r . ' " ' I I 3" ' ' ' ''",!', ' "
ZSS . - A FAMILY-NEWSPAPER-NEUTRAL IN POLITICS. , ; : - Iwl(lSusl,'
5Pcin)tclt to all tije Bn lerests of. Souti), literature, out ntiott, ricultute, Jiciys, fljc iWaritets, &c.
VOL. Ill NO. 22, , RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA, SATURDAY, MAY 0, 1851. WHOLE SO. 126.
v
1
MAY.
BY W. H. C. UOSMEB.
" Airs from the clear south-west have borne
A f iiry hither on tlieir wings
And pining grief forgets to mourn,
Transported by the psalm she sings.
Pale Vant, in ragged, thin attire,
Who found no f iggot for his fire
- When howled the wir.try stprm,
Quitting his desolate retreats,
Looks forih, and with a blessing greets
The sun-liglit free and warm.
" The deep, orchestral wood gives ear,
Thrii'ed to its heart by joyous song;
And in the laughing fields I hear
Old voices that were silent 1on?;
In a rich suit if gold and black,
The Oriole hath wandered back,
To weave her harr ihocfc light ;
And the brown thrush, a mimic wild,
For many weary mo xns exiled,
From bough to boitgh takes flight.
' A sea of verdure over-spreads
The rushy banks of pond and cove, "
And wild-flowers lift their jeweled heads,
Frail, air-swung censers of the grove.
Tall blue-bells, in my wood-land walks,
Nod gracfcfuliy their leafy stalks, .
In welcoming to me;
With luscious wine, by night distilled,
Their nips, to overflowing filled,
Allure the gauze-winged bee.
" The rose-lipped shell on oi-can's beach
: Hath less of beauty in its line
Than fragrant blossom-of the pech,
That twinkle, diamonded wi:h dew ;
The cherry lifts its snowy crest :
In while t! e plum and pear are dressed.
Diffusing olor round ;
Detached, in orchards, by the breeze,
The painted drapery of the trees
Falls, carpeting the ground. '
" 0ir sire thronged fom cot and hall
- When, sooty and gro esque of look.
Round May-poles, garlanded and tall,
His bells the morris-dancer shook ;
By loyal hand a queen was crowned,
And manly pastime labor found,
While i'lit':-vaf! shafts were drawn:
Wirli .laughing sky -and festal earth
Coiiiported well that ticene of mirth v
Upon the daisied lawn.
... - j
" Ti e merrr-making gnmep of rld
Unlocked the portaU ? the heart,
And rarely m:;n Ins honor sold
For boo'.y in the crowded mart ;
"When -Woe appealed to Vt'eaiih for food,.
Ha owned the tie of brotherhood,
Giving without disdain ;
A generous va'or'warmed the soul
Where love of country held control, -
Not low desire for gain.
" Capricious April sighed away
His perfumed breath with closing y?s,
And leaving crown and realm to May,
Within a grave of beauty lies.
Shelley, -if Firing, would declare
A tenement of rest so fair,
Undarkeiied by a 'eloud, ;
In love v ith death would wanderer make,
And in his heart enamored wake
A yearning for the shroud.
"Bright drops on florr.l cup and bell,
When breaks the first fair morn of Mar,
No longer, blest by fairy spell,
Can charm the freckled tnolo away ;
But,ah! this season of delight
Hath magie yet to make more bright
The tomb-stone of the Frast;
;. And Memory 4 a-Maying ' goes,
Reviving many a withered rose,
In gardens dim and vast.
Called by the flowery Queen of Spring,
: Dispensing bliss without alloy,
The sportive insect-tribes take wing, .'
. And Nature's holiday enjo;
Qh J not in gaudy trappings clad,
" Alone the proud and mighty glad
At her bright court are made ;
Alike upon the great and small
. Her royal favors freely fall
Her sunshine nnd her shade. - - '
' " Thou art the May of other hours ;
Undimmjed thy locks of golden he? n : '
And still, with dandelion-flowers.
, Is starred thy plaid by living green i
1 But time, alas I in me hath wrought
Drear changes, both in form and thought,
Since boyhood's blissful time.
When, lulled by biook.and running strertin,
I 'couched hie on thy flowers, to dicfliu
Of Heaven's unshadowed clime."
SELECTED STORY.
