Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, February 17, 1859, Image 1
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sam'lw.melton,eaitor. I An indeDendent Journal: For the Promotion of-tie Political, Social, Agriculturaland Commercial Interests of the South. j#2peeahjhtji,ihadvabcb.
LEWIfif M. GBIST, Proprietor. J " f 1 ' .___ ._ _ ._ >_.
V0L. 5. ^7^^ " :~ YOBKYILIE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBRUAEY17,1859. . . . 3STO. 7.
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TV KITTEN FOR THE TORKVlLLE ENQUIRER.
LOVE; .
GK, . OLD
HEADS AND YOUNG HEAETS.
BY A CHARLESTOXIAN.
CHAPTER II.
'Disappointed again !' exclaimed Charles
Evinston; as he impatiently dashed a letter
upon his marble-top table, and threw his
oigar into the fire. When will I learn wisdom
? When frill I cease to make a fool of.
myself by subjecting myself to such mortification.
Ida need not hare showb my letter to
that old moth-eaten Underdonk, neither was
there any necessity on his .part, of treating
my advances with such marked disrespect,'
'Gemrnun at the dough, massa,' said a
servant boy, entering the room,
'Gentleman at the door??this is unfortunate
V
'No suh; dat aint the gemraan's name,'
said the negro. . .
'Who said it was ??you imp of thunder!'
said Evinston, throwing an inkstand at the
astonished negro's head.
Aristotle?such was the negro's classic
cognomen?managed to catch the inkstand
in his hands \ not, however, before his shirt
bosom had become as black as bis face by
the-dark liquor. , - ,
'Who is the gentleman at the door ?' asked
Evinston.
'Mr. Marlton, suh,' replied Aristotle wiping
the ink from his bosom. -
- - ? ? i
'Marlton I?show him up at once saia
Evinstoo, with animation.'
Aristotle bowed, and made his exit.
'Just the very man, above all others, that
I would like to have a little chat with at
present. Ah ! Marlton, walk in, my dear
fellow! I really atu glad to see you,' said
Evinston, as Marlton entered the room.
'Do you usually manifest your joy at the
arrival of a visitor, by keeping him in the
sun for an hour before you admit him ?'
asked Marlton, with mock seriousness.
'And do you generally make known your
arrival to a friend, by asking impertinent
questions?' rejoined Evinston, laughing.
'Joking aside, Evinston,' said Marlton, 'I
have paid you this visit for no other purpose
under heaven, than to communicate some
-facts to you, and obtain your advice as to
my action in a very important matter.'
You certainly do not mean what you say V
said Evinston, much surprised.
'I was never more in earnest,' replied
Marlton, soberly.
'Pray proceed, my dear fellow/ said Evinston.
'Can our conversation be overheard ?'
'You have grown very serious, Marlton/
said Evinston, lighting a fresh cigar.
'I do net wish to have a listener to what
I have to communicate/ said Marlton. 'By
the way, Evinston, who is that sable individual
in yonder corner ?'
'Aristotle?my servant/ replied Evinston. |
'Well, I caa very readily dispense with
his services/
'Aristotle !?avaant, and quit my sight,'
continued Marlton, waving his hand authoritatively,
and striking an attitude which
Aristotle did not seem to appreciate.
Aristotle 'made tracks'?to use a vulgarism1?or,
in language equally dignified, 'he
made himself scarce.'
'Is there no danger of being overheard ?'
asked Marlton.
'None in the least?pray proceed/ replied
Evinston.
'Unfortunate wretch that I am f I'm engaged
to be married !' said Marlton.
'Pshaw! is that ail you have to tell me P
asked Evinston, laughing.
'No, Evinccon, I have more to communicate.'
'Proceed then,' said Evinston.
'The lady to whom I am engaged, is one
that I never seen, and about whom I actually
know nothing/ said Marlton.
'I do not understand you?pray proceed/
said Evinston.
'You know,' continued Marlton, 'that I
am my father's oldest sod, and that he is
.. rvncltinn ill life ?i
UUAIUU3 auuut Uiy lUbUiC ^VOIUVU iu *??V.
About a year ago, he told me of an exceedingly
accomplished and wealthy youog
lady, whom he was desirous that I should
marry. Caring more for wealth and position,
at that time, than I did for love, I gave my
father to understand, that I was perfectly
willing to marry any lady whom he might
choose, provided her consent could be gained.
< About three months after this conversation
had taken place, I accidentally saw, became
acquainted with, and loyed desperately,
a beautiful ycubg lady now living in Abbeville.
Shortly after this, my father.told me
that he had chosen a wife for me, and that the
guardian of the youDg lady had expressed
himself pleased with the proposed match.?
