Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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" ".?? i qw?i i y^nm^w^jaw, ,.i . *v*44* - ?rr- ? w. <tn#,l l ^ ^ ^ ,?? l - n ? < . -' -rfS2 PER ANNUM cl??ln'4 t?n? parly'i arbllmry ?wuy, in ATTVANUE hp** xxj.m vj 1"j- wc cleave to truth wlier'ere ih? lead* the way. -11^1 1\u ? *r**r * NEUTRAL IN POLITICS?DEVOTED TO LTERAIiY, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, SCIENTIFIC, GENERAL AND LOCAL INTELLIGENCE. volume iv. lancaster. c. h., south carolina. wednesday morning, june 13, 1855. number 13 mm tm.ik . and hurry's brown eye* would grow j it whs evening. aunt mary sat in iter cheek t and i will nlneo it?? i ??? t..???i?- ?=--~ in . . - ' WUUV11JU A X11?1 LIU 1 V . ? TT-JUST DOWN THE ROAD1?Y VIRGINIA F. TOWNSIND. Aunt Mary ?n<l 1 lived nil alone inou little cottage. It was the quaintest oh house, with jfreen blind* and gray gablethe arihl vine toiling up its tidm, with th m.U< ? ' ? - vnr'rii WinM llHSIIUlg I1K9 TCil MIHI I inong the dark green loaves. Then there were two chestnut-tree that Mood all uminer before the fron door, like tall friar* with groen stohw fol ded ovar their boaoms; and on eitlier aid< ot tho gravel-walks, harebell* an I dnffo dils made a ruffling of gold and purp < down to the little wicket. Oh, it was a happy home to tnc! sit here and close my eyes, and, tonkin* down into the far land of my memory, i see the quaint gables, the great trees, am, the goldou ruffling, shining clear throii^l the light and the darkness of the ) eari that lie between it and the present. Just down the road ? I could see it fron tnv chamber-window?was a red framehouse, with the mt>aa of half a century growing thick on its sloping roof. Tlu building was considerably dilapidated: still, it had a roty, old fashioned look of ? summer's morning, when the sunsittm Used to gild the leaves, ami plate with gold the grest weather-stained frontdoor Mrs. NVillard and Harry lived in the rod hou<e; he was Iter only son, and she was a widow. Thev were very poor? all the village knew this; but Mrs. Willard managed to obtain a somewhat pi vicarious livelihood (or herselfatul child by ta king in plain sewing; nml as she sometimes fitted Aunt Mary's dr< sac* and mirn and Ilarrv alwavs i-tm? ? ?.! -1 them, 1 I'Ccnine acquainted with him. ll' tiry \Tftfwd wiw a atrange liov. ? It* did not langh and plnv ae other Imo i of iiiw affe do; bo was only two year older than I; mid there km rii air ol minified pride MMLthuidif v in hi* manner a ahudow Oft bW^Nhig fare and a look of tu?-lanch<t|p earnealneaa in hia larg? dark jeyea, whieR arretted my attention and awakened my aympathy the fir* time that I aaw him. Aunt V. glati'P* of the parte mournful (nri*,, *n< wortdering greatly why it waa 0t^ff the leaat ovefc ,R Mijiiuimaun ww inidf on eitli But Aunt Mary, ?lmv hwrt wpmr. tjtoftyt overflowing with fcinda?M nm JWpilliy for every human tVinp, Tin. 4j^HRen ? great foncv to IIarrv Willard I w|Kn<l one <)?f jw*t r? he waa lewvinjf, aft.I having discharged the romamm 01 I which lit* mother had tent him, *he and denly ?aid to me: I "Alice. rou had better go out with II nr rr, end make n bouquet for Mr*. Willard I Don't you like flowee^JIarry I" I "Ye*, ma'air, replied the boy; and tlimf hfa eyea wer I full of n ntr:in<r.T fe?4?r.r..l I!-I.. -- ? Mjpi mini hx IP placed h<-m full on Aunt MaryV fl<?, we went into the garden together and there we talked for the first time while I gathered mignonette and roaea and Harry held the flowers when I 'ie< the blue ribbon ronnd the item*. I jM?'a After tbi's. ?V 'eeenrc wore gradually way; awkilnrry herame a Irequent, a' waye a welcome, visitor at our bouse.? We would ait ft* hours under the gren real loss shadows of the chestnut tree* while he would talk to me in hie Strang* dreamy way <4 the stars, that seemed t< him like gold- a stairs on which the an geU came dnwfc t> earth ; of the ?trnn?'i music bis heart could hear in the win< itifcsie that in the spring time into t mighty jubilee; and it flowed ota*th< elds, and they grew green ;a*d the vio let* ops wad their eye*, and made ?.i?rr.L MAm* in the grm*. In ihe wmiiwp'Bw ry ?ai.