Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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' ' *- - - ' - ...... ' i i i?i ? i . "lu . 11 i m ... , i 1 , i i ~ i i . "**" 1 1 ==-! ?====5=ggBgg^BegggegBS!a!g^eBrii^^ iewib^' ^eisifproprstor } An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. |$s pee anntjm ih abvahce. VOL..5^S ' - - - YORKVILLE, 8. P., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER &7l859.'r" : J,.. "WMik WRITTEN FOR THE T "Wiiir is I . v- ,, ?.a ?v. ?< '""M ' -w ? C THE DARK MYSTERY OF by willie"! AUTHOR OF "LULA WOODSWORTH," "WINK SUN," "OLD HEADS AND CHAPTER V. "Diseases, desperate grown, By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all." . "Famine is in. thy cheeks, Need and Oppression starveth ia thy eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, The world is not thy Friend, nor the world's law.". We stated, towards the close of the last chapter, that' the unacconntable noises heard at the Deserted House by Wentworth, were occasioned by the presence of old Loo and Jim; the latter having been taken there to see his father. It will he remembered, by the- attentive reader, how old Loo addressed Wentworth in the library?being under the impression that she was speaking to Claude Milton, who had occasionally visited the old house in times past. It will also he remembered, that, when Wentworth succeeded in opening the window of the library, there was no person present beside himself; old Loo having availed herself of the darkness to glide noiselessly out of the room. ?Have you found out who it is, Loo?' asked Jim, trembling with Tear and apprehension. , <Who should it be but Claude Milton V replied Loo, locking the door,- and seating herself beside the boy. 'He alone has the means of entrance to this boose; bat never before has he' dared to venture himself in the upper rooms. In all his mysterious visits, I have been able to keep him in the lower rooms by tolling the tower bell, screaming, and making all imaginable kind of noises, thus leading him to believe that the building is haunted.' '"Where is he now?' asked Jim. 'He has looked himself in the library, as if he purposed spending the night under this roof,' replied Loo, looking anxiously upon Jim. Jim remained silent a few moments, as if in deep thought; tbeo, taking the hand of his strange companion, and looking full in her face, he said: 'Who is Ciaude Milton ? and why were you afraid of him." 'He?but I dare not answer your questions !' replied Loo, looking cautiously around. , ... 'Does be own this house?' asked Jim. 'No,' said Loo, rising from her seat and pacingthe room distractedly. 'And you say that he ooman here often ?' 'Yes,' replied Loo, continuing to paoe the room. v 'What does he come for ?' asked Jim ; his curiosity being now fully aroused. 'God only knows,' said Loo. 'Does he stay all nieht?' 'I never knew him to do so before ?' 'What makes him stay here to-night then ?' asked Jim. 'Silence !' said Loo; stamping her feet. 'How am I to know what the villian's intentions are!' 'Yillian !' replied Jim, starting to his foot. 'Why did you bringme here when you knew, all this?' Loo made no reply. 'Did you not promise to Be?sie and Pete, that you would show me my father ??and now you just keep me in this dark house among villians; and don't give me anything to eat beside.' 'Poor boy !' exolaimed Loo, still pacing the room. 'Look here, Loo !' said Jim dashing the tears from his eyes, and clenching his fists, 'how long are you going to K-ep me here ?' j Till time is ripe,' replied Ipo. 'Well, if time don't get ripe right soon, I'll find out some way of leaving this old prison !' said the boy passionately.' 'Patience !' said Loo, sternly. 'Its all very well for you to talk that way, Loo; but it ain't so easy to have patience when a fellow's shut up in a dark room, and wont tell him a single thing?pshaw! I hate such doings!' ... 'Julius?distraction ! I mean Jim?.' Loo, buried her face in the folds of her cloak and groaned aloud. 'What do you want to say to me, Loo?' asked Jim. 'Stop!?I shall soon, soon be better?I will soon, soon? 'Are you sick, Loo?' asked the boy, drawing the cloak from the face of the sineular woman. 'My poor boy !' said Loo, 'I am heartsick odIj ; but never mind about that!? you speak of being kept here in darkness, and ignorance of my intentions. Necessity compels me to treat you thus at present; but if you have not sufficient confidence in my friendship to trust where you cannot understand, I will this moment take you back to Monctown?come on !' But,' said Jim, placing his back against the door, and facing old Loo, 'are you not going to show me my father, or, at least, tell me who he is, and where I can find him ?' 