OCR Interpretation

Rockland County journal. (Nyack [N.Y.]) 1850-1916, August 03, 1850, Image 1

Image and text provided by Southeastern New York Library Resources Council

Persistent link: http://nyshistoricnewspapers.org/lccn/sn85025685/1850-08-03/ed-1/seq-1/

Thumbnail for 1
Rockland County Journal Devoted to Literature, Science, Arts, Agriculture, Popular Medicines, Political, Economy, Education, Morals, News, &c \£tgl)t! Man £igl)t!\ PAYABLE HALF YEARLY. IN ADVANCE. TERMS, TWO HOLLARS A YEAR. Wf r II- ' - l_ \Si.* \u25a0 \u25a0 \u25a0 -^ — ~ VOLUME 1. NYACK, SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 1850. NUMBER 1. Original Poetry STANZAS. BY EMERALD T. WlLSutf. 4 ask c<>t fiigltt tint wealth or feme Cjv. i nrrhaar at secure, sm Fur the . I tee Oeeutj steeped iv vice, H Deceive while tii«*y allure. **. But oh ! crave th:** sri-.nuus boon |p: Wb'i\ j !i«lf tilled,. |§: Swi-.-: \u25a0 :.o,te al btueaa pßssti fruei.t or Ihc u.iiid ! Po*sr-esse of thss, I'd tYui retirt T' .-\u25a0 i !*\u25a0 0-1 rural c»{ Besnie b ently tlovvnj^ stre_in, Aud li ,r a be_ute..us grot: At.d to nipieie my hearth de-ire, c Mv « . c ?iiould siid.re tny joy. And un •\u25a0;.» uad tiiwers shouid Capttaate, Our | ; *cious infant boy. A little rsn I'd cultivate, And . nay leisure time, By pati- : t ttudv ftiive to soar E To w,-corn's bight seWi-Ve. W And hu; 'A\ every inoiii sod eve, Dive* \u25a0 d <;t all Caie, Peruse \u25a0 ,J i3ible, cbaunt a song. And ill' m$ voice to prayer. He euvi ;> s feelinpi tow aid tbe threat, I aid hen disturb my breas! ; | Than the' \ I would he happiei I ir ! In mv 5-weet place <=! rcat. h AndthoiiKhdi-ease migM rack im tratne, X iuve^liould bieaw, and gvtdt |! lEjooo Io realms of Day' 'I Nyack, N. V L INES ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF L. H. BROOKLYN. . B¥ HENRY NELSOf* HANK/.. For thee sti i flows mv si lent teata & While bfir.iiiitr o'er thy Umely tomb, H For though li>ve passed toog weary >e_r>. B I mourn '! cc stili in deepest gloom ! H A* morn ar i.ew-y eve returns, ifi I often see\ thy place of rest; \u25a0P^ Though cold and dark thy mold'rin.r urti, ft Aflerfi\u25a0•!! _; >ws within ay b; Here let the yew tree ever grow, \u25a0fcv ;adia_f J*'**' '- branch of endless gieen. « '**'* \^i__f r^fcvs*teM away uusees. :fl? rning lawns—the gl-.-om h s (led ! ig Refulgent Light break, frotn the sky! ij^r A voice declares thou ait not dead, EBj j But only hi i .rom mortal eye ! |H| Sneet be thy deep within the tomb, B Aud bright thy spirit's wing aflight, Reflect? nz bai :k upon my gloom, ! A ra- to c :> er the \u25a0 >urnei\> nigbt Be still, rude nature, tears suppress. Nor daie to murmur or repine ; r She's s-uf rctiied to e:,<lless rest, Aud entered aa a life divine. TWILIGHT HOUR. | IBT MES. FRISCILLA C. SNELL Jjspvn. sucred ' \u25a0-\u25a0 the leeiint; heart, y When the wrapt spirit drinks I'ure draughts tint form of heaven a part, c i And fain wo i!d burst the Huks c iThat bind t.i c rth, and soar awjy I: To fairer wrrids than this, land with the -hades of parting day, g Take flight t » rest and U o fls twilight'- dm and tadsng hour, ! a In each faint shadow form, There is a deep and magic power ( -J The cotdeat cart to warm; v - In that <<*'.'. hovr a!i strife is stilled, B* 7 1 s »ul in pride, c_lm and holy thoughts we're tilled, r -And hu.hed neroe pa-isiutt't! tide ti SThe hour <t «r. »itude and h.ve <( H To(r \u25a0 :\- ti \ea, c . \u25a0<: to foe a kind thought* then lore , I hi • i , s • Each wound th-y i.ive is then fafgot, fio hatred fit * the mi. id, Dark ei.iunv th 'n moves us not — Kail -ti m - gned bi L y Swee: boot ! who would exchange thy joys For aasMrtiaV i Ridden blaze. : '\ Thy rapturous rniMngs nought iie<tnuti, j °t k A halo rou:<d thee [day- ! si *__P»° °ther hour such pe.ice can give, \u25a0[ Pu?e cfaaai as v thine: m \u25a0With thee ,1, •\u25a0 eocew. live, , cv r A,,d;„.w-r ;\u25a0 werdiv.ne. th \u25a0 - \' - ' - \u25a0\\ as Original Tale. MARIANNE f t BY WILLIAK G. HAESELBARTH. V- .• »hkr W, .uktgbbt, a m;tn of opulent j I Bui a ye y pretty daughter, whose 'wr de head became poaacoacd with the mW? *~ea l^aT a Ctrtain youth named Cory- pat w; _. most agreeable personage. Another hit iflsikewise. most inaccountab'v. took r-osse*- i h \u25a0 ' \u25a0\u25a0»'\ [ and, and that wa>, that he .yon Id is < \u25a0sjawiajit excellent companion for life. They er JHometitly met. passed and repassed each evj |Bfeind not without certain tender glance- llß|Kessib-e sig} s. Bat the particular time atts tßgave a decisive turn to their affair,', was . fwening that t tey met at the assembly, I pHye master of t -ie ceremonies joined them, . Be cards he h;d given out. as partners. C p ;s lhe golden weight cast in the balance r flfaion had always a predilection to Mari- tbit \u25a0hut he knew that the disparity between eire |»fcrtunes was >o great, that her father C m r.ever consent to their union. Opulence whi igi, has an\ consideration of happiness be- sp*i |||t* own nan • v aropaag. And as the bulk ash \u25a0fc^KUid generally judge of each other ao- tete L cording to the greater or lesser degree of their | finance, it will at once be perceived that Cory- don was most wickedly presumptuous. The fathers of the two suitors were intimate j acquaintances—that is, they talked friendly to- gether, and mutually professed a readiness to J serve each other, whenever itshouH be in their j power. Professions of service are too frequently cob-i webs, when