid from loss of
blood. The best plan, says the Poultry Journil,
is to take a blunt stick, such as a child's
bat or boy's wooden sword, and strike the
bird a smart blow on the back of the neck,
about thft third inint frnm
? ? J - tivtu vuv ut.au J UCAIU
follows in a moment.
S&* Praise the maa whose bread you eat.
m