University of South Carolina Libraries
>*!&*' ' ' - - T * ^ -^1 ' ' ' I . -#' * J $2 PER ANNUM. C"TRMRYN?SWP^,TYS WE CL^!EVLEADSTTHEIVVA\\"IIE IN ADVANCE NEUTRAL IN POLITICS?DEVOTED TO LITERARY, COMMERCIAL AGRICULTURAL, SCIENTIFIC, GENERAL AND LOCAL INTELLIGENCE. VOLUME II. , LANCASTER, C. H? SOUTH CAROLINA WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY 13,1853, NUMBER 23 n. 8. DAH.ICY, Uncle Philip looked up in surprise.? | ful day forme. I was to part from mr I hand of diamonds. Her eves *??<> U. I liim li? !? ?.:>?- -:?i. ' * ' .Tinimnn i *Tt? "w " " " ' j&unim ami rourJUJSTUK. TERSS: 'Thk "Lsdcbr" in published every Wednesday morning, at the low price of TWO DOLLARS per Annum, if paid IN ADVANCE ; Two dollars nnd a half, if pa), mcnt be delayed three months, and THREE DOLLARS at the end of six montha. ADVERTISING. Advertisements will be inserted at scv enty-five cents per square for the first inser tion, and thirty-seven and a half cents per square for each additional insertion. Single insertion, one dollar per square. IrUrtfii JkUs. From the Star Spangled Banner. UNCLE PHILIPS EXPERIENCE In Choosing a Wife. BT 8 All A ?1 M. lUtWC. It was a bright, clear, glor'oia winter morning; the blue sky overhead was j.?m feetly cloudless, aiul tlx' winter sun shone down upon the snow-covered earth with a cheery brightness. Tl e* sleighing was ex cedent, and every now and then a gay fancy sleigh would dash merrily by, its occupants laughing and chatting in high glee, and its silvery bells ringing out with a moat cheer chime upou the dear, frosty air. Everything seemed gay and lively ?even the dogs that were Iriaking about, looked as if they enjoyed the clear, bright sun, and tho nucloudod azure of the archI g sky. . . i atood stTRv erhtdow, gasmg thonghtf illy out n|?on the scene, and l^tening to thd silvery ring of the merry bells, as the sleighs with their occupants dashed gailv by. 1 had I tee u almost sick with a severe cold for more than a fortnight, and had not stirred out of the house for that time ; b'lt this morning I was vcy much bettor, and 1 fvlt a very strong inclination to be out of llonni willl llin r.ul ?n.l ? ? ? -.... ...^ ,?A the blight sunshine and clear, fresh air.? Hut the subject that then filled my inimi was, which of my friends it would be best to call on first. "The gi.rU have nil called on ino since I have been sick, and 1 owe them all a re turn,*' mused I, as another sleigh with its merry chinie swept round the corner, "there's Clara May, sister Nell told me wasn't > ey well, and I ought to step in and see her. And then there's Julia, and Kate, and Lucy, ami?ah ! now 1 know where I'll go,'' I suddenly exclaimed, us a new thought entered my head, "I'll g<> down and see Uncle Philip, r.nd makii him tell mo that story he promised to." And forth with I donned bonnet, shawl, and rubbers, and was very soon on my way to Uncle Philip** pretty cottage. A# the reader U not so well acquainted with Undo Philip a* I am, it will bo necessary t1 enlighten him ie?pocting this important peiwona^. j Undo Philip Vurnoy is a confirmed old bachelor of fifty-five. Time has laid some furrows upon a brow that once bore the impress of inanly bosuty and nobleness; and it has dimmed the lustre of that once brilliant black eye, and has woven silver threads amid the rich, heavy masses of hi* raven hair. Thirty years ago, Unde Philip was a man of 'remarkable personal attractions; and, as ho inherited a large fortune, and was, withal, well educated, noble-hearted, and refined?it was considered quite a remarkable circumstance that he still remained a crusty old bechelor. No, no, I was wrong in saying that; Unde Philip was not a cnuty old bachelor. He was the best natured, sunniesttampered. most cheerful old fellow living; and I well remember, when I was a little thing, just old enough to gut into mischief, if ever I was threatened with punishment for some naughty prank, I bud only to run to Uncle Philip, nod he was aure to hield mr, by some kind of an excuse for my conduct, from mother's much feared eeogeance. Consequently, a strong attachment was formed between myself and Uncle Philip ; which friendship has coaitinned unbroken to tliia day. 1 always wondered why auch a man aa Uncle Philip oould hare been an old bach* tier; and I had rery oten aaked him to tell me what the reaaoo mm, but b? had vjjl naofoen waived the qnaetion by answering that it