I immediately informed my father, that
I had already made my choice, and therefore
could Dot accept of another. He became
very angry upoo hearing this, alluded
to my former promise to acoede to his wishes,
and finally .threatened to disinherit me if I
persisted in my own choice. You know,
EviD6ton, that it is not very pleasant to
disobey a kind and indulgent parent, neither
is it a small matter to subject ourself to absolute
poverty for the sake of the woman
he may love. " I thought much of this unfortunate
affair, and have finally made up
my mind to pay a visit to the young lady that
has been ebosen for me, and make a candid
statement of facts to her, relative to my
preference and Jove for another.'
'But even supposing that she releases you
from the engag'ement-t-would that make any
difference as far us your inheritance is carlcerned?'
asked Evinston.
'I fear not; for "if father should hear of
the part I have taken in the matter, he will
be very wroth.'
'"Well, Marlton, how do you know but,
what you may love the lady which your father
has chosen for you P asked Evinston.
'But I am already in love,' replied MarltOD.
'Does the lady of your choice return your
love.' .' .
That I do not know,' replied MarltoQ,
'Then take my advice,' said Evinston,
and make yourself acquainted with the lady
of your father's choice. Visit her at once,
and endeavor to learn somewhat of her
character and disposition; and if you have
reasons for believing that she loves you, and
is worthy of your affections, I am confident
that you will have no hesitation in oomplyiDg
with your father's wishes, and making
her your laride.'
'I tell you calmly and dispassionately, that
I am already in love with another,' replied
Marlton.
'You. cannot marry both, Marlton.' <
<T know that very well, Evinston; and Ido
not intend to make tho slightest effort in
that direction.'
'How oftea have you seen the young lady
whom you love so much ?' asked Evinston.
Once only,' replied Marlton.
'Love at first sight!?that's ludicrously
absurd !' said EviostoD, laughing.
. 'In some people's estimation,' said Marlton,
somewhat sarcastically, 'everything,
which is above their comprehension, savors
of absurdity'
What is her position in society?' asked
Evinston.
'Do not know,' replied Marlton.
'What is her name?'
'Eva,' replied Marlton.
fEva what ?' *
?Do not know?she never told me her
family name,' replied Marlton. v
'Hear it, ye Gods !' replied Evinston,
laughing.
o O j
'Evinston,' said Marlton, reprovingly, 'it
is, at least, very bad taste in you, to make a
friend's misfortunes the basis of ridicule.'
'Indeed, my dear fellow, jou much mis
* J
take me, n you suppose me to De mmrenceu
by any such, motive,' replied Evinston.?
'You tell me,' he continued, 'that you are
desperately in love with a young lady, whom
you have seen but once, and whose very
name you do not knowr Under these circumstances,
I cannot see any impropriety
in your visiting the lady whom your father
has chosen for you?you may love her mqch
more than Eva, after, all.'
'From all that I have heard of Ida Walter?
Ida Walter!?what of her ?' asked Evinston,
with emotion.
What of her ?why, Evinston, she is
the lady whom father has chosen as my wife,'
said Marlton.
. Tour wife!?I thought, that?that?.'
'Why what is the matter now?' asked
MarlUm.
Nothing at all?little surprised?that's
all,' replied Evinston, rising, and pacing the
room.
'Do you know Ida?' asked Marlton.
Partially,' replied Evinston.
Is she pretty?'
Very.'
'Engaging in her manners?'
'Quite,' replied Evinston. .
Then, I shall certainly call upon her,
and follow your advice, in my conduct,
while under her guardian's roof. As you
have said, I may possibly love her better
than Eva, after all.'
'God forbid!' exclaimed Evinston, reverently,
and with much emotion.
'My, dear friend,' said Marlton, "did you
not advise me to do so?'
'Marlton, I?excuse me?.'
'Why, Evinston ! what ails you, man ?'
asked Marlton.
vr . ? . 1 ... Tie* - T T I
'l'ou must not enaeavor to win iuiss xaa s
affections?promise me that you will not!?
nay, sicear it!' said-Evins'ton, much excited.
'"Why, Evinston, you certainly musfc.be
aware, that you are making yourself appear
in a very ridiculous light. Awhile ago you
accused me of folly in loving Eva, and advised
me with apparent sincerity, to transfer
my affeetions to the youne lady, whom my
father has chosen for me. The very mo ment,
that you perceive that your advice, is
about to be followed by me, you urge me
to swear that I will take no heed thereto
?what (Jo you mean V
'I confess, Marlton, that I am justly accused
of apparent inconsistency,' replied
Evinston, 'and in justice to myself, I can
only say, that I did not suppose for a moment
that Ida Walter was the person to
whom you alluded, when .speaking of your
father's choice.'
