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? ' ? L^'i-!?! ' . asasxBsmmmmmmm^^t I "M'iff lIwism'^fxsT,NPTo^etor.} v An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Cgmmercial Interests of the South. {mpeeAxvtfgttf miprcg VOL. 5. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, 3,1859. : . JSTQ. 44. written for the y ^ r "WHO IS T O THE DARK MYSTERY OF BY WILLIE J author of "lula w00d8w0rth," "winn sun," "old heads and 1 CHAPTER XIY?Continued. A half hoar's drive brought the carriage to jrhat proved to be a large tent made up of b'ankets stretched over poles. The interior of the tent was occupied by some half dozen dusky looking women, three men, ard several half naked children. Two horses, a virions looking dog, and a rickety old wagon, were about the entrance, and a small peat fire was burning within. ? - * ? - A.j 'Hello midin der tents: suouiea u?unu? , <? for you no comes out?' * 'What's wanted ?' asked a tall, cadaverous looking fellow, coming to the entrance of the tent, and yawning laxily. 'Py tam! mine clothes is so vet as pefore it never vas,' said Dedrick. 'We don't care for that, old Rip,' said the man, turning and going into the tent. Ole yip!'said Dedrick, indignantly; 'youmust pe von tam assjack to put dat names pon top of me. Vat for you no ask der shentlemen to come on top der fire ?' 'You blasted, sour-krout scoundrel!' exclaimed the gipsey, returning to the opening, and looking threateningly upon Dedrick; 'we don't want none of your company here; so you'd better move off qnick!' 'Dunder ant blixen!' vat you say?' 'Silence!' said Milton ; 'you must not speak thus to these peoplethen, alighting from the carriage, he stepped up to the gipsey, and said, in his blandest tone of voice: 'Myfriend we have no right to disturb you thus, but please allow us to oome in just for a few moments. We are quite wet and cold or we would not trouble you with our presence.' 'Humph!' growled the gipsey, 'what brings you to the moor such a night as this ? No good, I guess ' 'No hfum, at least,' said Milton, handing bis brandy flask to the gipsey, who took a long draught, and returned it to Milton in silence. 'Shall I walk in ?' asked Milton, wrapping his cloak about him, and shivering. 'Sally,' said the gipsey, looking into the tent, and addressing one of the occupants, 'step here a little.' A moment after, a small, shrivelled, and repulsive looking creature appeared at the entrance of the tent, and fixed her dark eyes upon Milton, wonderingly. As she stood before Milton?the peat-fire lighting up her singular form and features?there was something so wild, terrible, and almost unnatural about the ever-changing countenance, that he involuntarily started back. She wore a broad-brimmed, coarse, straw hat, the brims of which were brought down over the cheeks by a piece of rope which passed over the crown and was fastened under the chin. Her garments were partly those of % female and those of a male; for, beside a coarse flannel shirt, and green waist-apron, she wore a man's waistcoat and coat, and a heavy pair of boots. Beside these, a long, dingy looking cloak of red flannel was thrown carelessly over her shoulders, making her entire oostume one of the most unique imaginable. 'Do you know where you are?' she asked, in a sharp, shrill voice, that startled Milton beyond 'I do,' replied Milton. 'What brings yon to this desolate moor??the dreaded Withches Home?' she asked. 'Bnsiness,' replied Milton; 'but are you going to keep me out of the tent in the rain ? or Bhall I enter.' 'Enter!?ha, ha, ha,?you enter! as if Sally, the 'Witch of the Moor,' ever suffered a vidian to sit beneath her tent!' Ha!' exclaimed Milton, starting; 'how know you me ?' Claude Milton,' said the strange being, 'return to your home ere it be too late! Expect not to find old Loo upon this bleak and barren moor? ha, ha, ha; she is yonder!' (pointing towards Monctown) 'yonder with thy fate in her hands.' 'Gods!' said Milton; 'how do you know what business brings me here, thou wonderful woman ?' 'How do I know that there is blood upon?' Hush !' said Milton, looking wildly about him; 'hush, for heaven sake!' Ana, so saying, Milton sprung into the carriage, and ordered Dedrick to drive on. 'Stop, and listen to me one moment, thou wretched man 1' said the woman, approaching the carriage door. 'Kemember that you have not yet triumphed in your dark and hellish plots; and let me say to you Claude Milton, that ere the morning cometh the vengeance of Loo and her people will fall upon you, and a sorrow shall come down upon your heart that shall bow it to the dust in wild agony and despair.' 'In God's name!' said Milton, 'what do you mean ? Shall death overtake rae so soon ?? speak!' 'Thou shalt not die for many a long year yet, Claude Milton?the agony which cometh is far worse than death.' 'What meanest thou ?' asked Milton, trembling. 'Let the ignorance of the comiDg calamity be thy cur^e?drive on !' 'Let it come !?be it what it may, let it come !' said Milton slamming the carriage door. 'I shall meet it as the rock meets the madly rushing wave ! Drive on, Dedrick.' And Milton threw himself back in the carriage with a fearful oath. 'Py tarn!' said Dedrick, after driving some distance in silence; 'I vash not knows vere to drives. It ish so dark as it never vas, and mine hants pefore mine face schust looks likes notting at all.' Do the best you can, Dedrick,' said Milton. 'Dunder! der best ish notting; for ter vay to ! drives I vash not knows. Py tarn ! I dinks we ) git loss so soon as it never vas.' 'Stop the horses,' 6aid Milton, 'and I will get j up beside you and drive myself.' 'Yaw, dat ish goot,' said Dedrick, reining in the horses, and stopping the carriage. 'Mine hants ish so stiff dat I feels ash pad ash ter ty vil, py dunder!' 'Where in the devil are you going to, Dedrick ?' asked Milton, running against the coachman, who had jumped down from his seat, to take 'von tam goot stretch,' as he expressed it. 'Vat for you proke mine nose mid your tam pig head ?' said Dedrick, feeling before him ; and the next moment the poor fellow was flat upon his back in the slimy mud. 