Enter a name, company, place or keywords to search across this item. Then click "Search" (or hit Enter).
Volume 3 (1858-1859) (592 pages)
Go to the Archive Home
Go to Thumbnail View of this Item
Go to Single Page View of this Item
Download the Page Image
Copy the Page Text to the Clipboard
Don't highlight the search terms on the Image
Show the Page Image
Show the Image Page Text
Reset View and Center Image
Zoom Out
Zoom In
Rotate Left
Rotate Right
Toggle Full Page View
Flip Image Horizontally
More Information About this Image
Get a Citation for Page or Image - Copy to the Clipboard
Go to the Previous Page (or Left Arrow key)
Go to the Next Page (or Right Arrow key)
Page: of 592
THE FALLS OF THE YO-HAMITE.—GEORGE SOMERVILLE. 517
ask, but I think you wrong that pretty
lass, by thinking her guilty of such things,
for she looked the picture of innocence
when I last saw her; and McAdams
ought to be banished from society, if he
has not married her.”
Alfred could not reply; his heart was
too full, from the conviction that his every hope seemed blasted. He at length
said: ‘“‘ Farewell, Simmons, till I hear
from you.”
Alfred returned home, sick at heart,
while Mr. Simmons was rolling away
towards Charleston.
[ Concluded next month.]
THE FALLS OF THE YO-HAMITE.
Night! night upon the hills!
Darkness upon the shore!
The mountain winds went moaning by—
The traveler laid him down to die,
By the torrent’s thundering roar!s“‘ Must I perish here alone?
Without one pitying eye?
While near me the torrent hurls its foam,
And the red wolf howls from its mountain
And the moaning winds go by! [home,
Must I perish here alone,
With none to hear or see ?—
E’en now for me my children wait,
And my wife looks out at the cottage gate,
At eventide for me.
Oh! for one cry, to rise
O’er torrent roar and blast!
One prayer, to pierce the midnight sky,
Up to the ear of God on high,
My mightiest, and my last!”
Darkness had left the hills,
The red wolf sought his lair ; [by,
And the mountain stream went sounding
But it only flashed on the sunken eye
Of a silent sleeper there.
i Sp
GEORGE SOMERVILLE.
BY ORDELLE C. HOWK.
CHAPTER I.
I saw her and I loved her;
I sought her and I won;
A dozen pleasant summers,
And more, since then haye run
And half as many voices,
Now prattling by her side,
Remind me of the autuma
When she became my bride.
FT. Mackelta.
TWELVE years ago last fall, when the
autumn wind was strewing the earth
with red and yellow leaves, and decay
was writing its annual mandate upon
the vegetable kingdom, there was a wedding in an old, dilapidated house, on one
of the back streets of St. Louis. As with
many other weddings, the great pulse of
creation throbbed on, as ever, and the
great world outside sneered and laughed,
as usual, as though they knew nothing,
and cared less, for the connubial felicity
of George Somerville and Ilda Parsons.
Their love, and their domestic paradise,
was only such as hundreds have felt and
enjoyed before; so there was nothing
yery singular in the whole affair.
Young Somerville was captain, and
part owner, of the Highland Mary, which
made her regular trips between Louisville and St. Louis—which city, every
Missourian in christendom may be justly
proud of. Before Ilda Parsons could remember, her father, who boasted of belonging to an aristocratic English family,
had paid the last debt of nature, and
from that sad event forward, all the
money the widowed mother could save,
by doing odd jobs of sewing, and by taking boarders by the week, was grudgingly given to educate her only child, who,
by a near relative’s request, was taken
to Louisville; where a goodly share
of fastidious airs, and boarding-school
attractions, were indiscriminately lavished upon a poor girl who had nothing in the