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Sv Uemwcratic 3ournal, totto t fif nj a Sovutljrn 1js, Catratsfleuv, Citerate, 1toriti, Enmperauce riculure, & "We will cling to the Pillars of the Temple of on Inberties, and If it Intust fall, we wil& 1r1i9 annidst the Ruins" SIMKINS, DURISOE & CO., Proprietors. EDGEFIELD, S . JULY 28, 1858. .L.x..--o 9 Glorious Summer! bright and fair Are thy golden treasures: Gifts thou bringest, rich and rare, . In o'erflowing measures. Sparkling sunlight o'er the sea, Harvest yaiving on the lea, Mellow fruit on bush and tree These are but thy treasures. Now the wild bee's voice is heard, From the forest ringing; Now the happy evening bird Merrily is singing; Gardens with their'gorgeous flowers, Blushing noons, and moonlit bowers, Evening's soft and witching hours, Fondly thou art bringing. Sweet thou glidest as a stream When It sparkles brightest, Or a youthful poet's dream When his heart is lightest. All the hours for bliss were made; But when twilight's gentle shade Softly steals o'er hill and glade, Then thy joys are brightest. Youth and Love delight to go Hand in hand with Summer, Where the limpid waters fA-v With the softest murmur. None on earth so well agree, When the heart is young and frce, As those happy spirits three, Youth, and Love, and Summer. BETTER THAN THEX ALL. A moderate share of wealth is good To cheer us on our way, For it has oftentimes the power To make December May ; So is beauty, so is health, Or gen'us at our call; But a happy, careles3, loving heart, Is better than them all. A heart that gathers hope and faith From every springing flower, That smiles alike at winter storm And gentle summer shower; That blesses God for every good, Or whether great or small; Oh! a haploy, hopeful, loving heart, Is better than them all. 'Ti well to hold the wand of power, Or wear -n honored name, - And blush to hear the mighty world Re-echo with our fame; - -- rs-we ou. or-naLth ibe Of Kings and Nobles fall; But to have a happy. trusting heart, Is better than them all. A heart that with the magic notes Of music is beguiled; A heart that loves the pleasant face 01 every little child; That aideth weakness in d'stress, And hotreth duty's call; 01! such a loving, human heart, Is better than them all. Written for the Advertiser. THE FATAL MISTAKE. BY JENNY WOODBINE. -- CHAPTER I. The maid that loves Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank And puts h er trust in miracles for garvty. Y ouso. Irene Clyde was proud, poor, and sensitive. She belonged to one of those numerous decayed families who in spite of poverty, make desperate efforts to preserve gentility. She had dim vis ions of a golden time, when she played amid the groves which surrounded a noble old man sion, and had not a thought of the morrow. But by a sudden reverse of fortune, she found her self the child of a bankrupt. Her tastes, her feelings all unfitted her for the position she found herself forced to occupy ; and Irene from a gay, light-heartedchild grew gloomy, and full of bitter musings. As her years increased, so did her poverty ; till at theage of sixteen she lost her father. Mrs. Clyde was only nominally the head of the family-all the duties and res ponsibilities fell on the shoulders of Irene; and to her was left the training of her younger sis ters, and the cares of the household. " What shldl we do ?" and Mrs. Clyde wrung her hands in bitter anguish. "I see nothing before us but starvatifn. Ellen has not a pre - sentable dress-Jennie has no bonnet, and I-" Here she glanced reproachfully at Irene, and giving he: handkerchief a flourish, raised it to her eyes. "Itmight have been so different, Irene-you, ungrateful child that you are ! might have mar ried-.Liadsay, and then all would have been well." " But mother-" "Oh! don't annoy me-you must be ex travagantly fond of poverty, when you re'ect such a brilliant fortune." Irene, accustomed as she had grown of late * to these upbraidings, nevertheless felt the wound deeply. But even these " thorns in the flesh" had their good effect-they aroused the latent energy which slunmlered in ths young girl's b,.om-theyawakeI e Ilare. olution,andwith her to reso'lVe iw t accomplish. ."Mother, I have a plan,." "What's it-to turn actress ?" sneered Mrs. Clyde. "Not so bad as that-you know I have some musical talent, and that talent has been cultiv4 ted. lieretofore, I have slumbered in inactivi ty-but-litc'i mother, I have delrnuined to be a music teacher." "Music t'encher indeed ! what romantic fool ery is this? My child a music-teacher ? nerer.' " Ifetter a mugie-teacher than a beggar," smiled Irene. "Possibly, but where is your pride gone ? "I have laid it ayway mother, as a useless garment-bes'des the vocation is honorable, and one which I hope to make profitable." " Go to sleep, simpleton, and never let me hear such words again. Music teacher indeed! what would your uncle say ?" "Nothin, provided