waa a long storw. and be would tell me abont it sometime. And it waa with a Arm determination to eonrinee UneU Philip that the long deferred "aometime* had eertainly come, that I placed my band upon the knob of Uncle Philip's door on that bright, frosty morning. "Ah, you IktTa chicken, is that yon P aaid Uncle Philip, gaily, taking down kie heels from the mantle-piece, and throwing aside Wis morning newspaper, aa 1 entered. \ The old housekeeper, Margr, with many natloua qneaboua about my health, assist w> me to awnwmbn mr*?ir of bonnet end show!, while Uncle Philip staffed the ?5? Mill t4 woodfMd drew oat the greet had chatted ewe* fee eometime on reri ? ?n wkjate, *f hare a taror to act of you." ?i , v*. #fl ?* F 0 5; . jmL <\ . ' fC ' ???iit go (Mi, said tie. ' The favor I wish you to grant, is this," aid I, with as much gravity as I could command, "I wish you to tell me, what in the name of common sense is the reason you are determined to live and die an old bachelor?" A ringing laugh from Uncle Philip, in which he was joined by Margy, was my only answer. "I'm in earnest, Uncle Philip," said I, looking as vexed as 1 possibly could under the circumstances, "and you needn't at tempt to get rid of it by making fun of it in that style." "Well, my dear," said he, as soon as lie could control himself, "I see you are really bent upon hearing the story, and, if you are, I know it will be no use at all to deny you ; so, if you will keep quiet, nnd bo. a good girl, 1*11 tell you all aloul it. Delighted with this quick complaisance willi inv wi*lii"i I liM'ini, !.. ? ??:-i ...j . -r ? ..p ... ii iniuikling, and drawing .1 low ottoman to Uncle Philip's feet, I seated myself upon it, and garni earnestly up into his dark eyes. Uncle Plnli # smiled at my eagernew, and, after a moment's thought begm. " I he story I am about t-? tell you, Marie, is a truthful narrative of my e.\j?erience in choosing a wife. I hope \ou will listen attentively, and profit by it. "Though I am 110.? an old bachelor, it it is not because I have never felt 'hat passion which men call love?for I have frit it?felt both real, true lore, and the passionate, anient affection, that many ofteu mistake for real, sincere, Platoniclove. "The first time I fell in love, was the year after I entered college. I was seventeen then ; handsome, talented, and the heir to considerable wealth; which attractions I considered irresistible in the eyes of all the ladies that I should chance to meet. I was a favorite with the students ; and there was not one among them but was proud of tbe friendship of Philip Vartiey. 1 had been introduced by them to several of their young lady friends, and it was not without cause that I prided myself on the power of my fascinating manners and handsome face, in gaining their good graces. As yet, I was not cniightit^^gpKet of the youthful en snarer nd I held up my head, and looked scornfully upon the smiling beaulies that would have given everything for my favor, and fondly believed myself invincible. "Phil,** said one of my college-mate*, cnteiing my room one glorious moonlight evening, "I'm going over to see my pretty cousin, fciielWj Montgomery, to night.? How would you like to go with me, ami have an introduction to the little l>eauty I" I I yawned lazily, and replied? "Well, I don't care much Al>out it, any I way. lint is she so handsome ax you tell of I" I suddenly asked. "Ye*, Eatelle is really handsome?at i leant I think she is," replied ny friend, the Mood Hushing into his Hne face. "Woll, I'll go and get an introduction, I and see if she is a? handsome an you rep- 1 resent," replied T, carelessly. An hour after, I stood with iny friend U|K?n the steps of Mr Montgomery's pretty cottage. We knocked, and were shown , into the parlor by a sweet little girl, who informed us that a sister Estelle was at home." "The door of the parlor soon opened, and a young girl, dressed in a beautiful blue silk dresa, stepped lightly into the room. I gazed at her face with unfeigned surprise, and thought she was, in truth, the loveliest girl that I hail ever met. I , faintly heard my friend's?"Philip, this is Misa Montgomery?Uotisin Estelle, this is my friend, Mr. Varney"?ami I rather awkwardly sustained my part of the in- i traduction. "Estelle was beautiful, and, I thought, most surpassingly lovely. She had rosy -.-.i i:.