Vandalia Whig and Illinois intelligencer. [volume], June 13, 1832, Image 1

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VAIVDALIA WHIG
. 1.171 lEEIJTOIS IJTTEEEIGEJrCEn.
BY GREINER & SHERMAN.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1832. [NEW SERIES. VOL. I— NO. XIII.
TH E
L'LWin and} Rgsstf'ssltimnccy
19 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED ON WEDNESDAYS,
H V M. GREINER,
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A liberal deduction made to those who advertise by.
the year.
From the Cincinnati Mirror and Ladie's Parterre.
ASHTON GREY.
BY MHS. JULIA L. DUMONT.
Tho tremendous conflliot was terminated.
The victory of Wayne had finally extinguished
the fires of the Indian, and the country, which
had so long been the arena of a deathful struggle,
was left in the quiet possession of the victors.
The soldier’s huts, which had covered the site of
our modern Tyre, had disappeared. The for
tress that had protected our armies, was disman
tled; and a population, composed ol'almost. every
nation and every class, and hurryiqg on like ma
ny waters, with a condensed and highly impe
tus, was already laying the foundation of that
proud city, which in the space of thirty years,
like an isle from the everlasting soltudes of the
deep, has risen in the very bosom of(i wilderness,
vast—interminable—unhroken and unexplored.
The place indeed, bore an aspect olcomparative
wildness. The heavy shadows of l)e embosom
ing forest, lay darkly over it, and rude vestiges
of its primeval character every wlere met the
eye. Charred and blackened treei interrupted
its grassy paths; and a surface of kiills and dells
presented an intermixture of forcst^ilanls, with
those, peculiar to the earliest stag*; of cultivn
lion. Pools and spots of marsh, put up their
dank vapors, and fire flies yet glitlired through
tiie mists of evening. Hut alrcadyjhe mingled
hum of a people rife with hope, audoressing gai
ly forward to the gaol of promised alluence—the
hustle of incipient commerce—the ound of va
rious crafts—the quick tread of menimpelled Ly
cheerful and stirring impulses—till rich, broad
laugh of conscious and independentfreemeu, and
tho harsh call of rough and untamcihpirits, whom
the voice of peace had called fromlhe war-path
to employments, perhaps less suited m their stor
my natures, wero all heard in Ihiteity of the
wilderness. Here and there a dwcjling had al
ready risen distinguished by the palj hie indica
tiuns of wealth and elegance; and from one of
these, a woman, whose appearance denoted poi -
erty and servile occupation, issued, me cold No
vember evening, and bent her steps tavards a cab
in upon the outskirts of the then village. There
was fatigue upon her countenance, but as she
drew near the domicil, to u b'eh la,- — «... j i _
directed with an e.vre-'0" of .merest, not to be
misunderstood, k rH^ied ™ effort of a fine ima
gination to r-m1 111 her quickened step, and the
sudden aru Ao|y '^hting UP °f features, other
wise c»»,lon Place> 'he history of a mother, re
turnrttS t0 'he helpless ones, whom she had left,
hut ro procure them bread.
“They are a9lecp by this, —she murmured as
her eye still exclusively rested upon the rude
dwelling, thus consecrated to her yearning
thought, by the forms it sheltered, nnd still her
weary step' became yet more hurried. She was
within a few paces of the threshold, but at that
moment a bright, vivid flame shot up from the
humble roof, and shed a dreadful glare upon Iter
path The agony of an age of horrors was cen
tered in the scream that escaped, and the next
mon-entshe had broken open the door of her dwel
ling, and fallen suffocated and senseless. It was
all on fire, and a volume of smoke nnd flame pour
ed forth upon the air. A crowd of neighbors had
already reached tile spot and stood around with
deep but unavailing sympathy. “Is it certain
that her children are in the house?” some one
enquired; hut the cry of infants just then distin
guishable above the roar of the flames, gavo an
appalling answer; nnd the mother—there were
strong hearts, oh, and stern ones, among that
crowd—men upon whose rough lineaments, the
the red glare of the flames revealed the scars ol
many a ferocious conflict, but all were alike sub
dued as that delimits mother recovered conscious
ness, amid the shrieks of her children. While
she was forcibly withheld from the flamos, a young
man, who had been seen for a moment only
among the crowd, reappeared with a ladder.
