Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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% w ? > ^ - ' , - _ i - - " ' ' . . t . " 111 ' i < if r m IWrtf^ljflTi } in Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. |?p*BA>*iwr?4BT*?*. VOL. 5. ?? YORKVLLLE7S. C., THTJRSL^Y, SEPTEMBER 39,18597 NO. 39. - ' . . . . , ?????????. . _ _ , ^ , JH, j . n . - 'Willie l%|j%arfjf WRITTEN FOR THE YO "WHO IS T ?^ x r * -* ' * - - . OJ THE DARK MYSTERY OF ' , BY WILLIET AUTHOR OF <4LULA WOODSWORTn," "WINNI SUN," "OLD HEADS AND T? ^ MV1 CHAPTERYn.- \j "God might hare made the earth bring forth Enough for great and email, The oak tree and the eedar tree Without a flower at all." * - "In this wild world, the fondest and the best Are the most tried* most troubled and distrest." It has been said, that "villians never train vines over oottage doorsthat those, whose hearts are steeped in the blackened waters of vice, do not love flowers; and are alike regardless of the beauties of nature and the achievements and triumphs of art. It is evident, however, that such statements conflict with facts; and, any one, possessing a knowledge of human nature, will agree with us that even vicious men may possess refined tastes?be admirers of nature, and patrons and lovers of art. , As a general thing, when one gazes upon a beautiful and artistically arranged flowergarden, he comes to the conclusion that the owner thereof must be a man of cultivated taste?a good, upright and pure minded man. Such being the general impression of the looker on, it will be readily peroeived how, even villians?through policy?should decorate and adorn their abodes. Be this, however, as it may, Claude Milton's residence was certainly one of the most elegant and tasty mansions in Monctown ; while his beautifal, choice, and artistically arranged garden was at once the ornament and pride of the town. In this mansion lived Claude Milton, wife and daughter; the latter of whom was a young and lovely girl of fifteen. The entire family were universally beloved and resnected bv the citizens of Monctown ; while Elooise and Julias were almost, if not altogether, idolised. As the reader will recollect, this lad, Julius, was really an illegitimate brother of Elouise, though it was generally understood by the people that he was a foundling No one ever doubted Milton's version of the story relative to the fiuding of the boy; so that he had ever been known and named as Julius D'Villon, the only son and heir of Edward and Charlotte D'Vilton, both of whom, had suddeolyand mysteriously disappeared. The Miltons had removed from Franoe, and settled in Monctown, about fourteen years prior to the time when my story opens ; aDd from the time of their arrival to the present, were held in the highest estimation and respect by every man, woman and child. About? year after the settlement of tte Miltons in the quiet little town of Monc- j towD, it became reported among the people | that a male infant had been found by a ser- j vaht connected with the family; and that, j from papers discovered in the basket, the j infant's name was ascertained as being Ju- ( lius D'Vilton. Such strange and stalling ] intelligence produced quite an excitement j throughout Monctown; and hundreds of the citizens flocked to Milton's residence to look upon the child of Edward and Charlotte D'Vilton, whose singular disappearance 1 from 'D'Vilton Hall' had already produced a great excitement in Monctown. Sure enough, there lay the infant; there was the basket?the money and the papers. Men reoognized and swore to the handwriting of Edward D'Vilton, and the wondering townsmen returned to their homes with a settled conviction that they had seen the heir of 'D'Vilton Hall.' 'The mystery, however, connected with the protracted absence of the D'Viltons was, by no means dispelled, by the finding of the infant. Old men shook their heads as they passed the closed house and neglected garden of the absent D'Vilton ; and various were the surmises of the passers-by as to the fate whioh may have befallen him. Year after year rolled on, and yet he came not. The ivy crept higher and higher up the dark walls of the mansion; the once beautiful flower-garden was becoming overrun with noxious weeds; the hinges and locks had rusted; and owls,tats and reptiles seemed to have taken full possession of the now deserted, but once magnificent old mansion. The benighted traveller told strange tales of mysterious sounds and unaccountable sights; and rumor caught up the report and whispered blood-chilling tales of appariations in the belfry, and shrieks of horror within the ivy-clad walls of the deserted house.? s fW had 'distinctlv seen a tall figure of a . ~~ ~ V - r-i ~ J female upon the balconyanother could t swear that