- i?? ? t??ciu ?uu n|"?, origin inKOI fy?, and ber brown hair fell in natural ringlet* to her waist. It was true she lacked all the i charms of truly intellectual and noble beauty, but I did not see that, then. "I remained at Mr. Montgomery's dor- , ing the evening, chatting gaily with ??telle, while her eldest sister, a fair girl of , eighteen, sat quietly conversing with my friend. When I left the house, I was madly, passionately, deeply in love. I saw that the impression I had made upon , Estelle was fsr from unfavorable; and I had strong hopes of winning the charming beauty for myself. i "Days and weeks passed on ; and almost every evening was passed at the house of Retells Ifontimmerv. T IavmI Retelle with all the passionate, enthusiastic fervency of a youthful and ardent mind, and I believed that she loved me ardently in return. I was never easy away from her?my studies were neglected?my pleasures unattended, and I gradually became moody, thogghiftil, and absent minded. My companions were unceasing in their endeavors to torment rue; I ooutd not meet one of them anywhere, but he w< uld smile, and say, "Well, Phil, bow ia Eatelle to-day f And this kind of ieasing, though it was all weH enough meant, did not very well pi ease me. "Weeks part, the term bad cjpeed, and the day bad arrived whew I wan to leave the town of L?.the scene of my soilage days, and?ErteOe. This was a sorrow sweet Estelle, and leave her behind me, to return to my home in a distant city. It was Friday eve?early the next moiningl was to leave in the cars for homo. It was a glorious moonlight evening; every tree, bush and flower was clad in a robe of rich, silvery light. I sat by the side of my beloved, in an arbor of her father's garden, with her little hand clasped in mine, her head bowed upon my shoulder, while with ray arm around her, I pressed her closely to my heart. "Dearest Estelle," said I, my voice choked with deep emotion, "I must leave you ?you will bo true to mo, will you not, dear Estelle 1" "I am yours till death, dearest Philip," murmured the young girl, sobbing bitter'y "I drew from my finger a beautiful diamond ring, and slipping it upon the finger of Estelle, I murmured ? "Wear this for my sake, dear Estelle ; and whenever you feel that you can love mono longer,send me this as a token that you are no more mine. If ever I receive this ring from you, I will release you from _ll - " an your ?ows to me." "O, dear Philip, how can you talk so ? you know my love will cease only with my life!" aobhed Estellc, with a fresh burst of tours. "For half an hour we sat silent, clasped in each other's arms, sobbing and weeping in uncontrolablc anguish. The inoon was going down in the west, and I felt that the parting hour had come. I strained her form closer to uoy bosom and murmured? "Dearest, dearest, Estellc, I must leave you I" "O, the agony of that moment, when we bade each other a tinal farewell. We renewed our pledges of constancy, and then, with one long embrac.-, I tore myself from her. I rushed to my room, and throwing myself upon my bed, I sobbed inyaeif to sleep. "I returned home, lonely and disconsolate. My homo had lost its charms for me; my heart was far away with my beautiful Kstelle. For a year wo correaI onded regularly. At first I thought Esteile's letters were the handsomest and sweetest I ever saw; but, as my passiona to love cooled, I began *o realize that iheie was not quite so much intellect in them as I had at first imagined. B"t still I loved her, passionately, madly wildly ; and looked eagerly forward to the time when I should call the be tutiful Eatelle Montgomery my bride. "A year had passed since I partes! with Estelle, and I was contemplating a visit to L?, to again meet my future bride. I was waiting for a letter from Estellc, hefore I weut, lor I had written her, inform ing her of my intention, and was iinpat'ent to know with what favor she received it. The letter came in due time, and it waa with a happy smile that I broke the seal of the delicate, snow-white envelope, and unfolded the snowy sheet. But it quickly vanished, as from the unfolded letter fell my diamond ring! With a I'outiteiiance pale as marble, I glanced at the letter ; it ran as follows: 44Mr. Varruy?Enclosed you will find your ring, which you placed upon my fing'-r a year since, when we parted, ami assured me if ever I sent that ring back to you, you would release me from all my vows to you, I know you well enough to believe that you will be true to your word. Respectfully Yours, Kstkli.k Montoombrt." "A month after, I saw in the newspapers, the notice of the marriage of a distinguished military officer, with the heartless Kstelle Montgomery ! So ended my firtl lovt. "My disappointment, after all, was not so great as I had expected it would be.? 1 didn't even break iny heart about it. 1 minglod freely in society, and within a month I laughed over my disappointment as gaily as any of my companions. Kstelle Montgomery and her perfidy were soon forgelten, and I was ready to fall in love again. A?