'Mine gottl' said Dedrick, jumping to his feet; 'mine Dest coats ish ruined so pad as ish never as.' Where are you ?' asked Milton. 'Py tam !' said Dedrick, approaching the car* riage lights, 'vat vill mine vrow say ven she fints dese mud on top of mine preeches?mine bantaloons, ant mine everytings. Mine Gott, what a countries ish dis!' Get in the carriage, or under it, if you choose,' said Milton, 'bat cease your nonsence about your row, as you call her.' And, Milton got up on the driver's seat and struck the horses heavily with the butt of the whip. 'Schtop der carrige! vat for you leaves ter tam moor on top of me?' shouted Dedrick, running after the carriage. Fool!' said Milton between his teeth ; and holding in the maddened horses, he waited for Dedrick to get into the carriage. 'Are you ready ?' he asked, drawing aside the curtains and looking into the carriage. Yaw,' said Dedrick, tumbling into the carriage with an emphatic 'py tam !' And the next moment the affrighted horses were dashing over the desolate moor at a perilous and hazardous speed. 'Here we are at last,' said Milton, about half Original JJimkktte. ORKVILLE ENQUIRER. HE HEIR V' R, THE DESERTED HOUSE. ^IGHTHEART, IE AND WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OF THE ifOUNG HEARTS," AC., AC. an hour after; reining in the panting animals.? Got Ai>? nf *}>? nftrriacrn. Dedrick. and hold the 0-> > horses. I am about to discharge my revolver.? There?are you ready now? Don't be alarmed; the horses will not start.' A moment after, three loud reports re-echoed over the moor in rapid succession; after which, Milton shouted thrice, and then quietly re entered the carriage. 'Vat you do dat for!' asked Dedrick, holding in the horses. 'None of your business,' said Milton ; 'but if you are particularly anxious, wait a few moments.' After the lapse of some fifteen minutes, a light shone through the thickly-wooded forest, and a few moments after, an old man, made his appearance with a lantern in his hand. 'Ha!' said he ; 'Claude Milton here ?' 'Lead the way, Jason,' said Milton; 'I have something to say to you.' Then turning to Dedrick, he continued : 'Remain where you are for a few minutes, and I will soon rejoin you.' Jason immediately turned about, and walked slowly, and with halting steps into the dark, and, apparently, pathless woods; while Milton followed him in silence. At last they came to the old, dilapidated cabin, into which they silently entered. 'Where is old Loo?' asked Milton, seating himself upon an old chest, and fixing his darkly flashing eyes upon Jason. 'She's gone, sir,' said Jason, seating himself upon the head of an empty barrel, and throwing a blanket over his shoulders. 'Gone where ?' asked Milton, sharply. 'Don't know.' 'Why did you suffer her to escape ??answer me, thou infernal old villian!' said Milton. 'I am an old man, Claude Milton, afld could not keep her here against her will. She told me, that she was going; and in trying to prevont her. she struck me here'?pointing to a scar up on bis forehead?'and felled me to tbe earth with a blow from that old gun barrel, which deprived me of sense or movement for many hours. When I came to myself, she was gone.' Thou liest!' said Milton, stamping his feet.? You allowed her to escape, without an effort to prevent it. Hell-hound ! did you not promise to keep her here until you heard from me ?' Claude Milton,' said Jason, 'if I were a few years younger I would smite you to the earth and trample your life out?you heartless villiau !' 'How, sir!' said Milton; 'dare you thus address me?' 'Hark ye, Claude Milton!' said Jason, staggering from his seat, and throwing back his silvery locks, 'I have served you well and long ; 1 have sold soul and body to you for your accursed gold?but,' and the old man raised his hand to heaven, 'He, whose retributive justice ever overtakes the transgressor, is about to bring to naught our devices and plots, and reveal to the world our true characters. I am an old man, Milton; and already has the icy finger of death been feeling about my heart strings. I know that I shall soon be elsewhere;?God knows where!?and, therefore, it matters not to me how soon the hangman comes along; but, oh ! Milton! you are comparitively young; you have a wife and daughter to live for, who look up to you for advice, counsel and support. Hearken to me, and leave England immediately, before your plots and wicked schemes are all revealed; your life sacrificed, and your family disgraced. That strange woman Loo, has told me wonderful things; she knows all that we have been guilty of; and left this cabin with the full purpose of revealing all to Edward D'Yilton.' 'Merciful heaven!' exclaimed Milton. 'And you know all this and yet allowed her to escape ! Wretch !?traitor!?you are leagued with Loo to work my ruin?to bring disaster upon my head !' 'I could not prevent her escape, Milton,' said the old man ; glancing tremblingly upon the unsheathed dirk in Milton's hands. 'Thou liest!' almost shouted Milton; rushing upon Jason, and grasping him by the throat; 'coulds't thou not havepoisoned her while eating; strangled her when sleeping, or shot her when she was leaving!?speak!' Coward!' said Jason, breaking from the grasp of Milton ; and, seizing a pistol from a shelf, he * ' * ' ? *ATtr?n/la tkfl krna ef nf pointed US IUUZZ1C uiretu; wnoiuo mv v.. Milton. 'Hast thou left thy home,' he continued, 'to murder a poor old man on this desolate moor! Gods! I have a mind to send thee howling into hell?thou wretched, cowardly monster!' Quick as thought, Milton, like an enraged tiger, sprang forward, and struck the pistol from the feeble grasp of Jason; then, grasping him by the throat, he pressed the old man to the floor. Die!' said Milton ; 'die, thou traitor dog?' and his grasp tightened about the windpipe of Jason. A few smothered cries, a few feeble efforts and struggles on the part of Jason; and the lamp of life went out forever in the blackness of an endless death. 