'If I am not mistaken,' replied Loo, 'your father is even now on the road. He arrived in London some days ago; and the stage driver informed me yesterday, that two gentlemen came from London in his coach and stopped at the 'Crowing Cock Inn" last night, with the intention of resuming the journey to Monctown this day.' 'But Loo,' said Jim, 'how in the world do you know my father from any other gentleman ? or why did you not let me stay in Monctown if he intends going there ?' I ? , _ ... ' ; , ^ ' -v ?: :?: : ; :?: ' Original Jtanfektfe. OREVILLE ENQUIRER. IE HEIRf ' H, . j - < . . THE DESERTED HOUSE. tJGHTHEART, (IE AND WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OF THE YOUNG HEART8," 40., 4C. 'Jim, this building belongs to, and was formerly occupied by your father. On his way to Monctown he will no doubt come here; and I will then present him with his long lost son.' 'What! the 'Deserted House' belongs to my father ??what did you say his name is V 'Edward D'Vilton,' replied Loo. 'D'Vilton !' said Jim, as if the name was not altogether strange to him, 'where did'I hear that name V After some reflection, he started and exclaimed : 'Oh ! now I recol1?4. i t ? ? ~.:,4?i? v lect ?JUUU, juu cue iuidut&uuj unci ?wi> _ 'What do you mean Jim ?' asked Loo. 'D'Vilton is not my father, at all,' said Jim with a disappointed air. <The little girl that I saved from drowning, told me about a boy named Julius D'Vilton, who was found when an infant?.' (How did the finder know the foundling's name V asked Loo. (The name was in the basket, together with some papers, and a lot of money,' said Jim. 'Did Rosa tell you this?' asked Loo, somewhat uneasily. (Yes.' (Well Jim,' said Loo, after some momenta silence,' I do not believe that any such papers were found. I am aware, that two male infants were found about thirteen years ago?that one of them has been known in Monetown by the name of Julius D'Vilton, and the other goes by the name of Jim. I have heard the story about the moDey and papers being found in the basket of the former, and have often seen the lad during the past year. You were found with a bracelet around your ankle?that bracelet once belonged to the wife of Edward D'Vilton and will be recognized at a glance by her husband. How come that bracelctaround your ankle; and how does it come to pass, that you bear so striking a resemblance to Charlotte D'Vilton ??this mystery must and shall be solved!' (But Loo,' said Jim, brushing a tear from his cheek, 'suppose this Edward D'Vilton says that these papers are his; what will become of me, even though I have the bracelet to show?' 'My dear boy,' said Loo, 'I do not believe, that D'Vilton wrote those papers. Claude Milton thought that D'Vilton was lost at sea?perhaps he thinks so still?and those papers were no doubt written by himself so as to obtain the possession of a large estate by means of the boy, whom he calls Julius.' 'If that's so, Milton will not dare to show the papers to D'Vilton; and my bracelet will be proof that I am his son?will it not.' . 'The bracelet, and the striking likeness to poor Charlotte, will, I think, fully satisfy D'Vilton,' said Loo. * 'Why do you say, poor Charlotte V asked Jim. 'I do not know, that I should tell you yet, Jim,' replied Loo. 'If you really know so much about my parents,' said Jim, 'I do not see why you should hide anything from me.' 'The story is a dark and terrible one, Jim; but as we intend to remain here all night, perhaps I should avail myself of the opportunity furnished by Providence, and draw the veil aside which hides the past, and makes this old building a terror to all the country.' 'Are we to be here all night again, without a light and something to eat ?' asked Jim, yawning. 'Would you be afraid to remain here, alone for an hour ?' asked Loo. 'Alone!?for what?' asked Jim, much surprised. 'I can run over to the cabin and get some food for you,' said Loo. 'Will I be quite safe here ?' 'Quite safe. Milton does not know the secret passage to this appartment,' said Loo 'But how can you get out without his knowing it ?' asked Jim. 'Do not fear about that?shall I go?' 'I suppose, that you must, Loo; for I am too weak and hungry to stay here all night without a single thing to eat; but do hurry , DacK, as l snail ne very ioueiy in this dart room.' ( <God be with you!' said Loo, pressing the , boy's hand : and the next moment Jim was alone. Seating himself upon an old chest, and . drawing Loo's old cloak around him, Jim concluded to take a brief nap until his com- ' panion returned from her cabin, lie had just dozed off into a comfortable nap, when a heavy footfall at the door caused him to ^ start to his feet. In so doing his hand came in contact with some article of crockery, which fell to the floor with a loud crash.? For a moment after, all was silent as death, j t:? x vi; xi_ _ ? ?j-x ? auu puur o ilu aioou iremoiiug id me miasi of the room, fearing to make the least movement. 