'Then you have been advising in the dark,
eh?*
'I certainly have been, Marlton. Had I
been aware, that Ida Walter was tfie young
lady of whom you spoke, I could not have
honestly given tbc advice which I have/ re-1
plied Evinston.
- "'But why, (seeing the advice has been '
given) should I not act in accordance with
it V asked 'Marlton.
'Because of existing reasons/ replied
Eviuston.
Evinston,' said Marltot, we are no Ion-'
ger children that we should thus play with
each other. If there is anything against the
character.of Miss Ida, which would render
our union impracticable, T charge you, as a
frieDd aDd man of honor to give me the
benefit of your knowledge.'
'My dear Marlton there is nothing in the
character of Ida^ but that which dignifies
and'exalts its possessor and makes her akin
to anerel and unfallen spirit. She is every
'
way worthy of you, and the gift of 6U3h a
heart would amply compensate you for the
loss of earthy treasures, and neutralize even
the unutterable agonies of perdition.'
. 'Rather overdrawn, Evinston,' said Marlton,
smiling at the earnest manner of his
friend; 'but if there are no objections tc the
young lady's character, why should I not
marry her?'
'Because you do not love her,' replied
Evinston. 'But,
you know, we are not yet acquainted
with each other. I may love her at first
sight.' - - . 'But
she -may not love you?what then ?':
said Evinston.
'May net! Suppose we allowed ourselves
to be influenced by cToubt in the ordlbary
pursuits of life?what would become of us?
'Believe me, Evinston,' continued Marl-'
ton, 'we have no manner of right to make
use of those' words in reference to any acquisition
in life. The best policy, in alt
our urrderlakiogs, is first to ascertain whether
what wo are desirous of possessing is worthy
of. the effort. This matter once settled,
we should put our shoulder to the wheel in
downright earnest, and test the practicability
of the acquisition not by the labor expended,
but by the value of the end which we
propose to accomplish. ,
<Tou remark, that Ida may -not lave me;
but that expresses a doubt which is not based
upon reasoD. I am?pardon my seeming
vanity?a handsome looking fellow, some-,
what posted in all the refinements and accomplishments
of the day, and of an excellent
oharacter and disposition. Ida has seen
very little of the world, has associated very
little .with any ofour sex, unless you mention
her guardain, who, by the way, is a rather
poor representative of 'the lords of creation.'
Now, do you suppose, Evinston, that a young
lady, who has been closeted all her life with
an old moth-eaten bachelor, the glance of
whose eye would curdle a bowl of milk?do
you suppose, I ask, that she could not be
very likely to give oncouragement to the advances
of an honorable, handsome and wellbehaved
young man, who sought her love,
with a backer of about forty-thousand dollars?
"
Suppose that in addition to all this, such
a youDg gentleman has all the influence of
her guardian enlisted iu his behalf?what
folly would you not pronounce him guilty
of, if he calmly folded his arms in 'masterly
inactivity,' and in the exhuberancc of his
slothfulucss, exclaim, 'sJic may not love vie!'
?If I allowed such ideas to influence my
course of conduct, or to mould my opinions,
why may I not flee from your preeenee this
moment, for fear that you may iot be ray
friend, or may not be altogether without
design upon my life!'
'Is not a reasonable degree of caution necessary
to every man's best interest?' asked
Evinston.
'A caution based upon wisdom, and knowledge
of the world, is necessary ; but that
which springs from distrust, suspicion or ignorance,
regarding man and things, does not
add much dignity to any man, or contribute
to his interest,' replied Marlton.
'Then you think, that Ida will love you V \
asked Evinston, anxious to turn the drift of
the conversation.
<1 fear that she will,' said Marlton, ma-1
singly.
'Fear it! 'Pon my word, Marlton, you are
an exceedingly odd fellow !' said Evinston. I
'It is perfectly natural, that I should thus
express myself/ said Marlton.
<Fear to win the love of so pure a being
as Ida Walter !' exclaimed Evinston in surprise.
'Only because I cannot return thfrfc love/
said Marlton.
'Marlton, I repeat, that you are an exceedinyly
odd fellow!' said Evinstoq.
'How so?'
You said but a moment ago that, you
were well satisfied that Ida would love you,
and that you intended to make an effort to
love her?at least, such was my understanding
of your remark.'
'Then it is very evident that we misun1
- * J -1- ~ A !*.<% AM J T tvtiioA Anfor infn
aerstana euuu utuci, auu jl luuou uuki
" an explanation,' said Marlton.