THE BUND MAN'S WREATH.
" Mr boy, my or blind toy,!" This sorrow
j fut oxolamation broke from tlielips if Mrs. Owen
I as she hiy uKu the couch to which a long and
wasting"illness ha J confined her, and whence she
well knew she was never more to rise. .
Her son, the only child of her widowed hearth,
the-sole object of her cares and affections, knelt
beside her, his face bowed upon her pillow, for
now-only, in a moment of solemn communion
with liis mother, had she revealed the fatal truth,
and told him she must soon die He had watch
ed, and hoped, and trembled for many weary
month; but never yet had he admitted to him
self the possibility of losing her ; her faded check
and sunken eye could not reveal to him the pro
gress of decay, and so long as the loved voice
maintained its music to his ear and cheered him
trith promise of improvement, so long W her
hand still clasped Lis, he had hoped she would
recover.
He had been blind since he was three years
old ; stricken by lightening, he had totally lost
his sight. A dim remembrance of his widowed
mother's face, her smoothly braided hair, and
flowing white dress, was one of the few recollec
tions entwined with the period before all became
dark to him.
The boy grew-up, tall, slender, delicate, with
dark pensive eyes which bore no trace of the ca
lamity that had destroyed their pow6r of vision ;
grave, though not sad ; dreamy, enthusiastic, re
quiting his mother's are with the deepest vene
ration and tenderness. In the first years of his
childhood, and also whenever his education did
not take them to London and elsewhere, they
had resided near a town on the sea-coast in one
of the prettiest parts of England.
Independently of the natural kindness which
veryrarely fails to be shown to any person who
is blind, there was that aoout both the widow
and her son which invariably rendered them ac
ceptible guests ; for their intellectual resources,
and powers of conversation, were equally diver
sified and uncommon. Mre. Owen had studied
much in order to teach her son, and thus, by im
proving her natural abilities, had become a per
son of no common stamp ; her intellectuality,
however, being always subservient to, and fitly
shadowed by the superior feminine attributes of
love, gentleness and sympathy ; for Heaven help
the woman in whom these gifts are not predom
inant over any mental endowments whatsoever !
When they walked out together bis mother
took his arm ; he was proud of that, he liked to
j fancy he was some support to her, and many pi-
' ll.i-.l i. iVll J T n A
iiug eyes useu laixeriy 10 iouow me ngure 01
the widow in the black dress she constantly wore,
and the pale son on whom she leaned confiding
ly, as if striving with a sweet deception to con
vince him that he was indeed the staff of her
declining strength. But ffraduallv the mother's
fonn grew bent, her step dragged wearily along,
and the expression of her face indicated increas
ing weakness. The walks were at an end ; and
before long she was too feeble to leave her bed,
excepting to be carried to a summer parlor,
where she lay upon a sofa beside an open win
dow, with flowers-twining around the casement,
and the warm sunshine filling all things with
joy, save her foreboding heart and the anxious
son who incessantly hung over her. Friends of
ten came to visit them, and turning away with
a deep sadness as they noted the progress of her
malady, and heard the blind man ask each time
whether they did not think her better oh, sure
ly a little letter than when they last beheld her j
Among all. these, no friend was so welcome or
brought such solace to he sick room as Man
Parker, ar joyous girl of nineteen, one of the
beauties of the county, and the admiration and
delight of all who knew her. Mrs. Owen had
danced Mary upon her knee, and Edward used
to weave baskets and make garlands for her
when he was a boy of twelve, and she a little
fairy of six years or thereabouts, stood" beside
him, praising his skill, and wondering how he
could manage so cleverly though blind. None
of his childish companions ever led him so care
fully as Mary, or seemed so mentally impressed
with his mental superiority ; she would leave
those games of her playmates in which his blind
ness prevented him from-joining, and would lis
ten for hours to the stories with which his mem
ory was well stored, or which his own imarina
tion enabled him to invent.
As she grew up, there was no change in the
frank and confiding nature of their intercourse.
Mary still made him, the recipient of her girlish
secrets, and plans, and dreams, just as she had
done of her little griefs and joys in childhood ;
asked him to quote his favorite passages of poe
try, or stationed herself near him at the piano,
suggesting subjects for him to play, which he
extemporised at her bidding. Bright and bloom
ing as Mary was, the life of every party, beam
ing with animation and enjoyment, no attention
was capable of rendering her unmindful of him ;
and she was often known to sit out several dan
ces in an evening to talk to dear Edward Owen,
who would be sad if he thought himself neglec
ted. .
