Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 21, 1867, Image 1

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?????=_____________? lewism.^GBIST^, i^^nt jfmnilj jtiospger: jfor % |rgm(rfk gftftt |oliM gotM, ^grintlfaral aitir Cwrotmral |ntarfg of % gmt% |TES"u*lc',tt^J^^> VOL.13. ~ YOBKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, 1STOVEMBEB 31, 1867. 3SrQ.;,30:.: J|b Original fjtomitlette. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE WEALTH OP HOME. A STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE, BY MRS. M. A. EWART, AUTHORESS OF "ELLEN CAMPBELL, OR KINO'S MOUNTAIN," AND OTHER STORIES. CHAPTER VHL The summer passed wearily. At its close, Margaret looked thin and worn; Janie pale and gloomily sad, or restlessly gay. They were all glad when it was oyer and the desired rest obtained. Mr. Carter took his place in the house he expect- _ ed to enter, and John, as junior partner, could now boldly claim his gentle Mary for a wife. j "Annie," said John, one evening, "come hereand .] let us talk over this wedding business. You know ; Mr. Simpson declares that Maiy, as his only child, shall have the most splendid wedding that can be imagined, and we are to have any quantity of waiters. I want you to choose with whom you will ( stand."' "It is perfectly immaterial to me," said Annie. "You had better let Mag have her choice first Come here, sister, you and Janie; with whom 1 would you like to stand as attendants on John ?" J ' ? i ' J Al 1 xney naa jasi euiercu me iww mm ww <uuu around each other. ' "I will let John choose for me," said Margaret '' "I would like you to wait with Hunter, Mag," j he said. She started. ' J "I? he to be here ?" 1 "Yes; he told me I must write to him when it < came off, and when he replied to my letter, he asked ( 'for the pleasure,' as he expressed it, of waiting on J me. I was surprised at his returning, but he said he > left something, or forgot?I don't know what he < did say?I remember he was not very lucid. Dun- ' bar is with him." 1 Margaret hesitated. < "I think, John, you had better let him choose 1 for himself. I prefer waiting with some other J person." i "There it is now," said John. "I told him you ? would not be willing for it" 1 "You told him, John!" exclaimed Margaret t "By Jove I Fve let the cat out of the bag. < Hunter told me not to tell you. The truth is, I 1 have talked to some of the boys about it, and they < are as hard to please as you can imagine. Every 1 one wishes to wait with somebody else," said John.' i "Very lucidly expressed, Johnnie," ladghed Ja- } nie; ' 'no wonder you are perplexed. I cannot im- i agine how you are to control such conflicting ele- ^ meats, but I have no doubt your genius will be 1 equal to the occasion." ? "I have it," said John, snapping his fingers ; ? "you must draw lots, and to punish you all for J your perverseness, you shall not draw until we t meet, just before theceremony. I tell you, that's 1 a happy thought of mine. I'll give you no time ? for repenting or quarreling." 1 Margaret expostulated, but John was firm, vow- ? ing he would never be married if he waited to get - everybody pleased. 1 lime sped on, and the night of the wedding or- t rived. A group was assembled around a table, in \ an inner room of Mr. Simpson's house, in which 1 we recognize our friends Hunter, Dunbar, Wilcox 1 and the three sisters. There was a good deal of merry laughter, as one after another would cry, i 'Miss Kate is mine,' 'Miss Sally is mine,' and so i on. At length Hunter went up to the table. He ) looked agitated. < "Why, Hunter, you look as if your weal or woe ' depended on it, man," said Wilcox laughingly. i "Hymen is making the place sacred, and Love" 1 is holding carnival at will?no wonder I fear his j darts," replied Hunter, as be boldly drew. ^ "Eureka I" he cried. " "Who is it, Hunter?" ] Hunter laughed and tore the paper to shreds. * Wilcox came forward with his free, dashing air. "Come hither. Pysche I" he cried as he drew his . paper. He looked at his paper ahd gave his nonchalant shrug. "My Psyche, indeed," said he, as he tprned and handed it to Miss Benton, the wealthy ~ heiress, to whom he had been paying such marked attention. "Come, Dunbar, you are the last one now." "I call on Ariadne," said he, as he drew. "Have you found her?" laughed Wilcox. "Not yet," said Dunbar. "Do you expect to prove her Theseus when found?" asked he. "Great Zeus forbid," replied Dunbar, emphatically. But the summons had come for the bridal party *- ? ? i- -1.? to appear, and tftey went iorwara 10 ciaim meir respective partners. The young men had come in