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jf . \ ' - ' =SSgSg=5^S=SS! ''..., , , . . . , . sam'lw.MEiTON^Editor. } independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. $2peeahhumiiradvakceLEWIS flx. GRIST, Proprietor. J ? . . ... j?v.. :wVOT, 5 YOEKYILLE, S. O., THTJESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1859. NO. 35. v K7J-J- ? ?- ?SiiMm 'Willie fig|%arfs' WRITTEN FOR THE 1 "WHO IS 1 c THE 8ARX MYSTERY OF BY WILLIE* AUTHOR OF "LULA WOODSWORTH," "WINI SUN," "OLD HEADS AND CHAPTER IY. All within is dark as night: Id the windows is no light; And no murmur at the door So frequent on its hinge before. Close the door, the shutters close, Or through the windows we shall see The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark, deserted house. [Tknntson. Now, what is this that haunts me like my shadow, Frisking and mumming, like an elfin moonlight. [Ben Jonson. Wentworth seated himself upon the dusty floor a few moments until his eyes became, in some measure, accustomed to the sudden removal from sunlight into almost Egyptian darkness; then, with both hands extended, he felt his way along the walls of Ihe room until his feet struck against what proved to be the foot of a staircase. Seating himself here, he listened intently for the sound of voices, which he had heard before entering the house; but everything was as quiet as death, and no voice replied to his loud and frequent shouts. That he had heard the sound of human voices?that some person had actually screamed?he could not doubt for a moment.? Striking a match upon the floor and kindling some loose papers, he was enabled to obtain a partial view of the apartment in which he was so unexpectedly imprisoned. Curtains were hanging to the windows ; portraits were suspended around walls; the remains of a wood fire was upon the hearth; a half consumed candle lay upon the mantle, and a silver fork was sticking in the chair. "Wentworth gladly seized and lighted the candle; and, after examining the priming of his pistols, prepared to ascend the old mahogany stair-case and search the entire building. Arriving at the second story, he suddenly paused and started; for, apparently V f no great distance from him, he distinctly heard these words: "There's something in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by and by." <In the name of heaven ! who are you ?? where are you ?' shouted Wentworth, lifting the candle above his head, and looking in every direction. Echo alone replied?all else was dumb, and silent as the grave. Wentworth again seated himself. Was the hou=e really haunted by spirits of another world? Was such a thing possible 1 If not, from whence and from whom did these voices proceed? From a human being?? Why, then, was the house kept in continual darkness ??why were the doors and windows kept closed ??why no traces of foot prints near the door ? Was it possible, that men and women were living within these rooms, when cobwebs obstructed their passage every moment, and huge spiders lay nestled in every key-hole ??impossible ! ? Such were Wentworth's reflections, as he arose to his feet, and prepared to continue his search. He had already made several unsuccessful attempts to open the windows of the lower story ; there being some obstruction from the outside. Knowing, that his candle could not last many hours, and that be would need it at night if compelled to remain where he was, he proceeded at once v.;0 iinnn the window shutter IU LI JT 1110 owvugtM before him. To his great surprise the chatter was not bolted, nor were there any evidences about the window but such as went to prove that it had not long before been opened. There was no dust upon the outer part of the sill?no cobwebs about the frame and sash; and the bolt had evidently been oiled by the hand of some unknown person. He now felt satisfied, that some person was, or had been in the house, as it was at this window that Milton and himself had distinctly seen the figure of a person, as the party were approaching. Having made this discovery, and come to this conclusion, he threw the shutter wide open, and looked around him. He found himself in a long, and richly carpeted hall, with sis doors on either side, leading into the wings of the building. These doors he found to be all locked; and, after repeated attempts to open them, he turned disappointedly away?lighted his candle, and ascended another flight of stairs. More than once did he imagine, that he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall which he had just left?more than once did he lean over the banisters and listen intently to the strange sound