And now she daily visited the invalid ; her
buoyant spirits tampered by sympathy for her
increasing sufferings ; but still diffusing such an
atmosphere of sunshine and hope around her,
that gloom and despondency seemed to vanish
j at her presence. Edward's sightless, eyes were
always raised to her blight face, as if he felt the
; magic influence it imparted.
His mother had noted all this, with a inoth
i ei's watchfulness ; and, on that day, when strong
in her love, she had undertaken to break to him
the fact which all others shrank fmm communi
cating, she spoke likewise of Mary, and of , the
vague wild hope she had always cherished of one
day seeing her his wife.
44 No, mother, no !" exclaimed the blind man.
44 Dearest mother, in this you are not true to
yourself! What ! Would you wish to see her
in all her spring-time of youth and beauty sacri
ficed to such a one as I ! to see Mary as you
have described her to me, as my soul tells me
she is, tied down to be the guide, and leader, and
support of one who could not make one step in
her defence ; whose helplessness alone in the
eyes of men, would be his means of sheltering
and.protecting her ! Would you hear her piti
edour bright Mary pitied as a Blind Man's
Wife, mother!"
"But Edward if she loves you, as I am sure
she does n ' ;
u Love me, mother ! Yes," as angels love mor
tals, as a sister loves a brother, as you love me ! j
And for this benignant love, this tender sympa
thy, I could kneel and kiss the ground she treads
upon but beyond this were you to entreat her
to many your blind and solitary son, and she in
pity answered Yes, would I accept her on such
terms, and rivet ftie chains she had consented to
assume ? Oh mother, mother, I have not studied
you in vain, your life has been one long self-sacrifice
to me ; its silent teaching shall bear fruit !
Do not gneve so bitterly for me. God was very
merciful in giving me such a mother ; let us trust
Him for the future !"
Ah, poor tortured heart, speaking so bravely
forth, striving to cheer the mother's falling, when
all to him was dark, dark, dark !
She raised herself upon her pillow, and wound
herweik arms about his neck, and listened to the
expressions of ineffable love, and faith and conso
lation, which her son found strength to utter, to
sustain her soul. Yea, in that hour her recom
pense had begun ; in loneliness, in secret tears,
with Christian patience and eudeavor, with an
exalted and faithful spirit, had she sown ; and in
death she reajed her high rewarcL
They had been sileut for some minutes, and she
lay back exhausted, but composed, while he sat
beside her, holding her hand in his, fancying she
slept, and anxiously listened to her breathings
which seemed more than usually oppressed. A
rustling was heard amid the flowers at the win
dow, and a bright young face looked in.
44 Hush !" said Edward, recognizing the, step
44 Hush, Mary, she is asleep !"
The color and the smiles alike passed from Ma
ry's face when she glided into the room. 440h
Edward, Edward, she is not asleep, she is very,
very illl"
41 Mary ! darling Mary !" said the dying lady,
with difficulty rousing herself ; 44 1 have had such
a pleasant dream ; but I have slept too long. It
is night. Let them bring candles. Edward,
cannot see you now."
iS igh, and the sun so brightly shining ! The
shadows of the grave were stealing fast ujx
her.
Other steps now sounded in the room, and
many faces gathered around the couch ; but the
blind man heard nothingwas conscious of noth
ing save the painful labored respiration, the trem
ulous hand that fluttered in his own, the broken
sentences.
44 Edward, my dearest, take comfort. I have
hope. God is indeed merciful."
44 Oh Edward do not grieve so sadly ! It breaks
my heart to see you cry. For her sake be calm
for my sake too Man- knelt down beside him,
and endeavored to soothe -the voiceless anguish
which it terrified her to witness.
Another interval, when no sound broke the
stillness that prevailed : and again Mrs. Owen
opened her eyes, and saw Mary kneeling by Ed
ward's side. They were associated Avith the pre
vious current if her thoughts, and a smile light
ed up her face.
"As I wished, as I prayed, to die ! My chil
dren both. Kiss me, Mary, my blessing, my
consoler ! Edward, nearer, nearer ! Child of
so many hopes and prayers all answered now !"