they come from s superior to an in- ; ferior. and for this simple reason—people in high life are never taught that a promise not performed is a he. and as such cognizable in i that Court which judges both kings and peasants i ; without respect to persons. Marianne was suffered to see Corydon, be- cause Corydon was the son of her father's i i friend ;he thought, as he expressed afterwards, that she could never think of melting gold and < j brass together. He suffered their intimacy to j s. I continue without control, and indulged himself with his glass and conversation with the father ] of Corydon. while the latter was entertaining ] himself with the far more brilliant and soul en- thralling conversation of his daughter. , The coalition of company produced a coalition of hearts—a coalition which paternal authority f oould not dissolve. How cautious, then, should a parents be to guard their children against form- j a j ing connections which they would not chose to 0 { ratifr. Parents iv general, who are watchful j / i for the happiness of their children on every j 8 | other point, are too frequently ready to ship- j « 1 wreck them where the affections are concerned, ( n e» j probably, because they themselves have never 0 : the divine fire burning and flashing up from p ,de | the al*ar of their hearts, and shooting its warm- t j i:i_r a ; I purifying influence through every nerve and vein of the human body. tt Christopher Willoughby. after a while, began to find that his pretty little daughter had too tl v violent a penchante for Corydon. He consider- w ed that their fortunes were unequal, and think- D ing that she had not the same discretion as him- g( self, he called Tier aside one day after dinner. ai •; Have you any tendresse for Corydon, daugh- ter .\ w She blushed. v But have you any tendresse, or have you not, for Corydon . If you have, he vvi 11 not do, be- W cause he ha* not the corianders. Mind, I say. he will not do. However. I have a _,ood word US for you; neighbor QaushalPo son has a power of money —he will do for you exactly. I vvill give jto j you iv proportion to whatever his father shall I a j demand : and as for Corydon, you must forget' a him. totally forget him.\ The address was rather laconic—rather posi- 0I tive. tui Marianne hoped, begged, entreated, impor- en tuned her fa;her not to be too precipitate. >'° \ I am not inclined to marry, dear father.\ (^' said the unhappy little creature; (: [ never nii thought of marrying without your consent for °^ marriages without the consent of parents seldom prove happy.\ \You a*-e right,\ replied the father \ mar- Mi riages without the consent of parents never can v prove happy ; because if you should marry with- to out my consent, or with any man beneath you, eh: I would not give a single farthing.\ j il I never intend to marry without your con- sent,'\ replied Marianne. \ci £; Then,\ answered her kind father, \ I shall . order the porter to tell Corydon the next time he S f * comes that you are not. and never will be at home.\ \ ' an = The application was rather abrupt. Marianne t swooned, and was happily caught in the arms , of her maid, who had just entered the room ;! I and stood behind her. i OSI ! fon Her father was rather surprised at this inci-1 j n dent, for though he loved money prodigiously, | C on it had not steeled him entirely against paternal j blu affection—which is something of a wonder. I j s j He left the room for a few minuter, and find-1 0 f ] ing that his daughter was recovered, with all por , the blandishments of a father he endeavored to lri i s sooth the anguish he had caused, and with all me , the obduracy of a miser he was determined that C ru( j she should form no alliance with Corydon, un- fl j less hie circumstances should meet with what upo he called a considerable lift. —^ Corydon had not met with a personal prohi- D bition of paying his addresses to his charming a p Marianne. Be rather wondered St it, knowing his the disposition of the father, and the disparity ' she of their fortunes. But his wonder was soon die- ; dres Bi^ted- | less* Marianne^ father, thinking that the attach- I time ment began to increase too precipitately, one I O evening after tea drew him aside, and begged ! solui that he would not visit his daughter any more, ! coul - as he had a gentleman in his eye, who he was j tain* rtain would double the dowry.he intended to j to g£ ye with her. f oun Corydon bowed submission. Hi Corydon sighed. h.esit Corydon shed a'tear— t en <i A tear!— the { Twenty thousand before he reached home \ and He sent Maiianne a letter, the contents of Mari c vfiA-h were to this effect: It c li I would not marry an empress without her ! and i -j parent's consent. Your father has denied me see r his, because my fortune is not equal to yours. «1 <- j J have the vanity to imagine that our attachment fathe I J is equivalent and reciprocal, but I must no long- j \ wh v . r expect what [ wish ; no longer wish what I; befor l expected. Adieu, till money makes me more ' injur B worthy of you in your father's eyes—merit and alien; ! attachment never will, never can.' jme ! s The billet was short. j n w ] , But the billet was intercepted. your , Marianne was locked up. unf jui Corydon grew desperate. p ress i j He imagined the father might have forced hor anger not to answer him—he even imagined some! lead l tbing worse—those who have been in similar perfid cireomstances may imagine what. j sentn Corydon was determined