late, and had no opportunity of speaking to the ladies. Hunter went forward. "The fates have awarded me to you, Miss Margaret," said he, as he offered his arm. "You are k surprised at seeing me here. I will tell you the r reason of my return, presently.'' They moved on. . "Miss Janie," said Dunbar, "I feel in the position of one who has won what he cannot fairly claim. Nemesis, kind to me, has not been partial to you in this instance, has she ?" he asked. "In more ways than one, yes," replied Janie, accepting his arm with a frankness perfectly charming. "And you do not regret it?" he asked wonderingly. She looked in his face. "Regret it! do you need protestation?" He had no time to answer, for they were already in the room; but Janie puzzled herself to understand the lighting up of his dark face. Annie followed with a young friend, and Wilcox with Miss Benton. The ceremony short, appropriate and touching, was soon over, and Mary modestly received the congratulations which John answered so proudly. Annie scarcely left her brother's side; his joy was reflected in her face, and she never wearied looking at the love-lit countenance of Mary. "Miss Annie, do you know what your face is ^ expressing ?'' said Newton. She turned with a happy smile. "A great deal of happiness, or it would not be true to my heart," said she. "Happiness, indeed, and a mind at peace with .. in,, r. ;:i * :?*? ltsen, ne saia m a nan luuriuuiuig ivuc. ^u>. let me tell you the lines that recurred to me as I watched your face: " 'And by bis side there moved a form of beauty, Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life, And looking up with meek and love blent duty? I called ber angel, but he called her wife.'" "The lines are beautiful," 6aid Annie, "and express my idea of Mary very aptly. I know brother John will be happy with her." 4 'And I think so,'' said Newton. 4 'But you have stood watching them long enough ; where is Miss Margaret ? Let us look for her. Through the crowded rooms they passed, but Newton allowed himself to be easily discouraged, for failing of finding her at once, he chose out a windowed recess, and ensconced himself by Annie's side in a resignation veiy praiseworthy. Margaret and Hunter were walking through the dimly lighted conservatories. "You do not ask what brought me back, Miss Margaret," said Hunter, after they had sufficiently admired the assemblage, the flowers, and the beautifully arranged lights. She looked the question. "You sent for me," he said, bending his head. "I, Mr. Hunter?" she asked, in indignant surprise. "Take it as you will, Margaret," said he, "but there is the calland he placed the ring in her hand. She blushed a warm, indignant blush. "Look inside," said he. "Did you know that was there?" She looked?"Mizpah" was written. "No," she answered quickly. "Janie must have had it done after I gave it to her. I knew nothing of it." He smiled an amused, quizzical smile. "Well, Margaret,'' said he, ' 'that little word was a constant pledge and earnest of your presence, and yet a presence so intangible that it failed to satisfy; so [ have come back at the spirit-call, resolved to have 'all in all, or not at all.' " She placed the ring on her finger and turned her head awav. "And you will not give it back to me ?" said he. "I scarcely expected otherwise." He compressed his lips firmly. "Margaret, I had almost sworn never to speak to you on love again, and so help me God, this ihall be the last time. When I first asked you to be my wife, you proudly, coldly denied me. I do not blame you now for that; it was indeed a strange wooing." He smiled bitterly. "I do not think love was ever mentioned between us, and yet, Margaret, I loved you, for I could not forget you. L went to ray home, disappointed that you would not let me assist you. You, whom I admired, esteemed so highly; you who formed my beau-ideal )f a woman. I strove to shut out your memory ny business, by travel, by pleasure, but it was all n vain. I met no one like you, and I determined )nce more to see you, and see, if in your presence, the spell would be dissolved. I came and saw you, nyself unseen, and Oh ! Margaret, the glad rapture of that moment taught me how deep the love was I bore for you. I oould not at once speak to rou. I wanted to catch your look in the first monent of surprise. After awhile I came near?I ipoke to you; perhaps my heart interpreted, too lastily, the flush that bathed your cheek. Forjive me for speaking of it?I would justify my >wn rashness. You know the rest?how I plead, now you denied me, how faltering my tongue besame under your coldness, and yet how eager