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DEVOTBD TO POLITICS, MORAIATIr, EDUCATION AND .O THE GENERAL INTEREST OF THE COUNTRY VgQ v1. PIQKENS, S. C., THURSDA'Y EBRUARY 1 N S ( FOR TWNTY YEARS. It don't seem much of a story to tell, though it was a tough one to livq. You see, it was more than tW6nty years ago that my twin broth. or and I sold out our homestead in ew York, and went to California to seek our fortune. All the rest of the family were dead, and we two were the more attached to each other for that. Well, we tried mining, and we tried trading, and we tried every-% thing we could think of, but nothing seemed to prosper with us; we only -%w peorer and poorer. Finally, we thought of the idea of separating, so as to work two fields at once, before the last of our capi. tal was gbne. There was a great tgl4 jgghe:of some new gold. re gion*,aad - we agreed that one of us * should go there and try his luck, while the other stayed in San Franm qsco and carried on a little business we,had started there. Of course, everything was part, nerlship. I never thought of an in terest separate from his, and he, I * .knew, felt the same. Well, the question arose which of us should go. It wasn't very ter pt ing, the mining life, and neither of us was anxious for it, and so we drew lots to see who should go. bM4e16lot fell to me. noheue, was another reason why I didn't want to go, besides the uncom, ful tac lift , but I woulin't tell Bob; fuMouldn't drive hiin off to the yand knew his generous heart so well, that I was sure lie would idsisabon-going, it he were aware of But--well, the truth is, in a word, I was in love, and I couldn't bear to leave my dainty Suy to fight the world alone-she was a intusic teach e gpoor t ing-for other felluws tQ fifl is.15' with. 4 ' However, I submitted, of course, to the lot, and made my preparations to go. It was a sadI heart that I bore around to Susy's roomns that night, and I couldn't bear to tell her; but, bless you! she no sooner saw my fape than she knew something was coming, and she braced herself up to * meet it before she asked me a ques tion. After we had spoken of the weather, and the book I had brought her ibie rday before, at last said qui etlyi '.Well, Ralph,- what is it? I know you have bad news for me." 'It's bad for me, Susy, and I'm *afraid it will be bad for you; though you know' I couldn't go on, and she spoke again, brave as she always was: ARalph, you know I'm used to mis fortunes. Tell me at once.' So I told her', and she boro it nobly S-ae' -I knew she0 would-though I was the only friend she had in San FFancisco, except her' pupils. PJ' I had thought of another plan to maTe. my going a little easier. That was, to make her' my wife be-' fojbI left, 8o as to leave her in the ,care of Rob, and relieve her from the hard ,1/'fq Dhe was living. A f'tWr''ome persuason, she consen t ed..to.it. g a, day or two afteward, we three-i had told Rob-wont into a quiet chur'ch, and Susy was given to rife to cherish and protect till e deMn6k 'am9elittle woman! ho w trust ingly she gave me her beart, and how bMl.L i ber! How ready I was 3df et mue go back. I took her t4'on* cozy boarding place, which 1N'gd4eed a home to uz, installed , ba.as:ta-mistre, made every pro vg'hTMa love.1could suggest for hew4omfor't, enjoyed the bliss of a fdaIinr hioneymoon, and then left I,needri't speak of that. It wias hard. I toll you. Ah, welll I'm an old man now older by sorrow than by years; but I I shall never forget the fresh, dainty < look of my darling, as I left her on I the steps that bitter day-a bride in ] the morning, a widow at night. And I never did forget it through all the < black years, though it seemed ab ] though the very memory of it would i drive me mad. Well, I went to the mines, and E tried faithfully, eagerly, for my heart i was longing to get back to her. But I I could not succeed. Mails were not t then established, so I did not hear i from my two dear ones; but all the f harder I toiled, for never a thought ( of doubt entered my mind. I was only too glad to have my dear broth- i r to care for her, and save her fror1 a'll rongh contact with the i world. Finding no luck in the mines., I ] determined to push on into the In. f dian country, and try a little hunting f and trapping-for that was good bu siness then. I succeeded a little i better at that, but wandered on, and i 1in1ally, came out at Frazer river, r where the gold excitement had brok.- f en out fiercely. f I don't know now whether it was a months or years-days and weeks i were alike to nie for a long time but at last. It was successful, and c got five thousand dollars in the yel low dust. Of course, my only thought i was of my wife, and I seized the !first Opportunity to send off the L A miner, going homo, willingly t took charge of my little pile, and soon I begun to look for letters. Rob's I could easily imagine-no.. ble, manly, like himself, Susy's I thought of, and tried to fancy, hun- f dreds of times, for I'd never had a < letter from her. I knew it would be j delicate and dainty, and like my pretty snowdrop. 