Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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fl " -I L J??BBT4 ' ^" Inbfptnirtirf Jfamilg gttospaptr: Jfor % $nuttira of % gjifi&il, S?cial, Agricultural mb (Lnramial Interests of % Sratfr- ? * ' ] ^ ^ - ' ? VOL. 13. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JTOTE 6, 1867. ^ : - ' IfrQ^. 7 LINES TO MY FIRST GRAY HAIrT" BY JOSIAH M'LEOD. Unwelcome intruder, frail monitor, hail! I tender the honor that's due To thy reverend aspect and visage so pale, Though thy advent has made me feel blue; Though as lightly thou floatest away from my poll As a mote in the sunbeam at noon. Yet thou flingest a shadow athwart my sad souL As broad as the disc of the moon. Like the hand on the wall to proud Babylon's chief, Or Banquo's dread ghost to Macbeth, Thou bringest me tidings, mute herald of grief, From the land of the shadow of death? Dispelling the visions of beauty that throw Tneir enchantment on youth's sunny way, And bring me weariness," weakness and woe, Dependence, disease and decay. Like drift on the surface of Life's troubled tide! Thou mark'st my approach to the dark And mysterious regions whose mists ever hide The wreck of humanity's bark. Notoken nor voice from that cloud-covered goalNo light from its headland appears? {soul Though the chill of its land breeze creeps over my With doubts and conjectures and fears. Oh i sad are the visions that float from the past, As I hold thv frail fibre to view; The shades of lost friendship are over me cast? The generous and trusted and trueBrave hearts that are broken on fate's Iron wheelFond hearts wrapped in woman's soft thrall, And one loving soul in "the land o' the leal," Whose mem ry is dearest of all. How oft have her baby-hands toyed with my locks, When my heart was as fresh as they brown, Or strayed o'er my brow, ere misfortune's rude shocks Had left there their furrow and frown. Dear spirit of beauty, wherever thou art, I love with my darling to be; For. Oh! there's a void in my desolate heart, That worlds cannot fill without thee. Let Time's rushing pinions then; shed o'er my head Pale token of manhood's declinb; If death will restore me one joy that has fled, Without a regret m resign The dreams and the hopes, and wild raptures of youthIts passions and follies and snares? And welcome old age with its visage uncouth, Its tottering steps and gray hairs. Jto Original fjtouvrlcite. [copyright secured.] THE SHADOW ON THE WALL. A STORY OP OOLOHIAL VIRGINIA. BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE, ESQ., Author of "Surry, of Ease's Ne*t," "Wearing the Gray," "Life of'Stonewall' Jackson," etc. [continued.] Honoria followed her mother to the door, and when she had disappeared, turned the key in the lock. She then quickly drew from her bosom a paper, which she read with hurried attention, by the lights in the tall silver candlesticks. This paper was a note from Innis, which his servant had brought on the day before, and ran as follows: "I am about to leave Virginia forever, but before I go, must see you once more or die of despair. T il?A tmnia i<An T VftTTA MAAAlTTA/1 X L31UUUL cUJVCpu LUC 111V iiauuu, X uarc ilvsiivu) IV Haddon. It would kill me to be present when you become Lady Ruthven, and some other means must be devised. The time and place I leave to yourself. "I have written these words calmly- See, there is not a blot, for I have no tears. The time when tears could relieve me has passed, and I am firm. "I can write no more: 1 am faint My servant will bring back your reply. Edmund Innis. The young lady had written in answer to this note: "I cannot possibly meet you before the night of my marriage. Then I will meet you. Come to the arbor beneath the oak tree, near the stile, at ten o'clock, and wait for me. Honoria." These were the words which the young lady had written and sent back to Innis. In the tumult of her feelings, she forgot the bitter cold, the cruel snow, the almost utter impossibility of keeping the appointment without discovery. All these prudential considerations had disappeared before the one controlling thought that she must sec Edmund, for the last time, where no eye could witness their parting?where no ear could hear the final words of agony. As the young lady now re-perused his note, and reflected upon the nature of her reply, her heart sank within her, and she shuddered, in anticipation at the thought that some curious eye might see her meeting with Innis. For the first time she realized the perilous nature of the appointment, the terrible scandal it would give rise to, if discovered; and the risk she ran of exposing her character to the most unworthy and degrading aspersions. The girl's cheeks grew paler than ever as she sat, gazing with wild and vacant eyes, upon the paper, but as the words again caught her wandering gaze, the color returned to her cheek, her eyes filled with tears, and murmuring: "Oh! I will go [ ?I will not disappoint him?I will risk every danger rather than wound him!" she replaced the paper in her bosom, and rose to her feet At the same moment, steps were heard at the door, and the bridesmaids called her. She admitted them, and with a composed countenance, declared herself ready for the ceremony. xxvm. THE DISAPPEARANCE OP THE BRIDE. The crowd divided, right and left, at the foot of the great stair-case; and the splendid bridal party descended slowly, the ample satin trains of the young ladies sweeping the polished oak. The bride and the groom came last Honoria was very pale, but quite calm; and did net seem to require the arm which Lord Ruthven extended for her support - The young nobleman was paler even than the bride, and the smile upon his lips was evidently forced. Many persons observed this, and spoke afterwards of the singular look which he threw over his shoulder, but, at the moment, these things were not alluded to. Mirth and careless rejoicing were the order of the hour. The bridal train entered th*e great drawing room, and in the midst of a deep silence, the clergyman, arrayed in his black gown, read, in a measured voice, the marriage ceremony. Honoria simply bowed her head, and moved her lips, in the responses, and a prayer ended the whole. Honoria Brand was thenceforth, 'My Lady Ruthven.' Then the uproar, universal upon such occasions, r commenced; and the young lady found her lips in - - - ? A A 1 r* 1 i.1 vaded by hundreds ot menas 01 Dotn sexes, wc fashion of the period being for every kinsman and kinswoman, nay, all who were on familiar terms with a young lady, to "salute" her on her marriage. Whether the gallants carried it so far upon the present occasion as to "kiss every girl in the room"?a ceremony which an aged gentleman informed us he had often performed at weddings? we know not; but tho merriment