The Anderson intelligencer. (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, September 25, 1860, Image 1
%u Interesting ?forj.
iLN~N"IE LEE.
CHAPTER I.
There was a certain rich man who had
two children, a son and a daughter, both
of whom he loved passing well. But the
rich man was vain of his riches and proud
of his consequence; and hid Iiis love deep
in his own heart, for he said to himself,
" If my children know how much I love
them, they will become fro ward and dis?
obedient/'
S" he neither took them into his confi?
dence, nor bestowed upon them his cares?
ses; but hooded up his thoughts, and dwelt
in cloistral loneliness of spirit like an an?
cient monk.
Now the name of this rich, proud man
was Samuel Lee.
And the boy Philip grew to manhood;
quick and passionate, and self-willed, yet
With the tender and true heart of his dead
mother.
And the girl Annie also grew in years
and stature; but she was over mild and
gentle, and sang to herself snatches of
sweet songs, in a low voice, and made sun
?hinc wherever she went.
Now, there was a neighbor near by,
John Walton by name, with whom Sam?
uel Lee had been wroth for many years.
They were friends in youth, but their firm,
rock like lovo was wrenched violently
asunder, and now there was a dark gulf
between them. So Samuel Lee bade his
children speak not to his neighbor's child,
which was a maid; but Philip heeded not
his father's counsel, for he loved Luey
Walton, and therein lay great sorrow. j
Now it came to pass upon a day, that
great losses fell upon John Walton; so
great, indeed, that he sickened thereof,
and died; and when he died, there was no I
home left for Lucy Walton, but in the
heart of Philip Leo.
Then came Philip to his father and
said,
"Father, I love Lucy Walton. Now
that her father is not, I pray you givo
me your consent that I may tako her to
wife."
But when Samuel Leo heard these
words, he was troubled exceedingly; and
frowned, saying: "I will not do so; for
I like not the race from whence she did
spring."
Then Annie, who was standing nearby,
. answered and said, yet very meekly?
" Surely it were a good thing to hearken
unto my brother; tor Lucy Walton is a
pale hly that only lives and floats upon the
bright waters of his love."
Straightway Samuel answered sternly,
" It shall not be. Her father did me
grievous wrong."
But Annie said gently?
"As the wind lulls with the setting of
the sun, even so should anger die with the
dead."
But Samuel Leo heeded not the sweet
words which his daughter spake in chari?
ty; but waxed exceedingly wroth, and
smote with his great hand upon the table,
and said?
"Are our children become our teachers?
Philip shall not wed the woman."
Then the ire of Philip was kindled at
the injustice of his father, and he spake
words which thoso who honor a parent
may never speak; and ho said?
"I care not. We are betrothed already,
and I will keep my troth."
Now, this was very wrong in Philip, for
his father was an old man, and had nursed
his anger for many years. Ho had loved
John Walton once, with an exceeding
great love, and knowing how dearly he
had loved him, the wrong was the more
difficult toJ)oar, Wherefore, he said unto
his son?
'f There is no need of many words.?
Choose ye either obedience and great
riches; or the daughter of John Walton
and poverty."
Then straightway spake Philip Lee and
said:
il I cannot be false to my own heart, for
I love Lucy Walton."
Then answered the old man, coldly, and
said:
"You have chosen. May it be well
with you. Henceforth we will be as
strangers to each other. Go !"
But Annie laid her hand upon his arm,
and spake softly, saying?
" Oh, father! Remember Philip is your
son; let me, I beseech you, plead with
you in his behalf?"
So the old man questioned Philip once
more, after this manner:
" I would fain have you obey me, my
son."
And Philip was greatly moved, but ho
answered only:
" In all other things, I will. In that I
may not, for am I not pledged to Lucy
Walton?"
Thon Samuel Lcc made answer?
" It is sufficient. Go! I have spoken."
And he turned away, no one knowing
the terrible grief be crushed buck by the
strong arm of bis will.