'I told you, first of all,' continued Marlton,
'that Ida Walter was chosen for me by
my father?that I loved another. You advised
me to abide by my father's choice?
I, at first, refused to do so, but afterwards
determined to consider your advice. I had
no sooner come to this conclusion, than you
changed your tactics entirely and advised
me not to take your advice?you stated, that
,you did not know the name of the lady
whom my father had chosen or you would
not have given the advioe?you told me
i that, after all, she may not love rae?I told
you what I thougbtfabout that matter, and
thus ends the chapter/
'Very well, let me explain myself now,
and then you will understand me,' said
Evinston.
i 'About four months ago I accidentally
met Miss Ida Walter at Glenn Springs.?
Her guardian?Mr. Underdonk?being an
old, an^ very particular friend of mine, introduced
me to her. I was struck with her
! singular beauty the moment I looked upon
; her; but when she 05aversed with me with
lirnfi LLLujummiL.
an easy grace and fluency, and dropped, as
it We're, such diamonds and jjearls from her
'lips, I felt myself attracted towards hef with
more than ordinary power. 'Her modesty
threw a soft light upon her charms of person
and mind, and rendered herJalmost irresistibly
lovely to my eyes. 'Most of her time
was spent in my society, and you cao>ery
readily imagine the consequenccsto my heart.
<1 "had no realizing consciousness of my
love for Ida Until I saw her depart, ?nd felt
aesurod that I should nee her no more.?
Then, indeed, did I fee! how entirely dependent
I was upon her for my happiness in
thfs life.'
'You don't mean to sav"that you aro. in
love with her !' said Marlfen, somewhat surprised.
-4 ' .
/ri '? a I. - } 12
'J.nai is precisely me -vase, luuotou, sum
EviD6tOll.
Well!?how strange ! Pray proceed/
<1 do sooner found myself in Jove with
Ida, than I determined to reason myself-out
of it. Yon know, Marlton, how I detest all
that stuff and nonsense, called romance, affinity
of souls, cupid love, congeniality of
sentiment, and such like.'
'You only think so,' said Marlton smiling.
<1 know so?but let me continue what I
was saying. - ' *. -
'I packed my trunk, the day after Ida returned
to Charleston, and made tracks for
Union, where .*
<Rail-Toad tracks, I hope; for we want
them bad enough,' said Marltcn.
'Marlton," said Evinston, <1 insist upon
your remaining quiet for a few moments, or,
like your rail-road, I will be obliged" to go
over the whole track before I can come to
the end.'
'Well, go on,' said Marlton, smiling, 't
only hope, that you may get ever your love
affair, as well as we are getting over our
road.'
. 'As I was saying,' continued Evinston,
'I went to Union; and the very first thing I
did there, was to call upon a friend of nyne,
who had been married about four years.?
Having remained with him about a jmonth,
I succeeded in my efforts to discover, the
foflv of married life, after which I went to
Greenville.'
'What do you mean by the follies of married
life ?' asked Marlton.
'Why, my friend asked his wife for a little
more sugar in his tea, when to his discomfort
and my astonishment, the beloved
of bis bosom, actually threw the sugar dish
at his head.'
'Evinston you Are a hard case,' said Marlton,
laughing. .?* ., .
'The very same day,' said Evinston, <my
friend insisted upon my taking his little two
year old upon my knee. The little driveller
experimented upon the practicability of
sticking bis fingers in my eyes, pulling my
nose, and extracting sundry hairs from my
much prized moustache. Not satisfied with
this, 'mamma's eetle darling, sugar-plumboy,'
actually wiped his fingers upon my
shirt-bosom, and jumped into my best beaver
hat?Knox's best!'
'What a scene for a painter you must have
been !' Baid Marlton, much amused. 'Why,
my dear fellow, you do not Beem to be fond
of babies.'
'Fond of babies!?take a good look at
me, and then tell me as an honest man if I.
look like a nurse P
'I hardly think, that you could obtain a
situation in that very interesting capacity,'
said Marltcn, smiling.
?I despise !?hate!?
'Stop, Evinston,'said Marlton, ,:ancL consider
the meaning of those harsh words, and
then think, how foolish it is to apply them
I to an innocent babe. If you are fond of
dowers, do not endeavor to discourage that
fondness because there are thorns among the
the roses. A skillful hand can gather these
'without a scratch.'
'I suppose, then, that my friend's infant
'is a rofee-bnd; and certainly I mnst have been
unskillful in his management; for my bands
are literally torn with a rascally pi?thorn,'
said Evinston.
'Well, we are not talking about babies
now, but Ida Walter,' said Marlton.
