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-":-? _. - V - r, ; -? ?.-? - : " ?:>? k _. ^; " * Consolidated Augi 2,1881.1 "Be Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thon Aims't at, be thy Conntry's, thy God's and Troth's.' SUMTER, S. O., TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1885. THE TBC E SOUTHRON, K?ta??Blied June, 18??> ?;?-^* " ? ' New Series?Vol. IV. l?o. 44. ; ?bt ihk? ' . 3 Company, ?. ~. Two Dollars per annum?in advance. -Vr.-? ;? --, ? One Square, ?xsr? Insertion.......^..?-^..$1 00 ? 8Teryaubj9eqeeA!^^? >$0 - (of tinr? ak>nA8, or longer will Gout be made ai retraced ratea. All communications which subserve private Ob?fc?aries and tribales of respect Vtfl be . Habed free, " . ?./-' '? ' ^ ; " -?,:fl!?r^ft'%l^-'?r>tiBBlz<ele for advertising - t?dre?'1Fetdbw?iin? Soirfiron, or apply at . 4. ' ostbb&, ' >?S??U ?^'---; /^Bt?neee Manager. Purest and strongest Natural Frml .Flavors, Tariffi*; Lemon,-?aoge. AJmoact; ??. etc., ?aror as delicately and naturally as the fruit. 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Watches,, Clocks and Jewelry prooptij don? and satisfacaos . guaranteed. g a . 3* ? - ? ???? ;?-?- - ???Ser of "Called Baci? and "Dark Days.1* CHAPTER IT. BEATBICE'S ^? Itt dwrntang Hiizlewood House and its be* ?ccgings? no mention has been made of Miss Gansos for this reason?her position in that well-regulated establishment was, as yet, scarcely defined. She -was neither mistress nor gueefc. She was, in short, the only jjdaughter?-indeed, the.only surviving resulti ?of that bxi?lifint. marriage made- by M^t Talbert. when aha allied herself with Sir Maingay Clausen, Bart. There is no reis on for enlarging upon the admirable-way in which Lady Clausen filled the position which her own merits had gained, ear to which fate tad assigned her. Socially and domestically?in the outward es well as the inward Hfe?she' was .all a baronet's wife Bhould be?all save that she presented ber husband with no heir to his titles and estates. Iiis was SSS8t!c^^K^K5t$ "for -the sake of her many other good qualities, Sir Maingay tr^werlooked it, and mad? her a_very .good hns ?and,as r?TigbqjTd^ gg^, ^Wj^T^y Clauson 'Sed, some twelve years after the "birth of the -Ijinghierwho ?frea^Sir^?Iaingay wept copi L?r. He even, opened his Bible?the first *yfmA for many years-Hand iSy^fne aid of "Cruden'S Concordance," looked out a text appropriate to her many virtues. Moreover, [-forher^ake, or his own, he remained angle for five long years. Then he went the way of all middle-aged, titled, wife-bereft flesh, and married again. Beatrice Clausen, just about to leave school, a romantic young lady, whose head far the present wa^hew^erj.only occupied by pret ty, filial dreams of looking after her father, ' mzni?eringto his comforts, ruling his house, and generally doing the t est she could to fill tie place of her dead mother, found herself, without a word of warning, presented to a new mother; one, moreover, but four years older"than herself. /' It was a crushing blow ! It was* girTs-first lesson in the vanity and ^nntlabflity <tf mundane expectations. She ought, of course, to have anticipated it; but she was young, and ?ke most young people, considered her middle-aged father abnormally old and staid. Besides, she could remember her own mother well enough, and remembered also Sir Maingay's sincere grief whan "?eath cftpmv? ins wife.. She".remem bered -the way in which the-weeping man I threw his arms around herself, and told her -thai she was now his ALL?bis treasured memento of bis wife?his one tie to life. Re calling all tfrfci she was sanguine enough to' fancy that memory was even more vivid, ^tSat grfef ?ad graven its linesjdeeper with her father than with herself Soothe bolt came from the bluest of the blue! At seventeen Beatrice Clauson was still a Ujpo?ad chai p. AS^sfesxted^widowers, untfl they marry again, spoil an only child; there fore, if only on sanitary grounds, a second alMmogiB to be ^recommended^ ~We w L then, take it J.or granted that ?fthei?me of gir Maingay 's second marriage, Miss Clauson was spoiled. Moreover, we may at least sus ~nec? that sha-waaboSi impetuftus^and stub Lom, headstrong and ? rcaaaatic^-alscy in her own way, as proud as Lucifer. The second Lady Clacson was a beauty, and nothing more? - Ifer family was what is called respectable?a term; the signification of which no man or woman has as yet been able exactly to define. Like the Bible, we in terpret it as.wochoose. " ,'?- ? :. When zhe mforced meeting between Lady Clauson and her stepdaughter took place, the young lady, by means of those signs, and tokens, the masonry of which, women- alone fully comprehend, showed the state of her .mild o clearly that war to .the knife was ~then and there declared. ' - = A*"* civil war in families?baronets or. ^otherwise?is. a deplorable thing; doubly de plorable for the neutral parties, who lack -the excitement of the internecine combat? "For a while Sir Maingay's life was anything bot a happy one. It matters little who was most to blame? the girl for her unreasonableness and stub-, born spirit, and want of resignation to the inevitable?Lacry Clauson for retaliating with' "alT an'injured woman's pettiness and spite?Sir Maingay for the thoroughly man-like conduct in letting things drift \ They did! drift with a vengeance! The breach between the two ladies soon became too enntmonn to be bridged over by any jiaifly diplomatic engineering; I v ~_The^t?rrnishes between the belligerents are not worth noticing. The battle-royal was fought when the time came for Miss Clauson to be presented. Lady Clauson asserted that she was the proper person to present her step laughter. Beatrice coldly- declined her aid. -ladyshipinsisted; her stepdaughter was jtx her refusai 'Sir Makgay declared his wife's banner, and for ono?" attempted to exercise parental authority^ Whereupon Hiss Clauson cut the matter short, and declined being presented at all. It was a most dreadful state of affairs! You can, at least, drive a horse to the water, even if you cant make him drink; bur you dare not haul a refractory young woman into the presence of a gradone sovereign. I ;.'Lady Clauson, -who was rigidly exact in following the prescribed usages of : society, may not h?ve'been far wrong when-she de clared that "a baronet* daughter, who re fused to be presented, was?well, a mon 'iteisityP Sir Maingay began to wish his ancestors had Twt separated- themselves from the fton^Catholic communion. He could have sent bis daughter to a nunnery. But then, he sadly reflected, she wouldn't hare gone at iny" price, '??