| |t>ua nnur ninafoAn Is n ** ever, lively, intelligent, and fascinating in manners, and I knew welt, that in whatever society I mingled I should be a general favorite. Preparations were being made for a splendid ball on New YearV eve, and I, being fond of pleasure as any of them, engaged freely in the enterprise, and gave both time and moooy to it. I bad determined to go, and, if tt was possible, I was bound to have a glorious time. MNew Year's eve at length arrived; bright, clear, and splendid. I entered the ball-room at an early hoar, with a little blue-eyed fairy leaning confidingly on my arm, and blushing and smiling meet bewitchingly, as she heard the murmurs of applause from all parta of the already crowded room. I led her to a seat, and, as we did not then feel inclined to danee, I sat Hn>n Kw Km ai<U itul U tt* midst of lardy chef, when ft couple entered ftt tbe door, who instantly claimed my entire attention. The gentleman w n nothing more than ordinary ; but the lady ?it k impossible to describe her I I thought the, and I atil) think that she was toe mow iwauwai ewp?B t frtrem. "She waa dremed in anew-white satin, gliuerjng with jewels, while her magnHh oent men ringlets were bound back by a I , jflhfrmifii nrtfrjiiB black, large and brilliant, and their dark fire told of southern blood. But it is useless to attempt to describe her ; enough, that she was most brilliantly beautiful; and I fell in love with her at first sight. "Half an hour passed; when, as I was standing by ooe of the large windows, alone, gating out upon the star-gcinmed heavens, a hand was laid lightly upon iny arm, and turning, I beheld my friend, Frank Wilson, standing beside inc, with the stranger beauty leaning upon his arm. My heart leapt to niy throat?my brain whirled?and I was just conscious that Frank was introducing me to "Miss Amanda Sinclair, of Charleston, S. C." "By a great effort, I recovered my selfpossession, and drawing the arm of Miss Sinclair within my own, I led her to a seat, and sitting down by her side, I endeavored to draw her into conversation. She was a brilliant convener. Her mind was well cultivated, and she had read history, poetry, and philosophy, to a considerable extent, and conversed most fluently upon them all. I was charmed- fascinufn.l? thoroughly in love. The dancing commenced, and I secured her hand for the cotillion. She was a faultless mover ; and, as I led the beautiful southern girl to a seat after the dance was finished, I felt proud indeed of iny charming partner.? The hours flew on like moments until midnight, and, just as the first stroke of the midnight l?ell rang out upon the air, a silence as of death, suddenly settled down upon that brilliant assembly. The Old \ ear was gone?the New Year was rising in all its splendor! We scarcely breathed as we counted the strokes of the bell.? Clear and silvery they rang out upon the silent air?nine, ten, eleven?Fire% fire, fire ! rang a startling voice from another part of tho great, hall, and the Yiext instant, a cloud of smoke, folio wed by a flash of brilliant flame, burst into the raom. Everything was in the greatest confusion. Shrieks and scteams were mingled with shouts and curses; and every one, intent upon securing his own safety, rushed promiscuously to the crowded enlranco of the hall. Clasping the fainting Amanda tightly to iny bosom, I made iny way, as best I could, into the street, and was soon safe from the burning building.? Amanda soon regained her consciousness, and, as I paited with her at the door of her residence, I promised to call upon her the following day. "Days and weeks passed ; and it was currently reported in the higher circles of society, that Philip Varney and Amanda Sinclair were engaged. Though this w?? not a fact, still I w#s determined that it soon should bo so ; for I knew that the peerlesa