1 A moment after, a bright light streamed through a crevice near to which he stood.? ' Jim rubbed his eyes and started back as he * perceived the crevice growing wider and wider, as if the wall was actually opening before him ; when, to his utter astonishment, 1 a hand was thrust through the opening and ^ the pannel was elided noiselessly aside.? Two men and a handsome lad then stepped j within the room and stood before the trem- a bling and dumbfounded boy. i <In God's name 1 who are you ?' asked one of the party, trembling from head to foot. 'Jim, sir,'- replied the boy. <How did you get into this house V 'Old Loo brought me here, sir,' replied Jim. i 'Loo I?ha 1 this looks wondrous strange ! ' said the speaker turning to Jude. ?Do you know where the old hag is? and why she has locked you up here V asked Milton; for such was the first speaker. She brought me here to see my father, sir,' replied Jim. c Your father !' exclaimed Milton, staggering backwards; (icho is your father?' 'Edward D'Vilton, sir.' 'Curse thee I?thou doubly damned villian !' exclaimed Milton, turning furiously upon Jude, 'what does all this mean ?' t 1 _ il 1_ X !i ii 1! .j t? j. X-X-Know noming booth id t ropiuju o uuts i gazing with a vacant stare in the face of Jim. i 'If the grave has given up its dead, [cannot help it!' The party gazed silently upon the beautiful boy a few moments; when Milton, taking his hand said ; 'Are you indeed the son of Edward D'Vilton?' Old Loo says so,' replied Jim, instinctively snatching his hand from the grasp of Milton. 'Is anyone in this house beside yourself?' asked Milton. 'Yes, sir; Claude Milton is in the library up stairs,' said Jim. 'How do you know that?' asked Milton, exchanging glances with Jude. 'Old Loo saw him, sir; and says that he often comes to this house.' 'Indeed ??why did you not see him too ?' asked Milton. 'Oh sir! he is snch a strange man, and such a villian too, that .' 'Why then do you remain here??your father is in Monctown,' said iVIiltoD. - 'In Monctown !?and I been waiting for him here ever since day before yesterday !' said Jim. '"Would it not be well,' said Juds, 'to let your coachman drive the carriage to Monctown, and bring Mr. D'Vilton up here?' <1 have no objections ; only I fear, that he will be too fatigued to take such a long ride,' said Milton. 'Well, suppose we send the boy to him,' said Jude. ?I am much obliged to you geutlemeo; but I would not like to leave until Loo comes back/ said poor Jim; delighted at the idea of so soon seeing his father. 'Well, you can take a seat in the carriage until she returns,' said Milton, 'and you can both go to Monctown if you prefer it.' 'Thank you, sir!' said the unsuspecting boy, following Milton out of the room, 'I would rather sit in the carriage than stay in tbis warm and dark room.' Jim followed Milton to the back door of the lower story, where snre enough, a carriage was in waiting. Milton whispered something to the driver; and, after giving Jim a draught of his wine, assisted him to enter the carriage. 'Drive on!' said Milton, slamming the door of the carriage; and before Jim could recover from his surprise, the carriage wa3 moving rapidly towards the old fashioned village of Monctown. 'What have you done with the boy ?' asked Julius, as Milton entered the room alone. 'Sent him quietly home,' said Milton. 'Not killed him !' said Jude starting. 'Killed him !' said Milton, with a terrible frown, 'when I want blood spilt I shall call upon a villian like yourself to do the job for me.' 'Claude Milton, you need not give me such a look as that,' said Jude. 'You arc too much in my power for me to suffer any such nonsense. Beware how you trifle with Jude Sinister !?remember Charlotte? 'Fool! dolt! idiot!' exclaimed Milton, placing his hand over the mouth of Jude, 'mean you to betray me V .Julius looked wonderingly upon Milton and Jude; the latter observing which, said in an altered tone: 'Come, Milton; let's take our young friend to his father!' and so saying, the trio silently left the room. Arriving at the second floor the party stopped at the door of the library, and knocked heavily upon its oak pannels. 'Who's there ?' asked Wentworth, from within. 'Friends!' replied Milton. 'Stay where you are V said Wentworth. 'I do not intend to be disturbed in this manner.' 'We have brought some refreshments for you,' said Jude. 'Go to the devil with your refreshments!' said Wentworth, impatiently. 'Do you want a candle, Mr. Wentworth ?' asked Milton. 'Yes; leave it at the door, or throw it down the chimney; but please let me sleep,' 3aid Wentworth. 'Julius D'Yilton is here,' said Milton. At mention of that name, the key turned in the lock?the door was thrown wide open, and Wentworth rushed out of the room exclaiming, at the top of bis voice : 'My son !?oh ! my son !' and the next moment Julius was clasped in the fond embrace of Edward D'Vilton. 