The Pee Dee Times

              DEYOTED TO SOUTHERN PJGHTS, AGRICULTURE, LITERATURE, AND MISCELLANEOUS NEWS.
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PEE DEE TIMES,
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ii
From  Peterson's Masazine. BY   J. J. JKKMYN.
I ilon't know how it is. There never vvas a man liad a greaier capacit)' lor gettiner niarried. I am notoriously sus¬ ceptible. I hale hving alone. I cant spend lialf my income. No forlorn bachelor ever wished so earnestly, as the new.ip.ipcrs say, "to pay for some young lady's dry-goods."
Nor am 1 worse looking ihan nine fellows out of len. I am said to be good tempered. I am not ridiculously awkwaid.    And yel I can't get married.
Nobodf can say I iiavn't tried. I've tried in to*in. I've tried in the coun try. I've tried wilh brunettes, vvith blondes, with old maid.s, with widows. But it wont do. Just when I think I'm about tjjjpacceeil, pop! she goes like a •bird frOTi a bush.
The last time I tried, I could have sworn I was to be "the happy man.'' Il was wilil Fanny Hughes. I firsl be- g.in to grow intimale with hev, after be¬ ing senienced to kiss her in a game of "iwirl the platter," dovvn In llie country, one glowing aulum, al an old farm¬ house. Ah! vvhat a kiss. It made ray moulh water for a month. From that lime I thought of nothing bul Fanny.
She was the spiSest mixture of a blue and a romp tiial ever crazed a man. She rode like a Penlhcsiiea. To see her clear lace glowing wilh the rapid motion, her round bust heaving with ihe heave of the gallop, and ihe light laugh ringing through tiie air till the cows half a mile off looked up from grazing, and wondered if fairies were in the vvind—I defy the soberest, flattest of men not to. haye knocked under. And siie was just as irresistible out of her riding habit, for she sang charming ly, and every now and then flung into her pathetic songs such a comical twang, and dashed her mirthful songs with such an under.mitsic of sadness:— and ihen she talked so wittily, and had read such a great deal, and in so many many tongues, and was so wayward and reckless iu her judgemeni of books, and men, and things, that even if a man did not go oul riding wilh her, and thus es¬ cape the Diana ofthe park, he was sure to find himself at her chair all the eve Lnfr, aiiiitt^all a victim to the Minerva Fina-room. Now, 1 was both ian and reading man, and so I hit on both sides; and I confess I ?ou]J^ri«-EaiUl3;-s»vr it, and had no par¬ ticular objection. But she was such a romp that i\ was hard to say. I don'i imagine she hada bit of conscious co¬ quetry in iier nature but she could'n re¬ sist '.he harumsacrum blood that made her light heart dance to all sorts of tunes.
Well, things went on, in this wa}', till Christmas came around. A large par¬ ty was to spend it at the mansion of Mrs. Trelawney, Fanny's aunt, vvho kept it up "riglit royally."' And a mer¬ ry time vve had of it!
Tiie only "spoon" of the parly—if I H^ay ho allowed the  ex^jression of Eng-.
lish high-life—-was the Rev. Ingulphus Crabbe, "acolyte" he delighted to call himself—who had just taken orders. He was oppressively humble* atvd wore his hair parted in tho middle, with a long, black outer garment—wiiich looked like asurlout arrested halfway in its growth toward a great coat—a waistcoat but¬ toned to the Ihroat, and surmounted by a tight white stock with no visible lie to it, and close-shaved whiskers.
No wonder Fanny laughad at him, and no wonder he vvas scandalized al her. 1 used lo dravv caricatures of him in ridiculous posilions, which amused Fanny exceedingly.—He would bring Keble's "Lyra Infaniium" into the drawin-i'ooin, and Prudet^tiius, and oth¬ er barbarous eclesiastical poets, and la¬ boriously translate them to Fanny, and ask her to sel them lo music, vvhich she did, aKvays chosingihe most vulgar airs, such as "Jim Crow" and other early negro melodies then popular, which, be- Ling played slowly, quite satisfied the Rev. Ingulphus, vviio thouglit them chaimingiy devolionai. We Tiien all voted him a prig and a spoon, and none see.-iied to tuke a more decided view of him in that liglit than my charming Fanny.
Well, Christmas came, and we had a yule-lo2 in the great hull fire-place, and a dance afterward under the mistletoe —under thai very mislleloe of which a dried up sprig is novv lying on my table. I had been riding with Fanny in the morning, anil I ihought [ had done eve¬ rything bul pop the question.—I danced Wlih her tlie first dance, and kissed her under the mistletoe, and determined to settle the mailer that night, come vvhat vvould.
