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> i - i v' ' ' lewisk' grist,^proprietor, j An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. j?peeaottt*nrauteec*; VOK 5 ~ YOBKYILLE, S. C., THUBSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1859. IS"Oi43,: " Wit Jig|%ari's' = = WRITTEN FOR THE I "WHO IS 1 THE DARK MYSTERY OF BY WILLIE AUTHOR OF "LULA WOODSWORTH," "WIN! 8UN," "OLD HEADS AND CHAPTEK XIII. In an npper room of the 'Red Lion Inn,' where the dead body of Pete Muggins was lying, were Bessie, Jim, and some dozen or more old women. Jim and Bessie were the only mourners : the women were merely gathered together for the gratification of a morbid curiosity, and the retailing of village gossip and scandal. Each and all of them had some marvelous story to relate of wonderful dreams, visions, or presentiments of evil. They knew that some calamity would soon take place ; that old Pete's days had been numbered; for a dog had howled before the inn every night for more than two weeks; they had distinctly seen a ghost sitting on the door-steps the very night before Pete's death, and heaven knows what all they had not seen and heard. In the midst of snch wild and superstitions conversation, footsteps were distinctly heard upon the stairs, as if some heavy-footed person was slowly ascending. Jim was not sure, but he thought that the doors had all been locked before he came up stairs; so the old women huddled together and in terror awaited the entrance of the nocturnal visitor. The visitor was none other than Jude Sinister, though so effectually disguised that his most intimate acquaintances would have failed to recogniie him. This finished and accomplished villian had managed, in the small space of half an hour from the time he had had an interview with Milton, to obtain a complete suit of woman apparel, in which dress we now introduce him to our readers. 'And what do ye want at this time o' the night ?' ask) d one of the women, as Jude entered the room. 'That boy,' replied Jude, pointing to Jim. Ye cannot take the boy from me now,' said Bessie ; putting her arms around Jim's neck.? The good man has been murdered by D'Vilton, and I am left all alone in the world.' 'Now, Bessie,' said Jim, 'what makes you talk so ? Didn't I tell you that my father never killed poor old Pete, and that you will have me to work for you ?' The boy tells the truth,' said Jude : 'his father is guiltless of the murder of Pete Muggins.' 'There now!' said Jim. 'I knew it was so, Bessie." 'Who are you, that know my husband's name so well ?' asked Bessie. My name is Mag of the mountains?I know everything,' replied Jnde. 'And what do ye want with the boy V asked Bessie. 'I want him not?old Loo wants him,' said Jnde. 'Old Loo!' said Jim, starting ; 'is she away off in the Deserted House ?' 'She is with your father, boy.' 'My father!' said Jim, tearing himself from Bessie and advancing toward Jnde. 'I'll go with yon Mag?indeed I will 1' 'Don't go, Jim,' said Bessie. 'Old Loo promised to take you to your father, and has not done so after all; neither can we get yon to tell us what you saw or heard at the old honse. Something mutt be wrong?don't go, Jim.' Jim can tell what he pleases about Loo, or the deserted honse,' said Jude. I promised a lady' (Mrs. Milton, as the reader will recollect) 'not to say anything about it; so I can't tell yet,' said Jim. 'What lady !' asked Jude. 'I ain't going to tell; so you might's well not ask me,' said Jim, firmly. 'Where's father, anyhow ?' 'Edward D'Vilton is about a mile out in the country, aud is to be brought in to-morrow for trial before a magistrate,' replied Jude. 'What for?' asked Jim. 'He is accused of the murder of Pete Muggins,' replied Jude; 'but as far a9 I can see into the future, he will be acquitted.' 'Let him stand face to face with me,' said Bessie, 'and I'll soon know whether he ain't the very man that murdered my good man.' He didn't murder Pete !' said Jim, stamping his foot. 'The boy speaks true,' said Jude; 'does he not, Pete ?' To the consternation of all present, the dead body, to all appearances distinctly said: 'The boy is right.' Jude being skilled in Ventriloquism, the reader will very readily understand the modut operandi of the deception practiced upon the superstitious party. 'Pete ain't dead!' exclaimed Jim, rushing to the bed upon which the corpse was lying. Be quiet, boy!' said Jude. 'Pete Muggins will never breathe again; but even the dead must answer to my call.' Bessie, who had become perfectly terrified upon hearing, as she supposed, the corpse of her husband speak, sat trembling in the corner of the room, without the power of uttering a word.? Some of the women rushed out of the room ; some ran under the bed ; while others, like Bessie, were so completely overwhelmed by astonishment and superstitious terror as to be temporarily deprived of motion or speech. Shall I take Jim to Loo !' asked Jude. 'Cannot ye wait until the morning ?' asked Bessie, after a few moments silence. 'Now, or never 1' replied Jude. 'Loo wants him only for a few hours ; and I will bring him back safely here before morning. Shall I ask Pete's consent!' For the Lord's sake do not make the dead speak again,' said Bessie, shuddering. 'If Jim be willing to go, and ye promise to bring him back before the morning, I cannot say no to ye; but 0, do not call upon the dead again.' 'Are you willing to go, Jim ?' asked Jude. TFill you take me to father, if I go with you ?' asked Jim. 'Tou foolish boy!' said Jude, 'if ye had minded what old Loo told you about being cautious how you formed acquaintances, you might have seen your father several days ago. And let me say to every one in this house, that if ye mention Jim's name in connection with D'Viltons, or tell - - - * * a. any one that Loo sent tor mm, mat moment sunn you die.' Amen!' said (or seemed to say) the corpse. 4In the name of heaven, woman,' said Bessie, leave the house.' Shall I leave it without Jim ?' asked Jude.? 'Shall I return to old Loo and tell her that you prevented him from coming ? Beware how you trifle with such as we are!?it will do you no good, and may do you much harm.' I do not prevent the boy from going with you,' said Bessie. I'll go with you, Mag,' said Jim, putting on his cap and moving towards the door. It is well!' said Jude; then, hastily taking the 'boy's hand, he walked hurriedly out of the room vinto the street. It vas now about an hour after midnight, and the dark and narrow streets of Monctown were altogether deserted. For sometime Jude and Jim walked side by side in silence ; until, arriving at the outskirts of the town, Jude pointed to a light, about a hundred yards ahead, and said: 'Yonder is the carriage which will convey you safely to your father.' 