and uproar were unbounded. Lord Ruthven received the congratulations of all, with gracious courtesy and elaborate smiles.? But it was very plain that these smiles were forced. When left for a moment to himself, his countenance resumed its old expression of haunting gloom, and the strange look over his shoulder returned, as it were, unconsciously. Thus sped the moments, and the hour appointed for supper drew near. This was set in the great dining room, with all that inexhaustible profusion of every imaginable edible and liquid, then, even more than now, the fashion. The groomsmen looked round for their bridesmaids, the beaus for partners, and the eye of Lord Ruthven ranged through the brilliant crowd in 8earok?f Honoria. She was no where to be seen. Lo: {Ruthven, somewhat anxious lest the young lady l^iii become indisposed, quietly glided through the assemblage, and meeting a maid in the hall, directed her to repair to Lady Ruthven's chamber, and inform her that supper was about to be an-, nounced. The maid hastened to obey, but returned in a few moments and said that her young mistress was not in her chamber. "Not in her chamber I" exclaimed Lord Ruthven; "where then is she?" As he spoke, a hand was laid upon his arm, and 1 a low voice muttered, "Hush, my Lord, and come with me!" XXIX. THE STEPS IN THE SNOW. It was the voice. .Qf Fergus. Lord Ruthven no sooner saw the expression of the Highlander's countenance, than he felt that some important reason existed for the caution, he had received. The old servant's face was flushed, and his* eyes sparkled with wrath. His lips were closely compressed, and the hand laid on Lord Ruthven's arm was so heavy and unceremonious, that Fergus had airi/lantlTT lnof aitrlit for flia mnmunt nf oil nnK ward forms of respect. "What is it?" said his master in a low tone; "you must have good reason for your caution, Fergus." "I have, my Lord," returned the body-servant in the same tone; "follow me to that side door there, which opens towards the quarters, and aim not to attract attention.'' With these words, Fergus disappeared. Lord Ruthven looked round to see if any one was watching him ; and, finding that he was wholly unobserved, quickly followed. He opened the side door, passed through, and closed it after him. The sepulchral glare of the snow, bathed in the icy moonlight, and the freezing wind which cut like a sharp steel blade through his richly embroidered coat of delicate silk, made the contrast between tho hall within, and the winter night without, sufficiently striking. But he did not heed it Fergus was awaiting him, and no sooner saw his master than he said in his former quick, brief tone: "Your Lordship's married a bonny bride!" "What do you mean? Speak!" were the imperious words of Ruthven. "ThatwillI, speedily. Where isLadyRuthven, my Lord?" "I know not!" "I do." ''Where ? What doyou mean, Fergus! Something in your words?your voice?!" "Yes; I am not as cooi as usual. True, my Lord ; and that has made me forget that I must exact a promise from you." "A promise! speak! speak!" cried Lord Ruthven with overwhelming excitement "Speak! if you would have me retain my senses!" "Promise that you will not slay my lady?" "Slay! you are mad!" < "I am sane?promise!" ' "I promise nothing, and I command yon to ex- j plain yourself Speak! or, by Heaven, I'll cut the truth out of your very heart 1" ] And Lord Ruthven seized the old servant by the , shoulders, with a grasp so violent, that he shrunk with pain. , "Well," was his cool reply, "I've done my duty , and I obey your Lordship.'' , "Speak! Where is Lady Ruthven?" } Fergus stooped down and pointed to the snow. "Look!" he said. , Lord Ruthven looked and saw the print of a , small, delicate slipper in the snow. I "There is another," said Fergus, "and your Lordship will see that they go across the lawn." ] His master did not listen. With a burning , cheek, and a heart which throbbed almost to bursting, he followed the delicate footsteps over the 1 chill expanse. , Stooping thus, and hastening onward, the young , nobleman resembled some wild animal, crouching ; low, and hastening toward his prey. Soon it was ( necessary to bend lower. A cloud had passed over the moon, and only the dull glare of the snow, af- , forded the means of tracing the footprints. It was , sufficient, however; and Lord Ruthven thus traversed the slope which extended toward the fence ( encircling the grounds. All at once a deep shadow ] fell upon the marks. He looked up and saw a mighty , oak twenty paces distant. At the same moment, , the sound of voices was heard?a voice which he , recognized as that of Honoria, murmured, "Iwill love you in life and death!" and the burning ( glances of Lord Ruthven penetrated the black shad- ( ow, and saw that Honoria was clasped in a gentle- , man's arms. XXX. THE LAST MEETING. 1 Honoria had kept her appointment. Stealing 1 away from the company, she had sought her chamber, hastily wrapped a heavy cloak around her, and descending by a stair-case in the reaf of the building, opened the side door, and gone forth into the chill night Flying, affrighted and trembling, over the ex- ' panse of snow which made her feet iu their thin white satin slippers, ache with cold, she had reached the arbor, seen the figure of her lover come to meet her; and had fallen, weak, and powerless to resist, upon his bosom. Then followed one of those spectacles which the writer shrinks from with a sense of utter incapacity?with a full conviction that tho crowning tragedy and pathos of the scene, defy all efforts to portray them. Forgetting all the world?her past, her present, and her future; remembering only that the human being whom she loved ttith such unspeakable tenderness and devotion was before her?and obeying the resistless impulse driving her, like a weary storm-tost dove, into his sheltering arms?she clung close to him, clasped him wildly to her bosom, and exhausted on him, every old term of endearment, in one passionate outburst which she made no effort to control. And Innis could only clasp her to his heart, and reply in broken words. His great woe came upon him, at that moment, with an intenser bitterness than ever before. The sense what he had lost swept over him like a flood of fire; and a cruel, mad despair, was mingled with the delicious happiness of the girl's caresses. For many moments they thus remained locked in each others arms, murmuring words of endearment and striving to grow calmer. The young man finally, in a measure, conquered his agitation, and suppressing, by an immense ef^~ nrltin^nanyltf fnrn if a xbqxt fn Viiq l!r\a xuri, 111U giuiu nuivu utlin; wv?v iwj IIMJ iv uj/u) said in a broken voice: "I thank you for coming, my own darling. I may call you so, now, for the last time?and you must not stay here in the cold anylonger. I felt as if I should have died without this last meeting, useless as it was?and now I can say farewell." He tried to unclasp the arms of the girl, but she resisted. "No!" she exclaimed, in a voice, interrupted by sobs; "no, no, we need not part so soon I Why must we part?" 