And with her bright vision unalloyed, her re
joicing soul took wing, and knew sorrow and
tears no more.
Four month's had passed since Mrs. Owen's
death,, and her son was still staying at Wood
lands, the residence of Mary's father, Colonel
Parker, at about two miles distance from Ed
ward Owen's solitary home ; hither had he been
prevailed upon to remove, after the first shock
of his grief had subsided. T
Colonel and Mrs. Parker were kind-hearted
people, al the peculiar situation of Edward
Owen appealed to their best feelings, so they
made no opposition to their children devoting
themselves unceasingly to him, and striving by
every innocent device, to render his affliction
less poignant and oppressive. But kind as all
the family were, still all the family were as no
thing compared to Mary, who was always anx
ious to accompany him in his walks, seemed
jealous of her privilege as his favorite reader,
and claimed to be his silent watchful compan
ion, when, too sad even to take an interest in
what she read, he leaned back wearily in his
chair, and felt the soothing influence of her
presence. As time wore on, and some of his
old pursuits resumed their attractions for him,
she used to listen for hours as he played upon
the piano. She would sit near him with her
work, proposing subjects for his skill, as her old
custom had been ; or she would beg him to
give her a lesson in executing a difficult pas
sage, and rendering it with due feeling and ex
pression. In the same way, in their readings,
which gradually were carried on with more reg
ularity and interest, she appeared to look upon
herself -as the person obliged, appealed to his
judgment, and deferred to his opinion, without
any consciousness of the fatigue she underwent,
or the senice she was rendering.
One day, as they were sitting in the library,
after she had been for some time pursuing her
self-imposed task, and Edward, fearing she would
be tired, had repeatedly entreated her to desist,
she answered gaily :
" Let me alone, Edward ! It is so pleasant
to go through a book with you ; you make such
nice reflections, and point out all the finest pas
sages, and explain the difficult parts so clearly,
that it does me more good than a dozen read
ings by myself. I shall grow quite clever now
we have begun our literary studies." , , :
" Dear Mary, say rather, ended ; for you know
this cannot always go on so. I must return to
my own house next week; I iave trespassed on
your father's hospitality, indulgence, and for
bearance too long."
" Leave us, Edward !" and the color deepened
in her cheeks, and tears stood in her bright eyes.
nut V I .
44 Not yet ? The day would st ill ccme, dearest,
delay it as as I might, and is it manful thus to
shrink from what must and ought to be f - I have
to begin life in earnest, and if I falter at the onset,
what w ill be the result ? I have arranged even
thing : Mr. Glen, our clergyman has a cousin, an
usher in a school, who wishes for retirement and
country air. I have engaged him to live with me
as companion and reader. Next M eek he comes ;
and then, Mary, farewell to Woodlands !"
No, not farewell, for you must come here very
o: ten : and 1 must read to you still and you must
teach me still and tell me in your own noble
thoughts and beautiful language of better and
higher things than I once used to care for. And
then our walks oh, Edward, we must continue
to see the sun set from the 'cliffs, sometimes, to
gether. You first .taught me how beautiful it
was. I told you of the tints upon the sky, and
upon the sea, and upon the boats w ith their glis
tening sails, and you set the view before me in all
its .harmony and loveliness, brought it home to
my heart, and made me feel how cold and insen
sible I had been before."
44 Ah, Man-," said Edward mournfully, 44 near
you I am no longer blind T'
The book she had been reading fell unheeded
on the ground, she trembled, her color went and
came, as she laid her hand timidly on his arm ; in
describable tenderness, reverence and compassion
were busy within her soul.
44 Edwardj you will not change in anything to
wards us ; this new companion need not estrange
you from your oldest and dearest friends vour
mother's friends ! Let me always be your pupil,
your friend, your sister."
44 Sustainer, consoler, guide ! Sister, above all,
oh yes, my sister ! Best and sweetest title say
it again. Mary, say it again !" and seizing her
hand, he kissed it passionately, and held it for a
moment within his own. . Then, as suddeuly re
linquishing it, he continued in an altered tone,
44 my sister and my friend, until another comes to
claim a higher privilege, and Mary will be forever
lost to me !"
