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\ $ "^WlSMToiiiT^ " gn jfohfptihfitl farnili) It^paptr: /or ibt ylniotk^rilit political, Sflriai Horinrttaal attb Comrnirtial Itrtmste rf Ik Smrtk ^ VOL. 12. YOEKYTLLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JA.NTTAEY 10, 1867. NO. 37. ) T'i:t *VL' ijY'i try JMettcd gtofteg. WHEN I WAS A GIRL. When I was a wee little slip of a girl, Too artless and young for a prude, The men, as I would pass, would exclaim, "pretty dear!" Which, I must say, I thought .rather rude ; Rather rude, so I did; Which, I must say, I thought rather rude. However, said I, when I'm once in my teens, They'll sure cease to worry me then; But as' I grew older, so they grew bolder? Such impudent things are the men; Are the men, are the men, Such impudent things are the men. But of all the bold things I could ever suppose, (Yet how could I take it amiss?) Was that of my impudent cousin last night, When he actually gave me a kiss; * A it n IrJaci uA V*O XVJT j Cb JVirK*, OU UO UlUj | When he actually gave me a kiss! I quickly reproved him, but ah, in such tones, That ere we were half through the glen, My anger to smother he gave rne another? ( Such strange coaxing things are the men, Are the men, are the men, Such strange coaxing things are the men. JU Original fjtouvrlettc. ; Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. < THE 1 SPECTRE OF THE FIRESIDE, i BY JOHN WITHERSPOON ERVIN. CHAPTER II.?Continued. J Minutes glided slowly, yet insensibly away, whilst ] he awaited the coming of the canoe, with an arm ( upon the neck of his powerful animal, that stood { patiently and quietly by, his broad forehead and < bold tearless eye, following tne giance 01 ms masi?r, ( turned to the point above, as if he, too, by virtue of | that subtle instinct with which the noble animals of ( his species are so richly gifted, knew the cause of f his master's waiting, and sagaciously shared in his ^ watchfulness. j As minute after minute passed by, in vain ex- f pectation, the fears of Guiscard became painfully excited. He feared lest the canoe might have j been swept, by the frequently changing current, in- ( to the recesses of the vast swamp, overturned and } ~ lost, or, if still afloat, that it might lie for days en- ( tangled in the labyrinthine recesses of the swamp, j until famine, the most lingering of all deaths, s came to the relief of the ill-fated maiden, ignorant j alike, of the art of guiding the canoe and destitute 8 of the means for so doing. She might be carried s miles away, through the swamp, and become so be- f wildered and entangled that, even to one capable s of managing a canoe, extrication would be impos- j sible unless by accident. It was now too late for r Guiscard to return and make arrangements for fol- z lowing on her track; she might already have been v carried far into the swamp beyond the reach of f any friendly voice; and, besides, it would have c been risking the chance of rescuing her, to leave f his present post of observation. s Meantime, encompassed on every side by dan ger, the fair young being, so suddenly snatcned g away from her friends, instinctively turned for j safety and guidance to that stronger Power who is s the Wisdom of the simple, and the Strength of the t weak. As the canoe passed around the bend of g the river, and shut from her view the group of her w agonized and heart-stricken friends, she bowed j, her kuee and clasped her hands in prayer. a Beautiful is faith in all, but, of all, mostbeauti- r ful in woman. With man it may be a principle f| ?a gift of God, that comes after trials have soft- u ened and chastened the heart?but with her, it is {, an instinct. Without faith and trust in an overruling Power, man may in be in some sense perfect, ^ but woman becomes a moral monster. Graceful- (: ness, beauty and intelligence may all adorn, but j they cannot give her that missing instinct, which j alone makes her sex complete. Unfitted, like man, u to struggle with the world? or with her own heart, j, whatever goodness she may possess, comes not s" from a victory over evil, but ftom a heart made r purer and better than that of man by Him who j, gives her an instinctive love for all which is good and holy. Take away her instinctive dependence j upon the Deity, and she stands before us unsexed. 0 We look upon her with that revulsion of feeling, al- g most rising into loathing and horror, which the E Corsair felt, when he saw the blood spot upon the cheek of Gulnare, fresh from the murder of her [ sleeping lord. j Alarmed as she was at her peril, Helen did not s wholly lose her presence of mind. Once or twice, (] when a large uprooted tree came floating along, t its boughs lashing the water as it slowly revolved, t and threatening to bear down the cauoe, she had | sufficient coolness and presence of mind to reach c forth her hand, and by a gentle push against a limb s that came within her reach, to communicate such c an impulse to the canoe as to impel it some rods a- j way from the impending danger. She soon possess- t ed herself of a long cane that came floating by, fight E and yet strong, which she dexterously employed in g avoiding the floating trees and logs that drifted by. ( In sweeping around the many bends which abound in this portion of the river, she sometimes found it difficult to avoid being driven from the ordinary bed of the river, far into a swamp, on account of the tendency of the current to flow in a straight line. At such times, the cane, which had providential}* fallen into her hands, was of incalculable service,, in enabling her to keep the frail canoe within the channel of the river. Once, frightened at the rapid motion of the canoe, she caught, in passing, at the limbs of a tree to arrest her rapid flight, but ( so narrowly escaped being dragged from the canoe into the stream, that she was content, for the fu- j ture, to keep within the channel and let the canoe float with the current j Her situation was indeed enough to shake the j nerves of a timid woman and render her wild with ^ fear. At times, bewildered and appalled by the ( terrors of her situation, she almost ftncied that the ? scene around her was but the unreal phantoms of g a dream, and that the wild stream, on which she floated so swiftly, was bearing her to some fearful r and enchanted spot, in the bosom of the dismal ? swamp, so ghostly with its solemn cypresses and t their long floating draper}* of moss, to j "Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace j And rest can never dwell; hope never comes That coines to all." The swamp that enclosed the river on either { hand, cut her off from all hope of succor, and there t was no spot of firm land, anywhere in sight, to re- ] ccivc her, had site been able to guide her canoe safely. ( After she had been drifting along in this wild f career for miles, even hope died out, and the apa- 1 thy of despair settled upon her. For the first time she wept, but her tears were not for herself. She < thought only of the agony of torturing suspense