I do not ask him to open his purse.I For a long time Mrs. Clyde objected, but finding at last that something must be done, and that speedily, her consent was won ; and Irene having obtained a situation, began to make preparations for her departure. Irene's last evening at home ! how sad it was; and yet how desperately they all struggled to be cheerful. Ellen and Jennie played several little duets together, and Tom brought out all his pretty picture books to ask "Renie" to ex plain them. Mrs. Clyde could not keep back her tears, for with all her faults she was a ten der-hearted, loving mother. " This is Renie's birthday" said little Jennie at length-" mother, Renie is eighteen to day; and she has no birthday presents-oh! dear, what shall I give Renie ?"1 "This," said the elder sister laying her hand affectionately, on one of the many light curls which clustered around the fair, young forehead. So the tress was severed; and then Tom, and Ellen following the example of Jennie, clipped each a portion of their dark hair, to add to Renie's birthday presents. "Sing us something new, darling-some song that will make us think of you all the time." And Irene, thusentreated, passed her delicate fingei s over the Piano keys, and sang in a voice which grijef made tremulous, " Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night song of mirth in your bower" intil she came to the closing lines, making the weet song doubly sweet, and embalming it rever afterwards in the remembrance of those oving ones as something sacred. The morrow came-the last good-bye was poken-the last kiss was given, and Irene was rirled away to other scenes-to a new life! The gay metropolis was henceforth to be her tomie-the tediuus life of a poor music-teacher ier destiny. Home was left bhind-the house f the stranger was now her dwelling-place. Lnd yet thcse strangers met her kindly. Mrs. ce welcomed her cordially; and Mr. Pace, he succe~sful lawyer, smiled benignly through is spectacles-while the young Paces, her ture scholars, were clamorous for kisses. Weeks pwsed away ;.and Irene Clyde was 'iidrt-ppytO-madrcmnrTen. wrena -- ut little cinmpany, but she had ample time to nprove her mind; and when not engaged in hool duties, she pored over many an ancient olune; and peopled her imagination, with the eroes and heroines of the past. I feel justified in saying that the brightest ay of her existence, was when she sent home a her mother the first well-earned fruit of her bors-the magic, and to her, the immense sum f fifty dollars. True, the belle would sneer t such a paltry sum; and expend it at once on inantilla, or shawl; but to Irene it scened a ttle fortune ; and then she had earned it herlf; nd it would buy-oh crer so many delicacies r her invalid mother-so many dresses for ilen and Jennie ; and so many nice new books ar the studious Totm. Thten shte received such nice lonig letter, from those absent ones, prais ng their " dear Renie," and calling her their good angel." Yes: it made her happy. One afternoon Irene entered the library to se et some book ; and Mr. Pace (who had become ir fast friend) looking up good-humoredly said, " Will you come in the parlor this evening, ~iss Clyde, I wish to introduce you to a friend >f mine-a rising young lawyer, who in spite .f his bashfulness, you will find entertaining." And Irene laughingly consented, when she earned that the " young lawyer" was Clement stanley of whos~e talents, and noble exertions he had heard so uch. Nor did she regret that consent, when she found herself in conver rtion with one who " stooped not to flatter," but who evinced by his attention to her timid remarks, his appreciation of her. The evening passed delightfully, and Clement Stanley when he promised "to call often," neant wrhat he said. Again, and again they met, and Love having passed through the chrysalis state of friendship, made its appearance ia due time. And yet no word of love had ever passed between them " The heart feels most, when the lips move not;" and both were enjoying the first delicious hours >f " Love's young dream." Irette forgot that she was "a poor music teacher"-Clement for got the toils of his profession ; and they lived but in the presence of each other. But no Eden has ever been found without its attendant erpent; atnd Irene's serpent came to light in the presence of one, who htad been the friend of her childhood. Julia Ilaygood was a but terfly of fashiot-the child of wealthy parents, whose sole aim was to see her dressed well, uid eventually rnarried wcell. The culture of her heart was left to chance, and she grew up to womanhood, beautiful in person, but self willed and unprincipled. She first meet Cletment Stanley at an evening party of which she wai the reigning queen ; and a rival belle taunting ly said to her, " There stands one who will lefy all your charms-he is made of rock." "hIow do you know ?" was thte laughting re joinder. " Because this is