Alter this. Philip answered never a
word; but would straightway have de?
parted, but Annie clave unto him. and
resting her head upon his bosom, bcsoi ghl
him to tarry yet a little while, saying: |
" Time and nature are great physicians;
and often bring healing when the body is j
well nigh sick unto death. And though J
the seed may lie in the ground through j
the season of winter, yet it springs up
with the first warm sun. and in due time
comes a bountiful harvest.''*
And in this wise Annie strove to cheer
her brother, and to Win him to patienco,
but he W?uld not be comforted. For pas?
sion in youth is king over reason; ?nd
Philip did not know, until his own head
was hoary with the rime of years, that
while youth listens to the counselsol hope,
age only hearkens to the darker voice of
memory. That the young man looks in
the distance before him as he walks, while
the old man travels with his eyes ever
cast behind him. Moreover, Philip Lee
loved Lucy Walton.
So he departed from the presence of his
father, and went forth, and married ?ucy
Walton; but he said nothing to her of his
father's anger, nor did ehe know, until af?
terwards what J'hiup Lee had done ibr
her sake.
CHAPTER II.
After t his time, there fell a great change
upon the house of Samuel Lee; for Philip,
his first-born, had gone, no one knew
whither, and the old man sought in vain
to fold his heart over the vacant place of
his son. Yet he was still proud withal,
and would not tell his grief to Annio, but
like the Spartan thief, kept the gnawing
hunger close until it began to cat away
the springs of lifo. But Annie kept on in
her old, even way. never murmuring, nor
J even seeming to pine; singing, at times,
the same low, sweet songs, yet not so fre?
quently as before.
And suitors man}* came to her and be?
sought her love, for her good name was
known throughout all the region round
about; insomuch, that mothers spake of
her to their daughters, as one who was
modest and serene, and beautiful, and
comely of face and form withal.
And fathers commended her to their
sons, saying:
"Truly, sho is a pearl of wondrous
price; happy will be be upon whom her
soft lustre falls lovingly. Go ye and seek
to win her."
Therefore it was, that Annie had suitors
a many. And there was one whom An?
nie favored above all others; for he was
j wise, and good, and gentle, and one to
whom the sages of the land prophesied
great honors in the years to come. But
Annie loved him more for bis pure and
generous heart. Now the name of the
young man was Henry Russell.
Yet when he entreated her, the maiden
would not wed with him, for she said :
"Is not in}- brother Philip departed, no
one knows whither ? It may be that care
and sorrow have overtaken him. Haply
my father will relent after :i buuoou, unJ
surely it is better we should wait, until
this good thing comes to pass."
After this, upon a day. there came to
the house of Samuel Lee, a certain mari?
ner, .who had known Philip, and he told
how Philip wandered through many cit?
ies, seeking employment and finding little,
and how Lucy clang to him right wo?
manly, and loved him through all. That
Philip, bending to circumstances, s >ugh{
to do many things whereby he might live;
but that at length he became an artist;
and because that the people in t he places
whither he had wandered, fostered not the
arts, he betook himself to a ship to go to
a far country, where men said the liner
arts were more honored.
Then the mariner lowered his voice as
he told how, in sight of the far country, a
great storm arose, and how the ship struck
upon the rocks and went to pieces sud?
denly, so that but few were saved, none
of whom bore the names of Philip and
Lucy Lee.
Then Annie Lee questioned the mariner
more closely concerning her brother; and
the man said be spake not of his own
knowledge,'but from the words of others,
yet he believed them true.
And as Samuel Lee listened to the tale
of the brown mariner, he groaned inward?
ly; for his heart smote him with a sore
grief, and he yearned still more for his lost
son.
But when thero came to him a good
man, which was a clergyman, and showed
him how John Walton had been pure of
any wrong towards Inland that the guilt
lay at the door of another man who could
not die in peace until he had confessed his
sin, Samuel Lee fell to the ground with a
great cry.
I Now, when Annie heard theso things,
and in the storm of her father's grief,
caught glimpses of Ins heart, as we see
fragments of blue sky beyond the broken
clouds, she mused deeply. Suddenly,
while she yet mused, she seemed to hear
a voice, low, like the voice of a spirit, say
unto her:
" Thy brother yet liv es. Seek and he
shall he found."