he 'heard the bell toll seven times, s at dead of night)' and yet another positive- ? ly asserted that he had seen the south win- j dow opened and closed alternately?that he I j had noticed a light in the left wing, and ( heard noises within the house. , Snch reports as these were well calculated : to inspire a feeling of awe, if not terror and 1 alarm, in the minds of the simple-hearted and superstitious inhabitants of Monctown t and the surrounding country; nor did the y assurance of Milton?who caused the house 1 to be thoroughly searched?detract one iota t from the influence of the marvelous tales iu- < vented by the credulous and ingenious re- t porters. i Milton, to satisfy the people of the falsity \ of these reports, determined to occupy a 1 room in the left wing of the building for six ! or seven consecutive nights. IJis friends < ^__^^ende?vore^y>ersuad^ic^u^^h^dea^ ^ Original JJouklette, RKVILLE ENQUIRER. HE HEIR?" THE DESERTED HOUSE. IGHTHEART, E AND WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OF THE OUNG HEARTS," &C., 4C. but he firmly bat kindly set aside their solicitations, and repeated the expression of his intentions publicly. Accordingly, he obtained the services of a locksmith the very next night, and, after succeeding in effecting an entranoe through the back door, be stationed several servants at different points of the premises, and?well armed? sntered the building alone. After the second nirdit. his servants errald not be nrevail ?o r sd upon to keep watch about the building: threats, offers of reward, and promises of wine and refreshments during the night failed to alter their determination. The third night he entered the building ilone;- but about an hour after midnight the tramp of his horse's hoofs rungupon the stony pavement of Monctown, and Milton threw himself hurriedly from the saddle, and silently entered his residence. Large drops >f perspiration were upon his ashy brow, rod an involuntary tremor 6book his whole frame as he appeared in the bosom of his family; but not a reply proceeded from his bloodless lips to the many anxious questions )f Julius, and his wife and daughter. The inference, however, was palpable; rod the whole town were now perfectly satisfied, that Milton had, in some way, ascertained the truth of many strange reports joncerning the deserted house. In spite of Milton's discretionary silence )n the subject, these report came to the >ars of Julius at length ; and he would ever rod anon wander off to the outskirts of the *>wn to listen to the relation of these wonierful stories by the rustio inhabitants of ;bat superstitious region. These stories regarding what he bad been taught to call his lather's house, were, of course, retailed to lis constant companion and playmate, Elouse Milton j and many, very many were the jlaos projected by them for the beautiful, lowery future which spread out before their poung minds. He would, when he became i man, send ever so many armed men to search the house. He would have the shut:ers taken down, and -nice green blinds put n their places; he would have new handles lpon every door, and each one of them should )e of solid gold; he would have the old stone wall cleared of the ivy and painted red, md marked off in small squares; he would lave the wainscot beautifully polished; and, n fact, he would make so many changes and ilteratioos about it, that you would not know hat it -was the same house. Then, too, Elouise should become his wife; and he would have a beautiful pony 'or her, and a' fine coach, too; and?as to ler dresses, my ! they would be the most jeautiful things that were ever seen on the 'ace of the earth. Then, too, there was to je a beautiful garden for Elouise; an or;hard of the most delicious fruits; a sparking fountain right under her window, and jeautiful birds in the grove. Such, in substance, were his bright plans 'or himself and Elouise, whom he loved with all the fervor of his young,"boyish heart. Beautiful Elouise! how her soft blue eyes would sparkle as she listened, almost daily, ;o the earnest, hopeful aad boyish language )f the happy but unfortunate boy beside her. Flow did she know but that all these dreamDgs of boyhood would be realized !?how jould she know that life's pathway bristles vith more thorns than it is perfumed with Vagrant flowers! or how could she fear the dark days,' whicfc are many, when the warm, mght sunlight of peace and hope made up i spring-time in her heart. Unfortunate Julius ! how could he know ;hat life should not always be as beautiful is now ! Was he not the only son of the wealthiest man, and heir to one of the largest estates in England ? Had he not been old that those boundless tracts of land, itretching out to the north of the deserted louse, were his !?were