'Your son, sir !' said Milton, in well feign- , ed surprise, 'how mean you ?' 'Did you not say that the boy's Dame is Julius D'Vilton V 'I did, sir; but his father perished at sea , many years ago,' said MiltOD. ( 'His name V said Wentworth, holding the , soy from him, and scanning his handsome , matures admiringly. j 'Edward D'Vilton, sir.' , 'Ho stands before you !' said Wentworth, : v'hich title we shall now drop for that of j D'Vilton. ] As much as Milton may have been pre- 1 jared for such an announcement, he started i tnd trembled as D'Vilton's dark ej'es flashed 1 ipon him. 1 'As I feared 1' whispered Jude, to Milton. 1 'Before I can consent to leave the boy with you, sir/ said Milton, ?I must be satisfied that you arc Edward D'Vilton.' 'And before I suffer you to leave this house,' said D'Vilton, 'I.mnst demand a few satisfactory replies to important questions. I must know, how the boy came to be in your possession; why I have been imprisoned in my own house; how you came in possession of the key of the door; and an explanation of the strange language, sounds, and sight which I have heard and seen here during my imprisonment/ 'So far as the sound*and sights are concerned/ said Milton, endt&voring to disguise his alarm and fear, 'I do not see how I can be justly expected to explain them; but I am not ooly willing, but really desirous, to give you all other information which the present circumstances may give you a right to demand.' 'Had we not better walk into the library?' asked Jude, taking the lanterns from the floor, and entering the apartment. 'By all means/ said D'Vilton, taking Julius by the hand and entering the library, followed by Milton. rrn trw rr>-ntt TNrmnvT L ? j US?* Do you read the Enquirer ? Certainly I do. Are you a subscriber? No! How do you get it ? Why, I borrow of my neighbors. Cjwice JJffetrg.;.:. CARRY ME BACK. The day was gone, and the night was dark, i And the howling winds went by. And the blinding sleet fell thick and fast From the stern and stormy sky, When a mournful wall, through the rushing galo, -Was beard at the cottage door? 0! carry me back?0! carry me back ; To my mother's home once more. 'Twa-j a youth mho had left his mountain home, He had wandered far and long: He had drained the goblet's fiery tide, At the festal midnight throng. But a dream of hop i came over his heart, As he crept to the cottage door? 0 ! carry me back?0 ! carry me back To my mother's home once more. 1 have left the hall of the tempter's power, And the revel wild and high? They cared not in their reckless mirth If I wandered alone to die. Doth the fire still burn on the household hearth, By the elm tree old and hoar! 0! carry me back?0! carry me back To my mother's home once more. Like a weary bird that has wandered long, I will seek my mother's uesf. And lay this aching head once more On my gentle mother's breast. Once more I will seek the household hearth,. By the elm tree old and hoar? 0 ! carry me back?0! carry me back To my mother's home once more. #nptal Jjajjor. : writton for the Yorkville Enqolrer. MAKE HOME HAPPY. BY MINNIE MAE. <IIow shall I make home happy V Are you a mother? Then, mother, I ask you first. You stand at the very threshold of life, and your example and your precept mould infant souls. Beautiful theories have been written on the care and instruction of children, and poets have eulogized them as lambs, as rosebuds, as cherubs; but mothers know theory and poetry are alike incompetent for their management and discipline. The rosebuds will occasionally appear more soiled than pure, the lambs will sometimes play the lion, and the angel cherubs subjected to eblutions and reinvestures, from which their name-sakes would recoil. I have no doubt, many mothers have sighed for a complete and perfect rule for the management of children. Experience teaches all such rules are theories, but in the course of my reading, I have found a few sententious sentences that comprise the fundamental part of a child's management. I will give a few, and allow your own memory to prompt you farther.? 'Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.' 'Chasten thy son while there is hope : and let not thy soul spare for his crying.' 'Train up a child in the way he should go : and when he is old, ho will not depart from it.' 'Withhold not correction from the child : for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die.' 'He that spareth his rod, hateth bis son : but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.' In these are embodied a practical theory, of which, no mother will doubt the benefit after tbc first experiment. But a primary and all important rule is, to subdue yourself. Many a mother has been humbled and saddened by the unintentional rebukes of her own children. 