'How far will we have to go ?' asked Jim. 'About two miles only,' said Jude; noticing that the boy hesitated and hung back. 'Let us hasten on, so as to get back as early as possible,' and, so saying, Jude seized the boy's hand and walked rapidly forward. A few moments after, Jude and Jim were seated within the carriage and were being driven rapidly oat of town. After aboat & half hoar's ride Jim ' #ripral JJottfoMe. fORKVILLE ENQUIRER. Ie heir r >R, THE DESERTED HOUSE. LIGHTHEART, HIE AND WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OP THE YOUNG HEART8," AC., AC. I fell asleep, nor did he awake until the sun was just peeping above the hill tops in the east, and the carriage abont five miles from the deserted house. Immediately recognizing the section of country, he started to his feet: and, looking ini'mIa fKa fono nf Tn/Io aai/i (WhRTfi ftffi ifumugij juiu vuv i?vw v* vaavav, you going io take me ?' 'Sit down, and ask no questions,' said Jude. 'Bat didn't you tell me that you were just going to take me two miles from Monctown?' I did,' replied Jude. 'Well, ain't we been riding all night!' asked Jim. 'Look here Jim, if you don't want your throat cut, you'd better sit quiet and ask no more questions,' said Jude. 'I might as well tell you at once that somebody hAs hired me to send you to America or kill you?just as it suits me. What old Loo told you about D'Vilton is all a lie ; for he ain't no father of ycur'n, nor has he returned to England at all. The old hag of a fortune-teller is nothing but an old crazy woman that once lived at the D'Vilton hall; and you are not the first boy that she has deceived.' 'But,' said Jim, 'who hired you to kill, or send me all the way off to America ? I ain't done | no harm to anybody;' and, so saying, the boy ! burst into tears. 'Well, 'tain't a bit of use to blubber out that way about nothing. If you keep quiet I'll send you to America with your pocket full of money, so that you can live there until you can get something to do. Vou ain't obliged to stay there if you don't like to.' 'I don't want to go,' sobbed the boy. 'Pshaw!' said Jude, putting his arm around the neck of Jim, coaxingly; 'I'm just funning with you, my boy!?you don't suppose that I meant what I said about taking you to America!' 'Where are you going to take me, then ?' asked Jim. 'Just a few miles further,' said Jude. 'But where?' 'To the house of one who wishes to befriend you,' said Jude. 'Make yourself perfectly easy, and you will not regret it. nere, tane a sip ui this wine?it will revive you somewhat.' The unsuspecting boy swallowed a mouthful of the drugged wine, which Jude always kept about bis person. In this situation must we now leave our hero?the victim to the canning and design of a heartless villian. ***** The morning after the incidents related above, D'Vilton appeared before the magistrate to answer to the charge of the murder of Pete Muggins. Of course the charge could not be sustained, as it was positively proven by the evidence of Milton, Dulson, Johnston, Williams, Barney and Julius, that the defendant was twenty-five miles from Monctown when the murder took place.? Who the murderer really was, who had given his name as Edward D'Vilton, could not be ascertained ; and Bessie being perfectly satisfied that the defendant was not the individual whom she had seen at the inn prior to the murder of her husband, the case was necessarily dismissed, and D'Vilton discharged from custody. 'Och! murther an' blazes !' said Barney, as D'Vilton turned to leave the office of tho magistrate, its meself that knew ye was innocent intirely.? Be Jabers ! jist spake the ward an* I'll kill the dirtby blackguard that laid his hans on yere honor.' 'It is all right, Barney,' said D'Vilton, grasping the hand of the well-meaning, but hot-headed Irishman; 'there is no harm done.' 'D'ye see that, now?' asked Barney, holding up a heavy cudgel. 'Certainly, I do,' replied D'Vilton. 'Och! whiniver ye nade a nate lad to fight for ye, jist call for this head-ache sthick,' said Barney. 'I shall do so,' said D'Vilton, smiling, and turning to Milton, who had touched him on the arm, as if desirous of speaking to him aside. 'Until you can perfect your arrangements' said Milton, 'I shall be most happy, sir, to have you make my house your home.' 'Thank you, Mr. Milton,' said D'Vilton; 'but Johnston having already invited me to take up my head-quarters at his residence, I shall be obliged to decline your very kind invitation.' 'You will dine with me, then?will you not ?' asked Milton. 'With pleasure, sir, said D'Vilton, and, so saying. he took Johnston's arm ; and, after bowing I co Aiuion, leic cue spot. 'Barney,' said Milton, observing that the Irishman's eyes were fixed upon him, 'are you particularly employed at present ? and, if not, will you go on an errand for me ?' 'An' is it the likes o' yerself that asks that question now ?' said Barney. 'Bedad! bad luck to ye! afther all ye done to a body in Maysville ye don't suppose ye can hire me now. Och ! I'm sthrongly timpted to break me arm over yere long face?ye bloody thafe o' the world!' Do you know whom you are addressing?' asked Milton, laying bis hand upon Barney's broad shoulder, and glancing fiercely into his face; then placing his mouth to Barney's ear, he whispered a few words, upon the hearing of which, the Irishman staggered back and fell upon his knees before Milton. 'An' will yere riverance forgive a puir sinful body for spaking so disrispectfully to one of the Holy fathers ! said Barney, taking off his cap, and trembling like a frightened child. 'Stand upon your feet!' said Milton, observing that the movements of Barney were attracting much attention from the passers-by. 