that ever an anon came from below. Half crazed with these mysteries, and strange forebodings of he knew not what, he struck heavily upon the window shutter before him, and with one deafening crash it yielded?quivered and creaked upon its * * AAiirf Kolnnr rusty tnnges?men km iuwwv .., carrying its freight of ivy with it. No sooner had this been accomplished than the bell in the tower began to toll dismally; and, in spite of his self-possession and courage, Wentworth felt a cold shudder pass through his frame, and a sense of horror unnerve his heart. After the lapse of sometime he summoned courage enough to look cautiously around, when, to his surprise and delight, he observ^ ed that one of the doors were open, and i bunch of keys hanging to the one in the key hole. He entered the room, and by the help of his candle managed to find and open oni of the windows. The chamber in which he now found him ' original jtonklttk FORKVTLLE ENQUIRER. se heir r )R, THE DESERTED HOUSE. LIGIITHEART, HIE AND "WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OF THE YOUNG HEARTS," AC., AC. hogany chairs, with their seats of crimson velvet; the beautiful framed oil paintings; the snperb mantle ornaments and richly bound books upon the marblo-top center-table; the rich damask and lace curtains at the windows ; the gorgeous and velvety carpet beneath his feet; the massive chanderlier over his head; the soft and luxurious ottomans, sofas, and lounges, and the sleep-provoking ? ? .1 _r.i_ ? u j oea id iae corner, wiiaiisricururmiurettuu gauay curtains?were all object of interest to Wentworth. Yielding to the temptation, he threw himself upon the louDge; and, lighting a cigar, seemed for awhile to be buried in deep thought. 'Strange!' he exclaimed, putting aside the cigar, and refreshing himself with a draught of wine from his flash; 'strange, that I should find things thus! Eveiything is as I left it, though the house seems to have been utterly deserted for the past thirteen years. 'Ha! footsteps on the stairs again !' he suddenly exclaimed, starting to bis feet, and hurrying to the door. 'In the name of heaven ! who goes there !' he shouted ; but all was silent again, save the echo of his own voice. 'Who can it be ?' he said aloud, as he paced the carpeted room to and fro. 'If the house is and has been occupied by human beings, they certainly are singular or raving mad. How comes this room opened; and why should these keys be left in this particular door, unless it is made use of by some person V 'And this bed, too,' hecontinued, drawing aside the curtains, 'does not appear to have been oc heavens! how came this pillow pressed !?and wet, too, as I am a living man ! Aha! so there has been some one here, sure enough !?fine apartment, 'pon my word !' Wentworth was about to leave the apartment for the purpose of searching the other rooms when the old tower bell began slowly to toll again. 'I'll soon put an end to that nonsense,' said he, locking the door and putting the bunch of keys in his pocket. 'If I have to remain in the house for a month, I will do so cheerfully, sooner than leave it without clearing up all this mystery !' And so saying, he once more lighted his candle, and began to ascend the last flight of stairs. Arriving at the last floor he opened the window at the end of the passage, after which i. J.J : : 11 iV- J ue buucceueu IU upeuiug uu iuc uuura uu cither side. These rooms were quite destitute of furniture, and appeared to have been closed for a considerable length of time. 'Now for the tower!' said he, as be trimmed his candle, and prepared to ascend a narrow and dilapidated staircase. About half way on the stairs he paused to listen, and distinctly heard footsteps in the passage below, and a noise like unto the opening aud shutting of doors. For a moment or two he knew not whether to descend and endeavor to asertain the cause or these strange sounds, orto proceed to the belfry in the tower.? Concluding to do the latter, he again resumed the ascent, and finally reached the belfry. The clapper of the old bell was still moving ?the weather beaten roDe still ouiverine : but do human beiDg was there. Again did Wentworth feel a chilling sensation pass through his frame; for certainly no one had been able to leave the belfry and descend the stairs without meeting him on the way. 'Distraction !' he exclaimed aloud, drawing his pistol from his bosom; 'man, woman, fiend or devil?whatever and whoever you be?show thyself!' So saying he rushed madly down the stairs. To his utmost astonishment, the doors ard windows, which he had but just opened, were all closed. Scarcely knowing what to think, or how to act, he descended to the third floor, then to the second; finding every door and window closed, except the one whose shutter he had hurled into the court below. 