The throng at once gave back in silence as he
rushed forward, for though he spoke not, there
was that in his countonaccc that told of a purpose
not to be diverted. The ladder was placed upon
a corner of the house, which the flames had not
yet reached, and rapidly- ascending it, he tore
away the materials of the roof with a superhuman
strength, and disappeared amid a shower of cin
ders that streamed up through the aperture. 1 he
lower logs of tho building were already giving
way, and every moment threatened t« precipitate
the whole into one indiscriminate miss. There
were a few minutes of terrible 9uspoise—of that
breathless and fearful silence, with which men
await the last gasp of the dying-rand then,
a shout—a loud cry of joy, such as the throng
sends forth under the powerful excitement of the
better sympathies of the heart, roe above the
rushing sound of the combustion. -The young
man stood upon the blazing roof, tearing two
children in his arms, and shielding k third from
the flames that streamed frightfully wound them.
There was no time for descending fie ladder—
the children were tossed into outst£tche(. man
tles, held up by strong hands to receile them, and
the youth himself, with the bound d the moun
tain cat, sprang to the earth, and again disappear
ed amid the gratulalions of the mUtitude, and
the crash of the falling ruin.
A half hour restoreu me i not her to something I
! like calmness. The crowd had dispersed, and
the few of her immediate neighbor who remain
ed. were gathered around her with benevolently
contending p rollers of a temporary home. “A las,
I have none to offer,” murmured almost inaudi
bly a pale delicate girl in deep mourning, wh>
had stood beside her like a marble statue through
the whole scene, and she now glided away atten
ded by a matronly companion, who had afeompn
! nied her thither. “Who is she?” enquired a hall
I dozen voices, with that curiosity which forms s
distinct a trait in the character of early settle
ments. “She is the daughter of the stranjer wh<
vvas buried here yesterday,” said one, why seem
ed to have learned something of her hiitory—
“poor thing! She is left here without a trend or
any means of support as far as I can learn, and
she does not look like one accustomed to the
smoke of a western cabin.” “Where doe3 she
S"ay V’ “She is still with the family where her fa
ther died, but their house is filled, with promiscu
ous boarders, and is but a poor residence for tnc
like her.”
Meanwhile, the unconscious subject of tins
briei colloquy had reached a house at no great dis
tance, and the first object that met her melan-j
cholly eye, as its dark silken lashes were timidly
lifted at her entrance, was the young man whom
she had just seen in a character of such exceed
ing interest. The bandages with which one arm
and hand were now bound, at once told that he
had been no inconsiderable sufferer in the recent
scene, but there was an animation upon his fine
features—a play of light over which the anguish
he evidently endured cast no shadow. The
young mourner shrunk back from the deep gaze
ho flung over her own form, and bidding her com
panion a low and silvery good night she stole
quietly from the apartment. But she bore to her'
own, an excited and haunted fancy, and sorrow
ful memories;aad recent and deep regrets, as she
sought her pillow were strangely blended with
uew images. That of the youthful stranger was
lot indeed calculated to be thrown aside at will.