And she went, wondering, yet with a
j fearful joy, and toid Ik ? father,
j But age is incredulous, even to good ti?
dings, and the old man shook his head
J sorrowfully, and.said :
j "N my daughter, that cannot he.? j
i Tii''. water drop ic exhaled to heaven, and
ii'i in heaven to quench tho thirst
I ?l' nature: but the spirit of man cbmos not
Lack ft-om its brighter Koine, to gladden
the parched mourner. Philip, my son. is
dead."
j .then Annic.answered, softly:
j ? 1 fear, and yet i hope! Oh, my.fathr 1
or, let the hope plead with you that we
may seek to gather from all places to |
which Phillip may have wandered, some
tidings concerning him and Lucy. Hap?
pily, if he is taken from us, the wife of his
bosom may yet remain."
" it even as you will, Annie." said
the old man. "'but the same sea covers
them both."
Then answered Annie, softly, as before:
" And yet, and yet I hope I"
Bui Samuel Lee answered, saying :
?; it is a fond delusion, child ! The wa?
ter drops of grief have made a rainbow
in your heart."
- 'Tis a how of promise." said Annie.
?' Yea, verily !" said the <jld man, with a
sigh, ?? But in the skies only. Neverthe?
less, do as you will."
And straightway messengers were sent
by divers ways into far cities; and they
traced Philip Lee, and his wife Lucy,
through all the places at which they had
sojourned; and they spake with many
people, and they gleaned much tidings
which were sorrowful to hear, and they
came back, and told Samuel Lee and his
daughter, and though the}- spake singly,
each man for himself, according to the
knowledge he had gathered; yet was
their tale the same, even as the mariner's
aforetime.
Then Samuel Leo sorrowed more and
more, and humbled himself before his
daughter, and prayed meekly, and was a
changed man. And sickness came upon
him with the hoar frosts, and Annie nurs?
ed him through all, nor abated one jot of
her affection.
Now Annie had a great thought in her
heart.
So, after many days, when the winter
was past and gone, and it was the spring
season of the year; and the violets, and
'the pansies, and the golden butter-cups
were in bloom, she arose and went to her
father, saying:
"Father, 1 will go forth and seek my
brother. I pray you give me your bles?
sing that I ma}' depart in peace."
And Samuel Lee sought to persuade his
daughter from her resolve. But when
she said, with a meek firmness, that she
was constrained to go. for she felt that
?UUiK >xjv? -till \b-^y8, I...,,!.! .?,1. (rlo.lv
her, inasmuch, as while lookim; on hoi'
confident fac< dim hope rose in his own
broils! like the first cloudy outline of land
seen by mariners afar in thooffhig; so he
laicl his treiubling hands upon her head,
! i ? i ? i
j and stud, in a low voice:
?a|.-.\ ft od guide and guard you, my
'daughter-; and in his own good time bring
joy to the hearts of us twain."
Thch, in the evening of that day, when
it was known abroad that Annie was to
depart on the morrow, came to her Hen?
ry Kussel, even the young man whom she
loved, and he said:
?? Annie, it is not meet for a maiden to
wander alone among a strange people.
Tarry, therefore', a little while and I will
go with you."
But Annie made answer, saying:
?? Neither is it fitting I should be ac?
companied by a young man. Abide you
here, Henry, and cheer the spirits of my
lather, for he will need a comforter when
I am gone. It is best that I should jour?
ney alono. In the autumn of the year,
if it be the will of Heaven, I shall return."
And on the morrow she departed, and
went into all the cities, enquiring for her
brother; but many said they knew him
not at all, and some said he was dost at
sea; but all pitied her very much, and
gave her good counsel. Then sho took
ship and sailed to the far country, whith?
er Philip was bound. But she gained no
tidings of him, savo that the ship was
wrecked.
And as sho heard this, she sat down,
and wept bitterly; for her heart began to
bo heavy within her. But as sho wopt,
she seemed to hear a low voico, like the
voice of a spirit, say:
"Thy brother yet lives, go you and
seek him."
L
So she arose, and went through many
towns and villages, seeking to glean ti?
dings of her brother, but finding none.
But when the autumn .was coming, she
made ready to return to her own country.
