AND SEMI-WEEKLY INTE

“THIS 1S TRUE LIBERTY WHEN FREE-BORN ME

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LLIGENCER.

Trt ee etn

N—HAVING TO ADVISE THE PUBLIC—MAY SPEAK FREE”

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—MuiLton’s Euripipes.

New Series.

CHARLOTTETOWN, AUGUST 10, 1850.

GELECT TALE.

ee —_—__-___

Self-Sacrifice ;

OR

THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT.

Tae “days of chivalry,” in the steel ar- mor and horse-prancing sense of the phrase, have doubtless passed away into the limbo reserved for all socia) extrava- gances ; but the spirit which, in the eyes of thoughtful men, redeemed its less vain shows and tinsel! accessories from unmit- igated contempt, interfused with the pro- aaic drama of conventional modern lite, survives in more than all its ancient vigor, and from time to time gleams forth and illumines the sober hues of our neutral tinted civilization with the bril- liant prismatic colors of the dawn. Ina other words, there are deeds constantly enacted in this matter-of-fact world of ours, which, for real heroism, have no parralell in the glittering annals of pium- ed and painted chivalry. A romantic episode in the life of a gallant and well- known sea officer—for the exact verity of which I, and indeed many others still living, can youch—affords, i think, a vivid illustration of this brief text. Francis T'ravers, as ! shall cal! him, was the only son ofa worthy and some- what eccentric gentleman of Devonshire, who had passed the greater part of an

active and ‘successful life. im the nayal|

service of the East India Company. He retired from active pursuits at the—for the busiling go-ahead country—early age of forty-five ; and having securely invest- ed the savings of his life—amounting to about twenty thousand pounds-—in the funds, retired to an old-fashioned resi- dence called Marlands, to enjoy in Jeisured solitary dignity—he had been jong a widower—the remainder of Iris allotted days. His house, in commen with these of most retired seamen, was speedily decorated with a windvane and a flag-staff, on which was frequently ex- hibited bunting of every hue and device known and recognized beneath the sun;

but even with the help of these interest- ;

ing time-killers, the time passed slowly

and heavily with the old mariner, and it.

wag soon abundantly erident that to be thus everlastingly anchored, stranded in one spot, was ruinous to his health as well as temper. He grew daily more and more restless, fidgetty, and irritable, and drank a great deal more than he had been accustomed to. Finally, on the very morning after the news arrived that his son had creditab!y passed for a lieutenant in the Royal Navv, Mr. Travers was found dead and cold in his bed. The coroner’s inquest recorded that he died by “ the visitation of God.” _ Lieutenant Travers, the sole heir of his fathdr’s wealth, was at this time a fine specimen of a well educated, intelligent naval officer ; and rich, well looking, and of robust health, might be fairly looked upon as an extremely fortunate person, Whom in all probability a brilliant, eloud- less future awaited. In the young offi- cer’s own opinion, however, all these aids and appliances were nothing if they failed to obtain for him the one sole object, after professional! fame, of his ambition— the hand of the beautiful girl by whom, since his first visit to his father at Mar- lands, his whole being—heart, soul, sense, had been engrossed. His admiration of Mary Whaston was perhaps all the more enthusiastic and intense from having temained as yet in his own breast. His heart alone knew and brooded over its own secret, and was likely, it seemed, to do an for an indefinite time to come, inas- much as the daring sailor, who had already been twice wounded in desperate

boat expeditions upon which he had volunteered, doubted much whether he should ever muster sufficient audacity to disclose his passion even to the fair lady herself. i

It is the faith or imagination of the worshipper which invests the idol! or the shrine with its transcendant attributes; and often as Francis Travers had counted up his own advantages—videlecet, a per- eon which even his modesty could not but admit was not one to frigten the gentler sex ; a professional reputation for skill and daring; and now, since the death of his father, a handsome fortune— he pronounced them al! mere dross and rags when weighed against the divine perfections of the lady. It is very doubt- ful whether any other human being would have arrived at the same conclusion. Mary Wharton was indeed an amiable, graceful girl; and her beauty, if not of the brillant kind which at first view dazzles the beholder, was scarcely less ultimately dangerous in its pensive thoughtfulness, and in the beseeching® geoileness which, gleaming from out the transparent depths of her sweet blue eyes, tinted the pale, finely-turned cheek with varying charm. ut excepting this beauty of expression more than of form, and an unquestionably amiable temper and disposition, she had really nothing to

bonst. Of worldly fortune she would not

possess one shilling, and was neither. fishionably nor wealthily connected:

