Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1857-09-03


twin-sister Of his soul, weeping for him in
his distant native land
"See," she exclaimed, while the bridal
party shrunk back, the untasted wine trem
bling in their grasp, and the Judge fell O.
verpowered upon his seat; ''see his arms
are lifted to heaven; he prays, 0, how
wildly, for mercy! Hot fever runs through
his veins. The friend beside him is weep
ing and awe stricken; the dark men move
silently away, and leave the dying and liv-
| ing togetherp
! There was hush in that princely party,
broken only by what seemed smothered
sob from some manly bosom. The bride
stood yet upright, with the tears stealing
to the outward edge of her lashes. Her
beautiful arm had lost it's tension and the
glass with it's little troubled red waves came
slowly toward the range Of her vision.-
She spake again every lip was mute
Her voice was low, faint, yet awfully dis
tinct She still fixed her glance upon the
sparkling wine-cup..
sIt is evening now,'' continued the
bride. ''The great white moon is coming
Tup, and her beams lie gently on his fore
head He moves not; his eyes are set in
their sockets; dim are his piercing glances;
in vain his friend whispers the name Of his
father and sister, death is there Death
and no soft hand, no gentle voice to bless
and soothe him. His head sinks back, one
convulsive shudder, he is deadn'
A groan ran through the assembly-so
vivid was her descriptions, so unearthly her
look, so inspired her manner, that what she
described seemed actually to have taken
place then and there. They noticed also,
that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands
and was weeping.
"Dead! she repeated again, her lips quiv
ering faster and faster, and her voice more
broken, "and there they scoop him grave;
and there without shroud, they lay him
down in that damp reeking earth. The
only son of proud father, and the idolized
brother of fond sister; and he sleeps to-
day in that distant country, with no stone
to mark the spoil There he Las taass-- "a
Tthcr'S SUN, my own twin-brother, a victim
to this deathly poison. Father!" she ex-
claimed, turning suddenly, while the tears
rained down her beautiful cheeks, father,
shall drink it now?''
The form of the old Judge was convul-
sed with agony. He raised his head, but
in smothered voice he faltered-
"No, no. my child, ia God's name. no."
She lifted the glittering goblet, and let
ting it fall, it was dashed into a thousand
pieces Many fearful eye watched her
movement, and instantaneously the wine
glass was transferred to the marble on which
it had been prepared Then as she looked
on the fragments of crystal, she turned to
the company, saying
ssLet no friend, thereafter, who loves me,
tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not
frmer are the everlasting hills than my re-
solve, God helping me, never to touch or
taste that terrible poison. And he, too, to
whom [ have given my hand-who watched
over my brothers dying form in that solemn
hour, and buried the dear wanderer there
by the river, in that land of gold, will, [
trust, sustain me in the resolve. Will you
not, my husband ?" His glistening eyes
his sad, sweet smile was her answer The
Judge left the room, and when, an hour af-
ter, in more subdued manner, took part
in the entertainment of the bridal guests,
no one could fail to read that he too had de-
termned to Danish the enemy at once and
forever from his princely home.
Those who were present at that wedding
can never forget the impression so solemnly
made. Many, from that hour, forswore the
social glass. It may be sufficient to say
that the young ouple never broke their
pledge; but to this day take pleasure in re-
citing the thrilling sketch of the Bridal
Wine-Cup.
SrYLE.-The last North British Reriew,
has an article on "IKode,n StVc''-a highly
entertaining and instructive subject, though
not so we'll treated as it ought to be.
''What is style ?"-the author asks, and
then gives two answers. The first is this
Style is the manner in which we express
thought. This is ''its largest sense" and
so it "may be applied to every kind of writ
ing" The second is thus stated ''Style-
is the rhythm of prose, and it is confined to
that kind of writing in which the matter is
not too great to make the author forgetful
Of the manner; in short to history, to essay,
) descriptive writing generally, and fiction"
} Both these definitions, in our judgment,
are faulty-very faulty. In its largest
sense, style, to us, is the manner in which
) we express the Uhole sod-not only thought,
but sentiment, affection, and volitiom also.
And as to prose composition, style is GER
tainly much more than mere rhythm.-
Rhythm is music. Music is not the expo
J nent of thought. It must itself be inter
preted. Language is the exponent, and it's
J merit depends upon correct and beautiful
combinations of agreed signifcancies.-
4 When these are new, as we'll as correct and