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VOL. II.
RALEIGH, C, FRIDAY, NOV. 6, 183S.
i KQ. 128;
ties wishiAstq advertise ty tbe monlh'or year
LITTLE THINGS.
T ALICE CART.
Shall we trfke a fcarjrain, Fate ?
And wilt tba to this agree ?
Take whatever things ar great,
; Leave the litUe thing to me !
' . . . , ', .
; , ( " ' - - -1
Take the cafcle, proud and dark,
' Broad or shoulders, strong or wing; "
Leave the robin, leave the lark,
'- Tis the little birds that sing I
Take the oak wood, towerfnTtip.'-' :
With Its top against the skies j ;
Leave one little acorn cap
Therein all the lorest lies. '
Take the mnnmirona fountain heads.
Take ih$ river rwindin slo wp
But about my garden beds, ,
Leave the dew drop?, small and low.
Winding waves are fine to view; j
Sweet the fountain's silver call;
Dnt the little drop of de w
Holds the sunshine, after all.
Take the sea, the great wide sea. 1
White with many a swelling sail,
Leave the little stream to me,
Gliding silent through the vale.
Take the palace all asbine.
With its lofty balls and towers; ,
Let the little house be mine, '
With its door, yard grass and flowers.
Take the lands the royal lands.
AH with parks and orchards bright;
"A Leave to me the little hands
Clinging closely morn and night
Ak. for once, be kindly. Fate,
To tny harmless plan agree;
Take whatever things are great.
j- . Leave thjlittle things to me 1
Writ tea for the Friend of Temperancc.X
EUGENE FENTON'S MISTAKE.
BT J. W.,THQMrSON.
; ; . CHAPTER I. ; .
Our sccire is laid in ajbeantifl . . yal
lev in the 'simnv South. It was a
1 - -
lovely evening in May, arid : nature
seemed to have mustered all her mu-
sicians, and arrayed herself iu her
rnot gorgeous livery to captivate and
delight the senses of man. The trees
were clothed in the garb of Spring,
and from a thousand sources the air
was loaded with delicious odors.
Birds of every hue and voice were flit-
ting through the branches and warb
ling forth their joyous songs of praise.
f On the gently slopiug side of the yal-
- ley, a noble mansion stood. The
grounds about it were laid off with
neatness, and the rows of tall cedars
in the lawn, gave the place an aspect
of stately beauty.
The front door of the mansion open
ed, and down the grassy lawn, through
the gate and down the flower-carpeted
pathway, strolled two persons a
gentleman and a lady. While they
are sauntering leisurely forward. Jet
us see who they are. As we are cour-
r teous, of course, the lady, claims our
attention first. She was beautiful. A
forehead white and fair, eyes of the
deepest blue, small mouth with its
rows of pearly ; teeth, long, flowing
ringlets of a golden hue, and a figure
lithe and graceful as ,a fawn Julia
Walton was a beautiful girl; at any
. rate, so thought Eugene Fenton, whom
we will now introduce to the reader;
He was tall and commanding fin
person, with eye 3 of a brilliant brown
and hair as black as night. But there
were marks of-dissipation upon 'his
fine features marks whose . existence
lie, himself was . unwilling . to admit,
but which anxious eyes had seen, and
over which anxious hearts had griey-
: ed. In fine, Eugene Fenton was a
modeiute drink kr one of that innu-
: merabie multitude, who yearly merge
. into , hopeless drunkards. . But, like
all of his class, he was confident in his
own ability, to evade, what others re
garded as inevitable. Blinded to the
danger before him, bv the false belief,
that he could control his own passions
and appetites, he was treading that
fatal path .which thousands like him
had trod before, only to find certain
destruction in the end. But to re
turn. ;-' - " r r
' It may seem strange to yon, Miss
Walton, that I have requested this in
terview, but I. hope the importance of
what I have to communicate, will be a
sufficient excuse for my seeming pre
sumption upon so short an acquain
tance. Though my acquaintance with
you Las been.shbrt, I have learned to
regard you with feelings which I have
never felt before. When I came here
by the invitation of youiriather, I lit
tie dreamed that my ;i&hprt stay was
destined to exert so important an in
fluence over my life. But I feel that
this spot is more dearto me than any
spot on earth. It Kaa "been "rendered
sacred by 76ue. ', Ah ! Miss v "Walton
Julia pardon me, when I tell you
that you Are the one I love. 4 OhI
speak, and say that I am not unloved.