Her-father Sir Richard Wharton —a

gambling, spendthrift baronet, of old creation, it is true, but bankrupt alike in health and fortune, known, in fact, to be overwhelmed in debt, was scarcely very desirable as a father-in-law; and yet Francis Travers, as he took leave of Lady Wharion and her daughter, after attend- ing his father’s funeral, could not help wondering, as he gazed upon the fair, gentle girl, and felt her calm reservedness of tone and manner sweep coldly across his beating heart, at his presumptuous folly in having loved

——‘ A bright, particular star, And thought to wed it.”

So strange are the tricks which the blind god sometimes plays with the eves and understanding of his more enthusiastic votaries.

The frigate to which Lieutenant Tra- vers was first appointed, after knocking about the Channel through the winter, picking up a few trifling prizes, was ordered to Portamouth, to be overhauled. and have her defects made good; but being found thoroughly infected with dry rot, was put out of commission, and ulti- mately brokenup. ‘The brush off T'rafal- gar had crippled Napoljeon’s marine ; and as the breeze with Brother Jonathan had not yet sprung up, heutenants were in somewhat less request than usual, and Travers took up his abode at Marlands, undisturbed for a considerable time by intimation or command from the Admiral- ity. Mary Wharton, more beautiful, more interesting than ever, received him he imagined, with a much more cordial frankness than formerly ; Lady Wharton seemed pleased with his return; whilst Sir Richard, who, be instinctively felt, had long since penctrated his secret, and with whom, by the way, he had alwavs heen a great favorite, expressed unquali- fied pleasure at seeing him. What wonder, then, that the illusions dispelled by former coldness should reappear be- neath the genial warmth of euch a recep: tion? There was no rival in the case; of that he felt assured.

Indeed, with the exceptuon of the Rev. Edmund Harford, curate of the parish church, and Mary’s cousin, Lady Whar- ton and her daughier lived at Archer’s Lodge in almost entire secivsion. Sir

Richard for three-fourths of the year resided in London, and when visiting ‘Devonshire, surrounded himself with as- sociates whose manners and pursuits were anything but congenial with those of his wife and daughter. As to the curate, accomplished scholar and eloquent ‘divine as he was, and as much as Miss ‘Wharton seemec to take pleasure in his varied and brilliant conversation—not more, however, than did her mother and Travers himself, any notion of marriage with him was, the lieutenant felt, quite out of the question. Edmund Harford’s salary as curate, was only about ninety pounds a year, he had no influential con- nections to push him on in the church— and Travers thought he had ill-read the human character if Lady Wharton, did any chance exist of allying herself with poverty and wretchedness, would permit fn intercourse likely to have so fatal a result. Tus réasoning, believing, hop- ing, Travers surrendered himself unre- sistingly to the influence to which he was nthralled. He walked, fished, played a billiards, with the baronet, participat- ed freely tn all the various modes he adopted for killing time, except gambling, and awaited with torturing anxiety a favourable moment for terminating the feverish doubts which, reason as he might, still haunted him incessantly. A cireumstance, sudden, unexpected and terrible, cut short his hesitation and pushed him to a decision he might have else delayed for months, perhaps years,

A dispute arose, late one night, be- tween Sir Richard Wharton and one of his companions, respecting alleged un- fair play at cards, Injurious ey ithets were freely interchanged; and after a fruitless attempt, by the persons present, to acjust the quarrel amicably, an appeal to the arbitrament of the pistol was arranged for an early hour the next morning.

The meeting took place, and both combatants were wounded at the first fire --Sir Richard, as it proved, mortally.

The baronet was instantly conveyed to the nearest public house, and such medi- eal aid as the locality afforded was. in- stantly procured. On examination of the wound, which was in the chest, and bled internally, the surgeon at once informed the sufferer that nothing could be done to prolong, much less to save his life.