Graceful—chivalrous_a perfect Apollo in form,
with the distinguishing characteristics of the fear
less and self-sus ained I n< kwoodsman, shaded,
not effaced, by the coloring of a superior nature
—moving with the high freedom of the untamed
iiorse that tosses his mane on the winds of the
green Savannahs, and displaying in the easy de
velopement of limb and muscle, the conscious
vigor and habitual action of one accustomed to
tread—not the minute and proscribed w'alks of
fashion, but the paths of danger and the limitless
range of voiceless solitudes. With a brow, whose
polished transparency, as his rich crisped hair
was occasionally thrown back, attested the dark
hue of his cheek to have been wrought by em*
crowning suns—features regular, hut impressive
—an eye—neither black nor blue nor hazel nor
any other color, save as it was varied by the chan
c f/v-jj.,* wnicn perpetually uuuucu or ini
tated its depths; and a 9inile, bright, dazzling, be
wildering, that lit up the whole like a sudden glo
ry. True, one brief glance had not revealed all
this, but vivid imaginations supplied the deficien
cy, and w hen, the following nionmig, they again
met, the deep glow of the maiden’s delicate cheek,
might have half betrayed the troubled fancies
that had hovered round her pillow. Who skull
delineate the progressive stages of youthful pas
sion? Our young acquaintances wrere inmiies
of the same roof, and hut few days had elapsed
ere they took no note of time save of those huurs
in which they were separate.
Rosabel Hmpden was yet scarcely sixteen. She
had been educated in retirement bv a widowed fa
ther who had no other object upon which to lavish
the whole wealth of his garnered-up affections,’
and although adversity had finally compelld him!
to seek a home uinid western wilds, she had been
still carefully shielded from its pressure. Her
form and features were alike cast in the most per
fect mould. Her complexion was of the purest'
white, relieved only by the delicate pencilling of
her arched brow, and the dark braids of luxuri-j
ant hair that parted over it. EmotiouBomefiines)
imparted a sudden coloring to her fair cheek; but
when in repose, she resembled some waxen im
personation of purity or innocence: it was only
w hen in motion, and the bend of the willow wts
not more graceful—or when iii the excitement jf
feeling, she lifted her eye of soft light to you*,'
that you realized she was a thing of life. Timd
as the bird of air, yet gentle as the summer deys;:
she resembled the fawn, that starting wildly a«Uy
from human footsteps, still at once attaches itplf j
to him who succeeds in arresting its flight. , A
slow fever, the consequence of his wounds, cdifi
ned our young knight-errant to his lodgings,ind
forgetting the stranger in the claims of the iffal
id, Rosabel was gradually led'on to linger 4ear
him—to listen when he spoko—to exert her *wn
powers to amuse him, to meet, though tremblng
iy, the thrilling expression of his animated c^in
tcnance, and at last to lose all perception of the
past or future in a communion that had becirae
sacred, tender and impassioned. They lovednot
merely as j'oung and fresh hearts, whose twn
glad light like sunset clouds gives to all of eirth
a hue of splendor, but a9 those, who pour out up
on each other the whole unwasted affections ot
a deep but solitary spirit—solemnly—devotedly
intensely. Pity that the tame realities oi life
should cast their dust and their shadow upon the
brightness of an existence thus hallowed-—should
call the soul from the sweet fountains ot feeling
to the tiresome paths of business and the labors
of need—binding it down with all its high throb
bing pulses to the cold calculations of profit, and
fettering its struggling wing with a weight that is
a continual and sickening weariness.
The ardent character and early habitudes 01
Ashton Grey, so was our lover called, bad enga
ged him eagerly in that species of wild and har
dy adventure peculiar to our infant west, and I
though perhaps not a distinguished as the “Last j
of the Boatmen,” to whom the power of genius[
has ghen an abiding place among the associated;
recollections of his day—and certainly hearing
a cast of character distinct from that of his class,
y t Ashton Grey was know ns a skilful assistant
in ihe trade which had been introduced upon our
then gloomy and even dangerous waters. An en
gagement of this kind now called him from the
deep dream, into which he had been lulled, and
the lovers separated as hope parts from the heart.