Can you! do you not love me; and
will you not be my wife ? Oh ! Julia,
darling, said ne, taking her unresist
ing hand, 'I loie you so fervently, so
passionately. S peak, and give me
hope.
While he had been speaking a varie
ty of contending emotions had ap
peared upon her countenance. First,
a. sudden gleam of joy ' told that he had
touched a hidden chord in her heart,
that vibrated in unison with his ar
dent love. Next, a look of pain and
anguish; then an expression of mel
ancholy, but firm determination.
Mr. Fenton, it grieves me to cause
you one pang of sorrow: but I cannot
be your wife.'
1 A I '1 t
was spoiren ; in a cairn voice,
though her countenance was deadly
Oh! Julia, my darling1, unsay those
words. Your countenance says that
you love me tell me, is it not so V
' Whatever may be my feelings to
ward yon, Mr. Fenton, you have' my
answer. And now, I hope this pain
ful interview will end. Believe me, I
would not willingly cause you sorrow;
but it cannot be Y cannot mazry you.'
He listened .in t-ilence; and when
she finished speaking, he drew up his
haughty person, and said, f ? -
At least. Miss Walton, you will
S give me jour reasons 4or thusv reject-
1 : w... fl? i. ;:
liig uiy truer. , i
A flush of painful embarrassment
overspread her features.
' My reasons are of an extremely
delicate nature; and I ask you, as a
man of honor, not to seek to know
them,' she replied at . last.l
f But, I insist upon knowing them.
I have a right to demand it.'
Her embarrassment increased.
"I will tell you then, as you insist.
But I warn yon before hand, that I
would much rather leave it unsaid.
If I wound your feelings, your urgirigs
must excuse me. My objection to
marrying ou, Mr. F nton, is this:
Sad experience has taucrht me the evil
of using intoxicating drinks. You
are aware, that my only brother was
a victim to it, and that he now sleeps
in , a drunkard's grave. The ' sorrow
which his melancholy and untimely
fate caused, both myself and 103' aged
parents, was such, that I have resolv
ed never to marry a man that tampers
with the wine-cup. This is, wliy I re
ject you. I confess -that I do not feel
entirely indifferent to you; but I am
aware that you are at least, a moder
ate drinker, and this is a gulf over
which I can never stp. I again ex
press the hope, sir, that I have not
wounded your feelings. -f '. .: '
- He stooped and plucked a wild
flower that grew, at his feet, and crush
ed it to atoms in his. convulsive grasp
A storm of passion at one time seem
ed to be gathering upon his brow;
but he banished it with an effort, and
said; M - .'-j . .
'I am inexpressibly pained, Miss
Walton, that such a charge should be
made against me. ' I am not, it is true7
a teetotaller; but .my habits are far
from those of a drunkard,' and a1 look
of offended pride passed oyer his face.
' Pardon me, if I have offended you,
said she, 'you have my final answer.
Now let us end this scene
With , countenances that partook
but little of the joyousnesa ot the
scene around them, they walked slow
ly back up the avenue to the house.
CHAPTEB 11
In following the : dictates of her
iudorment., Julia Walton had experi-
enced a severe struggle. Eugene Fen
ton had found his way to the affec
tions of this lovely girl; and though
she was perfectly aware that her
heart was wholly his, she could not,
in the light of her sad experience, con
sent to a union with him. The con
flict between judgment and affection
was long and sore; but at last judg
ment triumphed, and she came forth
from the conflict, mistress ot herself.
But still another trial awaited her.
The reader has not yet been made
aware of the relation of Eugene Fen
ton to the family of her whom he lov
ed. : Kodenck Walton, J aha s father,
was a planter of wealth and influence.