'If you wish absolution, follow me at once.' As Milton passed through the streets of Monctown, followed by Barney, a close observer could not but be favorably impressed with regard to the character of the man. The titled gentleman down to the simple and unnoticed carman, lifted their hats as he passed by ; while little boys and girls crossed the street just to shake hands with 'good Mr. Milton' as he was generally called by the juvenile portion of the inhabitants of Monctown.? Milton's sanity of manner and urbanity of disposition was perfectly irresistible; and, perhaps, in all the world, there never lived so finished, thoroughly-trained and wily a hypocrite as this very Claude Milton. The universal respect and almost reverance, which was paid to Milton, tended much to awe the simple Irishman, who had so grievously offended him a few moments ago.? But let us proceed with our story. ? ,?,( u.o anrl T will ioin von in a few l 'ir\t aocov uvt v} ? ? ? ^ ^ ? moments,' said Milton, as he ushered Barney into his magnificently furnished drawing-room. Never had poor Barney's eyes rested upon such magnificent furniture as that which now surrounded him. Soft, silken and luxuriant ottomans, sofas, settees and lounges; richly carved and highly polished chairs and tables , unique and massive pier glasses, extending from the ceiling to the floor; heavy damask and venitian-lace curtains, capped with heavy and superb guilt cornices; rich and rare paintings; velvety carpets, upon which the feet delighted to tread ; costly bound books ; mantle ornaments of the most exquisite taste and skill, silver vases freighted with fragrant flowers and filling the apartment with the breath of a new born Eden; a piano, harp and guitar, and, in short, everything that was calculated to attract, ravish and delight the senses.? Such was the drawing-room of Claude Milton. 'Barney,' said Milton, entering the room with one of bis most amiable smiles, 'I am persuaded that you are sorry for the manner in whioh you addressed me awhile ago upon the publio streets.' 'Ocb ! yere riverance may well say that same,' said Barney, rising from his seat. 'Keep your seat,' said Milton, 'and hear what I have to say.' 'Jist spake anything ye like, yere riverance,' said Barney. Well, Barney,' said Milton, 'would you undertake a journey to Liverpool for me ?' 'An' is it the likes o* meself that would refuse to do anything for ye ?' said Barney. 'Will you go ?' 'Yis. yeflB reverance,' said Barney. 'Thank you !' said Milton, with his blandest smile. 'You have it in your power to do the churoh a very important service. A stage leaves here at noon, in which you can go as far as London, from which place yon can prooeed at once to Liverpool by the express train. Here are ten pounds, which will more than pay your way there and back.? Hand this letter to the gentleman to whom it is nddmaond?hut. can von read ?' 'Illigantly, bedad!' said Barney. 'Let me hear you read it.' 'Right Rev. Retsmis Eduj.' said Barney, after spelling the address several times. 'Ocb I did ye iver hear the like o' sich a name!' Had Barney have known what we must tell the reader, that the same name, read backwards, would spell Jude Sinister, it would not have thus puzzled him. Just hand that letter to the gentleman to whom it is directed, and bring me a reply a? early as possible,' said Milton. 'But where will I find him?' asked Barney. 'At the King's Arm's Inn?anybody can inform you where that is. When you enter the Inn ask the landlord if number eighteen is occupied ; and if he replies in the affirmative?.' 'What d'ye mane by infirmity ?' askod Barney. 'Affirmative, man?not infirmity,' ss.id Milton, smiling. * 'What I mean to say, is, that if the landlord tells you that eighteen is occupied, just ask him to show you the room, and ycu will find the person there to whom this letter is directed. If ho says that the room is not occupied remain at the inn until it is, which will be in the course of a week. 'All right,' said Barney, placing the money and bank notes in his pocket. The reader is, of course, anxious to know the contents of Milton's letter; and, perhaps, this may be the proper time to gratify his curiosty.? Here is the letter: jude 8imster :?I have sent Barney to yor?he is in my wav. A trip to India, America or Australia nay be of material benefit to his health as well as conducive to our safety in the present emergency. How have you succeeded In that little affair abont Jim? A word to a wIrd man Sec. Yours in baste GOLD. nrTATvrcn VTtr l/nariJQxv ALT. Three weeks have passed away since the incidents recorded in the last chapter, took place ; and at the time the present chapter opens, Milton was laying the flattering unction to his soul, that his deep laid plans had succeeded even beyond expectation and that his triumph was complete. D'Vilton had hired a beautiful little cottage in the vicinity of Monctown, whither himself and the boy Julius, were now living. The couple paid occasional visits to the Deserted House, and it was generally reported about Monctown that D'Vilton intended to have the old building repaired and partially remodeled, and the garden restored to its original beauty. Up to the present time, however, nothing had been done ; and the dark, ivy-covered walls of the old house boomed up as drearily and gloomy as ever. Elouise Milton was almost ever in the society of Julius, when not attending to her studies; while poor little Rosa had done nothing but weep since the singular disappearance of Jim from Monctown. Bessie?Jim's best friend, and one of the best creatures that ever lived?had died very suddenly. No one knew how, or when; but about snnset, one beautiful afternoon, she was found cold, stiff and lifeless in her bed A jury was summoned and the usual formality observed ; and poor Bessie was buried in the little churchyard, and the old sign of the lion taken down from the time-worn post before the inn ; then all was forgotten. George Vandry had made every effort to find Jim ; but except some vague reports, that he had left town with an old woman, calling herself Mag of the mountains, nothing could be ascertained. Mrs. Milton had treasured up in oer mind the wonderful revelations made to her by Jim in regard to old Loo, the Deserted House, and Claude * ? '< . . ?? -L?,l L?_ ?< Milton ; ana, woen me repuri rcuuucu tin ui Jim's unnacountable absence ; the murder of Pete, and the singular death of Bessie, she feared? feared almost to an agony, that the boy had also been murdered, and that, too, by the hands of her husband. Old Loo, the fortune-teller had recovered from her wounds. As the attentive portion of our readers will remember, she had been taken across the narrow river, which divided Monctown from Ellensville?in a state of stupefaction from the effects of a strong narcotic, administered by Milton, while in the deserted house. Strange to say her recovery without the aid of medical advice and attendance was almost miraculously rapid; so that, at the time our chapter opens, she was at large, and might often be seen about the streets of Monctown had she not been disguised. Milton had visited her twice during her illness; at each time offering her a large sum of money to leave England. She spurned all his offers; but promised to do nothing which would conflict with his interests ; nor would she leave the hut or cabin, to which he had sent her without his knowledge and consent. This last promise she had broken, as has already been intimated ; but Milton knew not of it. So much by way of preface; and now let us enter Milton's house, and ascertain what more may be gathered. ******* 'Father,' said Elouise, entering the room in which Milton was sitting alone, 'here is a letter for you, sir.' My, darling !' said Milton, with much feeling ; taking the letter from the hand of his beautiful daughther, and affectionately kissing her upturned lips. 