my leart for the love that you forbade. That night vhen we parted, I felt an undefinable sense of triimph. You had been cold, almost silent and postive in your refusal. You told me my sympathy vas excited by a conversation I had partly overleard between Newton and yourself; you told me, o cruelly, Margaret, that it was not love, but only steem, friendship, I felt for you. You told me 1 rou could not be so untrue to yourself, so uryust o me, as to accept a heart offered in sympathy; cind and considerate you confessed it, but only ympathy at last Ah I Margaret, if you could lave seen it rebelling and pleading against that entence!" "But in spite of all, I hoped. You could not ook at me. You trembled?your vojce_was.salow. j ind so falteringly sweet Do these memories vound you?" looking down upon her pale face. 'Forgive me, but I must speak. Then you would aot see me when I called the next morning, though [ sent again to tell you I was on the eve of stalling. With what bitter feelings I left the house, ilmost vowing never to enter it again. I left you, ind dearer than ever before my hopeless love became. Beautiful you had always been to me, but Oh 1 how purely beautiful you stood in your selfreliant courage; true and pure you ever were to me, but Oh 1 how true and holy you now seemed, fulfilling your self-appointed work. I almost trembled when I asked you for that little souvenir you have taken from me; for there is a good deal of fear, fear of exhausting your patience in my love for you. But you gave it to me, and may God bless you, Margaret, for the fond memories the dear gift invoked. If, now, you forever deny me, I shall always bless you for the happy hours those memories gave me. "And now, for the last time, I tell you I love you; not with a boy's passion of a day, but with all my manhood's strength. I have loved you through these years; not with occasional memories of tenderness, but? "l love tlioe with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life, And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." "Tell me, Margaret, must I crush it out and bear the sorrow of an unloving heart all my life, or will you be ray 'other life,' and be, to me, the joy which earth or h^iven will not hold without | you?" How rapidly he spoke, and how firm and strong the manly voice that was so pleading. "Give me my ring, Margaret," said he, in a tone of gentle peremptoriness. Her large eyes looked up so startled. "Margaret 1" and she drooped her head, overcome by the earnest look. "You will not give it ? Then I will keep the hand till it is restored." He clasped her hand in his firm grasp, so firm as to be almost painful. She shrank. "You hurt me," she whispered. "Do I?" said he,-as he covered the little frail thing with kisses. "Be brave, Margaret?brave in all else; be brave in telling me I love no longer in vain. Do you love me better than you did ?" She shook her head. "No," she whispered. Can you love me better ?" "No," said she, almost inaudibly. "Why, dearest?" There was something strangely powerful in these whispered tones ; in the long gaze that made her face turn toward him, and slowly look up.? What a traitorous tenderness thetre was in the deep, mysterious depth of the soft eyes. "Ail the spirit deeply dawning In the dark of bazel eyes." A warm color flushed her pale cheek; she strove to speak but her lips only quivered, and were silent Let light ana trivial emotions go DUDuang away in childish laughter, but the deep and holy passions of two human hearts, rising and swelling with their new and solemn burden and bliss, is too sacred foi aught but tears. "Let us walk further down in the shade of the orange trees," said Stephen in a low whisper, as ii he was telling some great secret. They moved dreamily, unsteadily on. "Is it too damp for you?" The tone of gentle solicitude, of trembling tender ness, vibrated on Margaret's ear like thrilling mu sic. She was obliged to. look at him to answer. "No," she whispered, and thelong look was agair interpreted to each heart. Every moment now 'rai itself in golden sands.' They did not talk much scarcely at all. A low question seldom needing re ply, or only gaining a simple 'yes' or 'no' frou Margaret; a languid exclamation of tenderness, j tender caress of the little hand, nestling now s< trustingly on his arm was food enough; not foi thought, but for a present brim-full gladness, whicl was accepted unquestioningly by each, as a blissfu i memory for the past and an earnest for the en chanted future, i ' 'Let us go back,'' at last she whispered. "Notyet, darling;" and"again there were lov words and broken