Ainada was as deeply in love with me as I was with her. thouch as ret. the language of the eves only had spoken it. "It was a bright, glorious, Spring morning, and I had curled my hair in most beautiful style, and donned my beat coat with the intention of taking a walk with my beautiful Amanda. I had made up my mind to "pop the question" that morning ; and my hand trembled visibly as I opened the door and entered, as was my custom of late, without ringing. The parlor door was a jar, and I softly entered. There was uo one in the room, but the folding doors were about half opened, and I could plainly hear voices from the inner parlor. I started back in surprise, but something seemed to chain me to the spot, and I could not but listen. "Stop your crying, you little brat!" spoke up the voice of Amanda, though in a far different key from what I had ever before heard it, as sho stamped her little foot angrily upon the carpeted floor. The little girl whom she had addressed, still continued sobbing, though it was evident that .she restrained herself as much as possible. "I say,stop your noise!" again exclaimed Mia* Amanda, th;s time in a higher key than before. "What's the use of your making such a fuss about a broken doll! I don't care if I did break it, now you make such a rumpus about it." "But, ma'am," sobbod the little girl, uiv uuii wnn iiiwuici juh before she died, end I can't help?" ' Stop!" creamed Mite Sinclair, in a terrible voice, "If yon don't hut up, and stop yoor crying entirely, I'll knock your head off." "My ere* were opened to the true character of Amanda Sinclair. Much m I had loved her, and often as I had pronounced her fanltlesa, I now shrank with horror from one who could give way to temper aa she had done. But I had little time to reflect much, for the folding doors were thrown hastily open, and Amanda herself appeared. Her flushed eheeks Itecame pale as marble, the expression of anger gave place to one of shame and despair, nnd endeavoring to force a smile, she said, "Excuse me, Mr. Varney?I was not aware that you were present." Bowing with ootd politeness, t replied? "I know yon wee not aware of it, Mies 8indatr, and I am thankftil you was not, as the circumstance has shown me your true character. Henceforth, we are ae strangers. Uood morning." And taking my hat, I left the boeea, a wiser, if not a happier man. I never sew Amanda after that; she left far the South immediately, and 1 afterwards learned, be eaaa the wile of a plantar. I don't envy ...... ..... uo^iucs) niui ni? uvHuuiui urme, if she is what she was thirty years ago. Two years passed away ; most of this time I spent at college, busily engaged in studying my Greek and Latin, and determining to have nothing more to do with the girls. Many tried to captivate me with their chartns, but none succeeded, and I thought myself invincible to Cupid's darts. After having finished my college studies, I returned again to my city home.? Balls and parties were given by manoeuvering and ambitious mothers, in honor of my return, and beautiful and fascinating (laughters tried all their arts to entrap me, but in vain. But I was determined not .? k.. ??1.? 1 -e i - v.? isk bnu^ih, nnu 01 wiiju worm my determination was you shall soon see. It was a bright cold winter's evening. I had been invited to a party out at Mrs. Lenox's, and having nothing else to do, I finally concluded to go. It was a select party, yet rather a largo one, for Mrs. Lenox's parlors were well filled when I arrived. As I entered, a ringing peal of the most silvery laughter I ever heard struck upon ray ear, and instantly aroused ray curiosity to see the one from wh< m it proceed e? "Ah. Mr. Varney, you've come at last,' smilingly said my hostess, as she approached me and slipped her arm within mine; 'I've been figctting this half hour f r fear you wouldn't come. There's another !