'My candle cannothold out much longer,' said he, as he opened the window in the hall, and put out the remains of his candle. 'Ah!' he continued, 'here- are some doors which I have not opened yet; and, perhaps, some of these keys may gain me an admitance.' So saying, Wentworth approached the door nearest to him, and after considerable effort succeeded in his attempts to open it. As he entered the apartment and groped about in the darkness, in search of a window, a hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder, and a harsh voice almost screamed in his ear: 'Thou prince of villians, I warn thee to beware!' 'Who are you ?' asked Wentworth, throwing his arm wildly about. 'Speak or, by 1 heavens! I shall fire!' at:u? t ? *1,? p viauuv; I'jLiiiuuj x ?aiu tucc iu ucnaic replied the unknown, in a deep, sepulchral 1 tone of voice. ' ' Claude Milton /' repeated Wentworth, anxiously feeliDg along the wall for a wini dow, 'that is not my name.' > 'Thou liest!?deep, dark, bloody villian !' almost shrieked the invisble being. I 'I shall soon find out who it is, that dares i to address me thus,' replied "Wentworth, as his hand came in contact with the bolt of i one of the windows. 'Didst think to murder the boy, as thou > didst his poor mother??answer me that, 5 thou doubly-dyed viliian !' 'Boy! wh-wh-what boy??/ mur-der his mother/' said "Wentworth; and clutching voluntarily aloud. 'Thou mayst well groan, Claude Milton I' replied the invisible. 'Stop! you kn-kn-ow me not?I would ask thee somewhat?I-I-I?Oh! God ! can it be thus!' 'What woulds't thou ask ??thoci conscience-stung villian !' said che unknown. 'Th-th-the boy !?where? ? Hold ! I will open the window, that you may see me,' and Wentwortb, half frenzied by the horrible suggestion, and mysterious insinuations of the unknown being, sent the shutter quivering upon the hinges, and admitted the rays of the netting sun. To his sui-prise, there was no person in the room but himself; and, after a thorough search of the apartment, he threw himself upon an old leather;covered sofa and burst into tears. The long, and fatiguing journey from London to the 'Crowing Cock Inn'?the relation of Barney's singular adventure?the ' > -T\ i-J TT > travel to toe 'l/eserrea xiouae ?mc uuaucountable sights and sounds there?and the idea of being imprisoned in such a place? together with the fact of there being some invisible being under the same roof possessed of some terrible secret of the utmost imimportance to him?all these things so affect- 1 ed him that he could not for the life of him restrain his tears. i Was it all a dream ; or did he really hear I Claude Milton's name in connection with ' murder? Was the'boy'in the house, and ; if so, how did he get there and who is he? Such questions naturally occured to his mind, 1 as he reflected upon the mysterious language of the unknown. ' 'How is it,' said he, 'that this Milton is in possession of the key to this house ? Why ' has he closed the door upon me ? and what 1 did he mean by stating that young D'Vilton ' was living with him ? I cannot understand 1 it at all!' 'However,' he continued, starting to his feet, and looking out the window, 'the sun is gone, and my candle will burn not more . than an hour; so I will do the best I can, under these singular circumstances.' So saying, he closed the door and window of the room; and after placing his pistols and candle where he could reach them at a moments notice, he stretched his weary frame upon the old sofa, and prepared to pass the night as comfortably as circumstances would permit. , ****** Of course the intelligent reader expects j an explanation of the strange sounds heard, and the wonderful things done, in the 'Deserted House.' Perhaps, the more careful and attentive portion of readers have alrea- . T7 tinrairplpd ih*? nnnnrpnt mvstprr ? hilt. fit. VJ rr J J J ~ j the risk of being thought tedious, we invite you to a brief retrospect. Jim, the match-vender, after rescuing Rosa from drowning, walked immediate- i ly home. That home?if home it could be i called?was beneath the roof of a small tavern, known as the 'Red Lion Inn,' and kept , by an old man named Pete Muggins, or 1 'one-eyed Peter.' This Pete Muggins was blessed with a worthy and frugal wife, well known in Monctown by the rather strange 1 title of 'our Bessie.' ; Jim could not remember the time when he did not live beneath this roof; and to all ] inquires as to hoto be got there, Bessie would reply : 