'Where have you been all the afternoon ? ?with mother ?' '0, Julius and I had such a nice long walk ; and gathered ever so many flowers; and?we met such a strange old man father, and-and?.' 'Very well, darling,' said Milton. 'Go and tell it all to your mother; for I have several important letters to write before dark.' i But, father,' said Elouise, 'the old man told ; Julius that D'Vilton was not his father?.' 'Ha!' said Milton, starting to his feet; then ob- I serving the child looking surprised at his sudden outburst of feeling, he remarked in an altered tone; 'You must pay no attention to such talk, my darling; nor must you mention it to others.' 'And the bad old thing called you a villian, too,' continued Elouise; 'and said that it wouldn't | be many years before you would be hung, and?.' i l TT-.11 aaM rvftrtinff tllO flrtftr rOQtloQdW 1 nuau; gum iunvuu, |j?vuig v..w ?vw. , then suddenly pausing, he asked hurriedly, and i with pallid brow : 'have you told this to any one i beside myself??speak!' 'No father;' said Elouise. Well, do not mention it to any one, that's a | darling, and I will buy that beautiful pony for ] you, which you admired so much yesterday,' said Milton. " , ] Will you father ?' asked the girl; throwing i her arms around Milton's neck, and kissing his i cheek. 'Did I not say that I would, my child ?' replied , Milton, tenderly parting the beautiful curls from the fair, blue-veined brow of Elouise. 'Did father ever promise you anything and not do it ?' 'You are such a dear, good, kind father!' said Elouise , laying her soft cheek against Milton's, and affectionately smoothing back his hair. 'By the way, my darling, did Julius hear the old man call me a villian ?' asked Milton, eager'Yes, sir; and Julius got very angry about it too.' 'How long is it since you parted with him?' asked Milton. 'Just a little while ago,' replied Elouise. Did he go home ?' 'He said that he was going down to the Park, sir,' said Elouise. 'Go there at once, my darling, and tell him that I wish to speak to him,' said Milton. 'But you are fatigued?tell Deurick to come here.' The child immediately left the room; and, shortly after, Dedrick?to whom the reader has already been introduced?made his appearance. Vat yon vant mid me ?' asked Dedriok, in his usual blunt mode of speech. Put the horses in the carriage, and drive down to the Park as fast as possible,' said Milton. 'Yaw,' replied Dedrick, leaving the room hastily. 'Comeback, sir!' sboutod Milton. 'Vat eex too V asked Dedrick, popping his head through the door way. 'Pool!' said Milton; 'what are you going to do with the carriage after you reach the park ?' Py tarn I drives pack like ter tevvil.' 'Nonsence !' said Milton; 'what I want you to do, is to find Julius, and tell him I want to see him particularly for a few moments; and, give him a seat in the carriage.' 'Vat for you gives avajTfer'onshion ?' 'What are you talking "^bont, Dedrick! I said nothing about giving away a cushion, man.' 'Yaw; you vash say I must gives away to Julius von of der seats midin der carriage, py tarn 1' 'You misunderstood me,' said Milton: '1 simply mean to say that you must tell the boy to' get in the carriage, as I wish to see him.' 'Yaw, yaw;' said Dedrick, 'dat ish so?me no understand' 'Well, be off now as quick as you possibly can,' said Milton impatieotly. 'What old man can this be,' said Milton, as soon as Dedrick left the room, 'who has told Julius and Elouise these things ? Well, I must first manage to silence these children; and, after that, it may be as well to employ the services of that villian, Jude, to put this old fellow out of the way. Ah!'he continued, taking up the letter which Jude had written, and which had been delivered to Elouise by the post-boy. 'I had almost forgotten this letter,' and so saying he hastily tore the envelope from the letter and read as follows: 'CLAUDE Miltoh About two weeks ago, I succeeded In getting Jim to Liverpool and sending him off to America under the care of one of the crew of the barqne Amelia, which is now on her way across the Atlantic. A boy is but a boy, after ail; and it only cost me a little persuasion, a few lies, and a small amount of money to get him aboard the vessel. He left with the impression, that the Amelia was bound for Belfast, and would return to Liverpool in a few weeks at farthest; bnt this is rather a mistake, as the vessel touches at St. Augustine, Florida, on her way to the West Indies. At the flret mentioned place I have made arrangements for Jim to be pnt ashore; so that, in all conscience, he will be far enough from old England. I received your letter from the hands of Barney, and really Claude Milton, I must acknowledge that the skill and ingenuity in which yon managed to get the fellow here surpasses even what I have dreamed of 'in all my philosophy.' He left Liverpool for New York abont three days ago, after being nearly frightened out of his wits by a mock warrant for his arrest. These too cost me about twenty five pounds, beside the passage money; making, in all, about sixty pounds, which, by the way, you will please remit by malL " 11 -1 A An Irnnw ftlftt olfl Loo is at ay llm najr, uuiuivn, j ? ? large ? Some how or other, she has found out my whereabouts, and such a letter she has written me! whew I It would make you quail to read one line of it She has got the idea into her head that wo have murdered Jim. We will have to kill her yet, before we get through; but how, in the devil's name, did you allow her to escape ? Look sharp, Milton, or the game is lost, as certain as we are living men I Yours, while you have money, JUDE SIMSTER.' 'While I have money !' said Milton between his teeth; and, trampling the letter beneath his feet, he walked the apartment with long rapid strides, 'Fool that I am, to allow the villiau to pollute the air with his breath, or damn the earth with his presence! aye, arrant fool! when a blade of steel might quench his life, and drink up his heart's blood.' And yet,' he continued, after some moments' silence, 'he is as the vast herd of mankind are? servants, aye, slaves for money! Talk about love and friendship! ?bah ! there is no such thing, save as it is bought for accufs^d gold! I will buy It, then, uiaco mi-.l. bodies, and evon souls are for sale; but when tfJe bargain is struck, ha, ha, the costly purchases shall be but sacraficial offerings!' 