Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 19, 1860, Image 1
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lewis M grist, Proprietor. 1 - An"Independent Journal :fFor the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. (*2 pee aehttji is adyaece. ,
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VOT\. 6 " YOEEVILLE, S. C., THTJESDAY, JANUARY 19, I860. IsTO. 3.
Jn (Original Romance.'
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WBITTB3T ?OR THK YORKYTLLK ENQUIBEB. |
"QTAU "
(3 JL jTSL JCV?
BY MRS. MARY A. DENIS ON. '
CHAPTER XI.
THE ORPHAN8 FIND ANOTHER HOME.
There was a bustle about the door of a '
mean looking bouse, in a mean looking (
court, at the north part of the city of New (
York. A few chairs bad been moved in?a ,
table, a pine bedstead, a lonely and mach (
faded oouch?under the superintendence of
a pale, tall young man with hollow cheeks ,
and eyes so grief-ful, that they excited the
sympathy of the rough men who were help- ,
ing him. A large old fashioned, ill-look
iog room was the depository of the few
household articles; and as soon as they
were tumbled within, the boy began very
slowly to set them in order. Then he went
out, purchased a loaf and a number of oth- ,
er things, which he brought home in paper-parcels,
and placed them in the closet.
This done, he kindled a fire in the grimlooking
fire-place, and sat down to listen
and to wait.
Presently, he sprang to his feet, hurried
to the door, down stairs, and led back again
a sad-iooking woman who clung to his arm
and tottered weakly to the ohair he bad
plaoed for her. She was followed by a gentle
bnt sorrowful girl?pale, tearful?who
came slowly on and cast a look about the
cheerless room?trying in such a helpless,
hopeless way to qmile as she did so, that it
was pitiful to behold her.
(You must help me make things a little
nice, Star,' said the youth. <1 did the best
I could, bnt I am olumsy at it. Then we
must make some tea for mother; I am sure
she needs it.'
The woman, who seemed to have become
taller and gaunt in her frame, shook
her head slowly, tears brimming up to her
eyes.
*1 don't want tea; I don't want anything
in this world, but to die,' she said, slowly.
'0 ! mother, don't talk so ! I can't live
if you do I' cried poor Star, sobbingly.
<1 don't know what you want to live for ?'
' ?*
saia IDe WOmdU, 1U tuu SttLUC lioucoa, Utpauing
way.
'You'll bear up bravely, by and by mother,'
said Fred, speaking with a courage he
was far from feeling.
'Bear up! bear up ! what have I got to
bear up for ?'
'For us mother?Bogus and Star j' said
Fred, cheerfully. 'We are going to live
for you and work for you ; and you must
live for us. The little money we have will
go a good ways with proper management.'
'0 ! but to think they should have turned
him out at such a time; and Caroline, my
own sister!' cried the woman, wringing her
hands. 'Forever and forever, I'll lay his
death at their door. They'll have some
curse for it?depend upon it, children,
they'll have some curse for it. It was
heathenish. Oh ! would 1 have done such a
thing ? Not for worlds upon worlds!'
For some moments she talked in this
wild way?the children standing by, exchanging
sad glances; but at length the
violence of her grief spent itself, and she
moaned childishly, still working her hands
and her fingers. At last Star set herself
resolutely to work, and in a short time the
room began to assume a cheerful appearance.
Many things they missed, even of
the homeliest comforts, that belonged to
their western household, but by the time
1.*_ 1.LI.
the kettle was singing ana ine pine tame, i
covered with a newspaper, set with their
scanty store of crockery, they had ceased to
oompare this with that, and joined in urging
their mother to sit up to the table.
'Couldn't, Star?couldn't, no ways?
don't ask me, don't! Forty years I've sat
opposite him, and it chokes me, if I try to
eat a mouthful that way. Give me a bit of
bread here, in my hand. 'Tisn't much I'll
be wanting?nor long.'
Star obeyed her mother, and her brother
and herself sat down in silence. After they
had finished their meal, they found that
the old lady, overcome with fatigue, slept (
in her chair, and sitting down together they
talked in low tones.
'What are you going tq do, Bogus?' asked
Star, putting an arm about her brother's
neck.
'I dont see?just now, Star, darling; but
I shall pretty soon. The good minister who
talked with us yesterday, said Providence
would provide; and I've no doubt there '11 i
be a smart chance for me somewhere, before
long. We have but little money, so we ]
must'nt be idle. The worst thing I have (
to worry me, is mother's unhappiness.? ,
She don't seem to get reconciled at all; ;
and I fear their sending us from the house, ,
you know?' he stopped a moment to gather
up his voice?'was too much for her. I'm ,
afraid, Star, she'll never be herself again. ^
'I dont know,' Star said, musingly. 'Ih
feel more hopeful about her than that; butai
Oh ! Bogus, that you should have to givey
up everything, seems so dreadful. I can't t
reconcile myself to that; and you expectecre
and had a right to expect so much !' stc
'Never mind me, Star. I'm young ant!sstrong
enough to work for you both?yolt 1
and mother. There will be enough coming,
to us from the sale of the farm?for, <tbe
course, they'll sell our nice home?to taj, wa
good care of mother. You and I don't nee tab
so many comforts, quite, as she does.' d co
'How much do you think will comey as
us V * to t
<1 should think, over a thousand dollw 'She
said Fred. irl?'