'The good Lord sent ye, my bonny bairn!' The true version of the story, however, was something like this: thirteen years prior to the time when our story opens, Bessie was returning, rather late in the evening, from a 'harvesting,' held some miles from Monctown, when she stumbled against a basket lying on the roadside. Upon examination she discovered that an infant was lying in the basket, either asleep, drugged, or < dead. She took it home?leaving the has- i ket where it was?and succeeded in res- 1 toring the infant to consciousness. Hav- i ing no child of her own, she persuaded her 1 husband to adopt the little stranger as a son; and in this way did Jim get into the 'Red 1 Lion Inn.' Many and many a time during the thirteen < years that the beautiful boy lived with the hon- i est and worthy couple, had they wondered ' who he was. Pete Muggins swore that he was the child of some 'misguided and sinful 1 woman,' and gave it as his opinion, that the 'onnatural mother' would come to no good; while Bessie, who had consulted the fortuneteller, declared most positively that 'bonny i Jim was no bastard. There was a most magnificent bracelet found upon the right ankle of Jim, when he was first brought 10 the house ; and this piece of jewelry Bessie had shown to every new customer that came into the tavern, in hope of finding one among the many, who would recognize and claim it.? So much by way of preface?let us return to our little hero, whom we have just seen entering the 'Red Lion Inn,' after Rosa's rescue had taken place. 'Why, Jim!' exclaimed Bessie, throwing her arms around the neck of the boy, and looking enquiringly upon his wet garments, 'where have ye been all the morning??what line hnnnpned to niv bairn ?'* ?rr J Been selling matches?got two crowns, a sound thrashing, and a good ducking,' replied Jim, throwing his cap upon the floor. 'What!!!' exclaimed Pete, with an emphasis which cannot be expressed by the pen, lyou been thrashed and ducked V 'And have I not begged ye, Jim, not to be making a common match boy of yourself, and getting into bod company?' said Bessie. <1 wish I were a man !' said Jim, kicking his hat. 'What ails the boy !' said Bessie, looking anxiously upon him. 'Who was it, that dared to thrash you, Jim ?' asked Pete, going up to the boy, and taking his hand. 'It don't matter,' replied Jim with quivering lip, and flashing eyes. 'But it docs matter!' said Pete, striking his ?9t upon the table. 'If I can find the ducked you, I'll break every bone in his body!' 'Nobody ducked me/ said Jim. 'How did you get so wet, by bairn ?' asked Bessie. 'A little girl fell into the river,Jand I jumped in after her/ be replied. 'Who ??and did ye save the child ? Tell us all about it, my brave lad !' said Bessie. 'Ye were not thrashed for saving the gal, I hope/ said Pete. 'Of course he was not/ said Bessie. 'Let the boy speak for himself?go on, Jim.' Jim then related 1fbat had taken place during his absence; for the particulars of which, wo refer the reader to the first chapter. Pete and Bessie grew very angry upon hearing of the cruel treatment which Jim i i ;?j -a I J_ n it naa receiveu ai iue uuuub ui uxurge * iuidry, and it was fortunate for that gentleman, that his name was not known. The ungrateful manner in which Rosa's mother had acted towards Jim, in allowing him to leave the scene of action without rewarding him with even her thanks, struck the worthy pair as 'one of the most infamous things' which they had heard of in 'all their born days.' The strange interest which old Loo had manifested in the welfare of the boy, together with the mysterious language in which she had addressed him in relation to his future life, seemed to give Pete and Bessie much uneasiness, and to beget painful apprehensions for his safety. 'And she actually told you, that she knew who your parents are ?' asked Pete. 'Not exactly so,' replied Jim ; 'but, as I told you before, she said, that I didn't know my own mother and father?told me to be careful in the choice of my friends; to ?top selling matches, and leave the place where I had been living; to try to get in education, as my position in life would 3ne day be far different from what it now is.' 'Devilish strange!' said Pete, scratching bis head, and looking into the fire-place. 'Mercy on us!' said Bessie, wiping her 3yes with the corner of the table-cloth; 'what Joes she mean by saying that your life is in ianger.' 'Why Bessie!' said Jim, reprovingly, 'don't you think me old enough to take care 3f myself?' 'Bravo !' exclaimed Pete, wiping a tear from his eye; (I suppose he would have wiped both, provided he had more than one) ^bravo!?that's the kind of talk, Jim !' 