and < grief that were now busy as promethean vultures < at the heart of her mother. She believed that her ' hours were numbered, and that she was doomed to i perish soon after the swiftly declining sun with- j drew his light, and the darkness of night closed in 1 upon the turbid stream, and veiled from her eyes the dangers she had hitherto been enabled to a- < * I void. Life is sweet to the young. Especially is it sweet ; to the tenderly nurtured, who have never known i sorrow or care, whose pathway has been among I roses?roses without thorns. Perhaps, sweet vis- i ions of the fair young faces that she loved came < around her in that hour, when it seemed meet to i take a retrospect of life, and bid farewell to it hopes and affections. If a memoiy of Guiscarc rose before her, it was a silent memory of the hear! that her maidenly reserve would have carried, unrevealed, down into the depths of the troubled waters, which she felt would in a few short hours, be her winding sheet and grave. But hark! what clarion-like sound was that which rings like a note of deliverance and hope ? Yon watchful steed, standing by his master on the bank, did not join in the vigil of his lord in vain. His watchful eye beheld the canoe as it came speeding from behind the point of land, and with a neigh like the blast of a trumpet, he signals its coming.? His master has grasped tne mane ana vaults ngjttly upon his back. Startled and reanimated by the sound, Helen turns her face to the spot, and joyful sight to her, poor fluttering heart! beheld on the firm land where the swamp no longer encroaches, a horseman sitting on a steed, black as night, both looming up, clearly defined against the western sky.? The figure of horse and aider stood motionless and impassive, like an equestrian statue hewn out of black marble and polished until it seems translucent. The face of the horseman was turned towards her, and she knew that the glance of his dark eagle eye was fixed upon her with deep intensity. Rider and steed she knew at a glance. It was Guisjard, who stands there as if sent from heaven for her leliverance. She could not doubt his purpose, for she saw he had prepared himself for his most daring and hazardous attempt Her Jx>som swelled with a tumult of mingled emotions ?joy, gratitude, and fear for him who was about to risk his life, so generously, for her preservation. She would have called aloud and implored him not to make the hazardous attempt which might have cost him so lear, but her tongue failed its utterance, and she at almost paralyzed with fear, as she saw the black steed, like a statue, suddenly instinct wth life, move lown to the water with his rider, and fearlessly enering, begin his desperate struggle with the wild jurrent. She could see his long mane and tail loating upon the water, and hear his prolonged "I* **> VIA*' l'MAttrn jroaniug ?sure luuieauuu ui a otccu man mivho he work before him? as he came gallantly on Tom the land. When he reached the most rapid part of the cur ent; horse and rider both seemed, for a moment, o disappear, as the obstructed waters mounted ret higher and seemed for an instant to submerge hem, but it was for a moment only, and with beatng heart painfully agonized with apprehension, ihe saw them again appear unharmed and battling )ravely and successfully with the element, nearer tnd yet nearer to the canoe. The waters rolled and truggled around them?now they reeled in the lood, apparently spent with the mighty effort and inking with exhaustion?but the brave horse, ralying again, showed his fiery eye, and his nostrils ed and distended, with the mighty effort to keep ibove the water, in which he seemed fast sinking vith fatigue. Now they approached to within a ew rods of the canoe, when, suddenly, the energies if the noble animal seemed to collapse, and he loated down with the current like a foundering veseL "On! Bayard, on!" shouted his rider, in cheerQg tones. At the sound of the well-known voice, he noble brute roused himself for one desperate truggle more. His eyes' seemed starting from heir sockets, as, with head projected, h^. made a nal and desperate effort to reach the canoe. It ras a successful one. A moment more and he iad borne his master alongside the canoe. The rrn of Guiscard even rested upon its edge. It yet emained for him, before leaving his horse to his ate, to disencumber him of his bridle, that he night not become entangled in the reins. Reading forth his right hand, the headstall was in an nstant disengaged and the bridle thrown into the oat. Resting a hand upon each side of the canoe, Juiscard raised himself dexterously and sprang in. lelieved of his rider, the horse rose upon the water, lelief had not come a moment too soon ? fortuately it did not come too late. lie floated passiveY by the side of the canoe for a few seconds, and baking the water from his mane, struck out, with enewed vigor and strength, for the bank he had list left. "God bless thee, my gallant Bayard, and bear hee safely to land!" was the parting apostrophe f Guiscard. "If legions of angels encompass sel ness and hope; you can promise yourself everything that makes life sweet?friendship, ease, love and contentment, while I must, only be a spectator of pleasures, in which I cannot join, and happiness that I cannot share." j Helen looked up into the sad face of the speaker [ and burst into tears. t "Shed no tear forme, Helen," said Guiscard, in j; . sad tone ; "I would not cause even a momentarj . pang to one whom I esteem ? nay I let the whole > truth be spoken ? whom I love so dearly, so de votedly, as yourself. I had not thought to say thuf t muoh to you, but circumstances have impelled me t to speak. Were my prospects brighter, were my destiny a happier one, I would not resign this i hand," continued he, taking her palm in his own, ' "for all that the world holds of honor, or wealth, or beauty. But"?and the speaker paused ? "there is a dark destiny that hangs over all my race. Could I ask you to be my bride?mine, mine, mine, ? I would plead with you for your love, as I would not plead for my own life. But I cannot ask you to become the bride of the grave; and who of my ill-fated race ever wedded a bride who did not, from that hour, droop and wither like a broken flower?" "Has good dame Agatha," asked Helen, blushing deeply, and casting her .eyes upon the ground, "ever repeated to you the couplet about the brides of the Gruiscards?" "She has never alluded to the misfortunes of our family but once or twice, and then but slightly," replied GuiscarcL "Nevertheless, I have heard the whole story of their evil fate from another; and if the lips of all were silent, our family portraits would utter a portion of their sad history. Think you, Helen, there is one pure-minded, young, beautiful being of your sex, who, knowing the story of our family as you do, "would dare to become my bride ?" "Love is stronger than the grave," replied the maiden, averting her gaze as she spoke, and toying with the red caps of the moss that grew in profusion at