'Old Loo at large, eh ! She will cross my path ! will thrust her foul carcass between myself and success?death! it is at tby peril, thou strange woman!?meet me but once again: shake thy lean ghostly finger in my face yet once more ; and as God liveth ! another carcass shall rot beneath the turf?another soul go wailing into hell!' ,TT? A*?A ?>(inKn/? fnntiln Tocnn "lias [QUI. aiave?luai. uianuug i^uiv, o^vu, dared to allow her to e3cape!' Milton continued. 'Swore he not, by his life, to forbid her to approach even the door of the cabin! Distraction! madness!?I will find out this treacherous proceeding this very night, and? A gentle tap upon the door cut the sentence short; and, after snatching up the letter, and thrusting it hastily in his bosom, Milton said, in softest imaginable tone of voice: 'Come in and Ju'ius entered the apartment. 'Ha!' said Milton, starting and turning pale; 'why-wh-why did you not come in without knocking?' 'I heard?.' 'Heard what ??speak, sir!' said Milton trembling, and laying his hand upon the boy's shoulder. 'Nothing, but somebody speaking sir,' replied Julius, looking wonderingly upon Milton. 'You have not been in the habit of knocking at the door before this,' said the conscience-stung Milton. 'I thought you were reading, sir,' said Julias. 'Well, sir. since you have been listening?.' 'I did not listen, sir; I knocked as soon as I heard your voice,' said Julius, coloring to the temples. Milton silently motioned to Julius to be seated, then threw himself into an easy chair with a deep sigh; but the boy continued to stand. 'Sit down, sir,' said Milton, somewhat sharply. Julius twisted his handkerchief; pulled nervously nt the ribbon around his cap ; but did not obey Milton. 'What ails you, Julius ?' asked Milton; surprised at the remarkable conduct of the boy. 'You never spoke so harshly to me sir, when I was living with you,' said Julius, involuntarily rending his handkerchief. 'Pshaw !' said Milton, 'you know me too well, my boy, to suppose that I would willingly wound your feelings. The fact is, lam unwell this afternoon, and am ill at ease in mind ; and, you know we are all too apt, because of these sinful hearts of ours, to speak too hastily, and often harshly to those even whom we most love.' 'Did you want to speak to me, sir?' asked Julius, in an altered tone. 'I did,' replied Milton; 'and it was for that purpose that I sent Dedrick to the Park for you.' 'What do you want me to do for you, sir ?' asked Julius, seating himself. 'Elouise tells me,' said Milton, 'that you met an old man in the course of your walk this afternoon, and that he called me a villian, and told you that Mr. D'Vilton is not your father ; is that 30?' 'Elouise always tells the truth, sir,' said Julius, with animation. Do you believe the old man ?' 'Believe him ??why, no, sir!' replied Julius. 'Perhaps you are not aware, Julius,' said Milton, 'that you have many enemies, who are doing all they can to deprive you of the estate of Edward D'Vilton, which is justly yours at his dejease. For this purpose, I am reliably informed that several vile persons have obtained the services of a half demented old woman, called Loo ; who, for sometime back, has been endeavoring to palm of a match boy as the genuine son of your father. Now, what the old man told you this afternoon you had better say nothing about for the present, as it is my intention to ascertain, if possible, who be is, so that I can bring him to justice and expose his plot.' I will mention it to no one but father," said Julius. 'Not even to him, boy; for we mu3t pretend to know nothing of the existence of this deep laid plot, until we can entrap the parties, and, as I said before, expose their villiany. Promise me that vou will say nothing about what you have | heard, and I will make you a handsome present.' j 'I will say nothing about it, sir, if you think I should not,' said Julius. 'That's a man!?what kind of a present do you wish ?' I can keep from telling it without a present,' said Julius. Milton looked upon the upturned countenance of the boy for a few moments, as if endeavoring to read his inmost soul; then, as if perfectly satisfied with the result of his scrutinizing glance, he said: 'I can trust you ; I know that I can!' 'That's so!' said Julius, proudly. 'May I go now ?' 'Yes, my boy ; if you wish to do so, I have no objections,' said Milton pleasantly ; 'but drop in I and soe me whenever yon may feel disposed? won't yon ?' 'Yes, sir,' said Jnlins; and the next moment he was gone, and Milton once more alone. 'I mnst see Jason this very night, and ascertain from him, how old Loo made her escape?hal by the way, it is possible that the old man, whom these children saw some hours ago is none other than Loo in disguise.' And, so saying, Milton summoned a servant. 'John,' said Milton, as the servant made his appearance, 'is Dedrick in ?' 'He is, sir.' 'Tell him to have the carriage at the door immediately after supper, as I shall need it.' * * * * * The reader will remember, that when old Loo was taken from the Deserted Honae by Jude and carried across the river that separated Monctown from what was called the Witches Home, he was instructed to place her under the charge of an old man, whom he would find in an old hut or i cabin about four miles rromtne names 01 me river. Witches Homo was a desolate, dreary, barren moor, extending along the banks of the river for abont eight miles, and back about half that distance. The moor, or heath, was bounded 'on the north by a thickly-wooded, but by no means extensive forest, in the midst of which was old Jason's cabin, to which place old Loo had been sent. Why this section of country was thus named, none of the then living population of Monctown oould tell; but the lower classes of the peasantry, who drink in superstition like the ox drinketh in water, had ever some marvelous legends to relate about the benighted traveler being led into marshes and pitfalls by false lights, or surrounded and murdered by witches and hags. Be this as it may, this section of country was the most desolate region in all England, and was never traveled, unless strictly unavoidable. Jason, who occupied the cabin in the forest, was dreaded and feared by the lower classes. He was seldom or never seen in Monctown, and