Toward the close of the ball—for we kept it up very late that night—I look¬ ed in vain for Fanny. Nobody had seen her for the last dance or two. The Rev. Ingulphus was missing also; but as he had strongly denounced the affair allogeiher, and e.'specially Ihe mislleloe part of the entertainment, vvhich he pro¬ nounced a heatenish and druidic super- sition, nobody vvas at his absence, vvhich vvas, indeed, ralher a relief than other¬ wise. Where couid Fanny be ? 1 felt it vvould never do lo go to bed without settliTig matters. So I wenl to look for her.
The drawing-room communicated vvilh the hall by a billiard-room, and oul of the billiard-room was a little morn¬ ing.room, which Fanny called hers, but which was common property, for there was always sure lo be some fun going on there.
Slie wasn't in the billiard-room, and she wasn't in either of the drawing- rooms. .But as I passed through the bil¬ liard-room, on my way to ihe hall again, big with my great resolve, and the ar-j teries in my temples throbbing like Sul- lien's drums, I saw a lighl in the morn¬ ing-room—for the door stood ajar—and I heard voices, I listened; indeed, 1 had only to stop to hear. It was the voice of the Rev. Ingulphus. The tone was as passonate and tender as he could pitch it. In fact, he was m the very heart of a decJaraiion. "Oh! by Jove," I tiiought to myself, "how I shall make Fanny laugh with this to-morrow. But let me see ihe lady," said I.
Stealing \o the door, I peeped in They were sitiing on a sofa togeiher, very near each other; before the fire. Her back was toward the door. *^Sn there were the golden ringlets, and—oh ! the duplicity ot Iiuman nature—ihe head was resting on.the shoulder ofthe Rev, Ingulphus.
That day four months, Fanny Hughes vvas transformed into the Rev. Mrs. In¬ gulphus. I have met her since acciden¬ tally; she is a good deal changed; and I can see she will be a coarse woman, even befoie she gets to forty. They call her "a dowdy," and as Dogberry says, "it having been proved, most peo¬ ple vvill come near believing il."
'I diJu't bear Fanny any malice    Cut j
I don'i think I danced much, the next year, and I certainly didn't feel disposed to make another trial of a romp. One has no security, I felt, with your fly¬ away stylo of women ; though how tho Rev. Ingulphus contrived to do it I havn't the slightest notion to this  day.
It must be, however in ihe coat. A soldier or a minister are irresistible to the dear creatures I suppose. There's magnetism, doubtless, in blue coats and black.
Here J am, still unmarried. Who'll have me ? A bid, ladies, for this desir¬ able article. Going, going, going—ah I wouW 1 could say "gone."
THE MUSICIAN'S MARRIAGE.
Afier having passed the summer in visiting the principal towns of Germa¬ ny, the celebrated pianist, Liszt, arriv¬ ed at Prague in October, 1846.
The day after he came, his apariment was enlered by a stranger—an old man, yvliose appearance indicated misery and sufltiring. The great musician re¬ ceived him vvith a cordiality 'which he vvould not perhaps, have shown 16 a nobleman. Encouraged by his kind¬ ness, the visitor said: "I come to you, sir, as a brother. Excuse me if I take this title, notwithstanding the disiance that divides us; but formerly I could boasl some skill in playing the piano, and by giving instruction I gained a comfortable livelihood. Now, I am old, foeble, burdened whh a large fami¬ ly, and destiiute of pupils. I live at Nuremberg, but came to Prague to re¬ cover the remnant of a small property which belonged to my ancestors. Al¬ though nominally successful, the ex¬ pense of a long litigation has more than swallowed up the trifling sum I recov¬ ered. To morrow, I set out for home —penniless."
" And you have come to me? You have done well, and I thank you for this proof of your esteem, To assist a broiher professor is to me more than a duly—it is a pleasure. Artists should have their purse in common; and if foriune neglects some, in order to treal olhers better than they deserve, it only makes it more necessary to preserve the equilibrium by fraternal kindness. That is my system ; so don't speak of grati¬ tude, for I feel that I only discharge a debt."
As he uttered these generous words, Liszt opened his drawer in his writing case, and siarted vvhen he saw that his usual depository for his money contain¬ ed but the ducats. He summoned his servant.
"Where is the money ?" he asked.
"There, sir," replied the man, point¬ ing to the open  drawer.
"There. Why, there is scarcely any¬ thing."