her feet "Aye! Helen, stronger, indeed, than the grave!" returned Guiscard. "The madness, devotion, or what you will, that has induced so many of your 9ex to link themselves to the evil destiny of our race, to perish in the bloom of beauty, is a ?roof of the fact Were mine a heart hardened by selfishness or pleasure seeking, I might sue to you to become my bride; but I love you, love you too truly, too deeply, to ask you to join hands with me and die early as is the fate of all the brides of my family; but since my feelings have betrayed me into speaking thus far, I will speak one word more. Be your answer yea or nay, alike it will bring something of comfort. I know not whether it will please me more to know that I have caused no one a pang by awakening an interest in myself, or, that, evil-star- j red as my race is, one heart, of all the world has been found to love me. Let me know all, Helen, while circumstances thus favor us ; were I as other j men, fortunate in this that no curse followed where' I dared to claim a bride, could I hope, under such circumstances, ever to be to you more than a mere friend ? Could I, then, hope that you might give me such love as woman, only, has to give, and which it is hers to give but once?" "Ah, Robert! trifle as you may with your own heart, you should never trifle with a woman's by asking idle questions like that," replied the beautiful woman with a glance which must have conveyed a reproach to her companion. "If I answer you, ' 'yea,'' think you it would be magnanimous, for fear of future evils, to turn idly away from an avowal for which you have sought? What matters it to ? /? .y y . i 1 l .T tne wayiarer on tne aesert, wno is resoivea u) aie of thirst, whether or not there be water in the fountain? Our affections are inviolable and sacred things. None but God and those who wish to share them, should seek to probe them." "Forgive me, gentle Helen, I fear I have gone too far," said Guiscard apologetically. "Is it not so?" "Either too far, or not far enoughreplied Helen, with grave composure. "If my love is to be magnanimously and unselfishly thrown away, better for you, better for myself, that we should be silent But I owe you too much, to be silent when you ask me to speak. "Nay, Helen?"interposed Guiscard; do me not this injustice, I beseech you. I have in my excitement said much that I should not have said." ' 'And you wish to recall it.?'' And as Helen spoke, she rose to her feet, and her calm blue eyes seemed to read the deptlis of his heart, while a smile played around her lips. "All that has been displeasing to you, I would gladly recall," answered Guiscard; but when a full heart would speak, who is wise enough to check its utterances? Who is strong enough? Helen, I love you with my whole heart; without you, what can my life be but a burden and a regret ? If I dared, I would entreat you to become my wife; yet what could I promise you, but love while life endured; and flowers, for, perhaps, an early grave?" "Who could ask more?" returned she with a smile of sweet sadness, as she placed her hand in his, ready opened to receive it Unutterable thoughts crowded upon the mind of the young man, as he bowed his head to kiss the hand of his affianced bride. Henceforth she became dearer t?> him than ever, as dear as a loved one on whose brow is writteu a sad doom, silently appealing to loving hearts that weep tears, all the more bitter, that they are wept only in secret. As he raised his eyes to the face of Helen, he almost expected to read upon her brow, the strange shadow of some coming evil. To his astonishment, there was unusual mirthfulness in her eye, and an arch smile lighted up her features. She seemed to have exchanged the pensiveness of a newly affianced bride, for the mirthfulness of one heart whole and fancy free. "Ask, good old Agatha, Robert, to repeat to you as she repeated to me?" began, Helen; but the sentence was not finished before the rapid rolling of carriage wheels was heard close at hand, and in a moment more, a carnage stopped m a iew ieei or them, and several other vehicles were seen rapidly approaching. Mrs. Rothsay sprang from the foremost carriage as soon as the door was opened, and she and Helen were folded in each others amis. What Helen had been about to say to him, Guiscard could not divine. The lovers had no further opportunity of speaking apart for that day, and Guiscard's thoughts were now too busily engaged to be employed in vain conjectures in regard to a matter which he esteemed of so little moment. Nearly all of the party had come to the bluff, to learn the result of the steps that had been taken for the deliverance of Helen Rothsay. The joy and exultation of her friends broke forth without bounds. They had felt the agony of despair, and the rebound from hopelessness to joy, was most enthusiastically manifested. Her female companions pressed her to their bosoms and wept for joy; and their cordial greetings and warm expressions of admiration and gratitude, would have been a delightful tribute to the heroism of Robert Guiscard, had I it not been his nature to shun, rather than to court applause. Mrs. Rothsay pressed his hand warmly, and would have spoken, but her heart was too full for words, and she bowed her head upon his arm and wept. The tears of woman, how eloquent they are; and how varied their language, embracing the whole scale of the heart's emotions, bursting forth in love, gratitude, joy, sorrow, despair, jealousy,anger, pity and disdain. No man can see them flow, unmoved. Whether she be high or low, they speak for her, when the tongue is inadequate to tell the story of a heart over-burdened with sad or tender emotions, or swayed by passions that struggle for utterance.? They speak to all of manhood that is in man, and plead for pity or sympathy. Even the tears of an angel would move us less than those of one of that ish and ungrateful man, surely some pitying angel night be thy guide!" The strong excitement which had sustained Helen n the dangers through which she had passed, sudlenly died away in the first moment of conscious ccurity, and she fell fainting into the arms of her leliverer. It was no moment for idle ceremony, or iseless delay. Guiscard laid her gently in the botom of the canoe, and taking his seat in the stern, died his paddle skilfully and with vigor. The anoe skimmed over the water, like a bird, to the hore; and gently lifting Helen in his arms, Guisard soon placed her in comfort and security under he shelter of one of those huge oaks on the bluff, hat spread its top, like a green pavilion, over the uossy seats that crowded its base. Resuming the :arments of which he had disencumbered himself, J-uiscard took his place by her side. CHAPTER m. "I'd offer ihee this hand of mine, If I could love thee less, But hearts as warm and pure as thine, Should never know distress; My fortune is too hard for thee, Twouid chill thy dearest joy, I'd rather weep to see thee free Than win thee to destroy." Helen had scarcely been laid upon the mossy ouch, under the old oak, when she opened her eyes, luiscard was bending over her, chafing her hands tnd temples, to recall her to herself. Fortunately, icr fainting fit was of brief duration, and she was ;oon entirely recovered. The events of the past wo hours were like a painful dream from which she lad awakened, but there stood her deliverer, his raiments still dripping with water, and she had no lifficulty in recalling the events which had iwnieliately preceded the state of insensibility, into which ;he had fallen. "Dearest Helen, thank God that you are at last estored!" were the first words that Guiscard uttcr:d, in a tone of feeling, so deep and earnest, that it uade the blushes mount into the cheeks of the air maiden. "It was a terrible ordeal for one so rentle, and I wonder not that you fainted away." "It was not for myself that I feared, Robert, but or you,'' replied Helen. 