She drew back, and a few, inaudible words
died away upon her lips; he could not see her ap
pealing tearful eyes. Mistaking the cause of her
reserve, he made a strong effort to regain compo
sure. "Do you remember when you were a child, Ma
ry, how ambitiously romantic you used to be, and
how you were determined to be a duchess, at
least?"
44 And how you used to tease me, by saving vou
would only come to my castle disguised as a wan
dering minstrel, and would never sit at the board
between me and the duke, Edward ? Yes, I re
member it all, foolish children that we were ! But
, at least, no better now ; I am not ambitious in
that way any longer."
44 In that way ? In what direction then do
your aspirations tend ?"
"To be loved !" said Mary fenntly ; "to be
loved, Edward, with all the trust and devotedness
pf which a noble nature is susceptible to know
that the heart on which I lean has no thought
save for me to be certain that with all my faults
and waywardness, I am loved for myself alone,
not for for any little charm of f;ice which peo
pie may attribute to me."
Edward rose abruptly, and walked tip and
down the room, which, from his long stay in the
house, had become familiar to him. 44 Mary,"
he resumed, stopping as he drew near her, 44 you
do yourself injustice. The face you set so little
store by, must be beautiful, as the index of your
soul ; I have pictured you so often to myself ; I
have coveted the blessing of sight, were it only
for an instant, that I might gaze upon you !
j The dim fonn of my mother, as I last beheld
her in my infancy, floats before me when I think
of vou, encircled with a halo of heavenly light,
which I fancy to be your attribute, and a radi
ance hovers round your golden tresses such as
gladdens our hearts in sunshine."
" Ah, Edward, it is better you cannot see as I
am ! You would not love I mean you would
not think of me so much P
" If I could but see you for a moment as you
will look at the ball to-night, I fancy I should
never repine again."
44 The ball to-night ! I had quite forgotten it ;
I wish mamma would not insist upon my going.
I do not care for these thing any longer ; you
will be left alone, Edward, and that seems so
heartless and unkind !"
44 Man-," said one of her sisters, opening the
library door, 44 look at these beautiful hot-house
flowers which have arrived here for us. Come
Edward, come and see them too."
They were so accustomed to treat him as one
of themselves, and were so used to his aptitude
in many ways, that they often did not appear to
remember he was blind.
The flowers were rare and beautiful, and yet
no donor's name accompanied the gift. Sud
denly one of the girls cried out laughingly, " I
have guessed, I have guessed, It is Ed ward.
He has heard us talking about this ball, and
must have ordered them on purpose for us.
Kind, good Edward!" and they were loud in
their expressions of delight; all, except Mary
who kept silently aloof.,
u Mary does not like her flowers," said Edward,
inquiringly, turning in the direction where she
stood. . i , '
" No," she replied sorrowfully, " it is the ball
that I do not like, nor your thinking about deck
us out for it. As if I cared to go !"
44 Look at these lovely roses," said thcj eldest
sister, and they were selecting what each should
wear ; 44 would not Mary look well with a wreath
of these roses in her hair ?"
44 Yes, yes," exclaimed Edward eagerly, 44 and
et me weave it for her ! You know, Mary, it is
one of my accomplishments ; you were proud
of my garlands when you were a little girl.
Will you trast my fingers for the task ?"
44 If you really wish it, if it does not seem too
trifling, yes," said Mary gently, with a troubled
expression upon her brow usually so serene, as
she moved reluctantly away. 44 But it must ap
pear such mockery to you, poor Edward !" and
then, without waiting for a reply, she hurried to
ler room, and did not show herself again until
the. family assembled for dinner ; while Edward
seated between the sisters who were in great
Might in their anticipation of the evenings
amusements, silently betook himself to his
task. -
Early after dinner, the large old-fashioned
drawing-room at Woodlands was deserted : the
the momentous business of the toilet had to lie
gone through, and then a drive of five miles ac
complished, before Mrs. Parker and her three
fair daughters could find themselves at the ball.
Edward was the only occupant of the room ;
seated at the piano, on which his fingers idlv
strayed : he now and then struck chords of deeo
melancholy, or broke into passages of plaintive
L
sadness.