>eauty here to night ihat you haven't seen yet?Miss Jessie Irving, the most charm- I ing girl, I'll be bound, that vou ever met. Ooine, Mr. Varney, I want to introduce you to her." In a few moments I found myself sitting by the side of Miss Irving, and chatting with her with all the freedom of an old friend. She was a perfect little spite, that girl won, -with an inoxhauotibla fund of wit and sarcasm, and a faculty of doing and saying things in the drollest and most comical manner ; it was no wonder that she fascinated every one she met. A train of admirers always followed her, and these she kept in a continual roar of laughter by her brilliant sallies of wit and keen, cutting sarcasm. Some ono had taken the trouble to inform her that I was very wealthy, and decidedly one of the best matches in the city, and consequently she did her best to ensnare me in the toils of passion. And she was successful ; for, before I left the house that night. I was again deeply, passionately in love. The wit and beauty of Jessie living had en- I snared my heart, and I was determined. I if possible, to woo and win I er. By the aid of Mrs. Lenox, I ascertained the residence of Jessie, and caller! upon her. She was even more charming and fascinating than beforo. She was in the best of spirits, and after entertaining me for some time with her lively conversation, she sat down at the piano, and played and sang several beautiful pieces. She was a charming singer, and as I hung over her, and turned over the leaves of the music, and listened to the rich tones of her silvery voice, I felt that Jessie Irving was indeed the realization of the ideal that I had so long cherished in my heart. My only real happiness now was found in the society of Jessie Irving. Though she somotiines turned her cutting sarcasms upon me, and caused the laughter of (he company to be directed to me, still she was so charming, so facinating, that I could not but forgive her, and love her all the more madly for it. i wo montns passed thus, and I had determined to open my heart to Jessie upon the first favorable opportunity, and receive from her an affirmative or negative answer to my proposal. 'It was a still, cloudy evening, when, for the third time that week, I entered the parlor of Mr. Irving to spend the evening with Jessie. Mv heart beat with unusual quickness as I discovered that she was alone. Now, thought I, is my time; I'll known before I leave, whether Jessie will be my wife or not Jessie seemed gayer and merrier than ever. She chatted and aang, and laughed and played, until it waa near nine o'clock, when, all in a moment ahe ace mod to relapse into a more thoughtful mood. I noticed it, and gently taking her hand, aaid? 'Jessie, dear, what ia the matter?' 'Nothing,' replied the, without raising her head. 'Jessie,' I exclaimed, throwing myself at her feet snd clasping her hand passionately, 'I?I can't help it?I must?I say? I?the fact is. Jessie I Intra vnnt' 1 felt as if a stone weight had been removed from my heart. There was no reply, and I went on? ,Dearest Jessie, I love you passionately devotedly, madly. I shall die if I am deprived ik your blessed society. I can't live without you. Dearest Jessie will you be minef Still there was no reply. Only one word, dear Jessie, say only one word, that I may know I shall yet be KaupyF I exclaimed in the agony of suspense. . "Dear Philip?there is something? your?the?"she hesitated. What, dearestI" I asked, tenderly. "Your?the?the?your?" "Say on, densest Jessie," said I, with nervous anxiety. "T1n??the?your bosom frill te smash ed down on one side!" exclaimed Jessie, and, an instant after, a ringing peal of / .^h j i * i ? laughter echoed through the room. e I sprang to itiy feet. My cheeks flush- o od with a burning blush. It was too much T eyen from her, at that moment. Anoth- n: er violent peal of laughter rang from her h cherry lips, and I, maddened by her u strange behavior, picked up my hat, and A rushed from the house. I could have for* w given it at anj other time, and upon any h other subject?but this was impossible. n< I received a noto from Jessie, the next N day, begging my pardon for her thought- p less conduct, and expressing a hope that rc I would forgive her. But I was determined ; and enclosing her note in an envel- ope, I sent it back to her. She had tri- ?? fled with mo in too serious a manner, and A I was determined neither to forget or for- h give it. That she really loved me, I do b not doubt. The blow fell heavily upon b her, anil I have good reason to believe, ti cured her entirely of her habit of trifling w with important matters. She married a n. poor but worthy man, and now takes in tt washing ad ' ironing to support her large tl family. A year passed on. I was twenty-two. 131 I had become head clerk in one of the largest mercantile houses in my native *3 | city; for, wealthy as I was, I preferred 8< spending my time in tome useful employment, to lounging the