mny second witnter, and he has never been at my feet." "It do~es not follow that lie will never be at ntine.'" " We shall see," and the lady pressed on. Julia surveyed herself in the mirror ; and a triumphanit smile flitted over her beautiful face as she murmured, " I will die, or win him." " Overheard, by Jove," said her cousin Miles IIygood at her shoulder, " what victim have you chosen now, fearless Julia ?" " Yonder iceberg standing near thte door." "Who? Clement Stanlev7 you will never succeed. He visas only one woman in town; and that a little music teacher, whom the Paces have endeavored to exalt to a goddess. By the way you know her-don't you remember Irene Clyde ?" "I daresay I do-we were playmates once, but I have no fears of her. Why Miles, she is poor, and plain besides. "Poor, but not exactly plain. Her complex ion is the finest in the world-half-way between a brunette and a blonde, and her eyes-well Julia you never saw such eyes, they express evefy emotion of the soul, and dazzle, and be wilder, and entrance-psha! *I was half in love with her myself until Clement entered the field." " You in love with a music teacher ! For shame Miles, I blush for you." "I don't blush for myself-she is the most charming little creature--" " Well I grant all that-but now accommo date me by dragging your lazy limbs to where Mr. Stanley is standing; and then present him to me-do you hear ?" Julia had charms, and she knew how to make the most of them; and she surpassed even her self by her extraordinary exertions to entrap Stanley. She praised him in the most delicate manner, flattered his vanity by her timidly avowed preference for his society; and planued her maneuvres so adroitly, as to have him at her side all th6 evening. When Stanley retired to his room, he caught. himself saying, "I shall call on this Miss Iay good-it is but proper as she is a stranger here; and I have absented myself too much from the society of ladies." Not that he had "fallen in love with her at first sight"-he was no romantic youngster to be borne about by every brceze ; and his hart had long ago enshrined the sweet image of Irene Clyde. Julia Haygood renewed her former intimacy with her old friend, and she was not long in discovering-for women are skilled in such mat ters-that Irene loved Clement Stanley. She found also that Irenei ha1 as much pride as love in her composition; and the knowledge was received with triniph. One evening they were alone in the parlor Julia having "'come to spend the day with her darfriend Irene." About every five minutes she said, "I will read you Clement Stanley's favorite Poem," or, "I will sing you Clement i Stanley's favorite song;" or "I wilt tell you what Clement Stanley said to me one day." "Do you see him so often then ?" and Irene ihe made the apparently careless qtestion. i " Oh ! dear, yes-why he is my shadow. See here." And she unclasped a -locket from herI neck, and touching a spring, revealed the fe tures of Clement Stanley. Irene turned as pale as death, but she made ome light comment; and turning over the leaves of her portfolio requested Julia, "to sing first one more son.?, and then they would dress for tea." Julia Ilaygood-knew that the shot hed tl1: for how could Irene know that he ladl borrowed the locket from Miss /u ey'; and that Clement had not the most remote idea, whose neck it adorned. " Clement will be here this evening," remark ed Julia as she fastened a bracelet on her left rm. " Ilow (10 you know ?" asked Irene quickly.I " How do I kiiow ; as if I did not know all his engagements!" She laughed a low, short augh. Ihow could Irene know that she had ritten a note to Miles Ilaygood, with the cjiimand, " Be sure to bring Clement Stanley o Mr. Pace's after tea. I shall be there." Clement Stanley was more annoyed than pleased when he entered the parlor, and dis overed Miss Hlaygood at the Piano singing somne sentimental song ; for he had hoped to penda quiet evening with Irene, undisturbed by Miles, who was a "good fellow," and never in terfered with his friends. And to tell the truth he was growing somewhat tired of Miss Hay ood; and felt a twving~e of self-reproach as he reflected on his past attentions to her. Irene. was calmly cold-she greeted him as though he had been .some conmnon-place ac quintance; and turned with more readiness than ever before to Miles Ilaygood. As a natu ral consequence he devoted himself to Julia, who said insinuatingly as she pointed to the *pair at the window, " They will make an ex cellent match. I shall be glad to call her cou sin Irene ; she is poor, but then she is accom plssed ; aud it will not be such a mnes-allianice after all." Thus by touching the springs of pride, this temptress wrought the severance; and Irene parted with Stanley that night, feeling that lier happiness was wrecked ; and that henceforth for her, life was a blank. CIIAPTER II. The gloom:iest soul i.s not all gloo, Thes saddest heart