'Ha!' Milton exclaimed, as he sprang madly to his feet, and gazed upon the ghostly features of poor old Jason, distorted by the horror of the death-struggle; 'ha! that black and protruding tongue will tell no tales hereafter!?those eyes, now bursting from their sockets, will never again watch my movements!' Then, starting, as a terrific peal of thunder crashed along the dark heavens, and died away in low mutterings in the distance, he emote his brow with his olenched fists, and exclaimed : 'The end !?oh God ! how will it all end!' ***** Silently, tremblingly, and with a long, lingering look into the dark wildwood, Milton approached the carriage. Dedrick, poor, honest fellow, was fast asleep upon the driver's box; and it was with difficulty that he was awakened. 'Get within the carriage, Dedrick,' said Milton, jumping up beside him and taking the reins. 'You are too sleepy to drive safely.' Dedrick silently alighted; after tumbling himself into the bottom of the carriage, adjusted his portly person for a quiet nap, and wa3 soon 'lost in the mazes of sweet forgetfulness.' Milton had but just started the horses, when the deep-mouthed cathedral bell, across the river, pealed out with quick rapid strokes upon the midnight air; then another, and yet another bell rung out its tale of fire; until presently a bright, livid flame shot up from the very heart of Monctown, accompanied with volumes of dense black smoke. 'A fire, as I live!' exclaimed Milton, applying the lash to the horses ; 'and my wife and child alone! On! on! tike winged things, the infuriated animals dashed over the dreary moor. Brighter and broader flames were bursting from the distant town; huge black columns of smoke rose sullenly into the air, then floated off to the east upon the wings of the night wind. This, with the nourincr rain, vivid liehtnintr. and mutterinz thun der; together with the dark pathless moor, and the shrieking wind; this, with the sickening screech of the owl, the neighing and snorthing horses, together with the terrible emotious of bis bosom, this was enongh to blacken the brow, unnerve the heart, and pale the cheek of such a man as Claude Milton. Onward! They are nearing the bridge ; now upon it?now over it! Soon, very soon now, will the hoofs of the weary horses clatter upon the stormy streets of Monctown. 'Dedrick!' shouted Milton, as he drove within the limits of Monctown ; but poor Dedrick was too sound asleep, and too closely embraced by King Alcohol, to pay any attention to the call, or to hear the heavy stroke of the whip-h&ndle upon the top of the carriage. Milton finding his efforts to awake Dedrick altogether vain, and baring now driven into the heart of the town, concluded to procure the servises of the first man he coald meet, who would consent to drive the carriage to some livery stable. Seeing a man, a few momenta after, running up the street, Milton drew in his horses, and thus accosted him: 'Say, my honest fellow! don't yon want to make a crown?' 'Well, hi don't hobject,' replied the man, approaching the carriage. 'What do yon hexpect me to do for hit? 'Just drive this carriage to the public stables, or to my residence?I wish to see where this fire is.' And, so saying, Milton alighted, and handed the crown to the man, who instantly jumped up into his place. 'Do you know where the fire is?' asked Milton, just as the carriage was turning the corner. 'At Mr. Milton's house,' said the man, whipping the horses, and moving rapidly away. 'Great heaven's!' said Milton, staggering; 'my house! and mv wife and child left alone: What may not have happened !' And the wretched man ru9hed madly through the dark, narrow streets of Monctown. 'Great God!' said D'Vilton, a few minutes after, as he met Milton hurrying towards the fire, 'where have you been Mr. Milton ! Your house is ut terly destroyed, your wife badly burned, and poor, unfortunate little Elouise?' 'What of her??speak!' said Milton, taking both hands of D'Vilton, and breathing heavily. 'You must becalm, Mr. Milton,' said D'Vilton kindly. 'Elouise! 0 tell me sir! what of her?' said Milton. 'She?but you are not prepared to hear it,' said D'Vilton, endeavoring to lead Milton away. 'Ye ye-yes I am?I-I am qu-quite calm r.ow,' said Milton much agitated. 'She is nowhere to be found,' said D'Vilton. 'What! perished in the flames !' 'Alas !' replied D'Vilton, 'too true!' A wa'l?a long, loud, agonizing wail broke from the bloodless lipsof Milton; and the next moment the broken hearted father, ihough cruel man, fell heavily, and in a state of insensibility, into the arms of Edward D'Vilton. wThe 'Witoh of the Moor' had prophesied alas! too truly: 'The sorrow, that cometh, is worse than death!' CHAPTER XV. One month ha9 passed away since the incidents alluded to in the last chapter took place. After a brief glance at the more important characters of the story, we must leave them for a time, and follow our hero to America. Milton, since the destruction of his magnifloent residence, by fire, had hired and removed into a small but neat cottage some miles from Monctown. How the fire originated, or what had become of Elouise, no one could tell; but the general impression was, that the house was fired by the hand of an incendiary, and that Elouise had perished in the flames. Mrs. Milton, who had become terribly burned in her efforts to reach the room of her daughter, was now in the asylum ; broken hearted and miserable; and Milton's brow was everlastingly cloth[ ed in darkness, and his heart well nigh overpowered with a sorrow too weighty for description. | D'Vilton and Julius were still living in Monctown; but workmen were busily engaged in repairing the old deserted house, into which the former intended to remove at some future day. Judc was in London ; living like a prince upon I the money which Milton had given him ; intending to replenish his coffers from the same source as soon as his funds were exhuusted. Old Loo, the fortune teller, was nowhere to be foand; and the general impression was, that she was either dead or had left the country. It may be as, well, however, to inform the reader, that, at the time our chapter opens, this singular woman was actually living in D'Vilton's family as porter; and was so perfectly disguised by her male attire as to be utterly unknown to the people of Monctown. Dedrick was still living in Milton's employ. George Vandry and his almost angel