no one knew from whom he obtained the means of subsistence, as he was never known to expend a farthing among the people, and it was impossible to procure food where he lived. Old women and silly men had no doubt upon their minds that Jason was leagued with the devil, and that his Satanic majesty, by means, unknown to the writer, managed to keep him alive. It may bens well to state, however, that such was not the whole truth ; that this Jason was none other than D'Vilton's old gardner; that it was by his treason and villiany that Milton succeeded in obtaining an entrance into D'Vilton Hall thirteen years before, and compassing his base designs; that this Jason had, in some way implicated himself with the, as yet, mysterious disappearance of Charlotte D'Vilton. For the last six years he had been living in this desolate section of country; but instead of being supported by the devil, he received constant secret supplies, of all that was necessary to keep soul and body together, from Milton. Having, in some measure, prepared the way for what is to follow, let us now return to Milton. ***** 'Has Dedrick put the horses in the carriage?' asked Milton, as he arose from tho supper table. You surely are not going out such a night as this,' said his wife, pointing out of the window to the inky clouds sweeping athwart the rising moon. 'I shall not be long away, Alice,' said Milton, somewhat embarrassed, and throwing his cloak oyer his shoulders. But wherefore go at all, Claude ?' T have important business to attend to, Alice.' What is that business, that you cannot tell to me ?' There was a time, Claude, when there were no secrets between us ; when you did not absent yourself so often from your wife and daughter? hark! do you not hear distant thunder?' 'I do, Alice; but it is to avoid the fall; the crashing descent of the thunderbolt upon my head that I leave you to-night. I sh-shall soon be back?back and in security before the storm comes on.' There was a wildness?a peculiar and unnatural light from the dark, soul-searching eyes of Milton, as he uttered these double meaning words; then, going up to the side-board, he helped himself to a glass of undiluted rum, and was about to raise it to his lips, when a flash of lightning burst assunder the now clouded skies and filled the room with a terrific blaze of light?then, at the same instant, a deafening crash shook the house to its very foundations, and the spent thunder rumbled, rolled, muttered and moaned away in the distance. 'Claude,' said his wife as theglass fell from the trembling hand of Milton, 'indeed, indeed you must not venture out on such a night as this.? inavaaano f OOtv liaf VOll not go.' I must go!?believe me, that I would remaiD with you if I dared,' said Milton. 'Don't go, father!?please don't leave U9 alone this awful night,' said Elouise, taking his hand affectionately. 'My daudaughter!?ray darling, God-given benediction!' said Milton seating himself, and taking the beautiful girl upon his knee, 'you know not what you ask.' Then, suddenly placing Elouise upon her feet, and starting from his chair, he called lustily for Dedrick. In a moment, the faithful coachman stood before him. 'Are you ready to start, sir?' asked Milton, pushing Elouise from him. 'Yaw,' said Dedrick sullenly; 'but vat for you goes out pon der storms ?' 'Are the lamps on the carriage lighted ?' asked Milton ; paying no attention to the coachman's remark about the weather. 'Yaw.' 'Have you had anything to drink lately ?' asked Milton. 'If not, go to Leander, and tell him to fill your flask.' Dedrick did not require much pressing, but left instanter for the pantry, whistling 'Hail Brittania!' 'Since you will go,' 9aid his wife to Milton, 'when will you return V 'Probably in three hours time,' said Milton, filling his flask from the decanter, with a nervous hand. 'Do you not think, Claude, that you would discharge your business engagements much more expeditiously if you allowed me to keep that flask until you return?' asked his wife. 'I do not think so; indeed, Alice, this flask is I absolutely necessary,' said Milton, with a forced smile. I 'Claude !' said Alice, reprovingly, 'there was a time when such?' That time is eone !' said Milton with emphasis. 'Say no more about it, wife?I-I?pshaw ! do not attempt to diotate to your husband ! Ho is a man, while you are-are-well, nothing but a woman!' And, so saying, the heartless villian, hastily left the room. 'Too true!' said Alice Milton, throwing herself upon a lounge, and bursting into tears; 'I am, alas ! nothing but a woman!?a poor foolish, and suffering woman. So tho world says ; so the world acts. And, yet, 'said she, the verdict is just?our own hands sharpen the instrument of torture ; we bare our own bosoms to the barbed arrow; we rush needlessly into the flame because it glitters, because it is beautiful to look upon.' Then, burying her face in the crimson cushion, she went away back, in memory, to her once happy home in America; she recalled the ten thousand heartstirring associations of home and loved ones now far-away. Oh! what a sacrifice of all that makes life worthy of the name ! How happy she might have been with him who sought her heart and I hand with an almost river-like love?so 'deep and pure and strong: But she had discarded him; she had broken her vows, so often whispered to him when no eye, but the eye that slumbereth not, saw the pressed hand, or no ear but the ear of the Eternal caught up the timid, half smothered vow. And he left her; none knew whither, none knew why; but the broken-hearted man went wandering through life?with a dark cloud forever over the stars, and an endless frost upon the flowers, that once lighted up his sky and perfumed pathway. Milton came. He sought her hand?it was given ; he offered gold for her heart?it was sold. She did not love him ; but his tales of extensive lands, broad fields, and magnificent mansion across the water; his position in society; his brilliant parts; his eloquent address, and handsome exterior?these were too much for one of her tender years to withstand; and, despite the decided ob jection of an aged parent; despite the attractions, comforts, and blessings of home ; she took the fatal leap, and married Milton. Ah ! poor Alice Milton ! well might your husband say 'you are nothing hut a woman !' Such in substance, were her thoughts, as she sat upon the crimson lounge in that gorgeous and magnificent apartment.? Ah ! methinks the tears that fall upon the crimson cushions are no less bitter than those which dampen rustic seats!?that eyes wiped witfigawzy linen-cambric, with lace borders, are as often suffused with tears as those which are wiped by rough sleeyes, or check aprons! 