~p\it there by force, the Pro testant league would soon have her out, and perhaps take her round the country spouting. The on?y thing* the worried baronet could think of was to send for his rebel, and ask ? her ad vice as to the best means of disposing of her troublesome self. . "Wien al?ne!with her fa?her"Beatrico always behaved prettfiy. She was very fond of him, afthougbrthe remembrance of the tears, the text, the -distracted vows, when contrasted -with his second marriage for nothing but good looks, made her look upon him with a tittle contempt. She did not know that man is so gregarious a creature that it is not meet Cor him to live- alone. She heard his remarks m. silence, then gave htm her opinion on the 1 matter. - ^''I-dont want to be a nuisance to you, papa. I am eighteen now?too old to go back to school It's nonsense, of course, to say .1 mould like to earn my own living, because when I come of age I shall have some money. May I go and live at Fairhohne?" - i Fairholme was Sir Maingay's seldom-used seat m one of the southern counties. " But you cant live there alone," he said. " "Tes,I could: Mrs Wiffiams could take caro of me, l??B be happy enough." I '*tUj dear girl, why not be reasonable and make friends' wiflr Lady Clauson? Then we j. coujd all go abroad together." Lady Clauson, who was by no means a fool, had by this time found eut that she needed ecmemingmorerthan^ to_go down, orgtfup, inthesociety her heart longed for. She had, therefore, made up her mind-to become a traveled woman, and hi d arranged that Sir Maingay should bake her -to a variety of*foreign countries. The proposed tour was to be an affair of years, and ber ladyship had * dim idea of writing, or of getting some one else to write a book, describing the well-worn pathways she meant to tread. She hoped to take the world by storm as a literary woman. "I cant go abroad with you," said Beatrice. "I shall be miserable myself and make you ini'seTable." "But if you stay mEaglai I you must be presented and come oat and ail that sort of thing." ' y "If ever I do get married,'' said Beatrice drily, "I will be presented as Lad;" "la.ison was, on my marriage." Sir Maingay's cheek reddened. He was much hurt by the sarcasm. Poor old King Lear found a fitting simile for an ungrateful child, but the sharpness of a sarcastic child is more painful than a whole jawful of ser pent'? teeth. He did not reply; but the worthy baronet wai at his wits'end. What could he do w?t?Tt-hjS girl? He had very few relations?he cared none of them. Old Mr. Talbert. ?r Wool House, was a con firmed invalid; Horace and Herbert were men without homes or "wives. Sir Maingay was willing enough that Beatrice should re main in England. He had suffered much during tho last few months from the dissen sions of his wife and daughter. But where to bestow Beatrice? At last he remembered an aunt of his own who lived in quiet retirement in one of the suburbs of London. It was of course absurd for Beatrice to think of living at Fairholme, in a half-closed house with a housekeeper and one or two servants. So it was arranged that her great-aunt should take her while Sir Maingay and Lady Qarson were on the Con tinent. Soto Mrs. Srskine's she went, and; as that lady was very" old, very deaf, and saw no company, it may bo presumed Ihat Hiss Clanson had scarcely a merry time of it dur ing her father's absence?an absence which from one reason or another lasted quite four years. BEATRICE CLAUSOW. After a while Sir Maingay almost forgot he had a daughter. The Clausens settled down to continental dii e for an indefinite time. Lady Clauson knew she was improv ing herself, and moreover, that Sir Maingay was saving enough money to refurnish the town house from; top to bottom whenever they did return to England In the course of the fouryears spent abroad, Lady Clauson rectified-her'predecessor's sins of omission, ??d gave her devoted husband two fine boy babies.. In the revived delights of paternity ?a paternity which is so especially dear to middle age?Sir Maingay thought little -of the troublesome, obstinate girl he had left in England. His wife and his boys all but turned her out of his heart. So here was Beatrice in the extraordinary position of being a baronet's daughter with scarcely a a friend in the world. At last the Clausons returned to England. TShetfcer,her ladyship wrote her book or not is" a" nmtter of uncertainty; anyway, it was never published. Beatrice made no objection to rejoining the family circle. Her father and his wife found her greatly changed. She was quieter,-more reserved, more amenable to reason; It. seemed to Sir Maingay that she had passed her time at Mrs. ErsMne's in study. The learning she had acquired almost fright ened the baronet; but he was glad to see she had grown into a beautiful woman, and so be felt quite proud of his neglected daughter, and hoped that things would, for th? future run smoothly. : . His hopes were vain. This . time there was no doubt as to with whom the fault lay. A beauty like Lady Clauson could not endure ' the constant presence of a younger, fresher and even more beau tiful beauty. She was also jealous at the way in which her own chil dren took to Beatrice. Besides, she had never - forgiven the girL Relations soon grew strained, and towards ~ti*e end of the year Beatrice wrote to her. uncles, and asked if they would give her a home.. She was now nearly twenty-three. Having, when ehe came of age succeeded to her late mother's third of old Talbert s possessions, she was independent both by age and by income. She was willing to live at Hazle wood House, if her mieles would take her.' If not, she re solved to start an establishment of her own. 