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SORUP Wwe
A WEEKLY JOURNAL, DEVOTED TO GENERAL IN TELLIGEN CE, ETC.
TWO DOLLARS A YEAR]
Vou. IL.
SUBSCRIPTIONS RECEIV ED AT THE OFFIVE, NO.:18; MIDDLE STREET.
PORTLAND, SATURDAY: MAY. 12, 1838.
«(PAYABLE IN ADVANCE
“POETRY.
[For the Transeript.]
" ‘- THE STRANGER LAND.
“Do ye ask, do ye ask why my eyes are wet,
And my brow is wreath’d in sadness ; —
O, know ye not that a stranger Jand
Will take from the heart its gladness ?
Say, have ye not wept mid the mirthfal throng—
And caught ye not grief in the dance and song,
“ And mirth, of the stranger land ?
Do ye ask — do ye ask why the smile is gone
That play’d o'er my brow so gaily ;
O, know ye not of the stranger’s woe
That sleeps in the heart so coldly —
And know ye not that smiles must pass,
Like sunset shades in the summer grass,
Away in the stranger land ?
Do ye ask '— do ye ask, why the song is mute,
That swell'd on my lip so softly,
Or think ye wel! that strains may float
From a broken string and lonely ?
O, canght ye notin that dying swell,
The lingering tone of a sad farewell,
Lorne far to the stranger land ?
_O, would ye know w hy my mirth has pass’¢
Like a brilliant cloud away —
Or think’st thou that dreams of joy could dwell
Where visions of home might stay ?
O, do ye not know that the sound most dear,
‘ Is) the sound of home, that can greet me here,
Away in the stranger land? |
. ie
Or would ye know why my cheek is pale —
And my eye hat lost its fire —
And would ye say that srniies are more bright,
“Than they. were in the halls of iny sire?
Perchance they are — but oft, not for me, —
Vain, vain is your mirth and revelry
' far in a stranger land!
Then ask me not why my eyo is wet,
And my brow is wreath’ sadness, _
* + Nor ask me whero the smile is gone,
» Nor where my former gladness ;
‘Nor why the rose and song has pass’d —
Ye know they are gone like a widnight blast
Away in the stranger land.
. Ovratisst.
SELECTED TALES.:
ROSE, Lacy? Ss Ss MARRIAGE,
BY DENIS 0° DoNoGHUr,
“Well, Denis,” our poor old grandmother
used to say to us, long ago—* Well, Denis,
half the miseriesin the world proceed from
unhappy marriages.” Now it is our firm con-
viction that the good old woman was perfectly
correct in her idea, and that ill-assorted mar-
riages are productive of most of the evils with
Which this nether world is thronged ! It is,
‘indeed, to be deplored, that. many females
evince a decided partiality for what glitters and
makesa dash. They. prefer a red coat toa
sombre one —a show exterior to an unassum-
ing plainness ! . 'Phey are as the moth, that is
attracted by the brightness of the flame, and
will buzz delighted about ‘it, even until its
“pretty wings are burned, :and its beauty de-
stroyed.
“ Many things in this world that look bright, pretty
moth,
Only dazzie to lead us astray!"
Young ladies, reflect on this; and we have
little doubt you will find it perfectly correct.