Jb or thirty years ever since he came
home from college ' with his young
bride be had lived upon the old an
cestral plantation, in the beautiful val
ley. His union had been blessed with
two children a son and a - daughter,
The son was early sent away " to a
boarding school, then to college, where
he formed the acquaintance of Eugene
i? enton. Their acquaintance I ripened
into intimacy ; and hen the period
of racation drew nearan earnest in
vitation was extended t(F, Fenton to
accompany him to his far-off Southern
home. The trip 'had been I arranged
and the friends were about to start,
when a telegram brought, to Fenton
the sad news of his father's illness,
and a summons to hasten to his bed
side, ere he should sleep I in death.
Of course, he went But when he re
turned the next session, he was hard
ly to be recognized, as the sprightly
young: man of other days. 1 A cloud of
gloom rested upon his countenance,
and he gave unmistakable signs of dis
sipation. It soon, became evident,
that he had resorted to intoxicating"
liquors, to drown the sorrow, occa
sioned bv the death of his father his
only living relative. As a natural
consequence, George Walton .became
the companion of his potations. He
learned to drink. At first, it was
hardly apparent; but at : length his
never-vigorou si constitution subk be
neath the V double weight of dissipa
tion and stud, and he went home a
confirmed iuyalid. His distressed
parents and sister used every entrea
ty, and even stronger means to in-
duce him to quit his drinking habits
and with some success. He gave a
solemn promise that he would never
more tamper with the fiery. . fluid.
But,- alas 1 he reckoned too heavily
upon the strength of his own will. ,
One night, when the family were
wrapped in sleep, a, piercing ' shriek
rang through the house, Btartling the,
. whole; household4ft hekieet ..The
cause was soon apparent. Appetite
had overcome, aud i George Walton
had drank deep of the contents of a
secreted flask, and was now in the
aaronies of delirium tremens. He died
that night in awful agonies, and that i
week there was a mournful funera'l at
the old house, while loving hearts ;i
old house, while loving hearts
were bowed down beneath a weight of
sorrow. ,
Months passed away, and Eugene
Fentou was invited to visit the home
of his dead friend. Whether or not
the stricken pareuts knew that he was
the cause of their son's death and their
own sorrow, is not for us to say. We
snppose not. He was invited and he
came. Dissipated man, as he. was,
the gentle beautj' of Julia Walton at
tracted his attention and at last gain
ed his affections. The result, we have
already seep.
i chapter in. v
; In the most depraved natures, there
are often temporary gleams of good.
Eugene Fenton was truly in love; and
the manner ift which his advances were
received caused him to reflect seriously
upon his course of life. He saw much
there to regret The cool, (clear scru
tiny to which! he subjected his own
character revealed most glaring defi
ciencies. -He saw how dangerous was
the path which he was treading how
it was gradually debasing his nature
and leading him far away from virtue
and happiness, and especially from her
whom -he had learned to regard as the
dearest object-on earth. J He resolved
to quit his habits of dissipation f and
become a man -' once more, that he
might offer her the hand of an honest,
honorable man. With these feelings,
we will leave him waiting an opportu
nity to renew his offer with! a confi
dence that it would be accepted, while
we return to J ulia. ' ;
Itis natural to suppose j that after
the occurrences narrated in our open
ing chapter, Julia Walton vfould avoid
as much as possible the man whom
she loved, but could not ; trust with
her happiness. : It was with such a
desire that she gladly accepted a press
ing invitation from her aunt to spend
a few months with her in the city. In
due time, arrangements were made
and she became ah inmate 'of her aunt's
family! - . - ; ; ' . 1.
"Aunt Lydia" said she one evening
"did you know that this day two weeks
hence is the anniversary of. my birth
day? I had almost forgotten it, . since
I have been here; but papa reminded
me in hi3 letter to-day. He desires
me to come home to celebrate the oc
casion! Will j'ou not accompany
me?" ; " -.