'Now, Pete?dear Pete!?what's the use jf crying ?' said Jim, placing his hand upon ihe broad shoulder of the worthy man, and looking affectionatelv into his honest old * face. 'You aint going to leave us Jim ??are pou ?' asked Bessie. 'I ha-hate to do so,' replied the boy, with i quivering lip; 'but, somehow or other, I feel like I ought to.' 'Wouldn't leave old Pete ??would you, Tim ?' asked Pete, as he brushed a tear from bis cheek. 'Old Loo says that I must,' replied Jim. 'The devil fly away with the senseless bag !?what are you to do for a living after you leave us ?' said Pete. 'I can get something or other to do/ replied Jim. ' You get something to do !?as if them white hands were made to work like common folks!' said Bessie. 'I'm not ashamed of working for a living, iear Bessie,' said Jim. 'I am ashamed of iepending for support upon two such good people as you and Pete. What do I care ibout my hands being white !?pshaw ! that's nothing to boast of!?that wont keep me alive, unless I use them.' 'Jim/ said Pete, 'you shouldn't talk about iepending upon us for a support, because pi/mi Trnrtirr fViof oinf fliA fi?nfV? A 1 n f w/mi |fUU Auun iwuw ??uu I/UC uuiu. iiiuii jfuu been selling matches for the last five months ; ind didn't you make Bessie take more than balf of the money ?' 'Yes; but that don't pay for almost thirteen years board,' said Jim. 'Board !?haven't we adopted you as our awn son; and don't we love you enough to share our little with you V asked Pete, pressing the boy's hand. 'And don't I love you and Bessie enough to learn a trade, so that I can support you when you get too old to keep the Inn ?' asked Jim. 'God bless you !' exclaimed Bessie, kissing the flushed cheek of the beautiful boy; 'I shall live to see you proved as a gentleman's son yet.' A loud rap at the door here interrupted the conversation; and before Pete could arise from his seat, who should stalk into the room but old Loo, herself. 'Peace to all under this roof!' said she, seating herself upcn the bench beside the window, and placing her basket upon the table. Pete and Bessie involuntarily crossed themselves; and being completely dumbfounded at Loo's sudden, and unexpected appearance, could not utter a word. 'Do you wan't to die boy ?' she asked, fixing her large black eyes upon Jim. Pete and Bessie started, and looked uneasily upon Jim. 'If you want to die, just keep on them wet clothes,' said Loo. 'Go up stairs, Jim, and change your clothes ?I ought to have thought of that before,' said Bessie; glad of an opportunity to get him out of the room. Ti'm nknnn/1 nnf ^rtnrntrfli' TXTlfVlrttlf t/ILLI ^lauijr U'JCJCU j uisvj uun&tui j nivuvuv whispering to Bessie, as he passed beside her: 'Don't speak harshly to her.' 'Our Bessie did not use to be afraid of old Loo,' said the r.ew comer, as if speaking to herself. 'My good woman,' said Pete, 'we do not fear?it is not fear that occasioned our silence.' 'That's right!' replied Loo. 'You love Jim?don't you ?' 'Ye need not ask that question,' said Pete; 'And would you be willing to sacrifice something for his future good V 'Anything and everything !' said Bessie, warmly. 'Dod rot it all!' exclaimed Pete, throwing his old hat upon the floor, and striking his hand upon his knee,- 'if I wouldn't give my last drop 'o blood for Jim's good, I hope I may be shot!' 'Well,' said old Loo, filling her pipe with tobacco, 'I must have the boy for a few days? 'The Lord help us!' said Bessie." 'There's something in this London newspaper of great importance to the boy,' she said; and so saying, she held up a copy of the well known London Timet. 'What! you intend to take him away off there V asked Pete. 'Off where V asked Loo. 'London.' 'No, man; I only want him to go with me to the Deserted House,' replied Loo. 'The Deserted House !' exclaimed Bessie. taming pale as death, <1 wouldn't have him go there for a world of gold.' 'But I wish 'him to go 1' said old Loo, looking sternly upon Bessie; 'and I intend to take him there, with or without your consent.' <Ge shall not go!' said Pete stamping his feet. 'Shall not ??who dare use such language to Loo ?' said the strange woman ; her brow growing dark as the shadow of death. 'Say to the mountain-torrent, thou shalt not flow into the valley!?say to the river, thou shalt not give thy waters to the sea! but tell me not what I shall or shall not do!' and so saying, old Loo, arose from her seat and paced the room with rapid strides. 'But, Loo,' said Bessie, 'why do you wish to take him to the old deserted house ?' 'It is of the utmost importance to him that he accompany me there,' replied Loo. 