| the mo?ic grew into a gl? paalm, tilling ihp (i?rW end the wmlx and when the autumn caiue, it awelta ji.tn a g?atw) stream, lliat vent roiling uj the Mb, and along the rallej*; and then vaa nothing like it l.ut the in??*n of th< grant organ, fl uting through the ainlea o the rillngt church when 'W fhw Mnf \ the uoiologj.1' * v. Tn % .a,^v| nuvi mimie wiki such h strange u li.ht as lie talked of these things ! ami h ihen he would slop suddenly, and the old c nhauow and sadness would e >'iie into ( si them, and he would tell me lu>w he loveil g to read books; and how there was a J h r strange hungry feeling at his Inait for h j knowlelge; and how the hunger some- b , times grew into a the there, which he si e could not describe; arid he would say, ji in a tone of such touching, mournful d thos, thav it always brought the tears into ? my eves to hear him : ft I "Hut, Alice, you see, we are very po-w, n and I cannot go to school; and nobody | h e knows how I feel; and nolavlv caress for | me but mamma." And then I would ' j, draw iiii ?? """? ""-1 - ' * -J ? ?v j t r?il\i ?iJ \ . i/(?n i ft'] taik so, please, Harry, lor it makes me }, I feel bad ; besides, it isn't trie for Aunt , , Marv loves you, and so do I ; and I know , g I you'll grow up to be a great man, and ? I have as many books n? you want, and (, | study everything, too!" Tl ten Harry would lift his fasr to mine, and there wou.d he such a glow nil over j ,] ^ it!* And bis iij> woild quiver *h"ii he, j, aai-l : "Al'y. \ ?ur words always make mo f, ^ feel happy. God bless you !" and my \ heart always beats lighter alien lie said n those words. f, But one day, when Aunt M ry was j, **;.ieking over" soine goose berries tor sup m per, and I sat by her side, hemming an apron f-?r nr new doll, I told her all that f| 11 .itr\ had raid to me. i noticed sir I ? ! seemed very thoughtful after tli>; an., j, at las', 1 looked up, and saw she was run j, niug her lingers in an absent m inuet ' through the pan of goreberriva, an ? i (| sail: "Aunt Mary, you're thinking >?b ?u oiueih'.ng." fi She amile-l ; her ?wrn sweet, lovuij f smile; ani bonding down, k>*?<-d m\ up y ' tinned foreliead, and said : "Yon bare guessed rightly, Ally. I was trying t ,, devise sum method by which I colt I ' aetid Ilirry WillarJ m sell oi, but tins i? ^ r not so easy a matter >s I -ee, by the j, r sparkling of ih<> e hllie eves, that r <>u |, , think it is. Haiti Wtllaid's mother was , I n >t always piM>r, as she is now ; a lot she e > is ier\ proud, too, and,unless I could rep, resent his g"ing in the light of a favor f, t done to me, 1 do not think I could obtain v her consent to this matter." 1 "But you can think of some way; 1 y I know con ran A nor XI tl ? ? } ?"",t "" o r huigajAgo!" I eagerly answered, for I t 1 'Bit1* unbounded faith iit Aunt ii k ' I had just thought of a * * p an wliett y<M spoke to no', which upon relV ction;Vippoj*r* the best calculated of * any to aiuv?e< \, Ib.va fell for sometime b I that my darling ought to commence some <] I higher studieMfefUt'tlioec ?he is learning t I of me; hut it ian long way to the village r< ; school, ami ?n d f "And you are doing to have Harry go, * too, to take care of me ! Oh, I'm so glad, H " Aunt Mary !" I interrupted, springing up f' and clapping inv hands ; an involuntary r * ehuli'ion of my excited feelings. ^ * Aimt Mary's smile verified niv remarks; and at sunset on that very day, she went * down to the roil house' and had a long ? talk with Mrs. Willard. 8 The lUr w a* ju*l coming over the great ^ bill at the aide of our home, a aingle go!* ^ i <l?n drop in that tea of blue, when Ann' i Mary ret 'mod, and informed ine itiat f( ; her mi??io|i had been a successful one, (| 1 and that ilarrv and I were to enter . p the village m-)jooI on the ennuing f week. Oh, that Monday morning'* *un- ^ light vhone not on two happier henrta ^ * than Harry's and mine, when we*hut the | t white wivket of our cottage home, and, ^ if hand in hand, took the road leading to a the village school, pniiHing every few rod* j > to send a smile or a kirn to Aunt Mary, j( - whoatood in the front door, watching u* ^ ? with her loving eye* until we were out of ^ ] ftiglit, t, ? Very happy were we, too, for tl?#? nexi e six month*; very tender ami watchful wm J w flwrr?