is not all sadniess ; Aud sweetly o'er the darkest aloom, There shines so'me lingering beams of gladness. " Miss Renie, you look so pale to-day," said little Annie Pace, while she was taking her music lesson,-" are you sick ?" " No, dear, only a slight headache." " Miss Renie, you ought to have beeni down stairs this morning-oh !lit waes so pretty, to see them all stariing of for the pic-hic. Mamma is gone with them, but I wvould'nt go because you were not alon'g. Some of them were in carri nges, and some on horseback. Miss Lane and IMr. Haygood were on horseback, and so were 'Mis Hlaygoodl and Mr. Stanley. Mama says Miss Julia and Mr. Stanley are going to marry-" " Thuere that will do dear-now mind your notes-here let mec help you count-one, two, three. There-now you can go on." She knew that they sroidd marry, but she could niot bear to hear it spoken of; each word 'was like a thorn driven into a heart already ounded and bleeding. Her work hadbecOU-ds1'tasteful to her; she had grown weak and . 'us, and the softest note sounded harsh to- er ears.* She longed for rest,-for quiet; , if that could not be won, for change of R'., But ,poverty is a stern task-master. Sh must work! For upon her slender salary the Port of a whole family depended. Leaving Irene for a n ent, we will insert a conversation between ment Stanley and his father, which has so4 bearing on our simple story. "They tell me Clemditthat you are to mar ry the heiress-l am g1kf it. I am somewhat involved, and a little r.dymoney in the family would be a great bene us all. Once I was afraid you had some sers'piintentions towards that little imusic-teacheitPace's. That would never have done at aLs--the girl is poor, and you have nothing but 3 profession; and be sides it would have n mortifying to my pride for you to have ied a music-teacher." "To yourpride fathe I. know of no woman, whom one might be uder to call wife, or daughter, than Irene C s-but set your heart at rest: she loves ano r And with this mo ful, conviction,- which had been beaten into lg brain by Miss Hay good, he promised his father to propose to that lady, saying in what h mcant to be a cheerful voice, " Who falls from be knows of bliss, Cares little into w abyss." Since I have lost Irene It matters not on whom I bestow my hand, and as I ani destined to make some woman mlr1le, it might as well be Miss Haygood as at one else." So he proposed, and as, of course accepted, and he flattered himsel that he really loved Julia, or would love hei, as much as was neces mry to her happiness.% Irene heard tihe nelcalily-in fact it ivas the chief topic of convesation; for some doubt Ad-others believed, aiid all wondered. She could not stay it town, and witness it. [t would have been tifieg her powers of endu ance too far; and alibtugh some love "to see 'low much the heart Ongs can bear without 3reaking," Irene feard- the test. Tremblingly lie opened the door oi* evening, and stood be ore Mr. Pace. He.- Wa busily engaged in wri ing, but looked up kindly on her entrance.! What now, little ono;you want new books ?" "No, sir, not books.this tinie. I have never ,een home, you kio5 since you engaged me, nd-and-if, you I no objections, I should, ike to go." iage ?" up curt.S) UA-4H narked the sudden pallor of her face, a dii iercep ion of the truth stole across his muddy -ision. He took her hand tenderly a< a fatler night, " You are a noblogirl, Irene, and I honor -ou,-Yes: go my chill,-stay as long as you ilease, and return whenver you like. Bfit first," -here he funbled in his pockets-" let me, >ay you, your salary." And he placed a sum if money in her hands which to Irene's sur ,rise was much larger..han slie had expected, ,Ir hoped. . * She was about to mnale some coilmenit j but y be kind-hearted old imi, bent over his papers, a Lud muttereil, " Then don't bother ime, child, k -these plagued documents will be the death v >f me yet." hi Irene stole softly aiuy, blessing that lProvi- o hence who had raised p friends for the father- Ii ess child.n Mrs. Pace assisted Iir to pack her trunks, w-hich was more thansahe had ever (done for il erself, for all such vrk was left to the ser- E vants. But she realljiked Irene, and wished ial to show it in some .ianner;-so shze lent a id helping hand'' and ud at eveiry breath, '- You aj must coine back soounlear, for I shall be wor w ried to death with tlchildren." u] At home once mod It was so sweet to be se there after such a Ion absence, that Irene al- - most forgot her sorra. She found that even * ror her there was " fingering beam of glad- faa ness,"-that life wasnt all dar-k; for Heaven de had kindly given bez'ermission to cheer thme to heclining days of herother ; and minister to br the comfort of her 'ther and sisters. At th any rate, she knew itould be but aspecies of gO refined selfishness to her own grief appeur, when the happiness so many depended on her wearing a cheerf ace. After the first kiss, and