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THE NEW ERA.
LITERARY DEPARTMENT, BBKW' 1 ' WW»«W. ■* l *— eaSB 1 'SSt MINIIfE MARY LEE. THURSDAY, MARCH 15,1860. '•'ife me leave (o enjoy myself. That place that does Contain ray books, the best companions, is To me a glorious Court, where hourly I Converse with the old Sages and Philosophers. FLktcher. The Sisters. Eliza and Pauline Brigham were the same as orphans ; for, in their earlv girlhood, at their father’s death, their mother; 0 West Indian by birth, lost her reason, and became the inmate of a lunatic Asylum. Eliza, the elder sis ter, inherited her mother’s rich southern complexion, large, dreamy eyes, and rippling black hair ; with that languor and gentleness of tone and manner, indicative of her mother’s origin. Pau line, the younger, with much of that peculiar ease and beauty, possessed more of the northern fire and energy ; so that there were times when the two hundred young ladies at the C Seminary looked upon Pauline Brigham, though but fifteen years of age, as a very queen. Her abundant hair Ehe wore in massive braids, like a crown to her finely shaped head. Her form was rather regal than delicate, her air charm ing but imperious, and her step dign : fied and queenly. Left with a large fortune, it was not strange that upon their egress from school, and their return to their home in the West, these sisters should be be sieged by a constant crowd of admirers and suitors. With so many personal and pecuniary advantages, indeed, the wonder was, that the fair sisters still re mained fancy-free, until two years had elapsed. Pauline then returned to Mass achusetts, on a visit to some relatives. Shortly after her departure, there came to Vincennes, a stranger, fascinating in appearance, and very winning in manner and conversation. These graces pro cured him admittance to fashionable so ciety ; which i 9 too fond of the acquisi tion of brilliance, to inquire minutely as to real worth. From his first entree into the circles of the village ton, he applied himself assiduously to win the favor of the captivating Eliza. It was evident from the beginning, that his conquest would be an easy one : and in three months Eliza Brigham, beautiful, ac complished, heiress in her own right to many thousands, gave herself a bride to Allison Lambert, of whose antecedents she knew nothing. Ere a week, she had, in her confiding good nature, trans ferred to him her whole fortune, reserv ing nothing in her own name. Shortly thereafter, Allison Lambert informed his wife that he had received intelligence of the sudden and dangerous illness of his father, a resident of Alabama, whose sole heir to vast wealth he was, and that he must leave immediately. To her eager request to accompany him, he pleaded the sickliness of the season, and the haste necessary to the earliest con summation of his journey. Weeks and months passed, bringing no note or tidings of Allison Lambert. Eliza, still confident in his faith and in tegrity, mourned him, as having become the victim to some sad calamity. Her friends, better diviners, had no doubt that he had basely robbed and deserted her. In one of the charming environs of Boston, Pauline Brigham also met one, who, after a brief acquaintance, com pletely beguiled and won her heart.— Harold Lester, to whom she became aflinaneed, urged her to keep their en gagement a secret, for a season, as his family, in a distant city, had a bride se lected for him, whom they insisted he should marry. It was for his interest, he represented, not to incur, too sud denly. their displeasure—circumstances ■might change—et cetera. However, Pauline failing to see how any harm could possibly ensue, disclosed, in a letter to her sister, the forbidden secret. Eliza, “ sick with hope deferred, 5 * and yearning for a sister’s sympathy, after a rapid journey, and without a word of warning, appeared to Pauline, who was overjoyed at her coming, but overwhelm ed with grief at the traces of sorrow and tears in her melancholy eyes, and pensive countenance. After an hour’s converse, in which Eliza touchingly al luded to her misfortunes, and spoke in excellent terms of him so early lost to her; Pauline said ; “ O sister, Harold will be here this .evening—let us dry our tears—for she had wept in sympathy—and I will give him the pleasant surprise of an intro . - || ■ fliil lliiliß | Till- - -■ t ■ - ■ WMW'I 'MMI- i ■ ' ' - - - - '1 I* ***“■■“ 1 ' ' inn- - Edited by W. H. WOOD and TOL. 1 —HO. 10. duction to you, my gentle —me, he calls peerless. He already knows and loves you, from my descripticn, and he says he is quite jealous of you—you claim so many of* my thoughts. Come sis, strive to look your sweetest—for you and Har old must be such good friends. And let me tell you, dear, in one week I am to be his bride—but no one knows it as yet.” And thus the brilliant young bell re vealed to the sister of her love, her hopeful dreams of an