*? ear* for me; and very wonderful Q ? wm Ilarrv** progress ;a this studies, dis ft lancing all hi* classmates, and gnarlv tl fc surprising the teacher, while the light ^ J Seamed more I lightly, and the shadow d I w- nt more and more from hi* face, which h > he would turn to me sometimes, and ?ay f t io hi* mdden, abrupt manner: ' Ob, Ally, k ? I'm very hapny new!* fr f Rut, at the e*pi'wtion of six months. h t there came lit* darkaea* of the shadow of n< death over all their brightness. et m - mmm Id sent by the window, and I stood by 1 ar or side, watching the round moon as she I) aino slowly up the blue ridge, on either 1 di ide of which lav the silver-looped and M ray-fringed clouds, when Harry Willard a< nrst info the room; ami every muscle of tli is white faco seemed working with terrile suffering, as he sprang to Aunt Marv's to ide, saying wildjy: "Oh, please go to her hi 'ease go to her quick, for my mother is cc ving." ar With a half suppressed exclamation, ?* unit Mary seized a shawl, and hn:ried fter Harry, who had rushed out of the ouso. T was alone, with the white moon 'ook* lH tg in at the window, and plating with Iver the back of the chairs; and in the alf darkness, a great fear came over ine ru 1 could not endure the stillness and the ! hostlv moonlight, so, I siezed mvhonnet, " ltd folio we 1 Aunt Marv as rapidly as my 'ombling limhs would permit. I shall never cease to remember the -cue which presented itself a? I entered 01 lie red house. Mrs Willard was sitting t a chair in one corner of the long old j w ediioned parlor, her head resting on Aunt | alxj for his jourum; and disposed tc hi be beat udvsntsge of his mother's sim f* le furniture. ,n It whs an October morning. The great *T nit laden branches were dripping down- u> rard, almost within our reach, when c'' larry Willard am' I stood under them m ?r the last time. "You will not quite torget u.e, Ilarry," said swallowing down the soli that was pc i my thioat, "when you are so far away; hi nd you ? ill think sometimes of the viligtt school, and the garden and the old yo where yon u?ed to sit; won't you. w< "Forget you, Ally!" and his arm was th rawn around my waist, and the brown vit ves looked earnestly, almost reproach- he ?uy, imo mine ; "jou whom 1 love better In >?n any l?ody in the world, now inama er . gonof Oh, Ally, I thsll be lying un- m er the graft*, u deep end as still u the set , thin pleasant morning before I can ly >rget you, ami Aunt Mary and all your de induces to me, a poor little fatherless, M iendleeo boy t Ally, I bare passed the 00 appiest hours of my life with you ; and de i?w won't you give me one of those long bu itU that has lain lor years against your yo lary'a l?o*otn, wlio wm striving to wipe wav the current of blood which issued Ul om li??r whito lip*. Hhii-v'* words wore n' u? too true! Ili* mother was dving of nddon hemorrhage at tlio lungs. w Tint on^e tlio dim eyes unclosed. and ho cold finnrer* mnriul of ... ? - - ... ".M I'MnumnciV. TT am*," gasped tlio living w>mnn. a* the iov buried hi* IiohiI willi a lie irt break "1 v; ?nh, in her lai?, ''I am going homo ?' r?!? Orvl f<?r.r?? not tliv covenant with he fatherless!" Again. ilie cold fi litre re noved convulsively amid hi* hrown curl*: 'n here w*? e f?l?t *igh;the head leaned d' lore heavilv 011 Aunt Mary. Ilarrv Villardwns motherless! 1*? Two days later, they huried Mr*. Will Cfl rd. It was a pleasant autumn dav, and H,l he wind* sighed through the tangled *' rass of the church-yard, and the sun a' cams clitere<l brightly along the mar V, where Ilurrv's mother was laid down w > that slumber, which no sunlight could w vcr awaken. Poor Ilarrv! lie did not rcep then; hut he stood there, his whole w nine quivering like a w ind-broken bough, to i lien the clods rattled on the coffin. ni There was a corner in that same church J* ard to which Aunt Marv ami I glanced ' iften through our tears; for there, under s" hose drooping willows, with their white d< lands folded calmly over their henrts, r.v father and mother were sleeping that tn leop which knows no earthly waking. ni We couhl not dissuade Harry from lecp ng at the house ' just down the road;" P1 ait he passed most of the week subse|uent to his mother's death at