'Well, well, fancies may do very well, but they won't feed a hungry heart. 'Day after day passed by, and no letters. My soul grew sick. I madeo all sorts of excuses for them. I im. agined all sorts of delays. But the long, dreary days went by with lead- L en feet, and not a word came to the wanderer. I grew morbid and bitter, and at last I wrote to an acquaintance in San n cisco, asking for tidings of my her and wife. The friend was not so neglectful as the wife and brother. Soon-too soon- I got a reply. -I can see it now, in letters of fire. 'My dear fellow,' it ran, 'I have made mnquiries, as you requested, about your wife and brother I can only find that they disappeared from here a fewv months ago, telling no one wheuce they wer'e going, but evident ly having plenty of money.' What mn-e the letter contained I fiever knew; that much of it wase burned into my brain, and at that point I lost myself. They do say I was a r av ing maniac. Perhbaps so, I don't know. I only know I found myself an old - man, blasted before my time, Ii koa S tree struck by lightning. Yet, I could not feel angry. IHow ~ could I blame him? Was I not mad to leave him, with his loving Iear't, I to care for a tender, young beauty t like my Susy? How could lhe help C loving her? Wasn't she all that was I lovely? IIe was not to blame, poor t fellow. And she? Did she not love me, and was lhe not my twin brother What so strange that, seeing his love, I shae should grow to return it? What should I (do? Should I search them out, and blast their lives forever? Should I come with my 6 ignoble revenge an'd tear her from f his arms? Would she love me for it? i Should I get back my ifan a brothet?ywieani Oh, no! I had been gone long enough o give her a divorce-she had un loubtedly got it, and was even now lis wife. His wifet Oh, God, and could livel Weeks, months, years, dragged mn. I scarcely knew they passed. gechanically, I worked on. Fortune, to longer sought, showered gold on ne. I cared naught for it, but In tinct prevented me from throwing t away. Gambling was utterly re )ugnant to me. No form of desig iation lured me. I an old, old man At thirty. I only worked and thought, Lnd lived over the old days-my >ne brief day of perfect joy. I never cursed them. The hurt ras too deep and too sharp for curs e. Froin the depths of my torn ieart I pitied them. Well, twenty years rolled on, and had got to be forty five years old, ecling and looking more like sixty ive, bent and stiff and gray haired. One pleaatial Christmas day, in my randerings, I came on a traveling )arty of miners, bound to the gold egions. I joined them, frontier ashion, and was soon seated at their ire, exchanging news of the Indians ,nd from the States. I chanced to ientioni my name. 'We've got a namesake of yours in amp,'said the fellow. 'Have you?' I said, carelesly. 'It m1't a common name.' 'No; and that's why it's odd,' said e. 'Besides, you somehow remind ]a of him, though you're much older han be. By the way,there te comes!' I turned-something, I knew not rbat, ohot through me; I rose, and :new my brother. My heart gave one great bound. I orgot my wrongs. I saw only my lear other self, ther companion of my >oyhood. I sprung forward. 'Robert! dear old l'oy! is it you?' He looked at me eagerly-incre ulously. 'Ralph! it can't be you!' 'It. is?' I cried, and-well, I don't now as I'm ashamed of it--I em raced him like a school girl, and vept. And so did he, poor fellow, thonzgh e could hardly believe the wrecked ld man was his brother. B3ut what struck me, eveni thern, ts trange, he aid not shrink from me or act as though he had injured mfe. "Robert," I said, then we were lone, and calmer, "I've forgiven you ng ago. We won't speak of the at-let me only be happy in the lies of seeing you once more. I'll ever come around to trouble you.' 'Forgive me?" he said, inquiringly I don't understand. You'll never rouble me-and we'll not speak of be past? Why didn't you write to s, Ralph! Your poor little wife" "Don't speak of her!I" I cried in udden agony. "I can bear anything Iso-spare me that." "But Ralph, there's somethinzg ery strange here. Why didn't yon at ns hear from you? Whby can't I peak of her? Sir.ce you are not dead -as we supposed-why did you de. ert her?" "Desert her I My God!1" and I iirly langhed. A horrible laugh, I dare say, for' lobert turned p)ale. I could see ho bonght I was mad. I resolved to ontrol myself, and since we must lave it out, talk it over. So after a urn or two, I came back, and stood y him once more. "Now, Robert, if there is any mis-. ake here, let us understand it at once. left you twenty years ago, in charge 4f my wife, ini San Francisco" "You did, and 1" "And you," I interrnpted, "Look ;ood care of her, and did not hear rom me; and she grew tired of wait ng, and loving a shadow; and you ,d you-loved her!" "Hold!" he shonteimis u ym. u.Az ing. "Who told you that infamous I lie?" t "And she," I went on, not heeding a him-"she grew faint and tired; and p she saw your love, and she-return- b ed it." Robert seized my arm