not those, now des>late, but once well-stocked parks all his!? Did not Milton tell him so ??did not everybody assert it ? What, theo, was there to be apprehended n the future? Was he not becoming suita>ly educated ??was he not to be sent to Oxford one of these days ? Surely a first class iducation, coupled with wealth, should make i inan independently happy, if anything :an. Poor child of guiit! he knew not that the inwritten law of life had doomed him to a iphere of degradation and infamy; that Milon was his father; that his frail and guilty Dother had gone down among the dead, with ihame and infamy upon her head, and with l weary, crushed and broken heart; he knew lot that those large estates were Dot his; ;hat his name was bastard !?that his ireams were only dreams, from which he would but too, too soon be awakened. "It is well we cannot see What the end will be." We have spoken of Milton?of his beau:iful daughter and bastard son, when quite ;oung?let us speak of the pale, but still jeautiful, Alice Milton. She was the only, he idolized daughter, of an American merhant, who, while on a visit to France, for he benefit of her health, became acquainted vith Claude Milton. To be brief, Milton von the affections of Alice and proposed Marriage. Alice referred him to her father; lut he objected to an immediate uniou be>ause of the tender age and delicate ^ealth ,fhn ,1,..,h.,r. Taking ativanLi^g nf hcc_ extreme youth and passionate devotion 3?ilton proposed a clandestine marriage, whi$h proposition was immediately carried into e? I feet. & .vn~ The American merchant was apprised of the onion the next day, and n formed of the otter impracticability of making any effort to prevent his daughter remaining in France, as they had legally become man and wife.. The old man could do nothing but weep over the folly of his beloved child. He re-orossed the billowy Atlantic, alone, sad, and almost broken-hearted ; for Alice was all the poor old man had to make his home a place of delight and happiness. He sold what little property he owned, in Portsmouth ; and, after a few weary months, the disconsolate, forsaken, and heart-broken old man went 'where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.' Milton and his wife, at her request, removed from France shortly after "the marriage, and, as has been already intimated,settled in the beautiful little village of Monctown, England. Like many others, alas! she found, when too late to remedy the evil, or retrace the rash steps, that she had given up the love of a fond and devoted father, a comfortable and happy home, as well as the esteem. and respect of her friends, for a man whom she fancied that she could love. At the time our story opens Alice Milton was in her thirty first year, Elouise in her fifteenth, and Julius?the illegitimate son of Claude Milton?was in bis thirteenth. Having given the reader a sufficient knowledge of this villian's family and residence for our purpose, we must now turn our attention, awhile, to the poor match-vender?our hero, Jim. r - :>%.*. The careful and attentive reader will remember, that in a preceeding chapter it was stated that Milton, for the furtherance of his own purposes, sent Jim from the deserted house to his (Milton's) residence in Monotown ; telling the too credulous boy that his father was at that place, anxiously awaiting him. The great length of our romance will render it Impossible to enter into further particulars; and trusting that the reader will tax his memory occasionally, and thereby save us from too frequent recapitulations and retrospective glances, we will,, to be brief as possible, state, that aftera long and faiiguing ride, the carriage drew up before the door of Milton's beautiful residence just as the cathedral bell tolled the midnight hoar. Of course, the family were not much surprised at the arrival of the carriage before their door, even at so late an hour of the night; for Milton had signified his intention of returning sometime before morning. What was Mrs. Milton's surprise, however, when the driver continued to ring the door bell, and to shout for the inmates to open thedoor. Summoning a servant as quick as possible, Mrs. Milton sent him to the door, when, to her still greater surprise, she was informed, that the driver wished to see her personally. From the upper story window she noticed the driver having a boy by the hand; and, supposing him to be Julius?who had accompanied Milton to the deserted house ?she immediately ordered the door to be opened and the party admitted. After the lapse of some moments, Mrs. Milton descended the stairs and entered the parlor. , / <HprA ish von notes vat he stmts.' said the driver, as Mrs. Milton entered the room, and started, upon observing Jim. 