But it came to pass the ship was not
read}' to saik whereupon she was con
stained to abide for a brief season in the
city by the sea. And she lived therein
with a good woman who was a widow,
and the woman was a mother unto her.
Now on a cortnin day, as she looked
within a window, she saw a new picture,
even one she had not seen before, though
she had sought out pictures in all places,
I hoping thereby to find her brother.
And, .is she looked upon the new pic?
ture, straightway the blood rushed to her
heart, and she fell down in a swoon ; for
it was like, to her father's house, with the
bright river in front, and the blue moun?
tains fav back. And when she was re?
vived, she found man}' strange faces
about her, and the picture hung in the
window of the room wherein she was.
Then she questioned quickly the master
of the house concerning it. and as he was
about to answer, a young man came in at
the door, and hearing there was a maiden
within who was taken ill suddenly, he
pressed through the crowd, and'gazed
with his pale face upon the pale face of
the maiden. And their eyes met.
And they who stood by, marvelled
greatly at the twain; for the maiden cast
herself upon the breast of the stranger
and sol bed aloud. ?
After this, it happened, when the
woods were clothed in crimson and gold,
that Samuel Lee was lying upon his couch
with Henry Russell seated beside it, when
there was heard a great noise from with?
out the chamber, and in a brief space, a
servant entered hastily, saying:
'? Mistress Annie is come back !"
And as Henry Russell sprang up with' a
cry of joy to welcome her?for Samuel
Lee was yet feeble?the door opened,
and Annie came forward, bringing with
her Phillip and Lucy, and having by the
hand a little bright-haired boy. And
they all knelt by the bed-side, and pray?
ed their father that he would bless them.
Then Samuel Lee arose, and stretching
out his hands blessed them, and craved
forgiveness of his son and daughter, inas?
much as great wrong had been done unto
them.
After this they spake softly, each to the
other, and Philip Lee took Henry Rus?
sell by the hand and called him brother;
and as he did so, bis father smiled.
And henceforth there was sunshine in
that house for many years.
How to Avert Disease.?The great
thing zo do in order to ward oft' serious
disease; (and sickness never comes with?
out a friendly premonition in the distance,
only that in our stupidity or heedlessness
we oft en fail to make a note of it,) is sim?
ply to observe three things.
1. The instant we become conscious of
any unpleasant sensation in the bod}-,
cease eating absolutely.
2. Keep warm.
3. Be'still.
These are applicable and safe in all ca?
ses; Sometimes a luoiu apoody ivwult i-:
attained if. instead of being quiet, the pa?
llets! ivotild, by moderate, steady exer
I rise, keen up a gentle perspiration forsev
eral hours. And an observant person
will seldom fail to discover that he who
relies on a judicious abstinence and mod
crate exercise for the removal of his
"symptoms," will find in due time, multi?
tudes of cases, that the remedy will be?
come more and more efficient with in?
creasing intervals for need of its applica?
tion until at length a man is not sick at
all, and life goes out like snuff of a candle
or as gently as the dying embers on the
hearth.?Hall's Journnl of Health.
-r??
Fruits or Virtue.?If you should sec
a man digging in a snow drift with the
expectation of finding valuable ore, or
planting seeds upon the rolling billows,
you would say at once that be was beside
himself. But in what respect does this
man differ from you, whilo you sow the
seeds of idleness and dissipation in your
youth, and expect the fruits of age will be
a good constitution, elevated affections
and holy principles ? -If you desire a vir?
tuous and happy life, in youth you must
shape your character by the "Word of un-'
erring wisdom, and plant in your bosom
the seeds of holiness.
-*
A Parental Hint.?When an accident
occurs, learn whether it was through mis?
fortune, carelessness, or wilfulness before
you pass sentence. Accidents are fre?
quently of great service, and children of?
ten learn more caution and real informa?
tion than from fifty lessons. Bo it re?
membered that the perfection of science
is owing to occurrence and remedy of its
early accidcut.
A Good Example.
Patrick Hetsry indulged in the habit of
wearing his hat at all times in his own
house, both in company and when he sat
down to table. He frequently was visi?
ted by distinguished persons, and often
had large companies fo dine at his house.