to leave * place I Coi wiiich could present no scenes but those of de-1 plete spair. He thought at first to embark on boi.:d I himse a fdiip bound to the Mediterranean, but he al- jof yin teied his mind, as the sequel will show. I a moi their | Marianne knew nothing of this, but still she Cory- j continued constant. Fidelity will surely be re- j warded, though the reward may be beyond the imate j ken of human foresight. ly to- j A young nobleman in the neighborhood had less to j seen Marianne at a visit, and being no inele- i their ; gant judge of elegant forms, sent his friend to j h?r father proposing a visit to his daughter— j cob- but not without his consent, an in- As the young peer's estate was in no respect de in encumbered, and as he was an agreeable, ;e not though not a virtuous man, he thought himself de in honored with the proposal, and ordered his isants daughter to receive him in the best manner she oould, and to increase the power of her beauty 1, be- by every embellishmeat that dress could ba- ther's stow, ards, She pouted, as any other girl would do in her I and case, but was determined to follow her father's ey to instructions, as every daughter ought to do. mselt Though the art she made use of to highten « ather acT p erso nal charms was greater than ever she Inmg had recurred to before, yet there was a want of Ba\ vivacity, a deadness on her countenance which no exterior ornament could supply. lition Q ur y OUn „ nobleman was introduced with no on->' glitter or parade. He was received by Mari- tould anne w jt}, m at deference apparently due from orm\ |an inferior. This did not please her noble visit- se t0 | or—he expected reserve, but he found coldness, i :hlul j young man, nobleman or not, of a gay dispo- verv j sition, an immense fortune, and an agreeable :uIP\ j person, may think that no female can withstand ] ned; him ; but females of auinferior rank, if virtu- ever ously educated, and previously engaged, may be j. from p roo f against all the tinsel show of pomp and all inn- tr ,e decorations of titles. Such an one the flat- erve terer could not seduce, nor the incarnate fiend terrify. F ;Ban Not liking his reception, he whispered the fa- to° ther that he thought his daughter's affections a der- were pre-engaged ; the father knew they were, ! ,nk- but replied, he hoped his lordship did not think j ur- J so; his rank might awe at first, but patience r- and perseverance would overcome all things. J£ The young nobleman shook his head, and waved his hand in the negative. S( Christopher Willousrhby understood him too not, a 1 , well, and on asking his daughter, rather abrupt- ly, whether she would honor his family so far say. J , . . . , J v. J. as to have a peeress in it, received this answer: > ro r '' That his lordship was not a man according f ? r j ve ito her taste. She should be glad to ennoble the t j ha jj | family, but she could not imagine that her deariear hj ._ et | father would render her unhappy for ever.\ m \Unhappy!\ exclaimed Christopher Wil- og j_ loughby. \ What, is a title, an affluent for- i- I tune, an agreeable man for a husband, ingredi- jqj.. ents of misery . Fie, Marianne ! I blush for \ you ! The good opinion I formerly had of your j. ,_:> discretion is lost; and if you do not accept of * ver his lordship's hand, I shall have as little notion for °-\ >\our a^PPc as * have of y°ur discretion.\ om | How wondrous strange is human nature ! This harsh address operated so strongly on ] ar _ Marianne, who had never disobeyed her father >, , an but in this one instance, that she was unable 1- f ,v to sustain the shock, and fell backward in he^ 5 c \... - no nil chair in a swoon. Alarmed at her situation, her father rang\ the \u25a0 en bell for her maid, who coming immediately to. V her assistance, he left the apartment. When proper applications had restored kfer, V a she vented her feelings in sighs and showers ' of tears. Her panting bosom discovered' the: \ ' at \ -.\ • rdf anguish of her mind, till her tongue en_dMed^ \u25a0 her to paint it in more flagrant colors. \Alas what a state of wretchedness \am I - n? reduced to! My father lost! My Corydon W? m > lost! Had my father retained his paterria. ! fondness, the loss of Corydon might have been. °! \•\u25a0 j m some measure, supported. Could Corydon ly? j continue his addresses, I might in his smiles ™ ial j blunt the edge of paternal rigor. But now all is darkness, Egyptian darkness, without one ray d- of light to guide me and to cheer. Heaven sup- L'l port my tottering steps! Oh, extricate me from t° this labyrinth of woe! But grant, 0, in thy l C lH mercy grant, [ may not sink beneath the heavy at crushing burden of paternal anger !\ n- Her tongue faltered, and she flung herself at upon her couch, tortured with inexpressible an- ™,;„k not th i- During this short interview her father formed * \g a project, which served stili further to develop ig his wonderful kindness. He determined that COl :y ' she should no longer be able to receive the ad- s' j dresses of Corydon, thinking by that means to * \ lessen her attachment for him, and at the same tun i- time render him more pliable to his commands. nar c Corydon, on the other handjhad formed a re- see d solution to quit the scene of his misery, but 8\c J, could not put it in execution until he had ob- wlr « J tamed one more interview with Marianne. How 0j to gain access to her was a difficulty which he neil found it impossible to unravel. A His perplexity made him rash, and without a w hesitating he went to Willoughby's house, in- mat tending, if he was at home, to implore of him ann the opportunity of sighing his last farewell ; P^a( and in case of his absence, to obtain a sight of Pne ? Marianne, even by force if necessary. and It happened that Willoughby was at home, mto r | and Corydon being announced, was suffered to C» i see him. quir ''Rash young man!