'She was still ?n "her former anomalous posi tion?a baronet's daughter who had never made ? propir entrance into society. As Lady Clauson said, she must have beena wrong minded, young, woman, _ as this-omission seemed to trouble her v?ry^l?ttia? g* ' The'Talberta-wh?'liked Ifche little they had aeen of tfceirTUece went into- solemn conclave on the request: ^ 'They dectdedf m3he event of Sir Maingay giving his consent?onthat point they were m ost, -e^act?ng-^emight come to them. ' Sir'Maingay raised no objections, so Beatrice Classati came to Hazlewood House, where since- her arrival, about a' week ago, she hadlived in a-state of amu**d wonder as the-amiable peculiarities of the. "Tabbies" gradually revealed themselves to her. She had^of course, intended to make herself useful- to her -uncles. It may have been the want of some occupation other than study which made her turn her eyes-to Hazle wood HouselSnd the two bachelors^ She was no longer a schoolgirL, bq at. once broadly hinted that she was willing to regulate their house hold matters. The silent horror with which the proposal was received told her at once that her place was to be a sinecure. She saw that her uncles would on no account dream of in trusting their researches into domestic econ omy to any hands save their own, and the sur' passing capability of those hands was deeply impressed upon her when, the day after her arrival, she found Uncle Horace banding over the maid who did the plain sewing, and in the patientest and gravest way teaching her the most approved fashion of handling a needle thread, r ~ ' ~ After having lived at Haalewocd House for a week Miss Clauson must have been ready to welcome any event of interest. It is o won der that when Horace Talbert, at Mr. Mor ale's suggestion, walked, into the drawing room and told his niece what had happened, her curiosity and excitement rose to a high pitch. "Is it a pretty child?" she asked. "Wonderfully so. Mor die and Herbert are petting it like a couple of women. " Beatrice did not run at once to see for her self. "WhaMo you ?mean to do about it, uncle Horace?' she asked.. . . _ "I don't know. I suppose we must keep it ?01 to-morrow and see it the mystery is ex plained. You had better come out and give us.your advice.**. : ? j & Beatrice walked into the hall. The child had made great progress during Horace's absence. The cnrate?was tickling him and making him laugh. Herbert was stroking his bright hair in quite a paternal way. Even the respectable Whittaker was Hmii??g pleasantly. "What a dear little man exrinimaA Beatrice, as she walked to the table and looked at "the sturdy urchin. She was the first woman the child had seen since he left his friends at tho refreshment room. Maid servants, with the curiosity of their sex and kind, had peeped surreptitiously over the balustrade, but had not attracted notice. At such a tender age as his, woman isa child's natural protector. Ho at once ouftted his stalwart friends and ran across the tabi o to the fair girl, who smiled and opened her arms. The little man darted into them, and with a chirrup of delight laid his head oh the girl's shoulder and seemed per fectly happy and at rest. He was so pretty tiiat no Vornan could hfrvfe refrained from ca ressing him. Miss Clauson kissed him again and ?, aia, then, like every one who came near him, fell to stroking his golden locks and twining them round her fingers. " The child's eyes began to close under her soft and soothing touches. uHo must goto bed,"said Beatrice, de cisively. ? "Certainly," said micie Horace. "Where had he better sleep?" "Jane has a most cou-'^rtable bed," said Herbert. Jano was tho parlor-maid, but Herbert in his housewifely capacity knew the quality of every bed in the house; even the amount of . bedding on each. Mr. Mordle turned away, fie was afraid of disgracing himself by a burst of ?l-timed mirth " , no," exclaimed Beatrice; "he sball sleep with me. Look at him, uncle Horace; isn't he a perfect cherub?." "He's a pretty little boy; but we don't know where ho comes from, my dear. I hardly think you ought to take a strange infant to sleep with you." "Oh, nonsense, uncle Horace! See what a clean, beautiful boy it is. TvTnttaker, send a large can of hot water to my room. Come, my pet ; I w?l see how I can act the part of a nursemaid.*1 Singing and crooning: and carrying the child in the most approved fashion, Miss Clauson proceeded to bear her prize away. "You had better look at his linen Beatrice,*" said Horace. "It may be marked with his name." After this the three men went back to the dining-room and talked tho curious occur rence over and over. La about half an hour's time Beatrice reap peared with the intelligence that the boy's clothing bore no mark of any kind. Indeed, it all seemed brand new. She was apparently much delighted with her new toy. She kept Tinning np and down stairs, to ascertain that her protege was sleeping the sleep of innocent babyhood. At last she went away alto gether. "Beatrice is more demonstrative than I be lieved her to be," said Horace, regretfully. Herbert echoed the regret, but Mr. Mordle said nothing. He thought , the instinctive kindness she showed towards this mysteri ously sent child added another charm to the many he had already discovered in Miss Clau sen. The three men sat together until it was too late to hope that matters would be cleared up that night. No mother, no telegram came. The curate bade his friends good night and walked back to his lodgings in the village, thinking what a (maiming picture Miss Clau son with the chad in her arms made. Poor Mr. Morale 1 Ho had only known Beatrice a week, and was already beginning to dream a foolish dream. .. The brothers continued sitting one on either side of the fire. They were ? not early-to-bed people. Now that they were alone they said little more about the arrival. For three hours they had been discussing every possible the ory which might account for. the, child's ap pearance among them, so tho subject was threadbare, and they sat in silence trying to invent fresh causes. Suddenly a most curious .and startling suspicion entered Horace Tal bert's mind?