1 'Every moment I feared o see you sink, to rise no more; and when at last [ saw you sale, I ?" "Acted as you would have done" ? interposed jruiscard, with a good-humored smile? "if a bear rom the Santee swamp had climbed in and seated umself before you." ' 'Ah ! Robert,'' returned she in a sad tone, as she rast upon him a glance of gentle reproach, temperid by a smile, "this is no hour for jesting. I feel I twe you much ? more than a lifetime could repay, [t makes my nerves still tingle with fear, when I remember how near you were to death, to save me from the danger, in which my own thoughtlessness had placed me." "A thousand lives like mine, Helen, would be a uheap ransom for yours," replied Guiscard, with emotion. "My life is a sad one, and the future I almost dread to contemplate. Yours is full of bright i sex whose bosoms pillow our head in infancy, softens all our cares in manhood, and at last, when age I or disease leaves us a shattered wreck, watches pa' tiently and lovingly around the dying bed* and with ! a hand gentle, faithful, and tender to the last, pillows the cold and pulseness head in its narrow coffin, and gathers the winding sheet around the inani mate clay, as gently as ever she closed around us the r curtains that protected our slumbers. An angel's ? tears might move our wonder, but the tears of women stir the deepest depths of the heart The youthful associates of Helen gathered around her, and encompassed her in their arms, as though they feared she might again be snatched away from their midst. She told them the whole stoiy of her deliverance, butwith shy feminine reserve, suffered them not to suspect the new relations in which she and her deliverer stood to each otner. Her auditors hung with breathless interest upon her narrative, and her heart trembled anew at the remembered peril of her lover, as she spoke of his gallant horse sinking with exhaustion. ' 'Gallant, good horse!'' -exclaimed Grace Jamais, about whose sparkling wit there was ever just enough of seeming malice, to give it piquancy and flavor. "Do you know what I would do, Helen, if he were mine?" "In good truth, I scarcely know, Grace," returned Helen; "but I doubt not, it would be something very strange, whimsical and new. "In truth, would I," responded Grace. Nothing new to you, however, Helen, since you have heard of the Consul Incitatus." "Caligula's horse!" said a demure, matter of fact looking young lady, who was standing by.? "But Grace, you mistake. The horse would have been made Consul but he died." . "Very well, then," said Grace. The botts, or colic, or blind staggers intervened, and kept him out of the list of Roman consuls. Black Bayard for me! He should be lodged in a marble palace and eat oats of gold from an ivory manger. We cannot make him Consul or President, but I think we can still put him in an office of trust and honor.'' "What office will that be, Miss Grace," said a young man, a lawyer by profession, vain, pert, and self-complacent, intruding upon the bevy of girls. "Oh ! Squire Hayman," your- servant; said Grace, courteysing low. ' 'I fear you may entertain some professional jealousy of our making him a lawyer ; but fear you not that! Even the bench of Judges could only license him. Little danger that twAiilrl mnlrn liini o lonrtrnk "Rtif T fnl! it/mi ntlinf L1J13 nuuiu muav uiui c* lunjti. JJUI x IA/U JUU TTUUI/ I would do. How call you the horse, Helen ?'' "Bayard, I think, ia his name," said Helen. " Chevalier satis peiir et reprocheinterposed lawyer Hayman, stroking his beard, complacently. "Poor little scrap of French!" exclaimed Grace, raising her hands pityingly; "it has escaped from its solitudte! Chevalier? Thank you, sir! you have made the horse a knight, while I only thought to make him a simple esquire. Give him but a christian name ? call him Peter, Tom or Jack Bayard, and if we who are here, will only sign a petition to the Legislature to appoint him a magistrate, we 'will, after the next session, have an Esquire with shorter ears than any I have met with in a summer's day!" Squire Hayman stroked his beard again, but this time less complacently than before. He looked to the right and left indecisively, and beat a retreat without risking a shot, - ? ( "Your shot went home, then," said one of the i bevy; you have sent him off limping. "You are too rude, my dear Grace," said Helen in a low tone. "Gratnmercy! my good Helen," replied the impulsive beauty, "what would you have me do? I , cannot take up a cane and cudgel that forward crea- < ture until he ceases to persecute me with his pres- 1 ence and attentions; and so I even use the weapon ? blunt or sharp as you will ? that nature has given me. If Bayard's master were half as annoying and hateful to you, as that creature is to me, you ( would have preferred drifting to the North pole to , being rescued by him. But where is the noble s horse that .assisted in preserving you?" Our readers must keep in mind that all the events , which occurred since the the rescue of Helen Both- , say, occupied a less period of time than we have em- , ployed in narrating them. Guiscard had not been unmindful.or regardless of thefate of the noble animal that had borne him so stoutly and so gallantly to the rescue. The first moment at which he could withdraw himself from the circle of friends, who , crowded around him with their lively congratulations, he called to one of them to accompany him, and was about to enter the canoe to ascertain the ' fate of his favorite and assist in bringing him to | land if he were still alive. Just as Grace Jamais ( lind nsl-erl her nnestinn. lie was nhnnf setting off on his mission of mercy. Fortunately, the instinct and sagacity of the noble animal rendered assistance needless. When set free, lie had struck off obliquely across the current, and had disappeared behind a bend some distance below, but he now re-appeared from behind the point but a few rods distant, swimming at his ease in the deep still water that lay near the bank. All crowded to the bank with a kindly interest in the noble animal. He came swiftly on, leisurely ascended the bank, shook the dripping water from his