daughter, Rosa, were still living in Monctown. Let us now leave the beautiful shores of England, and track our hero to America. ***** 'I wonder what will become of me ?' said | a boy, seating himself upon the steps of a beautiful mansion in the city of New York, and bursting into tears. Then, after some moments silence, he continued : ?Its all old Loo's fault. I never had anything to trouble me till she met me in the park in Monctown. She told me that I would bs.ve a heap of trouble; and now Pete and Bessie arc both dead, and I away off in this strange place I ?4 ninf oil npifhpr * wnnoni any money, ?uu iu?v .... The reader must be here informed, that the barque Amelia, in which Jim had left Liverpool for St. Augustine, Florida, had during her passage, encountered severe gales which obliged her to put into New York for repairs to her rigging. While there, Jim determined to run away; and having an opportunity some nights after, he embraced it, and carried out his intentions. In this way is his presence in New York accounted for. At the time our chapter opens he had been in the city about two days. Having a pound in his pocket, which Jude had given him prior to his departure from England, he managed to procure board and lodging for one day and night in a third class boarding house; but, being unacquainted with United States currency, the unprincipled landlord had taken the pound note for one day's board, giving the boy five half dimes as change due him, and refusing to allow him to remain longer beneath his roof. During the second day he expended his last dime at an eating house; so that when night came on, he found himself without a cent in the world; without a friend, and without a place to lay his head. In this deplorable condition, after walking the city for several hours, he sat down upon the cold marble steps of a magnificent residence, and gave vent to his feelings in a flood of tears. 'I wish I didn't never see old Loo,' he contin ued, bracing himself against the fluted columns of the house, and preparing to pass the night as comfortably as the circumstances would allovr. 'I wonder what I will do tomorrow? I 'spose I won't never see Rosa again, neither?0, my!' 'Just you look here, young scapegrace,' said a tail, rough looking man, who at that moment appeared in the doorway, 'Its my private 'pinion, publicly expressed, that you'd better dry up, and leave this place, if you don't want the boss to kick you down the steps.' 'I ain't doing no harm,' said Jim, starting to his feet, and looking hurridly around upon the man, 'and that ain't all neither.' 'Dry up your lip!' said the coarse fellow, 'and make yourself scarce. Come! move off, absquatulate, travel, slide, evaporate.' And with such like Americanisms, and vulgar slang, he pushed the boy roughly from the door. 'I just wish you had made me fall down these steps?' said Jim, passionately, as he threw his arms quickly around one of the granite columns, and thus saved himself from a dangerous fall, 'I'd soon make you know that this is a free country.' 'Good !' said the man, with a low chuckle of trrnn.) for von vnunp America!' 'That aint my name,' said Jim. 'Who said it was ??come, go along 'bout your busiuess, if you don't want to raise a muss.' 'What's a muss ?' asked Jim, quite innocently. 'What a green un!' said the man, laughing.? 'You really want to know what a muss?' 'What is all that talk about, Zeke ?' asked a portly personage, who at that moment made his appearance at the door, holding a candle high above his head. 'What do you want, my little man ?' he asked, looking kindly upon Jim. That kind voice?that bright, beucvolent and heart-warming look! Oh! how softly, how soothingly, how meltingly did they come down upon the ear, and overflow the sad heart of the poor, homeless, friendless stranger-boy ! Poor Jim could not reply ; a choaking sensation was felt in his throat, a wild throb went through his heart; but, taking his cap from his head, he buried his face in its faded purple lining, and burst into tears. 'Bless me!' said the gentleman, 'this is remarkably strange conduct. What's wanted, my boy ?' Oh, sir I* said Jim, with a burst of genuine eloquence ihat surprised the old gentleman, 'I want everything.' 'I&intgotuo home, no mother, no father, no sister, no brother, no friends, nobody to love me and look glad when I come, or sorry when I go; no money, nothing to eat, and no plaoe to sleep, sir. Oh, sir I I want everything. What an epitome of utter destitution, and hopeless woe do these simple words suggest! Think of the sunless, cold, heart-appalling idea: 'Nobody to look glad when I come, or sorry when I go.' What does it not express! what shade of agou, unutterable, does it not embody! Is it not $s conviction that forces out upon the great life-drama so many marred and saddened faces; so many dead hearts and reckless spirits? Ah! after all that has been or may be said and written about independence of spirit and action, let but the human heart realize the fact that no bosom heaves, no heart pulsates iffanisou with its own; let the impression be made upon the mind, certninlroni) enrol? that in all tllfi WlHp world there is none, actually not one human being, whose heart throbs quicker, and eye grows brighter at the sound of his or her voice or approaohing footsteps; that no hand is ready to close tenderly, and with the love-grasp around his own; that, in short, he is uncared for, unloved; convince him of this, and the light of life goes out; the song of the heart is hushed fovever; and, in ninetynine cases out of a hundred, such a man, or such a woman, goes down the darkened path of transgression, disgraoe and infamy. Many a transgressor has been lured from the brink of the precipice by the love-music; many a poor, besotted, outcast wretch has been led by the hand of love, back to society, to home, totespectability, friends, honor, purity and heaven ; while as many others, who longed to return, have overleaped the fatal cllft and perished in the darkness below, becanse no one said: 'Come back for my sake?