-a suspicion which now and again made him glauco at his brother. Could Her bert by any chance know all about the mat ter ? He had certainly seemed greatly taken with the little boy. Horace remembered b. ow much at home the child had made himself with Herbert. How, when he, Horace, came out of the drawing-rcom with Beatrice, he had found Herbert stroking and patting the little head.. Could there be romantic pass ages in Eerbert'8 life about which he knew nothing? He pooh-poohed the thought; but it came again, and again. Just after 1 o'clock, and when the brothers were thinking of retiring, to their great sur prise Beatrice reappeared. She wasindainty dressing gown and slippers. After waiting until Mr. Mordle must certainly have gone she had come down?of course to hear if any news bad arrived. L ucie Hor?ce, with lus eyes fixed on Herbert, expressed his conviction that no news was meant to arrive. Beatrice looked musingly into the fire. Her head was bent forward, her hands, clasped round one of her knees. She made a pretty, almost classical looking picture, no doubt duly approved of by these men of taste, her najcles. "Thee what will you do she asked, at last, * *'T7e will wait until to-morrow, or the day after; then put the matter into the hands of the police, ?' said Horace decisively. Herbert said nothing, so his brother's sus picions increased. Beatrice rose as if to say goodnight. She stood fora' hile on the rug, . apparently intently interested in *? series of tiny circles which she, was describing with the point of one slipper. Presently she looked up with a flushed cheek and spoke in a quick hur ried way. . "If nobody comes for the boy would you mind my keeping him?" uIf nobody comes for the boy *ootdd you mind my keeping himf" "My dear !" cried Uncle Horace, aghast "Here?" She clasped her hands. "Oh, Uncle Horace!" she said, "I have bad such a dreary miserable life ever since I was seventeen I have nothing to do?nothing to live or ? are for. I could be so happy with that dear chiCd tc look after. Come up and see him sleeping. He is the sweetest baby!" "Such nonsense, Beatrice 1" Uncle Horace settled himself into his chair and showed by the action that a legion of sleeping babies would not induce him to go and loot at their numbering forms. ? "Then you come. Uncle Herbert He is a prettier sight than any of your old mas ters. " Herbert gave his quiet smila He was of less stern $tu?C than Horace?that is, if either of the Talbert. could be called stern. He suffered Beatrice to lead him to her room, duly admired the little stranger, then, with bis niece, returned to Horace. After this manifestation of weakness Horace's unworthy suspicion was all but certainty. "You will let me keep him?" pleaded Bea trice. "I am sure you w?l." Horace made no reply to her unreasonable request. In their usual dignified manner the two gentlemen made their preparations for shutting up. Beatrice went back to her room. "She grows very, very impul^rwe,"* sighed Horace. This time Herbert said noihing. As he got into bed Horace Talbert told himself that Herbert knew all about the boy; he also told himself that no power on earth should induce him to tax Herbert with this knowl edge. . A man's private affairs were bis own property; he himself had laid down this dogma and must now stick to it; the more so because on a former occasion he had broken with Herbert for six years because the latter had infringed on this rula CHAPTER V. MB. MORDLE MAKES A. BASH PROMISE. The next morning the Talberts did an un usual thing; they broke one of thoir rules by opening their letters before breakfast. They bad a tftuo and a place for everything, and their time for reading their correspondence was with their second cups of tea. But so . anxious were they to see if their letters con ta .ed anything explanatory of last night's occurrence, that the seals were broken at once. They found a couplo of invitations to dinner, receipts for payments made two posts ago, the usual amount of circulars, tradesmen's lists and appeals for charity; but not a word about the child. Then tho kettle was brought, and Herbert set about making tuo tea. Under somo unwritten codo of di vision of labor or honor, the younger brother always presided at the breakfa^ tabla - Presently Miss Clauson made her appear ance with tho child on her arm. She had washed him and dressed him, combed his hair into a wavy mass of biinnshed gold, and so brought him to the breakfast table fresb and sweet as a ros? in June. She placed him on a chair beside her, by the aid of sundry cushions raising him up to a proper level. Having ad justed him to her satisfaction, she ordered bread and milk to be prepared. The Talberts made no objection to Beatrice's proceedings, although they fancied tho child would have been sent to breakfast with the servants. Being anxious to see bini by day Miss Clauson made her appearance with the child mi Tier arm. light, they screwed their eye-glasses in place, and once more minutely inspected their sturdy little visitor. Even TJncle Horace nodded approval of his bonny looks and fear less bearing, whilst Herbert joined Beatrice in petting him. The boy seemed happy enough in his new quarters. It is indeed a sad thing'to remark how soon a. child forgets* its mother. He. cries because he misses warmth, food or com fort?not on account of the absence of the being who has lavished oceans of love upon him. . This particular baby, having been so ' cruel | ly deserted, may perhaps be excused for I making the best of bis changed circumstances and laughing merrily when called upon so to do; but other babies cannot be absolved from the sin of callous indifference and non-recip rocation of love. Beatrice having ascertained that no news had arrived, said nothing that bore upon her startling suggestion of last night Perhaps ?i she saw that the bright, saucy child interested and amused her uncles; so, with the diplo matic gifts natural to her sex, judged it better to let the matter rest for & while. As soon as breakfast was over, she led the child away, and spent the remainder of the day playing with and petting hint to her heart's content. It really seemed as if Miss Clauson had found a new interest in life. And, to tell the truth, she was a young woman who appeared to want something to arouse her. She was now, at the age of twenty-two, very different from the girl who so hastily threw down the glove to her step mother. Her quietness and undemonstrative manner, of which the Talberts so much ap proved, seemed scarcely natural to a girl with beauty, rank and riches. For, indeed, she was beautiful. If her face showed no color, its healthy pallor was more attractive to a right-minded man than all the rosy cheeks that ever existed. Her brown hair grew in great masses, and low down on her well-shaped forehead. Her eyes were gray?a strange, wonderful gray?so deep in shade that most people would have called her dark-eyed. ; Her features were'perfectly straight. 