The Carolina Spartan. (Spartanburg, S.C.) 1852-1896, June 26, 1856, Image 1
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THE CAROLINA SPARTAN.
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BY CAVIS & TRIMMIER. Dnrotflt to SoHtljfm Rigljts, politics, Agriculture, jottix HtisCcUflmj. $2 FEB ANHUffl.
VOL. XIII. SPARTANBURG, S. C., THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1856. NO^ia"
i i i .
THE CAROLINA SPARTAN.
BY O AY IS ^fc~TRIMMIEll.
T 0 P. VEKVON, Associate Editor.
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From Graham's Magazine for May.
SOME OF THESE DAYS.
CY WALTER GRIEVE.
I had a royal estate upon the Mississippi,
about a hundred miles above Orleans, managed
by a man who was both a treasure
and a curiosity; for he was entirely competent,
entirely devoted to my intorest, and sit
it- 4 i t
preineiy nonest. uo uiusl uavc uceu purposely
ereated to take clinrgo of ray business.
I think he was convinced of the fact
?was proud of it, and believed that Fate
and Naturo had constituted him special
guardian to my helpless self. Then I had
bank stock and wharf property in Orleuns,
which paid me a great income. Christian
Corke's nephew?a merchant there?collected
it and paid mo half-yearly. I had
nothing to do even in my own affairs.
You have seen some people on whom every
body waits, and whom the world will
uot let help themselves. Well, it seems 1
am one of that sort. Everybody waits on
me.
My father and mother slept under their
in irhle slab among the orange trees. Once
I had a woe sister, long ago. Her little urn
uli>tened under the orange trees, loo. There
w is no one to control me, not even dear
old Aunt Deborah, who was my only near
relative and who kept my hou-o, because
he did not know what that boy George
" euhl ?to without some one to look after
him. In her eyes I was human perfection,
and she waited on me more than the rest.
My own master, an ample fortune, and
nothing to do?what a triuity of qualities.
I read everything, from romauces to polemics?froin
bagetelle* to science?from
p >etry to politics?rode, hunted, fished,
boated, and knew society from Boston to
Orleans. I felt very* comfortable, and was
perfectly satisfied with my world as it was.
1 had reached the mature age of six and
twenty without committing matrimony ?
worse still, had never tendered heart and
hand to any one, and what some will think
the height of atrocity, had seeu no one to
whom 1 had ever fell inclined to make the
proffer. Was uot this behaving badly!
Aunt Ded evidently thought so. Tiuc, she
never openly expressed the opinion, but for
lilllA klllX llllll ' L-OIlt 11 IX l> liliirl.li*
^ ?i " "f ;
hinting." As time passed, Iter hint* grew
stlonger. One evening she unmasked her
gun-, and opened their battery upon me.
"George, do you know you were twentyiix
la>t week?" said the old lady, looking
under her specs at me, as I lay on a couch
in the back parlor, teasing Una arid leading
Juvenal.
"I have a vague idea of tho fact, aunt
Deb. All the servants caiue for presents,
and roil had dinner enough for a regiment.
That looked like a birthday, somewhat."
"Yoll are getting old fast, George."
"Yes, aunt Deli, at the rate of one year
every twelve months. Hut that's about the
average, auntie, is it not?"
"George, it is time you were married,"
said the old lady, with evident effect, laying
aside Llank cartridges and shooting her
O O
guns.
"What for, auntie?"
"Why, everybody gets married. Don't
you intend ever to be married, and do like
otlser people?"
"Well, I reckon to, aunt Deb, some of
these days."
"Soims of these days, indeed! Why not
now, George?"
"Well, aunt Deb, if I was married, I
would have to ho married to somebody, 1
suppose, and I am sure I don't know any
one whom I want, and no one shows a
great desire for me."
Whereupon, my good aunt, with most
praiseworthy industry,passed in review before
me the whole catalogue of her young
lady-acquaintances?old und young?thin
u nrl fol I.I 1
IWII^ nuvt OIJUI b UIUIH1U ill J 1.1 Ul II
nette?expatiating on their merits as she
.brought them forth, as a shopman would
?Liow and recommend his wares, indulging
in that line belief, universally entertained
by old lady relatives, that her nephew
"George had only to designate a preference,
^?nd the favored fair one would at once recognise
his right of election, and bo but loo
bappy to tako charge of his keys, lhit I
would not select one; but on the contrary
declined them all. Aunt Deb looked quite
sad. She would havo been angry if tbo
thing had been possible, but it was not so;
bidding me a mournful "goodnight," she
betook herself to her room.
v.Good-night, aunt Deb," I replied to her
Adieu. "Don't be uneasy, I'll get married,
just to please you, one of these days."
"What should I get married for, I wonder,"
soliloquized I, aftor auntie had gone.
"Married! bah, twenty yoars hence will do
rfor that, .but not now, not now?some of
these days?and trimming the light, 1
stretched royself again upon the lounge in
the back parlor, and went on with Juvenal.
Art*.- ?.* . . .
oitvi imiu cHiutj m, lighted
up the fiont parlor brilliantly, ornamented
ii with a profusion of whito flowers, and
went out without saying anything to inc.