/, at least, care for and love yon.' Oh ! be kind to the friendless and the erring too. A kind word or look will not cost you mnch, but it may go down I into the poor, desolate heart of the weary-footed and forsaken one, and tune it to another and a sweetor song, the burden of which shall be purity, 1 hope, happiness and heaven. Had Jiin been driven from the door of that elegant mansion, by the rough, heartless porter, who is prepared to say what influence such an act would have produoed in all after life f The boy was penniless, homeless, friendless, and a stranger. Without food he could not live ; and would he not have done anythiug, even to au act of desperation. to avoid the horrors of starvation, and prolong his life from day to day, even though that life be protracted by the violation of law, human and divine ? Let human nature reply?honestly and fairly reply. But the owner and resident of the mansion?a kind old gentleman?took the poor boy in ; listened to his wonderful but simple story ; fed him, not upon hard crust of cast-away bread, and cold, tainted meat?as is the manner of some?but upon a warm and palatable meal, such as he himself would have relished, then gave him a warm, comfortable bed for the night. * * * * * * 'I have thought much of your marvelous story, Jim, said the old gentleman, as he entered the breakfast room the next morning, 'and if it be true that you are the son and heir of the gentleman you mentioned last night, I do not know that anything can be accomplished by acting too hastily. Perhaps it would be as well to remain quiet for a year or two, while, in the meantime, 1 can carry on a private correspondence with ray friends across the water, requesting them quietly to look into the matter for you. There was a Mr. D'Vilton in this city some months ago ; but whether he be the same gentleman or not, I am not aware.? If so, he will probably visit this country very often, as he owns maoh land both in this and several of the adjoining States ; so that, upon the whole, I would advise you to remain where you are, for the present, at least.' 'I have no family ?my wife and son having both died,' continued the old man, brushing a tear from his eyes ; 'so, provided you have no objections, you can live with me until you can find a better father; and, as your education seems to have been neglected, I will turn teacher, if you wish, until you are sufficiently advanced to enter college. If yon want a little relaxation and recreation now and then, why, there are plenty of horses in the stable; a fine, large lot for a run with the boys?plenty of boys in New York?and occasionally we can take a trip up the Hudson. Won't you live with me ?' '0, yes, sir!' said poor Jim, in a perfect transport of delight. 'That's a man !' said the kind old gentleman, patting the boy's head. 'And, now, James?mind! that's your name hereafter?run over to that clothing store, and tell that red-headed chap behind the counter, that uncle William says he must fit you at once?or forever after hold his peace? with two suits of clothes, beginning with the sole of the feet and gradually ascending to the apex of the cranium.' 'What, sir?' said Jim, quite mystified. 'Tell Jenkins to fit you with two nice suits of clothes,' said the old gentleman. 'What, sir! tyro whole suits?' said Jim, surprised at the sublimity of such an astounding and overpowering idea. 'Yes, James,' said the old gentleman, smiling good naturedly; 'I actually mean two whole suits.' 'But he won't give them to me ; will he, sir ?' 'Tell him that Mr. William Mansfield says that he must,' said the gentleman. iV ft a oii* ' aai/1 Tim n rwl nffat* Innlnnnr rinnht. ?W1 ?"l ? ?*>" -o fully back upon the broad, jovial face of his benefactor, Jim finally left the house, muttering, 'Two whole, suits !' then crossed the street and entered the door of 'Jenkins, Snooks & Co.'s Clothing Store.' It may be important to state, that about an hour after, Jim nppeared upon the streets of New York in &'whole suit' of neat black; and Mr. Mansfield's great, noble heart felt, as he looked down upon the beautiful boy beside him, that it is, indeed, 'more blessed to give than to receive.' Leaving our hero thus comfortably provided for, let us pass on to another month, and look after our friend Barney, who, as the attentive reader will remember, was also sent over to America by that prince of villians, Jude Simster. ***** 'Och ! an' ye call it a fray coontry do ye ?' said Barney, as he walkod into the City Hall Park with his hands in his pockets, and a pipe in his mouth. 'Faith ! an' I'm thinking dat its so fray that a man nade niver wear a pair o' shoes if he aint got the articles, be jabers !' Then seating himself upon one of the benches, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he continued: 'Just give me ould Ireland an' a drap o' the crater ; an' Araeriky may go to the divil entirely. 'Pon me sowl, there aint a dacint gintleman in the howl coontry, bedad !' 'Your impressions of American life and man ners are somewhat similar to those of most European upstarts,' said an old gentleman, who occupied a seat near where Barney was sitting ; 'and, no doubt we shall have the pleasure of reading a work from your prolific pen, entitled a year in America, and such like stuff. The difficulty is, my friend, that our friends across the water suppose that all a lazy foreigner has to do, is to cross the Atlantic and fill his pockets with money, while ho sits idly about taverns, and bites his nails for a living. 'Saving your honor's prisence,' said Barney, 'that's a lie, so help me God.' 'Exactly!' said the old man, driving his stick into the shell-walk ; 'I looked for nothing else but impertinence from a rascally paddy.' Then, seating himself beside Barney, he said: 'My dear sir, the great difficulty with you European emigrants and travellers, is, that you put on too many airs, and are too apt to forget yonrselves. Allow me to advise you to go to work, as I did when I came from Scotland to this country, instead of lounging about Parks and places of public resort; and my word for it, your opinion of American life and manners, will undergo considerable change.' 'Faith!' said Barney, 'an' ye spake the blissed thruth.' 'How long have you been in this country!' asked the gentleman. 