'They will miss you in the hall, and then this bitter night I Your poor dear little feet in their thin slippers! Yes, you must go, my darling, and we must part! I am calmer than I was. My heart was black with evil thoughts. I doubted God and man and woman; I was desperate and meditated desperate acts; but I have seen your dear, good face again, my own Honoria! I have heard your roice, and after this hour, I think I can bear my misery. Farewell now, you must go?but tell me ince more^hat you will not forget your poor oousin, however far away from you; that you will pray for me, and not grieve over what might have been Four own life. Promise this, Honoria, my love, my lost love, and I shall be almost happy!" It was then that the young lady, raising her [lead, and letting it fall backward on his shoulder, murmured faintly: "I will love you in life and ieath." As she uttered the words, Innis started, and irew her more deeply beneath the shadow. His ayes had fallen on two figures rapidly approaching, ind as the moon soared out from the obscuring iloud, he recognized Lord Ruthven and Fergus. At the low exclamation which Innis uttered, Honoria raised her head, and following the gaze if the young man, beheld her husband. Innis felt a shudder run through the frame of the girl, a low cry escaped from her pale lips; and then-her form weighed heavily upon his breast? Overcome with terror, she had fainted. XXXI. the adversaries. Lord Kuthvendid not rush upon his adversary? lid not so much as lay his hand upon the hilt of the short sword, worn as a port of full dress, on all xxasions of ceremony, at that period. A strange composure seemed to have succeeded bis wild rage, and he had apparently reached that stage of wrath, when all flurry and excitement disappear, when deep pallor follows the hot flush df tommon anger, and the mind acting clearly, and Evith all its powers about it, resolutely fixes on the jourse of action to be pursued. There was a deadly look in the young nobleman's ;ye, and his lips were as ashy pale as his cheeks? iut when he spoke, there was no evidence of agiation in his voice. "It is quite unnecessary to hold me back," he >aid to Fergus, who knowing the terrible strength if his master's passions, had seized his arm to restrain him from advancing. "I do not purpose to lo anything rash, and you will remain where you iow are." With these words, the speaker proceeded to the irbor, and confronted the two young persons. tunic ho/i rpnnvflrpd his salf-nosspssinn almost nstantly, and did not lower his gaze before that of lis adversary, who now said, in an icy tone, "I vill relieve you of Lady Ruthven, sir, as the night s unpleasantly cold, and she might suffer inconvelience from the exposure. I shall escort her to he house, with your permission, sir, and as it will )e necessary to hold a brief discussion with you ifterwards, shall beg you to await my return, withrnc moving from this place. May I count upon ,Tou, sir?" Innis bowed with an air of gloomy satisfaction? t might almost be said, of haughty joy. Then his adversary would himself force on him, he combat which his whole soul leaped to meet, [hey would soon cross swords, and one of them all. In his bitter, mad despair and wretchedness, [nnis thought only of that one thing?that they vould meet breast to breast His bow appeared to satisfy Lord Ruthven, and it the same moment, the poor girl opened her eyes. The scene had passed so rapidly that there svas only a brief interval between her fainting and return to consciousness. All flashed upon her now; like lurid lightning, ind starting from Innis' arms, she covered her face svith her hands, and shrunk with a low scream of terror, from the eye of Lord Ruthven. "Oh! I am innocent!" she exclaimed, "it was but for a moment?our last meeting?Edmund? my lord!?" "Enough I" was the low, stern interruption of the nobleman, over whose countenance, as he looked upon the young lady, passed a violent contortion, as though a sudden agony had convulsed him." Enough, madam; we will not, at present, discuss this matter." And exchanging a last meaning look with Innis, the speaker, half escorting, half bearing her in his arras, reconducted the young lady to the house. From that moment Lord Ruthven's conduct and deportment were strongly calculated to support the hypothesis, afterwards insisted upon, that his mind was thrown from its balance. He acted with the self-possession, wariness and cunning, which not seldom characterize the proceedings of a lunatic. With the exception of the deathly pallor of his countenance, and the strange glitter in his eyes, he exhibited no traces of emotion; and, indeed, had never appeared calmer than when he rejoined the company. As he eutered with the young lady by the side door, through which she had flown to meet her cousin, supper was announced ; and Lord Ruthven acted with the utmost presence of mind and tack He hastily tore the heavy wrapping from the young lady's shoulders; placed her arm in his; and with a smile upon his features, joined the company and preceded the guests into the supperroom. - * i .1 1 _/ ! iNo one seemed to nave ODservea tne aDsence 01 the bride but Lady Brand; or if it had been observe'd, it was, doubtless, attributed to her desire to retire and rest for a brief space before supper. The quick eyes of the fond mother, however, discerned something strange and unwonted in the young lady's air, and she knew that Honoria had not been in her apartment, where she had sought her. Gliding now to her side, Lady Brand asked her where she had l>een, but before she could reply, Lord Ruthven was at her shoulder, and said: "You must not quarrel with your daughter for having secrets now, madam, as she is Lady Ruthven." And the nobleman, as he spoke in a light voice, looked at Honoria. That look was one of such deadly menace, that she shrunk from him, and turned deathly pale. He saw that her lips were sealed; and that there was no longer an obstacle to his design. Gliding through the crowd with a strange smile, he issued forth into the hall, passed quickly through the side door, and imperiously bidding Fergus remain behind, almost rushed toward the arbor, as though he feared that his foe would escape him. XXXIL THE COMBAT. Innis had not stirred from the spot. What thoughts had passed through the mind of the despairing youth as he waited there in the freezing cold, with the warmth of Honoria's kisses vet upon his lips, and a bloody combat with her husband imminent? Despair is a strange