embracings were over, Ellen flew toe piano; and she and on Jennie, screamed abe top of their lungs, re< " Home Again ;" vmsen Tom joined in the the chorous- do, "It is an old solbut a sweet one," said del Mrs. Clyde passing :armu around -lrene. hii And Irene echoe Tes," with moistening aum eyes. It "Oh ! Renie, weso much to tell you," ica shouted Jennie whee song was ended. El- pal hen has learned to d, and paint beautifudly,-- ov almost as pretty as i; and Tom has studied grc so hard-why you c imagine what astudent nor he is." . ---t " And Jennie is best girl in the world," dre said Ellen patrony, " for she does not " rraise her own 'effo'si " Jennie has tookriting poetry" said Tom. live " And Tom huirldi defiance at grammar," to t chimed in Ellen. " And Mr. Lindomes here every day," T shouted Jennie ag" and I do believe he's Cly making love to Eli thme " Nonsense, Jensmaid Ellen blushingly. 'i For an entire wlrene did nothing but coir rest, and stroll ithe woods. Each old mU: familiar haunt wasned. Each dear old tree Iamid honored with a pai salutation. And Irene fain tried to cheat heinto the .belief that she frie: was growing happJn-wlien-a letter came jthe from Julia, signe* Sanley! It was over 'fort then-" the wild dream so fondly cher- by1 ished"..-henceforti for an aching pang at S the heart, which inight vainly strive to Elk heal, they would 'though they had never mc met. A more quiet, and yet a more industrioui life than that which Irene led now, can scarcel3 be imagined. She '-kept house"-taught thi children-improved herself by daily reading and " made up" a host of new clothes for Eller and Jennie. Ellen was the aristocat of the family-she was passionately fond of drawing painting and music, but bring her down from her " cloud castles," by requesting her to duel the furniture, sweep the floor, make the beds, or indulge in any other plebian occupation ; and a look of disgust would creep over the fair fea turos, while a sullen pout settled firmly about the lips. It was constitutional with her-it her seemedalmost impossible to overcome it; and mother and sister, after a few ineffectual at tempts to awaken a love for these distasteful oc cupations, concluded that Ellen was not "made to work," and allowed her to become " the fine lady of the family." Yet this graceful beauty was their pride-their pet, for she was naturally amiable; and would do a hundred, little things to contribute to the general enjoyment-such as filling the vases with fresh flowers-looping back the white curtains with ribbons-covering the glass and picture-frames with fine tissue paper, fancifully cut, to conceal the ravages of old age, making ottaman's of old boxes, and so on. Of an afternoon, while Irene was sewing, Jennie studying, Tom weeding the garden, and Mrs. Clyde seeing about supper, Elen would come floating into the parlor, dressed in some light muslin made "infant waist" fashion-the short waist, and long skirt making her appear unusually tall, and even dignified-and seat her self at the. piano, forgetting in the sweet dreams, which music brought-her poverty. Poems, music, and painting formed her life; and when called from these, she was unhappy. ' Young, and beautiful, she sighed for conquests, and therefore learned to hate a country life. Highly delighted then was this spoiled child, when her uncle, who livid in Charleston, came to them on-a "flying visit," and declared his intention of taking one of the girls home with him. le would have chosen Irene, but she very quietly declined the proffered honor; and little Jennie shrank away frightened from his emubrace-so Mr. Clyde had no alternative but to take Ellen who was willing, even anxiousi to go. Irene had some misgivings-she feared the effect of a gay city life on this idle, impilsive Ireamer; but Mrs. Clyde who had once been a belle,"-had no higher ambition than to have ber child sip of the adulation which had once Ellen was gone! and Irene had a quiet cry Aiter she had taken an affectionate farewell of ier benuitiful sister; but grief was a luxury in vhich she hal no time to indulge-therefore lie wiped her eyes silently, and went to the ,itchen-room to assist the "the maid of all rork," who grumbled not.a little at having so auch to do. - Mrs. Clyde followed after. "Irene, here is a tter from Mr. Pace, requesting your immedi te return ; but now that Ellen has left me. ou cannot go. I should "mope to death" way-out here in the .woods, with no one to eep me company but Jennie and Tom. I guess -e can make out to live on what money we Rye, until Ellen makes a good match, and thenI sr fortunes will brighten. Ellen is not self ishli ke you; she will marry some wealthy gentle lan, and lift us all from our present drudgery."1 Irene choked down a rising sigh-after all I at she had done, she was called selsh ; whilet llen, who had literally done nothing, was ex ted above her. Yet such is life. Some are >omend to go through thme world