?A11 that?' esolat
'Yes, and more, perhaps. That depe He :
upon how the business is managed. Qie m
wish I was of age; or else, had monpeepin
I'd oversee it myself.' tluiost
'But you have got money enough for fccver c
Bogus.' So he
'Yes, for that alone; but if I takhad se
low are mother and yon g^1*? ^ ^?> '
[ shouldn't dare to run tr > *e stall i
lave to trust to their hod ,tIleir gen- i
irosity. I hear that MP^on, who i
lent my father the fovxru?^red dol- 1
I are, is a very good and '/ntious man. i
They don't speak so higl ' Carlisle, i
Men call him a 'diamond ^ * understand
it, that means thaJ a ?terper in ]
bargains, and probably I
'For all that, dear, p? might get j
you a good place,' said
'So he might; I'll go1? > tea bright '
thought. Early to-m morning, I'll J
iall on him. Oh ! I W we shall do ,
rery well. If only und^el! had treat- 1
id us a little more hu/? ^ ^ S? to him 1
?but I'd rather dieted earnestly,
with lowering browj^ teeth, 'than
isk him one favor. f? 80 detest that '
man!
CHAP?11- :
SEEKING ^TI?N.
Mr. Carlisle was?006'* from his
counting room by r- Coming forward,
he met a pa!e^me> intelligent
looking yonng majf^y attired, and
wearing a subdued^ *n his face'Mr.
Carlisle, I jf?me to see if you
can help me,' saidJ^fri0? at once into
the heart of hi#*- I am the son
of Mr. Hiram But^hom, if you remember,
you bd* targe amount of
wheat/ J
'0 1 ahem! yes,j*id Carlisle confusedly,
drawing fctaway. 'You have
come direct from-ffit?!* I hope.'
'No sir; we 1W* place some time
ago,' said Fred,JfD8 excessively.
<0 ! then of ocy?u re snre by this
time, that there'^tagion possible ?
Perfectly sure^P^d Fred.
'Well, young what respect would
you like to havefe'P y?Q ?' asked the
forestalled jj
Fred's cheee^ a still deeper crimson.
?In whai^t ?' He must have
known that beP3 stood a fatherless,
an almost per hoy; the question
seemed a mockHe Httle kacw that
the man, overft his youth, feared he
had come to inquiries as to the old
farm in Ontaryhich he hoped to realize
a handsom
'In any way'y wnicn you can assist
me to earn an *ble liveliehood. I have
a mother and spending on me now.'?
He choked do4^s^range feeling in his
throat. 'My ifi? broken down by the
death of my fiaod my sister is younger
than I.' ii
'Ah ! yes, 1 *eally don't know, I'm ;
sure. Yon A ^ke a clerk's place j
without 8orafi?n8 experience; and?
in?short, fbard times, you know,
make it diffi0 places. For your
sister noi^1 remember her?I could
get a fine si0 iQ a bindery or store, or
some gentfl,ine8S ,
Fred fluaga'n> aD^ bis eyes flashed
fire.
'I was ( king for myself, sir,' he
said hastily mother has no one to care
for her at6 but my sister, and if she
were aloi^'d accept no offer for her,
sir. I ctf>?rt ber.'
'Well^ 1?suppose you come again .
in a wec0^ ^be rich forestaller, taken
somewh-cb by the young man's spirit, i
'Perl W'H s'r/ said Fred, stung by
his car^anner? 'and cow, sir,' he ad- ,
ded, efene(l> 'bow shall I find Mr.
Mark ton ? I wish to learn what I i
can finm about the disposal of my I
father??mJ sister's ana my mowers
effect?' 1
<1 to tell you that he has been gone ?
some'eeks now to Ontario, to make o
somejff a settlement; and I regret top
add/jntinued, 'that there is not much t
pro3?r the heirs, as some debts have
come^ht that will either have to bf I
bougjay Mr. Hamilton, or paid out of *
the oat the sale.' ? a
'D-debts?' muttered Fred, grov- ^
ing j'l never heard of them.'
By not,' said Mr. Carlisle, quut-j^1
ly ?ere most too young to be madia (
con/ by the old gentlemau. Besides ll
the there will be heavy expensesto 13
conextra charges. Mr. Hamilton las 0
cans legal friend; there will be fees 11
and almost without number. You see, ^
yoier can tell what a man is really
wol every thing is settled up. Many 1
a who rides in his carriage to day, ~
W(0 terribly exposed by death to mcr- 1
n ... " e
a, there is nothing coming to ns ?
n't see that you can realize anything
S'really I don't.' c
hing!' Fred repeated, tho color
|j his cheek and his heart sinking
rdown. 'This is a terrible disappoint- |j|
o me; it will be a greater one jo my |(
r. And yet, father placed t high
on his farm. I can't see how t is.? f
t wait, however, till Mr. Himilton "
home, I suppose. All I havi to say ^
here should be any subterfu|e used
ich we are cheated out of tl# smalln
which is our right, may God have
nn fhc one who does it! I mnnldn't ^
o be the manand turning ibruptly, "
the other had time to repty, he left
ire, filled with disquiet?wiih forebo- ?
aome, things did not look more prom- ^
His mother still sat nursing her grief
fireside, while Star, havijg cleaned g(
,s busy upon some needle-^ork. On gj
>le a cloth was laid, and s?me bread .
Id meat for dinner. Stai began to
she told how she had urgef her mothaste
of food, but in vain.?
s will die'?murmured thj fair young D
and then, Bogus, 0, wq shall be so ^
pi1 '
1 k
folded his arms about her, and for
oment, felt like breakinj down and
g too. But he was too old for that? tl
twenty?hesaidtohimsejf?it would f?
lo; he must be her comforter instead/
told her of some pleasant sights he ta
en that day, and gradually drew her ai
mind from dwelling on its sorrows. He was
not as successful, howsver, in nrging his
mother to sit at the table with them. She
?till refused, saying that she would take a
bit where she sat, and received it with such
i haggard, hopeless look, that it struck dismay
to their hearts.