stimulant; and Innis had little hope in this world. He did not hate Lord Ruthven, who had not knowingly wronged him, but he could not love the man who had caused all his wretchedness; and a bitter smile came now to his countenance, a sombre joy to his heart as he murmured, "If after I have told him all, he insists on the combat, I'll not disappoint him, and the event, either way, is indifferent to me." Such were the thoughts of Innis as he waited in, the arbor; and as now the figure of Lord Ruthven appeared in the moonlight, hastening toward him, the young man's pulse beat equally, and his face retained its bitter oomposure. In a moment, the adversaries were face to face, and by the clear moonlight, they read each other's countenances plainly. "It is well, sir," said Lord Buthven, in a tone so low and hollow that it sounded like a voice from the dead. "I see that you keep your word, at least in some things, and have not added cowardice to treachery." Innis started, as though a serpent had stung him, j for no human being had ever before dared to address him thus. "Treachery, sir!" he exclaimed; "you accuse me of treachery? Beware!" . "We'll have no discussions, if you please," returned Buthven in the same hollow voice; "another sort of argument than one of words?no words! I see the point of a sword below your cloak, sir. Draw!" ... ' As he spoke, the young nobleman, whose eyes burned with lurid fire, strongly in contrast with the anxious coldness of his tone, drew his own weapon, quickly from its scabbard, and saluted briefly. Innis had already thrown aside his cloak and laid his hand upon.the hilt of his sword. Bnt the hand suddenly fell, and the young man said: "Before I cross your sword, sir, it is necessary that I should make a simple statement" "It is useless?I want no statements 1" come in quick, cold aocents. "Draw, sir!" "You shall not be disappointed, my Lord Ruthven," said Innis, bitterly. "Do not fear, sir.. I desire this meeting almost, or quite as ardently as you can, for you've wronged me, far more deeply than I you?if I ha>w, indeed, injured you at all I say that a statement from me is necessary; and that statement I will make. In brief words then, sir, your mind is laboring under a suspicion wholly gratuitous and unfounded. Lady Ruthven is as pure as that moon above us, sir, and as innocent of wrong toward you, as the babe unborn. Her sole fault, if it be such,, was the imprudence of meeting me in this manner, and I myself, induced her to take this step. I besought her to grant me a last interview, before I left Virginia?perhaps forever. She consented to my solicitation, and in another moment, had you not appeared, the young lady and myself would have parted?" "With a last embrace!" came like a hiss from the pale lips of his adversary. "Well, sir, as your story is over, you will please assume your position. Your blood or mine shall flow, sir." And Lord Ruthven seemed about to rush upon his foe, and stab him with bis short sword, before he could place himself on guard. "A single moment, sir," said Innis coldly, "and I will not further detain you. The embrace of which you speak was not so criminal as you think, and I beg your Lordship to forego your bloody purpose, for a brief period, if possible, in order that when our ghosts meet in another world, there may be no misunderstandings.'' The young man's tones were gloomy and menacing. Lord Ruthven, doubtless, felt that he was sure of his man, and listened, chafing. "You must know, my Lord," said Innis with bitter calmness, "that before she met you, Lady Pntlimn woe onraffM) t/i nu> Vpji sir?enini??fid We were cousins, had been playmates all onr lives, and before she repaired to Williamsburg, she had plighted her troth Jo mo?here at Haddon?not a hundred paces from the spotnpon which we stand. Well, I was poor, and the baronet was proud. I asked Sir Rezin for his daughter?he refused.? You asked?he consented! He consented, and in spite of the repugnance of the young lady?a repugnance which I know you to have been perfectly aware of?forced her to marry you! "That's the histoiy of three persons, sir, and all, except the fact of my engagement to Honoria, is an old story to you. You know now what that innocent embrace meant?such as cousins simply, often interchange. She came at my request, sir, to bid me, her kinsman, farewell forever. Her agitation overcome her?that is all. She is wholly blameless, sir; as innocent as a seraph. If there be a fault, I am the guilty person, and should bear the storm of your wrath. For that wrath, I care nothing, as I care nothing for my life. Just now, when you charged me with treachery, I wished to 1 kill you; now, you may kill if you choose, sirbut I charge you on your honor as a gentleman to absolve my cousin." "Have you done, sir?" That was the brief, stern question which followed Innis' explanation. The tone of the speaker ended all doubt of his intentions. His design to slay his foe had not been, for an instant, shaken; and the simple explanation of Innis fell upon unheeding ears. The same deadly menace burned in the young nobleman's eyes?the same singular glitter was observable?the wild heart had plainly taken the place of the man, and thirsted for blood. "Your Lordship is bent on killing me, then?" said Innis, as coldly as before. Lord Ruthven's reply was to rush upon his adversary, and aim a deadly lunge at his heart It was parried, and then, for some moments, a breast to breast conflict took place?bitter, desperate, bloody. Innis' sword snapped in the violent struggle, and the foes grappled with each, other and fell, Lord Ruthven beneath his adversary. But Innis was to reap no advantage from that fact The young no bleman still clutcnea nis swora, and shortening it suddenly, drove it by main force, through the bosom of his enemy, who, relaxing his grasp upon Ruthven's throat, fell back powerless. The blood gushed in a torrent from his breast, and in a momnnt, "all movement had ceased. It was a face of marble which Lord Ruthven saw before him, and_for_some momenta-he contemplated the prostrate figure, with motionless" attention. "So much is done," he muttered, in the same hollow voice; "now let me go back to my bonny bride!" And with a wild sneer upon his writhing lips, eyes glittering with horrible resolution, and clenched hands raised to heaven, Lord Ruthven rushed toward the mansion. [conclusion next week.] The Banks of England.?The following anecdote will show with what nice precision the accounts are required to be kept in the great private banking houses of the English metropolis. After closing the doors to customers, every clerk makes up his accounts, and a general balance is struck, which must tally to the veriest farthing before the clerks seperate. It happened on the occasion in