'A note from whom, Dedrick?' she asked ; taking the missive from the driver's hands, and hastily breaking the seal. ' 'It comes so far as it never vas?dwenty doo miles, py tarn !' said Dedrick ; whose long journey from the deserted house, together with the prospect of returning to that desolate region, seemed to have deprived him of bis usual stock of politeness. > 'It is all right, Dedrick/ said the lady, turning to Jim with a deep sigh. 'You had better return with the carriage at once.' Yaw; dat vash dru,' replied the driver, i but, py tam ! I dinks I vants von leetle onion pefore I starts.' 'You may have as many as you wish/ said Mrs. Milton, smiling 'Ant von glass of rum to vash mine mout so ?oot as before it vas.' 'Take the key of the closet, and help yourself very judiciously, Dedrick ; but, remember, I would not give it to you if you did not appear so fatigued.' 'Dank you?I vash help mineself so mooch as notting at all,' said Dedrick, taking the key and leaving the room hastily. 'What is your name, my lad V asked the lady, turning to Jim. 'Jim, if you please, ma'm/ said the boy, looking wonderingly around the rocm upon the rich" furniture. 'Do you kuow" who sent you here ?' she , asked ; seating herself beside him, and heaving a deep sigh. * ' * ' i 'A gentleman sent me, ma'm.' 'Mr. Milton, I suppose;' said the lady. '0, no, ma'm,' said Jim with some emphasis ; 'I would not have come here, if he, had 8entme.' 'Why, my dear boy,' Baid the lady, 'this is Mr. Milton's house; and this note, which you saw the driver give, was written by him.' 'Who??the driver?' 'No, my child; not by the driver?Mr. Milton wrote it.' 'You don't mean that it was Mr." Milton that I saw in thatold house up the country !' ; ?I am not so sure that I understand you,' said the lady. 'What old house do you mean ?' 'Why, the house where people see all sorts of ghosts.' 'Not the deserted house V said the lady, starting. 'That's it!' said Jftn. 'That's just what old Loo called it.' Mrs. Millton did not reply; and for some and melancholy thought 'Ain't you going to call father ?' asked tig? ' . r V *" ? allyour father?'said the lady, looking inquiringly upon the boy. 'Your father is not here, child.' 'Not here.!' said Jim, 'why, the gentleman at the deserted house told me that he was waiting here for me.! 'In this house V ~ , 'He didn't tell me what house,' said Jipa ; 'but he told me that he was going to send me to my father if I gotffn the carriage. I didn't want to come without Loo, but he told me to sit in the carriage till she came; but just as I got in, the. driver made the horses go.', 'This is a marvelous story' said Mrs. Milton, asidej then turning to the boy, with another deep sigh, she said: <1 really do nnt understand vou. mv lad. You sneak of my husband in connection with that strange woman, Loo?in conneotion with the deserted house andyourself; but what it all me&os, and why Mr. Milton should have sent you here at this time of night, and inform you that your father was waiting for you at this house, is more, much more than I can imagine.' 'And my father ain't here, after all?' asked Jim, with a disappointed air. 'No, my child; but who is your father ?' ' 'Why, Mr. -pshaw? I forgot his name.' ; * * . 'Forgot your father's name!?why that is very remarkable I' said the lady. .'I wonder I don't forget everything !' said Jim, passionately j and the poor boy burst into tears. 'Why, Jim !' exclaimed the lady, endeavoring to tako the boy's hands from his eyes, 'what is the matter?' 'I don't know,' daid Jim, looking up ;.bnt I've been feeling like crying ever since I left Pete and Bessie; and that ain't all neither. 'Tell me all, then,' said the lady in her kindest tone of voice.'Well, in the first place, I ain't had nothing to eat since I left Monctown, and?' 'You shall have as much as you want,' said the lady, summoning a servant, and ordering several cold dishes. <1 fear, how-; ever,' she continued, 'ihat yon have run away from your parents, and that Mr. Milton has sent you here, so that they may recover you.' . 'Me run away !' said Jim, coloring to the temples; 'what did I want to run away for ! Wasn't Pete and Bessie kind to me, and didn't I love them ever so much??and couldn't I leave them whenever I wanted to?' - ; : ; 'Is Pete your father ?' <No, ma'm; I've been staying with him and Bessie ever since I was a baby. My father is a rich man?the deserted house belongs to him.' 'Indeed !' said the lady, Bmiling good naturedly; 'who told you so?' 'Old Loo,' replied Jim. 'The orazy old creature has been imposing upon you, my poor lad ! The old house, to which you have alluded originally belonged to the D'Viltons; but?.' 'That's it!' exclaimed Jim, starting to his feet. .. . . 'What, Jim ?' 'That's my father's name !?Edward D* Vilton.' 