'Well,' said Evintton, 'I remained sometime
in Greenville and among the neighboring
mountains, endeavoring to drive all
thoughts of Ida from my mind. I afterwards
returned to Spartanburg, where a judicious
friend loaned me a copy of Ovid's
'Remedy of Love;' but, as that poet very
truly observes,
Cures have their times: the best that can bo tried
Enflame the wound, unseasonably applied.'
'Ovid did me no good, so I just settled
down into a kind of 'masterly inactivity,'but
found my love for Ida rather on the increase
than otherwise.
'I finally made up my mind that Ovid
was wrong, and that the best remedy for love,
was to write to the object beloved, and receive
a firm refusal mingled with sprinklings
of ridieale and sarcasm.'
'A most decided remedy!' said Marlton,
laughing.
'Well,' continued Evinston, <1 did write
to her, and instead of receiving a reply, she
merely returned my letter, and Underdonk
wrote a few words on the margin.'
'What were those words?' asked Marlton.
'Here they are,' said Evinston, taking the
letter from the table. 'I will read them to
you:
'Mr. Cbirles Evinston is very politely requested
to make this letter his last, as oiroumstauces render
it highly injudicious for Miss Walter to encourage
a written corresponder.ce with any gentleman.'
'Aint liat foine?'
'Did Underdonk write that ?' asked Marlton.
'Here is his signature,' said Evinston.
'There is no doubt about that,' said Marlton,
examining the signature, 'but this
should net discourage you. Depend upor
it, Jda never saw your letter at all.'
<It matters not now,' said Evinston.
'Why :aot?' asked Marlton.
'You have the strongest claim upon hei
affections?she is your betrothed^ said Eviuston.
'No such thing, Evinstoh; for you really
It now, and love Ida, -while I lore another. 1
Uaten to me: I will visit Miss Ida, and
ascertain if "She loveS you.. If she does, we'
can make'out arrangetnents accordingly.' ' * :
'But she will not be likely-to tell yoU'
(hat!' said Evioston.
'Then I shall ask ber if she loves me*'
'Suppose she says, that 'she dods?what
then ?' asked Evinston.
She -will say no such thiDg,' replied Marlton,
for that would be a., most deliberate
falsehood. She has never seen me, never
heard from me ; and the very fact, that she
is not allowed her own choice irthe.se!ection? of
a bnsband, leads me to believe, that she
would very cooly give me the sack, if I were
not too well aoquainted with human, nature,
to give her the opportunity.
'You know very well, Evinston, that the
chances are in your favor; for whether Ida
cared for you before or not, she will most
assuredly love you now, simply because.fberc
ars obstacles in the-way., Depend upon it,
you.will find 'that Underdonk bas made.a
great mistake in acting as he has done; and
that as soon as Ida finds out that your letter
has been returned, her curiosity will become
.aroused, she will suspect ber guardian and
myself of unfair dealings, and then?you
will see.' ... ..
'But, Marlton,'said Evinston,-'you cannot
expect me'to press my. suit, when I know
that my success would only result in your
/unbappiness.'
-'I assure you, that you are altogether mistaken/
said Marlton.
'Will not your father disinherit you if you
refuse to marry Ida Walter?'
'Suppose she refuses me?what then?'
said Marlton.
?But8he will not,' said Evinston. * 'Evinston,
if I were a betting nfan, I would
not hesitate to stake my fortune against your
cigar, that Idd Walter will not accept of my
hand in marriage.- I shall put myself to-,
considerable trouble to bring sUqh a'state of
thifigs about, if you will promise me to presS^
your suit in the meantime.'
'Agreed l?bnt how about'yout sweetheart?'
'You must use your Influence in my be:.
half, and obtain her consent to our mar*
riage/ said'Marl,ton'.
'But, my dear fellow,' said Evinston, <hpw
ia fViat nnscihtp sinno T Vnnwn nnffitntr
the yonnglady?'' " "
'Neither do I know.anythirfg of Ida "Walter;
and jet, I promise jou, that she shall
be yours,' said Marlton.
?-13ut how am I to act V asked Evinston.
'According to future instructions?I must
call upon Ida first, however,' said MstI-'
ton. 'This is Monday,' he contiued; 'so
you need not expect to hetrr from me -until
Thursday or Friday. By that time I will
have seen Ida?hut, really, I.must leave yon
now.'
So saying, Edwin Marlton abruptly took
his leave ; leaving Evinston in much better
spirits than he had found him.
'I am quite puzzled 1' said Evinston.?
What, in the name of reason is Marlton about
to do ! I verily believe that" be intends to
play off some of bisTricks,.upon the old. people?he
is just the kind of a maa foT.it,?