Fred picked up a fragment of a newspaper,
and giving a little spring, he oried out
that there was just the place for him ; then
read the following nnder the head of 'wants.'
'Bot Wanted?One who resides in the city?
who can bring good references?is not less than
sixteen and of good moral oaous. ouiju uu oue
will find a h >me while acquiring a knowledge of
the business?that of a West India Grocery. A
good salary insured to the right kind -'of assistant.
Address 'Dix'?box 107, P. 0.'
'That's my place/ said Fred, confidently.
'What makes you thiok so ?' asked his
sister.
'0! I don't know, I seem to feel it in
my bones/ as poor father used to say of the
east wind. At any rate, I'll just do my
best in a letter. Oh 1 I hope it isn't too
late?but it shan't be; I must have that
place. The man who wrote that advertisement
has a soul; I know he has.'
So Fred sat down to his task with the
most sanguine expectations, which were not
doomed to disappointment this time; for
early the next week a note came to
'Bogus* requesting him to call at a certain
store, and the signature wis 'Lawrence
Hamilton/
'The very handwriting looks kindly,' said
Fred, as he raised his smiling eyes from a
perusal of the letter.
'So it does!' echoed Star, looking over the
letter. 'Now I'll draw his picture for you.
He is a large, partly, handsome man, with
beautiful eyes and hair?you see if he
isn't!'
Fred laughed at her enthusiastic voice
and manner?declared he believed she was
right?kissed ier, kissed his mother, seized
his cap and btrried from the room.
CHAPTER XIII.
THI MOTHER'S DEATH
'Haveyouffounda clerk yet, Lawrence?'
asked Marybf her husband, who had come
in, bearing ihe baby laugh, to have one
'bo-peep.'
'No?y&?I hope so. Oh ! by the way,
I didn't shiw you the letter I received; the
letter of wiich I spoke last night. Upon
my word,it started tears. Look at the
compositilD, too?every word, every period
in the rig)t place?no wrong spelling there
?perfeojl That boy has had good tutoring
daaod unon it. If I eet him. I net a
O* *1 m* ?-? r w
treasure I think.'
Marytook the letter to read, while Lawrence
tent back in the shop. He found
standing there, a handsome, frank-looking
younggnan, who smiled as he said?<1 am
Fredrp Butts sir; I received jour letter
this tsoming, and have come according to
your fcquest.'
It (lid not take long for Lawrence Hamiltomto
make the bargain. He was to give
the youth five dollars per month and his
boaif, the first year, so impressed was the [
senative, honest heart, by the reoital of his!
misfortunes. Fred accepted the proposal
will delight, stipulating only that he should
rejain at borne at nights, which the good
mta acceded to.
'Stop; you understand book-keeping, you
V said Lawrence.
/<Yes?ir, by double entry,' replied the
j>ung man.
'Then if you suit me, perhaps in six
Bonths, I'll increase your salary,' said Lawenee.
'Thank you sir,' replied Frederic with
beaming face. 'I had no expectation of
o liberal a sum at the first. In the name
f my mother and sister, I thank you sir,'
>e repeated ; and then hurried home to tell
he good tidings to Star.
She had her modicum of news to impart.
L tall handsome man bad been there, she
aid?very muc-h of a gentleman, he was?
nd enquired after Fred. Star said he em arrassed
her a great deal by his manner of
aokitig at her, and gave a description or
lis appearance, by which Fred knew that
he caller was Mr. Carlisle. He had writen
a few lines with a pencil, which Star
iow placed in his hand. It was an offer
f the place of first clerk's assistant in a
urge hotel?a good salary, prompt pay and
loard, of course.
'I don't know but this might tempt me
f I hadn't engaged at the other place,' said
Frederic, thoughtfully. 'What was your
mpression of the man who called?' he ask:d
of his sister.
?I didn't like him,' was the response.
'He is one of the wealthiest men in the
ityofNew York,' said Frederic, thoughtully.
'That man was Mr. Carlisle.'
Star uttered an exclamation of surprise,
s she remarked, 'I thought he seemed to
now something of our sitiation.' She
joked down again?then added, 'he is a
emarkably handsome man, isn't he ? But :
hen, I didn't like his face?no:?nor?his
manner. I remember him now; remember
is talking with poor father.'
lI dislike him too,' said the brother,
though he is very kind to interest himself 1
jr me; but since he spoke so cooly of findag
a situation for you in a shop, I have |
;lt that he is a cold, calculating, haid-heartd
fellow. But come, lets rouse mother up,
f we can, with this good news. It will j
lease her to know I have so good a place.'
The old lady, however, manifested her j
sual indifference. It was plainly to be
sen that her spirits were broken, and that (
he felt as if all motive were taken from
er. ' ,
Day by day her children saw that she f
tiled; by and bye, she laid upon her bed ,
ever to rise again ; and once more tie soli- |
__ i xi j r?ii ,1 ?
ITJ uiolucr uuu biqlci auiiuwuu a uuaiu iu g
ie grave, and returned despoudingly to a j
roken home. ]
<How lonely you will be here, thiough i
ie long days,' said Frecerio, as he left her <
>r the first time after her mother's death 1
[ wish you could be nearer, so I might 1
ike my meals with you; perhaps we can t
rrange it so.' t
Poor little Star was indeed lonesome after
her brother had gone. She stood at the
narrow window, looking down into the
conrt. Here and there she saw a human
face and sometimes heard the voices of children.