unclouded future. It was with a sad and troubled forebod ing that Eliza listened to thse raptures from one, whom she felt, like herself, must soon learn by experience, that life has its storms and its tempests, as well as its sunshine and its rainbows An hour or two later, Pauline was summon ed to the parlor, to meet her betrothed Come sister, you must go with me, I shall enjoy his surprise—no, no—l can not wait, that would spoil it all--she added, in reply to Eliza’s plea for an hour’s postponement. Subject to Pau line’s stronger will, she yielded and followed her sister to the parlor. “ Harold, my sister”—but before the words were completed, Eliza fell to the floor with an agonized cry of “ Allison Lambert !” What a scene was there ! Allison, coufounded and desperate, would have left the house ; but Paulina, present minded even in such an emergency, sprang from her prostrate sister, and locking the door, concealed the key in her dress. With flashing eyes, she turned upon the baffled man, demon though in heart, and said resolutely, yea fiercely, traitor, coward, villain, you stir not hence until you have made repa tion to my injured sister—and seizing the bell-pull, she had in a moment the household at the door. The friends of the orphan sisters, proved faithful to them in this hour of their need. When the antecedents of Allison Lambert, alias Harold Lester, were made known, lie was discovered to be a parson who had long been notorious on the western rivers, as an accomplished gambler. His true name was Giles Garner, and he already had a wife who refused to live with him. Having heard of the wealth of the Misses Brigham, be formed the plan of securing it for himself. How well he succeeded with regard to Eliza,has been seen. It bad been bis design to secure, by the same means, the fortune of Pau line, and then, in a foreign land to en joy the fruit of his sinful craftiness. Instead of which, he was forced to dis gorge his ill-gotten gains, and to suffer the penalty due to his crime. The gentle and sensitive Eliza never recovered from the shock, preceded as it had been by months of sorrowful sus pense. An early grave closed over her griefs, disappointment, and youthful beauty. The high-spirited Pauline, scorned the memory of her first-love episode, and became the honored wife of a distinguished member of the Bar, in the old Bay State. Life in the Woods. No. 10. The dilapidated remains of two old log shells, formerly used as Indian trad ing houses, still stood upon the immedi ate bank of the Mississippi. The largest of these, Mr. S. repaired in such a man ner as to render it quite habitable, by a general patching up without and within, laying floors, making doors and insert ing windows. For Court-week was ap proaching, and the house that we all dwelt in, being full to the uttermost, some must go out to make room for the Honorables who should come up from the cities to attend to the legal business of Benton County. So Mr. S. and family moved down one Saturday night, and the following Mon day Fred walked down to pay them a visit. The good taste and industrious hands of Mrs. S. had made-an attractive home, where others, less skilled and in genious, Would have made a chilling and repulsive dwelling place. They were living in but one room of their house, like many other beginners in house keeping, possessing only kitchen furni Motto —“ Freedom is the only safeguard of Government, and Order and Moderation are necesary to Freedom.”— MOtom.. MINNIE M\ R Y IEE SAUK RAPIDS, MIH., THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 1860. ture, and waiting for good sleighing to bring up from St. Paul appointments for the parlor and bed-room. Fred was so pleased, and expressed so much delight at their comfortable quarters, that he was invited to move his goods down at once into their unoccupied room, and not wait for the completion of our frame house on the hill. An offer which he accepted at once, and complied with on the following day. It was the fourteenth of November, 185 i, that we moved down into that log house. Snow had fallen unusually early ; and our small supply of goods were packed in a sleigh used for hauling wood—and with Mac for a driver, Minnie stowed away among boxes and chairs, and Fred standing on a protruding board in the rear, we mov ed to our first home. It was a warm day for the season, and misty ; and the roads, to use an expressive, but far from euphonious word, sloshy. We had been striving all the day to resist a slowly in creasing headache—in vain—for launch ed in the long, low room, instead of the delight we had anticipated in setting things straight, the confusion and work before us, filled us with despair, and clasping our throbbing temples with chilled fingers, we sighed for a pillow— for rest—rest. But the stove must be set up, and the greater work of putting up a bed ; sup per must be prepared—and every one can fancy, who knows anything