'Into each life some rain must fall. Some days will be dark and dreary.' And yet if Alioe Milton war nothing but & woman, as her oruel husband had asserted, tauntingly, she wa9 capable, as all women are, of endurance, patience, long-suffering and quiet fortitude, to a thousand times greater degree than the stoutest-hearted, iron-souled man. 'In hope, love, devotion and faith ; as well as determination, endurance, and patience, it is very true that woman is nothing but woman ; while, on the other hand, in all the opposite qualities, men,as a whole, are nothing but men. Man will yield, sink down, and be crushed benenth a sorrow; while woman will 'stand like an anvil,' beneath the blows of adversity and the strokes of misfortune, until the crazk?-nin nnrl fn heart. are hoth wrecked?both | pulseless upon the clammy bosom of her sole Tictor, Death! But we are digressing: let us return to Milton who has just left the room, and is now about enj tering the carriage at the door. 'Vere ish it I must drives ter carriage ?' asked I Dedrick, as Milton seated himself within. 'To the Witches Home,' replied Milton, slamming the carriage door. 'Dunder ant blixen!' exclaimed the astonished Dedrick, jumping down from his seat, and looking into the carriage ; 'shust let me tell you, py tam! dat ish so pad a blace ash it never vas. I vash no be dare for all der monish dare ish in dish whole England?I will no drives ?' 'Will not drive, you rascal!' said Milton. 'I command you to get up to your seat instantly and do as I tell you.' 'Shust you look here, Mr. Miltons!' said Dedrick ; 'I vas pot going von steps mid dish carriage, no hows you kin fix der tings. Py dunder! roe's von free mans so goot as pefore it never vas.' Reply to me in that way, sir,' said Milton, jumping out of the carriage; 'and I will blow your brains out!' '0, pytam!' said Dedrick; 'spose you plow mine head pon top of mine prains, vat for no you don't go mid der bolice to der brisou, ant der gall ?vat you call de tam tings ?' 'How, sir!' said Milton. 'Dare you mention gallows to me ?' 'Yaw dat ish it!' said Dedrick; 'sposeder sheriff put der gallns pon top of your neck, pecause you plow der head from out of mine prains. Yat you does den ?' 'Are you drunk, Dedrick?' asked Milton, surprised at the unusual conduct of the honest fellow. 'Drunk!' replied Dedrick, indignantly; 'ven you sees me mid too mooch prandy?' Well, get on your seat, and drive me at once to the Witches Home,' said Milton, slipping a crninp.a in 'Dnilrink's hand. ? ? ? 'But,' said Dedrick, 'how we going to cross der river so stormy a nichgt ash dis von ?' 'We can go over the bridge,' said Milton, 'by going a mile or two out of our way. Come, jump up!' and Milton placed another guinea in the driver's bund. _ Poor Dedrick, like everybody else in this strange world, had bis price ; and, as it was bilt seldom that his hands closed over two guineas, he silently mounted his high seat before the carriage; and, telling Milton to get in, he drove rapidly off from the door. It was indeed a terrible night. The rain came down in torrents ; the lightning (though not half so vivid as in our southern latitudes) continunlly darted from the highly charged clouds, and flashed, with an almost blinding light, into the faces of Milton and Dedrick ; while the alternately crashing and muttering thunder rolled over the town and made night more than hideous. With the exception of themselves and an occasional watchman, the streets were entirely deserted; and the clatter of the horses hoofs upon the stony streets and the rumbling of the heavy carriage wheels, together with the low howl of a watch dog, and the frequent 'py tarn' of Dedrick, were all that broke the reign of silence between the pauses of the thunder-peals. Milton threw himself back into a corner of the carriage, and thought, thought, thought, until thought became agony. Oh 1 where would it all end ??this dark, inexplicable, damning plot of his! Should he triumph in his base plans and intentions, what then? What was there to be gained by that triumph in comparison to the quiet peace of conscience which was lost? Where was he going, this dark, dreary and terrible night? Ah ! that was a fearful question! Why leave the oeauiuui nome; iu comiona huu iu uiu^uiu^quuo . Why not be with that lovely child?that only daughter?whose form was fast growing into that of woman ? Why not be there with the sad, pale wife, to wipe away those almost ever falling tears, and whisper gentle words in her ear, that longed, so yearningly, for the love-music? Oh! why? Ah! it was not said iu vain: 'The wages of sin are death and oh !' what a death it is! A death of purity, a death of happiness, a death of love, of hope, of pleasure, of home, respect, loved-ones; a death to all that is noble in human nature ; a death, morally ; a death, intellectually ; a death, physically; and, finally, a death, eterhallt! Verily, dear reader, the heart within the bosom of Milton was as certainly dying to all good end pure influences, as that his physical organization was decaying beneath the touch and influences of time ; and?make a note here?as soon as the human heart becomes contaminated by constant contact with guilt and transgression, so sure will it withdraw its affections from all that is pure, and holy and of good report; and it is only necessary to keep the heart shut against the good to create within itself a bell. Pardon another digression?it was involuntarily protracted. 'Drive carefully and slowly, Dedrick,' said Milton, as the hoofs of the horses sounded upon the bridge. Then throwing himself back into the seat he said : 'That old villian, Jason, must have allowed Loo to escape, and, no doubt, knowssomething of her whereabouts. By heaven! he shall not thus trifle?' Vat ish dat!' exclaimed Dedrick. 'What is the matter now?' asked Milton, putting his head cautiously out of the window. Mine got in heben!* said Dedrick, 'dere ish von olttinrr nff vnntpr nv von fire.' VIU TIIUU o?u.u(j J ~ ? 'Where ?' asked Milton, looking in all directions; then, in an undertone, he added: 'Heavens 1 if it be old Loo, my triumph is complete 1' So saying, he ordered the carriage to be stopped ; and after alighting, he looked in every direction over the desolate moor, agd said, 'I see nothing, Dedrick.' 'Yaw! look right perfore ter head of ter horses ?vat you see dare ?' 'A fire, as I live!' said Milton, observing a fire about half a mile in the distance ; 'but I see no one, Dedrick.' 