A pale elderly woman came to the
window opposite, and gazed down into the
empty court. It made Star think of her
mother to see those sunken cheeks and hollow
eyes, and she shivered as she looked
round upon the evidences of her recent occupancy.
There stood the chair, mute and
solemn; there were the old spectacles folded
in their sheath. A few dresses were
placed upon one end of the lounge and a few
plain caps, much worn. Oh ! how every
thing she saw smote her to the soul! Only
a few months before, how quick had been
the mother's step, the eye how clear, the
voioe how merry and musical! She seemed
to behold her coming from the dairy,
her cheeks rosy with healthful work. She
saw her looping up the vines before tbeir
little cottage home ; bearing the homely
beer, of which herjfatlier was so fond; making
the bread and calces for the Saturday's
great baking; doing all so blithely and
cheerily. She remembered how long she
had looked forward to this visit to 'York
how she had saved from the milk and the
eggs enough for a little new and special
finery. And this?this was its termination
?a dark ill-furnished room for herself and
brother?a darker and lonelier for her father
and mother!
Star thought till the solitude grew frightful,
and she dared stand no longer at the
window, where now and then she oould see
that white face, rocking back and forth as
her mother had rocked. So she started
from the place, and taking cloth and soissors,
essayed to cut out some ehirts for her
brother, his wardrobe having been wofully
diminished. But still, as she cutand basted,
the sad thoughts overpowered her, and she
knew not how to drive them away.
Throwing down her work, she walked
back and forth with restless steps. If she
had but a book with which to beguile time !
There was nothing of the kind in the great
room. She wondered if one could be obtained
in any other part of the house. She
had seen but few of her neighbors; they
appeared respectable. Could she but summons
sufficient courage to ask> perhaps she
might be favored with the loan of some
volume.
Determined to make an effort and an application,
she moved timidly across the
hall, and knocked at the opposite door. It
was opened by a man, bearded like a pard,
and wrapped in a loose, much soiled dressing-gown.
He was evidently caught in
extreme dishabille?hair unkempt?face
(perhaps) unwashed. He started back on
seeing the beautiful face before him, and
uttered an uncouth exclamation in German.
Star was thoroughly frightened and knew
not whether to stand or run.
<1 beg your pardon,' she said at last, in a
amamUI'mm **a?aa a 1 mafif Collin/* fft flifl flnrtl*
lieiuuuug YUiUCj alUJ'JOb laiilug uu uuv uvvi
in her confusion?'I thought I might borrow
a book here.'
The man did not understand. He shook
his head, placed his finger on his lip?
pointed to his room?made all sorts of queer
gestures, until Star, thoroughly alarmed,
would have fainted if help had not appeared
in the shape of another bearded gentleman,
who fortunately spoke English.
?0! Oh ! don't make no apologee,' he said
gracefully?'we are very sorry to say to the
young lady, we have no English books?
they not have come yet?but plenty in
German which perhaps the young lady does
not need ?'
Star replied faintly that she did not, and
hurried into her own :room, not without trepidation
; for she caught a glimpse of the
two men looking after her as she closed the
door. Drawing the bolt she sat down trembling
and regretting her preciptancy.
'What will they think of me? what will
Frederic say ?' she thought, resuming her
nervous walk. 'What a child I am to act
upon impulse ! But then I thought there
were none but families in the house. I never
dreamed that men might live here alone.
0, if I had but a sister?but a friend to
1- a. t rm.:_ ~:i ?:n i,:n
speu& IU i -LUIH lUlilUIC DWCUUC VTlli A.lil
me!'
At last she determined to walk ont at
least a few steps from the court. She knew
the way as far as the church at which her
brother and herself had attended service
for two or three Sabbaths. Seeing the
crowds of people, and looking in the shop
windows, would serve to amuse her for a
while, and give her something to think
about. She could purchase a paper, from
some of the stands, perhaps two or three,
and so furnish herself with entertainment
till her brother came home.
Star did not know how beautiful she was.
Having been brought up in the remotest
part of a Western county, seeing only the
select few, daily, whom her good old minister
taught, she had never been the subject
of flattery. She did not dream as she
wound the soft curls about her fingers, and
framed ber delicate face in the little dark i
bonnet with its edges of purple and white, i
that her very fairness and pureness of ex- i
pression would draw the eye of the curious i
upon her. Her garments were not fashionable,
but in her appearance was a grace, a i
gentle, natural dignity, that was better <
than fashion. She drew on her little 1
gloves, folded her shawl over a faultless i
form, and reconnoitering to be sure that the i
opposite door was shut, and the hall deserted,
she tripped noiselessly down the stairs.
Once out in the air her spirits somewhat
recovered their natural elasticity. The I
sights and the sounds amused her. Emer- <
>ing froru the long court, she was instantly |
;he participant in a varied and exciting i
scene. On all hands, men and women hur- t
ried to and fro, citizens, merchants, mariet-men,
shop-boys, a motley throng; while i
hrough the street the noisy vehicles crow- i
led together, with cracks of whips and i
usty vociferations, that almost deafened t
ler ears. It took her some time to accus- e
,om her senses to the varied sights and 1
sounds, and she passed like one bewildered c
till the thousand tempting shows on every 1
hand attracted her attention from the novel I
surroundings. <
She paused to iospeot a window full of <
paintings. 0, those dear remembered home- f
scenes 1 here they were, hardly the less <
beautiful that acres were oompressed with- I
in the bounds of a few feet. There was i
a prairie-scene?the grand rolling fields I
sloping away gently into oak-edged hollows; '
then rising again, swelling gradually and i
stretching off evenly to the horizon. Oh! i
it seemed as if she must pluck the flowers <
that tinted them so redly. There was a i
home too?a home almost like her own, I
only the tall shade trees were wanting.? i
And the blinding tears would come as she i
noted the children about the door, and the I
old farmer standing, lord-like, surveying
the work of his hands. ' i
When she came out of her dream, she
was consoious that the window was crowded i
with men; and looking innocently up, she
could not but note that the objeot of their
admiring attention was not the picture, but
herself. Startled almost out of her com
posure, she tamed hastily away and walked
frightened and indignant up the long street.