flanks, and with a voice like the clear blast of a clarion, uttered a wild neigh that sounded like a shout of triumph'. Few saw the tear of emotion that glittered in the eye of Guiscard, as the noble animal, seeking him out among the crowd, with quickened step, hastened to his side, and rubbing his nozzle against his hand, expressed his grateful recognition in a low whinny. "All's well that ends well," said Grace Jamais, preparing to leave. ' 'Squire Hayinan has disappeared and Bayard has reappeared. So far all has gone well. Ellen, dear, I must bid you good bye.? When you play the Gilpin of the river again, "may , we be there to see." "If any thing special comes of this frolic," added she in a lower tone, "send me I a card and I will cut the bride's cako." i Bestowing a kiss on the blushing cheeks of Hel- ! en, her volatile but really warm-hearted friend j pressed her hand and was gone. , It was, indeed, time for the party to disperse.? j The sun was just disappearing behind the western i horizon, and the homes of many of the party were 1 distant. With many a warm congratulation that the catastrophe which threatend to mar the pleas- j ures of the day, had been averted, kindly adieus ( were exchanged and the parties took their depar- i ture for their several homes. Guiscard accompanied Mrs. Rothsay and Helen to their home, and re- j sistinir their entreaties to pass the evening with ! them, which the condition of his attire forbade, J parted with them at the door and hastened home- < ward, to commune with himself on the strange and i exciting events of the day. 1 [to be continued next week,] His own Grandfather.?Win. Harmon com- 1 mitted suicide at Titusville, Pa., last week, from a j melancholy conviction that he was his own grand- ] father! lie left the following singular letter: J I married a widow who had a grown un daugh- 1 ter. My father visited our house very often, tell 1 in love with my step-daughter and married her.? * So my father became my son-in-law, and ray step daughter became my mother, because she was my 1 father's wife. Sometime afterwards, my wife had 1 a son?he was my father's brother-in-law, and my 1 uncle, for he was the brother of my step-mother. My father's wife, i. e., my step-daughter, had also a son; he was of course my brother, and in the meantime my grandchild, for he was the son of my daughter. My wife was my grandmother, because she was my mother's mother. I was my wife's husband and grandchild at the same time. And as the husband of a person's grandmother is his grandfather, I was my own grandfather. HjfaittUawflM Reading. NO BABY IN THE HOUSE. No baby in the house, I know? 'Tis far too nice and clean: No toys by careless fingers strewn Upon the floor are seen. No finger marks are on the panes, No scratches on the chairs, No wooden men set up in rows, Or marshaled off in pairs; No little stockings to be darned, All ragged at the toes; No pile of mending to be done, Made up of baby clothes; No little troubles to be soothed, No little bands to fold, Wo grimy fingers to be washed, No stories to be told; No tender kisses to be given, No nicknames, "Clove" and "Mouse;" No merry frolics after teaNo baby in the house. THE NEW YORK GOLD ROOM. From a graphic description of the goldxooinjn New ifork, In the Chicago Tribune, we select atevf passages: THE GOLD ROOM A CURIOSITY. In a little court room surrounded by four walls, and closed in with a roof, having a circuitous passage-way from Broad-street, may be witnessed, at any hour of the day} and six days in the week, a scene which has not its likeness in earth or heaven. Whether its parallel can be found in h?1, I will not undertake to say. Perhaps it can, but this much I consider certain, that tne New York Cold Room, is, to-day, the greatest curiosity in the world. Imagine a rat-pit In full blast, with twenty or thirty men ranged around the rat tragedy, each with a canine Junder his arm,, all yelling and howling at once, and vou have as good a comparison as can be found in the outside world, of the aspect of the gold room, as It strikes the beholder on his first entrance. The furniture of the room is extremely simple. It consists of two iron railings and an "indicator." The first railing is a circle, about four feet high and ten feet in diameter, placed exactly In the centre of the reew. In the interior, which represents the space devoted to rat-killing, in similar establishments, is a marble Cupid throwing up a Jet of pure Croton. ''lame ducks," TLo nfVinf rnillttulu n aj>ml.s>lw>ln Hrnnfv rtrfbit+u feet from the central one. This outer rail fences off the "lame ducks" and "dead beats"?men who have once been famous at the "rat pit" but have since been "cleaned out" Being unable to settle' their "differences," they are not allowed to come inside. Solvency is the first essential of the gold room. Nothing bogus is allowed to interfere with the serious business in hand. Nevertheless, these "lame ducks and "dead beats" oannot keep away from the place, Day after day they come ana range themselves along the iron grating and look over at the rat pit with the strangest expression of intelligent vacancy and longing despair that can be found this side of purgatory. They seem to be a part of the furniture of the room. While I was there, I did not see one of them move or speak, and when they winked, it was with much the same spirit that an owl at mid-day lowers the film over his eyes and hoists it again. THE "INDICATOR." The "indicator," which is the third piece of furniture in the room, (or the fourth, if we count the "dead beats.") is a piece of mechanism to show the changes in the market. It is something like an oldfashioned New England clock, seven or eight feet high, with an open space at the top, disclosing three figures and a fraction, as 141b, at which the market stood when I entered. The figures being movable, a slight manipulation will manifest any change in the market. Connected with the indicator is a plain desk, with a book on it, in which are recorded all the movements of the indicator, with the hour and minute at which each movement takes place. The floor of tho establishment is rather a pavement, with circular steps or terraces rising from the centre to the circumference. "Neat; but,not gaudy," is the general aspect of the premises. Of course, such an institution could not exist without a telegraph office. Accordingly, we find one.communicating with the gold room by a row of windows, through which dispatches are constantly passing. THE SHOUTING. Having given the external appearance of the concern, we now come to the business. Three things seem to be in demand?lungs, note-books and pencils. Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow, yah-yahyah-yah-yah, from twenty or thirty throats around the pit. all at once, and kept going from morning till night, from Monday till Saturday, is what presents itself to the ear of the beholder. The voices of the gentry around the circle are for the most part teiioru with now and then a falsetto and a basso.? I shall not soon forget a basso prof undo in the ring, who drew his breath at regular intervals, and announced his desires with a seriousness truly remarkable. He was a thick-set man, with capacious cnesc, snaggy iieau, kcuii cyvo aim i uniy wiua&crc, which curved upward from his inferior maximillary bone in the most determined manner. He ! cocked his head on one side, thrust his chin as far over the railing as possible, and made himself heard . every time. He put in his B flat in regular caden- : ces like the trombone jjeifornier in a mill-pond of a ' summer evening, drowning for the moment all the fiddles in the frog corumunty, or like the double bass crashes in the overture of Tannahauser, which. ! by the way, might pass for' 'Gold Room Potpourri' ; without the alteration of a single note. BUSINESS. Among the faces constantly swinging around the < circle, there is a marked preponderance of Israel ites. * * But they do not, by any means, monopolize the business. There are young Yankees \ here, apparently not more than twenty-one years of age, with downy cheeks and shrewd eyes, wow-wowing and yaw-yawing at each other across the rail- ] ing, and whisking tneir pencils with phonographic j velocity. You see no smiles in this ring. Many i af the operators are smoking, but they have no time ] for conundrums. Commencing betimes in the j morning, they must buy and sell gold enough be- 1 Pore night to pay for Chicago twice over. Putting the purchases and sales together, they will not un- < frequently amotfll to one nundred millions of dollars. In a few cases only is the gold actually deliv- ( cred. Balances arc settled with gold certificates.? ( The existing method of settling the business of the ( Jay is by giving checks?each man drawing a check . for each purchase, or receiving one for eaen sale. j But what docs it all amount to? I had almost i said that the gold room regulates all the prices in the i United States. It does not regulate, but it records j them. The gold room is itself regulated by the out- < side world. Each movement of the "indicator" is _ the resultant of all the forces "Strvrork in America, \ Europe, Asia and Australia, which can possibly af- feet tne value of United States bonds. It foDows < that the operators in the gold room should be, it the same time, the best informed and the most < intelligent business men of the country. They must i not only have the best and latest information, but < ihey must be able to determine instantly, what is ( l,o nf anv in von fiinfc which mavcome to their ' knowledge. They must be able to resolve the most i implicated problems in mental arithmetic without i 1 moment's hesitation. Now and then the price will run up wildly, upon 1 given state of facts, and run down again as rapidly . ivnen it is discovered that the facts are not having , die effect which was generally expected by the op- ( orators. They are pretty cool and accurate in their j calculations, but the atmosphere of the gold room dmost inevitably perverts a man's judgment, and j brings him to grief in the long run, conclusion. ( The stock board is provided with a moderator j ind two reporters, thus having the semblance ot i parliamentary law for its government. The gold 1 board has nothing of the kind, It is a ceaseless < jangle, a whirlpool of voices, without order, without ] umpire, referee or stakeholder. Yet as it spins on, i millions upon millions are bought and sold, the pri- < ces of all goods, wares, merchandise, produce, i bonds, stocks and property generally, throughout the country are marked up or down, obediently to the inexorable "indicator" in the gold room. How . these men can understand each other, and avoid , making mistakes, is a mystery. 1 Now and then the noise flags, and almost ceases, i While I was there, it ceased for a moment entire- 1 ly. The smokers placidly puffed their blue wreaths < upwards, and the murmur of little fountains became j audible. In ten seconds bedlam had broken loose 1 againt wilder than ever. "Market excited," said < my friend, to whose politeness I was indebted for i an introduction to the room; and almost immedi- 1 ately the indicator rose from 141 to 141}. The idea that these twenty or thirty men was "the market," and that when they exchanged views a trifle more f vociferously than usual, "the market was ex- \ cited." struck me as so droll that I laughed immod- a erately. It was, nevertheless, true. These men q were the market, and the market was excited.? t Some spark of information had just come from b some quarter of the globe which warranted the op- f erators in believing tnat Untted States legal-tender n notes were worth a fract:on less than they were ten c seconds before. The gold room is as sensitive to b news as the "thermo-electric pile" to heat tl CLASSES OP OPERATORS. C There are two class af operators in the gold-room ^ ?commission men and speculators. The "heads I win, tails, vou loose." Their commission is a P certainty, and if they can resist the temptation to -J do a little on their private account, they make mo- d ney. The speculators make none, Rich to-day, ? poor to-morrow is the rule with them. Those who " make money cannot get away. When a man makes 0 a million in the gold room, it is as thoosfi he had 0 swallowed a gallon of salt water at one draught to P quench his tnirst He must have more. So he li ii w iii*>n >11 and cannot pay his differences, he must take his 91 place atthe outer railing. Even then, hecannotdrag ? himselr away rrom the place. The evil genius of ? gambling has possession of him. It holds him ? Fast. "Yonder," said my oompanion, "is a young " man who might have gone away with two millions 01 of dollars. He was worth it once." He is now among the "dead beats, as poor as any of them." d They have all been rich in their time. 81 USES OF THE GOLD ROOM. ^ To say that the gold room is not useful, would be tj. altogether wrong. It is nbt only useful but neces- cj sary. I should not wish any friend of mine to do rj( much business in it, but it must be recognized as ^ a neoessity of the times. Its method of doing bu- ^ siness was never invented by anybody. Men slid ^ into it, just as men slid into the practice of using ?y gold and silver for money. It has been found rp that the work can be done more economically and / expeditiously by the rat-pit mode than any other. If it could be done any raster or cheaper by the i operators standing on their heads, they would do so. A STORY WITHOUT AN END. or There was a oertain king who, like many Eastern ^ kings, was very fond of hearing stories told,. To 00 this amusement he gave up all his time; but yet he was never satisfied. All tne exertions of his cour- Wl tiers were in vain. The more he heard, the more ^ he wanted to hear. At last he made a proclamatlon. that if any man would tell him a story that would last forever, he would make him his heir, J? and give him the princess, his daughter, in mar-' riage; but if any one should pretend that he had m sucn a story, but should fail ? that is; if the story 111 did come