our cotage. II* grew calmer every day; but ^ one who looked in the hoy's sad eye could loubt of the "heartache'' beneath them. One morning, he came over a* usual, 8|' nd told my aunt that he had resolved w 0 lo ive the village, now that he hail no m elativee (how his voico tremhh-d) to w cep him there. ^ It was all useless Irving to dissuade * im from tire, for the liny** heart was set w n going; .and he said he had lain awake, 1 tlie'ouoliness and darkness of the red ous*, thinking how he would carve out 'y is own fortune; so, at last, Aunt Mary *t eased her verbil opposition, and set hi entolfabout prepaiiug the lioy's ward- c? id it will keep it always warm for you. on't cry, Ally dear, for the tears wore ipping down my checks, a* I took Aunt ary's garden scissors, which she had in Ivertantly loft on a rustic bench under ie tree, and severed the tress. "I'll comeback to you whejn I've grown be somebody you'll be prond of;" and * form dilated. " But hark ! there >mcs the stage,and Aunt Mary is calling;" id the tears trickled on his heavy lash, as he run towards the house. "Good bye, Ally " "Good bye, Harry," e stood under the small vine-wrap* <1 portico; anil he kissed rne twice and en ran hastily tow ards the gate, for the iver was late and cross. I heard the unbling of wheels, and saw through my ars the floating of a handkerchief; and arry Willard was gone, and the red )?se down the road was desolate. * * * * Right years had passed since that morng when limn \\ iil.'ird and I inurnmr t our tearful farewell under the vine rnpped portico. Tliev had not all been ight years to me; tliere was a great iwdow trailing through the later ones, ilil this was lost; shadowed up iu dark**s, the darkness of denth ! Our home, our darling cottage home, ent irst. Henry the former owner of 10 place, was a hard man, and tho bill 'sale was lost, so it fell into his hands! Aunt Mary struggled *crv hard to bear ^ under this blow; but it was a very heavy ie. leaving the home of her fathers ; and ter it she always smiled a sad. patient, art-broken smile, that brought the tears to niv eves, and said 'God's will be me' Her health, which had been failing her r a long time, gave way at last. There itne another Autumn day ; and the wind ghed through the tangled grass of the lurch yard ; and the sutili "lit glimmered ong the wh:tc Miarhle just as it had tie in a day far down in mv memory. Ion they laid Auut Mary under the illow to sleep. After this, I too, was ill for a long time ith a fever, and some kind iieighl>ors ok me to their homes, and watched over ie during that long illness almost as tensrlv as Aunt Mary would have done. My father had a widowed sister who reded at the capital, and of w hom I solJin heard ; but I knew that Aunt Marv ml written her a few days before she left ie, although she did not reveal to me the Mure of her communication. But when I was able to sit up, they iaced a letter, in a strange hand writing, pfore ine, it contained an invitation (I ied to think it was a cordial one) from lis aunt, to make her residence my future iime. The kind family with whom I had Tided since my aunt's death were not ealthy ; and so, after many prophetic lisgivings, I resolved to accept the home Inch had been offered me. I came to ie city, reader, a lonely orphan girl, itliout a friend outside the little village, iih-ii u hi mow. oroite my heart to leave. llut the proud inanition whose tall one front looked down coldly and sternupon mo when I asscndcd the hroad epa, and glanced up at it for tho first me, was no home to me. 1 aoon p<*rlired that my aunt and her two fair rjghty daughters regarded me as a de indent upon their Imunty, whom it would no wise avail their interest to recognise; id sometimes I wished that I was lying ider the willow, close?oil! ?o very oa?? to Aunt Mary. May God forgive e ! for I was very wretched. e 4 Then, Julia, you are sure wo may de* nd upon his honoring our aoiree with s presence ?" "Perfectly so, Annie. Mr. Lee, who is, in know, his most intimate friend, say* 3 may rely upon liiin for nest Tuesday, ough lie had to refuai several other in imioni in or<i?r 10 tcrepl our*, How i i* fetod *n<l worshiped every whore! a sure I sHhII l>e grateful to Mr. Lee foror. And Aune I'm reeolved that ur irte shall be the moat brilliant of the moo. So diatinguiahed a guest certain demand* an extra effort on our part, r me, Alice, I had quite forgotten you;" 11 id the tone and tlie glance which ac mpanied thin remark were ample evince that the remainder waa anything it agreeable to my cousin. Of course a won't think of entering the pertor ?v?. .???