I thought so, felt so!” murmured the unfortunate gentleman, with white lips. * Aceursed chance!” A few moments afterwards he added, “ How Song think you, my life—this agony, may last ?”

“Not long; an hour, perhaps; not more.”

* So soon! I must be quick then. Let the room be cleared at once of all except my servant. James,” he added, as soon as his orders were obeyed, “hasten to Marlandcs, to Mr. Vravers; tell him nust see him instantly. Be swift, for more than life depends upon your speed.”

For the next half hour the groans wrenched from the dying man, in his fast closing struggle with the terrible fee that held him in his iron grasp, were alone heard jp the apartment; then hurry- | ing feet sounded along the passage, and Lientenant Travers, greatly excited, rush- ed in.

“Can this terrible intellicence be true?” he breathlessly exclaimed, “that you are "

“Dying. Yes; a few more pulsations, ay young friend, and that which men call life willbe passed, and I shail be mthing !”?

“May not something be still attempt- al? Where is the surgeon >”.

“Gone, by my ordera! You, Francis ‘Travers can slone aid me in this extrem-

ity ve

Vol. 1: No. 55

—

“{! what can you mean !”

“ Not, indeed, to save my life—that’ is past hoping for; but to rescue an ancient name which I have already tarnished from indelible disgrace and infamy. You love Mary Wharton >”

‘As my own soul!” replied Travers, flushing scarlet.

“I have long known it: You are aware that the estates go to my nephew and that she is pértionlass >”

“Perfeetlys but that is a° circum. stance” '

‘How much perannum of clear, avail- able income do you posses ?” interrupted Sir Richard, quickly.

So strange a question at sich a moment startled Travers; but after a moment’s pause, he replied, “Including my pro- fessional income, about @ ‘thousand a year.” | '

“Enough! Hand me.a glass of water. Now, come nearer, Travers, for my eyes frow dim, and’ my speech, beneath the choking grasp of this fel! disease, is faint and difficult. . You. know. that Lady Wharton and myself, though occasionally residing under one roof, have been for many years thoroughly estranged from each other. For this | know the ‘world blames me, and I admit, quite justly. Well, the world, wise and prying as it ia, as yet neither knows nor guesses the thousandth part ofthe wrong I have done my wife and children.”

“Sir Richard !”

“When I married Eilen Harford, her fortune, secured to her by settlement, wae invested in the funds, in her maiden name; the annaal in interest amounted to about eight hundred pounds”

“Indeed! I never heard”

“Perhaps not. This revenue Lad Wharton has constantly diawn, half- yearly, through Child’s_banking-house. It was devoted by herto the nmaintenance of our establishment. A few months since I—bend lower, that [ may hiss the sccursed confession in your ear—I, presa- ed by enormous gaming debts, and infa- tuated by the belief that I might, had 1 the means of playing for large stakes, re- trieve my losses, forged—do yo hear ?— Jorged my wife’s name to a warrant of alterney, drew ont the entire capital, played with it, and lost all! And now-— now,” cried the miserable man with spas- modie violence, “you know all—know that by my act my wife, my child, are paupers — beggars— homeless — friend= less; and, but for you, without resource or hope !”

“ Merciful powers! can this be true 2”

“As death!” rejoined the baronet, his husky accents sinking toa feeble whisper, ‘and you, on whom I counted, hesitate, I see, to save my name from infamy, even though the reward be Mary Wharton.”

“Say not so!” passionately exclaimed Travers. “But how—by what means can | conceal—can [—”

“ Kasily. Continue to pay the dividend as usual through Child’s till you are— where are you ?—ti!l! you are married.— Lady Wharton will live with you and Mary till—till—you understand 2”

“T think I do,” stammered Travers ; *but—”

“'That’s well!” A silence of several minutes succeeded, followed by incohe- rent murmurs, indicating that the senses of the dying man were wandering. “Cold, cold—and dark! Looed ! and upon three trumps! Light the candles; we cannot see the cards! Ah! what shapes ere these? Hilen, Mary! so stern, too, now that Travers has promised—has promie- ed—” The death rattle choked his ut- terance, and in a few minutes Sir Richard

‘Wharton had ceased to livo.

[To be concluded in our next}

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