\ cried the exasperated Ull™l II father, in a harsh tone, upon his entrance, \ -j v whence arose this presumption of appearing vis , 1 before me ; after having dope me the greatest a j i injury that a mortal can think of ? You have with 1 alienated the affections of my daughter from *C jme ! You have made her quit the line of duty he h in which she always trod, till she listened to by r your seducing tongue! You have made her agre< undutiful! You have plunged us both in inex- pauy pressible woe! Begone immediately, lest my secot anger should get the better of my reason, and Th j lead me to take such ample revenge on your terril perfidy as shall glut the satisfaction of my re- ceive jsentment.\ shew Corydon was thunderstruck at a speech so re- from plete with anger and rudeness. He prostrated was i himself at Willoughby's feet, with an intention shot i of vindicating his own conduct, and imploring falls i J a more favorable reception. But his heart was An :ill she [ too full, and his tongue refused to perform the be re- j plaintive office. nd the As soon as Willoughby beheld him in this suppliant attitude, he turned his back upon him, >d had and left the room in all the abruptness of re- inele- senrment. end to Corydon finding himself thus left alone, do- liter — pa-ted from the house in allls^^^gonies of grief, I and on return ing home made^ne p:oper arrange-ange- ,spect m^nts for his immediate departure. He era- 3able, barked on board a ship bound for Jamaica, in- mself tending to settle in that island, and devote his 1 his days in lamentations for the loss of his dear jr she Marianne. eauty He purchased a plantation, and shut himself - out from the charms of society. Marianne still ( preserved the ascendancy in his mind, still • n \er racked his soul with torture. Her happiness j triers vvag n j g rgt p ra y er j n the morning, and his last { prayer at night. Every thing else seemed for- j ghten gotten in the ardor of his supplications for her. « r In the interval Willoughby announced the de- l \ nt. pariure of Corydon to Marianne with great plea- j sure, imagining that every obstacle was now J removed which might procrastinate her alliance t no with the young nobleman to whom he had pro- Vlan- m j se j nc r hand. She heard the news with an v om astonishment that almost petrified her. Her eyes f VISlt\ ceased to move, her bosom to pant, her heart to .ness. Deat g ue se3me d a pesonilication of the statue . ispo- 0 r t k e Medicean Venu.^. At last nature ap- le peared utterly to fail, and she fell heavily to the stand floor. rirtu\ Her father, filled with vexation and rage, left \u25a0y her to seek for assistance. , d all h The deplorable state w which Willoughby c ' had left his daughter, instead of melting him to _j pity, stirred him up to vengeance. He was de- g termined now to put his project in execution, c . ' and imagining the only means of effecting his _, ions . ' \u25a0 intentions to be dissimulation, he acted accord- rere ~ ' ingly. He pretended to be grieved for the harshness with which he had treated her, sooth- ed her with all the warmth of parental fondness, j. and endeavored to regain her confidence. and jOl Marianne was too w ell instructed in the q school of filial duty to seem insensible to the advances made by a father. She became a| re UP suppliant for pardon for that part of her conduct hi ar which had given him offense; she hoped that if j 1 er' she had offended him and heaven, for an of- 'in = fense to the former included in it an offense to j the the latter, she hoped that both would forgive ; r her. If she had been guilty of any crime it was j . -in involuntar} . and ther.leru- a* v-nni one. j \ Willoughby seemed to listen to her with avi- or* dity, and answered her address with the warm- _i ( j so est blandishments. At the same lime he was or meditating on a plot, which had his daughter !e> om known its import, would have been replete with ; '. of horro- to her. „ Marianne enjoyed the sweets of paternal favor | for somfe days, but during that time she shed i;__, >* r . . i im many a teju- of recognition in secret for Cory- , ~ don Hi'siabsence was nmdeied more support- i v '\t .able'by the reconciliation between her and her im , ble-'\u25a0 \u25a0 •\u25a0 . i m< , i jfather, and she hoped that time, which could i t t, . not \abate the violence of her passion for her! ,_: to*er, might at least abate the apparently settled v enmity .which her father felt toward him. \ \ j> Under pretensions of diverting her melan- \u25a0 jchply, her father one day proposed their taking j,, \7 - \_ui airing in the carriage. She consented, be- ers \ \u25a0 ' ! cot .; cause every instance of duty filled her with . , pleasure. The chariot stopped at a lone house, i, • • ,gurroujided by lofty elms, which were inhabited j th s. T ->v a.colony of rooks. On their entrance they i, n I J '\u25a0 . . , .. , J ha< . were received by a venerable matron, whose ; . S1 countenance appeared to have lost that feminine na. ; , fVT. , __ , wil complacency which induces esteem. An affect-; r. . ' ed