'Nonsense, child'!' said the lady. 'I see that some evil disposed person has been imposing upon you. Are you not aware, my child, that the gentleman of whom you 6peuk is supposed to be dead ?' But he ain't dead though!' said Jim, with a knowing air. 'Old Loo saw his name in one of the London papers, and wrote to him to come here to Monctown, because she wanted to tell him something about his wife ?my mother, you know.' 'Did old Loo tell you whether Charlotte D'Vilton was still living?' asked Mrs. Milton, startled by the boy's likeness to that lady. 'I heard her tell Bessie and Pete, that somebody had killed her,' replied Jim. After a protracted silence, during which, iL ? l./lti C fnr*f 1 T7 ononnn J fko fantnroo of lue JUUJ illLCUUIjr ouauiicu CLIO IbHkUiVOVI 1UW handsome lad, she said : My boy, you have told me very remarkable things; and, either old Loo has, for the furtherance of her own purposes, practiced a deception upon you, or Mr. Edward D'Vilton is the father of more than one son. " You live in Monctown, I presume.' 'Yea ma'm.' 'Have you ever heard the name of Julius D'Vilton mentioned?' 'Yes ma'm; Rosa told me that he was found in the street about thirteen years ago.' 'Who is Rosa ?' asked the lady. <A beantiful little girl what fell in the river the other day.' 'Rosa Vandry I why, what do you know of her ?' asked the lady. 'Didn't I have a good ducking for her sake ?' said Jim. 'Indeed ! So you are the brave little fellow, that Mr. Vandry has made so many efforts to fiod. I must send word to him tomorrow, and?but here comes a little lunch for you; and, as you appear fatigued and hungry, you bad better refresh yourself and go to bed.' 'Shall I see Rosa in the morning ?' asked the boy, eagerly. 'Certainly you shall,' replied Mrs. Milton, placing a chair at the table, and motioning to Jim to be seated. Jim began and continued his supper in silence; after which, he related all his adventures, from the saving of Rosa's life to t *i *r xtM his arrival in tne Milton iarany. lure, jm.iiton manifested much interest in the strange tale related by Jim ; and, after calliog a servant to show the boy to bed, she retired to her own chamber with a saddened heart. For the life of her she could not dispel the dark and melancholy train of thought, which enveloped her spirit like a cloud, and stirred her heart with more than tempest villian ? or did the half crazed brain of old Loo alone beget so grave a charge V 1 Xoo's interview with Jim ; her warning t to him of portending danger; hey strange language, relative to the character of her husband; the arrival of D'Vilton in London; the presence of Milton in the deserted house; the bracelet found upon Jim's ankle, and bis striking resemblance to the unfortunate Charlotte D'Vilton, together with Loo's statement regarding Julius;?all these incidents, and startling assertions were recalled to her mind ever and anon throughout the livelong night. Then, too, why should her husband keep Julias in the deserted house, and send this strange but beautiful boy to her, with the request that she should (endeavor to,ascertain if be knew anything of a bracelet * Had the boy stolen such 1 Ahl the simple, < unvarnished taleot poor dim?'.Bessie toana a beautiful bracelet on my ankle when I was a baby'?told more against her husband t : than a direct charge of villainy. Claude Milton wishes to possess that bracelet to des- i troy the identity of the son of Edward D'?*< t i\ V. : With such thoughts as these, Alice Milton fell asleep. . ?TO be continued.] #ripal papers, ' ' i " ; 1 J For the YorkviHe Enquirer. THE PLEDGE. BT XDWIN HEBIOT. . , . ?y Am?'nTl\t Bridr." Oh ! take it, and he faithful still, * And may the solemn vow . .. Be sacred held in after years ^ And warmly breathed as now? Remember, 'tis no common bond That seals your future lot, 'Tis one to Jbe through life, your guide Nor e'er till Death forgot.*' The joys of childhood's happy hours, In which he bore a part The treasured scene of early lift Touch not the drunkard's heart * The purest hopes his bosom knew Before to vice a slaves? '? - All these, and more he now resigns To All a Drunkard's grave. Reformed, his lot is joined with ours Its joys and ills to share And well indeed may be our pride To soothe each sorrow there? Then take the pledge, and future years Will mark your joy's increase And all your days glide sweetly on? In Happiness and Peace. Written for tlio Yorkville Enquirer. "BETJCHUF' AffD REV. W. C. DAVIS. NUMBER FOUR. t , ... Mr. Editor :?I have in my previous numbers, defended the full ministerial authority of Rev. Wm. C. Davis, as received by him from the Presbyterian Cbureh, and continued from Ootober, 1810, down to the day' of bis death in 1831." 