By and by pjrsons, most of whom wore
strangers to me, cntored and ranged themselves
about the lighted room. They had
a sort of expectant look, and conversed in
low tone*?none of thera camo into my
room, said anything to me, or in any way
recognised the fnct of my existence, though
they could not very well help seeing
I was rather surprised at this, but su|
ing it was one of aunt Deb's churc
rangements, with which I never mod
lay still, wailing to see what would
up. Presently a strange minister, w
long white hair floated freely over his
ruddy face and sacerdotal robes, tool
slnnd at the end of the room, and al
at the same inomcut six couples ent
and approaching him, filed oil' to the
and left. This looked marvellously I
marriage was to take place. Several o
genilemeu were my own friends, but .
not know one of the ladies. It was
time that I should know what sort o
pers were about to bo cut, so unexpect
to mo, in my owu house; so, laying c]
the Juvenal, I patted Una on tho her
keep her quiet, and was about to adv
towards my company, when I saw
Deb standing at tbo door of the roc
was in, beckoning to me. As a matte
courso I went to her, feeling sure that
understood and could tell me the how
why of this strange procedure.
"Brownie is wailing for you, Geoi
said aunt Deb, in a low tone, as n yt
lady in brida! dress and veil stepped tlirc
the door, nnd stood before me.
She was indeed lovely. Hair of
rich, lustrous brown, which is tho i
beautiful in tbe world?a clear semi
nctto, with a nut-brown tint mingling
the warm blood in her cheek?a large,
dark blue eye?a little active figure,
round and exquisite in propottion, ai
mobility of feature, which telegraphe
the face every feeling as rapidly as it
tcred the heart. She was such a wo
as I had never seen l>efore, and cannc
member that I had ever imagined,
stinctivcly I extended my hand to her,
when hers met mine there w:? somet
in its clasp wholly new to rue. It see
to wrap around mine, and the two h:
as it were to be absorbed by each ot
Almost unconscious of what I was dc
and controlled by some influence, I k
not what, I placed her hand upon my
and, with my eyes fixed on her, we ad
ced to the minister and took our place
fore him. The solemn marriage titu
the Episcopal church proceeded, made i
solemn still by the deep pathos of tin
bishop's voice, and I, George, pledged
faith to her, Hrownie, under the sol
sanction of the church. I lifted her
nnd pressed my lips to hers. I had k
blight lips before, many a time, but ti
as now. There was a something thei
have often since striven in vain to k
what, the memory of which will clin
tne forever. It seuiued as if a new
was entering into my soul, and tninj
j with it, and thenceforward my U'ing u
i be different and dual. 1 was about to
I her in uiy arms, to take her as mine,
| part of myself, when a strange smile <
across the old bishop's face, and sopaii
us with his hand, he said quietly:
"Not yet, George, not vet. You
hers, and she is yours; but you mu?t
Her mueli more, ami wish for her n
longer, befoio you cun pos-ess her."
I ol^ected ami argued iu vain. To
urged I lie bishop replied only with
strange, cold smile, while the hridal
tege closed round my wife, and slowlj
lowed the bishop from the room, lea
mo astounded and half slupiGed in
middle of the lloor. Aunt Deb closet
procession. As she passed out of tho
she stopped a moment, faced round t<
nud suit!, with a queer look on her fa
"Some of these days, George, soin
iheso days."
The lights went out one bv one, lea
me there. Tho night air grew chill
damp around mo. Una whined pitec
and rubbed herself tremulously again*
knees, till sho half roused ujo from
slu'xjr, and I went up to my chaii
puzzled, pestered, ami sadly out of hu
I thought over the awkward positio
which I was, as well as my confused f
ties would permit, and Finally went to s
with a distinct determination to find o
the rooming whether I was really am
gaily married to Brownie, and if I wa
have her hack in spite of all the bishoj
the universe.
"What's the matter now?'' lexclnii
half asleep, as I found myself roughly
ken.
"Time you was gettin up. Mass Ge<
Bofe hells dun ring. Miss I>cb, she
bin waitin brekfas for yon long lime,
say, plase cum," grunted Jim, a yonn^j
' ony of a dozen years, whom the butler
! taken to keep iu .the dining room.
"Fs Miss l>el> at table?" yawned F.
"Yes, sir, she is ho, been dar ever so 1
' I reckon site don sot down and goi
again a dozen lime*. You aint sick,
nolhin, i? you, Mass George?"
"Wlio else is at tablo with her, Jim
"Der aint nobody else. IX-r aint nol
else fur to be dar, 'ceptin you. Git
Mass George."
"Wlicrc aro nil those people who
J hero last night?"