elegance appeared in her dress, and her T l ' voice was of that tone which is seldom pleasing. .. They were ushered into c parlor, where sat a j yound lady of most delicate frame, but seemingly r_ absorbed in melancholy. They were seated^ \. e for some time before the young lady perceived ta i , them, when, recovering hei revery, she blushed : at her defect in politeness, and making an apo- logy for her seeming neglect, withdrew, in a I , f manner that revealed grace and dignity. ' m As soon as the lady retired, Willoughby an- nounced his daughter to the matron, adding at Jy , the same time, that he hoped they would be better acquainted, and was certain that her !. \ *\ company would greatly conduce both to her in- *Z lat l . J ° J like , struction and amusement. _. d- ; Cor t0 When tea was served up, the young lady re- j turned and took her seat. Her whole counte- j• • i, nance bespoke discontent, and a sigh, which > . e^ seemed involuntarily to escape her, showed that;. . she was far from being happy. The manner in j . v which she returned the little compliments made ; • her by the matron showed plainly that she was j. i ie neither the object of her esteem or veneration. 1., After tea was concluded Willoughby proposed | her ut a walk in the garden, and requested that the ncr n . matron and the young lady would attend Mari- jj m anne while he went to order the carriage to be j cerr I • placed in readiness. This proposal was com- j a i re 0 f plied with, and Marianne, with the willingness jty t< and innocency of a lamb, was led unthinkingly sat jj j into the snare that was laid for her. avol 0 On their re-entering the house, Marianne in- ma t ( quired for her father, desiring that he might be g, d informed that she was ready to attend him. q >, \ Your father,\ said Mrs. Abigail, the matron, tunii or vis gone.\ visit it iC Gone !\ cried Marianne in surprise, \ gone tirel c without me !\ alwa i \ Yes, Miss,\ answered Mrs. Abigail, Ci and h, y he has left you under my care. I shall endeavor w hoi 0 by my attentions to make your situation as d e t e] r agreeable as possible, and I hope that the com- p ose - pauyof Miss Angelica, this, young lady, will 0 f hi f second my endeavors.\ out) 1 The manner in which Marianne heard this j w hi c r terrible information, may De more easily con- a un - eeived than expressed. For two whole days j s ] an( she was continually bathed in tears,and abstained forge . from all kinds of food. Every argument that mem I was used to comfort her resembled the arrow affeci shot agaii at the stone wall, which recoils, and jjp falls without making any impression. scene Angelica mingled her tears with Marianne's, anne. n the and the friendly libation proved an alleviation to the sorrows of the latter, i this Congenial souls almost instantaneously form a him, coalition. Angelica finding herself alone with her, told her history, which, in the great lines, had a ;> de- striking resemblance to her own : this confi- grief, dence led her to return it in kind, and they thus formed an attachment which served to blunt the '\u25a0 em\ edge of sorrow and to soften the rigors of con- l > m_ finement. Several months passed away in this manner, ear without Marianne's either seeing or hearing from her affectionate father. In the interval nself Mrs. Abigail had frequently spoken to her con- -BtiH cerning the alliance with' the young nobleman, | sti'l and likewise dropped some hints that her con- mess finement would be prolonged till such time as I last s he relented so far as to accept of his hand. The \u25a0 tor- proposal filled Marianne with indignation, and ler. s he accordingly answered Mrs. Abigail in a i de- manner, w Thich that worthy matron did not ama- plea- gine such a pretty little creature capable of. now But pretty little creatures have sometimes spicy ance tempers. pro- Three quarters of a year had now elapsed, han when Marianne one morning received a billet eYes from her father, couched in the following words : '' rt to v YVhen Marianne is ready to comply with atue the wishes of her father, her cofinement is at an i a P\ end : but if she persists in obstinacy, she must ' 1 submit to the effects of a father's resentment.\ This billet opened the wounds which had been closing, and her heart bled afresh. But . her constancy was too deeply rooted and ground- . ' yjed to be shaken by these menaces; and besides, n t 0 she had already experienced as much fVosa her j. father's resentment as an absolute refusal could j . 10n» expose her to. She returned the following an-; ' hls gwer to his fatherly note: j, v Paternal authority should not enjoin impos-; _ sibilities. lam ready to perform any command r ( which would hazard my life ; —but I will sooner v es^ i f \' j lose my life than give my hand to Lord , j or prove faithless to the absent and unhappy the [ Corydon.