'Her'face was oval. Her bps were just full enough to make her apathetic demeanor seem inconsist ent, with the dogmas of physiognomy. Beatrice Ckuson.was, in fact, a feminine, toned-down edition of the Talberts. Tho char acteristics which were with them exaggerated, with her were reproduced in exactly the right proportions. Their .faces were elongated ovals?her face was a proper oval Theirnoses were straight, but too .long?her nose was straight, and just long enough. They were, if anything, too tall?she was only tall enough tobe called a fin?girl Miss Clauson'g per sonal appearance was a living, proof of how fitting had been the alliance < between Sir Maingay Clauson and old Talbert's daughter. The first Lady Clauson had been the counter part of her brothers. Sir Main gay was short, round faced and rather round bodied. With Beatrice, the blemishes which had detracted from her parents' good looks reappeared as beauties. Moreover, she had that air of distinction upon the possession of which tho Talberts not unjustly prided themselves. They were glad to think it came to her from their side of the family?her father, the baronetj being like most baronets and other titled personages, a very ordinary-leaking man. Ten to one, if you go to tho charity ba?l or other mixed as sembly, upon caking the names of the most dj-^TigiiiKh^-lnnlnng men you will find them nobodies. I never inquire now?it is too painful to be told that the noble-presenced man who smiles so condescendingly is Mr. Bmith, whflst that other ijisfgniflcaatlookmg being is Lord This or theDukeof That It j roseta one's cherished ideal as to what the ! iristocracy should be. Beatrice Clauson, then, was very fair to see, ! nd had what silly people call a thorongh- j ired look. Fond as those amiable men, her ncles, were of the girl, she was doubly dear to them because that look was indubitably D wing to the Talbert strain of blood in her reins. This morning she threw books, music, paint ing, everything aside, and played with her new toy. It was Saturday. The "Tabbies," who invariably went shopping together, were bound to Blacktown to buy groceries. Before starting, Herbert found his way to Beatrice, and asked her if she had any commissions to be executed in the city. He discovered her with flushed face and rumpled hair romping with the child He watched them with amuse ment ; then, going up stairs, found after a little search in one of the attics, some antiquated, battered toys, which five and thirty years ago had been dear to Horace and himself. He carried them down stairs, and Beatrice thanked him for the kindly thought and act When, in a few hours' time, the brothers drove back with a wagonette full of tea, coffee, sugar, yellow soap, house flannel, Bath stone, emery paper, or whatever else was needful to make tho wheels of house hold management run smoothly, they found Beatrice still engrossed by her charge. They did not say much to her. Saturday was too busy a day to think of anything save the af fairs of the house, and as many precious min utes had been wasted in making inquiries at Blacktown station, the brothers were hardly pressed for time?so hardly pressed that when, about four o'clock, the curate called, they sent their apologies by Whittaker, and left their visitor to "be entertained by Miss Clauson. The Bev. Sylvanus Mordi e, when he thanked Heaven for the many blessings it had bestowed upon him, always excepted the name he bore from the list. dt was, he told himself, a particularly terrible name?doubly so when its owner was a clergyman. He felt it to be provocative of laughter, if not of contempt. Even as a Howard, aTalbot, a Montmorency, or a Plautagenet is called upon to Eve up to the great name he bears, Mr. Monile foufld it incumbent on himself to endeavor to live away from his singular designation. To counteract the sinister effects of such a name he felt compelled to affect an air of cheerfulness even under tho most trying circumbtances. which fully justify a man's looking lugubrious. He considered his name a great drawback to him in his professional career. The gift which every jT,ung clergyman fancies he possesses, of preaching impassioned sermons, was sadly shorn by his name. Jn this perverted age, when puns are not considered signs of social I depravity, Mr. Mordle felt sure that a tear in his eye?even the delivery of a pathetic ser mon?would bo fatal. Tho least lachrymose tendency in manner or words vrould present ? too great a temptation to bo resisted by weak human nature; in spite of the best intentions the word "mordling" must suggest itself. A surname one can not choose an}* moro than one can choose a dark or a fair skin ; but whilst the cumte was willing to allow j that the riamo of Mordle was an unavoidable congenital misfortune, its conjunction with Sylvanus ho looked upon as a foul crime, and reviled the godfathers and godmothers who ? had tacked such a soft-souhding appellation ! on to Mordle. On the principle of living it down, ho was abvay9 brisk and cheery in Iiis manner. It was never too hot, ?ever too cold, never too sunny, never tho windy for tho Sylvanus j 1 Mordle. He preached almost merry sermons, ? [ conveyed in short, incisive &ontences, lattled oat in a quick, decisive, quite-beyond-doubt j way. His phrases followed one another like j the detonations of a cracker. They seemed I designed to slap the