Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, September 01, 1859, Image 1
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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.