Alone, alone ! How the silence of this
room stntes upon my heart how long this
evening will be without her voice, without her
footstep ! And yet this is what awakes me.
what is inevitably drawing near. Next week I
eave the roof under which she dwells ; I shall
not have her constantly at my side, asking me
with her sweet childlike earnestness, to teach her
to repeat poetry, or to give expression to her mu
sic. The welcome rustle of her dress, the melo
dy of her laugh, will soon become rare sounds
to me ! Within, around, beyond, all is dark.
hopeless, solitary. Life strikes itself wearily be
fore, blind and desolate as I am. Mother mo
ther, well might your sweet spirit shrink when
you contemplated this for your miserable son.
How strange those last words. I thought of
them to-day, while I made her wreath 'of roses.
and when her sisters told me of the .numbers
who flock around her. Every flower brought it
warning and its sting."
44 lid ward, have I not made haste ? I wished
to keep you company for a little while before we
set out. ou must be so sad. Your playing
told me you were sad, Edward,"
ine was standing by him m all the pnde ot
her youth and loveliness : her white dress falling
in a cloud-like drapery around her graceful form,
her sunny hair sweeping her shoulders, and the
wreath surmounting a brow on which innocence
and truth were impressed by Nature's hand.
The sense of her beauty, of an exquisite har
mony about her, was clearly perceptible to th
blind man ; he reverently touched the flowing
robe, and placed his hand upon the flowery
wreath.
44 Will you think of me, dearest, to-night ?
You will carry with you something to remind
you of me. When you are courted, worshipped.
envied, and hear on every side praises of your
beauty, giving a passing thought to Edward who
lent his little help to its adornment."
44 Edward, how can you speak so mockingly
You know that in saying this you render me most
miserable."
44 Miserable. With roses blooming on your
brow, and hope exulting in vour heart : .when
life smiles so brightly on you, and guardian an
gels seem to hover round your path."
lie spoke in a manner that was unusual to
him ; she leaned thoughtfully against the piano.
and, as if unconscious of what she was doing
disengaged the garland from her hair.
" These poor flowers have no bloom, and this
bright fife of mine, as you think it, has no en
joyment when I think of you, sad, alone, un
happy, returning to your desolate home, Ed
ward."
" Dearest," he returned inexpressibly moved,
" do not grieve for me. Remember, my mother
left her blessing there."
44 Was it only for you, Edward J"
There is a moment's silence ; he covers his
face with his hands, his lofty self-denying spirit
wrestles with himself ; when, gently the wreath
is laid upon his knee, her arm is passed around
his neck, her head with its glory of golden locks,
is bowed upon his breast
44 Oh Edward, take the wreath, and with it
take myself if I desene it. Tell me that you
are not angry, that you do not despise me for
this I have been so unhappy, I have so long
wished to speak to you."
" Mary Mary, forbear ! You try me beyond
my strength : beloved of my soul, light of my
sightless eyes dearer to me than language
can express, you must not thus throw yourself
away."
He would disengage the arm that is clinging
to his neck, but she nestles closer still.
44 Mary," he cries wildly, 44 remember. Blind
blind!" .
44 Not blind near me,: not blind for me. Here,
Edward, my resting place is found ; nothing but
death shall separate me from you. -I am yours,
your friend, your consoler, your wife. Oh, tell
me you are glad." . "';
Glad. His previous resolutions, his determi
nation to own nothing to her pitying love, all
faded in, the unequalled happiness of that hour,
nor ever returned to cloud the life which Mary's
devotion rendered henceforth blessed.
This is no fiction, reader, no exagerated pic
ture. Some, who peruse this, will testify out of
the depths of their hearts how, in respect and
admiration, they have watched Mary fulfilling
ie promise of her beautiful sympathy and love, t
She has never wavered in the path she chose to
tread she has never cast one lingering look at
all she resigned in giving .herself to him. Joy
ous, tender, happy, devoted, she has seemed al
ways to regard her husband as the source of all
her happiness ; and, when the music of child
ren's voices has been heard within their dwelling,
not even her motherly love for those dear faces
whose sparkling eyes could meet and return her
gaze, has ever been known to defraud their fa
ther of a thought, or a smile, or the lightest por
tion of her accustomed care.
No, dear Mary. Years have passed since she
aid her wreath on his knee : the roses so care
fully presei-ved, have long withered, but the
truth and love which accompanied the gift, are
fresh and bright as then : rendered her, as her
proud husband says, almost even, while on earth,
to those angels whom, in Heaven, he shall see
ler see her, at last, no longer blind.