Now that her maidenly instincts were rudely
called forth, she saw that she was an object
of scrutiny; that on all sides men gazed
at her, some of them respectfully, others in
a coarse and unrefined manner. The fine
color which suffused her cheeks, heightened
her beauty, and she had not the tact
and address of the oity habitues, thus she
moved along hardly self-possessed, yet losing
not the peculiar dignity of her manner.
Following a slight ourve of the street,
she walked hurriedly onward, wondering
at every step, why she did not see the venerable
church-edifice which she had determined
should bound her walk. No ohurch,
however, appeared. The buildings grew
more elegant, the travellers more select in
their appearance, the streets widened, the
stores made a more brilliant show, and still
there was no sign of any church. Stopping
irresolute, Star's cheek paled with the fear
that she had lost her way. If so, how
should she regain it ? Utterly ignorant of
the names of streets, forgetting that even
of the poor little court where they lived,
what should she do? A man, dashing in
exterior, and who had crossed her path more
than once, seeing her stand irresolute, now
came up to her side. She felt intuitively
that he had followed her, and his bold,
bad glance, which he intended should be
respectful, filled her with horror.
'Pardon me/ he said, <1 fear yon have
lost your way.'
She looked for a moment in the debauched
face before her, and recoiled from
putting herself under the guidance of such
a man.
'Can I be of any service to you V he asked,
still bending his repulsive blaok eye on
her beautiful face.
Suddenly she thought of a device; anything
was preferable to walking with him,
and she knew too little of the city to trust
to his guidance.
'If you could direct me, sir, to the house
of Mr. Cogshell. I am a stranger and have
lost my way.'
'Mr. Cogshell/ the man smiled; 'there
are a good many Mr. Cogshells in New
York/ he replied.
'My uncle keeps a large store on Broadway,
I think they call it/ said Star, ready
to cry with vexation.
'0! yes/ and his manner grew more respectful.
Cogshell, of the firm of Brady,
brothers. This is the street, Miss, and his
residence is on the opposite side, some ways
up. I will oonduct you there.'
'I thank you?I will find it myself/ said
Star, with spirit; and crossing immediately
she soon came to the massive front of her
uncle's house. There her heart failed her
again. How could she but remember that
over those marble steps, her poor sick father
was hurried, leaning on her mother and
brother. She seemed to behold the ago- i
ised upturned eye, that appeared almost
to call down the curse of heaven on that
cruel family. She saw her mother weeping;
her brother's paleface; saw her father |
fall back exhausted on the seat of the hospital
carriage, when the conviction came to '
his soul that he had breathed heaven's air .
for the last time. O ! could she ask aoy ;
favor, however small, of the unkind people? i
Her heart revolted from the thought, and I
she stood irresolute; when, turning slightly, i
she could see her persecutor standing on I
the corner of the street, watching her move- !
meuts. i
<1 can but ask tbem to send a servant !
with me to show me the way,' she murmer- 1
ed, and rang the bell. '
The porter appeared. He knew her in- 1
stantly, and before she could frame her re- J
quest, he said with a haughty air, <The 1
ladies are all engaged, Miss; can't possibly J
see anybody to-day, Miss.' 1
How fell this cruel stroke on her sensi- 6
tive heart. The blood rushed to her brain, 1
then receeded, leaving her pale as marble, T
and still the insolent porter stood holding c
the door, closing it slowly, slowly, and all r
this in the face of the impertinent onlooker
across the way. e
JuBt as she was turning to leave the ha- r
ted place, a sound of voices was neara, ine door
was opened wider, and there, looking ^
full upon her, with both surprise and admi- d
ration in his countenance, stood Mr. Carlisle,
in the act of taking his departure. t
[to be continued.] s
# r
Washington Irving.?The following r
beautiful passage occurs in the touching a
iiscourse delivered by the Eev. Dr. Creigh- b
on, of Tarrytown, New York, on the 4th c
lit, in reference to the death of Washing- s
;on Irving: v
"We sorrow not with the sorrow of the a
vorld, immoderately and in a repining spir- g
t, because we can say with the disciples, t
vhen they could not prevail on Paul to re- e
nain, 'The Lord's will be done.' But we si
lorrow because we can see his face no more. t<
STo more at his own fireside, at which were m
slustered cheerfulness, wit, humor, charity, <
rindness, righteousness and all holy affec- n
iioDs. No more in the social circle gather- o
3d at other homes, where every hand was &
sxtended to greet him, and every heart 8]
jprang up to give him the warmest wel- b
jotne. No more in this holy place, where t<
bis attendance was as uniform as his de- e
meanor was earnestly devout. No more in t!
the ministration of the rite of baptism, v
which he always attended with feel- c
ings of lively interest and delight. No t
more at our annual confirmations, his eyes d
ever gleaming with the foroe of Christian t
sympathy. No more at the celebration of a
the Lord's Supper, his manner expressive a
of Christian humility and heartfelt grati- t
tude to God for the privilege accorded him c
thus to commemorate the Saviour's love.? And
if the Lord had vouchsafed him anoth- t
er week of health and strength, he would s
have been with us to-day to share in the
solemn eating and drinking symbolically of t
the body and blood of Christ. But he has 1
passed, we hnmbly, though firmly trnst, c
from the communion of the church militant i
on earth to the supper of the Lamb?to the I
church triumphant in heaven. We shall 1
see his face no more, but his image is in- 1
delibly impressed upon our' hearts, and his i
lovely character shall be cherished so long '
as life shall last, and honored so long as men i
have grace to cherish moral worth and the '
virtuous and honorable chiracter of a holy i
example." $ I
w . - , ',
poplar lleairatg. i
ANDBEW JACKSON.