'Well, welly all this comes- from want of
thought on tho part of his kind but mistaken
parents?pity it is so*P
[to be-continued.]
From the Booth Carolinian.
lines?like A sun BEAlff.
BY WM. M. MABTIN.
Like a sun-beam
Coming, going;
Like the Wave tide
Ebbing, flowing;
Such is life. Like grass We wither, "
tfor a moment
Living, loving,
In a moment
Darkly roving,
Going?ah, we know not whither.
Now we're joyous,
But to-morrow
Comes and brings us
Care and sorrow;
i Hearts mnst break, and friends most- sever.
On life's ocean
Tossing, surging,"
Sail And life-boats,
Till submerging
Comes a wave^-they're lost Tower.
Life's a journey
Sad and weary,
l ^ To a valley
- Dark and dreary,
' Bounded by a gloomy river.
Through the darkness
i] Looking over
Lovely visions
We discover,
> 'Tis tbe bright land of Forever.
' 'Cross the waters
i Madly swelling,
For the homeless
There's a dwelling,
To the weary rest is given.
Sorrows there will
Be requitted;
Several hearts will
Be united
In that blessed home-land?Heaven.
A Smart Woman.?The Chattanooga
( Advertiser relates the following:
, A nice, respected lady, not a thousand
miles away, had long noticed, to her dismay,
that her 'worser half was growing foolishly
suspicious and jealous of her. She resolved
te teach him a lesson. Some evenings since,
, as he was leaving, she told him he need not
harry back?she would not be lonely?she
wished her ducky to enjoy himself, &c., &c.
I" Benedict smelt a veritable <mice' upder that
. hypocrisy, and resolved to be avenged.?
About eight o'clook, 'an mdiwiauar amour
his size might have been seen cautiously
creeping along to the door and noislessly.?
Benedict peeped in. Just as he expected.
There they were?a pair of boots?a coat
on the back of a chair, and a hat on the ta
ble. Benedict shivered like an aspen leaf
i as he stooped, pulled off his boots, and drew
i a pistol from his coat pocket. With 'resolution
flashing from his eye,' he made tracks
for the bed-room. There he was, kneeling
at the bed-side, coat and vest off, and his
: head on the pillow. Miserable villain?his
time had come. d3ay your prayers, villain
?your time is short'?and a flash and report
tolef that the bullet had sped era. its fatal
mission. 'Help ! murder ! watdh !?oh,
is *hSft you ?' and Madame popped her little
head up from the foot of the bed. Bdfiedict
sefae<fthe'b.ody, and it was^a miscellaneous
collection of old .coats^ vesta, pllloWB,
ha6dkorchief?,-abchthe like, made up for
the occasion. 'I say, clear, what does "all
thts^aeau V exclffimed"ibd'hu?battd, "vVrtlr
a blank,* sheepish look! 'Well, .;dear,' -replied
t"he wife," cfcd get lonely, dud- "just
amused myself by dressing up that puppet,
and making believe you were-at home. Pm*
sure I didn't think you'd suspect'?There,
there,' said the.cbaogrined husband/'Say-mo.
more about ity I thought it was-a robber; dear
oreature, I'm so glad it-didn't hit you."?
Benedict repeated 'Now flay me/ fcc., atfd
went to bed resolved not to watch any more
at present.
.. (Sktgimtl |ja}ja:.
Written for the YorlrWOe Enquirer.
THAT PICTURE.
-" 'Lore is strong as death."?Solomon.
It is a mistake to suppose that the wild
West is deficient in female beauty, or that
its romanoe is solely the romance of reckless
and savage daring. True,, it. has mtrch of
the latter. The fearless and adventurous
leave theiT homes in'the East, where their
energies are cramped by conventional roles,
for the wilder arena of frontier life, and it is
no. wonder that here there are biave hearts
and stalwart forms?hearts that shrink from
no danger and forms of wohderfal physical
endurance. But it is not alone the breve
and the strong who- seek in the wildernesses
of the West a refuge .from poverty, a field
for ambitious display, or the borne aqd the
Comforts of the independent farmer; for here
you-will find everypbjise of mankind from
tbe ruffian^ stolid as a demon, to tbe-affable
and courteous gentleman, and tbe refined and
elegant lady. But even. tho last bare distinctive
traits wbich give them an individuality.
Tbe most modett of them, the most
gentle, and tbe most beautiful, catob from,
contact witb tbe Btcfoer scenes around them,
something of tbe firmness and self-reliance,
so indispensable in an undeveloped country.
While formed for all the witching arfp of
love, they requite ia their admirers, fearless
hearts.and manly wooings, nod seldom tele.rate
tbe sickly sentimentality so prevalent
where people have idle moments to squander.