'And will ye soon bring him back ?' asked Pete. 'I, or his father may do so in a few days,' said Loo. 'His father /' exclaimed Bessie, starting. 'I have said it,' replied Loo, taking up her basket and preparing to leave. 'But?stop a moment, Loo!?are you sure, that you know his father ?' asked Pete. 'I am about to leave?call Jim;' said Loo, paying no attention to Pete's question. 'But Loo?.' 'Call the boy!' almost screamed the strange woman : stamping her feet and moving her arms wildly about. 'But?.' 'Call the boy, I tell you!' said Loo. 'His time is almost come?I feel it here!'?placing her hand upon her heart?'and if you fear the doom of murderers, let the child follow me at once!' 'Murderers!' repeated Bessie; 'In the name o' heaven what do ye mean ?' <JL command you to call the boy! said Loo, with flashing eyes and heaving bosom. 'Durn me, if I do !' exclaimed Pete, passionately. 'Mark me!' said Loo, erecting her tall form, and lifting her arms above ber head ; 'there stands before you one who knows that the mother of Jim has been murdered!? How came that murdered woman's son beneath this roof? How came her bracelet in your possession ? Why do you fear to have the boy see his father ? Are you guilty of his mother's blood ??answer me that!' Pete and Bessie were so overwhelmed by these terrible and unexpected questions, that they could only gaze speechlessly in each other's faces. 'Well, well;' continued Loo, 'I shall see his father soon; and when he hears that his boy is under this roof, think ye that he will not want to know how he came there??I have said all!' And so saying Loo moved towards the door. 'Stop !' said Pete, running between the dnnr and flip atrancrp nnmnn * lif top lpf: t.hp boy go with you, do you promise that no barm shall befall him?r 'I promise it!' 'And will ye tell his father how we found him, and?.' 'Fear not the consequences/ said Loo. 'Only let the boy go with me; and tell no one where he has gone, and all shall turn out well to all parties.' 'Loo/ said Bessie, taking the withered hand of the fortune-teller, 'if ye only knew how we loved the lad Here the kind hearted Bessie burst into tears, and laid her head upon the shoulder of Loo; sobbing as if her heart would break. <1 know what ye would say/ said Loo, gently lifting Bessie's head from her shoulder; while her whole frame shook in the effort to restrain her feelings. 'I am nothing but a poor, despised and outcast woman.? Men, women and children avoid me as I pass through these streets, and speak of me in whisners as I rest unon the wavside. The hag, witch, devil, and fortune-teller are what the poor peasants call me at their firesides ?oh ! it was not always thus !' And so saying the strange woman turned towards the window as if unwilling to exhibit the tempest of emotion which was raging in the great and noble heart pulsating beneath those tattered rags. 'You are afraid/ she continued, 'to trust the 'old hag' with Jim?afraid that the old fortune-teller may harm him?that's why you weep, Bessie. Oh! if you knew all!? but, call Jim.' It is unnecessary to multiply sentences? after much persuasion on the part of Loo, the worthy couple reluctantly consented to her wishes, and Jim at once set out for the 'Deserted House,' accompanied by the strange fortune-teller. The morning after Jim's departure, conspicuous advertisements appeared in the two newspapers of Monctown, to the effect that one hundred pounds would be given to a lad called Jim, if he would call upon George Yandry, and prove himself to be the boy that saved his daughter, Rosa, from a watery The next morning another advertisement appeared; offering a large reward to any person or persons, who would give information as to the whereabouts of a lad, commonly known as Jim. Barney, a poor Irish mechanic, beiDg in want of funds, immediately offered himself to Mr. Yandry, and promised, for a pecuniary consideration, to find the lad, and bring him to the advert:ser,s residence. Mr. Yandry gladly accepted his proffered services; and Barney at once prooeeded to search for the missing lad. Being unsuccessful in town, and bearing from several persons, that a boy was seen with old Loo, he hired a horse, and immediately set out for the cabin of the much dreaded old woman, in hopes of obtaining some information in that quarter. The adventures of Barney, as related in another chanter, are alreadv known to the I 1 / * reader; and the fact of Loo's presence at the 'Deserted House' will sufficiently explain the marvelous sights, sounds and wonders which poor Barney heard and saw. There was a secret passage from the 'Deserted House' to a thickly wooded