auestion, that in one of these great establishments, iere were two shillings and ten pence minus in the balance. Every clerk was ordered to revise his account, the silver and copper money in the vast vault was recounted, but there was no solution of the cause of the deficit This was repeated over and over again, still they wanted two shillings and ten pence; the resident partner would not suffer xl V l j , ?!il i me ciems 10 depart wiiuuui ? wuwi uauuw.? Gladly would each clerk have paid the difference ten times out of his own pocket. The affair remained unexplained until the next morning, when, on the arrival of one of the non-resident partners, he recollected taking that exact sum out of the till for the payment of the postage on a foreign letter, but without making the usual memorandum of the same. Slobbering in Horses.?A correspondent of the Boston Cultivator savs that this is a disease in horses. Saltpetre, a tablespoonful for a dose, he has found to cure the worst case he ever had, and has not found it necessary ever to give a fourth dose. He gives a tablespoonful in the morning, and in three davs, if the horse is not free from it, he repeats the dose. IgjMtoxMW Articles. THE RECONSTRUCTION ACT8. OPDTIOH OP ATTOBNEY-GENERAL 8TAHBEEB7. The opinion of the Attorney-General on the Reconstruction Acts appears in several of our exchanges in fulL The document is lengthy, and supposing that but few of our readers would care to read it entire, we have concluded not to publish it, but present the following carefully prepared synopsis taken from the Charleston Mercury, which will enable the general reader to understand more readily, the positions taken by the Aftorney-General: REGISTRATION. 1st Qualification or disqualification is fixed by registration. 2d. No power is given to any other board or any other authority after registration is completed, to change die registers; and persons whose names ara on miffn romcifrotlrm Qro on+itlof? tnirntannd IMW iMIIUIIlwvVI W tVgWWHWVUIMV VUMWWk W IVWMUM none others. 3d. The registration must be completed before September 1, 1867. At that time, the functions of the board as a board of registration cease, and after that, its duties are limited to holding and superintending elections and making the required returns. QUALIFICATIONS FOR REGISTRATION, 1. One year's residence in the State at the time of Registration is not necessary; but if a person who has been duly registered has not at the holding of any subsequent election been a resident of the .State for one year, counting from the day of that election, the person so registered cannot vote at such election. 2. By the acts, the qualification to registration is citizenship of the United States ana of the State; the phrase being intended to include only such as are both citizens of the United States and of a Sthtc. Aliens, not citizens of the United States, cannot safely take the required oath ; but the hoards of registration have only authority to administer the prescribed oath and cannot require further proof, so that an alien not a citizen may take the oath at his peril and subject to prosecution. 3. No person is entitled to registration who is not twenty-one years of age on the day that he applies for registration, DISFRANCHISEMENT. Under the Military acts, the following causes work disfranchisement: Treason or participation in rebellion; commission of a felony; membership of any State Legislature, or tenure of any executive or judicial office in any State, with subse quent engagement m lusurrecuuu ur reuemuii, ur the giving of aid and comfort to any enemy of the United States; the taking of an oath, as a member of Congress or officer of the United States, or as a member of any State Legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the Constitution of the United States, with subsequent engagement in insurrection or rebellion against, or the giving of aid and comfort to the enemies of the United States. Upon these giave (juestions, the Attorney-General offers the folding opinions ; but it will always be borne in mind that the exclusion as to holding office is all comprehensive as to time, and applies, not only to those who were in office when the rebellion commenced, but to those who held the prohibited offices at any Erevious time, although they mhy have ceased to old such office an indefinite number of years prior to the rebellion: 1. TREASON OR FELONY. The commission of felony or the participation in rebellion does not, itself, work disfranchisement.? It must be ascertained by judgment of court or legislative act passed by competent authority; and the disfranchisement depends on a conviction in the courts either in the United States or of a State, or on a declaration of the laws of either. The United States lawMoes not work disfranchisement, as a consequence of conviction of treason or conspiracy to commit treason; nor in the ten Southern States is there any statute in force except, perhaps, in Virginia, which declares disfranchisement by force of the act itself. So that in this State, disfranchisement for treason or felony depends absolutely upon a previous conviction of the offence in the State or the Federal Courts. 2. MTTMRFRg OF STATE LEGISLATURES AND MEMBERS OF CONGRESS. All members of Southern State Legislatures and members of Congress who, afterwards,' engfiged in insurrection or rebellion, or gave aid or comfort to the enemies of the United States, are clearly disfranchised. All members of legislative bodies which passed ordinances of secession are disfranchised; but it is doubtful whether simple membership of a convention held for the sole purpose of amending the Constitution of a State, would, in itself, work disfranchisement. 3. STATE, EXECUTIVE OR JUDICIAL OFFICERS. All militia officers, as such, are not disfranchised as they are not included in the terms "executive and judicial officers of a State." But this freedom from disfranchisement refers only to the clasf of militia officers who were such prior to the rebellion, and not to that class who became military officers during the rebellion, who are liable to disfranchisement on conviction of participation in it The Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, State Audit or, Treasurer, Secretary and State Officials proper, who exercise functions at the seat of government, and State Judges of courts whose jurisdiction extends over the United States, are disfranchised; but the Attorney-General is not prepared to say that only the foregoing come within the term "executive and judicial officers." Municipal offioers, such as officers of cities, towns villagesand subordinate municipal divisions, whether their functions are executive or judicial, or both, are not. as such, disfranchised. In addition to those officers before mentioned, who