>>< me society mere i will be so very unlike anything to which < you have been accustomed in that little i outof-thc-world village, that you would find yourself sadly out of place. Then i there is a young and very distinguished orator to be present, about whom the I fashionable world is just now in perfect i testacies; aud you couldu't, of course, I expect us to present you to him. Hut you can make youiself useful in some 1 way, I dare say. The servants will be 1 very busy ; and after the company have 1 all arrived, you can go into the dressing- i room and arrange the cloaks and hats, < so that the owners need not have so much difficulty in identifying them as they did I at out last party. I always look forward \ with dread to that finale of coufu&ion." I bowed my head and left the room, < for the tea"s were coming; and I would not that they should see them. "Oh, Aunt Mary ! Aunt Mary! if you i could see your little Alice now !" I groane I in the agony of my heart, as I lay my throbbing head on the arms I wrapped logeiner on tlie table. Ami limn I resolved I would return again to my village lioiue, though all the light had gone out of it. Now my health, | which I had not gained when I came to < tny aunt's, was restored, I thought I could establish an infant school in my old home, I and lor Aunt Mary's sake the inhabitants would aid mu in this matter. It was evening. All alone in my little i chamber, at one corner of the mansion, I j could hear the hurrying to and fro of I many feet, and the rumbling of carriage whee's, as they drew up l?efore the door. ' Delow me; I knew, ihe chandeliers wete 1 pouring their tides of stiver light through the magnificent drawing-rooms, and flowing over lair young brows, and winding < through the ringlets that drooped around 1 them. I thought of the light hearted girls there of my own age; ami I envied i them not their happiness, nor their riches, hut the iove that was denied to me; and sometimes, when a swell of rich eager laughter would come ripping tip the winding stairs to my chaml>er, I would bury my face in my hands and weep. And, sometimes, I thought of him for whom all this beauty and chivalry were assembled ; and then I would wonder if, amid ail that homage and adulation, his heart would not grow mournful a moment, 1 ere he to know that, under that very roof, a broken hearted orphan girl was sitting, with no companions but her memories and her tears ! At last, I grew very uneasy, and sitting there w ith my head leaning on my hands, I fell asleep, and dreamed 1 was sitting with my Aunt Mary by our old cottage-window once mora. It must have been very late when I awoke, for I could hear the tide of company slowly setting up from the dining hall into the parlors, and remembering the task which my cousin had assigned me, I seized a light and hurried down the back stairs into the dressing r.?r.m It presented to me a scene of almost hopeluw confusion ; hilt I had at last succeeded in arranging the garments so they wouid be readily recognized by the owners, when 1 heard footsteps hastily ap proaching the door, and vainly looked round to find some mode of egress. You did well, Lee, to smuggle ine out of the room as you did ; but necessity i knows not the law of conventionalism, and I must hurry off without taking leave of my hostess and her daughters. Hero ate our hats; lucky we've found 'em. I sUaal in one corner with the light in my hand, so the gentlemen did not observe ine ; and I was internally oongr..tu- 1 lating myself on this when the younger ..f iU ?. -i-~ i - ? ! * ?. ...? .mil, nuu IlrtU prejHUUS'V spoken, ' turned again, saying? Wait a moment, I put my cain in this corner, and had well nigh forgotten it. Madain. 