1st. On the ground that the bodies at Hopewell and at Rama, were illegally constituted, and, therefore; could not Lwfnlly inflict the censures of the Ohnroh ; and 2nd. On the ground of Mr. Davis' withdrawal from, and independence of, the Presbyterian Church. I have shown, that from and after the 9th of October, 1810, the Presbyterian Church could neither be held responsible for the 'errors' of Mr. Davis, nor rightfully exercise authority over him in any matter; and that, i consequently, the acts oCjConcord Presbytery, in the 'suspension' and 'deposition' of. 1 Mt. Davis, were entirely nugatory, except so far as they might tend to prejudice the public mind against Mr. D., and thus di- 1 mioisb bis influence, and, of coarse, hinder bis usefulness. And just so far as that result has followed, I would greatly prefer that Concord Presbytery, or any other, rather than I, must, in a coming day, meet tbe responsibility of those acts. I will here, Mr. Editor, dismiss that portion of 'Reuchliir's' article which has reference to tbe Rev. Wm. C. Davis, personally, and ask the reader's attention to some of his 'remarks' under the second question which he 'raises,' viz: Who arc the General Convention of the Independent Presbyterian Church ? He answers it thus: 'It is the ecclesiastical court of the churches that call themselves followers of W. C. Davis.' In this he is slightly mistaken. They call themselves 'Independent Presbyterians,' and they are willing to bo 'followers of W. C. Davis,' only to far as they believe he 'also followed Christ.' 'Reuohlin' probably supposed that those for whose benefit he penned hisarticle, away in North Carolina, might never know who these 'Independents' were, but through the medium of the very flattering notice with which he is pleased tohonor them; and I doubt not but they will accord to him a due measure of grateful acknowledgment for any favorable impressions he may have produced upon the minds of his readers in their behalf. Any one who is familiar with tbe past history of the Independent church, would conclude, I think, that the disposition to forestall public opinion in regard to this little people, by exciting a species of contempt in the mind, and by raising the cry of Fucnum \ iti mynn Vind Inner arm hecn folic aa- , w* w# -W-C3 -O" J C tiated; and I sincerely trust that the spirit , manifested by 'Reuchlin' is, at this day, ( characteristic of very few besides himself.? I would, however, have suffered his 'remarks' under this question to pass for what they are < worth, (as heretofore) if it were not that he < has ventured some statements with reference i to the effort which was made two years ago i to effect a union between the 'Independent \ Body,' and the Presbyterian Church, which i I think are calculated to mislead the reader, i He says, 'In those negotiations the churches i of that body did all the General Assembly < willingness of the three ministers to take oar Confession of Paith without reservation as to three doctrines' % ^ I feel sorry that 'Reuchliu!.,did not eith-.. er take the trouble to obtain correct information on this subject before writing his communication (which I think could have been obtained) or, in case of his inability to do so, that be had not remained silentas to this 'matter.' But,. to prevent a similar mistake hereafter, I desire to inform, him distinctly, that in those negotiations, so far as the notions of 'the.tjiree ministers' are concerned, they were simply in accordance with the decision and order of the churohes themselves. The subject was presented to each church seperately for its consideration: and they severally sent up, through their . delegates,- to the General Convention, the terms upon whioh they were willing to uoite, whioh were those incorporated in the 'articles of union/ The 'constitution' and law of the Independent church made it necessary that this course should be pursued ; and as these things were done poblioly, and were generally known, I think it is (& remarkable fact' that one who felt prepared to write so confidently on thissnbject as 'Reucblin' has done, should not know these things. Again : 'Reuchlin' considers it a 'remarkable fact that a body who were so recently desirous of uniting with the Presbyterian Church * * have given their imprimatur to boobs,' &c. As if it were impossible to entertain soch desire, and at the same time feel willing to 'preside at the parturition' of these volumes. ' It is certainly true that the Independents were 'desirous'?sincerely desirons?that the union should be consummated j'for they believed that the two denominations, harmonizing as they do in the grand doctrinal pillars in the scheme of salvation, and also in the prominent articles amoDg (he'noh-essential points in Divioity?