streets and doing nothing. Among my many friends, was a a young artist of great promise, whose ? studio I often visited, for 1 was as much a lover of art as himself. His pictures al- 81 ways won a large share of my admira- ,r' tion; for, besides being remarkable for their purely classic beauty, they were invariably true to life. "I have a beautiful picture to show you, Phil'said my artist-friend, as I entered his o| studio, one fine day, about a year after my parting with Jessie Irving, 'it is, in my fti [ opinion, tho loveliest portrait I have ever . drawn." "Is it from life 1" I asked, with some in- tj terest. "Yes,' replied my friend, lifting a cur- ^ tain and taking down a framed picture, and placing it before me. "Do you not think it !>cautiful I was too much absorbed to answer.? C( It was Iteautiful, most wonderfully so. The j countenance had not the dark, haughty, n magnificent beauty of Amanda Sinclair, s( but it was far moro bewitching! Eyes of a liquid, dreamy hazel, but yet brilliant in their expressive softness, gazed smilingly out from beneath most beautilully curved, v arching eyebrows, while the long eye-lash ^ es that slwtded them were of a rich brown. ]j Her auburn hair fell in natural ringlets |c over her alabaster shoulders, and her softly rounded cheeks, and beautifully chiselled lips were tinged with the richest vermilliou aj The lips were half parted with a bewitch- |0 ing smile; and the whole countenance w was so perfectly lovely, that I could not pf help falling in love with it immediately. I A -it t ? i r * .1 finuur, saiu i, -i* mis your picture!' 'Ye#,' was the reply. a 'Will you sell it to me!'I aslced, ea- ^ g?r|y- , , 01 'I oannot,' replied lie, 'for I have promised it to my sister.' -{ I was disappointed. gj; 'Do you know the name of the lady!' I asked. 50 'I do not,' was his reply. From that hour my only thoughts were m to discover the original of the picture that u. had so facinated me. I went to all the parties, balls, levees, li| lectures and everything else, with the hope a of getting a sigh of her. But all was useless; and I almost despaired of ever meet- p; ing her. I grew thin and pale; my health fl< failed, and my friends prophesied that I p] should die of consumption within a year, re ifsome relief was not procured. rc Physicians were consulted, but they did a me no good; and, as a last resort, it was hi recomended that I should travel. I cared ti< nothing about it, myself; but, hoping that I I might discover the beantiful unknown vi whom 1 so madly loved, I readily agreed a' to the proposal. tl j For a month I travelled, without seeing a] anything very strange, or improving my U health and spirits to any great degree. I was in New Orleans, and as it was the |< last evening I was to spend there, I con- n eluded to accept the invitation of a friend, F and spend it in visiting a cousin of his. h It was one of those glorious autumn |< evenings, that are so enchanting to the ei traveller in the South ; and vale, hill plain n< an/1 /1|!i? sAamA/1 all \va?l*A/l tn a of I V. VIVJ , OWIIIIAI nil VAV11VU IU IIUWI VI 1JI the richest ailvery moonlight. I could not ol but enjoy the scene; end I really sighed w when our walk was ended,-and we stood n at the door of Mrs. Forester's mansion. t| "Young missus will be in in a jiffy,"? |, said the negro servant as he ushered us into the splendid parlor. For a moment * we sat silent, when the door opened sud- n denly, and before me stood, radient in all t the splendor of her peerless beauty?the n original of the artitrt picture. <j "I did not hear mt friend's?"Mna Al- % line Forrester, Mr. Fiiilip Varney," but fii- f ing upon the maiden one long gaze, in Y which my whole soul was poured forth, I I fell insensible to the floor. When f again t returned to consciousness, I was lying up- s on the sofia ; while beside me knelt Alline h Forrester, bathing my heated brow with c LAml'4 Gofantt. With those melting eyes 1Y looking into tnj own I Tbo conquest t | wu Bnufced?I lotod b?r despor than ? 