"Well, dero wnrnT nobody here,
I knows on, 'coptin yon and Miss Deb.
j Curke bo cum up to the house artcr su
but lie never cum in. All dem pcoj
well, I declare, you'a dream agin,
George. Git up fo you git fast asleep
i Dreaming! Well may bo I am, bu
j soon see; and, making my toilet as raj
as 1 could, I wont down, determine
know upon what sort of pretenco aunt
had ventured to entrap mo into malrin
| with a lady I did not know, and the
; spirit her away ns soon as I was mat
Before going to the breakfast room, I
to the front door and examined the It
the lawn. There wna no trace of w
I otther upon the graw or carriage track
| when I went in, the old lady wns sitlii
the head of the table, looking, just a
always did, iunoccnt, simple hearted,
as good as she could be.
"Aunt Deb," I askod at length, "
: became of you when you left the jn
j last night!1'
; me. "Went straight to bed, honey?that is,
[>jK)s- after reading my bible a little while."
h ar- "Nobody here last night, after sunset,
died, was there?"
turn "Nobody that I heard of, George."
hose I looked hard at the old lady. It was
i still plain she was not deceiving mo. It \*as
t his very odd, but no doubt Jim was right. I
most must havo been dreaming, ltut it was a
ered, strange dream. With an almost tangible
right reality 1 could see Brownie then befoio me,
ike a with every line and lineament perfectly disf
the tinct, and the low rich tono9, in which she
I did repeated the marriage vow, were still
high sounding in my ear. It no doubt was a
f ca- dream, but still was so far a reality that I
edlv felt that, then and tenceforlh, I was wedtown
dcd to that woman, and never would bo to
id to any other. That day my wholo mind was
atico taken up with the memory of my dream
aunt and of Brownio. As a matter of course, 1
im I scarcely spoke to any one. Aunt Dcd no>r
of ticed it, and supposed I was conning over
, she bor good advice. After supper she drew
and her rocker up to my couch, and endeavored
to imnrovo tho m><>o?inii
rgo," "Well, George, I hope you have been
rung thinking over wbut wo were talking about
jugh last night?"
"What's that, aunt Deb?" I asked, rousthat
ing myself with a start,
most "Why, you know I advised yon to get
bru- married, and v?. u said that you would think
with ' about it."
,full, "1 intend to get married, aunt Deb, by
yet all means."
nl a "Do you, my dear George? I am so do- I
d in lighted! Which of those we were talking
en- about do you intend to take?"
man "Pshaw! aunt Deb, you don't suppose I
it re- would marry any of those girls, do you? If 1
In- you do, you aro very much mistaken."
, and "Well, I can tell t on, sir, they aro alliing
mighty gcod girls. If they won't suit you
tucd ; I should like to know whom you intend to
inds marry."
her. "Why, Brownie, of course."
ling, "BroWnio? Who is Brownie? Brownie
now who?"
arm, "Why, the lady that?I can't tell you
van- the rest of her name just yet. Aunt l)eb,
s he all I can tell you is, that I shall Ue married
al of to her."
nore "When, George?"
3 eld There was a poser?when? exactly the
my thing I would like to know, but I did not;
lemn no? I could do was to repeat what the
veil Aunt Dili of my dream said; "Sonic of
issed these days." Aunt Deb looked at me du
ever biously, and asked nie mo more questions
ro, I j then. But, though she was the best old
now ?oul in the world, she still was remotely
to j descended from K\e, and it was hard to
soul | know that a wedding was on the carpet
[ling and have her imagination stop thuie. So,
a* to in the next week, at odd times, she tried to
fold get at Brownie's history, and asked where
as a "he lived; whether her parents wore living;
tame h?w long I had known hoi; when our ar
iting rangemeiit commenced; why I had never
told her more about it, and when I was to
I aie visit her. On all these subjects 1 had to
love hght very shy, but made up for it when
illicit aunt Deb wanted to know if she was band
soino, for tlieie I was fully posted, and gave
all I the old lady a fud length portrait, which
this threw her in ecstaeies.
cor
f fol- Things went on as usual for two or thiec
aing t months. Though it was only a dream,
the ' Brownie had become to nie a real being,
1 the my household friend, every-day companion,
door and pure divinity; somebody to sit with,
> me i ide with, talk to- 1 cared nothing for female
ce?I society, and when, as was not unfrequent0
of : ly tl'o case, I found myself among ladies,
| my strong tendency was toward drawing
vJ|,? i comparisons between them and llrownie,
and wo'gbing them in the balance and finding
^1^ them most lamentably wanting,
t mv ^ne bright Hftornoon in the early spring,
n,'v 1 was sauntering along the street in Mobile,
uber lazily 6,n?king il cig.ir, and thinking about
tnor.' ^row|,i?? w hen 1 was met by a party com
n in 'n2 UP' ^e'eing people close to me I raised
ncnl- ,ny e.vcs? antl tliore to my astonishmont and
Ccp, ! joy, stood Brownie ber?elf before me. A1
ul j() most beside myself with happiness, 1 sprung
1 |0 forward and clasped her in my arms. She
s to ; threw hers around tuy neck, and our lips
ps in mc* w"'' *bo s??ne warm, clinging kiss,
which made our bridal salute. Brownie
' was a living, sentient being. We had
ined ' re,l"y been married. They had taken her
sha' ?,u ,13C' an<^ ^ 'Iai^ been fool enough
to let them do it, and let aunt Dob, the old
.,r(,e | sinner, mako me think I had been dream
d~un '"2- Well? i bad ber once more, and I'd
-she ''ke to soo any body seperata us again.
f | '"Oh, Brownie, Jear Brownie," said I,
had hissing hor again and again, without think
ing for a moment what the passers-by
; would say. "1 have you now, my dear,
ol,g. : sweet little wife?"