Love at first, courtship at seoond, and marriage
at third sight, is no unusual occurrence,
and, consequently,' there is little timefior
mawkish sentiment, the fungruFgrowth of
morbid passioos end a crowded population!
When I say the ladies of the West are
deficient in sentiment, i mean'sfckly, morbid
sentiment, be it understood, for I do qdt
think them wanting in noble and generous
emotions. On the other hand, there is mote
genuineness about their feelings, and far less
hypocrisy and affeotatien; than wHl be fonnd
among their sisters of the East. Here, family
distinctions are broken dbwn-?every person
can live .well while few -are rich?and
the ladies if selfish at all, display it in a sensible
manner; tbey foqjc first-at the man,
and. if he fills, up their fdeal, they trust to
Providence for the comfertaand conveniences
of life. Let it not be.inferred from anything
I bave said, that tbe Western ladies are less
womanly or less beautiful -than elsewhere.?
No where else-have I met so few ngly, and
so many good looking ones. Tbe worid over
and Beauties, such as the painter would delight
to place breathingon-the-canvass, or
the poet to oalebrate in- glowing verse, -art,
"few and far between," but the West, before
onT7 nnn* on onrfh^ wnrrfffT flAarnh for ATfini
site developments of female loveliness?for
Dianas, Yenuses or Cleopatras.
No longer ago thaalast night, I was standing
in a painter's gallery, admiring a pictrue
of the Egyptian Queen, whose dark-eyed
beauty intoxicated the greatest potentates of
earth. It was taken-from an old picture by
some ancient master. It was a splendid
painting of that -ideal, voluptuous, beauty,
who glows in the richest tints of Shakspeare's
genius. Tbe dark passionate eye, the fall,
round breast, panting with love, the wellturned
arm, the rosy lips, the faultless form
?who would "fever surfeit with gazing on
such an embodiment of all that is enchanting
or attractive ?
' 'Look at this," said a friend, calling my
attention to another picture. I passed on
and found myself before the portrait of on$
I knew?it was Miss B . I bod met
her only a few weeks previous at a brilliant
party, and her's was a face that is neveT forgotten.
"Yes," said I instantly, "that must
be Miss B , who else could vie with the
voluptuous beauty of the Nile?" There she
was before me, almost as beautiful as the
original, but what pen can "wreak upon expression"
the classic elegance and beauty of
that face, which even Anacreon might have
mistaken for the ideal Yenus of an Apelles
or Parrbassins. Unconsciously, I found myself
repeating the well-known description of
Byron :
"One tint the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace,
That waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts divinely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place."
That is'the only face I ever saw to which
the above words were fully applicable. (I
have in my mind's eye one other?a daughter
of Carolina?to whom they might apply
were it a golden instead of "raven tress.")
There I stood gazing on that picture?like
a painter on a splendid landscape?like a
lover od the radiant countenance of bis
heart's idol. It was not altogether the beauty
?though matchless?which enlisted and enchained
my attention. My mind was busy
with a tragedy which the portrait and the
namo of the original recalled. Perhaps our
readers will be interested iu the brief story
that follows:
I Ml mill ummammum*
Years ago, when she most have been
scarcely more than a giddy gijl, for she has
never seen the flowers open on her native
prairies more than seventeen or eighteen
summers, came from his far-off home a .gallant
youth to seek his fortunes in the village
ofW . His Was one^of fliose sensitive
natures thafshn elf* from ^TsippoiDtfeen^
that lovp njadly^r?whoee love is ".pajsjpn's
essence.'': Ta such a nature Uw sight of
' one so beaatifnl mast have come like the
flrst "vision of Paradise te a dying soul.?
They met, no matter how they met, he loved,
he adored. ' Perchance*when lie told hifi love,
his tongue faltered, his eloquence refused ho
sew him, and hie words too feebly etpressed-tbo
lava-tide 'of emotion which overwhelmed
the soul?ww know ndt huw thiu - was,
Jor $11 is wrapped in mystery. Yet we
know that sooh is. frequently the case.?
Those Who love most, like the faithful Cordelia,
have least to say. Perhaps our sapposition
is right and the hesitation of the
mnn mlotfthrtn ?rt?* AOfl Aiw) V?_
i^vci viao uiiouacu ?ut immwouum ?*u
difference.. At any rate lie waajejeoted agd.
the repulse fell on bus fike a thunder-bolt.
* ' * * * * *
One evening a company ofyoungjnen zpet
as usual for a social conversation in the Hotel
. No one was more entertaining than
he whose heart had been pierced by the
baited"arrow of despair! He conversed, as
usual, wittily and pleasantly. He jested
"with hie friends as complacently as ever.?