clearly do or do not come within the term oi the act as to "judicial or executive officers," there remains a vast number of officers whose status is undefined. These are known as county, township 1 and precinct officers. The Attorney-General is collecting information concerning this class, which includes sheriffs and justices of the county courts, i and will issue a further opinion with regard to them. All other executive and judicial officers who are not, in popular language, characterized as county offioers, do, in the opinion of Mr. Stanbcrxy, come under the disqualifying clause. Persons who exercise or exercised special or occasional public duties, are not included as State , officere, and as such as the following are, therefore, , not disfranchised; commissioners of public works, directors of State asylums, visitors of State universities, State directors of banks or other corporations, special commissioners or agents appointed by State authority, to perform special duties as examiners of banks, Notaries Public, and Commissioners oi Deeds. 4. OATHS OF OFFICE. Any person who has taken an oath of office to support the Constitution of the United States and has violated that oath and engaged in rebellion, is disfranchised. This clause, as far as the executive , or judicial officers of a State are concerned, does not enlarge the class subject to disfranchisement, because the officer breaking the oath must also be "a judicial or executive officer" of a State, according tn the rule hereinbefore mentioned. Thus a militia officer or a Notary Public, who had taken the said oath, would not bo disfranchised under J this clause, because he is not held to be a State judicial or executive officer. All officers of the United States, both civil and I military, who have violated their oaths, are of course disfranchised. ^ 5. ENGAGING IN INSURRECTION OR REBELLION AND GIVING AH) AND COMFORT, i These, without concurrent holding of one of the designated offices, accompanied by the taking ul the oath of office, do not work disfranchisement? The $wo elements must concur, and in the order i mentioned, for a person who has held a designated office and had taken the oath and had not afteri wards participated in a Rebellion, may safely take the registration oath. The clause, however, comprehends every rebel lion which has taken place in the United States; and every foreign war in which the United States has ever been engaged. A person, therefore, who five aid and comfort to the enemies of the United tates in the war with Great Britain of 1812, or in the war with Mexico in 1847, would be disqualified. ^ * All persons who did any overt act, either individ ually or officially, or in a civil or military capacity, in furtherance or .or for the purpose of promoting the rebellion, did, under the law, engage in rebellion. Soldiers compelled to service by conscription, and slaves serving or aiding by the command of their masters, or by militanr order, did not "engage in rebellion," are not disfranchised. Officers who, during the rebellion, discharged official duties not incident to the war, but in preservation of order and administration of law, are not to be considered as engaging in rebellion. This applies to all offices of a purely civil character, such as county and municipal offices, and all others of like nature, which were not created for the furtherance of the war or the more effectual carrying on of hostilities. Some direct overt act, done with intdht to further the rebellion, is necessary to bring the party within the provision and meaning of the law: and the person applying for registration is not, therefore, required to dear himself from any taint of disloyalty incurred by mere disloyal sentiments or expressions. Mere acts of common humanity or charity are not participation in rebellion, nor are forcea contributions or the compulsory payment of taxes in aid of the rebellion; but voluntary contributions, subscriptions to loans, and even organized contributions of food or clothing or necessary supplies, except of a strictly sanitary character, are to be classed with acts which disqualify. DUTIES AND POWEB8 OF REGISTRATION BOARDS. No ether oath can be required of, or administered to, any applicant for registration but that contained in the Supplementary act Any other would be extra-jddicial and without authority, and false 1 swearing could not be assigned as perjury upon 1 such unauthorized oath." No authority is given to enter upon any outside inquiry into the Qualification of the person proposing to register, for the oath itself is the sole and only test, of the qualification of the applicant If he take that oath his name must go upon the registry ; the board cannot inquire whether he has sworn falsely or truly ;*that inquiry must be reserved to the court which may afterwards have jurisdiction to try him on an indictment for perjury. In superintending the elections it is the duty of the boards to receive the votes of the persons whose names are up for registration, and to reject all others. There is no provision anywhere to surcharge or falsify, or to aad a single name to the registration, or to erase a single name whioh appears upon it ' ' 1 JEFFERSON DAVIS. Mr. Davis is now well advanced in his fifty-ninth year, having been born June 3, 1808. He is a native of Christian [now Todd) county, Kentucky. Soon after his birfu his father, who was a soldier of the revolution?one of the rebels of '76?removed to Mississippi, where the son received the ordinary academical education, preparatory to a higher course at Transylvania College, Kentucky; from which institution he was transferred to West Point in 1824, where he graduated in 1828. Entering the army as Brevet Second Lieutenant, he remained in the service seven years. For gallant conduct in the Black Hawk war he was promoted to First Lieutenant of dragoons. On his resignation in 1835, he became a Cotton planter in Mississippi, living in retirement till 1843, when he 1 * i - ?? tt;_ /s ?. began to taice on active pan. in pontics, cms una, office was that of Presidential Elector, in 1844, when his vote was cast for Polk and Dallas. His first appearance in Congress was in December, 1845. While in Congress, the first regiment of Mississippi volunteers, recruited for the war with Mexico, elected him their ColoneL He promptly accepted the post and left at once for tne seat of i hostilities, overtaking his regiment in New Orleans. At the battle of Buena Vista he won great distinction, and received a severe wound. In .1847 he took his seat in the United States Senate?first by appointment of the Governor, and afterwards by tne election of the Legislature. i In 1851, he resigned his seat in the Senate upon the nomination byhis political friends as the opposing candidate to