We give below sundry interesting extracts
from the first volume of Parton's ad- '
mirable "Life of Andrew Jackson," just
published in New York by Mason Brothers. 1
The following extracts will show the style
and general oharacter of the work. The \
book cannot fail to interest readers of both 1
youthful and advanced years.
Jackson's Birthplace.?In a large '
field, near the edge of a wide, shallow ra- 1
vine, on the plantation of Mr. J. W. Cureton,
there is to be seen a great clump, or 1
natural summer-house, of Catawba grape- '
vines. Some remains of old fruit-trees near
by, and a spring a little way down the ra- '
vine, indicate that a human habitation once
stood near this spot. It is a still and soli- 1
tary place, away from the road, in a red, .
level region, where the young pines are in '
haste to cover the well-worn cotton fields, .
and man seems half inclined to let them do j
it, and move to Texas. Upon looking under
the masses of grape-vine, a heap of '
large stones showing traces of fire is discovered.
These stones once formed the !
chimney and fireplace of the log-house
wherein George McCamie lived and Andrew !
Jackson was born. On that old, yellow
hearth-stone, Mrs. Jackson lulled her infant j
to sleep, and brooded over her sad bereavement,
and thought anxiously respecting the '
future of her fatherless boys. Sacred spot!
not so much because there a hero was born, 1
as because there a noble mother suffered, 1
sorrowed, and accepted her new lot, and '
bravely bent herself to her more than 1
doubled weight of care and toil.
Mischievous Andy.?To the old people 1
in the Carolinas, who are descended from 1
the sisters of Mrs. Jackson, Andrew Jack- 1
son is not so much the famous President 1
and the victorious General, as he is little ]
Andy, the mischief-loving son of good aunt J
Betty. Andy did this; and Andy went
there; when Andy was at New Orleans, 1
and when Andy was .President?they say '
in familiar talk about him by the huge fireplaces
of their old farm-houses. He is well <
remembered in that part of the country, as there
are twenty people living there who 1
were in the habit for many years of hearing 1
their parents tell stories of him; simple, <
honest, hospitable people, whom to hear is 1
to believe. So changeless is the South, so >
secluded do the farmers there live from the i
world of men and books, that these kind (
people are evidently just what their grand- <
fathers were before the Revolution, and their *
great-grandfathers in Carricfergus. <
Aunt Phyllis.?There is an aged slave t
woman known in the neighborhood as old *
Aunt Phyllis, living still on the Crawford ?
farm, who lived there when Mrs. Jackson, c
ninety-two years ago, brought her infant to 1
her sister's house. Aunt Phyllis appears c
to remember her coming vividly. I saw a
the old lady in her cabin, one of a small c
street of negro cabins, pottering over the a
Eire, and keeping an eye on half a dozen 1
small images of God cut in ebony, while d
their parents were abroad in the fields.? P
She is bent half double, but is otherwise F
wlrrtklrr nrall nMOnntrnJ A f ftlO mon ^1
L cLLlai &aui j ncu pgoti rcu. ajlu nuw uiv/u- i
;ion of the name of Jackson, every wrinkle u
n her old face laughed; but her recollec- b
iions of the boy and his mother are scanty w
n the extreme. She remembers Mrs. Jack- c
ion as a stout woman who was always knit- tj
log or spinning; 'a very good woman, and 81
rery much respected.' Of the boy she has l'
me distinct reminiscence which the polite S
eader must excuse me for repeating. As 1*
ivery eye sees what it is capable of seeing, so h
ivery memory retains what belongs to it to ft
etain ; and the memory of aunt Phyllis is tl
, memory in point. What she recollects of
imdy is, that she assisted to cure him of a
lisease which she called the 'big itch.'
Anerew at the log-school.?In due
ime the boy was sent to an 'old-field
chool,' an institution not muoh unlike the
oad-side schools in Ireland, of wbioh we
ead. The northern reader is, perhaps, not
ware that an 'old-field' is not a field at all,
iut a pine forest. When crop after crop of pi
otton, without rotation, has exhausted the lo
oil, the fences are taken away, the land lies
raste, the young pines at once spring up,
nd cover the whole field with a thick re
;rowth of wood. In one of these old fields, tii
he rudest possible shanty of a log-house is to
rected, with a fireplace that extends from th
ide to side, and occupies a third of the in- fif
srior. In winter, the interstices of the log th
rails are filled up with clay, which the rest- la
?ss fingers of the boys make haste to re- th
iove in time to admit the first warm airs 01
f spring. An itinerant schoolmaster pre- oJ
ents himself in the neighborhood; the re- 01
ponsible farmers pledge him a certain nam- it
er of pupils, and an old-field school is esablished
for the season. Such schools, call- A
d by the same name, exist to this day in ?
ho Carolinas, differing little from those u
rhich Andrew Jackson attended in his d
hildbood. Heading, writing and aritbme- fi
ic were all the branches taught ia the early ii
lays. Among a crowd of urchins, seated on r
he slab benches of a school like this, fancy
, tall, slender boy, with blue, bright eyes, d
. freckled face, an abundance of long sandy b
lair, and clad in coarse copperas-colored v
iloth, with bare feet dangling and kicking a
?and you have in your mind's eye a pic- i
are of Andy as he appeared in his old-field ?