ejaculations. "Margaret, tell nie how long you have loved me." She looked at him with that rare smile of hers, that made her lovely face perfectly radiant "I cannot tell," said she. "Not long ago?" said he questioning, in glad surprise. "It does not seem long now," said she timidly, "but it was when we first met" "Margaret! you have loved me through these years?" "Since I first saw, I was not indifferent to you," said she blushing. "And you would not tell me?" he asked. "You did not love me," said she turning again with her sweet smile, "but my faith was large in time." Here the lovers protestations were warm and earnest. "I know you thought so Stephen," said Margi. ret, looking up with a grave earnestpess though almost disconcerted at the glowing face which met hers, as she, for the first time, pronounced his name. "I know you thought so, but it was not love. Your artistic and aesthetic nature admiral what your partial eyes saw beautiful in me, but it was no deeper feeling than simple admiration. Then your sympathy was excited when you saw me struggling in a path in which duty called me to enter, and you would have rescued me from what you called drudgery." * "And you never saw I loved you Margaret?" said Stephen, reproachfully. "Yes," she whispered; "and I was nobler for that love. Oh I so much less unworthy, for it taught me not to neglect my holy work, even for a blissful good, which was evory day growing purer in patience, holier in trust My work is finished, our love is tried, its strength tested, are we not both happier?" "But, Margaret," said the lover, half unsatisfied, "why did you not tell me you loved me, and bid me wait For this boon," said he, clasping her hand,,"I would have served a Jacob's time." She Jaughed a trilling laugn; it was tne nrsc time Stephen had ever heard her low laughter, ancl he started at the sweet bird-like music. "You would have proved rebellious, Stephen; I did not dare to trust you, and yet my trust was deeper, for my faith looked forward to this moment" "One thing more before we go yonder," said he, as she again turned to return to the crowded room. "Was it hard for you to deny me ?" How the lover longed for added testimony thai: this sweet joy was all his own. She did not answer for a moment; then as the dove like eyes, in tender gravity again met his, she whispered, "Do you reoollect Tennyson's lines on Love and Duty, where he says, "How hard It teemed to me f" "Go on, Margaret" said he. "She shook her head and blushed." "Then I will for you;" and he repeated in love's lingering tremulous tone, "How hard It seemed to roe, When eyes, love-lanquid through half tears, would dwell One earnest, earnest moment upon mine, Then not to dare to see ! When thy low roice, Faltering would break her syllables, to keep My own full-tuned?hold passion In a leash, And not lean forth and fall about thv neck. And on thy IxMom, (deep deaired relief!) ' Rain out the heavy inlat of tears, that weighed Upon my brain, my senses and my soul!" They entered the crowded room. Janie was Dunbar was by her side, and Wilcox near, flirting desperately with Miss Benton. Just as they entered, Wilcox sauntered up to Janie with a manner of carpjess indifference. "Where have you buried yourself this age, Miss Janie?" said he, "I have not seen you since?years ago." His voice sank to a whisper. Her pale face lighted up. "Mr. Newton would tell you that Paul says a. keeper at home is a good character for a woman," she replied. "Would he ? Then faith, my Dulcinea del Tobosa is lamentably deficient in 'good character ;' she never wearies going abroad." Janie looked at him. "What do you think of my Jiancee, Miss Janie? Is she not a delectable piece of womankind ? White and pink cheeks, eyes all blue, and hair that would be flaxen if it was not something else ; and withal, round as a butter ball, and just as shapeless. Do you suppose love will ever fall asleep under such inspiring charms? And then her wit, her intellect?why it lies in a nut-shell, and 'when found make a note of it' Oh I she's a gem, and next my heart I'll wear her, for fear my jewels tyne." Janie did not know how to answer. "She has a face of great simplicity," at length she said. He laughed bitterly. "Allow me to correct you; a simple face, not a face of simplicity, Miss Janie. You would call it placid too, would you not?" he continued, sneeringly. "You would not suppose that a woman of such fair and gentle proportions would ever be ambitious of mastery, and yet, 'it gars me greet' to think that I'm the man a woman ruled, 'the Devil ruled the woman.'" "Mr. Wilcox, you forget yourself," said