1 tifled my eyes an?l the light fell full , on hit features, and vre stood there face to face. One g!au< e?yet another, intense, j breathless, into those brown, deep eyes f that were fastened eageriy, wonderingly on mine?and then I knew hitn. Time , had moulded the contour of the pale boy | face into that of early manhood, and soft | nee and deepened the light of titoae wonderoua eye*; hut I knew tboy were t Henry Willard's. , , "Alice r "Harry I > The words came involuntary to the lipa < of both; and then, w.ih that voices the (\ memories of other days rushed darkly aver my heart, and the tears I could not restrain brimmed over my eyes. lie made a sign to Lee, who stood staring from one to the another, to leave us, saying, I will join you soon." And then he eamo close to me, and putting away the cnrls from my forehead just as be had done in the olden time, he said? "Alice, my sweet child angel, what has brought you here? And what has taken the smile out of those blue eyes, and brought this sadness over the face, the dear face that has always haunted my dreams? Look up darling, and tell me." But I did not look up, and could not liavo seen him if I had, for my blinding tears; but I laid my head on his arm, while he drew the other around me, and I mid? "Ilarry, our old home is gone, and Aunt Mary is dead, and I am here all alone, friendless, and very wretched." "But friendless no longer, Alice," he answered in his deep, thrilling tone, "Did you think I could forget you?you, whose memory has dwealt as constant in my heart as the dark brown curl you gave me has risen and fallen with its every pulsation since? Hark they have dis covered my absence, and I must leave you. Alice, say nothing to any one of this meeting; I will come to you again. When shall you be alone?" "To-morrow evening," I said, recollectng that my aunt and cousins were en aged at that time. "After eight I shall ire alone ?" "Farewell till then." lie bent down 'lis lips to uiy forehead, and the next moment 1 was alone?alone, but no longer Wretched. It was evening again," and there was a deep hush in the statoly parlors, and a single lamp poured its soft, din) light over the massive furniture and among the gor gi< i.s tlowers of the carpet, as 1 stole softly into them, and awaited, with heart throbs that almost alarmed me, the coming of Harry Willard. I did not keep a long watch that night. In a little while, we were seated together in one of the dim alcoves of the great room; my hand was lying on his, and I was telling him the story of the years since we parted. It was a mournful history, and the tears often checked it, and sobs closed many a paragraph. At last I coneludtd it with the relation of the previous nights sufferings, of the unkind words my cousins had *puken, and of my wondering if ever the great orator, whose name I did not know, would not have felt a momentary pang for my sorrows. There was a long silence alter I said this, but at Inst Ilarry broke it. "Alice," said he, and there was a look in the eyes he bent on me that brought the lids over mine, "while the world has t>cen dealing thus hardly with you, it has l?een very kind to me, aftei a year or two of hard struggling, which it matters not now (o talk of. Alice, have you forgot,ten the words that I said to you under the old pear tree the morning tliat we parted ? 41 love you l?elter than any other in the world.' And the heart of the man echoes, to-night the woids of the boy. Alice, my beautiful, loved with a true, changeless love?my first, and my last?during all the long years of our .. :n - ?|m,nuuii, mil J'UU IHKO lltlSluVC Will you bo my wife I co'.'ld not make birn an answer for my tear*; but I laid both my hands in hi*, and lie was satisfied "They have sent for yoti to coine down to the parlor. Miss, in a great hurry," said a servant, putting her head into my room tho next morning, while 1 sat there dreaming of Harry. Wondeiing greatly what my aunt and cousins could want, I descended to the parlor; but I heard my aunt say as 1 entered? "I am confident, Mr. Willard you will not find this person the one of whom you i ire in quest, and the mistake in your inbrmation will probably be owing to their timilarity of names." , s?., ?-? i? ?