'Schust look dare now,' said Dedrick, pointing the but end of his whip towards the figure of what seemed to be a woman, passing to and fro before the fire. 'Vat for you no see ?' 'The fire must be under a tent,' said Milton; 'or it would not burn in all tbis rain. A party of gipseys have encamped for the night, I suppose; but drive on?we shall soon find out something about it,' and, so saying, Milton reseated himself within the carriage, and Dedrick drove carefully towards the fire. [to be continued.] B?" We can supply a limited number of new subscribers with back numbers, containing the foregoing story. India-Rubber Tools for Machinists. ?Mr. Thomas Mayall, Roxbury, Massachussetts, who has long been engaged in the enterprise, has succeeded in producing a composition, the basis of which is India-rubber combined with emery, from which are manufactured files, emery wheels, grind stones, hones, razor strops, scythe-rifles, knife-sharpeners, and a variety of other articles of like nature. The files wrought.fkoto, this new composition can be ihoalded into any desirable size or form, and adapted to every variety of meohanieal business in which the common rasp and file are employed.-14They can be made as rigid as the steel file, or as flexible and elastic ae the original-gSuflf which forms the basis of the invention. Btfr* ery wheels and grindstones are wrought from this composition of every desired shape- and: size, from the coarsest grade of emery to the finest buff wheel. In point of economy the? new compoemou ia supcuui w ??j ?? ?? implements whioh it is destined to supersede^ sinee the articles made from it are servioea^ ble until the material of which they are coitoi posed is entirely worn away. It possesses lbs virtue of repelling oils and solvents, ^ Of the great variety of useful and orn%-> mental forms whioh India-rubber, througfc the skill of the inventor, has been made-to assume, this is regarded as the latest and most important application. The composition has been perfeoted by a new proem and principle discovered by Mr. Mayall, and, we learn that the right of the discoverer have been duly secured in the United States; and in all the nations of Europe.?BostonJournal. Cost op a Newspaper?We read, t few days since, in one of our exchanges, tfair remark that it takes nearly one dollar and fifty cents to publish a weekly newspapetf We should think it does. How any papeP of usual size, oan be published for $1.69, without losing mouey, we have not yet bees able to discover. This secret is yet a sealed book to us. vim & Papers are springing up all over tbo country, and in order to force out a oiroulatiou, offer their issues at subaoription prices ruinous to themselves, and injurious to their ootemporaries. Thus the business of Journalism, in localities where a newspaper can he supported, under ordinary circumstances, is crippled, and to a very great extent rendered unprofitable. Some men think it is glory and honor enough to have the name of ' ' >*. ? a l. u. Deiog toe editor 01 a paper, ouuu uowuij find oat, by waiting, that such honors are empty, and devoid of the capaoity to far* isb meat and bread for the wife and chit dren. The result is, that very often the a* terprise proves a failure, creditors suffer, and the unfortunate adventurer becomes^ pecuniarily, a wreck. It takes money to carry on a newspaper, and it takes pairoiif age to bring in money,-aod tW-patwiy must pay remunerative prices. Where tkif is not the case, failures will always be thf consequence. So much for publishing | newspaper at loosing rates. , """ Thx Boy op the Times.?We like an active boy?one who has the impulse of tb^ nge?of the steamboat?in him. A lazy, plodding, snail-paced chap, might have got along in the world fifty years ago, but he don't do for these times. We live in an age of quick ideas. Men think quicks eat, sleep, court, and die quick?and slow coaches are not tolerated. 'Go ahead if yoji burst your boiler!' is the motto of every one anrl Via onnnoorlo the Viaof OrVm Vina mrwt of 'do or die' in him. Strive, boys, to oatch the spirit of the times; be up and dressed always, not gaping and robbing yonr eyes as if yon were half asleep?bat be wide awake for whatever may torn op, and yon will be somebody before yoo die. Think, plan, reflect asmoch as yoo please before yoo act, bot think qnioItly^moseTy, and when yoo have fixed yonr eye opon ta object, spring for the mark at once. ^ Bot above all things, be honest If yoi intend to be an artist, carve it in Use wom ?chisel it in the marble; if a merchant, write it in Jour ledger. Let honesty be yoor goiding star. Of what is Salt a Symbol ??Of fidelity ; a man who has partaken of salt with you is boond to yoo by the laws of hospitality; and thos bread and salt are eaten at the ratification of a bargain or treaty to make ft binding on all parties. Salt is also an eurblem of desolation ; conquered cities were sown with salt. In Scotland and Ireland salt appears to have been considered to rep> resent the incorruptible spirit; and was, therefore, laid above the heart of a corpse : and in some cases a platten was so placed containing a small portion of salt and earth unmixed, the one to represent the immofltf, the other the mortal part. In former dfctt, when it was the custom for all the hoipCrhold of a nobleman or gentleman to dine^ rrntbe* tb n 1 oyrrQ aolf nollor wKiaJi VM VIW VUW UMI V WVtlMt nutVH |,.? ced in the middle of the table was the boondary of distioction between the family and the menials. Is that also Thine ??A beautifdl reply is recorded of a Dalcarlian peasant whose master was displaying to him the grandetr of his estate. Farms, houses, and forests were pointed oat in saooeeeion on every hand, as the property of the rich proprietor, who snmmed up finally by saying, 'In abort, all that yoa can see, in every direction, belongs to me/ The poor man looked thoughtfully for a moment, then pointing up to heaven, solemnly replied. 'And is that also thine ?' How many who are satisfied only to grasp all that is around them and beneath them fLo oontro of the dobe. whollv for UUVTU W 0 # ^ get to own?upward. Revival.?The revival meeting, which we noticed last week as in progress in the Presbyterian Church at this place, closed on last Monday night. It was truly an interesting meeting throughout. In ad&tion to the nineteen, who had joined up to Friday of last week, more than twenty other person were added to the church before the dosing of the meeting, makingin all between forty and fifty new converts. This was a rich harvest, and is joyous news to every Christian's heart?Laurttvilk Herald.