Henry S. Foote for the governorship of his State. In the election he was defeated. He remained in retirement till 1853, when he was ; invited by President Pierce to a seat in his Cabinet, as Secretary of War. This post he held till the accession of Mr. Buchanan, when be became again a member of the Senate, from which body he retired on the adoption of the ordinance of secession bv his State. At the meeting of the Provisional Congress in Montgomery in February, 1861, he was elected Provisional President of the Confederate States for one vear, and afterwards, at an , election bv the people, he was chosen, without opposition, President for the term of six years. His i full service in two capacities was something over four years. Of Mr. Davis' intellect, accomplishments and virtues, the time is not auspicious for a Richmond 1 journal to express itself, but we may be permitted to copy here what John W. Forney, one of the bittcret revilers the South has ever had, wrote of him in September, 1861, when the report reached Washington that he was dead. Said Mr. Forney: ! "He was an imperious and positive public man. ' He rarely surrendered an opinion once formed, 1 until he degraded himself by throwing behind him | his voluntary professions in favor of the Union.? He was a close student, a chivalrio opponent, a I steadfast friend, a gentleman in all his relations, and in his own famiJv singularly kind and genial. "Although undoubtedly the head and heart of 1 the rebellion, he went into it reluctantly, as all who heard his last speech in the Senate will remember, when,- with broken accents and tearful ; eyes, lie bade farewell to "that body and to all its greatness. Jefferson Davis was blessed with many accomplishments. He was alike a soldier and a statesman. No public man of my acquaintance ' was more devoted to scientific pursuits, and more familiar with the abstruse teachings of political philosophy. No branch of human knowledge seemed to be unworthy of his investigation. He was , equally attentive to classical literature, to the de +n,la nf milifnnr life, tn the doctrines of Dolitical 1 parties, to the study of men; and if Professor 1 Bache, of the Coast Survey, could speak, he would say of the fine works, of which he is the ac1 complished head, and whicn has latterly proved its ' unconquerable usefulness, that Jefferson Davis was as conversant with the smallest minutiae of ' that noble institution as any other man not directly connected with it He was passionately devo; ted to the Smithsonian Institute, of which he was a Regent in former times. He was devoted to the decoration of this capital, and stood by Captain (now General) Meigs in all his efforts to construct the water works, to finish the capitol building on the grandest scale, and to posh forward the extension of the Interior and Treasury Departments.? He was undoubtedly a great Secretary of War, and in this high office nothing so much delighted him as to take young men by the hand, and if worthy, advance them. If he educated Beauregard to deli stroy the Republic, he conferred many advantages upon McClellan'to save it. If he assisted Lee and Johnston, and thus strengthened their hands for injuiy against the flag, he greatly favored Meigs and Franklin."?Richmond Whig. 1 Cork. ?Many persons see corks used daily without knowing from whence comes those useful ma1 terials. Corks are cut from large slabs of the cork tree, a species of oak, which grows wild in the southern countries of Europe. The tree is stripped of its bark at about sixteen years old; but before stripping it off, the tree is not cut down, as in ' the case of the oak. It is taken while the tree is growing, and-the operation may be repeated every ai? ninfl vpnrfl * the nualitv of the bark con-1 Vi muwjv? -x ? , . , tinning each time to improve as the age of the tree L increases. When the hark is taken off, it is singed 1 in the flames of a strong fire; and after being soaked for a considerable time m water, it is placed 1 under a heavy weight in order to render it straight. Its extreme lightness, the ease with which it can i be compressed, and its elasticity, are properties so 7 peculiar to this substance, that no effectual sub stitute for it has been discovered. The valuable properties of cork were known to the Greeks and Komans, who employed it far all the purposes for which it is used at present, with the exception of stopples. The ancients mostly used cement for stopping the months of bottles or vessels. The Egyptians are said to have made coffins of cork, which being spread on the inside with resinous substance, preserved dead bodies from decay. In modern times cork was not generally used for stopples to bottles till about the seventeenth century, cement being used until then for that purpose. Break up Hell Itself.?An old preacher in Western New Ygrk, who was being persuaded by I some of his churchmen, during the political excitement in that State last fall, to join the radical party, said: "No, my brethren, I can't Join that patty, because all the abolitionists in the country are m it; and abolitionism, my brethren, ha^done a wonderful sight of harm among the people. It has hurt many shepherds and scattered many flocks. It got into the Methodist churoh and broke that up. It gbt among the Presbyterians and split then in two; and it goyn the oldgovenUneptand broke the old Union to nieces. And my brethren, L don't know of any tfing it isigood for but to break down and break up. And ifyou have any enmity against the 'old boy^ I advise you to send abolitionism into hiq dominions, and it will break* beQ up itself in less than six weeks." " * T SPURGE Olf. ". , The London correspondent of the Boston Journal speaks of this remarkable clergyman and hia place of worship, as tottowa: Without question-ififc ^porseoo is the mart popular preacher in London to-oay. His church win seat comfortably six thonsano. It ig always full. All the seats in the vast edifice are rented. The chapel is rented by seats. The party-who takes a pew receives as many tickets as there an' seats in it These hold- good for six "months.? Each person to occupy a seat in that pew presents . a ticket at the gate and is admitted. ..Without *> such ticket no one enters the church until tennjinutes before services oommenoe. Then the cites' are opened and the crowd rush in and take afi unoccupied seats. Mr. Spurgeon' a church is an old one. It was formed in 1650. It was migrirtefad*:. to by Dr. Fill, Rippon and other distinguished- ' men. It now numbers thipe thousand and tfgfct-. hundred members, every one of -which .has to report himself at tile regular monthly oommngton or; he is subject to discipline. Mr. Spurgeon-is an open oommnnion Baptist, but allows no member*, but those who have been immersed. Other Baptist Churches