L up "2?ot yet, (icorge, not yet. Some of
nor . these da)s," aud there stood that confound(
cd old bishop, with his strange smile aud
it" silver tones. lit* put his hand on my arm
Kkly and unwound it, with tho other hand lifted
up, Brownie into a carriage, and, leaping in after
her with an activity surprising in so
wero ' bulky a man, drove off. But bo was not
able to elude mo sc, and, as the carriage
^ j started, I made a desperate spring after it
^ and caught tho do ir with my right hand,
.iss |-jier0 wa3 H wild shriek, and 1 found myself
hurled with violence to tho crround. 1
gJtllierotl myself up and looked around. I
I was not in Mobile but in the back junior.
; Confound it, I bad been dreaming again,
tl II When I sprang after Brownie,my foot came
>id'y down upon Una. Iler yelp was the shriek
c' lo I had heard. Her struggles upset me.
Dob por jmgjjt I know I may have been hug
,ony gjng and kissing the sofa iustad o( Brow,n.
lo nie.
ried.
w^nl Aunt Deb found me packing my trunk,
irf of "What is that for, George?" queried (ho
heels 0jj |ady.
, and "Going somewhere, rau'*m," I replied,
1fi Hl dutifully.
s she "Going to seo Brownie, George!"
i "Certainly, aunt Deb, where elso should
1 I go!" and I went on jracking my trunk
what with tho determination of finding Brownie
>arlor : if she was above ground, and of marrying
I her if I did find her. It was a beautiful
spring day when I set out and began to
steam up the Mississippi, spending a few
days with this friend, and a few moro with
that, until at last I found myself on tho
Ohio river, at a pretty town upon the Virginia
shore. As the Ohio river mail bout
came along, I took passage iu her, intending
to go to Pittsburg, strike across the
country eastward and perhaps go to Capo
May or Saratoga, or wherever else chance
might lead me. As I stepped on the boat,
in the dusk, 1 met an old collego mate, nnd
lighting a cigar from his, Blood near the
gangway talking to him without entering
the cabin, until between ten and eleven
o'clock, when the boat stopped at the
Wheeling pier.
"Clear the gangway thoro, gentlemen?
out with the mail bags. Hurrah with the
baggage thero, boys," shouted tho mate.
"We are two hours behind time, and
inusn't hang here a sccocd longer than we
can help. Push on now with your ladies,
sir, everybody's ashore but you; hate to
hurry you, but carry the mail and 'hind
time."
As the ladies spoken to were hurried past,
; a low voice, which seemed very familiar to
1 mo, said.
"I hate to leave this boat, for I know lie's
I 011 it."
1 "Pshaw, coz, you're foolish. You'd have
seen him if ho had been, nnd you say you
! will know him."
"Yes, I know he's here."
! 1 stepped forward to see who they were
I ?at that second the plank was drawn up,
I ||.? I ...I. I...-. II -ir 1 .1-- 1 . I
| iii'j lasiiiuuo iiliutvil UUt illlU IUU UUIll U6{^Hll
I to sheer from the wlmrf. At the same momeat
tho ladies turned to look ut the boat.
The lamp fell full on their faces, aud there
stood Brownie on the pier.
"Slop!" I exclaimed, "I go ashore here."
"Too late, sir," sung out tho male,
"couldn't stop now, sir, for the President
himself."
"It is very important that I should go
ashore here. I'll pay any amount if you'll
stop."
"Couldn't, sir, if you'd give mo all Virginny.
'Taint no sort of use to talk about
it?'hind time."
"Well, tell mo who those lust ladies were
who went ashore."
"Can't tell, sir?came aboard since dinner,
going east?eastern people, may be."
I cast my eyes mournfully towards the
wharf, whero Brownie was still standing,
| and waved my handkerchief towards her.
I She returned tho signal. Jn>t then, some
I one on the upper deck sang out, "Not yet.
; Cicorge, not yet, some of these davs." 1
turned round with a stamp to confm.it the
old bishop, but 'twas only a d.'ck band
shouting to one of bis fellows. Well, bad
I as it was, the evil was not without its so;
lace. This time I was not dreaming.
; Brownie was real. She was going east, so
was I, and I knew that we must meet some
i of these days, if not sooner. 1 hunted Phila,
dolphia and Cape May, New York and
; Saratoga, Boston and Newport, hut Brow
. uie was riot to be seen. I came at last to
' the conclusion to stop looking for her, anil
I trust t j Providence to bring lis together.