about such things, how much was to be done. No one knew of our pain for a long time, and we endeavored to hide it alto gether—till, at length we could not see for the blindness that came over us. Then good Mrs. S., who had all along assisted, made us lie down on the bed she had finished making. How grateful seemed the rest—how refreshing the sleep that, after some hours, lulled to forgetfulness until the morning. Vivid ly do we remember hearing Fred mur mur, as he sat down to his solitary sup per, but half prepared : “ A fine beginning of housekeeping ! ham half-cookcd, potatoes half roast ed”—and more of the same import— like all men, impatient at a wile’s sick ness, commisserating themselves as sufferers most affleted. But all was bright in the morning—head clear, heart hopeful and happy ; and before night everything had its place. The flour barrel in one corner, bed in another, bookcase opposite, and wash-tub in the fourth. A great wooden box used for transporting our goods, stood up, serv ing as a cupboard and pantry, several wide shelves having been insrted, upon which rested, in old fashioned dignity, blue-edged plates—and coffee cups, adorned with would-be birds of para dise, hideous for their gaudy ugliness. For our crockery we had obtained at an Indian store, at Watab, a few miles north and it was quite the reverse of VVedgewood or Queensware. The little clock, perched upon the bookcase, ticked away musically, and the teakettle sung upon the stove, its old sweet song of domesticity and love. I id this satisfy us, asks one—this homely and very humble style of living Well—yes—for the time. It might not, however, could we have looked forward to nothing better. But from that time we did see in the future a different home. It was pleasant to begin thus —and have that witching syren Hope all the time telling us such grand beau tiful things, which we took good care should not prove altogether false. We have often thought that if Adam and Eve’s Paradise had not been perfect at first, leaving them something still to struggle and hope for, they might not have wept an Eden lost * Selected. Musical Reminders.— lt is strange how we—-generally speaking—associate various pieces of music with the scenes and periods of first hearing them. If the circumstances were unpleasant, the gayest drinking-song will always bring sad emotions to us. If we werd partic ularly happy and jovial, and most plain tive melody then learned will always sound pleasntly to us thereafter. Near ly all of us can think of some simple little aii*, poor and meagre enough in an artistic point of view, but grand and beautifuLby our having first heard it sung by a beloved voice, or touched by a beloved hand. For the New Era. The Hunter’s Wife. A TRIE PICTURE. A Hunter’s wife, ah ! woe is she Who dwells where horns are wound, W hose floors are planks to show the gait Of every favorite bound / She fears to see the rain-drops fall Lest foxes leave their tracks, Fer then, soch yelling of the dogs ! Such patting op of snacks ! If thit were all, a woman well— “ Of grief the counterpart,” Might learn to bear, aaa what is best, Keep all withinjher heart. But who so meek as to be roused At every hear of night / To hear at twelve, at one o’clock, “ Get up, tis almost light !" And then the horn is blown and blown, ’Till all the children wake. While father, man-like , sallies out His crazy chase to take. And now at three, see poor mamma, A baby on her lap That screams so loud she wouldn’t hear The loudest thunder clap. She shivers o’er the d}ing coals, Till baby calmly sleeps, And when he’s nestled in his crib, Again to bed she creeps. All day he’s gone, and oft the thought, “ Perhaps he’s in the creek,” Comes to her heart, and then as oft, The blood flows from her cheek. But when the Hunter’s j:ided horse His master bears in views, All hands must have his dinner fixed Or get a perfect “ ttew.” And then his julep he must have, (He’s worn and fagged, you know) But never yet has foot or tail Of fox been brought to show ! And now, young men, I hold a wife And fox up to your view ; Make choice to which you’ll give the chase, And I’ll agree with you ; But of the two, but one you’ll win So long as can be heard From her, who’s been a Hunter’s wife, An awful warning word / Sallie G. H. Glen more. Amelia Co , Va. For the New Era Stanzas. “ We part for days, for months, for years, We part perhaps forever.” O say not so, my Nellie dear, Say not we part forever, But let our hearts united bo, United be forever. Thy softer voice is with me now, Thine eye upon me beaming,— I would that thou wert by my side, Thou idol of my dreaming. This cold, and drear, unfeeling world Will chill our hearts forever, And we will but too gad lament The day we parted ever. Our heart* v»e:e young and fond and gay, When first they knew each other, And love entwined their tendrils round Until they grew together, Then say not so, my Nellie dear. That now