listener on the breast, I and hammer and hammer away at that sin hardened receptacle, as if meaning by aseries i of repeated blows to enforce conviction and j obedience. They were crisp, strong, muscular exhortations, eminently suited to the spiritual needs of the poorer parishioners. Only when he preached a funeral sermon could Mr. Mor dle's style be cavilled at. On such an occasion he was bound to be doubly careful not to get" his manner mixed up with his name, so some times bis discourse did not quite satisfy the bereft relations and grieving friends. But a funeral sermon was only due to a de ceased member of one of the families of position; moreover, Oakbury is a healthy, spot, and when an important death did occur the rector was usually in his place to do his duty. So the Rev. Sylvanus managed very well. For the rest, he was aman of about thirty, pleasant-looking and popular, not disdainful ..of the good things of this world, yet not han kering after them?doing the whole work of a curate and three-fourths of that of a rector for one hundred and twenty pounds a year. It was lucky he had a good constitution anda small fortune of his own I This afternoon Mr. Mordle felt the Tal berta' excuses no slight to himself. He begged the brothers might not be disturbed. He was quite content that Miss Clauson should entertain Mm tete-a-tete as long as possible. He inquired if any news had ar rived about the missing mother; then, turn ing his attention to the child, went through a variety of those little actions which grown-up. people, rightly or wrongly, suppose ingra tiate children. Noticing how the pretty boy clung to Beatrice he complimented her on - her rapid conquest of his affections?a com pliment in which Miss Clauson might have found a deeper meaning lurking had she cared to look for it. He would have called much earlier to learn what had transpired, but had been compelled to attend a funeral several miles off . He alluded to the melan choly reason for his delay with as much cheerfulness as many people mention a wed ding. "And where are your uncles?" he asked. "In the housekeeper's room," answered Beatrice, demurely. "Busy, of course?Saturday. Bad day to call What are they a*5out now?" * As -he jerked out his short sentences, Beatrice glanced at him and saw his eyes twinkling. She could not help smiling. "Well?what is it?" asked Mr. Mordle. The girl gave a little gurgle of laughter. The curate once more repeated his question. "Oh, Mr. Mordle," said Beatrice, "they are doing the clothes!" "Quite right; some one must do them. Now I wonder," he continued in a more re flective way than usual, "I wonder if they look them out for the wash on Mondays." "Oh, no; not so bad as that. But did you ever know anything so funny?" "Took you by surprise,^; course?" said the curate briskly. "Yes. I had heard something about it, but the reality overwhelmed me. Uncle Horace doing wool-work was my first experience. The next morning I found Uncle Herbert doling out stores to the cook. And to see them manage the house better than any woman!" "Delightful. I could tell you sc?ae very, ffmngnTip things, Miss Clauson." "Please don't. They are so kind ani amiable I can't bear to laugh at them." "They are kind. I love them dear? y. What my poor people would do without them I can't think. If they'll leave you enough to do, you're certain to be happy here." Beatri sm?ed. She remembered the horror they had displayed at the bare thought of tot" having any part in the domestic arrangements" of Hazle wood House. It seemed to,Mr. Mcxdle that he had never seen Miss Clausen lock so brigh t and lively as she looked to-day. She looked, most loviugry-at the child, who, tired of bis ?riayf=!ay peacefully on her lap. . "But I have not enough to do," she said, her hand the while caressing the boy's golden head. "Mr. Mordle, I wish you would help me in something." "Anything?everything?command me," said the curate, in his quickest, most decisive way. "I have taken such a fancy to this dear little man, that, supposing his people do not reveal themselves, I want to persuade my uncles to let me keep him. I could be so happy with him here." She kissed and fondled the boy. Now that he saw whither his rash promise was to lead hi , Mr. Mordle paused and hesitated. 4 am sure Uncle Herbert wouldn't mind," added Beatrice. "Mr. Talbert would never consent," said Mr. Mordle. "What hanri"would it do?" asked Beatrice. The Rev. Sylvanus was silent He did not ?ke to tell the girl that the retention at Hazlewcod House of this mysteriously-sent child might create scandal. "You will help me, w?l you not?" pleaded Beatrice. The look in her eyes turned Syl vanus'heart into wax. uYou will help dip, will you noi?" pleaded Beatrice. So, with the weakness of male humanity when thus assa?ed, he promised to do what he could to insure her wish being carried out Beatrice gave him a look of gratitude, the very remembrance of which he felt would repay him for a much greater service than the one she entreated of him. By and by he took his leave of her in that happy frame of mind peculiar to the man who has laid a lovely woman under an obligation. Horace and Herbert ho did not see. They were detained for aa indefinite period. The linen paid in by the laundress did not balance with the counterfo? in the washing-book, so they had to go through it again?an annoy ing, but a necessary task. {"TO BE CONTlNr/EO.] Use tlie Brush the Cows, But few farmers ever think it neces sary that a cow should be brushed. We have seen neighbors laugh and ridicule what they called our over-niceness and fussiness, when the cows1 were curried and brushed tcicc a day, with as much care as was given to the horses. 'AVhat ! curry a cow Never hcarn tell of such a thing !