'Mother, don't speak so loud and I will do it,' or, 'mother, don't get vexed so quick with me,' or 'mother, me say me will be good; me can't do so no more,' is enough to silence, and alas ! humiliate. Might not an excuse often be found for the errors of these little ones, in your own impatience and fret fulness. Mothers have their own peculiar trials I know. It often happens they arise in the morniDg, after a disturbed and anxious night, weary and worn ; consequently, fretfully nervous : compelled to submit to the impatience of children ; to listen to their fancied woes .1 - : ilLJU ifUIIJlUlster LU liuu^iuai jr nuuio. \si tug mind is burdened with some anxious thought, or grieving under some heavy woe, yet children's troubles must meet with attention and their calls must be answered. But how is it to be done? With a cross word, an impatient action and a frowning brow? Such rebukes will make one disposition sullen, mother indifferent, and another fretful. The law of love must be exercised by example, before it will be listened to as precept. Try it mothers, do not reflect your ailments, your troubles : or your crosses on your little ones; but when they come with their bruises or their disappointments for relief or sympathy, try the panacea of a kind word, teat what an elixir lies in a mother's kiss. Let there be a 'needs be' for discipline, but do not weakly shrink from the administration of it Let not passion arm yon against your child; none but a hand of love should hold a. rod of justice. Let your patience teach them meekness ; your sympathy, forbearance; your gentleness, love; and instead of an abode of unrnly tempers, of peevishness and discomfort, you will have a home of cheerfulness, obedience and affeotion. 'How can I make home happy V said a young maiden, just emancipated from the duties of school. I will tell you. You have ni?riTTO/1 of o mafnvnfrr on/1 V?nl/1 o nrvolfinn in uini ks\jl uu a Luauuni/j auu uuiu a ju the family circle, which enables you to wield an influence for good or ill upon those around you. Suppose you try to reduce to practice some of the principles of domestic economy, you had occasionally discussed. I have no idea it would disappoint or offend the mother who has so often toiled for your comfort, so often sacrificed for your pleasure. Lighten her labors while you may; your reward will lie in a mother's blessiDg and the well done of a happy conscience. Housebold duties will not unfit you for presiding with grace at the festive board, or shining among the brave and the gay. You sometimes think of yonr home in the future, and associate with it, one who will be with you in weal or woe. Do not blush for the feeling; you would not be a true woman were you destitute of it. No woman obtains her true position until sho stands iu the relation of wife and mother. Now I do assure you maiden, that a very essential part of domestic happiness, lies in the attention you give to household duties.'-A table spread with neatness and order; a well cooked meal, simple though it be, adds a wonderful sest to the pleasures of home. It is astonishing how many little things it takes in a household to make a perfect whole. Let us take the review of one day. Your little brother comes in crying,' 'mamma has washed his lace.' 'lane mm on your knee, admire ttio clean face, tellbim how the fresh ?cold water leaves roses there; kiss his glowing cheek and bid him snatch the rose from your lip : you will have him laughing in spite of himself and cured one aching heart. Mother is vexed; the steak is burned; the biscuits raw. 'Oh dear ! why can't I have things done like other people. : I'm worried to death; nothing done right/ and other such like extravaganzas. 'Never mind mother, it shan't happen again, I will see it properly done after this. It is too bad, but fortunately, the coffee is very good, and these rolls are light, we will try and make the best of it;' and thus alternately sympathising and encouraging, yon pour oil upon troubled waters. 'Daughter, I wish if you are not busy, you would put a stitch in this coat, it will only take you a minute".' You are busy as a bee over a piece of work you are very anxious to finish, and had contemplated seeing an old schoolmate in the afternoon; and maybe, in the interval, would snatch a moment to look over the review, whose pages are yet uncut. You look at the 'minutes' work, which will only need a 'stitch' and find it will occupy your entire afternoon. The visit must be foregone; the 'pages lie uncut. 'Certainly, I will do it with pleasure, give it to me at once.' The cheerful, ready acquiescence makes you doubly dear to the father whose indulgent love is ever ready to gratify you. Hero comes a little thing crying for 'me vants, and me vants, and me do'no vat me vants.' Give her a flower, show her a picture, or take a good honest romp with her, and you make her the merriest little creature in existence. 