RUNAWAY WEDDING WITH UN
PLEASANT ACCOMPANIMENTS.
A rare scene was; enacted in the vicinity of
the City Hall on Thursday evening, in and about
the residence of a family in William- street
The dramatis personal were a bridegroom and
bride, (bound since morning in Hymen's silken
bands,) the fonner carrying on his shoulders the
weight of 55 years, and the latter skipping un
der the buoyant burthen of 21 (within a few
days,) an enraged father, and brother of the.
bride ; a magistrate and an attorney. And now
for the plot : The parties were all from York
county. The groom, it seems, though a thriv
ing wooer, found his path to happiness obstruct
ed by a cross old father, who vowed he should
not 'have his daughter, no how. The proposed
son-in-law was a personable man, of good stand
ing, and well-to-do, as the saying is ; but the
father was inexorable," wouldn't hear to reason,
and sternly refused his consent What was to
be done ? Why, elope, to be sure. This was
resolved on ; and so, having made the necessary
arrangements, they came down to Hampton on
Wednesday night, whence they crossed over
next morning in a sail boat, and arrived in a few
hours at Portsmouth, where the lady had a
family connection, to whose house they proceed
ed, where they twain were speedily made one.
After dinner the groom, complaining of the fati
gues of his journey and broke rest, concluding
he would take a nap, and he accordingly retired.
The bride then proposed to her friend, the lady
of the house where she was stopping, to go over
to Norfolk and visit a female relation of her's
residing in Williams-street ; about three o'clock
they left for that purpose.
While -they are crossing the ferry, we will
take occasion to return to the relentless old fath
er in York. As he seems to be a cross and con
trary old gentleman, it is natural to suppose that
he raved and took on at a dreadful rate when
he found out that his daughter had gone off to
get married. But this was not all he did. He
called his son, a stout athletic young man, to
accompany him, and away they started in pur
suit of the runaway ; and as quick as a horse
and buggy could carry them they reached
Hampton, but only time enough to find they
were too late, by several hours, to catch them
there. They came over in the steamer, how
ever, and landed on the Norfolk side about five
o'clock.
And now let us look after the bride. She
and her Portsmouth friend had, paid their visit
to the lady in William-street and were on their
return, when in passing down Market Square, as
ill luck would have it, she met her father and
brother on their way up from the Hampton
steamer. A breeze of angry reproaches from the
old gentleman was followed by his roughly seiz
ing and forcing her back to the house of her re
lation ; and there locking her in a room, he
swore ten thousand bloody murders against any
man that should dare attempt to take her out.
The fact that she was legally married and there
fore forever divorced from his authority was
made known to him ; but it did not alter his
purpose ; he had set his mind on it that she
should go home with him the next morning, and
he did not stop to reason, so great was his ex
citement His conduct drew an immense crowd
in front of the building, eager to learn the par
ticulars, and the lower rooms were exceedingly
annoyed, and at their entreaty several volunteer
ed to go to Portsmouth and wake up the groom
if he was still asleep, and bring him to the res
cue of his lady love. In due time he made his
appearance, and demanded her release, but it
was sternly refused, and; as there were several
persons present who sympathised with him, some
of them advised him to go immediately to a
magistrate and get a warrant to obtain posses
sion of his lawful spoused ": The magisterial aid
was accordingly invoked, and afforded not how
ever by warrant, but in person backed by the
State's Attorney, and the case was explained so
clearly to the excited and exasperated father, as
to convince him, however much, against will,
that there was nojise in holding out, but, per
haps a fearful responsibility or interfering be
tween man and wife,- and the prospect of heavy
damages. So he restored the captive bride to
her liege lord, giving vent at the same time to
MISCELLANEOUS.
some expressions which rather betokened the4
possibility of future reconciliation than any:
abatement of present mortification and chagrin;
It was twelve o'clock at night before the af
fair was adjusted and the happy couple again
united and free from further molestation. As
they came out the sympathising crowd, which
had not dispersed, gave them half a dozen cheers
and escorted them to the ferry wharf, where
they took leave of them with nine more. 1-
Xorfolk Herald. 7
HYGEIA HOTEL SECRETARY OF WAR.