'Jist about two wakes, playze yere honor.' 'Can you drive a pair of horses ?' 'Dhrive is it ? Ooh ! niver a gintleman nade ask that same,' said Barney. 'Faith! I'm the bist dhriver in the warld, barring yerself.' 'You are, perhaps, not aware,' said the gentleman, 'that self-praise is no recommendation; bnt, however, if yon think yourself oapable of taking charge of several horses, I wiU'o^ioy y0a for g that purpose, provided you agree to sC*re me one month on trial.' ... 'Och! 1*1! sarve ye all the blissed days o' '^?e ( life on thrial, if ye'U only trate me dacintly an' ^ pay mo well,' replied Barney, delighted at the | idea of so soon obtaining employment. 'What is your name ?' asked the gentleman. .. 'Barney O'Flanagan, at yere service,' replied I Barney, touching his hat. I 'And mine is William Mansfield, your most obedient,' said the old gentleman, pleasantly. 'Long life to the likes o' ye!' said Barney, tira- i idly taking the profFored hand of Mr. Mansfield. J 'Its because the likes o' sich fine owld gintlemen ( are so scarce, that the warld is so divilish bad.' 'Well, well ; the fact is, Barney,' said Mr. I Mansfield, 'when I landed upon thes'e shores some < forty-five years ago, I had nothing in the world but three shillings and a few pennies in my pocket; good health, a determined will and a clear bead was the capital upon which I started. These, with the blessings of Providence, were amply sufficient to carry me nicely along ; and, to-day, I am worth several hundred thousand dollars.? Much, if not all of my success in life, however, I owe to the kind advice, and practical assistance of an old gentleman, now dead; and I am therefore determined to lend a helpiug hand to my brethren across the water whenever they land upon these shores, provided they are willing to put their own shoulders to the wheel, and help themselves. Bat come on ; and I will see what I can do for you.' And, so saying, Mr. Mansfield arose from his seat and walked out of the Park, followed, at a respectful distance, by Barney. Thus do we find two important characters of our story?Jim and Barney?thrown, for the first time, together, by what seemed to be a mere accident ; and, while Milton und Jade ?re congratulating themselves upon the riddance of these individuals from the stage of action, and the success of their diabolical plot so far, the unseen hand of a wise, and righteous Providence is beginning to unwind the inexplicable mystery of the deserted house; to apply the match to the hidden train, which soon, very soon, will ignite the great magazine of Milton's villainy, and scatter to the winds all his imagined security. [to be continued.] flg?- We can supply a limited number of new tubscribert with back numbers, containing the foregoing story. #rightal JJaper. For the TorkvQle Enquirer. THE RETAIL LICENSE LIQUOR -L.A.W 0?' SUUTU UAHULilJNA. To the Senator and Representatives of the people of York District, in the Legislature of South Carolina, to sit in Columbia in 1859 : Gentlemen :?I find in the newswapers, that the Grand Jury of Richland district, in their Presentment made to the Court of Sessions at this fall term, recommend "the repeal of the law authorizing distillers to vend spiritous liquors, in quantities of a quart and upwards, without license." And they "recommend the entire abolition of the liquor traffic with slaves," in every sense of the thing. Upon these matters, gentlemen, you doubtless will be called on in the ensuing Legislature to cast your votes; and whether you will then and there proceed as Statesmen, or as Politicians, I connot tell; but upon these questions to be propounded then and there for your decission, "I also will give my opinion." L Shall distillers of spirituos liquors, have power under the civil law to sell at retail their spirituous liquours, "in quantities of a quart and upwards without a license ?" To this I answer, No. 1. Because the present law boars unequally on citizens of our Commonwealth, having equal claims on the protection of the law in this matter.? Under the present law, distillers may sell at retail, sniritous Honors of their own distil J -r I ling "one quart aud upwards," without their paying one cent of tax into the treasury of the State for the support of Government; whilst licensed houses of retail do pay a tax for their liberty to sell the same of purchased liquors. Again. Distillers may, and doubtless many do evade this law, in their selling purchased liquors under a pretence of domestic manufactory, without a tax, to the detriment of the taxed or lincensed houses, without the chances of detection of their fraud. Besides, distillers may sell their liquors under the present law, "in quantities of a quart and upwards," in defiance of the will of the majority of the people of a district; whilst other citizens are by law denied this privilege without the people's leave, and this expressed by will of Commissioners in a district, and at the ballot box in corporate towns. 2. Because the reason for the present law has no existence now. When this law was passed, it was intended for the benefit of agriculturists who are exclusively grain pro-' ducers and fruit growers; and at a time when the marketing of these to a great distance consumed the value of a large part of the product, in an expensive mode of transportation by road-waggons, and by horse power. To compensate producers of this ] class, they were allowed by law without expense, to sell at retail in a home market, i the product of their farms, transmuted into f spirituous liquors. Now our State is pene- t trated in every part by Rail roads, having r depots within the reach of every farmer in the State, and to transport every kind of v produce at prices which all producers can t afford to pay, to foreign markets. Or, if \ such producers choose to sell at home, there s are market towns on every line of roads, o where a market value can be had for every a kind of produce. Therefore, this protection c of the law, for the benefit of distillers ought t to be removed. e 3. Because abuses constantly have been f made of this protection of the law. Men t who are not agriculturists, do purchase grain g and fruits at