forest in the rear. This passage being subterane&n, Loo?after giving Barney such a serious fright?made her way through it, unobserved ; and arrived at her cabin before the frightened and superstitious Irishman could possibly reach it. The open window, (as seen by Wentworth, Jude, and Milton the next morning) the | mysterious screams, strange sounds, and tolling bell, can all be accounted for in the same way. [TO BE CONTINUED.] S&"* Do you read the Enquiber ? Certainly I do. Are you a subscriber? No! How do you get it ? Why, I borrow of my neighbors. (tripal papers. For the Yorkville Enquirer. tbu8t in god. BY MAUD IBVI3Q. If affliction round thee fling Her mantle, dark and drear; If suffering, want and grief Should ever hover near; If all thy joys have fled, And all thy hopes be dead, "Trust in God. If friendship's been to thee But as a passing breath; Driving ' rightly for an hour, Then gone for aye in death ; If all thy friends have fled, Let not thy heart be dead, But "trust in God." If the one thou fondly lovest Hath broken every vow; And caused thy heart to moorn, And paler made thy brow, 0, give not sorrow sway, Wipe the falling tear away, And "trust in God." If a cold and selfish world Fail to love thee now; Mourn not, for soon will rest Fame's wreath upon thy brow; And then they'll bow before thy shrine And qnote the words that are thine? Still "trust in God." Written for the Yorkrille Enquirer. SNATCHES FROM BUSY MOMENTS. BY AUNT MARY. BABY'S DEAD. Baby's dead ! Od the table, in the parlor, lies the little marble figure. Sickness bad not time to rob her limbs of their round- { ess, or to sharpen the dear little face, for the angel called her to come quickly; and we would think she slept, if it were not for the colorless face and the icy touch. The house is very still and the children gather round; and, too young for tears, stand in awe by the side of the pale mother, as she arranges with a lingering fondness, the folds of the baby's dress, straightens the little cap, and places the flowers on her angel child. , What love, what memories are in her breast! But a few weeks ago and the little form was placed in her arms, and who but a mother can understand the gratcfnl utterance of the cry: 'Thank God for my Baby!' Then, the father's pride, as he gazed upon his child, and caressed her ; the children's joyful wonder in the mysterious stranger; and, as returning strength allowed her to attend to a mother's duties, ere burdened with household care, the quiet happiness of her room with only 'Baby.' How she loved to feel the little velvet cheek pressed against her own, or nestle the dear head on her bosom ; the murmuring 'crowing,' the low soft lullaby, the gentle pressure, were all voices of love that baby understood and blessed. But baby's mission is soon ended. She taught her lesson of love for a little while ?taught a lesson of gratitude and praise, or.fl then went t,n 'Our Father.' to comnlete her mssion by adding a lesson of faith. It is hard to be torn from our own members and feel no pain, and who can tell the agony of the mother, as she holds all that is left of baby, against her weeping breast. Who can describe the yearning love that almost bursts her heart as she cries, 'Baby, Baby darling ! mother will come.' But there is one by her side who mourns not only for her, but with her ; and the mother is roused from her great woe to comfort him, and the weeping Rachel, hushing her grief to rest, catches the spirit of her angel child as she becomes the consoler, and whispers of the love that gave the blessing, and with a yet stronger faith of the love that called it back; of Him who said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me;' and, who entering their dwelling, gently laid His hand upmmmmm clasp of the mother's arma; from the tenderness of a father^ care, took her from tears to glory; from pain, to a joy unspeakable; from a wilderness, to heaven. And they bury the dead and the father is comforted; and the mother?has Bhe buried her grief with her little one ? Is her baby dead * No: her child lives transfigured, not blighted. She has more than that little violet mound in the cemetery to comfort her. Bow many sweet and tender associations cluster around baby's memory! The little angel, 'entertained unawares/ is now a link to the very throne of God; borne for a little while in her arms, to be transferred to her Saviour's; and the Comforter brings fruit from the ground watered by tears, and the heart that so sadly, yet so quietly mourns for the ohild that is now dust, is drawn upward to think of the little one who is beholding the face of our Father in