It was his custom on such occasions, be?
fore the company took their seats at the
table, solemnly to lift his hat from his
head, and ask a blessing. On such occa?
sions he always had wine after dinner.
As soon as the wine was placed upon the
table, he would rise from his seat, remove
his hat from his head, and return thanks
to his Heavenly Father for his blessings.
He would then resume his scat and circu?
late the wine.
The above interesting feature of Pat?
rick Henry's character, was communica?
ted by one of his daughters to the writer.
It is given nearly word for word in her
language.
Let us picture to ourselves such a scene
in its simple truth. There sits before us
the sage whose brow was encircled by a
rich halo of renown; himself, vcnerablo
b}- age, illustrious by fame, and immortal
h}- deeds; he is surrounded by a gay com?
pany; suddenly he pauses in his cheerful
conversation ; his countenance assumes
an impressive gravity; he rises from his
scat; he removes his hat from his head;
he closes his eyes; and in those rich
tones, which made every oar to tingle,
and caused every heart to swell with the
throb responsive, he acknowledges his
gratitude to Providence, as the giver of
every good and perfect gift. What an
impressive instance we have'here, of a
deliberate "confessing" of the Most High
before men ?
When I sec the head of a household,
perhaps surrounded by a growing and in?
n-resting family, in the enjoyments of. all
the comforts, or even the elegancies of
lifo, seating himself at his bountifully
supplied hoard, without any indication of
a recognition of the source "from which
all blessings flow," I cannot help setting
such a man down as having something of
the barbarian in his nature. If one
would say at such times only?"amen"?
it would be adequate to suggost to the
mind, that he had probably ejaculated in
his heart?"God be thanked." [Hut when
I sec a man in this Christian age and
country, thus observo a graceless silence,
1 am always forcibly reminded of the
quaint illustration, used in a somewhat
similar case, by the "African Preacher,"
who, by the way, was born a heathen:
"Just so (said he) with the hog, that
roots all day among the leaves, eating the
acorns, without once looking up into the
tree from whence they fall."
Tue Wind is a Musician.?Extend a
silken thread in the crevice of a window,
and the wind finds it and sings over it,
and goes up ami down the scale upon it,
and, like Paganini, performs on a single
string.
It tries almost everything on earth to
see if there is music in it. It persuades a
tone out of the great bell in the tower,
when the sexton is aslcop; it makes a
mournful harp of tho forest pines, and it
ti-iea to see what sort of a whistlo can be
made of the humblest chimney in tho
world. How it will play upon a great
tree, till every leaf thrills with the note in
it, and winds up the river that runs at its
base, for a sort of murmuring accompani?
ment.
What a melody it sings when it gives
a concert with full choir of the waves of
the sea, and performs an anthem between
the two worlds, and goes up, perhaps to
the stars that love music most and sang
it the first.
Then how fondly it haunts old houses,
moaning under the caves, singing in the
halls, opening old doors without fingers,
and sighing a measure of some sad old
song, around the tireless and deserted
hearth.
-?
Antictfating Evil.?Enjoy ,tho pres?
ent, whatever it may be, and bo not solic?
itous for the future; for if you take your
foot from the present standing, and thrust
it forward towards to-morrow's event,
you are in a restless condition. If it be
well to-day, it is madness to make the
present miserable by fearing that it may
be ill to-m?rrow. He, therefore, is wise
who enjoys as much as possible; and if
only that day's trouble leans upon him it
is singular and finite. "Sufficient to the
day is the evil thereof;" sufficient but not
intolerable. But if we look abroad, and
bring into one day's thoughts tho evil of
man}', certain and uncertain, what will be,
and what will never be, our load will be
as intolerable as it is unreasonable.
-4>-?
Conscience and covetousncss are never
to be reconciled; like fire and water, they
always destroy each other, according to
which predominates.
Self-Culture.
Self-culture is the most important part
of education?it is worth all the rest.