"I know it, sir. If you please to re¬ member, I told you yesterday that the ca»h was nearly exhausted."
"You see, my dear brother," said Liszt, smiling, "that, for the moment, I am no richer than you. Bul that does not trouble me. I have credii, and I can make money start from the keys of my piano. Hovvevc, as you are in hasie to leave Prague, and relurn home, you shall not be delayed by my present want of funds."
So saying, he opened anoiher draw¬ er, and taking out a splendid medallion, gave it lo the old man. "There," said Ire, "that will do. It was a present made me by the Emperor of Austria—his ovvn portrait set in diamonds. The painting is noihing remarkable, but the stones are fine. Take them and dispose of them, and whatever they bring shall be yours."
The old musician tried in vain to de¬ cline so rich, a gift. Liszt would not hear of a refusal, and the poor man at length withdrew, invoking the clioicest blessings of Heaven on his benefactor. He then repaired to the shop of the principal jeweller in the cily, in order to sell ih? diamonds. Seeing a misera¬ bly-dressed man auxious to   dispose of
magnificent jewels, wilh whose value he appeared unacquainted, the master of the shop very nalurally suspected his honesty ; and, while appearing lo exam¬ ine the diamonds with close attention, he wljispered a few words in the oar of one of his assistants. Tbe latter went out, and speedily relurned, accompanied by several soldiers of the police, who arrested the unhappy artist, in spite of his protestations of innocence.
"You must first come to prison,'" they said ; "afterwards you can give an ex¬ planation."
The prisoner wrote a few lines to his benefactor, imploring his assistance.— Liszt hastened   to the jeweller.
"Sir," said he, "you have caused the arrest ofan innocent man. Come vvilh me immedialely, and lel us -have him released. He is the lawful owner of the jewels in question, for 1 gave them to him."
"But, sir," said the merchant, " vvho are you?"
"My name is Liszt."
"I don't know any rich man of that name."
"That may be ; yet I am tolerably vveli known."
"Are  you aware, sir,   tiiat these dia¬ monds are worth six Ihousand florins— 1 that is to say about five ihousand guin¬ eas, or Uvelve ihousand francs ?"
"So much the better for him on whom I bestowed them."
"But, in order to make such a present ^ you must be very wealthy."
"My aciual fortune consists of thiee ducats."
"Then you are a magician."
"By no means ; and yel, by just mov¬ ing fingers, I can obtain as much money as I  vvish."
"You must be a magician."
"If you choose, I'll disclose to you the magic I employ."
Liszt had seenra piano];in the parlor behind the shop. He opened it, and run his fingers over the keys; then, seized by sudden 'inspiration, he impro¬ vised one of those soul-touching sym¬ phonies peculiar lo himself ^
As he sounded the first chords, a beau¬ tiful young lady entered the room.— While the melody conlinued, she re¬ mained speechless and immoveable; then as the last note died away, she cried with irresistible enihusiasm, "Bra¬ vo, Liszl!  it's wondrous!"
"Dost thou know him then, my daugh¬ ter ?" asked the jeweller.
"This is l.he first time I have had the pleasure of seeing or hearing him," re¬ plied she ; "but I kno.w that none living save Liszt, could draw such sound from the piano." '^_i
Expressed with grace and modesiy. by a young person of remarkable beau¬ ty, this admiration coukl not fail to be more than flattering to the artist. How¬ ever, after making his best acknowl¬ edgements, Liszt withdrew, in order to deliver the prisoner, and accompanied by the jeweller.
Grieved at his mistake, the worthy merchant sought to repair it by inviting the two musicians to supper. The honors of the table were done by his amiable daughter, who appeared no less touched at the generosity of Liszt than astonished'at his talent.
That night the musicians of the city serenaded their illustrious brother. The next day the nobles and most distinguish¬ ed^ inhabitants of Prague presenied ihemselves al the door. They enlrea- led him to give some concerts, leaving it to himself to fix any sum he pleased as a remuneration. Then the jeweller perceived that talent, even in a pecunia¬ ry light, may be more valuable than thc most precious diamonds. JJiszt contin¬ ued to go to his house, and, to the mer¬ chant's great joy, he perceived that his daughter was the cause of his visiis.— He began to love the company of the musician, and the fair girl cerlainly did not hate it.
One morning, the jeweller, coniing toj
the point with German frankneis, said to'Liszt:—
"How do you like my daughter ?"
"She is an angel!"
"What do you think of marriasje ?"
"I think so well of it, that I have the greatest possible inclination to try it."