without being jpreciated. All honor to them, if they can, ithout that encouragement, which is the stim us to exertion, perform thc duties which are t before them. Some arc born to a life of ease to them the sun is always bright-the flower thout a thorn. While others, from their in acy, are doomed to a lot of hardship--con.. ti mned to be disappointed in evdrything; and a work their upward way through thorns, and a iars. More glorious their crown, if amid all, a ey can say, " Even so Father, for so it seemed fi ad in thy sight." h CHAPTER III. tI " To bear is to conquer our pride." [rene struggled bravely-nobly. She was p of those silent martyrs who make no noise, ei ele no praise on earth; but who have none ai less their reward in heaven. Did she sit vn repiningly and murmur because fate had to mied her happiness ? No: she struggled to hi 4, her own grief-to make othmems cheerful, T I happy ; and in so doing to find contentment. fa night have been more interesting to the puoet youth, or the romantic young lady, had I p nted her as pining away daily, and "all for de e." But it was Dot Fo.-her cheek did not le ir paler-her step did not lose its elasticity; pr her eye its brightness. Hecr heart was older si he freshness of its youth was gone-its day- a uns had faded-its bright hopes perished. hd We cannot make a support in the country,E s Mrs. Clyde one day; "we cannot even here, it is so horribly dull-we must move rim own." nad Irene consented. o'n a a week the cottage was closed; and the of des wen inmates of a dingy little house in ha town of heir expenses increased; and Irene was m< polled to resort to her old occupation of of ic-teaching. She secured a few daily pupils, ,Jo upon the amounut paid her fur services, the ily managed to subsist. Irene found a firm d in one of her patrons, Mrs. Johnson; and friendless, penniless girl, e' uved much com- ~ from the kindly attentions bestowed on her for ~hat lady. . a he received i'any letters from her gay sister wh n, in Charleston, she was enjoying herself, as ne et yongeons do, when first nseaed into to. society. Hier communications were all descrip tive of the exciting life she led; and if Irene experienced a pang, as she felt the sharpness of the contrast between their two lives, she checked it as unworthy of a place in her heart. " Do take tea with me this evening," said Mrs. Johnson to Irene one afternoon. "I am anxious to introduce you to a particular friend of mine, Mr. Princeton." But Irene politely declined. Since her dis appointment, which had taught her the vanity of bestowing one's affections unsought or even sought, she had absented herself from the so ciety of gentlemen; and consequently she de clined the proffered introduction. One afternoon however, she was over-persuaded by Mrs. John son, and consented to remain. She was dressed most becomingly in a simple pink muslin, with flowers in her hair; and looked as she always did, sweet and unpretending. Just as she had received her cup from Mrs. Johnson's hands, a young gentleman entered, and walked to the upper end of the table. Irene started, his was a Buperior face-of a cast seldom' seen, and displaying intellect of no common order. The forehead was fair-the hair a dark, rich auburn-the eyes black, clear, and earnest the mouth winningly handsome. "Who,-who is that ?" asked Irene quickly. Mrs. Johnson smiled quietly, and replied archly, "Why, Mr. Princeton, Jamie Princeton, of course." Irene colored as she remembered her former remarks, but they said no more just then. After tea Mr. Princeton came to the parlor, and Irene was formally introduced. What a charming conversationalist he was every word had its own peculiar meaning; and Irene was delighted in spite of herself. " Superior even to Clement Stanley," whis pered her heart; and the "still, small voice" replied, "What! false already 7" Mrs. Johnson would have her sing for him she desired to "show off" her protege as much as possible. Her young, clear voice, sounded particularly, ye wondrously sweet, as she satg to the piano in a simple, unaffected manner, " Call ine pet .nane-, darling." And as the notes died away in gentle accents, Jamie Prince ton canghtlins.elfsaying with pardenable vanity, "I would if I dared." It was a lovely night; for the moonlight lends a cbamn to all. Jamie Princeton walked home with Irene for the first time; afterwards he walked with her often. I am one of those unromantic persons, who believe firmly in second love. I expect to be haunted by the ghosts of murdered, suicidal heroines. for acknowledgin'g such an unpoetical blief; -idfmust'brave -their wratl purer, holier than the first! When they left Mrs. Johnson's, on the eve ing we have mentioned, that lady looked- after them with a smile, and said to herself, there being no one else near, , "It has happened just as I wished-if there t ever was an unmistakeable case of love at first sight, I have seen it this evening." And