! After otiising round, I was going fiom
| Washington to Philadelphia to join a party,
when the train slowed as wo got near
| the Belay House. Another train was tnov|
ing slowly by. I was leaning my bead
listlessly against the car window, when from
the opposite car I heard sumo one exclaim,
j "Oh, theie ho u, look.'" J turned my
i head carelessly, and there at the car witi!
dow, for one second, 1 saw Brownie )ookj
ing at ine, her eyes radiant and her cheeks
j glowing. Another second, the engines let
! on their steam, rushed away in opposito directions,
and 1 could see only a kerchief
fluttering fioiu the window. 1 huntei lup
the conductor at once; as a matter of course,
lie was in the furthest car. It was impossible
f>r him to stop tho train. If lo2 did, 1
could never catch tho other.
"Never mind, colonel," sai l he, consul
ingly, "you'll have better luck next time,
! and light on your friend some of these days."
i "Hang some of these days. Where was
i the train going! '
Which train was it? One was going
south, tho other west. 1 had noticed but
the one, so I only knew that Brownie was
going somewhere away fiom me. My
Philadelphia party determined to go to the
Virginia Springs, and a few days saw us
half covered with dust, emptied from a
stagecoach at the White Sulphur. It was
the height of tlic season, niul the crowd
i tremendous. Eatables wero rare at any
price, ami money could cominaml no better
lodging than n very small lualtrt&i upon
tlio ball-room floor. As fairy feet were
moving over that floor until midnight and
then some fifty us were turned ioo>o into
tho one room, sin^lo night's experience
satisfied me, and I went over to tho old
Sweep, where some one told mo accommodations
wero to l?o had. They gave 1110
i a good cabin on a grassy bill-side. 1
plunged into tlio bath, tbo most glorious
one, I think, in tho world; took my Lap,
ato a capital supper and dressed; by that
time the band w as audible in the ball room.
Everybody scorned going, and, as 1 bad
i nothing else to do, 1 went too. Tho ball
room was crowded, especially near tho door,
and it was difficult to got in. Once iu, I
ascertained that tlio ceiitro of tho room was
occupied by a liiigo cotillion of half a doz
en or inoro couple to a side, while the lookers
on stood around half a dozen deep. As
a man will do in a strange place, I got :i
deal in tlio rear, and began to look ovei
the crowd to see if I could see any familial
faces, llefbro tno stood a very pretty girl
leaning on tho arm of a fine handsome fellow,
chatting away in high gleo about some
of tlio occurrences of the day. As a mattei
of course, 1 was obliged to hero every won!
they said.
''Where's your cousin?" ho asko.l, pres
etvtly.
"In her cabin," was the reply. "Sh<
will bo in at'tor a whilo. She's a littlo nor
vous, to ni^ht. 1 declare it is so funny;1
and tbo blight young thing leaned bad
her head and laughed, as if sbo was enjoy
, ing something hugely.
"What makes her nervous this evening,
does she expect a declaration?"
"I do not know that she does; but she
lias been saying, for the last two hours, that
he is here, and they are to meet now at
last. 'Tis tho strangest notion that ever
got into a clever gill's head, and as you
know there's no mistake about her being
clever."
"Very smart woman, indeed; unusually
so?but tell me all about that. I've heard
of some queer notion she had about somebody,
but never coulu get at the story. Teii
me all about it, won't you?"
"Well, I'll tell you. Last winter, somewhere
about the first of December, we were
| down at Uncle Harry's, in Mississippi. Coz
| and I used to sleep together. One night
about two or thiee o'clock she woke mo
up, "Bettie," said she, "I'm married; and
! they've taken inc away from iny husband,
or him from me, and you don't know how
! miserable I feel."
"I knew she had been dreaming, and
supposed she was only half awake then; so
I thought I'd talk to her, find out her
\ dream, and laugh at her in the morning,
for she always cared less about beaux than
any girl I over saw; 60, said I,
! "Well, that's a pity, coz. Was be bandI
some?"
"Yes, Bettie, ho was tho handsomest
tnan 1 ever saw; at least, I think so."
"Did you use to know him, coz?"
"Never saw hitn before they married him
to me. But, oh, Bettie! I do love him so
i dearly! Where is he?"
"He'll bo back presently, I reckon.
What was his name?"
"George."
"George who? What was his other
name?"
"I don't know"?and, sighing wearily,
she turned over and went to sleep again."
"In the morning 1 jested her about it,
but she took it very gravely. Hho said
she had been married to George, and he
had been separated from her. Sbo loved
him very dearly, and knew she would be
his wife one of these days; but sho wished
she could bo then. Well, every now and
then she would talk to ine about George;
but, except being able to describe him very
minutely, she can tell nothing of him; seems
to confused she cannot get it stiaight in
her own mind.
"That is rather otl<!. Does sho think
she would know hitu again if she was to
see him!"
"Certainly; and more than that, sho says
she knows when he is near her, and has
seen him twice. In the spring, she insisted
that he was on the boat with tier, and after
we g<>t on the whaif declared that she saw
him, and he knew her at once. About two
weeks ago she said she saw him pass in
the cars, and that he knew her again. Now
she says he is L'-re to uight. She is very
! anxious to see him, but feels very nervous
about i'.."
"What do you think of all this."