to an end ? he was to have his head chop- cc ped off. n| For such a prize as a beautiful princess, and a ? kingdom, many candidates appeared; and dread- . fully long stories some of them told. Some of them Z1, lasted a week, some a month, and some six months; j5 poor fellows! they all spun them out as long as j they possibly coula, you may be sure; but all in vain; socner or latter they all came to an end; and one after another, the unlucky story-tellers had their heads chopped off. , | At last Cc ue a man who said that he had a story J? which would last forever, if his Majesty would be pleased to give him a trial. n( He was warned ot his danger; they told hira how many others had tried, and lost their heads; but he said he was not afraid, and so he was brought & before the king. He was a man of a very compos- di ed and doliberate manner of speaking; and; after & making all requisite stipulations for time for his " eating and drinking and sleeping, he thus began to his story : id "0, king, there was once a king who was a great ?1 tyrant, and, desiring to increase his riches, he seiz- ? cd upon all the corn and grain in his kingdom, and ? put it into an immense granary, which he built on rf purpose, as high as u-mountaiu. This did he tor * several yeavs, until the granary was quite full up to to the top. He then stopped up the doors and win- 0( dows, and closed it up fast on all sides. But the bricklayers had, by accident, left a small hole near the top of the granary, and there'came a 9,' flight of locusts, and tried to get at the corn; but 23 the hole was so small that only one locust could pass through at a time. So one locust went in and " carried off one grain of corn, and then another lo- a{ cust went in and carried off another grain of corn, ?J and then another locust went in and carried off an- tl other gram of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain " of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn"? ^ He had gone on thus from morning to night (ex- ?' cept when lie was engaged at his meals) for about 1,1 a month, when the king, though a very patient king, began to be rather tired of the locusts, and in- I terruptea his story with? hi "Well, well, we have had enough of the locusts; th we will suppose thoy helped themselves to all the lb corn they wanted; tell us what happeued after- F( wards," at "If it please your Majesty, it is impossible to tell m you what happened afterwards, before I have told p( you what happened first" Tj And then ne went on again: ec "And then another locust went in and carried off al another grain of oorn, and then another locust went co in and earried off another grain of corn, and then te another locust went in and carried off another grain er of corn." hi The king listened with unconquerable patience nix months more, when he again interrupted him with: ^ mi "Oh, friend ] I am weary of your locusts! How in 30on do you think they will have done?" ' To which the story-teller made answer: ne "0, king! who can tell? At the time to which mi i?ur ofnmr Vino oAtno flan lAnnufo Knrn olooro/1 otrnv +1> IUJ iJWlJ U(?o W1UVJ buv iwUiHVJ iii*T v V1V/UIUU wnwj LI1 i small space, it may be a cubit, each way round re the inside of the hole, and the air is still dark with scl locusts on all sides; but let the king have patience, gr ind no doubt we will come to the end of them in ui< time." to Thus encouraged, the king listened on for anoth- ca jr full year, the story-teller going on as before? of "And another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and another lo- se 2ust went in and carried off another grain of corn, th md another locust went in and earned off another it ?rain of corn, and another locust went in and car- foi ried off another grain of corn, and another locust ivent in and earned off another grain of corn," till pa it last the poor king could bear it no longer, and T1 , "Qb 1 ir,Qni 'g 1 Tttkemyda?fKt?H--rtt tafeiny kingdom! take anything!!?everything!!! an ?only let me heat no more of your abominable lo- ne justs!" eij And so the story-teller was married to the king's laughter, and was declared heir of the throne; and lobody ever expressed a wish to hear the rest of the T1 story, for he said it was impossible to come to the ha ither part of it till he had clone with the locusts.? In rhe unreasonable caprice of the foolish king was de :hus overmatched by the ingenious device of the va arise man.?Exchange. sti . gr Gen. Sherman on the Situation in Mexico, mi ?Gen. Sherman has reported to Washington his tat news of the situation of affaire in Mexico. From gff expressions, dropped by him it is evident that he m( s disappointed as to the popularity of Juarez's th< Darty, and fully admits that there are so many rival do actions and interests that American intervention en n Mexico is very distasteful. He has, however, )nlv mixed with the Imperial party on the frontier, g md he feels that his views may change after inter- th; news with the people of the interior, who are most- na y Liberal. The Frehch officials treated him with to jourtesy. It is positive that Juarez, who is sup- we Dosed to be at Chihuahua, has been requested to wu ueet Campbell at San Louis Potosi about the 15th loc )f January. As soon as Sherman receives further -tie nstructions he will return to Mexico. A1 ? cai Newspapers.?De Tocqueville, in his work on im .\merica, gives this forcible sketch: "A newspaper en drops the same thought into a thousand minds at in/ the same moment A newspaper is an adviser ivho does not require to be sought, but who comes g to you briefly every day of common weal, without by distracting your pnvate affairs. Newspapers, there- wt fore, become more necessary in proportion as men ni become more equal and individuals more to be fear- si( ed. To suppose that they only serve to protect S] freedom would be to diminish their importanoe; an they maintain civilization." * go A TERRIBLE FIRE-ABM. The Government is now having made at Hartbrd, Conn. ^ one hundred battery guns of a new inention. Fifty of them will have a one-inch bore .nd the balance one-half-inch bore. The gun is uite a curiositv to look at. The main characterise ic of this terrible weapon is that it has a series of arrels, with a earner and lock cylinder, rigidly astened to the main shaft, and retaining simultaieouslyand continuously by means of a crank, the artridges being fed into the carrier from the feed oxes, thence driven endwise into the rear ends of be barrels, then exploded, and the empty cartridge ase withdrawn, without any pause in the operation, he incessant loading and firing are produced by be simplest kind ot mechanism, there being lei arts about the gun than in the Springfield musket, "his gun can be discharged at the rate of two hunred shots per minute. One of its features is that lere is no recoil which can effect the accuracy of be aim. When the gun is once sighted at a given bject, the same aim can be maintained at the will f the operator until thousands of discharges take lace. A 1j -/> ? ? ' i xx