ive part forever, Bnt let us dwell together here, Nor part beyond Death’s river. Awtonio. Molly Doyle, ON THE DEGENERACY OF THE TIMES I am again seated in my straight backed chair, to pursue my theme. And 1 shall begin just where I left off, with out any compliment or apology to any body. Though I may say that I feel my new dignity as letter-writer, and think I wear it with becoming propriety. One would think from all the talk of folks and of Newspapers, that every body thought the world was on its nat’rnl eourse, and that ail wc had to do was jest to sail along with the current. No thought for this or that or ’tother 1 will 4o no sich thing. I will stop if no body else does. I will turn preacher for the good of my mistaken feller crea ture. I dont, for one see much sense in the writers of Newspaper letters. They scribble away, getting in as much dictionary as possible, and outlandish, barbarous words, that no oidtime per son ever saw or heard of. They talk at 1 rtfndom entirely. They have nothin’ to say', and so they talk about nothin’— with a great conglomeration of .words that are perfectly and wholly unexcogi- ONE DOLLAR A YEAR. table, (I tho’t I would just lake a peep into Sal’s New Dictionary.) Now, ] dont care a tig to read a letter made up of big words that dont make sense. And I wonder what makes editurs print ’em. It must be ’cause they d nt like to waste so much ink and paper. Or is it ’cause they cant get better r Well, they’ll have excuse no longer, for I’m in the field. I dont mind bedinamin’ my old eyes, aud tirin’ rny still* fingers, for the sake of the good I may do. I shant ransack my baain, as most of you writers do, for my thoughts and idceo come a heap faster than I can write ’em down ; and as to tny loss of tune, pray dont think of that a moment—for I’ve got the children well rigged (there’a seven of’em) with winter socks, and got the boys’ knees all patched, and the gals’ gowns made bigger, and the tucks Id d“wa so they ’ll do any how a month or so (tho’ they are *‘*ven’, strornmin’, things, and tear everything to pieces no time) —so y ou see my time is rny own fora little space, & if you will he so good as not to think I am puttin’ myself out any, it will give me pleasure. Indeed, it will gratify me amazingly to speak in this silent language of the pen. This is my preface, as the books say In the beginning I may as well say that my health is pretty good, quite good, considerin’ ; yes, I may say very good, excellent, when I remember how scarce an article health is in these de generate days—and I hope you are en joyin’ the same blessin’. I shan’t write any very long letters. I’ve a little rheumatiz, and it tires me to set ; and if you know anything about rheumatiz, you know it a’n’t a very happy feelin’. And then, the pretty, frisky, flirty miss es, couldn’t stop long enough from their porkers and quartrills, and shotitches, to read from begiimin’ to end. And 1 must say, I dont want to write one word for nothin’. I desire every glove finger ed, cigar-lipped, cane-supported fop to study and digest what I say. Not to go in at one ear and out at the other. I abhor sich heedlessness. But let it en ter into the “ inner man,” if indeed there be any of that bible-mcntioned portion of existence pertainin’ and be longin' to the present race. Which is doubtful. All outside show. I’ve no patience to think of it. There ! Would you believe it ? Off have bobbed my specs. I’ve such a habit of shaking my head. My indignation rises high. Too high, says my darter-in-law ; hut then what does she know- ? She’s a woman of the modern race—no, Indy I must call her : women are an *' obsolete idea.” I picked up that phrase in the “ Tribune,” as many others that comes handy to my use. I never heard of sich in my young days. But 1 understand ’em from my own good sense. Good sense makes up for all the hook lariun’ of (the present day. Books—books the world is full of books, and what non sense have they not stuffed into empty brains, and what wickedness have they not brought into poor weak human na tur’ ! The nat’ral heart is bad enough, any how ; and of its own accord will run after evil ; woe then unto the book makers and newspaper writers, that so pervart everything that their pen-pints touch upon ! If Cap’ain Doyle—inav his soul requiescat in peace —l asked our minister what that was years and years; agone, and you see I hav’nt forgot, for my memory dont fail yet, the least mite, though I’m three score and ten—as 1 was sayin’ if Captain Doyle and I had married now instead of fifty years ago, why where should we be ? There’s no sicli sprucin’ young couple to be found in all the parts, in these degenerate days. Who knows but that he might be Presi dent of these United States ; then I should be wife (not mistress—O, the de generacy of these times) of the White House ! This idea quite elevates me The lady of the White House writing to the little New Era ! Adieu, , Molly Doyle. The Donation party, given last week to our venerable Pastor, Mr. HaH, was generally attended, and proved a very delightful occasion. tSET* Delightful Spring .weather still continues. THE NEW ERA~" Printing Establishment* r - . Second Story, NEW ERA BULDL'.G, SAtK RAPIDS, Wc have a large a**crtroent of new and Typo, Border, Cuts, Etc., wbi'-h enable* u#.»o turn out tom* of lire beat job work in the State, acd st low price*. Bict. Htxts, lVrtT R*,' Blanks, CUao*. Bills, Cipcclaka, Invitations, ' Label*, Etc. .4ad every other dtvcriptlon of printing exeep Bookwork, done neatly and promptly at Ibis ofica. Bi. inks of every description printe« to order. 