"I don't know what to think," said Miss
liettic, gravely. "It any one else were to
l talk so, I should th'nk they were crazy.
Hut I know she is not crazy. I wish I
! knew what to think. What is your opinion
of it!"
"Merely ti-e effect of an over excited imagination.
In her dream she has recalled
to her memory the face <>f some person she
! had seen, perhaps in childhood, and seeing
the persons you allude to for only a few
seconds, she saw in them a real or imagiI
n&rv resemblance to the face. Those cases
of excited fancy are not uncommon, even
in very sensible people."
"Excited imagination ? thunder!" muttered
I. "Hrownie's here now;" and with
e igcr eye I scanned the crowd, moving
through it as well as I could, until I got
near llio dining room door, thtougii which
most of the ladies entered the ball-room.
Presently I heard a voice. I knew it was
ber's at the tir^t word. 1 looked under the
I arm of a huge man before me, at d thero
was Brownie, in all her glorious beauty,
{ leaning on the arm of an old gentleman.
My heait beat?every pulsation sounding
through mo like the clang of a sledgehammer.
Presently lu-r escort left her for
a while, and lifting the huge man out of the
way, I extended njy hand to her, and could
say nothing but "Browuie!" Her face
turned white as marble, and then the red
blood rushed back to it. She only said,
| "O lieorgv!" but lier soft, small hand mot
mine with the same encircling, absorbing
clasp, l look el round to see that no ono
was noticing us, drew her out of the door,
and throwing over her head the first scarf
I laid my hand on, we wandered through
the long dining room into that glorious old
portico which runs tlio whole length of the
building. Among that old portico ?>'?
walked that night until the hall was thinned,
and the last darn er left, and the band
put up their instruments in their green hags,
and went?nobody knew were; and when,
at midnight, 1 bade her good night at her
' cabin door, she was my Brownie and 1 was
her (deoxge.
1 am writing in the old bacV parlo*, and
' at the table with me sit Brownie and aunt
I*eb, while Upon the carpet, all mixed U[
into olio, aro I'iih, nit ! Iiltlo Bruwnio and
Oeurge, jr.
? IIit at Barnum.?It was announced
sometime since that Barnum was preparing
an immense gutta perchaball?hollow?in
i which to make the descent of Xiagntn Fall4
1 This gag to humbug the public is well hit
ofl' by the following announcement:
Progress.?There is at present in opera
', tion near Boston a jumping locomotive1
' which only touches the ground once in t
mile. It is perfectly round, the machinery
|' in the centre, ami is coated externally wit!
India rubber. So soon as the patent ha<
' been secured, its proprietor supposes tha
thousands of them will be seen "bobbin
around'' liio world, so that to the man it
3 tho moon the earth will look like a bij
*' cheese covered with "skippers," Who de
nios that thss is rcallv a "fast age?"
Somo one calls tho time of squeezing tb
! g;.r\s hands "the palmy season of life."
The Cotton Trade of the World. Si
The Secretary of State has presented to 10,1 (
Congress some comprehensive and valua- n?cn
ble tables, exhibiting the amount of the *
cotton trade of the world for the last five
years, with the various tariff duties and cus- !
torn house regulations. These statistics show p
the important part the United Slates per- .
form in this trado. This country has export- !ve
ed an avernge of more than a thousand mil- .
lion of pounds of cotton in each of the five
years past, of which quantity more than seven
hundred million pounds went to England, ^
aud nearly two hundred million pounds to .
France, from which this latter Government n" ;
derived an annual revenue of nearly three V
millions of dollars. The amount of cotton ex- iin
ported in 1855 was?to Great Britain, 073,- '
498,250 lbs., free of duty; to France, 210,- ?n .
113,809 lbs., duty of $3.72 per 220 lbs?, in uUe
national vessels, and $6.48 in foreign vessels, J
duty paid $2,939,300; to Spain, 33,071,- do<"
795, duty 97 1-2 cts. per 102 lbs. in national
vessels, and $1.85 in foreign vessels, '*
paid $265,200; to Russia, 448,890, 18 3 4 ^
duty for 30 lbs., paid $47,018; to Nanse e.
Towns, 30,809.991, duty paid, $25,795; to ,? '
Belgium, 12,219,553, free; to Austria, 9,- .ecc.
701,465, free; to Sardinia and Iialv, 16,- ,#
087,064, different rates; to Mexico, 7,527,- J10.
079, duty $1.60 on 101 lbs., paid $103,118;
to llolland, 4,941,414, free; to Swe- an
den and Norway, 8,428,437, different rates; new
to British North American Provinces, 883, PfRr
204, free; to Dcninailc, 209,180, free; to ' ?r
Cuba, 9,020, duty paid $2,355; to Poitu- * u8
gal, 144,000, duty paid, 19 cents; elsewhero,
270,822. Total amount exported for?
in 1855, 1,003,424,001 pounds, which, at Ju,lt
an average price of eight cents per pound. ?" 1
would pro luce the sum of $80,273,968,08. *7?"