\ the j This answer inspired her father with a strong 8 a j resolution of adhering literally to the purport of f ( luct his letter. j v ltif But what of Corydon ! \ e Corvdon had by this time made great im- • h 3 to . I, j provements in his plantation, and amassed an h \ | opulent fortune. But he experienced that wealth j n • is not always the parent of happiness. The idea ! i of Marianne was still fresh in his mind, and his j p lvl\ eyes still rained down tears on her account; and j n rm\ sometimes the suspicion of her being finally pre- j vas j vailed upon to forget his memory in another, j w filled his soul with the keenest anguish. D One evening as he was passing by a sayan- th j nah, he heard a shriek which appeared tn pro- jps vor I ceed from some female in distress. Hastening Is i immediately to tbe spot from whence it pro- in Ty~ J ceeded, he beheld a most beautiful lady Strug- ai ,rt\ j ling in the powerful grasp of a negro. The next ler I moment his sword pierced the villain through a,d j the body, and he fell dead at the lady's feet. j The fair stranger would have made an im- j.. j pression upon his heart, had it not been pre- j * possessed by Marianne. Her charms which j./ \ j were naturally great, were hightened by the ! & blush of confusion which suffused her sweet' , \ | countenance. He asked of her a detail of the 1 | circumstances in which she had been found by j i him. In reply to his inquiry, she told him that c I the negro who had fallen a sacrifice to his sword, n0 e^ had been in her family from his birth and 01 >se ; treated with the greatest humanity, and honored j. ne ; with the station of superintendent over the rest j m ; of the negroes which belonged to her plantation, j v ier That one day he had been detected in pilfering j '£' something out of the house, and pardoned; but \ a lenity haying been productive of little or no ef- ' } feet upgtt h_m,Ji£ repeated his crime, and mb- e \t h-ed her of a considerable sum of money. On = ed this account she«ras forced to part with him, 3d when he swore to be revenged upon her, aud ,0\ she -Apposed would have killed her, perhaps — a j worsl, tiacthe not been prevented by the timely and pfdvidential interference of Corydon. This circumstance led to an intimacy between CdVydon and the beautiful planter. She con- \! eeived an ardent attachment for him, and cher- er ished a wish, that by joining hands, they might dif likewise join plantations. Whatever opinion coi Corydon might have had of her personal charms, ly 3\ !he still had a higher of Marianne's, and never ses \ \ visited the former without reflecting how much reri 8 i happier he might be in the company of the lat- rec at \ ter. res in % As Corydon made no declaration of his pas- lee c sion, and that of the fair planter grew too ardent wo 18 |to be suppressed or concealed, she so far got of I the ascendancy of female delicacy as to declare fac ( d j her attachment to him in the most explicit man- in i le ner. C es 1_ He heard her through with the deepest con- cau ,c, cern, and informed her that another lady was dia 1_ j already mistress of his heart, and that his fideli- tha 58 jty to her could only cease with his life. Not wei y satisfied with this answer, she repeated her lay: avowal, imagining that perseverance might ulti- mai '* mately produce an alteration in his sentiments. -j c But love worships at a single shrine ! ere , Corydon was rendered uneasy by her impor- g j n£ i, tunities, and to avoid them, began to restrict his D ec visits, intending finally to suppress them en- the c tirely. But when he did not see her, she was D od always writing to h;m. an( j * Harrassed and perplexed thus by a person imp r whom he could not hate, and durst not love, he whe 3 determined to leave the island, and for that pur- to s pose sold his plantation, and set sail for the scene twe< t of his former departure. Previous to his setting and j out, he addressed a note to the fair planter, in that s j which he lamented the impossibility of forming the ' a union with her, and added, that he left the seat 1 island in hopes that absence might cause her to and forget one who should always cherish her re- dep< membrance with feeling's of deep sympathy and path affection. tinut Upon his arrival back among the old familiar who scene?, his first inquiry was for hi. dear Mari- food anne. It is not necessary to depict his affliction appe iation on being informed of her confinement on account of her constancy toward him. )rm a He was determined to find out the place in which she was immured, with the flattering told hopes that the large accession which he had had a made to his fortunes would remove every obsta- confi- c^° t0 ms happiness. While he was busily en- ' thus i Jagged in making the inquiry, he learned that it the Ime >our-g Peer whom Willoughby had selected con- j f°r his daughter's husband, had lost all his es- | tate one evening at the gaming table, after which he had staked his coach and horses, which he • ' lost likewise, and had the mortification to witness erval l^e wmner Set mto % apd or(ler the coachman to drive him home. This information brightened up somewhat the man, ° r con-1 P roBP ect he had of succeeding. ! At length, after considerable difficulty, he The i S^^d lhe wished for intelligence of the place j of Marianne's confinement, and set out to recon- noitre it, determined that neither danger nor ex- ma- P ense should prevent him from an interview ,of with the dearestobjeet of his desires and wishes, piey Mrs. Abigail was a second Angel—she was | not easily to be imposed upon. But love is some- |get j j times, in artifice, superior to suspicion, dllet! Corydon found means to get into Marianne's rds : ' apartment, where she wasattended by Angelica, with \u25a0 c s'=ht of him threw Marianne into a dread- ' tan ful fright—she^thouaht it was his spirit —but, oust i suPPor ting her in his arms, iie convinced her t t j | that he was no phantom. , , Afcer she had somewhat lecorered from her had , . , . ... j R j surprise, he gave her a complete narrative of his , ; life during his absence, and then claimed