And Rosabel was left alone—alone in that
remediless sense, which is often experienced amid
surrounding crowds, and the merry voices of the
festive hall. From this absorbing sense of lone
liness she was, however, one day suddenly arous
ed. “Colonel Annesly has arrived, Miss Hamp
jden,” said the kind matron, td whose hospitality
she was indebted for her present home, “and if
you wish I will attend you to his house.”—Rosa
t e! started. This was an event, to which h short
time since she had look forward with the deepest
interest; and ns such it had been the subject of
her frequent and anxious enquiry. Colonel An
nesly, one of the earliest emigrants to our infant
city, had been her father’s friend in the season of
youthful ardor; and long years of subsequent
separation had failed to weaken the bond of recip
jrocal confidence, that then existed between them.
Business had called him to the ast a short time
previous to the arrival of Mr. Hampden, and his
family had accompanied him; but the dying fa
ther, whom a fatal disease had met at the promis
ed haven from a toilsome voyage, left in charge of
his desolate child, a letter, consigning her to Co
lonel Annesly’s care, and the agitated girl now
heard of his arrival with a rush of overwhelming
and conflicting thought. The image of a beloved
and lamented parent—the many deep memories
of years of indulgent fondness, upon which the
grave had forever closed, again swept mournfully
and distinctly over her heart, and the more recent
visions, which tor a time had reigned there almost
exclusively, faded away. Pale and drooping as
“the bent lilly overcharged with dew,” she stood
an half hour after, before her future guardian,
and placing in his hands the deed of her father’s
dying trust, awaited its perusal in silent and con
centrated emotion. Col. Annesly was a man in
whose character a complexional hauteur, fostered
by that species of isolation, which superior wealth
and high qualities, draw around one amid the
common walks of life, was mingled with rich
feelings, and benevolent principles: and it needed
not the singular beauty of the delicate and sink
ing being, who awaited his reception, to create
an immediate interest in the orphan child ot his
friend. Yet as he at last kissed her pallid cheek,
and bidding her a fervid welcome to his home
and to his heart, presented her to Mrs. Anvesly
as a sacred bequest, joyfully received frtvn one,
he had deeply loved, he felt with a glow of the
animated pleasure, that Rosabel Hampden might
u ..vivwuo for herself alone. She was indeed
taken at once into the close folds of paternal care,
and the sudden interest with which circumstance
had invested her, was soon, and forever confirm
ed by the enduring charm, winch a spirit of
perfect innocence, and a mind deeply and deli
cately toned, diffused through her every w^ord,
look, and movement. •
Mrs. Annesly was n lovely woman, around
whom (he impalpable liugcrings of early sorrow
-—melted by time into indistinctness, but not to
be effaced—hung like the perpetual shadows of
the cypress on the rose of the cenaeterv; giving a
deepened interest to a character composed of the
gentlest elements. To her, the young, fair or
phan, soon became inexpressibly dear; and had
Rosabel’s heart acknowledged no other ties, than
those which death had crushed, the soothing sense
of affectionate adoption, would have restored her
to perfect happiness. But the fever of a strongly
rooted passion preyed upon her young spirit, and
the purity of her nature was pained by its con
cealment. Yet for one like Rosabel, so timid—
so resembling the plant that shrinks from the
slightest touch, to throw open unencouraged—
unsolicited, the veiled sanctuary of vestal love—
it was an effort to which her strength was une
qual. In vain she strove to utter the name, so
graven on her heart; it died away as it reached
her crimsoned lip, and she fled to her room to
hide her emotion.
The time appointed for the return of A»hton
Grey was at length at hand, and she looked fer
ward with blended fear and hope to his arrival.
She had stolen forth one morning alone, and
unconscious llmt the winds of March were sweep
ing rudely around her, bent her steps slowly along
the margin of the Ohio.—“A rough morning for
so delicate a rambler,” cried a familiar voice, us
she stood pensively gazing at the stream—and
turning round, she beheld Col. Annesly at her
side. “Have a care my dear,” he laughingly
continued, “the gust that lifts the gossamer, may
bear you.off, much more the gale, that has chafed
our usually quiet and beautiful river into so tur
bulent a mood;” and drawing her arm affection
ately through his, he remained gazing with her
at the agitated waves, which were indeed dashing
douinst the shore with a violence, that gave it a
new and even appalling character. While they
thus stood, three or four men approached the bank,
and remaining stationary near them seemed deep
ly engaged in that species of conversation, pecul
iar to the rough and more reckless among the
lower orders of life. The name of Ashion Grey,
familiarly repealed, struck the ear of Rosabel,
and she turned instinctively towards them.