Every mall who has raised himself into
merited eminence by word, or deed, owes
his powers mainly to self-culture. It is
the source of all true greatness. Homer
was not made a poet, nor Moses a legisla?
tor, by schools. By self-formed powers
these men made schools as agencies to
exert influence upon those having loss
originality.
Lord Bacon said every man made lite
fortune?he might have added, and his
character. Organization and circumstan?
ces create an individuality that if self
trained, bows men to its purposes. What
is the steam engine ? So much wood or
metal, containing so much water and
coal. These elements when brought to?
gether, harmonized, and ordered by in?
tellect, give a giant power to subdue the
earth to the decrees of man. So do a
good organization and favorable circum?
stances enable some men to bow multi?
tudes to their wishes. What trained
Shakspeare to dive into the depths of the
human mind, or Elihu Burritt to master
languages and wisdom alike astonishing f
Or what enabled West, born in Pliiladel
phia, of a Quaker family who eschewed
the fine arts as belonging to the vanities
of the earth, to eclipse his countrymen as"
an artist ? Self-culture.
The craft of kingslup is exercised com?
monly very poorly by those who have
served an apprenticeship to it from youth.
Of all sovereigns Cromwell and Napole?
on Buonaparte, self-made men, performed
the part best. True, the latter made
some sad blunders in relying on the
treacherous dynasties of Europe, instead'
of trusting to free institutions. As a
punishment he ceased to be a mis3ionary
of liberty. Bitterly did he pay for aping
hereditary greatness. But when his re?
mains were redeemed from St. Helena,
and brought in splendor to where he had
reigned, it was, and must be admitted,
that he had originally abused a factitious
to exalt a natural aristocracy?that he
had thrown open a career of self-cultiva?
ted ability, ana"""wr?ricd hone^t^>~*3
only who could fill them. Under his^lT^
cultivated counsellors, generals, artists,
engineers and mechanics, &c, France roso
to a pitch of ascendancy in Europe, no
power ever attained before, nor is over
likely to again.
-?
TriK Useful and the Beautiful.?The
tomb of Moses is unknown; but the trav?
eller slakes his thirst at the well of Ja?
cob. The gorgeous palace of the wisest
and wealthiest of monarchs, with the ce?
dar, and gold, and ivory, and even the
great temple of Jerusalem, hallowed^ by
the visible glory of the Deity himself?
are gone; but Solomon's reservoir's are
as perfect as ever. Of the ancient archi?
tecture of the Holy City, not one stone is
left upon another; but the pool of Bethes
da commands the pilgrim's reverence at
the present da}'. The columns of Perse
polis arc mouldering into dust; but its
cisterns and aqueducts remain to chal?
lenge our admiration. The golden house
of Nero is a mass of ruins; bat the Aqua.
Claudia still jjours into Eomc its limpid
stream. The temple of the sun at Tad
mor, in the wilderness, has fallen; but its
fountain sparkles as freshly in his rays, as
when thousands of worshippers thronged
its lofty colonados. It may be that Lon?
don will share the fate of Babylon, and
nothing be left to mark its site save the
mounds of crumbling brick work. The
Thames will continue to flow as it does
now. And if any work of art should rise
over the deep ocean of time, we may well
believe that it will be neither a palace
nor a temple, but some vast aqueduct or
reservoir; and if any name should still
flash through the mist of antiquity, it
will probably bo that'of the man who in
his day sought the happiness of his fel?
low men rather than their glory, and
linked his memory to some great work of
national utility and benevolence. This is
the time glory which outlives all others,
and shines with undying lustre from gen?
eration to generation?imparting to works
something of its own immortality, and in
somo degree rescuing them from the ruin
which overtakes the ordinary monuments
of historical tradition or mere magnifi?
cence.?Edinburgh Review.
-?
Imaginary Misfortunes.?The events
of life are not fortunate or calamitous so
much in themselves, as they are in their
effect on our feelings. An event which is
met by one with oquanimity or indiffer?
ence, will fret another with vexation, or
overwhelm him with sorrow. Misfortunes
encountered with a composed and firm
resolution, almost cease1 to be evils; it is,
therefore, less our wisdom to endeavor to
control external events, than to regulato
the habitual temper of our minds to endu?
rance and resignation.