as though f he would naurder me; but I wett on coolly: 1: "Hush till I have done. When you received the money I sent, you v were too far gone to go back. She ni got a divorce; you married her, and y left the city." 0 "And youl-you've believed this thing for twenty years?" he said y calmly now.though it was the calm- t ness of a smothered volcano. I "I have." n "You have for twenty long years t believed that your wife and brother ti were infamously false to you?" h1 "I have." "Then hear me, Ralph, while I I swear, "-and his form seemed to a fairly dilate, and grow grand as he a said-"solemnly that the whole story e is a most infamous falsehoodl That your wife is as true to you to day as m she was the day you left her twenty s< years agol" fi "What do you mean?" I cried, h frantically, overwhelmed by his man. a ner and his words. "What I do say, Ralph. Oh! there has been some damnable mistake!-- i Lear my story. After you left na, I d struggled on with the business, M though not succeeding very well.- s Susy drooped at first but soon grew cheerful, and begun to plan for your I return." I his words brought.the dear little s creature so plainly before my eyes, 4 that I sunk to the ground and cover- i ed my face. "As weeks and months and years passed on," he went on, slowly, "her cheeks grew thin and pale, and a hungry look came into her eyes. I c saw she was pining, and wrote letter after letter to you, but no word could we hear. Then came to mc in a sim- I' p)le envelope, directed to both of us, a C draft of five thousand dollars, wvith ' not a word to tell how or from whiomi ' it came. Of course we knew it was from you, but whether gitt or leg~acy, who could tell? We instituted new inquiries. Sothing that love could suggest wast left undone. At last we were forced C to conclude that you were~ dead. By ~ my advice the money was invested C in a farm some distance from San ~ Francisco, and Susy went to live on it, while I started out on a sort of' vagabond, wandering life, in hopes ' at least to find your grave-for we never believed you could be alive ~ these long years and never let us hear. That life I have lived for fit-- 3 teen years, returning once ini three or four years to see to the comfort of Susy; and now find you" "You find me," I inIterrup)tedl, "a wreck- a miserable wreek-who hias blasted three lives b)y his criminal weakness his childish credulity, in believing evil, and who will soon rid the earth of his presence," and I t star'ted to go, for varily despair had seized npon me. That I should have blieved that horror for so many years, and find it all a stupid mistake; that I should have thrown away my life, the bles eed love of my true wife, the warm affection of my brother, for an idle scanidall It was too much to endure- a Robert laid a detaining hand on v my arm. "But Susy, Ralph! what shall I say to the loving little woman who has suffered so muco for you?" U "Let her still believe mue dead," I (J said gloomily,. "liay, brother; let mec rather re- '1 o st"o you to her. Ralph, go home, ~ and let tus be so happy together as to p)ar'tly make uiP for these years' ofl I mnist akua. and error andl grief." Well, he nursuadeu~d me. and noi 1 was eager enough myself. Now be gold I had despised was valfable, a it could add to Susy's comfort. I 1athered it "up and we started for omO. Ilome! I 1rud not spoken the word )r fifteen years. As we wont, Robert tried to pro are me for a change in Susy, "She has had a life of sorrow as rell as you, Ralph, and you must re 2ember she isn't Ehe girl of eighteen ou left. She is nearly forty years Id. As I drew near, Iseemed to grow oung again, and I wanted to rush irough without a moment. But Lobert refused; and he-wanted to get le into civilized clothes, and under ie hands of a barber. Ilie couldn't ike such a wi'd man of the woods ome to the little, waiting wito. So we stopped a few hours in San 'rancisco. I had my long white hair nd beard trimmed, alid my dreas rranged to suit Robert, and hasten d on toward home. As we approached tile blessed spot heie my darling lived, I could arcely breathe, and. I dreaded to 'ighten her to death. In sight of the ouse, I sent Robert ahead to tell her nd I basely hid in the 6hrubbery, ,here I could look into -the window. There she was! the saino Tlainty gure-the same lovely tace; but ressed, oh, my Godl in widows Ceeds, and her bonny rown hai )rinkled with silver. I saw ,ber rapid, eager conversation saw the color come quickly to her ice, then leave it pale as death. , aw her turn to the door, aid fly. nd I sprang to meet her and nd Well, I can't tell about that. On hearing her story, I found that tobert bad left out the tale of his wn griefs. That he had warmly )ved a gentle girl, but never let her now it; had sacrificed his own hap inecss to sp)end life seeking me, and aring for my wife; that she had irried another, and Robert was >rced to see her tihe very unhappy life of a poor, miserable wvretchi. And what said the little woman, Ahen she knew that I had stayed way all these long years, ha.1 lf ed her lite, disappointed