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BY MAY MORRIS.
[The following stanzas were written just ten years
before the smouldering flres of treason which now il
lume, with lurid glare, the country once prosperous
and happy, burst their confines and rent the ties, so
cial and political, which at that time made us one peo
ple. They are taken from a lady's journal who was
sojourning in tine* South for the purpose of recupera
ting her impaired health, and, as an evidence of the
social feeling which at that time united the friends of
the two sections , will be read with peculiar interest.—
These friends of mine are kindred spirits, the chords
of whose hearts, like tho strings of the soft harp, vi
brate in joyful harmony, filling the soul with tones of
sweetest melody :—
0 didst thou think I would forget
The friends I left behind ?
" Let novel sights and things quite strange
Drive Ada from my mind?"
No, no! affection's tie is strong!
Which scenes like these ne'er change!
Nor "new-made friends " —you did me wrong
To think they would estrange!
Altho' I sought the " sunny South "
Where milder breezes blow
The chilling blast to shield me, from,
And cold December's snow;
And here have felt the friendly grasp,
And greeting, warm, have met
From hearts, sincere as those afar,
0 still I love them yet!
Yes, these are dear, still, oft I roam
W hen twilight hours are nigh—
In spirit to my northern home,
New England's pleasant sky,
And with the loved ones gather round
The cheerful, blazing fire;
No happier circle can be found
Nor would my heart desire!
1 gaze in each familiar face
And read "beloved " there!
'Tis fancy, true, and yet, I trace
The same in letters here,
I love—am loved—what would I more ?
1 prithee Ada, say
Could I forget such friends as mine,
Near Massachusetts bay ?
'Tis true In southern land, I stray
From that bright spot, afar 1
Still, like the magnet, turns my heart
Towards that Polar Star!
Steadfast? and true tn weal or woe!
Changing—yet changing not!
Let fortune smile or dread winds blow
The same—thou'rt not forgot.
'Tfs good to love—'tis well and right!
It elevates tbe soul
And fits for Heaven, whence came this light,
True love needs no control!
'Tis pure and holy twining hearts
As gentle as the dove!
And shall we from this treasure part?
No Ada, " God is Love!"
Charleston, S. C, Jan. 12th, 1851s
[From Harper's Magazine for March.}
I'm only Nettie's maiden-aunt; but for all that
I could'nt help noticing how beautiful she ap
peared on a certain evening not long ago, when
George Holmes and Henry Kirtland sat talking
with her by the library window. Both of tho
young men were evidently of my opinion; but
George Holmes, if I may say it, seemed to take
in the idea rather differently from Henry Kirt
land. The clear, haughty eye, and softly modu
lated voice of the latter seemed to say, as plain
ly as eye and voice could say, "You're very
pretty, Miss Netty, pretty enough to suit even
my fastidious taste, and I can well appreciate
your satisfaction in having a fine young fellow
like me among your admirers." But George
Holmes seemed to just sit and drink in her love
liness until it choked him.
I liked George by far the best, and it provoked
me enough to see him looking almost gawky in
his self-forgetfulness, while Henry Kirtland pos
ed himself elegantly upon the sofa, holding his
hat like a Prince of the blood, and sending forth
a rippling flow of small talk that caused Netty's
eye to sparkle with merriment. If she chanced
to slyly look up at either of them, I (sitting near
ly behind her in my corner) could readily tell
at which one she was looking. If at Henry, I
knew it by a peculiar brightness in his glance,
and a placid elevation of his eyebrows. If at
George, the stupid fellow lookod instantly as red
as a beet and as expressionless as a pumpkin. I
had no patience with him, and I could not help
thinking to myself, as I sat there knitting, that
if he lost Netty altogether it was just his own
Pretty soon Henry, after covertly consulting
his watch, arose with a listless and at the same
time reluctant air.
"Are you going?" asked Netty, with mock
" Indeed I must go," responded Henry, in tho
same style, "sorry to distress you, but" (with
the air of intense security) " I leave you in such
good company that I doubt not your tears will
soon be as mist."
"Oh, oh!" interrupted Netty laughing, " al
most a pun, I declare. I really thought better
than that of you, Mr. Kirtland. But before you
leave us do tell me one thing. Is it true that you
are going to the war ? Some one at Mrs. Wat
kins' soiree told me that you had been drafted."
" Not I, indeed! I believe this goodly town
did do mo the honor of drawing my poor name
from one of its autocratic wheels, but I have al
ready cancelled the obligation. A better soldier
than I would care to be in this fraternal brawl
will do that share of my work for me, while I
shall remain here attending to my own affairs,
which he would be quite incompetent to manage.
Our social scheme, you see, balances all these
things beautifully," and Henry Kirtland, with a
graceful bow, which somehow included George
and myself, though he did not fairly look at ei
ther of us, took his departure without waiting
to discuss the matter further.
A puzzled expression gleamed in Netty's blue
eyes as she bade him " good evening," and then
turning toward George, said, rather abstractedly,
" I suppose I must congratulate you upon a
better fortune, for I have not yet heard of your
name being among those drawn."
" You are right," returned George, quietly.—
M I have taken care that mine shall never be up
on their lists."
" Why," exclaimed Netty, opening her eyes
wider yet, " have you really such a horror of be
"I have indeed," was the candid response.
Poor Netty! Those three words from George's
lips, evidently stung her far more than she would
confess. I saw that plainly enough, though I
hardly raised my eyes from my knitting. Mean
time my own opinion of the young gentleman
fell down nearly to zero.
" Oh, if I were but a man!" burst almost un
consciously from Netty's lips.
He looked at her inquiringly, while, strange to
say, a pleased expression played about his face.
"And if?" he suggested,
" Why, I'd act like a man,"was the indignant
rejoinder. And if Netty had looked pretty an
hour before, I am sure she looked doubly beau
tiful now, with her flushed cheek, and flashing
eye, and her head, with its rich waves of golden
hair, thrown proudly back.
Just then the door bell rang, andinstantly two
insipid specimens of "Young America" were
ushered into the room.
Thanking my lucky stars that my time for be
ing attractive to their particular species had pas
sed away, I busily plied my needles, weaving in
with the coarse blue yarn many a tender, year
ning thought of the "brave soldier boys" for
whom I had been steadily knitting and working
Presently George came to my quiet corner,
and, seating himself beside me, talked so man
fully and cheerfully of tho w r ar, of our duties,
both men and women, and of the many things
that he seemed instinctively to feel would inter
est a busy, happy old woman flike me, that I
quite forgot his paltry confession about the draft.
It may seem foolish in mo to say so; but I have
always noticed that when a yoimg gentleman
can enjoy an hour's quiet talk with a woman
neither young, beautiful, nor fascinating in any
way, but simply hopeful and earnest, there's
sdre to be something good and genuine in him.
He even told me of a lotion which his mother
had used very successfully for her rheumatism,
(and, by-the-way, I mean to try it myself when
I get time.) Then he hinted, so gently, that he
thought I was making my sock a little too big,
(as if you could get a hospital thing too big,) and