chool days in the Waxhaw settlement. (
Jackson's Pronunciation.?In proof i
hat Jackson had once been a pupil of Dr. c
CVaddell, an anecdote was related to me by 1
ine of the General's most intimate friends :
ind fellow-soldiers. General Jackson, as
lis associates remember, bad certain peon- <
iarities of pronunciation, to which he always
adhered. For example he would pro- i
Bounce the word development, as though it <
were written devil-ope-ment, with a strong
iccent upon ope. One day, during his 1
Presidency, he so pronounced it, when in
conversation with a foreign minister, who, I
though not English, had been educated in 1
England, and plumed himself upou bis
knowledge and nice pronunciation of the i
Eoglish language. ?Devil-o;ie-ment,' said i
the General, with emphasis. The ambassaador
lifted his eyebrows sligbty, and in the
oourse of a sentence or two, took occasion
to pronounce the word correotly. The President,
seeming not to remark his excellency's ]
benevolent intention, again said 'devil-oy>e- 1
oaent;' whereupon the fastidous minister
ventured once more to give the word its
proper accent. No notice was taken of the ,
impolite correction. "i
'I repeat it, Mr. ,' continued the |
President; 'this measure is essential to the |
ievil-ope-ment of onr resources.' 1
'Really, sir,' replied the ambassador, <1 ]
consider the de-ueZ-opement of your coun- ,
try'?with a marked accent on the vel. ,
Upon this, the General exclaimed, 'Ex- 1
cose me, Mr. . You may oall it de- |
yeZ-opement if you please; but 1 say devil- t
ypc-xnent, and will say devil-ope-ment as ,
long as I revere the memory of good old ,
Dr. Waddell ?' j
His Wildness.?Andy was a wild, frol- 1
icksome, wilful, mischievous, daring, reck- j
less boy; generous to a friend, but never |
content to submit to a stronger enemy. He <
was passionately fond of those sports which ,
ire mimio battles; above all, wrestling.? j
Being a slender boy, more active than <
strong, he was often thrown. i
I coald throw him three times oat of j
four,' an old schoolmate used to say; 'but i
be would never ttay throwed. He was dead j
*ame, even tben, and never would give up.' j
He was exceedingly fond of running foot- |
races, or leaping the bar, and jumping ; <
ind in such sports he was excelled by no j
jne of his years. To younger boys, who i
never questioned his mastery, he was a gen- f
jrous protector; there was nothing he would ]
not do to defend them. His equals and su- I
periors.found him self-willed, somewhat
nverbearing, easily offended, very irascible,' |
ind, upon the whole, 'difficult to get along j
with.' One of them said many years after, ]
n the heat of controversy, that of all the ,
Doys he had ever known, Andrew Jaokson j
was the only bully who was not also a cow- ?
ird. ? v j
An Anecdote.?Time?late in the afr\f
a Vi/\f rlnotw .QflrvtarnKflf /larr In 1
'ClUUUUj VI a LIUVj UUOBJ HV/ Ui WV4 \A%rnj iu
L780. Place?the high road, five miles ]
jelow Charlotte, where Mrs. Smart then i
ived, a saucy girl of fourteen, at the home 1
>f her parents. ' The news of Gates' defeat 1
lad flown over the country, but every one g
?as gasping for details, especially those g
vho bad fathers and brothers in the patri- c
>tarmy. The father and brother of Mrs. \
Smart were in that army, and the family, t
is yet, knew nothing of their fate; a coalition
of suspense to which the women of ^
he Carolinas were well used during the
evolutionary war. It was the business of j
Susan, during those days, to take post at t
me of the windows, and there watch for c
ravellers, coming from the South ; and, c
ipon spying one, to fly out upon him and t
ak him for news of the army, and of the
orps to which her father and brother were t
ttacbed. Thus posted, she descried, on
he afternoon to whioh we have referred, ri- jj
ling rapidly on a 'grass pony,' (one of the :
onies of the South Carolina sframps, ^
ough, Shetlandish, wild,) a tall, slender, ^
jangling fellow;' legs long enough to meet t
nder the pony almost; damaged wide- s
rimmed bat flapping down over bis face, t]
rhich was yellow and worn; the figure ^
overedwith dust; tired-looking, as though
ae youth had ridden till he could scarcely n
it on his pony; the forlornest apparition
3at ever revealed itself to the eyes of Mrs. _
usan Smart during the whole of her long j(
fe. She ran out to the road and hailed ^
im. Ho reined in his pony, when the jj
>llowing brief conversation ensued between ^
lem; - ) fc. w
She.?'Where are you from V 8(
He.?'From below.' t*
JShe.?Wbere are you going?' ?
He.?'Above.' if
She.?'Whoare you for?' Ia
He.?'The Congress.' tt
She.?'What are you doing below ?' bi
He?'Oh, we are popping them still.' ai
She (to herself.)?'It's mighty poor pop- I
ng such as you will do, anyhow.' (A- ta
ad.) 'What's your name ?' ti
He.?'Andrew Jackson.'
She asked him respecting her father's cc
giment, and he gave her what informa- ee
do he possessed. He then galloped away ei
wards Charlotte, and Susan returned to h<
ie house to tell his news and ridicule the tii
jure he had cut?the gangling fellow on to
ie grass pony. Years after, she used to T
ugh as she told the story; and later, when at
16 most thrilling news of the time used to rii
ome to Charlotte, associated with the name
f Andrew Jackson, still she would bring
nt her little tale, until, at last, she made:
; get votes for him for the Presidency.