home, and manufacture these f into spirituous liquors, and under the protection of the presont law do sell their li- 1 quors at retail without a license, contrary to e the true intentand meaning of thislaw, with- p out the chances of rebuke. t 4. Because distillers who are retaillcrs of d their spirituous liquors do demand and take c large prices for their labors, and contribute I nothing to the stock of public wealth. One c bushel of oorn by distillation can be made g to yield two gallons and a half or more of t spirits; and when somewhat diluted with p simple water, yields three gallons or more of 8 ipirits sold ia the distillers' market. So A hen, when corn is worth in market fifty fi :ents per bushel, by a transmutation into d whisky, it yields from one dollar and a half si ? **0 dollars for one bashel in the gross, s| md nor^ than one dollar per bushel in n the net; nothing at all is added to c the public wealth:; g 5. Because aolass ?Jt ?ny>n who sre instru- a! mental to do much hurt toxi^ people of the si State in many ways, and no g^ aU jn tl their occupation, ought to be taxet ^ dol- j, lars end in cents, to help in paying off f, expense of Government, in compensation"];, for their damage done. That distillers who retail their spirituous liquors, are instrumental in producing much of poverty and idleness, private immoralities, and public crime, ueeds no formal proof. And because of their evil work, much of public time aud labor in our Courts, and of money paid in boarding, and in bedding of many poor, and convicts in our jail, is plain enough. II. Shall "the liquor traffic with slaves" done by retailers, be "entirely abolished ?" To this I answer, Yes. Because this traffic is found to be ruinous to slaves. I. By inducing, and settling on them the habit of drunkenness, in whioh bad habit is hurt or destroyed their health or body. 2. By seduoing them into thefts, or deeds of violence, which exposes them to chastisements. 3. By disposing them to insubordination to their owners will, and disinclined to a moral life. 4. By originating, and perpetuating in them, a desire for independent trading in other matters to their discontent. 2. Because traffic with slaves in spirituous liquors, renders them less valuable to their owners. I. In that it disposes them to absent themselves from home in quest or spirituous liquors. 2. It often times seduces tbem from the service of their owners, to the service of other persons, for the sake of a little dram consumed by themselves, where their owners were entitled to have received a compensation for their services at fair hire. 3. It afords the chances for much drunkenness in slaves, against the will, and to the great injury of their value to their owners, in reliableness for wanted services; and their monetary value when exposed to salo. 4. It enables retail venders of spirituous liquor to have, and to exercise an undue influence over slaves in many evil ways, to the prejudice and interest of their owners. 5. It enables retail venders, to avail themselves of chances to accumulate illegal wealth, by unlawful means, with the services or products of slaves which arc not their own, without the chances of conviction at the law by competent testimony. 6. So long as retail venders of spirituous liquors are of low moral tone, this liquor traffic with slaves should not be allowed at all, for very many other and important considerations. On the whole, Gentlemen. I do most fully, and most heartily concur in the presentment made by the Grand Jury as aforesaid, viz :?"the repeal of the law, authorizing ' distillers to vend spirituous liquors in quan- ( tities of a quart aod upwards without license." ' And "the entire abolition of the liquor traf- ( fic with slaves." And Gentlemen, I do trust 8 that in this matter you will "stand up to the { rack, fodder or no fodder." A VOTER. ^ _______ 1 ' 1 [BY BKQUE8T. ] LINES ADDBESSED TO LADY BYBON I There is a mystic thread of life 1 So dearly wreathed with mine alone, That destiny's relentless knife , At once must sever both or none. * r There is a form on which these eyes ( Have often gazed with fond delight; By day that form their joy supplies, * And dreams restore it through the night. t There is a voice whose tones inspire Such thrills of rapture through my breast; [ I would not hear a seraph choir, r Unless that voice could join tho rest. There is a face whose blushes tell 8 Affection's tale upon the cheek ; 1 But, pallid at one fond farewell, Proclaims more love than words oan speak. There is a lip which mine has pressed, c And none had ever pressed before ; , It vowed to make me sweetly blessed, And mine?mine only, pressed it more. 1: There is a bosom?all my own? Hath pillowed oft this aching bead; t A month which smiles on me alone, An eye whose tears with mine are shed. ^ There are two hearts whose movements thrill p In u lison so closely sweet! n That, pulse to pulse, responsive still, t That both mast heave?or cease to beat. t< There are two souls whose equal flow In gentle streams so calmly run, . That when they part?they part!?ah no ! ' They cannot part?those souls are one. n LETTER FROM SENATOR MASON, j, lo the Editor of the Constitution:?It si s right and due to truth, that the materia) tl acta attending the late incendiary attack on * he town of Harper's Ferry, should be cor- tl ectly understood. There wa3 no insurrection, in any form d rhatsoever, on the part of any of the in- b labitants or residents of that town or its h 'icinity. There is little doubt that such in- a; urrection was fully expected by the leader ri if the armed miscreants who came from the djoining State clandestinely, and under over of night, into the town?an expectaion in which they were wofully disappointd, as fully admitted by themselves. The act is undoubted that not a man, black or ^ ohite, joined them after they came into Yir- j? ;inia, or gave them aid or assistance in any ?