- that the two denominations, thns allied in faith and io modes of worship, onght to be still more closely united in the affection of their hearts, and in the harmony of their efforts in the. cause of the Redeemed They truly 'desired' the union, believing that thus the great interests of the Savior's kingdom would be promoted. But 'Reuchlin' would have us believe that this anxiety wa9 ^11 on the part of the Independents. Is this fair? when the facts of the case show that the desire was a mutual one; and that the initiatory steps were taken by the Presbyterian ohureb, and not by the Independents, as the records will show. I am willing to believe that the desire for anion was not only expressed, bat was truly felt on both sides; and as the Independents really desired that the effort to effect a union should succeed, so they felt an honest sorrow when it failed. But although the effort was a failure, at least one good Tesult followed?the fraternal feelings of the parties were drawn'out; and I trust these may be perpetuated, and more and more fully manifested?that although the two may not yet become one people, ecclesiastically, the fraternal feelings which I trust were prompted by divine grace, and the spirit of harmoDy which was the result, may abide and inorease until the promise of Ohrist shall be fulfilled, and there shall be in all the earth but one fold aod one Shepherd. JUSTITIA. * [conclusion next week.] ' The Indian Heaven and Hell.?-The deceased Indian has, according to them, along journey to take towards thewest, tiotil he comes to a deep rushing river, whioh separates him from the happy hunting grounds. The two shores of this river are conneoted by along pine trunk, stripped of bark and polished, which must be used as a bridge. The good man passes with a firm and secure step across ibis slippery bridge, reaches the happy hunting grounds, and enters on the possession of eternal youth and strength. His sky is always clear, a cool breeze is perpetually blowing for him, and he passes"his time in sailing, bunting, dancing, and boundless felicity. The bad man, when he steps upon the bridge, sees the two overhaoping shores totter, he attempts toescape, and falls into the abyss below, where the water is rushing with the sound of thunder over rocks ; where the air is poisoned by the exhalations from dead fish and other animal bodies, and the water whirling round and round, brings him always back to the same point where all the trees are withered; where it swarms with lizards, snakes, and toads; where the dead are huDgry, and have nothing to eat; where the living lead a diseased life and cannot die. The shores are covered with thousands of these unhappy beings, who olimb up to get a glance into ;he happy hunting grounds, which they can never enter. Curious Fact.?If an acorn be suspended by a piece of thread within half an inch of the surface of the water, contained in an hyacinth glass, and so permitted to remain without being disturbed, it will, in a few months burst and throw a root down into the water, and shoot upward its straight and tapering stem, with beautiful little green leaves. A young oak tree growing in this way on the mantle shelf of a room, is a very jlegant and., interesting object. A contemporary has seen several oak trees and also a jhesnutthus growing; but all of them, howjver, have died after a few months, probaoly owing to the water not being changed sufficiently often to afford them tbe necessary quantity of nourishment from the matter contained in it. The Lawyer's Oath.?The committee on revising the statues, have put back the old oath required of those persons admitted to the bar, in force previous to the present revised statutes. By this oath, the lawyer jwears he will do no falsehood, nor consent to the doing of any in court, and according to the old form he was also sworn to'inform' the court if he knew of any such intention on the part of others?this last clause is wittingly or willingly sue or .promote any false, groundless suit; dehy nd-raan far lucre or malice, but conduct himself as well as he knows how, See. The oath is a very excel-' lent one, anil if strictly followed would abaje and destroy a vast amount of needless prXe-' tioe. But like other Official oaths, the degree of its following most depend on the pleasure of the person taking it.?-Nhc Bed-, ford Mermrtf i- v,* ; r ' ? Constant employmmrrr?The maitwho is obliged to be codstaDtiy-^mployed to earn the necessaries of life and support bis family, knows not the uobappiness be prays when he desires wealth- and idleness. To be constantly busy is to be always happy. Pefeons who have suddenly acquired; wealthy broken up their active pursuits, and begun to live at their ease, waste away and die in a very short time. Thousands would have been blessings to the world, and added to the common stock of happiness, if they ha?