- -- - ??IIV miu ner (laughters, Mr. Leo md Harry were nil there. A* soon as utter saw me, lie rose, took my hand, an J, , ending me up to theae, said? ( "Perm t me, tnadan, and young ladies, o present te you Alice Mernin, iny afllinced bride !" Never shall I forget the look of mingled , lurprise and consternation which settled >rer my aunt's and cousin*' feature?, as l hey heart tide deelaretion. - | Why didn't toii tell us, Alice ? Why didn't you tell usf" they simultaneously ejaculated ; and then a light began gradually to dawn on my mind. I looked at Harry, and the mischievous light that filled liis eyes corroborated my suspicions, lie w as the 44 distinguished oratoi" in whose honor my cousins' soiree had been given. Oh, I shed proud and happy tears before them all when I knew it! My haughty relatives never recovered from tho mortification which Harry's revelation gavo them ; but the prestagn of my relationship was discovered too late, though I was overladen writh attention and caressed for the remaining few days >m hit myourn wun them. Ilcnry and I were married the next week at his friend's. Mr. Lee. Where his old home once stood, a fine Grecian vila now rist'6; the columbine wraps its balconies, and the honeysuckle its portico, and at nightlaii Harry and I wander through the long garden aisles, and the stars look down upon us with the same smile that they wore in our childhood, and Harry's ryes are filled with their old light ns I lean on his arm, and we talk about the old days, and the old red house "just down the road." A Great pcech. Hooper, of the Montgomery Mail, gives the following report of the greatest speech he ever heard: A fellow was indicted up in the old Ninth, when Tom (7 was Solicitor, for gambling, to wit: 1'laying "short cards," at a certain locality known as Frog Leve'. Col. N defended him and contended 1 before the jury, that thought the States evidence "tended" to show that bis client, with a bottle of liquor in bis pocket, Accompanied the crowd who, it was shown, did actually play, yet it never did, with absolute certainty, locate him as one of he players. Said he, by way of peroration: "Gentlemen of the Juryi the witness have told you that Peter Wyatt w'as thar and a play in'; for he noticed his hand, and it was a full on Queens! 'Harry Snow was thar. and lis w?? ? play in'; for he hilt two little pari "William Upson was thar, and he played 'cause witness noticed, ic particular ihar he had nothin, but an ace! " Bill Connor was thar, and he played, gentlemen, for ho had the bully hand? four high heeled Jacks! "But, gentlemen, when I come to ask him about Abraham 1'ilken?my client's hand, what did he say, gentlemen! Why, nothin', gentlemen, except that if Abe hilt any hand, he dUrcmeintared what was in it! and now gentlemen of the Jury,because my client was seen goin, down to Frog Level, with a tattle of liquor in Lis pocket, and the witness can't remember a9 he hilt any hand at nil, when bully hands was out, and him the best player in the crowd?is that?is that?I say, gentlemen of the Jury, is that any reason that my client was guilty of the crime of V Oanitaling!" It is almost needless to say that the jury saw the none sequitur and ncquitted the defendant. A young spark of adeistical turn travelling in h stage coach, forced his sentiments on the company l>y attempting to ridiculo the scriptures; and among other topics, made himself merry with the story of David and Uuliah, strongly urging the impoeeibility of a youth like DavUl being able to throw a stone with sufficient force to sink into the glint's forehead.? On this, lie appoftidl to the company, and particularly to a gentl -man of tbedenomination called Quakers, who sat silent in one corner of the carriage. "Indeed, friend," replied he, "I do not think it impossible, if the Philistine's head were as soft as thine." tW The Count de<* ranee being wounded in the knee with * m^lmt ball iti* aurgeoos many incisions in the fleab to find it The count tuning patience at lae% naked them why they cut and carved him to cruelly! i "We are aeeking ike I all.'1 aaid they. | "Why lite devil did j oa not apeak b (ore r aaid the count?"I took it out mylelf, and have it ia my pocket." > , > ?W That little member, the tongue. ^ mi not beetower! upon o* to *cAo4a)tT? llione within it* reach, but rather to improre n?<l edify. ? ,J ^ Meat 7 oft?i t i?* t^^^r "** ^