'Brother you look weary; can I do anything for you V are simple words, but sisterly affection strikes the chords, and love answers the gentle touch. And so going on, smoothing ruffled brows here, and ruffled hair yonder, wiping with tenderest sympathy the memory of some rebuke from one, and the discolored face of another; cheering, consoling, encouraging, Oh ! maiden how much lies in your power to make home happy ! 'How shall I make home happy ?' sighed a young wife, lonely, while yet a bride.? First of all do not be exacting. Perhaps it is necessary your husband should be much from you. Do not add to his care by foolish tears and vain reproaches. Let it be your study to make his home cheerful and picasant. But how ? Keep a tidy, well ordered house; see that your meals are punctual; consult your husbands taste in the choice of your dishes ; do not talk of household grievances at the table; never appear before him with rumpled hair or untidy drees; beware how you speak in a loud or angry tone ; 'a soft voice is a pleasant thing in a woman ;' cultivate a cheerful disposition; resolve to make the best of everything; do not make the duties, which a good housekeeDer will attend to, burdensome; thus reflecting your care upon him. You can make them a delight, a recreation, a pleasure; always welcome him, never let him enter your presence unacknowledged, even if you do not rise to greet him; your smile, the love-light in your eye will testify your joy. Do not let coldness cloud it, nor repining dim it: it is his due, it should be your choicest offering.? Teach him to look for it, teach him to value it: it is one of your greatest safeguards, to miss which will be a rebuke that pales your own cheek, and grieves you to withhold.? Never cherish distrust or coldness. Tf you think you have cause for either, tell him frankly your trouble, and nine times out of ten you will be ashamed of it, and the odd tenth time will be met with a generous frankness that insures for the offender a ready pardon. This 'petting your wrath to keep it warm' is a dangerous experiment for a wife. You have some fancied cause for grievance, you manifest your?it is not so positive as displeasure, it is coldness. 'What is the matter ; are you unwell ?' 'No,' indifferently, 'I am well enough.' Look at your work though, or out of the window, anywhere but at him. 'Anything troubled you?' 'No,' i look as muoh like an iceberg as possible.? < HHnBHHfl ' r ?7 > ' i *Cr * 'i Something is the matter; has the servants worried you?' 'No/ impatiently, as if yon were tired of the questioning. 'Well, what is it ? something is wrong/ 'Nothing.' Get up now and walk to some other part of the room; be busy about anything or nothing, it makes no difference what, if you but Bbow your indisposition to converse farther. Rut I have no doubtyou have accomplished your end, in so far as that end lies, in making him uncomfortable. He will scarcely attempt another conversation, though I opine his internal sentences rival yours in brevity, though they be of the ejaculatory order, and pronounced with an emphasis, that you would deem neither flattering nor commendable.? I would not like to accompany you through the intermediate stages of coldness, sullenness, peevishness, fretful bickering, sarcastic recrimination; it is a picture too abhor rent to contemplate. In such a honsehold the altar fire soon barns oat, and from its ashes arises a devouring element, that consumes all the holier feelings of yoar nature. Bat your grievance is not a fancied one; 'there is a 'head and front to the offending.' Then ten-fold is the necessity of a loving frankness. Tell him honestly, tell him candidly; not in fretfulness; not in anger, bul with your hand in his; with your arm around him, and you have conquered. Do not say my nature is sensitive and proud. I cannot sue where I should assert, I cannot plead where I should be interceded. Banish thai word pride from a household vocabulary when you are independent of his love, independent ot his care, independent of hit trust, then you can glory in the unwomanly trait, and exercise it to the utter annihilation of all domestic happiness. To those who aro ambitious of ruliDg, and considel domestic life to be a battle for a supremacy that makes one party odious, the other tyrannical, I have nothing to say. There is but one thing worse than defeat which attends suoh a pitiful ambition, that is?ac inglorious victory. JTe are to be pitied though despised. How can you respecl when you command J There is, however, ? senile wav of ruling, which involves no loss o ? - ? ? of respect, and never fails with aby gener ous nature to gaiq