were wasps with quizzing glasses, monkeys, with dress coats and mustachios; little short phrases crowding thick and fast from above immense imperials, such as "pon honor," and "plenty of tin," "good speculation," cut up well," "dem pretty woman;" and while I was interpreting them, I found myself awake. I assure you, Aunt, I do not like Alfred's intimées much after a first interview, and I am afraid they will not improve on a farther acquaintance. I dare say, however, the feeling will be mutual, when I tell Mr. Walton and Mr. Sinclair, (who intend calling on. me this morning,) I have been so unsentimental as to sleep soundly all night, and dreamed no little romance to regale them with. I wonder, dear aunt, if Mr. Walton is a specimen of New York's best beaux. (Here Fannie drew a long breath, while old Aunt Becky sat in her arm-chair an attentive listener, as she proceeded, excited, as all young ladies are after their first large evening party.) When I entered the hall at Woodside, Mr. Walton came languidly towards me, and simpered, "are you pretty and well?" With all simplicity, I asked him to repeat, fearing I had not rightly understood his salutation. I told him I was never better than at present, but as for the pretty, (I know I gave him rather a saucy look as I told him,) I was sure I saw nothing prettier than himself. It was taken kindly, however, and as a compliment, for it was acknowledged by sundry bows and gestures I was too dull to comprehend. I suppose, said he, you are dying to see the charming Fanny Ellsler. I have been twenty nights in my own city, and I intend as many more when she visits the South. "Are you not crazy about the new opera ? Why half the women in New York are running mad with it?" I told him no; my aunt did not approve of theatres, and my unsophisticated ears had never been tuned to a relish for opera music. Throwing up both hands with the level of his chin, his small grey eyes starting from their sockets, I was about to run for aid, supposing him to have been suddenly seized with a convulsion, when he exclaimed," old griffin, old monster; why will people have old aunts? What is her age? Why how do you manage to kill time? I declare it hangs monstrous heavy when I'm out of New York; but could I always be in your sweet society,"-here his voice sank to a whisper, and putting his face down so that it nearly touched my ear, I felt an internal squirm, as he simpered "Oh could I one dear being find, And were her fate to mine but joined, To her myself, my all I'd give, For her consent to die.-Anon. He gazed down to see the effect of this speech, and I tried to smile sweetly, but it ended in an out and out laugh, which I know was extremely rude, but which I could not possibly avoid. Mr. Walton left me very abrubtly; for the so-called heiress Senora Cortez, a Spanish girl, had just entered, and he has the reputation of being her ardent lover. I saw him again as I was leaving, and he asked me pathetically to dream of him. I had half a mind to tell him I dreaded night-mare, and disturbed rest. I am glad you did not, chimed in the kind voice of Aunt Becky; and laying down her knitting, and spectacles, as she interrupted her niece— "I have often warned you of the dangerous gift of sarcasm, and it will, if unchecked, gain you many enemies. I cannot help smiling at the ridiculous pictures you have drawn of Alfred's friends, and particularly of Mr. Walton; and although these are men I could never respect, I can pardon their follies as the result of education. Mr. Walton's family I have long known by reputation. He is the last of a dissipated and fashionable race; and as is ever true of the heirs of such an ancestry, he has with the estates inhertted the family weaknesses; and mind and body are both enervated. It is our duty, Fanny, to cover faults, and deal gently with the erring. But you have not told me whether Arthur de Lacy was at the wedding." Aunt Becky's old and experienced eye needed no better answer to her hasty question than it saw in the bright blush on Fannie's cheek as she glanced at the beautiful boquet on the stand before her. Aunt Beckie will whisper the interpretation of that blush in our ear; for she knows that ere a twelvemonth has passed, her niece will be claimed as the bride of a well known and popular member of Congress from Georgia. "It had not been announced," strange as it may appear to our fashionable readers; and with Aunt Becky's good old notions of propriety, would remain a secret until her niece stood at the altar as Mrs. Arthur de Lacy. Fannie had been brought up under the careful guidance of this maiden aunt, her father's only sister. She had entered the female academy in the city in which she resided, and gone regularly through a course of instruction usually adopted at those institutions. No mind is well balanced without system, or order, in its development, and this is the true secret of the almost universal good effect of these institutions: the studies are all arranged according to the capacity of the scholars, and the young mind is gradually led along, step by step, till it is thrown upon the world, when it goes on unfolding in the same systematic way, we may say forever. Fannie had naturally a gay disposition, which had never been checked by sorrow. She was a universal favorite among a happy circle of friends, who loved her and appreciated her aunt, not as a "griffin,” or “monster," but as good and kind Miss Becky Linwood. Fannie had naturally all the sensitiveness and refinement of her cousin Ella, but she had been prepared for life and usefulness, and guided by an experienced counsel. She had been shown how the unerring hand of time withered and drooped her fairest flowers, and stamped the brow of those she loved with the impress of decay. She was taken to the cottage of the poor man, and early shown life in its realities: her young hand had dried the mourner's tear, and poured the oil of joy and consolation into wounded hearts. Ah, how little do the pampered children of luxury know how deep are the wells of bitterness which they might fathom and purify, would they but search them out. What richer reward could they ask, than the prayers of the poor they have benefitted; incense from the lowliest altar dedicated to God would waft them back a rich blessing from the throne of the Eternal. When sunshine and prosperity are around us, we often smile, on thinking the same sunlight sheds its beams on all alike; and the hand of charity is often withheld through ignorance. [To be continued.] SEPTEMBER. I love thee, mild September. Others praise, I blame them not; yet I would rather raise We yearn to live the frolic hours again Which sober manhood seeks, but seeks in vain. That thou hast power to make my heart remember Ere joy's first leaf had fluttered from the tree. H. A. R. OCTOBER. Month of my heart! A beauty all thine own, Does Nature speak. The Spirit that pervades The works of God; then, with triumphant voice, H. A. R. THE OLD MATHEMATICIAN. FROM MARSCHALK MANOR. SOME years ago a very eccentric old gentleman suddenly appeared in a little Dutch hamlet near the river. The arrival of a stranger in a small village is always attended with some degree of notoriety, but in this case the sensation was prodigious, for the new comer was soon discovered to have a character not only unlike, but exceedingly remote from that of any one else in the place. "Who can he be ?" was the immediate cry. Some suggested that he was a man of business with a stock of new-fashioned goods, come to awaken covetous susceptibilities in the hearts of the hitherto contented townsmen, and thereby make his own individual fortune. Terrified at the conjecture, Old Hans Gansvoort, the only trader in the village, immediately lowered sugar a stiver and soap half a stiver, by way of showing that he was the man who was willing to ruin himself in honorable competition, rather than have his place of mercantile distinction usurped by a stranger. But the next day, finding his suspicions groundless, he raised every article to its original standard, and, in a praiseworthy spirit of forgiveness, sent round to the new-comer to solicit his custom. In like manner were the doctor, the schoolmaster, and the publican grievously alarmed for their several interests, and in a similar way manifested the same Christian spirit upon being relieved from their trepidation, but all in vain. The old gentleman kept very close, and answered none of the appeals which were made to him. He had brought with him a sufficient stock of groceries to last for many months, was never sick, had no children and manifested no inclination for tavern gossip; so that there was no such thing as getting at him, and the whole village was still at fault. |