They were rude, vulgar looking men, and her
eve would have been instantly averted, but the
repetition of that magic name chained her uncon
-ctous senses, and while she listened with invol
untary but intense earnestness, her attention was
drawn to one of the group, whose appearance, or
rather counieiiauce was altnge'her distinct from
that of his companions, The harsh mould of hts
, deeply bronzed vizage, and the strong proportions
| of his muscular and heavy set frame, together
(with the strange garb in which it was arrayed,
and the wild slang that marked hid few low mut
tered remarks, singtlur as they all were to our
fair untrained emigrant—were bbt in perfect
keeping with the hakits of the Western Adven
turer. But instead <if the stormy excitability ,the
cast of open and reatl' defiance peculiar to a class
whose character had been formed by a constant
encounter with dangers and difficulties in which
physical prowess wife the most eligible of all
virtues—the countenanie of this man wore a dark
and set and sinister axpession. A kind of gloo
my and inaccessible induration—a surface rcsem
bling the encrusted tarnish acquired by the attri
lion of polluting suhshnges; and that told of a
familiarity with crimty rather than the mere ad
ventitious ferocity anijriiSd in the rough play of
hardy adventure. Oic of the group was address
ing him particular?. “So,” he said, “you left
trading with die ligens while Ashton was but a
boy? I reck<n you did not like to have him jist
na-ter-allizedamong them; or was there some
small mistabs, man, in your dealings with the
copper skin? that you thought they might take it
inio their hads to set off with a little powder and
lead?” “1” replied the other, with the same
imperturbale aspect we have noticed—“if an
Ingen had.s sharp an eye for false dealing as he
has for a lark, there might be some accounts
balanced » that way even with our government
traders, fowever, if Ashton had not been drawn
away by tose of his own feather, I should hardly
have leltlhem at all. But it is a dull thing to
lose sigh altogether of one whom we have seen
at our siii as duly us our shadow for some dozen
years ornore, and after the whites began to scat
ter throoh the country i could no more iiave
kept theioy by me, than i could have trained a
half grovn eagle to stay in the nest. Not a par
ty of hui-jobhers hut he would be somehow in
their servie, as guide, interpreter, chain-bearer,
or somethilt o’ that sort, and I did not much like
1 to contraryiim no how, for boy as iie was he hud
stood by train some darkish frays.”
The coulenance of 4he speaker, during this!
reply had giduallv changed. A chequered and)
somewhat aliened shade crossed its iron charac
ter, and it \|3 obvious that some chord of memo
ry had beerjtouched, associated with feelings of
a different ist from his general nature. Wh'le
he was yetspeaking a boat was seen at some dis
tance struggling with the waves, and lus eye was
now fastened upon it with a searching earnest
ness. As heturued from his companions to gain
a more distinct view, one of them continued to
the other, the thread of his remark, “Ah, he
may well say that, for I have been told by a
Shawanee, that wh le he was among them they
were twice upon the point of making him k shift
ing mark, for some of his slight-o’-haud, yhen
this same Ashton, who it seems they had a mighty
liking tor, posted himself ut the muzzle of their
guns and insisted upon taking a shear of their
lead with his father. So they let off one t*> save
the^pther. But look—that must bo Ashton Gro\
himself at that oar—he pulls it bravely too against
a swell like this-why tke waves heave like a
dying buffalo-—you will not bring to shore so
easily, my lad;—aye, ayd, old comrade, that is
right—give him a lift.” The canoe into which
the elder Grey had stepped during these broken
exclamations, was already alongside of the boat;
and with the strength of a new arm at the oar, a
landing was easily effected. The boat in dispite j
of wind and wave came speedily to shore, ami
while ltosabePs cheek was yetetvered with the
rush of startled and painful, tLough indefinite
feeling, to which the name of h<r lover thus re
voltingly associated, had givei rise—Ashton
Grey sprung lightly from its btW; and dashing
the perspiration from his fine bf>w, as he shook
off the rough greetings of our last named ac
quaintance, stood before her with a countenance,
absolutely flashing with pleasure—'“Miss Hump
den!” he exclaimed, in a tone of tie most passion
ate emotion, “can it be possille—I had not
thought—I could not have hoped”—“Shall we
return, Miss Hampden?” interrupted Col. Annes^
ly, abruptly drawing her away from the animated
speaker, whose open glance he had himself met
with a look of the coldest recognition—“or would
you choose to walk further?” Kosabel was una
ble to reply, and bowing slight y to the petrified
Grey, she obeyed the impulse of her guardian
without speaking.