from md-; , . ?. . , | her a similar detail. l '' She had proceeded quite to the close of her 1 ! history, when the door opened, and behold her r ; father! The intention of his visit was to have relieved s | her from her confinement, after informing her v ws\ of the misfortune which had befallen Lord ; a lnd ; for as his money was the only qualification he v nei | had considered as the motives for their union, he p ' | concluded that when that was gone, there was si W\ no motive left. f< His astonishment at beholding Corydon in his o sn^ j daughter's bed-chamber, almost deprived him o for the moment, of the power of utterance. It fi was, however, but for a moment; his rage was! vi I excessive, and found vent in a violent tempest, c im- j He accused him as a villain, a vile seducer, and I b an he branded her with the whole catalogue of fe- si Jth ' male crimes. tc teaj Angelica, who had been a witness of all that a; his I passed, assured tbe wrathful Willoughby that h m,J his suspicions were groundless, and amply yin- sl ire\ dicated the honor of both parties. When he jot [ er, was a little appeased, Corydon, taking Marianne jsi J by the hand, they both kneeled together before j w IB- the old gentleman, and the former giving him aj tn ro- i particular account of his acquisitions in the n* ng Island of Jamaica, which rendered him supenor jsu ro-1 in fortune to his daughter, the old man abruptly its ig- j answered— in, at i What did he answer . Cri gh | \ Why, then, I'll give her to you.\ Uf Their happiness was still further increased by , \ | the arrival of Angelica's parents, accompanied \ j by her sister, who had succeeded in conqueiing I the antipathy they had formed against their * j union. After refreshing themselves, they *et' i pit all set out together, and the two marriages were f solemnized at the same church. by I m< t On their return home, a messenger was an- f{ , j nounced to Corydon, who had been in waiting j-^ i for him some time. After telling him that the J et j I fair planter was dead, he delivered him a parcel, t v ( .I in which was inclosed a will, wherein she be- t ! queathed him all she had, and the title deeds of! j her estate. Among the papers, was one sheet, » ut which contained in a fair, female hand, only ,f these two simple words: b- M Fidelity's Rbward.\ e h )n-| — '' ' =? in< Medical Department THE SKIN.--BATHING. in BY DR. G. GREGORY. Dul n- enl r- In the present state of medical knowledge, 1 tit diffused as it is throughout all classes of the cia IB community, when almost every head of a fami- she s, ly has read some popular work on physic, pos- tha ?r sesses a medicine-chest, and is able to prescribe low h remedies in simple disorders, without having fee t- recourse to a professional man, it is much to be giv regretted that those precautions should be neg- sea i- lected, which, easy and simple as they are, eqt it would, in many instances, prevent the necessity the >t of applying to medicine for relief. Even the ad\ c facility wish which a remedy is obtained leads, hig i- in some measure, to the encouragement of ex- -bef cess, and the epicure eats a dish the more, be- me i- cause he can readily get rid of its more imme- fen a diate ill effects by a dose of blue pill; forgetting sho i- that every such dose thus wantonly taken is froi it weakening the powers of his constitution, and usei r laying the foundation for a debilitated and pre- at 1 - mature old age. pies The human body has been compared with easi great justice to a clock or watch, in which, if a gen \ single wheel be injured, the whole mechanism lba< 3 becomes disordered, and, in common language. 9h° \ the watch jjoes wrong; thus all the parts of the tbe s body are so intimately connected by nervous *°n« and vascular systems, that should one become °rdi t impeded in its office the others suffer, and the war s whole machine is deranged. This disposition to sympathize exists in a greater degree be- t tween some organs than others; thus the head ; and stomach always suffer together, insomuch mac that it becomes often a matter of difficulty to Bna' the medical man, to ascertain which is the real d° D seat of mischief j again, between the stomach and skin the connection is very close, and this **' depends, not merely on the general law of sym- w\° pathy, but also on. the fact that the skin is con- e §ar tinuous with the membrane which lines the whole alimentary canal. Particular kinds of N< food, as acid fruits, cause, in some per_oaa, the ever appearance of red spots over the whole skin, ciem j ount within a few moments after their being taken into the stomach ; and that sallow greasy stata 3 m of skin, sometimes seen, depends on indigestion rjrjtr produced by overloading the stomach with ani- had mal food of an oily nature, indeed there is >sta- hardly a disease but has its peculiar character en- 01\ skin, by which the experienced physician can that often judge at first sight of a patient. On the cted other hand, when the skin is diseased the gen- es, eral health suffers, and the stomach principally lich sympathizing, sickness, indigestion, with a host 1 he °f attendant maladies, are brought on. xess The skin is, perhaps, more neglected than nan any other organ, and. yet, if we examin| for a moment the duties it has to perform, anV* re- the member its intimate relation with the sto i 7?