Mrs. Johnson was right. q They stood beneath the stars, Jamie Prince. c ton, and Irene Clyde! The moon cast upon heir brows its calm, holy light, and the whole b .arth was bathed in beauty. Jamie's handsome face was flushed with omething-what was it reader? I leave it to t] hose of you, who are so hnfortunate, or fortu- al iate as to be " in love" to answer. v Irene was very calm, and pale, yet her heart ras heating wildly-her lipquivered convulsive- tl y ; and the hand, which Jamie held in his own, w rembled perceptibly. In reply to something *e asked, Irene repeated,t " No: thou art not my first love- ti I had loved before we met, Ic AndI the memory of that summer dream Is pleasant to me yet.F But thou-thou art my last love,F mly dearest, and my best ; My heart hilt shed Its outer leaves, W To give thee all the rest. n * * * * * * * Ellen Clyde returned home-disappointed withh m te world-dissatisfied with herself-despising i LI things, loving none. 'There were hard lines ce bout the fair young mouth unlovely to see ; and in wordly look about the pretty, girlish face, pain- e9 I to witness. She hated poverty, and she learned to despise p ar own home. Irene tried hard to conquer in Lese feelings, to win her hack to gentleiness, but th rain-the malady was too deeply seated-the so mung gir~u once innocent heart had grown hard, oud, vain, and wordly. Irene had feared the feets of a gay, city life on the young aristocrat, ad her worst fears were realised, on Mr. Lindsay-tealthy Mr. Lindsay, came to a wn-he had heard of the arrival of the young lle, and beauty, and he wished to punish Irene. pa ie mian had always been the ev.il gemusAf the th~ miily; and Irene both feared, and scorned him. thi lie offered Ellen his hand, and fortune. Thet oud, worldly girl was pleased-it was what she ser sired. Irene remonstrated with her ; lbut El. av< replied coldly, " Anything is better than my PO esent homne-mypresentporer/y ! WVhy Irene,ge npleton, the mnan is rich ! He will give me carriage and horses, and a house in town. I ye no fancy for your 'love-in-a-cottage,' non-. ise-that may do for such as you." waS So she gave him in return for the diamond ** ig he offerred, a perjured vow! 11 The sisters were married on the same day- ah e made a marriage of lore; the other a union tre conrenicnce. Irene was wedded to youth and to ppiness ; Ellen to old age and misery. Mfrs. Clyde was delighted- she and Tonm re- sta ved immediately to the handsome residence on the youngeredaughter-the laughter-loving an anie remained with Irene. ver Jamie Princeton and Irene were happy I y A.UUTAc , Ga. the on [t is asserted that a man marrying now.a-days s rries a great deal more than he bargained He not only weds himself to a woman, but say laboratory of prepared chalk, a quintal of 'at alebone, eight coffee bags, tour baskets of to rels, one poodle dlog, and a system of weak tha ethat will keep four servants and three doc- me a maonn your house moat naala.tima. a Te GEN. QUIMhN. The Charleston Mercury, in noticing the death of Gen. Quitman, has the following re marks: Gov. Quitman was born in the State of New York, of Italian extractibn, his father being a preacher in that State. The son boro all the lineaments of his origin, resembling, both in features and dignity of bearing, the Roman of old, whether as soldier or senator. Nor was his character unlike his appearance. He emi grated young to Mississippi and entered the profession of the law, which he continued to practice until a late- period. In political views he was from early manhood a firm and consis tent States Rights Democrat. He was in 1850 a member of the Nashville Convention and a Secessionist, advocating the separate action of Mississippi. His course in Congress has iden tified him with the truest and staunchest de fenders of the rights and interests of the South at Washington. As a brave and able soldier, his conduct in council and in the field in Mexi co give ample proof, manifested by the respect of that whole army. - We need not say the people of South Caro lina will hear with feelings of the most painful regret, the announcement of General Quit man's death. They loved and honored him as the commander of that Brigado of the Army of Mexico to which the Palmetto Regiment was attache-d-one who, appreciating its gallan try and steadiness throughout the campaign, has so often, so cordially, and so recently, testi fled to the glory of that little band of Caroli nians. He was-thus, to a certain extent, iden tified with us. But in addition to this strong claim on the affections of South Carlina, Gen eral Quitman, as a Southern statesman and pa triot, commanded the esteem and confidence of our people. It was not in feats of overpower ing elocution, or in exhibition of brilliant pow ers of debate, his reputation rested. He was regarded to be one of the few thoroughly relia ble Southern Democrats of the States Rights school-a man true to his