.The 'tneny crowd at lasf dispersed. When ,
all were gone bat the disappointed lover,
-two notes were quietly wfitfen, one to bis
parents, one to a friend. He tBen adjusted
his dress with scrupulous ears and laid hrriself
upon the bed. It must have been a fervent
prayer which went up to heaven in that*
still and awful hour! - Mistaken, though
sincere, we must bjalicre?>4h*rky compels
us to heUeye-Mhat for a few moments bk
thoughts were directed to the Father of
Mercies, and that the -name of her, whoaa
heart -to him was ice and steel, mi blended'
with that last, wild, passionate gush of devotion,
forgiveness and despair!
A friend in an adjacent room heard the
bursting of a pistol-sap, bttt-p*&?no attention
to it, supposing that be was swobbing
and drying his pistols. la a few moments
a loud report and one deep, qviok, piercing
groan of anguish called him to the roo?.-?ITa
roan fnn lata?thfl roififtfod Invar was-no.
ftore. The pistol bad btea placed to . his
breast and throaghhu heart had sped the
shaft of Death 1 "How coal, how deep tbW
despair?that insanity if you choose?whipn
enabled him to replace the bursted cap. and
compflao himself the second time fo ran eternal
sleep 1
The note to his frieod, after directing that
he should be buried as found, closed thus :
;"I have litfed for" and fbr her I will
die. Adieu 1".
Thus died one 4a brave as McClung and
as passisdate as Rossiftra.' He now reposes
in'tid gra^e-yard in thid village?which is
, doWtHn a defip vaftey. He- died in ten feet
of where I am wilting* "Let th'<f following
lines compose his requieifi :
.They buried him low in the grave-yard.
Ia the grove-jwd trader fits bfH,
The yonth of timeadapd barniog heart?
In the grsve-ycrd mirk and eh ill.
He loved .with a wikL&nd torturing lov%
A maiden of graceful main,
But she of the queenl/brow and eyei
- Hwftha pr oad heart oth quien.
/ *
When he spoke s)f $ love that djpth not,
She Hstened-as one whft hears *
The l^e-pratttreFTfcnhioB,
.. Not a sonl .expressed ia team
Sho knew not the priceless treasure,
The clasp of golden truth,
Vbich enshrined her image of beauty
Else she had loved the noble youth.
She heard hii warm vows coldly
She smiled at his passionate worth
As the fiends- lookout from the depths of hell,
Atthe good and pure of earth.
When he read life fate wilfcin her eyes,?
Her eyes all ice and atone, .
Tho' bright as the (fiajnaada yet as cold?
The music of life bad flown.
"As I have liyed III die for thee,"
Said the noble-hearted youth,
And his spirit flashed te the world of lore?
To the world of lore and truth.
They burled him low in the grave-yard,
In the grave-yard under the hill,
Tbe youth of the sad and burning heart?
In tbe grave-yard dark and chill.
Don't Neglect Your Children.?A
lady friend of ours, some days ago, was conversing
with one of Jier neighbor's children,
as they were riding, and she asked the little
girl if the beauties of nature did not often
lead her mind to think of the author of all
things. The girl hesitated. Our friend
asked her if she knew yrho made all things ?
The girl replied, <1 knows him, but I have
forgotten his name* That girl's father was
an officer in tho church. He has been too
careless about the mental and spiritual training
of his children. You who have children,
don't neglect them.?Atlanta InteHigeneer
Ring Worm Remedy.?The Fayetteville
Observer publishes the following reoipe for
the cure of Rrng-wown and tetter. That
those of oar readers who may require a remedy
for such an affection may have the benefit
of the information, we re-pnblish it:
<Heat a fire shovel or a piece of iron to a
red?put a handful of shelled corn on the
heated iron?take a cold smoothing iron and
press on the burning corn, and there will be
?if'n/i nf ^;i mill oflihsr on the iron.
a aiuu ui vu tuuu n*** -? ? - #
which will be sure to cure any kind of tetter,
if applied two or three times.
The Marriage Extraordinary.?The
Wadesboro' (N. C.) Argut says:
At the publio square at Monroe, Union,
county, by T. C. Wilson, Esq., Mr. Thomas
Watts, aged 93, to Miss Mary Hayler, aged t
65, both paupers. The marriage fee was
made up by subscription among the witnesses,
and ten cents worth of candy distributed
around to commemorate the happy event.
A hate old man was Thomas Watts,
Bat Mary was a Hayler; *v- x Good
lnok attend the match, and may /
Hfcrflrrt born he a Whalsr. ,