_fel,,-,«« and intestines, in which the process of digestion ' he and application of the food to the purpose of life ace is carried on, we shall readily understand how :on- great is the importance of keeping it in health ex- and vigor. By means of it, the greater part of iew the superfluous matter, or waste of the body, n les. carried off from the bloodvessels in insensible ,vas perspiration : this is an operation of great eon- ne . sequence, which in health is constantly going on, and when it is checked by the unhealthy >tate le's °^ the pores, the circulation becomes oppiessed, ica. a\d tnUB fever, headaches, and general languor a j_ are occasioned. As much or more danger arise» )ut from a too relaxed state ; the secretions beeora- her \*= unhealthy, and the skin it3elf more suscep- tible of the changes in weather, temperature, her c '» i^us g'WQS vlse l 0 colds, coughs, and in- jj ]g flammations of interna.' org.'! om From these general remarks the great conse- quence of attention to the state of the skin will ler be appreciated, and we will proceed to recom- _er mend a few simple rules for keeping it in order. On rising from bed, the whole body should be ed sponged with cold water, and afterward rubbed ler well with a towel till perfectly dry: then the -; application of the flesh-brush for five minutes he will be of great advantage, but if not readily he procured, brisk friction with a coarse towel will as suffice. The good effect of this is immediately felt in the genial wanath, the activity and vill- us of body, and the freshness and the e.xhilarat^^rf m of the spirits which succeed; and even ifM« I It felt at first, soon will be, if the plan be p^B'/*\^ as! vered in. No one need be afraid of thisß^Msd st. even if moh-t with perspiration on leavir.sß^'TS • id j bed, the friction increases the circulation ofjt. H c- skin, and comptet. ly pi, ye ;iger of esj> I 8 to which individuals of weak and relaxed p9N at are so constantly subject. Persons whrTare. Ha-W| at ble to catch rold, and have sore throat on the \ n - slight st exposure, and scarcely pass a day with- Bl le ] out :: . , zing, will, by pursuing this plan tor a ' g ie short ime, become much less susceptible, and |1 re [we have known many totally freed from these H a troublesome and dangerous affections ; there is I ie no doubt that it will check the progress of con- \u25a0 n sumption in some stages, where there are debil- y itating perspirations, and often prevent the light- ing up of the disease in tbe iaogs, by thus^de- creasing the susceptibility to colds. In grown- up persons, of good general health, the^water should be cold, both in winter and summer, the J body becoming gradually used to it as the'sea- sons change, if the plan be commenced in the ? spring or simmer: but with children and deli- cate person*, in winter the water should be te- * | pid, that is, just above the temperature of the atmosphere. We cannot too shongly recom- mend the early adoption of this plan with chtl- ' dren. They soon become accustomed to, and 5 like the water; and if care be taken not to e ive J a shock to the frame by using the water too cold, ' the benefit they will derive from it is very great! * At the same time, we would warn parents of the ' great danger of exposing children, with little > clothing on, by day or night, from an idea of \u25a0 making them hardy: nothing can be more dan- gerous than the practice of sending out delicate I children with naked legs and bosoms, to bear the b inclemencies of our variable climate; some may be strong enough to struggle through injury, but it is always dangerous, and leads to inflamma- tion of the lungs, of which so many die in child- hood, or sows the seeds of consumption, which removes them from the world, just as they are bursting forth into the full bloom of beauty and entering on their career of usefulness , Cold fresh water bathing is often very benefi- } cial, but as it is a great shock to the system it - should not be practiced by the healthy more - j than three times a week, and whenever not fol- i I lowed by a glow of warmth, or if attended by j feelings of lassitude and languor, it must be > I given up entirely. The same may be said of - sea-bathing, but as the temperature is more ~^ , equal, and the stimulating effect of the salt on r the skin prevents chilling, it may be used with s advantage when the fresh water bath would be , highly injurious. The best time for either is \u25a0 .before breakfast; it is improper, after a full meal, as the shock and reaction following inter- fere much with the progress of digestion. It ; should also be abstained from when fatigued i from any cause. The shower-bath may also be used by persons in health without fear, so long, at least, as the feelings, after taking it, are of'a pleasurable description ; and as it is th? most easily procured, it is a pity that it is not in more general use. Indeed, there can be no doubt that, however used, whether by sponging, or the shower-bath, or immersion, cold water excites the action of the vessels of the skin, gives them tone, enables them to resi.t the influence of the ordinary vicissitudes of the weather, and thna wards off disease to a very remarkable extent. Remember, of all things living, thou art alone made capable of blushing. Consider, the world shall read thy shame upon thy face—therefore, do nothing shameful. Love matches are often formed by people, who pay for a month of honey with a life of via- egar. No mortal can be happy in every .hi: l^ra''- every place; there ever is some wa: ciency in life's household. #v.'^^J^

xml | txt