The annual average importation of cotton ? e*
from all countries into England, the last * ?
five years, has been 833,335,984 pounds, ?'
of which amount, according to British au- ?,
| .r? - i? ? ? ? ? Kl<V
inoruics, go 1,029,220 pounds, or more
than three fourths, were from the United
States. 715,525,290 pounds is the usual fo;j0
consumption in Great Britain, the rest is jfap
exported to tho continent. About six sev- rnE
enths of the cotton received at Liverpool ?LeS
comes from the United Stascs; four fifths are for
estimated to be imported for the factories of 6erVi
Lancashire and Yorkshire. The number com
of spindles in operation in England is esti- gcnl
mated at more than twenty millions. The jDg,
value of cotton supplied by tho United ~jvc
Slates to Gr at Britain, in 1855, was $57,610,749,
being about the average each tru^
year the last four. About one tenth of the noc<
cotton imported from tho United Stales is tjie
re exported C-otn England, while nearly ej t
one-half of that imported from British India
is never used in her fa:tories, but is kea<
sent away. These facts are significant of
their relative value. American cotton is lar3
estimated as one hundred per cent, supori
or to that of India. Cotton constitutes in jrr;t
value more than two-thirds of the domes- jDSj,
tic exports of tho United Sta'es to France.
Next to the United States, Fiance derives 8ton
her supplies of cotton from the Levant, and au,|
the third place is held by South America. an(j
There are at present in Iiussia, or there
were previous to the war, 495 cotton facto havi
ries, employing 112,427 operatives, and th0
producing annually 40,907,730 pounds of
yarns and corresponding amounts of tex pro
ll'?" e tho I
Before the breaking out of the late war, ej j
the manufacture of cotlou in tho liussian ^ u .
empire was progressing with extraordinary Q( t|
activity. The number of spindles exceeded
350,000, producnig aunually upwards gj.jc
of 10,900,000 pouuds of cotton yarns. The
barter tiado with the Chinese at Kiachta |es3
stimulates this hr*neh nf mtniifuninr... !
- 7*"'" evel
: Russia, as the article of cotton velvet con? Hrm
1 alitute* the leading staple of exchange at tj10
: that point for the teas and ot'.er inerchan- fbii
dise of China. In former years this article a ru
was supplied almost exclusively by Great
Britain, hut the Chinese prefer the Russian J
manufacture, and hence the steady progress toin
! of that branch of industry. Thus annually er s
increasing importations of the raw wateri- #qqie
al and constant diminution in the quantity arc}
of cotton yarns imported is accounted for. ihe
Wore raw cotton admitted, as in England, vistil
fiecof duty, the United States would most' but
probably supply, in the direct trade, the evei
whole quantity consumed in that empire. H0]
As it is, the commercial reforms in Russia, iJlC,
already announced officially and now in
progress, comprehending, as they do, the The
establishment of American houses nt St. jng
l'etersburg, must necessarily tend to that juc
result.?Suuth Carolinian. The
I , "" , ins;
The Evening l'ost'a Washington corres- j^l)r
pondent has the following items: | i|ie
"I have already mentioned, among Mr. i fa|j,
Brooks' testimonials for his locent achieve , jMs
ment, the livt>ouk, silver topped cane pre- ; ^r<
sented bv Noilhern shipmasters doing bu- j
siness in Charleston, which he is said natu ; Hluj
rally to piizo above the others on account ino,
of the superiority it manifests to local pro jh#
judice on the part of tho donors. I ?ov
"Let me mention another, which came stdl
by Adams' Express, purporting to be the , ,?a
gilt of'The Alleghanies of Virginia.' This nor"
consists of three well pronged hickory sticks, jj- c|
each marked w ith a card attached,on which
arc these words: 'For occasional use.' j,ro
Mr. Brooks, as I understand, is instructed 1j,tv
| I by the givers to present one of these canes t ral*|
, to Mr. Sumner, one to Mr. \ViU.?n nn.l ! .
lO f
' ono to Senator Wade, of Oliio. For some ^en
1 reason, however, the consignee has not |jV
complied, possibly regarding the request as |us!
t a joke not worth carrying out. What ac- pl4r
1 lion tho injured Senators will take to obtain ;mi
the properly reinninsto be seen,
i 'Mr. Brooks still receives threatening 1
k letters at tho rnto of from ten to sixteen by low
each mail from the North. Some of these et,
( missives give Lilu twenty four hours to pre- I Sw
pare for death. Some aro anonymous, or j anc
( signed 'An Old Member of the House;' sai<
others hare the name attached in full." for.