are more liberal than Ma. i Spmeof the most important and prominent aflow persons not immersed to become members of the Church, and also deacons. Indeed, some of the churches, shonld they become vacant, wi&rat any cfetfpa of. articles of covenant, could as well setae a Congregationalist as a Baptist pastor. The oommnniott is celebrated in Mr. Spurgeoo's Church eve? Sunday night, but onlybya part oOis church who believe in a weekly celebration. The regular com-' munion is monthly.. Everything about this concern b gigantic. The chapel as they call dissenting chinches here, is a huge stone edifioe, with a massive stone portion, supported by six oohnnns, and,guirded hy an irow fence whioh would be sufficient lor a penitentiary. The interior is in cathedral slyto. .'jXho two deep galleries sweep dear round thejchureh. In front of the gallery, opposite the main enfeaao^iaa. large platform filial with chairs, and beneath the tables, standing on the platform, is the baptistry. Above this platfona is a second one, Jt U feaohr, orl Kit nirmilir ofnirg nn oiftiAT nil? IWlT&tM fll# I vu VT UVWMH VM v*v?*v* y plattorm. On this upper platform fen ao& with a table by its side.' This feth? pulpit of the &mous London preacher. This pktfonn is snnoux^led l^y a failing, and this is all that keeps him from the people. During his preaching he watts the circuit of the rails, grasping it qt times with eheny, J smiting it with the hands, leaning over it, while he j holds a familiar colloquy with his people. Sitting I on this upper platform, the sight is exhilarating. 1 Every seat is fall. Every standing place is crowd- ' ed. The aisles can only be known by the hefcht of the men standing in them.'> At precfeefcr&v tone for worship Mr. Spurgeon walks to the piaP1 form from the rear,' attended by hisekien andde*~ cons, who have seats provided forathem in stalk He is a short, chunky* man, with a genuine English look, dark hair, expreesive eyes and cheerfm. face. He has a many spirit, ana cheerfulness and hamar predominate in his system. Ke is very reverend in his manner. His voice is ringmgaaa. cheerfuL His words are full and clear, and riag, through all the chapeL There is a mouthing, snufilipg. whining, indkh.' tinct mode of spealringnere, to which Spurgeon % a splendid contrast. The singing is very grand. Each hymn is read twice?once through before the singing, and then verse by verse as it is song. A chorister steps out on the upper platform ana sets the tune, in which the whole congregation join. No organ or musical instrument is allowed in the. chapeL While he preaches, every inch of Mr.'I Spurgeon is to be seep,' from his boots to his hair. A small piece of paneriaid on the table by the side of the sofa, to which he seldom refers, contains Mb notes. A sermon of about forty-five minutes is a simple presentation of Evangelical troth, earnestly, vivid! v, and sometimes graphically set forth. Spurgeon has the power of patting himself in sympathy with his audienoe and sways them at his will JOAN OF ABC. /. Joan of Arc, called the Maid of Orleans, was the daughter oi a peasant at Domremi, in the .province of Lorrain, France, where she was boru in 1402.. When she was quite young she was employed as a servant at a little inn, as well as groom in the stable, and she liked looking after the horsgs better than waiting on the guests. Tim misfortunes of the Dauphin of France was all the talk of. her master's customers, nod, being a religious enthusiast, she fancied that Heaven had inspired her in his cause. *' ' In 1428 she had an interview with the goveftwr of Vaucouleurs who sent her to the French court; and she there told them that God had ordered her to raise the siege of Orleans, to conduct the 0mphin of Rheims, and there azmoint him King.-~ Her services were accepted. Armed cap-4-pie, the beauty of her person, the grace with which shw rode her milk-white steed, and the holy banner earned before her, oonvinoed the people that she was fighting by the command of .God. . ' U: Prodigies of valor were performed by Joan, and when wounded in the neck by an arrow, she dmr it oat, saymg, it is glory, not blood, which flows from the wound;" the English flea before -her, and she was hailed as the saviour of Erance. : ? Having raised the seige of Orleans; the irwisted upon crowning Charles at Eheim, and the maid clothed in armour, and displaying her victorious banner, took her. place by the king's side, amid the shouts of the people. A medal was struck in her honor, bearing on one side her portrait, on the other a hand grasping a sword, with the motto, "sustained by the aid of Godl" and.Charles ear nobled her family by the name of Du l#a, nam the liliies on her banner, and gave them ah estate. Our heroine next went to the relief of Compiegne, besieged by^ the Duke of Bmgmidyand the bv the feurgundians, -who "basely sold her^toth^ English for ten thousand livrea. Th eJ>uke of Bedford commenced a prosecution against hexv and accused her of sorcery and impiety, the dergy aod the University of Paris, to their eternal di^grac^ joining in the accusation.She was brought in irons before a priestly tribunal at Rouen, and being asked why she assisted at the coronation of Charles, replied, "Because the person who shared in the danger nad a right to share in the gloiy." Charged -with heresy, she appealed to the Pope, but her appeal was disallowed, mid she was condemned to death as a sorceress. **" ^ * * * The fortitude of the Maid of Oriea.is now forsook her, and to avoid^ punishment,' she confessed that she had. been muted by - iflmdon; her sentence was then altered to imprisonment fbr life, bnt her enemies placed in her dungeon a suit of men's clothes, and because, tempted by the view ofadressin which she h4d gained so much glory, she put it on, she was condemned to be burnt alive at the stake. Li 1431 she was burned by her brutal persecutors in the market-place of Rouen. She met her fate with resolution, ascending the faneral pile *mid the insults of the mob. "Blessed be God 1" were the last words she uttered. Her ashes were scattered to the winds, and thus treacheroaajf died in the thirtieth year of her age, the woman to whose memory altars ought to have been erected as a martyr to her religion, her country and her kunoe her death she has been oelebrated by historians, poets, painters, and scuptors ofv&nous countries; ana most of our readers have no doubt seen copies of the beautiful statue by oneof the daughters of Louis Phillippe, the late Sine of France, in which she appearsclad m armour, her sword by her side, her head bare, ?d her hands crossed on her bosom?a graceful toOrate to the menmiy of Joan of Are, the herow and ill-fated Maicf of Orleans. t , , j??Few ladies are so mcdestaato refhae to ait in the lap of 1qxjb? f ^ - r' ^ / Si