section, far-sighted' and incorruptible. His Judgment, his honesty, and the sterling manhood which gave weight and influence to his opinions and positions, es tablished him in the respect and trust of the people. The South is menaced by dangers from her enemies without and her self-seeking aspi. rants within, and needs the help of spirits such as Quitman's, Uoved, thop, by feelings of spooial regard mad interest, and ,by considerations of the Southern cause and its necessities, we deplore the event as a general calamity, and claim to share the grief with Mississippi. CHARLESTON AND BOSTON. A project for a line of propeller steamshipi 0 between Charleston and Boston, is being sen yusly considered among some of our best busi 2ess men, and isubscriptions to - considerable imount have already been pledged. As we understand the scheme, its main fea ures are as follows: To build a first-lams pro peller steamship, of about -1,600 or 2,000. tons burthen to be in general dimensions about 250 reet in length, 40 feet in breadth, and 20 to 25 ret in depth. These ire the xtirtine dimen 1-: urrproposedj and' we doubt not that, ere the >roject is consummated, it will be found advisa >le to reduce them materially. A ship qf 1,200 >r 1,500 tons would undoubtedly suffice for all he freight that would ofrer. The cost and quipment of such a ship, ready for service, is ixed at $100,OOU. It is considered good policy o build a ship of the first class, indeed inferior o no American propeller, in order that, should t be found impossible to sustain a remunera ive line between these ports, she might be ualified for any service, or be desirable for pur hase. That there may be no monopolizing or ndue control of the line, it is proposed that it e owned equally in the two cities--.50,000 in ach. The material question in the scheme is, will pay ? Is there sufficient commerce between :e two ports to employ the ship? There are ready two well established lines of sailing essels between Charleston and Boston, and at ritain seasons of the year other'vessels find eight without trouble. It will necessitate, in ec dull season, a contest betwepn steam and ind; but steam has an advantage, in that the ussages of sailing vessels are long and' tedious. he principal articles of export from Charleston SBoston are cotton, rice, rosin and turpentine, cnber and dimension lumber, flour and corn, ather and skins, feathers and whiskey. Other inr articles appear occasionally in the ,list. rom Boston we receive boots and shoes, do estic cottons, manufactured h'ard and iron are, bagging, andl the thousand and one Yankee tions and articles of barter. The laboring oar of the enterprise is in the nds of a gentleman of ability and activity, a ember of one ot our commercial houses, who sanguine of both immediate and ultimate suc ss. He has been in correspondence with lead : Boston merchants, who have mianifested an ual interest in the enterprise. The Post Of-. e Department have been sounded, and have umised (not unqualifiedly, however,) to des tch the mail by this route, should it succeed shortening the present mnail time between* e two cities. The gentleman alluded to will' )n visit Boston, in furtherance of the scheme, uich we commend to the attention of shippers each city.-Carleston Mercury. FEEINrG Waivaas.-This is a bad practice, and a that every hotel proprietor should discour i. It gives rich men, who can afford to squan. Smoney, an undue advantage. It is presumed bt in all first class hotels, the waiters are fairly id by the proprietors for their services, and y ought to do all in their power to promote comfoirt of the guests, without a douceur. It Ssort of bribery that debases the party accep g it; and is a tax upon the guest which thie rant has no right to impose. The public will sid those watermg-place hotels where this im lition is winked at by the proprietor. We Ll nave more to say on this subject, as' it is ting to be a cause of very general complaint. i. bS. Hotl Directory. GOOD NaxE.-The signature of Shak-espeare a sold in London on the 14th., for 200 guin-. about $1500. This is more than the poet tId have raised upon his name during his lf. e signature was affixed to a mortgage deed 'ofA ouse in Black friars. The bidding for thie asure conimenced at 50 guineas and went up 100. PiuciKy GorExoa.-A letter from Florida es that Gov. Perry recently hailed the stage the line between Micanopi and the terminus. . the Florida Railroad, an'd requested tire dri to diverge a few hundred yards from his r-se, to take aboard some lady passengers. n obstinately refused ; hot words ensued, and Governor pitched in and gave the fellow a ad whipping. OUtTnERN MIERCIIAN~.-A letter from Boston ;:-Very little is done on the credit system resent, but the Southern merchants appear et far more indulgence and. accommod'at any other elass. I understand that they ~t their payments inore punctually than the ce class from odher~quartehs.