its end. Would you le&rr it? Always give up. Merge your own wil! in his; you oan do this without loosing youi own individuality. It does not follow thai you are to become either an automaton or* parrot; you still have the privilege of assert ing your own opinion, but with an unwaver ing defetence to his, which will as surel} lead to a consideration of'your wishes, anc in this wny a woman may 'stoop to oonquor. And you, father, are not exempt from th( duty, Dor should you exempt yourself frotr the pleasure of 'making home happy/ Dc not bring your business cares and perplexi ties around your hearth. Do not always fine your children a trouhle, and frighten then from you by harshness and frowns. The} will love yon if yon let them ; let not yoni coming be a signal for a quiet that is unnat nral, and often for tears. If your meals &T? delayed by untoward circumstances, is "il kind to manifest impatient fretfulness ? Trj if a little encouragement would not checi the wife and mother, who has toiled as ear. nestly as you, and been subjected to grievances which are to her as annoying as youi care has been perplexing. You have nc idea what a tonic lies in your sympathy.? Though many can feel for her, you alone can feel with her; and a knowledge that yon see aDd appreciate her endeavors, strengthens her for more strenuous exertions, and gives her a cheerfulness that robs her duties of half their burdens. Speak to her when you come in, if it is only to say 'well wife;' or if arrived at matronly years, give her the household name of 'mother.' The name tc her is synonymous, with union, with dignity, with affection. It is an acknowledgement of your respect and love. Tell her some oi the current news of the day, or some matter relating to your business interests ; she will appreciate your desire to interest her and if she cannot direct you by prudent counsel, she will encourage by affectionate sympathy. When disposed to chide her for frequent tears, think if you do all in your power to make her home happy. Perhaps you tcok her from a happy household; how willingly she resigned all for your love, you should host know. She sometimes iD her loneliness wonders if you have lost your love for the w:fe you vowed to cherish, and sadly gazes upon her pale face, and wishes for fresh roses to woo you back. Could you understand the bitterness of the tears, the dreary loneliness, the painful dread she is not all you wish or expected her to be, the woman's fear, you would pity, you would do more, you would encourage and sustain her. You would find your reward in the cheerful household, the happy hearth her joyous love would make for you as well as in the peace of your own conscience. Exercise, patience and gentleness with children; bear and forbear with each other; do not expect to find perfection this side of heaven, but remember your own failings when you would condemn each other, 'a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind,' and your home will be, what it should be, an abode of affection, of order, of oomfort, and of peace. The Bank of Englad.?The buildings of this great bank cover about three acres of ground. Many of its rooms are copied from the classic models of Greece and Rome. The employees number about one thousand. Several of the officers reside in the bank.? The notes redeemed each day are checked, cancelled and put away in boxes. After keeping them ten years they are burned. The accumulation of the ten last years, now in the vaults of the bank, amount to three thousand millions of pounds: and yet any one of these notes can be referred to in a minute, and the history of its issue and its return given. The bank does all its own printing, and several presses are kept busy. Everything is done by machinery?the note is n t touched by the pen before it goes out.?Exchange. ... Stlafil 3tipH|| : Hard to Beat.?The beat thing we have heard of an antiquarian, & told of Willing ?. Goodwin, Esq., of Concord, !N. fl., jib is acknowledged to be the greatest antiquarian in New England. Mr. G., in ordeg to add another valuable volume of legal lore'to his already well stocked library} is engaged in hunting up copies of tba celebrated criminal trials that have taken place in the Stgjjf of New Hamnshire. Observing, in a cats I logue of books issued by an old. and distinguished publiahiog boose in New York, ,th|t a oopy of a trial be was in search of was fa* sale, Mr. G-. immediately wrote to the firm, requesting them to forward, it to him. 3y due course of mail he received a letter informing him that the oopy of tbe trial. he , desired had been sold, bat that theyVbuld . procure another copy for him, and that their businesss was so extensive, both in this country and Europe, that they.could furnish him with a copy of any trial he might desire***' , Mr. G., having been placed in the same position several time by attempting to par chase catalogue books with the prices aft[ nexed, wrote back the following short bftt r pithy note: v . . . - v. -r %.