“Ashton Grey is an acquaintance I perceive, j
Gaumed fhe Colonel after a moment’s silence—|
“tony I ask when or where you have knownj
hiniV* Robuhel trembled from head to foot, but
rallying herself with a painful effort, she at once
and distinctly detailed their meeting, and subse
quent residence under the sains roof. Colonel
Annesly lookod ai ner witn intense scTurmy.—
With the image of the youth, from whom he had
just separated, still before him—his resplendant
smile—his high bearing—his look—his form—
his features so instinct with spirit—her varying
color and faltering accents needed no explana
tion; and the haughty shade that had gathered on
the brow of the Colonel deepened. “And was
there no one,” he at length enquired, in a mingled
tone of chagrin and tenderness, “to tell you that
this young man was an improper aspirant to the
notice of Rosabel Hampden 1” “Improperf” she
repeated almost inaudibly, yet with marked em
phasis. “Yes, Rosabel, improper, and only the
more so, that the strange charm of bis person and
manner is so at variance with his debased origin.
But probably you know nothing of the elder
Grey?” “Nothing—I have never heard him
named”—“You have just seen him, my dear, and
the first glance must have told you his clasp.
There are dark suspicions to<>—shades ot lew
crime deepening the case of his character, a,,d
rendering it as revc Iting as i1 is vulg»r,* andI how
ever his son may be free from the vices and habits
which have flung their shadow upon his young
name, I need not add that a delicate female, mt>
ving in the sphere that Rosabel Hampden ha9
been destined, may scarcely acknowledge even a
personal knowledge of one thus hedged in with
infamy: nor need I say that I shall expect you,
my dear girl, informed as you now are, at once
to renounce an acquaintance so unfitting.” Ro
sobel bowed in silence, and except that her
heightened color faded into an ashen paleness,
ai\d the soft repose of her features settled into a
stillness as of marble, she betrayed no emotion.
“I am *rh*d to find her so little disturbed,” thought
Col. Anneslv, and he beexme satisfied. Ah!
how little are the fountains of the deep spirit
known. All of intense tendirness and pure feel
ing that oan dwell in woraai’s heart, was tumul
tously stirred in the soul of Rosabel, and in the
solitude of her chamber ahe ■ v/ay to the r i.-lv*
ing tide of a sudden and passionate grief. The
spell which love throws over the young imagina
tion was rudely and strangely broken--*he bright
visions of happiness—the charm—the fieshness,
the glory with which it invests life- were at once
stricken out from her existence—and the length
ed future lay before her a waste—dim and dark
ened and colorless. She was to renounce him
whose companionship had made the whole world
a fairy ground, and the founts of rich feeling it
had awakened were to he again and forever seal
ed. But Rosabel was not merely a thing of ten
der impulses—the sterner image of duly was
familiar to her thought. She felt that the man
date of her guardian must be obeyed, and while
yet her heart was sick with the agony of its
crushed hope3 and bleeding affections, and a
faintness as of death was upon her whole frame,
she was already revolving the manner in which
she should fulfil the sacrifice required. Should
she meet him again but to announce to him the
sudden blight of his hopes?—-the revocation of
her own plighted faith? Should she subject her
self to the influence of his passionate remonstran
ces—his seductive tenderness? N-Rosabel
knew her weakness, and trembled at the thought.