, t rot
Mr. J ay cocks changed his boarding
house, the other day, because bis landlord 1
would persist in bringing sausages home spe
in Ida hat. Mr. Doyle !ef>. because Mr. oth
e Slocutn objected to his driving nails in the lod
bureau to hang his boots on. I to
inatorial Portraits.?The Washingcorrespondent
of the Cincinnati Corneal
contributes to the columns of that
t the following pen and iuk sketch of
e of the more prominent oCour present
eral Senators;
[ looked in on the Senate to daj. Qen.
i is a ponderous old fellow, with a masshead,
which he covers with a rusty, old
vn wig, and keeps opening and shuthis
mouth and sucking his breath be n
bis teeth, as if he constancy lasted
etbing disagreeable. John M. Clayis
more enormous than Qen. Cass,
his faco, though fat, Is magnificent,
is the best looking man in the Senate,
laughs heartily at intervals from two to
minutes. Bis hair is as white as snow,
bis big eyes glisten all the time with
ligence and humor. Seward isasstal,
in appearance as a pair of tongs, lie
not weigh more than a Hundred
ids. IJis hair is short and Ioolf* dead;
eyes are hidden behind a pair of gold
tacles. Bis face is thin, pale and wrin,
but its lines are firin, and he appears
a what he is?a man of restless intel
- Senator Butler, of South Carolina,
be thickest at the waistband, though
uncomfortably heavy. Hit face is
ht, and bis hair, which he wears long
in a singular confusaon, is w^Um as
ly washed lamb's wool. Hale's apance
indicates that ho has been fed
ally on fftt pork and butler milk,
h looks younger when among the ol<J,
, or white headed and big-bellied Senathan
I ever befoie saw him. A may
of the Senators have naked patches
he top of their heads, and quite half of
i are the opposite of slender. They
v tobocco very much as other folks, so
is I could discover, and immediately
' adjournment several of them litcigaif,
leauing back appeared to feel comforts.
i'olitan Abuse or the Esousa.?The
wing is a specimen of the literature of
les, as indicating the spirit of the govnent
towards the English. It is from
5pie:'"iloly Marv, Mother of God, pray
us sinners, exclaimed my little Maltese
ant, shivering with fear, 'for these extnunicated
Jacobins, said he, God has
us the cholera, and for these English
?, yet more excommunicated, who have
inthetn a reception, we shall now surely
if St. Paul does not save us: nor could 9
r sentiment proceed from tue lips of inmce.
Most holy Paul, thou who from
asp and the viper didst tear the poisonoolb
for the salvation of the children of
>lius, wield thy sword to strike off the
Js of those famished wolves. Avenge
shame of having lent thy name to alraised
to heresy?destroy the fox of
ion?rescue us from shipwreck. Tho
able political ruffianism of a Minto?the
lious pharisaic eloquence of a Cobden
10 lying, vulgar calumnies of a Glad.e?vivified
and animated by the sordid
shameless robbery of a Palinerstou,
of as many others as have preceded or
1 follow bint in the Judaising ministry,
e pillaged the world, so as not to leave
skin of man uninjured by the bloody
b ofthe British bear! Tbe.Vlazzini, the
udbiani, the Kossuth, and all the refuse of
:reation, will be always the rusty, dislorlnslruments
attached to the adulterated
er of the English shield, for the rapine
ue rich spoils of the human race. Who
i not know that our silks, our rags, our
i, are constantly designod to cover the
linous limbs of this prostituted, shame'
, stinking hag, and that we shall be
r condemned to satiate ber with our
s, and assuage her with our blood, if
mercies of God do not save usl" <fec.
* work was written f rand paid for by
ember of the Neapolitan government.
'he Useful ani> the Beactifi-u?The
b of Moses is unknown, but the travellakes
bis thirst at the well of Jacob,
i gorgeous palace of the widest moois,
with the cedar, and ivory, and eveu
Temple of Jerusalem, hallowed by the
bio glory of the Deity himself, are gone;
Solomon's reservoirs arc as perfect as
p. Of the ancient architecture of the
y City, not one stone is left upon ano ;
but the pool of BelLefda commands
pilgrim's reverence to the present day.
i columns of thu Fersepolis are moulderiuto
the dust; but its cisterns and nquois
remain to challenge our admiration,
i golJcn house of Nero is a mass of rubut
the Aqua Claudia still pours into
ne its limpid stream. The temple of
Sun, at Taducor io the wilderness, has
Mi; but its fountains sparkle as freely in
rays as when thousands of worshippers
>nged its lofty colonnades. It niav be
L London will sl.aro the fate of Babylon,
nothing be left to maik its site save
iinds of crumbling brickwork; but the
unes wil] continue to flow as it does
t. And if any work of that art should
rise over the deep ocean of time, we
y believe that it will be neither palace
temple, but souio vast reservoir. And
ne light of any nauie should still flash
ough tbo mist of antiquity, it will
bably be that of the man who, in hts
sought the happiness of his fellowmen
ler than glory, and linked his memory
torno great work of national utility and
evoieqce. mis is ine glory which ??uts
all other, acd shines with undying
.re from generation to generation, leating
to its work something of its own
nortality.
IViUire related to Mr. Sheridan the foling
anecdote of Swift: "Lady Carterwife
of the Lord Lieutenant, said to
ift?"The air of Ireland is eery excellent
I healthy." "For God's sake, tniulatn,"
\ Swift, falling down on his knees, **?
her, "don't say so in England, for if
i do they will certainly tax it."
More of Ir.?Senator Wilson, in a
ech at Worcester, said, that when he and
icra were conreying Mr. Sumner to his
igmgs, Mr. S. remarked: "I shall giro it
tbem again, if God spares my life.