3e 1 1 cte U . Watch Mother. Tho following is beautiful—one of these little gems which touch the heart .* Mother / watch the littlle feet Climbing o’er the garden wall, Bounding through the busy street. Ranging cellar, shed and hill.* Never mind live moments lost; Never mind the time it costs ; Little feet will go astray— Guide them, mother, while you mav Mother, watch the little fund I'icking berries by lire way, Making houses in the sand. Tossing up the fragrant hu v. Never dare the question ask ; “ Why to me tho weary task ?" i hose same little h :nd# mav prove Messengers of light nnd love. Mother / watch the little tongue Prating eloquent ui.d wild ; \\ hat is said and what is sung. By tne joyous, happy cnild. C’ktc!.’ 'l iC word while yet unspoken, Stop the vow before’::* broken ; This same totgue may yet proclaim Blessings in the Saviour’s r.ume. Mother / watch the little heart. Beating soft and warm fer you ; Wholesome Irssone now impart. Keep, () keep the young heait true, Extricating every weed, S°"' n g good aud precious seed ; Harvest rich you then may see Ripen for eternity. “Nice Girls ” To my mind, there is nothing in all the world half so beautiful, half so de lightful, or halfsoloveable, as a ‘‘nice girl ” 1 don’t mean a pretty girl, ora dashing girl, or an elegant girl, hut a ‘‘nice girl one of those lively, good tempered, good-hearted, sweet faced, aniable, neat, natty domestic creatures, whom wc meet in the sphere of" Home” diffusing around the domestic hearth the influence of her goodness, like tho essence of sweet flowers. What we all know by a " nice girl” is not the languishing beauty who daw dles on a sofa, and talks of the last new novel, or the last new opera, or the great girahe-looking girl, who creates an effect by sweeping majestically through a drawingroom. Tho "nice girl” does not even dance well, or play well, and she does not know a bit how to use her eyes or coquette with a fan. She never languishes, she is too active for that ; she is not given to novel-read ing, for she is always too busy. And as to the opera, when she goes there, she does not think it necessary to show her hare shoulders ; but its generally away in the hack of the box, unheeded and unnoticed—it is not in such scenes that we discover the " nice girl.” It is at " Home.” Ihf. Soli.. —What is there to survive the age ? Thet which the age lias little thought of, but which living in us all— the Soul, the Immortal Spirit. Of this all ages are the unfoldings, and it is greater than all. \V r e must not feel, in the contemplation ofthe vast movements ofour own and former times, ns if we were ourselves nothing/. I repeat it, we are greater than all. We are to survive our age— to coroprehand it, and to pro nounce its sentence. As yet however, we are encompassed with darkness. The issues of our time, how obscure ? The future into which it opens, who of us can foresee ? To the father of all ages 1 commit this future, with humble, vet courageous and unfaltering hope,— Chmniny. The Good of Or position.— Had it not been for the slabbing criticism that Byron’s first book, his “ Hours of Idle ness,” received, it is doubtful if he had ever produced anything very remarkable The book was, ns is now universally acknowledged, excessively stupid, and the critic simply told the truth. His lordship got angry, tho afflatus arose with his choler, and he wrote, in reply, or revenge, his “ English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,” one ofthe most bril liant and powerful satires the world ever saw Almost every young man who ottempts a lofty path is benefited by the honest opposition he meets; and in many other cases, as in Byron’s, it is actually the making of him. Womanly Beauty. —All women, we believe, possess that deli-sesthetic qual ity of soul that in men markes artists and poets. Theiove of beauty is an ina lienable characteristic ot the sex, which oftenest possesses beauty itself. They rarely forgive the person who stigmatizes them as ugly, and they are more just therein than many would think ; for if a woman is beautiful, she always knows it i and to say she is not, is a falsehood. If she is plain, any reminder of the faet is an insult to her love of loveiinese, a legitmato and sacred emotion of her heart.