^ been content to remain in an bumble sphere, and earned every mouthful of food that nourished their bodies. But ho; fashion hnd wealth took possession of them, and they were completely rained.' They rtn i^ way from peace and pleasure, and embraced^ a lingering death. Ye who are sighing for ' the pomp and splendor of' life, Ye know not what ye wish. No situation, however exalted; no wealth, however magnificent; no honors, hbweyer glori yield you solid enjoyment while discontent lurks in your bosom. The secret ofhappiness lies in this?to be always contented* with your lot, and never sigh for the splendor of riohes, or the magnifioence of fashion, and power. Persons who are always busy, and go oheerfully to their daily tasks, are the least disturbed by the fluctuations of business, and at night sleep wittiperfect composure. - ^ . ' ? An Insatiate MonsT?R.-?A story is tqld of a chap in North Carolina who went the entire figure in the way of oourting all the girls who would have him, without asking for any of them to die off, as the law directs. After having married his* thirteenth, some of his first loves come down upon him, and had him lodged in jail. Bat a person bo food of liberty, and who could get into Hymen's noose with such ease, found but little difficulty in getting him out of the jug' ;.aod . i * ? ^ ? me next newsoi mm, ne was running ailarge, with, a heavy reward offered forA his apprehension. He was shortly afterwards recognized by a gentleman, who, anxious to. get the reward, invited him to his house, desired him (o sit down?called* his wife to. chat with him, as an inducement to detain * him there?while, he made some excuse for leavin ; him a few moments, and started for a constable to arrest the runaway. What was the poor man's astonishment, on returning with the constable, to find the gay Lothario?taking the advantage of his short absence?had absconded with his wife.? This made the fellow's stock of wives on hand fourteen. _ Follow, the Right.?No mattei^|o you are/what your lot,^r where you Jive* you cannot afford to do jfcat^wbfcn is*9ttag. The only way to obtain happiness andpleaYou may hot always bit the mark; but you should, nevertheless aim for it, and with every trial your still will increase. Whether you are to be praised or blamed forfchy /\fVi /iro If nr.H SS, uvutio ^ nuv-t/uti aw n in oi/^iuiugij- uuuav ?wu richer or poorer, or whether do other person than yourself knows of your acting; always and in all cases, do the. right thing. Your first lessons in this rale will sometimes seem hard ones, bat they wilt grow, easier and easier, until finally doing the right thing will become a habit, and doing a wrong will seem an impossibility,*. Steanqe.?To bear a person at one moment confess himself a vile worm of the dost?the chief of sinners?a" hardened r*' bel?totally depraved?deserving of eternal tortures, &c.?yet ready to blaze np^Mp<^ passion the moment one hinti^ie may have formed an incorrect opinion, improper!^ expressed himself, or committed some action not qnite accordant with the moral code.? Which shall be believed?the parroted, whi ing, confession, or the act itself ? Strange, isn't it? At one moment, the English language has no words sufficiently expressive of self-abasement; at another, tf broken head if you question his infalibility. ' Homely.?What if you are as homely as a log hut??don't cry about it. Let good- ness of heart make up for outward looks.? A lady with eyes that resembled peeled onions, and a nose as crooked as g politician's creed?a chin like a hoe, and mouth iike'a jack knife, will be more respected and beloved, by those whose opinion it; is worth one's pains to secure, if she possesses a good 0 heart and kind disposition, than if she were as beautiful as Milton's Eve, with corkscrew disposition and a heart of lead. The wise never judge from the complexion of the skin, or the symmetry of the form, bat from the virtues of the heart and a corresponding life. ' . ^ V\ ' A Paragraph for Boys.?It is one of the besetting sins of young men in this extravagant age, to endeavor to get rid of work by seeking lazy employment; and the-oonse quence is that many of them taro oat worthless vagabonds. /Boys, avoid this whirlpool as yoa would ae spot; banish from yon the dangerbuedeare to live without work. Labor is honorable, dignified?it is the parent of health, wealth, and happiness; look upon it as an invaluable blessing, and never as a burden or ourse. Shun idleness and sloth. Pursue some honest calling, and be not ashamed to be useful. t&r A week filled up with, selfishness, and the Sabbath stuffed full of religious exerei ses, will make a good Pharisee, but a poor Christian. There are many persons who think Sunday is a sponge with whioh to