| orm. tl It is true that- after their capture their tl eader (Brown) stated that he had reason to t( xpect such assistance, and had been disap- 0 minted. But this is fully discredited by a he fullowing facts : First, that he had un- v lisputed possession of the town from about p nidnight on Sunday until after mid-day on 0( Monday, when the people of the adjoining x lountry, learning the state of things, got to- ^ ;ether in armed bands and made a descent ipon the town. Second, that during the leriod they seized and held in custody, be- \ ides the slaves of Mr. Washington and Mr. o: 11'" 1 ' 11 :t'j ; 1 . - iTTTrTrTTT^^T^nT illstodt, taken in the neighborhood, some ve or six other slaves belonging to the resents at Harper's Feny, and fband in the Crests. It is stated that they put lanoea nr pears in the hands of two or three of these egros and compelled them to stand in the haracter of sentinels at the door pf the enine-house, oconpied by the incendiaries, bat b the first assault made by the oitisens the laves threw away their pikes and escaped to heir homes for refuge. Third. They had i confinement, in addition, some {hizty>r jrty other persons, who were foand unarmed \Jshe streets in the early hoars of the mor>IDfertmt no adherent or sympathizer turned ip amo^tthem. In addition toafl this, ifter CSrcfoPV/iitirir and nrt he spot, I coui<^ciearQ that any man of my color (save one, tester to be noric^T) ras even suspected of beul^fq anywayteressory or privy to the plot. TRvexception vas of a roan named Cook, who to Elarper's Ferry a year or two since, fnS^ sharacter of school-master, married there, V 10 d who, after the event, it appeared, tras in emissary of Brown's, and had been aaso-, dated with him in Kansas, C^ok'impartdd he plans of Brown to none in Virginia, so eras is known; or, if he did, itis oertain hat none acted on them. He accompanied ;he party to Mr. Washington's whioh aeiaed rim and his negroe and brought them off in he night, hot none of the latter evinced any purpose to follow his fortunes. On the contrary, those that he carried off the same night into Maryland esoaped from him there and returned. I think I am warranted, on the foregoing facts, in the belief that no engagements or promises of aid from any, of any race, were given to Brown inviting hia descent. On the nart of the neoroa. it ia certain that the r ?are - *. ,Xt . , only emotion evinced by them was of alarm and terror, and the only refuge Bought-at their masters' homes. Of the conspiracy, outside of this State, snoogh has transpired, or been obtained from papers taken with Brown's effects, to show that he acted from impressions made upon bim by Abolition traots, newspapers and orators in the circles be frequented in the nondaveholding States. Those impressions were that it required only to pat arms within immediate reach to bring about immediate insurrection in the slaveholding States?a doetrine openly inculcated, as is known, by the Abolition leaders. Thus impressed, he embarked on this desperate enterprise with but nineteen men; bat he bad arms and weapons secreted in the mountains and thinly-popaiated country on the Maryland side of the river, and within fonr or five miles of the Virginia line at Harper's Ferry, with abundant im munition, to have placed an affective weapon in the hands of each of at least fifteen hundred or two thonsand men. The eraet-number of these arms can never be ascertained, is they Were carried off io greet numners when first discovered or brought io by the jitiaens, and companies of volunteers who ;ame from a distance, and before possession >f them was taken by the regular military inthorities. Amongst them were one thousmd piks or lances, composed of a steel blade iharpened at the point and at both edges, tome six or eight inches long, and tapenag torn an inch and a half to the point, strongy and securely fixed on uniform wooden landles five or six feet in length?a most iffective arm for hands unskilled in military veapons?leaving no doubt for whom they vere destined. The whole military equipment possessed hy 3rown, and seized after his capture, could lot have cost less than ten thousand dollars, tonsisting, amongst other things, of some wo hundred Sharpe'e rifles, with a like cornier of six-shooter pistols, contained nanu/acturer's boxes and not yet used; a prolortionate supply of fixed ammunition fat the ifles, with caps, &o., in the original boxes, lospital stores, pick axes and above a, untained with use, and a large box containing en kegs of powder. A grave inquiry remains, which will be iilligently, and, I trust successfully presented to ascertain whence the funds were lerivcd for this military expedition of oataws against a State of the Union ; and Who hey were aiding with money to furnish arms o such a leader for such a purpose. It remains only to add, that, so far as can e discovered, not one of the nineteen escaied. I could not correctly ascertain the umber killed?some ten or eleven it is nown were killed?some were shot in atempting to escape across the river, and heir bodies recovered ; five only were ciapared alive, amongst them their leader, Irown; two of the five are negvos; one a mlatto, reports that be came from Ohio to >in this expedition; the other, a black, ays he came from Harrisburg, Pa., with be like purpose; both alledge that tbey rere deceived by Brown as to the objects of le expedition. Not a slave escaped or attempted toesoape uring the tnmnlt. Of tbe few carried off y Cook across the river all esedped from im and came safely back bnt one, whb, it ppears, was drowned whilst crossing the !ver homeward bound. . s Very, respectfully, yours, ff .y . . J. M. MASON. Winchester, Va., October 21, 1859. ? '. > ta 4 ** Free Negros on Railroads.?a. em as been introduced in the Teouonooa Legilature to prevent free negros traveling on le rail roads in that State, which passed at re first reading. The bill provides that re President who shall permit a free negro ) travel on any road within die jurisdiction f the State under his supervision, shall pay fine of $500; any oondnotor permitting a iolation of the act shall pay a fine of $250 ; rovided such free negro is not under the antral and care of a free white oib'seo of ennessee, who vouches for the character of lid free negro in a penal bond t>f IW99* r Jj ' 3 Did Well.?Colonel Sol. MeredRV Payne county, Ind., carried off |70G worth f premiums at the Indiana State Fair*