my brotle r's life love, muade deep misery for our, by my stup)id belief of a piece f gossip that, even to heair repeated, he shrunk from as though it would vither her? I always knewv she was n angel. She said, th oughi with umivering lips and tearful eyes: Dear Ral ph, let us not speak of it gain. It was a dreadful mistake. ~ut us be happy in the years we havi e 'et to live, aind leave it to another ife to adj ust the errors of this." A very searchinug inivestigation was arried on a few years ago in the {orth of England by two famnilies vIho were searching up their respc.. ive ancestry. The strife was great >etweeni them, each oneo determining o look back inito antiqu it ies further han the oth er. (Ono of' the families, vhtose niamen was Spencer, emplloyed n artis. to pint ant historic scene, op)reseniting the hbuilding~ of the ark nid the load ing up of the sip by {oah and his sons with its nmuhifa ious and varions cargo. On the ang-plankl loading to the deck of he ark two men were seen rolling up large box, on one side of wt ich ra painted in large letters, "Relics, risignia, andl( pap)ers belonginrg to the penceer familyv." Thtis was conisi eredl a coup a'etat hard to beat, but be other family, dletermnined not be utdone in t lhe antedeluL vian pretences f their niamet, prlepared at great cost nid research a rcCordl of their anti uity. In dlescribinig thweoxploits of ne of their ancestors, at a v'ery early ay', who was represenited as a man f sonme authority, this~ remarkable assage occurs: '"Durinig this year WHiRE A DRIER Silo, One of the anomalies in A.meria", eustoms is that of a driver of a; --. on sittihg on th right band idg while ie always tufns out right when passing anotber teq46- .. matterd* not whether &9' is 6:n the' broad, safe thoroughfare, or on a narrow lane, or crowded city streets, his serit is the same. Thus seated' i is very diffiCult to see the exposed wheels in passing those which,- rew quird the eye of the driver. Dubtless this is a pi-otinent cause of t many collisions betweei pasig, teams, and the wonder is that more do not happen. The custom- w*A brought over by the Pilgrims, bd like a Duich sentence the parts transposed in thd translati6d. A--a cros the pond the di-ivet- sit- to' the right, but always turned to thd le# In copying the practice we re' the useless part and changed tl)g, sential for some unexplailled rasqi Possibly otir fathers thought to. be consi6tent in the matter, and rathev' than be right handed in the .riv4do changed the atter to suit. At, lt events, the thing as now practiced is' 1very way inconvenient, and is, a worthy subject of reform in 'his yQar, when reforips are so uch iW ftavor. And since it is easier to change :our p(sition on the seat than , 04;. tho custom of turning to the> Tgbt let -us henceforth hand ourfiend,u to the right side :et the wagon, whIW we, as driver, take the opposite aid6l -Scientiffic American. - dli MASTERING VIcIOUs.HOss.--Yos, terday afternoon an exhibition was given at the corner of Ninth and How .1rdstre6ts 6f a new and very shple method of taming vicious horsoa, whifh is lained to be superior to any 11ni us.- The first triul was with a kiik-41 ing OV bucking mare which, her own* or atys, has allowed no rider,on heF back for fi#e years. She became tame' and gentle in as many minutes, and allowed herself to be ridden Iaboued without a sign' of the former wildness. The nmeans by which this result wa's aecomplished consists of a piece of light rope, which is passed around the' fronat'jaw of the mare, just above the' upper teeth, orossed in her mouth, ~'ndothen secured back of her neck. It as dlaimbd that n'o iioi'se will kick or Jutdup when thus' secured, and 'that a' bnidhing horse after receiving 'thiw' treatment a few times 'Will abandon' his vicious ways forever. A very simple method was also shown by which a kicking horse can be shod, 1t consists in connectinvg the animal'a head and tail by moans of a rope fast' oned to the tail and then to the bit, and drawn tightly enough to incline tho horse's head to one side. It is claimed that it is absolutely impossi blo for tho horse to kick on tho side of the rope. At the trial yesterday a horso which for years had to be bound on the ground to be shod, suffered the blacksmithu to operate upon him with-' out attempting to kick while secared in the manner described. Judgo Cooke has onjeined thed County Auditors of Anderson and Ab bovillo Counties, from entering the illegal tax levied by the Senate and Mackey House, on tho tax books. there will be no levying and collecting of taxes by auth)ority of the Chamber-' lain "bobs.talled" concern in the 8th Circuit sure. The religious editor of the New York 11eral mentions a minister who offered a ehromo to every one who would be conuverted under his preachd mng. A sermon in Barbadoes recent1f was closed thus: "My obstinaCions bredren,1I find it no more use to p)reachl to you dan it is for a grasso hop)per to wear kntee-breeches." To make the mrost of the good and the least of the evil of life is the best philosopbv of life.