At Mrs. Wilson's.?At Mis. Wilson's,
Lndrew paid hia board by doing what New
Ingland people call 'chores.' He broughtj
1 wood, 'palled fodder,' picked beans,
rove cattle, went to mill, and took the
inning utensils to be mended. Bespeotag
the last-named daty there is a striking
eminiscence.
'Never,' Dr. Wilson would say, 'did AnIrew
come home from the shops without
ringing with him some new weapon with
rhich to kill the enemy. Sometimes it was
, rude spear, wmcn ne would rorge wniie
waiting for the blacksmith to finish his job.
Sometimes it was a olub or tomahawk.?'
)nce he fastened the blade of a scythe to a
)ole, and, on reaching home, began to cut
lown the weeds with it that grew about the
louse, assailing them with extreme fury,
tod occasionally uttering words like these:
'Oh, if I were a men, how I would sweep>
lown the British with my grass-blade I'
Dr. Wilson remembered saying to hie
mother when they were talking of Andrew
jne day:? v *>
'Mother, Andy will fight his way in the
world/ ^ r -v.
The doctor lived to see his prediction fulfilled,
and thongh he would never vote for
his old companion, be rejoioed exceedingly
when he heard, sixty yean after, that thin
swearing, roystering lad had oome to be a
contrite old man. Mrs. Wilson's chief re*,
collection of her yoong guest was that hg
was particularly willing to go out with bp
into the garden and help her pick beans far
dinner, wbich she attributed to tbe obligingness
of bis disposition, butadded, 'Andy
did like corn and beans, though,'.
Mas. Jackson's Dzath?In tbe aom*
mer of 1781, a great cry of anguish and
despair came np to Waxbaw* from tbe j
Charleston prison ships, wherein, among
many hundreds of other prisoners, were confined
some of the sons of Mrs. Jackson'*
?n J AttiAM ArtAM Ja nn/1 A* 1*SVa/
ubice'Bj auu uiucr niouuo ?uu uci^uuvio ui
be re from the Waxhaw country- r Bfrs.
Jackson had seen at Camden what prisoners
of war may suffer, when officers disdain
-heir duty, and contractors are scoundrel*.
She had also seen what a little vigor and
tact can effect in the deliverance of prisoners.
Andrew was no sooner quite out of
Sanger than his brave mother resolved-,**)
go to Charleston (distant one hundred and
sixty miles) and do what she could for the
prisoners there. The tradition of the neighborhood
now is, that she performed the
entire journey on fbot,1n com papy with two
jther women of like mind and pnrpoee. It
is more probable, however, and so thought
General Jackson, that these gallant women
rode on horseback, carrying with them a
precious store of gifts and rural luxuries
rod medicine* for the solace of their imprisoned
relatives, and bearing whole hearts
full of tender messages and precious news
From home- Protected, because unprotested,
they reached Charleston in safety, and
gained admission to the ships, and emptied
their hearts and saddle-bags, and brought
rach joy to the haggard prisoners as only
prisoners know, when angel women from
borne visit them.
And the history of this blessed expedition
ends. This only is ^further known of
t, or will ever be. While stopping at the
jouse of a relative, William ISarton by Dime,
vho lived two miles and a half from Cbarestoo,
Mrs. Jackson was seised with the
ihip fever, and, after .a short illness, died,
ind, was buried on the open plain near by.
I have conversed with the daughter of
William Barton, who is now Mrs. Tbomta
Faulkner, of Waxhaw; but she was not born
vhen Mrs. Jackson died in her father's
lonse, and she is able to add nothing to oar
cnowledge. of that event. One little fact
ihe has beard her mother mention, which
ibows the carefal honesty of this woe. Thus
:lotbes of Mrs. Jttokson, a sorry handle,
vere sent back from Charleston all the way
o her sorrowing son at WaxhawPlaying
Dice.?In December, 1782,
o the joy and exaltation of all the soatfa>rn
country, Cb^leeton was eraouated, and
ts scattered whig families were free to ream
to their homes. Andrew, finding the
lountry dull after the departure of his gay
ompanions, suddenly resolved to follow
hem to the city. He mounted his horse,
fine and valuable animal that he had conrived
to possess, and rode to Charleston
hrough the wilderness. There, it appears,
e remained long enough to expend his
lender stock of money, and ran op a long
ill with his landlord. He was saved from
Dial ruin by a curious incident, which is
hus related by one who heard it from !tioelf:
'He had strolled one evening down
be street, and was carried into a place
rhere some persons were amusing themjlves
at a game of dice, and mnch betting
ra8 in progress. He was challenged for a
ame by a person present, by whom a proosal
was made to stake two hnndred dolirs
against a fine horse on which Jackson
ad come to Charleston. After some de
beratiOD, be accepted tne cnanenge.?
ortune was on hie side; the wager was
on and paid. Ho forthwith departed,
ittled his bill next morning, and returned
t his home. 'My calculation,' said he,
leaking of this little incident, 'was that,
a loser in the game, I would give the
ndlord my saddle and bridle, as far as
tey would go toward the payment of his
ill, ask a credit for the balance, and walk
way from the citybut being successful,
had new spirits infused into me, left the
ble, and from that moment to the present
me I have never thrown dice for a wager.'
Early Practice.?Such of the old
>urt records of West Tennessee as have
leaped time, fire and vermin, contain just
lough about Andrew Jackson to show that
} jumped immediately into a large prac:e.
It was customary then for a lawyer
attend every court held in the State.?
wo months after his arrival we find him
tending court in Sumner county, a day's
de from Nashville. ,