A short time since we mentioned the fact that
the Secretary of War had revoked an arrange
ment entered into by the proprietors of the Hy-
geia Hotel at Old Point with a former Secreta
ry, Mr. Conrad, and intended to have referred
to the subject again before this. ' j
By the arrangement spoken of the proprietors
of the Hotel were granted the privilege of en-
arging their buildings for the better accommo-
ation of visiters, according to plan and specifi
cations then submitted, and which would in no
wise interfere with the Fortress or government
works there. The plan had the approval of the
Commanding officer of the Fort, and Mr. Con- .
rad, after a personal examination of the premis
es and the improvements suggested, did not hes
itate to grant the privileges asked 'for.
The Hotel, it will be recollected, is located in
the rear of the Fort, and the' contemplated alter
ation or addition could in no event obstruct the
free use of all the guns, except one or two, in
renge of which there is nothing but water-fiats
or marshes through which nothing could easily
approach. But more than that, to be certain
that no obstruction should be presented in case
of emergency, or any interruption of our peace
ful relations with other nations, the proprietors
pledge themselves to remove the buildings to be
erected, at their own expense, upon receiving
notice from the Commandant of the station.-:
Thus it will be seen that no good reason existed
why the proposed improvements should not be
permitted, and they were readily assented to by
the former Secretary of War.
We regret much that Mr. Davis, our present
able Secretaiy, should have revoked the priv
ileges granted to the proprietors of the Ilygeia
by Mr. Conrad, and are inclined to belive that,
upon a just and proper representation of the
matter being made to him, and a little reflection
on his part, he will cheerfully reconsider his de
cision and continue the privileges before granted.
It is a subject in which this entire section of
country is interested. .
As a watering place during the warm season
of the year Old Point is unsurpassed, and the
thousands of Southern people who resort there
annually for salt water bathing, fec, will very
reluctantly submit to the deprivation to which
they will be subjected if the Secretary persists
in the decision he has made. We would f es
pectfully ask Mr. Davis to take the matterlagain
under consideration, .and, if not influenced by
misrepresentations that may have been made,
we feel confident he will be convinced that no
interest of the government or individuals caij'be
promoted by a refusal to grant the same right
extended by Mr. Conrad. Transcript.
Hanged while Drunk. We read in the
Gazette des Tribunaux : A young man about
twenty-nine years of age arrived at Paris about
a month, ago, to seek a place, but as hewas, pro:.
vided with a large sum of money, he resolved to
indulge in debauchery until it should be spent
On Thursday evening he went to dine with some
acquaintances, and remained drinking until !four
ojclock in the morning. He then returned" to .
his hotel in the Rue St Honore, but was so
drunk that he could hardly walk tip stairs.
Yesterday morning a person called to see
him, and was directed to his room, which
was situated at the bottom' of an isolated! cor
ridor. To his astonishment he found i him
hanging by the neck by his cravat, to the han
dle of the door. He, it appeared,' in trying
to open the door, had slipped, and his cravat
which he wore very loose,' caught by theihan--die.
The efforts he made to release himself, in
his state of intoxication were fruitless, and he
remained hanging until he was completely
strangled. " "x " 1 ' j.
A Minister, while preparing his next Sunday
sermon, stopped occasionally to review what he
had written, and, as a matter of 'course, lo erase
some portions which on consideration seemed to
require improvement While-doing sof he was
accosted by his little son, a child, about three
years of age. " Father, does God tell yon ; what
to preach?" "Certainly, my child." "'Then
what makes you scratch it out V ' j
Not Viciocs,.but Plattci. Is your horse .
perfectly gentle, Mr. Dabster ?? . ij ' .
" Perfectly gentle, air ; the only fault hie has
got, if that be fault," is a playful habit of ex
tending his hinder hoofs now and then." j,
" By extending his hinder hoofs you don't
mean kicking, I hope f ! '
V" Some people call it kicking, Mr. Green- but
it's only a slight reaction of' the muscles, it dis
ease rather than a rke.n r ' ' j
. .... ..... ... - y - .
ArrEcnso. A " lovyer " received the follow
ing note, accompanied by a bouquet of flowers :
"Deer I send u bi the boy a bucket of
flours. They k like my luv for u. The nite
shaid menes kepe dark. The dog feml nanes I
am ure slavey- ?,'-;-.'- v -""t;U:
' Rosit red n poUpil
My hr? tat o dull mw Jul."
I
j w.
. 1