** ? * ' Concord, N. H., dniy 2,1869. I Mmn: ?.' Gentlemen r?Ydnrs of tbe ; 30th June fs at hand. Be kind enough to r procure for me, as soon as nifty be, one oopy . of tbe trial of the "two thieve*" who WftTB , hanged, "one on the right hand and arfoth, er on the left of our 8avior whetf he was . crirified/ and very much' obHge yttir obej dient servent, W. F. GOODWIN. . P. S.?Be very carefnl and get the edition j that contains the indictment, for 1 Hate . never been able to find out what those'Wto , rascals stole. The above letter is to be preserved ill tbe , New York Historical Sodetyiirehives, afcd a dinner awaits tbe pleasure of tbe &Qth&. k ?Boston Journal. mti ?- ' ^ 1 Secrecy op MASONRr^FieemasoBfji I * admit, has its secrets. It bu secrets peculiar to itself; but of what do these prinoi1 pally consist? They consist of signs and ' tokens, which serve as testimonials of ohtfr: a'cterand qualification, llWuriy eOiferred after a dae coarse of instruction and 1 examination. These at& of no small valtn; ' they speak a univenal language, and act-as ' a passport to the attention and support of ' tbe initiated-tn *H parts of the worM. ffhdy | cannot be lost so long as memory retains its power. Let the possessor of them be expaJ triated, shipwrecked or imprisoned; let Mta * be stripped of evei7thing be has got in the * world, still these credentials remain, and ' are available for use as circumstances may ' require. The good effects which these hale ' nroduced are established bv'the moat incofc I testible facts of history.* They have stayed r the uplifted hand of the destroyer; they have ' softened the asperities of the' tyrant; tfifcy J have mitigated the horrors of captivity; they II have snbdued the rancor of malevolence,' and 1 broken down theharrier of political animosity and sectarian alienation.On the fieldoflfat' tie, in the solitudes of the uncultivated forest, ' or in the busy haunts of the crowded cUy, they have made men of most hostile feeling?, ' the most distant regions, and the most ' versiged conditions, rush to the aid of each ' other, and feel special joy and satiefactipn 1 that they have been able to afford relief to | a brother mason.?Benjamin Franklin. i Children's Playthings.?Playthings i that children make ifor themselves, are a great deal better than those which are > bought for them. They employ them a > much longer time, they exercise ingenuity, and they really please them more. A little girl had better fashion her cups and sauogrs ' of acorns, than to have a set of earthen ones ' supplied. A boy takes ten times mow.pleasure in a little woodeu cart he has pegggd together, than he would in a painted and gilded carriage bought frbtn the toy shop; and we do not believe any expensive rocking-horse ever gave so much satisfaction as we have seen a child in the oonntry take with a cocoa not husk, which he had bridled, and placed on four sticks. There is a peculiar satisfaction in inventiog things for one's self. No matter, though the construetion be clumsy and awkward, it employs time (which is a great object in childhood.) and the pleasure the invention gives, is the first impulse to ingenuity and skill. For this reason, the making of little boats, and mechanical toys, should not be disconraged; and when any difficulty occurs above the powers of a child, assistance should be cheerfully given. If the parents are able to explain the principles on which machines are constructed, the advantage will be tenfold. Unconscious Influence?The very handling of the nnrsery is signficant, and the petnlance, the passion, the gentleness, the tranquility indicated by it, are all regloduced in the child. His soul is a purely receptive nature, and that for a considerable period, without choice of selection. A little further on he begins voluntarily to copy eve ry thing he sees. Voice, manner, gait? every thing which the eyes see?the mimic instinct delights to act over. And thus we have a whole generation of future men receiving from us their future beginnings, and the deepest impulses of their life and immortality. They watch us every jaoment? in the family, before the hearth, and at the table; and when we are meaning them no good or evil, when we are conscious of exerting no influence over them, they are draw, ing from us impressions and moulds of habit, which, if wrong, no heavenly discipline can wholly remove; or, if right, no kind of association utterly dissipate. Now it may be doubted, I think, whether, in all the active influences of our lives, we as much *to shape the destiny of our fellow-men as we do in this single article of unconsoious influence over children.