•¦What would you say to a foriune of three million francs 7"
"I would willingly accept il."
"Well, we understand each other.— My daughter pleases you; you please my daughter. Her fortune is ready ; be my son in-law."
"With all my heart."
'1 he marriage was celebrated the fol¬ lowing week.
And this, according to the chronicles of Prague, is a true account of the marriage of the great and good pianist Liszt.
CAUGHT THE PANIC.
A tall, lank, Jerusalem sort of a fei low, pretty vvell under the influence of Mr. Alcohol, was observed swinging to a lamp post on Fifth street last night.— He was talking quite loudly to the af-* oiesaid post, 'vhen a guaidian of the night approached him.
"Come, sir, you are making too much noise," said the watchman.
"Noise! who's that said noise ?" ask¬ ed the post-holder, as he skewed his head and endeavored in vain to give the intruder a sober look.
"It vvas me," replied tiie watchman, as he exposed his silvered numbers to fuil view.
"You ? and who in the d—I are you? It taint me that's making of the noise. No, sir. It's the banks that's a making all the noise. They are a breakin', a crushin', and a smashin' of things to an incredible amount. Noise? It's the bankers that are a makin' of the noise. They are a cussin', a rippin' and a slav- in' ail 'round. It's the brokers that are a makin' of the noise. They are a hol- loin', an' a yelfiin' and a screechin', like wild injuns, over the times, that worsers everybody but themselves. No, sir, it aint me that's a makin' of ihe noise"
"You are tight as a brick in a new wall," said tho officer, amused at the good naiure  of the individual.
"Me tight ? Who said I am tight ?— No, sir; you are mislaken. Ii's not me that's light. It's money that's tight. Go down on third street, an' they'll tell you there that money is tight. Read the newspapers an' you'll find out that it's money that's tight. Me tight ? I've got nary ared, butKanhawa, and the d—1 couldn't get light on that. No, sir, I'm not tight." J    "Then yomHe drunk."
"Drunk? Stranger, yer out of il agin. The world's drunk. Thc hull community is a staggerin' rovnd, but- tin' their heads agin stone walls and a nkinnin' of their noses on the curbstone of adversity. Yes, sir, we're all dmnk that is, everybody's drunk but nie. I'm sober, sober as a police judge on a rainy day. I ain't drunk ; no, sir; stranger, I ain't drunk."
"What are you making such a fool of yourself for, then?"
"Fool? Sir, I'm no fool. I'm dis- tressed. I've catched the conlagion.r^ I'm afllicted."
"Are you sick ?"
"Exactly."
"What's the maticr with you ?"
"Tve got the panics."
"The what?"
"The panics, sir ; it's a going to carry off this town. I tyied to escape by hard drink, but it's no use. The pan¬ ics have got me, sure."
The watchman, more amused than ever, tendered his sympathy, and, what was betier, his aid, io the panic-slrichen individual. In the course of half an hour he had the pleasure of pulling him into the door of his boarding house, and pointing oul to bim the best remedy—a soft bedj and long slumber.
[Cincinnati  Times.
SHOE NAILS.
Odherast, an industrious nailer, tised to stand the whole day long in his work-i shop and hammer away till sparks fle** in showers all around.
The son of his rich neighbor, Mr; Von Berg jsed to com erery day, and often watch hira for hours together.
Come young genlleman, said the nail¬ er one day, and learn lo make a natl foi^ your amusement; for who knows what good it may do you.
The young gentleman, who had toth- ing else to do, accepted the offer. He had sat down, laughing at the anvil, arti soon acquired enough of the ait to turrt oul a good serviceable shoenaiL
In the coarse of lime old Mf. Voii Beig died. The son, soon after, lost his properly ihrough the war, and went as a! poor emigrant to a far distant village.- In this village there lived a great many shoemakers, who used to spend a grea£ of money on shoe nails in the town, and were often unable to procure them at al high price; for throughout the whole districi many thousand shoes were madei for the soldiers.
Young Mr. Non Berg, who was no'VJ' in very poor circumstances, now recoU leeted that he understood very well the art of making nails. He offered to sup¬ ply the shoe makers with nails in abun¬ dance, if they would assist him to set up^ a shop. They helped him lo do so, and; he now maintained himself very abun¬ dantly.
Well he would often say, it is a good! thing for a man lo make even a shoe nail. This docs me more service now than all my landed possessions whicbt would not have been sold for a hundred thousand florins. -. ..^.
An honest handicraft, thongh poor ft Be,' Provca a resource against adversity.
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