She might write however—and in less than an
hour she had written a calm and formal renuncia
tion of her lover, and gone forth to commit it to
the conveyance of the poor widow, whose grati
tude to the preserver of her children had formed
a sort of link between them. Her cabin had
been rebuilt by kind hands, and Rosabel had been
a frequent visitant there upon errands of benevo
lence. “It will soon be finished,” she mentally
exclaimed, as 9he tapped at the door—“hencefor
ward to me the name of Ashton Grey must be but
a sound.”
But the Fates, as they quietly and steadily
pursue the fearful and complicated web of man’s
destiny, make themselves merry at the idle though
busy interference of human calculation, antici
pating their work. Ashton Grey at that .uoment
r*-oono<i an adjacent path, and «ro who was seated
in the humble dwelling, he also h«d crossedits
threshold. And he was again before her—her
still loved one, and had heard the sentence, that
was to render this their final interview—and
where were now the calm and stern suggestions
|of prudence?——the measured arguments with
which she had striven to nerve her heart to the
trial? Gone—melted utterly away, like a cold,
dark mist in the warm, rich light of glowing day
—and Rosabel, ns the voice of her lover again
i met her ear, felt that were the ban of the universe
upon him, she would still go forth with him un
hesitatingly, and gladly to meet its scorn—not
with the dreadful sentiment—“I know not, I care
not, what guilt is in thy heart”—her mind was too
pure for the admission of a trust so terrible—so
appalling—but with a devotion at* sacred and
tranquil in its nature, as prevailing in its strength
_a re'iance, that however subjected to shame and
obloquy, and degradation, Ashton Grey was still
• he same being, she had at first beheld him, and
to whom she had voluntarily plighted the vows,
which he now urged with a depth of passion that
subdued even his proud frame to weakness. And
duty itself, now assumed a new and brighter col
oring. Should woman’s affection recoil back
upon itself, when the plague-spot was on its ob
ject? Rosabel found in easy parallel, and cre
the lovers separated, all thought, all purpose of
estrangement was forgotten, and a solemn renew
al of her faith wns given in stead. Yet how was
this faith to be sanctified? or what was to be the
result of this sacred compact? A-few days and
young Grev was bound to that mart, which tho’
considered as a neighboring emporium, since the
navigation of our waters has become subject to
the deathless power of a magician, at that time
presented a distance, as interminable in thought,
as it was wild and perilous. Should he now,
seek then to tear her from the sheltering guardi
anship of fond adoption, but to leave her at once
friendless and unprotected? Or could he tear
Inmaelf away, and leave her—so gentle, so yield
ing, so dependant, still exposed to those dreaded
■ influences, which had already threatened to es
, lrange her from' him?—Either alternative was
madness, and a private marriage could alone se
t cure him a semblance of tranquility. At his re
> turn he might then claim her as unalienably and
I iorever his own—and Ashion Grey was now elo
r quent— Rosabel’s scruples were finally overcome,
‘ and in less than a week after, under that same
■ roof, and with the support of no attesting friend,
save its humble, though faithful occup-ni, her fate
‘ was irrevocably united to Me, whatever it might
| ije [kemaindef in our next\
A shocking BAD TOADS '.—Croker one day askod
I t.vndhurst how he contrived to live in those hard
times? “I live, as 1 believe von do, Croker, by
•nv wits.” “By the powers!” replied Croker,
“you most be a more aide trader th :n I ever th >’t
vou to carry on business upon so xpuill a capital.\
tfivtitnni inLendtn,