* Hut a cow needs it, even more than a horse ; and for sev eral reasons. A cow,- whose milk is used for food, unless she have a perfect- j ly clean skin, cannot give clean milk, | and then the butter will be bad. The, skin should be in a perfectly freaHrfu.1 condition, aud the blood pure, or the milk will be impure aud unhealthful, and the butter or Cheese wilt be tainted: Neither cleanliness nor healthfulncss can be secured without regular brushing of the skiii and the removal of all the filth which will gather upon ill-kept cows. XhTs should be done before the cows arc milked, bolli iiKirnrng and evening. The raoruJug clea&?i?g i-houlJ be a tbor ough one , a simple brushing, to remove dust and loose hairs, -will be sufficient for the evening. It will help very much, for both horses and cows to bave the stables so floored that the animala can be kept from fouliog themselves.? American Agriculturist for June. A Story of Gens. Nathaniel Lyon and R. H. Anderson, The following, which we have never seen in print, gives an account of an interesting incident io the early life of Gen. R. H. Anderson of Sumter Coun ty, who died some years ago. This item will possibly be news to many of his old friends : Upon one occasion Captain Anderson, of the Second Dragoons, afterward a lieutenant-general in the Confederate service, gave a dinner party, at which were present several of the officers of the garrison as well as the members of a general coart-martial that was tbea in session at the post. Captain Lyon and myself were among the number. Although Captain Anderson was a citizen of South Carolina, and bis host, Lyon plunged as soon as be could get the opportunity into a harangue against ! the South and its peculiar institution, in wbicb he used all the power of invec tive tbat he possessed in so great a de gree. Among the guests were General Mansfield, killed at Antietam ; General Ramsey, Chief of Ordinance during the war ; Col. C. F. Smith, who, if he had lived, would certainly have given a good account of himself on the side of the Union, and General Casey, who so highly distinguished bimseif at the bat tle of Fair Oaks. AH of these were Northern men who had no liking for slavery, out they were all dumbfounded at the violence and virulence of Lyon's attack. As for the Southerners, they looked indignant, of course, all but the host, Captain Anderson, who sat at the bead of his table smiling serenely at Lyon's abuse, and by occasionally ad dressing a word or two to those- nearest to him, trying to make the occasion pass as pleasantly as was possible under the circumstances. But that evening, while several of us, including Captain Lyon, were sitting in Major Merrill's quarters, Anderson entered the room. He looked around him, and his eyes at once -Ugh ted on the man of whom he was evidently, in search^and^^^nTnT: had not found in - his own quarters. "Captain Lyon,'* 1? said, approach ing his antagonist, "you took occasion to-day, when I from my position was helpless to repel your insults, to commit an outrage, for which I am now going to punish you. I do notjujsajuinjieap . personal abuse on__you7 for every one here presjejL?kuows what I think of you, r4?u,^hat kind of retaliation would do very little harm ; I am going to thrash you." He took a step toward Lyon, who hearing this speech, bad remained quietly in bis chair glaring at his adver sary, and evidently worked up to the point of doing mischief. As Anderson came nearer, Lyon, still without mov ing a limb, said, with a3 much compos ure as he could command, "Captain Anderson, if you come a step nearer I'll kill you." Instantly several of us rushed between the two, and Anderson, without a word further, withdrew. About an hour afterwards I was roused from bed by some one at the door, and on going down stairs found Captain Lyon. I at once suspected what had happened, but I was not al lowed to remain long in a state of un* certainty. "Anderson has challenged me," he said. "You will have to accept," I an swered. "No, I shall not accept; I have con scientious scruples against duelling, and besides, it is contrary to law, and ? am i\ law-abiding man." "Then you will be sent to Coventry without delay. You have grossly in sulted Anderson in his own bouse, and you must give bim satisfaction, or you will be run out of the army." "I don't care*; I am willing to en dure persecution for the sake of my con victions. I shall not fight bim. If he attacks me, I shall kill bim as I would a dog." I argued the matter with him?? was many years younger than I am now? and the result was that he finally con sented to meet Anderson, provided I would act as bis second, and that the duel should take place with pistols across a table. I remonstrated with him on this tat ter point, and told bim that I was quite sure Major Sibley, Anderson's second, would peremptorily refuse to allow his principal to fight after such a murderous fashion. He was firm, however, so ? bad a conference early the following morning with Major Sibley, and, as I had expected, Lyon's terms were-re garded by him as altogether outside the pale.of the laws of duelling, and as be ing barbarous, murderous unusual, and ungentlemanly. . There was nothing left for Anderson to do but to horsewhip Lyon or inflict some other gross indignity on him, and this he would certainly have attempted but for the fact tbat Sibley and I got him and Lyon to agree that the matter should be referred to a council of officers whose decision should be binding. This body, after due deliberation, decided tbat Captain Lyon had been guilty of a grave offence, and tbat he should apolo gize to Captain Anderson in the pres ence of every officer of the post. This was a bitter dose for Lyon to swallow, but there was no escape. He declared to me that he would rather cut off his right band than do what it had been decreed he must do. He fun)C?i and fretted over the matter till he work ed himself up to such a state of excite ment as made ine fear for the strength of ?lis mind to resist it, but he finally 1< j down and began to look at the matter philosophically. Mrs. Hammond and I were to have a reception that evening for the members of rhc court-martial, and they and all : the officers of the ?arrisen and their j wives would accordingly be together at ; my quarters. It was decided that at J nine o'clock Captain Lyon should ten- ! der bis apology in their presence, Every one was there, and at nine j o'clock Captain Anderson stationed him- j self at one end of the drawing room. :? j i The last beat of the drams sounding tattoo bad hardly died