"No, my dear, but I will propose a
better plan: celebratl yourj blrtbnofay
nere, 1 win give you a party and you
need not leave us yet Write for your
father and mother to pay m6 a visit on
this occasion." ( ' ' "
So, it was arranged.- A select par
ty of friends were invited, amorai
Lwhbm was a young man whom! Julia's
auui assurea ner niece, wouidf oe a
great catch. CharleV "Graham was
his name. Being a great fatorite with
i-wo taiuuj, ud waa unvjiegea to , Drmg
with !him any, of his - friends. .Thus
Eugene , Fenton 1 was acrain thrown
into Julia's compiany. ,tTt was late on I
lUD cicuujjj w iub puri.y. xno sa
loons ?wr almost. -deserted, when Ju
lia passed but npon the 1 balcony and
seated herself in a shadowy corner to
m?uiLau Apon t iae solemnity 1 01 the
occasion. It is a solemn 'occasion a
birth-day. . It is a day that should be
spent, not in uproarious merriment.
but in thanksgiving to the grea!t Giver
of all good. She had been I sitting
tnere out a tew momjnts when hear
ing her name called she turned to
find herself face to face with Fenton.
She would have passed him, but he
stepped her and said; ;
"Miss Walton, I have sought this
opportunity of speaking with you that
I might rene w the offer which J I once
made to you. I find my happi ness to
be entirely bound up in you. I come
to you now, not as before. I trust
your objections can now be overcome.
have resolved to quit my dislsipated
habits; and I now feel that I ban of
fer you the hand oi an honest, 'upright
tit; ii . 1 r , 1
.uau. 111 you not now consent to oe
miie?" ' ; - .. - ; !"; !
She spoke not, but the blushes that
overspread her face were
enough. -While he folded her
answer
to his
. bosom in a long, tender embrace, the
j tears of thankfulness and
; from her eyes.
joy
started
Six months from that day. there
was a joyous wedding at the old valley
homedtead, and two loving hearts
were united: in those . mystic, but in
separable, bonds that break not in the
midfct of fiercest .trials r. , -i
We will pass over those . months of
happiness which ensued, and intro
duce the reader. to a period just pnq.
year after that u isrht when ' tEuerene?
Fenton. and Julia Walton plirhte$
their troth. Durinar all this time. Eu
gene had never broken the vow which
he made to her that night. But he
was trusting too much in his own un-
j aided strength of will;
and he
was
soon to learn the sad lesson that "the
heart is. deceitful above all things, and
desperately wicked."
The occasion which they now cele
brated was the double anniversary of
her birth and their mutual happiness.
One year ago they had in that quiet
balcony pledged to love, and live for
each other. Again were friends gath
ered around the hospitable board.
Against Julia's wishes, wine hai, been
introduced. The decanter passed
freely around and the host, unwilling
to offer to his guests, that of which ho
would not partake, drank wine1 for the
first time since he had promised Lo re
form his habits. One glass was follow
ed by others, unmindful of thonnxious
countenance of his wife, until when
his guests departed, he was: taken
away intoxicated. Poor Julia ! : what
a shock to her 1 ! All her hopes were
blasted all her confidence in him was
gone!;. :m 4 .-v.
y From this time forth, .Fentont con
tinued to sink until he stood
those miserable beings whose
among
happi-
ness is all comprised in the bowl of ; in
toxication, and whose only prospect
is eternal misery. ; . , ' - ;? .i
At last,- Julia- could endure it , no
longer. ) ; Gathering up her little trink
ets, the valued mementoes of , other
days, she took refugB in the house of
her parents, and uvea entirely
scclu-'
ded from society. - 11 j -
Years passed by, and nothing
;was
heard from the degraded husband.
Degraded as he was, Julia still loved
him. She loved, not the fallen drunk
ard, but the noble husband: of i her
choice-the Ecgene Fenton of foimer
years. - . vi.'-' -;i
One lovely evening in May, just
fourteen years from that day on which
our story commences, Julia was sit
ting under a rustic arbor in the gar
den, thinking of the erring one, ask
ing. her heart the question; Will those
days of happiness ever .return ?i.when
a footfall on the gravel walk cause.
her to look up to see a tall, snn-bro wn
ed stranger before her. i Thinking that
he desired to see her father, she arose
and said: . ;--7 : , : '
You wish to see my father; , sir, I
presume. Walk into the house.' .
The stranger spoke not; but at once
he became deeply agitated. .
Julia!'