lutciui li ui u uiuuua oi tne gun may do Jtept can be made to sweep section of anv circle within its range. As there i no escape or gas at the breach, all the force of le powder is expended in giving velocity to le ball. A consideration which is claimed to be f the very first importance in this gun, is that rcry cartridge must be either discharged or withrawn from the barrels, thus precluding such refits as were shown on the battlefield of Gettysburg, here, of the 28,574 muskets collected after the ittle, 24,000 were found to be loaded, 12,000 of lem containing two loads each, and 6,000 being larged with from three to ten loads each, the cartdges oftentimes being loaded without breaking lem, and many inserted with the ball down first he gun is light and easily transported. One ofte sizes now Deing made at the armory dischargee 1-100 inch calibre balls, and weighs 225 pounds, he other size discharges balls of one, inch calibre tine ounces in weight,) and weighs between 500 id 600 pounds. The first named has a range of >ont one mile, and the latter upward of two miles. A Bee Tamer.?At the State Fair in Saratoga, le of the greatest attractions was a great honeyse monger, whose hat, while on his head, was vered with bees, which appeared like a small rarm on a bush. He handled bees as if they ere harmless flies. They crawled all over his per?n, in his hair, and on nis face, and he put some ' them in his mouth and blew them out, and haned them at pleasure. And what was most rearkable, they were strange bees, attracted from le woods or from colonies in the country. Imense crowds of people hunjf around him, oootinfily asking questions and purchasing the seeret of illecting bees from the forest, or robbing your iighbore of their busy workers by remaining quily at home. When everv bee was shaken from is hat, and it was returned to his head, the buzng swarm about him would quickly return, com ? v-i. nm.. - * cicijr iu>ciiijg ma iiuu j.ue Bupcrinienueui inrferred, as ne affirmed that such an exhibition ew away too many people. Is a Broken Neck Curable.?A London letr in the Chicago Evening Journal has the folwing: The old saying that there is ne cure for a broken sck, has just been practically disproved by a surK)n at Greenock. He was called to see a young girl who had just lien a distance of eighteen feet, and thoroughly slocated her neck. When he reached her the ce was nearly reversed, and looking over the back, 'e promptly supported the back with the left knee, . ok a grasp of the head, and began to pullgraduly ana pretty strong, whereupon the girl'a eyes jened and there was an effort at breathing, fneasing the pressure the parts suddenly came to leir natural position, ana after a minute or two :gular breathing was established. Close attention aa a/terwurd paid to the case, and after much ver and occasional convulsions, the child reoover1, and is now as well as ever. Who Can Answer It??The following novel restion has been submitted to us for publication: appose a man and a girl were to get married; the ian thirty-five years old and the girl five years; lis makes the man seven times as old as the girl, id they live together until the girl is ten years d, this makes the man forty years old, and four mes as old as the girl; and if they still live toither until she is fifteen, the man would be fortyre ; this makes the man three times as old. and if lev still live 011 till the girl is thirty years old, this akcs the man sixty, only twice as old, and so on. ow, how long would they have to live to make the rl as old as the man, at the same rate of reasong??Atlanta Intelligencer. Kay A colony of freedmen, consisting of three indred heads of families, comprising above two lousand men, women, and children, is to be estabihed west of New Smyrna, thirty miles south of ernandina. They come from South Carolina, id are in charge of General Ely. The Governent gives them one month's subsistence and transudation, and they supply themselves with two. lie country which they are to occupy is well adaptl to cultivation, has a fine range for cattle, and >ounds in fish, ovsters and game. Col. Sprague, mmanding the Listrict, guaranteed military proction, and with this military supervision^ togethwith well directed induHtrv. their condition must ; greatly improved. Overthrow of State Governments?Sumsr Defeated. ?The following paragraph occurs the Washington letter of the Baltimore Gazette : I feel authorized to-day to give your readers some iw.s of a very cheering character. The extreme ensures of Mr. Sumner, having in view the overrow of the existing State Governments of ten unpresented States, and the other revolutionary neme of ignoring their existence by act of Coness, in the matter of the constitutional amend2nt, have both failed to receive such support as justify even their presentation to the action of a ucus of either House, much less of a joint caucus both. Learn a Trade.?The New York Sun veiy usibly recommends boys to learn a trade?not at he should always work at itj but he may have as reserve capital, together with its influence in ruling a character. Nothing but an absurd false pride prevents many rents from adopting such sensible counsel? lore have been instances of royal personages traing their children to mechanical employments, and eiebj Hindering them cumpeteBt tOgi apple with y change of fortune, but such good sense is beath the dignity of some of our American soverjus. The Decision as to Military Commissions. ie decision pronounced by the Supreme Court is produced a profound sensation in Washington, dependency of the vast importance of the matter cidedj it is regarded in Democratic and Consertive circles as indicative of a soundness upon contutional law of the personnel of the court,_ that res cheering evidence that that august tribunal ly be relied upon as a barrier against the medi:ed usurpation of Congress, it has been sug Sfed by very prominent and influential men that insures will shortly be taken to test the status of i unrepresented States before the court?and no ubt exists but that the lawfulness of their prest organizations would be sustained. 6T A despatch to the New York Tribune says at the Emperor of Brazil has just liberated the tional slaves, the profits of whose labor belonged the Crown ; and large numbers of the freedmen, ! learn, have entered the army, and being forirded in detachments to the seat of war. This >ks like the first step towards general emancipam in Brazil?at least, it is so regarded by the jolition party of the Empire. This being the ?e, those intending to emigrate might as well relin at home, unless, indeed, they prefer the Govliuent of Brazil to that now carried "on at Washjton. General Henningsen is now making a living distilling whiskey in Richmond. If there ever is a soldier of fortune, born to bad luck, HenQgsen is the man. He has been on the loosing le in no less than four wars?the Carlist war in lain, the Hungarian war, the Nicaraguan war, id the late war in this country; and now he has me into the whiskey business.