heaven; and those who understand not the mother's yearning love, her child-like faith, think she has forgotten, as they watoh the patient smile with which she hears them in after years whisper?1'Baby's Dead/ "would Your Mr. Editor:?The following little eero has been lying in my portfolio for a long time; and, fearing that I may lose it, I have ventured to send it to you fcr re-publication. Everybody but old baohelors will read and admire it, I am confident. The author's name is?well, I don't know. (&. < Baby crowing od yonr knee, While yon sing some little ditty, Polls your hair or thumbs yon* Would yon think it wasn't pretty ? Tell me, conld yon ? If you owned "the baby," would you? Wife, with arm abont yonr neck, Says yon look jnst like the baby; Want's some cash to make a "spec" And yon would refuse her?maybe? Could yon ? should yon? If yon owned "the woman," would you Little labor, little strife, .< ^ Little care, and little cot; . Wonld you sigh for single life ? Wonld yon mnrmnr at your lot? Tell me, should you? If you owned "the cottage," would yoa? Health and comforts,-children fair, Wife to meet you at the door, Fond hearts throbbing for you there; Tell me, would you ask for more ? Should you ? could you ? If you owned "the ready," would you? A Converted Ball-room.?Hie Memphis Advocate, publishes a letter from Rev. W. H. Gilliam, giving an account of a revival in Harapstead, Texas. He says:?For three successive nights we had to contend with opposition balls, which came off in a room adjoining the house we occupied for worship. The music and daneing were as distinct aa the preaching. Our congregations, however, increased. One night we were':Wftlted on by three men, who represented tfc$Mselves as a committee appointed by the authorities controlling the house, to ask as to desist? Their pretensions, however, turned out to be false, and we continued there. After a week of continued labor and prayer, for there were only a few faithful souls, the power -of Almighty God came down upon the people, and we had <a time long to he remenbered/ The most remarkable circumstance conneci ,1 mi i it .1 " _ y ted witn it is tms: 1 tie d&ti room 10 toe commencement, was purchased before the meeting closed for a Methodist Church; and some of the dancing party were at the altar for prayer. This occurrence has greatly encouraged me in the labors for the promotiou of the cause of Christ. Every day I live I am more and more convinced of the adaptation of Methodist economy to the universal wants of the world. And in no country are its practical workings better illustrated than in Texas. Grasshoppers becoming a Burden.? Accounts of railroad accidents and of obstructions on railroad tracks are common occurrences. But, according to a correspondent of the New York Evening Post, an occurrence has happened on the Borne and Watertown Railroad, differing from anything ever heard of. The obstruction consisted of an army of grasshoppers, which had collected on the rails during the night, and at a point where it was up grade, seemingly taking advantage of the Iron Horse, and actually causing the train to stop. Secretary Floyd.?We are gratified to be able to state, says the Washington States, that the health of Secretary Floyd is much improved, and that in a very short time he will resume his duties at the War Department. There is no probability of bis retire meet from the Cabinet, and it is doubtful whether Mr. Buchanan would accept hi* resignation, even if Governor Floyd was to press it strongly upon him. Mr. Buchanan desires no change in bis Cabinet during the remainder of bis Presidential term. New Cotton.?The Winnsboro Reguter, of the 25th instant, says the first bale of new cotton was sold in that market, yesterday, to J. H. Catbcart, at 11.70 cents. It was picked near Gladden's Grove, by W. J. Price. It is of middling fair quality. The Chester Standard says there was a bale of new cotton in that town, on last Saturday, the 20th instant from the plantation of Mr. Carter, on Broad Kiver. JenSy Lind an Episcopalian.?Jenny Lind Goldschmidt is a member of the Episcopal Church of St. John, in the Parish of Putney, London. The Bishop of London nnncoorofof] tVlD on/1 M lcucuwijr vvu?vva?*w** vmv/ vwiuvv, auu i'xi. Otto Goldschmidt has undertaken to act gratuitously as organist for one year. ' Newspaper Puffs.?The 'local' of one of our country exchanges gives the following schedule of tolls for the benefit of those who need and seek after "puffs For a modest puff 3 juleps. A tolerably good one 1 box cigars. A good one .1 pair boots. A very good one 1 vest and 2 shirts. A "splendid" one ?1 cloth coat.