1 or " 1 '{ llj feinting ?N MMMMcd " '*** 4"': ' xcitement of meeting a stranger ; and no ne thought of laying it to the real canse, lie evening passed away like a dream td le?and when I returned to my hotel, I ad determined not to leave New Orleans ntil I had gained the heart and hand of lline Forrester. A month passed?and ith all the impetuosity of my nature, I a I declared tny love to Alline, and was ow her accepted lover. I was happy? fbthing was now wanting to complete the icturo ol bliss that I had drawn in my own lind, for the future. But it was time for me to return home -and before another week had passed, I lust leave New Orlears and my beautiful .lline behind, and return to the North. I ad endeavored to persuade her to be my ride immediately, and return with roe ; ut she was firm in her refusal, saying lint she could not live at the North?that 'hen she wedded, her husband must reiain at the South. So I prepared to relrn to fny Northern home; and after scting up my business, return to the South ad claim the lovely Alline Forrester as iv bride. It was Christmas eve, and all the beau7 and chivalry of New Orleans were asJinbled at the nnhle mnnninn rtf the fir.* rnor of Louisiana, for a splendid levee.? with ray peerless Alline leaning upon my rm, entered tho crowded saloon at rathr a late hour ; hut as we entered, the usy hum of voices for a moment ceased, nd was again resumed in gay conaplilents to Alline and myself. I was proud r my charming partner, and well I might e. An hour passed?I had danced several mes with Alline, and then according to istom, had given up her hand to others P her friends, while I chose another patter from among the gay group of beautitl belles. The dance was finished, and I ad led my partner to a seat; and as I'felt catcd and excited, 1 approacnea one vf le large windows that nad been thrown pen, and sat down beside it. The heavy >lds of tho curtain concealed me from iew, and a few moments after I had st at(1 myself, I was aroused from my reverio y the sound of voices, in low but earnest cmversation. I started?I turned pale as recognized one of them to be that of ty affianced bride?Alline Forrester. I :etred chained to the spot?I could not ut listen to every word. "Alline," said her companion, M dearest ill ne, you know I love you madly?deotedly; and why is it you are continually muring me by allowing the world to beeve you are engaged to that northern fel?w ? Alline, you will kill me ! " "My dear Edward," replied Alline, in er softest and mast loving tones, "you are together too jealous?you know I do not vs Philip Varney. I am only fiirting ith him for ray own amusement, and to isa awav tho dull monotony of this city fc. But he is going North in a day or vo, and after he is gone, I will send him letter, telling him tnat what has passed etween us must all be forgotter, as 1 was aly in fun." "Passed between you !" exclaimed the >ung man ; "oh, Alline, it cannot be poe ble that you have told him you lore him!" "Why, yea, I said something of that >rt," said Alline, with a light laugb. "Ob, Alline, Alline ! "cried the young an, in a tone of the deepest anguish j? rou are a lreartlesa coquette. And mugh I lore you better than I lore my fe, I cannot but own that you are almost demon in human shape. "I waited to hear no more. With cheeks tie as ashes, I fled from the saloon, and sw rather than walked, to my boirdihgace. Then, after packing everything m ladiness to start for home on the roor>w, I sat down at my desk and penned long letter to Alline Forrester. I told er that I had ov?rheard that con versa on, and that I knew her real character, told her that I considered all our solemn ows to be henceforth void?for she had Iready broken them. I told her that rough I loved her as deeply as ever, I rould never see her again, and bade her newell forever. With a heart now dead to all earthly >ve and happiness, I returned to my orthern home. I had really loved Alline viivoioi ?uu nv?f vtinn chic imu erself unworthy, I. felt that I could never >ve Again. I had believed her to be evry thing tliat wm pure and lovely?and ow that I knew ?A* waa one of the moat cartlesa of coquettea, I gave up all hope r ever finding one who would be what I) ished my wtfe to be?a true, loving wotan, who would ever be a kind and gene friend?a sharer of my joy*, and a eoM*r of ny woea I I waa now tw 2nty-fire?~ wealthy, handt>me and talented; and act a tew maneuvering mother* and ambition* daughers, nought to draw me into the bond* of n Urimony. But It waa now firmly dedled that if ever I marvapl at all, I never rould wed a beautiful woman. I now sltxonvinoed is my own mind, that a ?autiful girl rarely, if evar poaaewed a MHliful mind. WidiMit thk 1. ?./ ii h?re could b? no tn?? Wtttj. 1 roi*hipp?d W^r^hut UJa^t^ptoirod t?, 3%*" c5f tf1