She started, and bent forward with: ?
an anxious face, saying:-- ' ?Hf-?ri f
1 should tnow tnat voice. - jit can
not be oh! sir; speak1 tbjiaeis jt r
isitEugetr
,Mastre,tched Iprthjiirm
claimed in the old familiar tones:
' My darling, wife I
Te poor; tired 1 nead was pilloweU
upon his manly bosom, while Jib told h
her his past history. He told her ho w;
he had sunk down sol deepjy In the
mir of deprayify, thait twas almost1'
a miracle that nef f escaped-6wBli6
strolled one evening Into the Vestibule
of a church; and was. there: attracted r ,
b-tbevwordaipf the GosptJnhort, t
how he. Had at last been reclaimed, .
not Jbj his " own 1 pbwer," but by ihe
grace bGod Jhad W3itedwith
the people ol God, and ' hv as presmhjg
joyfullyi onward, inf the strength.. -of.
heayenly aceu. . It is needless. to,nsagr
that he, was welcomed back,' as oheu
alive from1 the dead, 'and' that1 happi?
ness again returned to desolate hearts
Reader, my si mple story , is ended.
If it may induce but one moderate
drinker to look for help, not to hnn-,
self, but to Divine Grace,1 1 m paid1 "
for my labor. ' "1 ' 1 5 ' X 5
- . . t - s ;
WHY. HE WO ULDN . DRINK.
A clergyman recently; .related j the
following , encouraging .'facts . at the
Fulton street, Xew York prayer meet
ing: ' -i' )': .- .mSMhi:rA
There were six sailors who') drank
liquor, and one who; would not .drink
on board the same slip.t On arrival
In port the six determined LthatUihey
would, at all hazards, induce r;olf,cbm
pel'their companionulov ;drink4 J Thej
provided a supper on shore fandinti
ted him to attend 1 Here theyi esxN
ted to every artifice to induce t; him to
drink,!.but;he steadily ?refused.i tTheJ
finally resorted to violence. -He; still
unyielding, requested -S them ,i before
they went any further ini comprilsion,
to hear what he had to : say. They
consented. He said i that n wherf. he
was a boy he ; had -; & drunken Jfother
who dreadfully ahusedi his t mother.
One day his mother had .sent him on
fan errand which caused hirn to be put :
late at night. As he was returning
through the snow he thought he vsaw
something lying ahead of him,, vhich
on approaching and touching, he dis
covered was a man, and upon closer
inspection found it to be his own fath
er, dead and, frozen. He soon infor
med his mo her, and with! -the assis
tance of neighbors, - the deid body. was
taken home and prepared for burial.
While thus prepared his mother called
him with the other children, tQjView
for the last time their father's face, and
made them solemnly promise that they
would never drink intoxicating liquor.
"And now, boys," said he, turning , to
his companions, "do you want me to
drink ; J 1(- HQislp Xt.
"Nol no I no !' cam$ frpm, very. lip.
They went on board the r ; yesseL; rXhe
captain was surprisedto .s.ee. them re- -turn
on board so - early, and . orderly,
and asked; the cause; ,; ; He was ;.told
the story; the pledge vasj produced;
they all signed it; and? through the in
fluence ot th0 Msaptain: inearly all the
shipls ciew, signed &i jThe people on
board that ship were j, sober people
I Soon after the jHbly-iSpiril , came j?n
bi3ar4:iufa3rthe hearts of ; the; people.-- '
Many were converted. cGod was hon
ored, and his nam e. evermpre? fprai8ed
byjthat ship's crew. - . , j ;?( wit
it i "' '4
N. C. Chkistus
Confeboce, This
body will convene at' Salem , Chapel,
1 5...'
Forsy the, county, on r Friday the 13th
H)f November. - .We have been reques-
ted to say that conveyances , will be at
High Point on Thursday morning tie
12 th of Noyeinber, to convey delegates
to the church, a distance of 23 . miles.
All persons going by raUroadV xut pe
there at that time, as there? will be no
conveyances after ,ihat'fay.(foi8tian
t
4
Thad Stevens left .$100,000 to -his
nephew on Condition'- that ho abstain
from the'hse of liqubr until i he Vwraslpf
age; otherwise it goes to spldrs'jpr
phans. j Young America says hewill
not be mean enough' to t 'cheat 1 tlie or
phans. i 5 t:; '-?,J ii ro
-1