—So much by way of preface ~ — now fur o our
story,
Rose Lacy was not beautiful ; she could not
boast of a delicate regularity of feature, anda
dazzling fairness of complextion, but she ‘had
the merriest laughing eyes, the sweetest pout-
ing lips,'and the prettiest ancle of any of the
beauties in the little village of S. . Her
hair did not cluster about her neck in wild
negligence, as the hair of heroines generally
does ; but was neatly plated, and combed
smoothly over her forehead, whlch , appeared
doubly -white from its raven contrast. Her
figure was tinty, but she was round and plump
as a patridge, and agile as a mountain goat;
while a perpetual rose-like blush in her cheek
made her be generally admired. She was of
a peculiarly susceptible disposition — merri-
ment or joy passed through her veins with the
rapidity of summer lightning, and lit up her
eyes and face with beautiful and unchecked
gladness ; while sorrow — the deep wo of
others, fur she had scarcely known grief her-
self, in a moment could draw the warm tear
of sympathy from’ her pitying eye, and the
deep sigh of compassion from her heneyolent
heart. °*
Rose was the only daughter of Roger Lacy,
a man of substance, and as sturdy a specime
of-an Irish farmer ‘as you'd, see,in a day’s
walk, —an’? that in. the middle ov summer,
when they’re long.” Roger’s dwelling pre-
sented as comfortable an appearance as his
person, and ‘¢a betther kep’ together or snug-
ger bit ov land nor his you wooden’t sce for
many a muile.??, His son, for. bis family con-
sisted ef one son and. one daughter, Was an
industrious, hard- working, - attentive youth ;
and to see Roger. in. the evening, seated be-
fore his door, quietly smoking, and the red
“{sun shining on his happy face — while his son
Tom, and Rose, were chatting together, as
the former was settling some spring flowers
in the lite garden before the door, you could
boast of having beheld as peaceful and. de-
lightful a picture of rural happiness as on
will often witness 1 the course of a long life.
Her brother was to Rose a being really to, be
loved, aud her warm heart gratefully treas-
ured up all his kindnesses 3 and his feeling
for her were somewhat. similar — he would
chat to her,sand laugh with her, and call her his
gentle Rose,” and bis “purty Rose,” and
his ‘darlin’ Rose,” — would smooth down her
hair, and kiss ber cheek ; and when she tript
lightly from his side, his heart would breathe
forth a blessing and a prayer thatthe future
life of his ‘little sisther” might always be as
happy as the present,
Rose was exactly eighteen — that age when
all impressions are so readily received — when
a pattern was held at a certain holy well in
the neighborhood, famous for possessing a
myviad of virtues. ‘ Her father and brother
attended it, and Rose of course could not_be
left at home alone, and so she was also with
them. After the ceremonies usual in such
cases had been performed, of course the boys
and girls got up a dance, and equally of course
Tom Lacy and his sister joined the light-
hearted group, while “ould Roger? joined a
couple of friends, who were quietly taken a
drop ofthe native together, undisturbed by the
dancers, and so had sought a corner of the
’
rude tent rent where the festivities “vi were ‘carried
on. “Rose was footing it away right merrily
with a comely boy, who was not a little proud
of his bright eyed partner, ‘particularly as he
noticed the displeased pout that sat on many
a sweet lip around, asits possessor felt that
she was quite eclipsed by the ‘forward thing,”
when a thin but finely formed youth joined
the group. ‘The moment he appeared, all the
frowns disappeared, as if by magic, and there
was ageneral smile amongst the females, and
a pleased whisper of — “ shure enough here’s
Dick Brady, himself 3 but he merely nodded
to one or two acquaintances, amongst whom
was Tom Lacy, and then, stood silently Jook-
ing on at the ‘dance, his dark ‘eyes following
the quick and graceful, motions of Rose, with
much seeming pleasure. Whenshe once or
twice caught the full. glance of that speaking
eye, ber color heightened —she knew not by
what impulse, and she (was it coquetry that
guided her?) grew more careful of her mo-
tions — threw back her “head with a prouder
gesture, and looked as she did’ so, more ‘en-
gaging than ever —nay, absolutely beautiful !
Dick Brady was handsome — very handsome
—had full black eyes, well curved lips,’ and
curling chesnut hair — his figure was slight and
more formed for agility than strength, but yet
was firmly knit and symmetrical. © His tem-
per was hasty and violent, and his character
that of a libertine ; but then, no one could be
angry with Dick Brady, he was so handsome
and so polite, and though a little wild to be
sare; “reformed rakes make ‘the’ best | hus-
bands,” at least so said all the village maids.