away wbeir Cap tain Lyon, in fall uniform entered the apartment. He looked neitber to the right nor to the left, bat with me at his aide, as bis escort and host, he walk ed three gh the long line of officers?all in.full uniform?and ladies till be came within four or five feet of Captain ?n* derson, who, grave and dignified, with Sibley by his side, awaited, his. arrival, "Captain Anderson," be said, without a tremor in his voice, "I have come to express my regret for having used lan guage at your table which, however much I may believe -ft to be true, was oat of place at the time,. and was such as I, your guest, should not have spok en. Its employment'was, -undet the circumstances, more injurious te'ine than.it was to you." Anderson bowed without a word, Lyon bowed, and tbenr without tendering his hand, he turned and strode oat of the room. Anderson and be never spoke to each other after ward except when their official relations required them to do so.?Dr. Wm^jL Hammond, in Magazine of American History. What Our Editors Say. : What Shall we Write Ab?ut? Aikrn Journal and Review. The editor sits in his easy ehair rack ing his brains for a leader for the next issue, when the 'VZta^'-puts his head inside the door and calls for v<more* copy." The editor isin a quandary, for besides being overpowered by the scarcity of money, there is a lnll in.in teresting news. The intelligent editor has already completed his instructions to the farmers what to plant and how t$ do it. The Legislatore not being in session, the editor is debarred from in structing his representatives what bills to vote for and which to kill. The weather is hot and everybody knows it. The Lion and the Bear are lying down together, and the various ward have come to an end. The President is tak ing his time in making appointments The Governor has gone to sleep ove. the census business, and the penitentiar ry is simply vegetating.. The Court records are doll and the County, officials * have all gone fishing?yet the "Demi?' with, his insatiate cry of* "mor? copy" bangs around oar sanctum door, and th? editor is perplexed. Shall we give him a^sex^t?onal murder cas? or a dog-fight? Xo, that1 wo^t ndoTAh \ w?l??ve ?^=~~' what about the prospects of the ccming cotton crop, and how te grow rich by raising it. This is a good subject, bat the average farmer will say, "we kno-^ bow to raise a cotton crop, bat tell u?s^ how to raise" the mortgage on the fararf*^/ No~w Le h^vS>^AZmtfrfg^e^Ahxti to describe, it is a thing by which; you pay oO per cent, more than what you get. All for the pleasure of your see^ ing the mortgagor lollong around on _ your hard earned gains. After having paid enough principal and .interest t? settle the mortgage, the day arrives for a settlement, you find you arenatili heavily in debt to the mortgagor; .the mortgage is closed, and the mortgagee becomes a tenant of the mortgagor. A man who gives a mortgage generally belong to the man who holds the mort- . gage. He sneaks around the corner to avoid the man woo owns him, and* feels like he has stolen something, whenever ? be indulges in the luxury of a cigar or a glass of beer. His children are shab bily dressed and his wife has an ex pression on her face .which says:' '"Fd^ just as well die if it was not for the children and the opportunity it would give my husband to marry ?gain7? The - "D'eviV* still stand3 at the door, and again we hear the cry, "more copy." VVe give it up and tell him to knock off for the day, probably to-morrow's, mail will bring something worth publishing, and the editor passes out and duns some poor subscriber for a dollar or two with which to pay for his dinner. ? A New Deal. Spartan: When the same set of men ore kept long in office, they begin te look-upon> office as their right. Keep a, man in an office for two or three terms and if . there is any talk of honoring another citizen with this office, the incumbent ; begins to-enquire, "What are you going to do with me ? I oan't afford to- be. shelved. If you can't give me my old place, give me something better." This spirit enters into office holders all ? the way down to door keepers'tin tne/~ State House. There is one notable ex- _ ample in our State, since 187?, of a brave, independent man, retiring'* of his ; own accord, to private life. 3? Jt as a' general^ thing onr State and Federal officers are there to stay> if'they can't/ step up higher. There is not a tenth** man amongst them, whether elected by^ the people or Legislature, or appointed " by the Governor that would 5 retire gracefully- if another should be chosen ^ in his place. ; They soon * feel that the . office and the people also, belong to^ them. This reeling arises from two^, causes, first, a love for office and-power^ with the patronage belonging thereto iaV a strong inducement for them to perpet-' nate their power, secondly, it is a mat*;. ter of meat and bread, for many of our/* office holders have reached the conclu-, sion in a most forcible andJegical way;^ that they cannot possibly get along * without an office. Hence, one_ hears. from varions papers in the State, as/ well as from quiet thinking farmers, ' that a new deal in office is necessary. In other words the people wish to assert " their sovereignty and show that politi- % cal rings and bosses cannot dominate, in South Carolina. They kc<iw that^ there is not a State or Federal offices" that cannot be filled as well by others , as by the incumbents. Then in al$? publican form of Government ther? should be no aristocracy of office hold ers, and as soon as they become inrp?t-, rious, they should be remanded to th? ranks. It is folly to say that new men. could not fill the office ; it is a slander, oo our people to assert that a pew deaL.v^ entirely would bring any detrfjneut to . the State. Then let us say to rae pep- ? pie that tbey need not; be alarmed, ifQ uames heretofore unknown to the public." are hreagbt forward in the .next "V twelve months for the prominent offices of our State. This would uot be.revo-^ lution nor disloyalty it is only the di vine right the people hayeta manage' their own affairs, and ?ciect tfc?r ewW servants- -%> ? .??- ...