When the dance: had concluded, and Rose
flushed and panting, had taken ber seat beside
her brother, the stranger, on whom all eyes
were fixed, drew near and began a conversa-
tion with him, His voice was soft and low,
and his language better than that she had been
accustomed to ; and it was evident, that al-
though it was her brother he addressed, it was
her she was. speaking to. ‘Tom Lacy gave
him but short and monosyllabic answers, and
it was evident that be was not pleased with
the advances; but Rose, when she saw the
double envy she then created, urged by that
vanity, that is inherent in woman, » (ladies, we
bey your pardon !) looked, and smiled encour-
agement. Aftera while he asked her to dance
and although her brother sald no, she said yes,
and ber neck blushed as she said it. . He dan-
ced well— (in fact Dick Brady did every thing
well) and thea his hand pressed hers so sofily
and his eyes looked into hers so gently, and
so full of admiration, while in his low sweet
voice, he, complimented her on. her graceful
motions, that shé started once or twice,iand
her heart leaped against her bosom, as she
found that she had for a moment totally for-
gotten her brother and his displeased look.
The following day her brother spoke to her
and warned her against Brady,, and told her
he wasa dissipated and a_ bad. dispositioned
man, and s said that he wished her not to culti-
vate his acquaintance. What struggle in her
bosom was itthat caused her to hesitate? —
why did she not at once promise what he de-
sired, as she would of old? — we know not —
we are but a simple narrator of facta, and suf-
five itto say, that she did hesitate for a mo-
ment, while her eyes assiduously avoided
meeting his, and then all at once filled up, and
a
she burst into tears, and hid her face. in his
bosom, and confessed, as she then thought,
that it was but vanity urged her to mind him,
and nothing else —adding a promise, that she
would not act contrary:to her beloved: broth-
er’s wishes ; and all was well fora fortnight—
and then Rose Lacy broke her promise.—
Whenever she went out alone, she was cer-
tain to meet Dick Brady, and hé would salute
her so respectfully, and hope she was well in
so gentle a voice, that she began to deem her
brother’s: prejudices ill-founded. Once or
twice, too, as he asked permission to walk be-
side her for a little, way his soft melancholy eyes
looked such intreaty, that she could not find it
in her heart to refuse him; and then dissimula’
tion first entered into her mind,for she foolishly
thought, that ifshe never mentioned it, it would
make no matter, as how could her brother be
uneasy about what he knew nothing of. This
species of intercourse continued some ‘time,
and she awoke not from ‘her dream, till she
found that her affections’ were firmly fixed
upon the very man of whom her brother had
warned her.’ He had told her that he loved
her'— he had asked her to promise to be his —
in melting tones he confessed his follies, add-
ing that ‘she might, if she willed it,‘ be the
means of estranging him from them for ever 5
and the next morning, when her brother wish-
ed her good day, her heart did not expand to
him as usual, for that heart had been plighted
to another,
Dick Brady, wild and inconstant as he was,
really felt for Rose a sincere and unfeigned af-
fection, and one unsullied with any thought or
shadow of impurity, ° She was so gentle and
confiding, that he could not but respect ‘and
love her: He thought that he could live with
her and with her alone, and be happy ; and so
he could, were ‘his temper less violent, and
less sensitive to sudden impressions, and were
he not so easily led by any thing that promised
pleasure. | But the deep poison of dissipation,
when once it has entered the heart, cannot be
easily eradicated —in fact it is almost immov-
eable. Well aware that her father and broth-
er would never agree to their union, he tried
to persuade her to a private marriage, and suc-
ceeded, : This step once taken — this irrevo-
cable step, Rose, who had been gradually led
from one thing to another, was changed in
every respect, and moved about the house, no
longer its light and life, but silent and sad, and
guilty looking — wishing to confess her union,
and yet dreading how it might be received, —
When it could be no Jonger concealed, the
rage of her father, and the misery ot her broth-
er at being deceived in “Rose” were the first
circumstances that made her regret her inypru-
dent conduct ; and when the former, foaming
with passion, ‘exclaimed _
“'Thiv, Miss Rose, sence youve chose fur
yerself athout consultin? yer poor ould’ father
oryer brother, you may go off to yer husband
and never dare agin, while youve life, to crass
a flure ov mine.”? a6
* She fell at his feet, clasped his knees, and
looked imploringly into his face —
_ © Oh, father! — dear — dear father! —don’t
say that— don’t turn me,from you wid anger
an’ fury—I was wrong—I was mad — 1—1—
Father! won’t you torgive: me?—only look
kindly at me, as you used — pardon me!—Fa-
ther, jewel, do’t brake my heart by refusin’!?
f