Janie, shocked aud pained at his bitterness. "Do I? Would to heaven I could forget myself ever by your side," said he, bending his head that he might read her face. Janie turned to Dunbar. She would have asked him to take her away, anywhere from Wilcox, but his face was cold and haughty, and so white in its sternness, that startled, she forgot to speak. He met her eyes and bowing haughtily, arose and stood by his chair with his head turned from her, seemingly absorbed in the moving crowd. "Why did you not come to me when I called you to-night?" said Wilcox pleadingly. Janie turned proudly. "You heard me," Janie, said he, fixing his burning look on her. "Psyche, my soul, good of all that is good in my nature, come, come now; 'make reconcilement with one who cannot keep his mind an hour. Come to the hollow heart they slander so! Kiss and be friends like children being chid.'" "Mr. Wilcox," said Janie, "youaremad, or?" "Drunk! you would say; yes, drunk, if you will; intoxicated at being in your presence once more, after these weary months of separation.? And mad, too; mad that you who are life and health to me, can never be mine; that I wed with ' one 'a little better than my dog, a little dearei than my horse'; and you? ha! ha I is it wondei * I'm mad?" f Janie was trembling. ' "Come, come sweet Psyche, comfort mo. Don'l look at mc with those indignant eyes. There, yc>i need not speak, I know all you would say ; tell nit 'the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt;' ta!.l about home-made infelicity; that wedlock's an aw^ ful thing; say, 'alas! for the love that's linkec 1 with goldand wonder at my sordid bargain.? 1 Why did'nt you save me, then?" said he, almosf , fiercely. "Why did you condemn me to perish it - my self-contempt? You doom me to the lonely 1 marriage pillow, as you doomed me to my desolat* i heart. Better we had both died?better in eacl ) other's arms, 'silent in a last embrace,' than tokx r thus forever sundered. Don't talk to me of com i fort?'comfort scorned of devils.' I loved you Ja 1 nie, better than ever wife was loved, and now ] - come to you for some absinthe, some kind nepen the, 'to forget my lost Lenore,' and you will no1 even grant me a Lazarus drop to cool my burning j soul." So sudden, so rapid the passionate outbreak, that Janie oould not even expostulate. Every vestige of oolor forsook her cheek, and she visibly trembled. ' "Do I vex you, Janie?" said he, in his low tender tones. "Speak to me, Janie, dear Janie; call me Edward only, once more." Janie pressed her hands together convulsively; a deep flush came over her face, she was evidently collecting herself for an effort. " Yes, I will speak," said she, "and speak the more unsparingly as I more bitterly detest the weakness which has provoked this wound to my self respect. You talk about love?-you know nothing about it You call a feeling antagonistic to truth, to honor, to manliness, love; you maim and dwarf all faith and sympathy, and call it love; you glory in selfishness, cruelty and contempt, and call it love; you talk of taking a woman's happiness in your keeping?you destitute of firmness, of principle, of honor; destitute of every manly attribute, caring for nothing bnt to Mess yourself alone, guided by no law but inclination, and taking that inclination as a warrant for not o J j treachery, but cruelty and insult And you would intimate that I loved you; let me then, be 'shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.1 Bnt you mistake me. I never loved you, for 'love is love forevermore; and you, weak, vain and selfish, have not power to stir the depths df my heart. I pity the woman who trusts you so far as to give her happiness to your keeping?from my soul I nitv her?but for vou. there is no room in my hfeart for aught but contempt" She arose as she spoke, and accepted the arm Dunbar offered, for he had been near enough to overhear the conversation that Wilcox was too reckless to subdue. Wilcox sprang up. t " 'Shall 1, wasting in despair, die because a woman's fair?' faith, not L Come and see me married ; won't you, Miss Janie? It will be a short service?a few words will settle it 'Wilt thou have this woman ?' 'I will'?and then, 'Wilt thou have this man?' 'I will,'and 'Amen'?and the two will be one flesh in the angel'.s ken, except the heart; that is metal Ha! hal Oh! it will be a royal Danae feast, a Midas banquet of 'gold, gold, and, nothing but gold.'" . _ He looked the incarnation of a handsome fiend, as he turned away to make reckless and audacious speeches to Miss Benton, and be goaded almost to madness by her "He, he; you are so funny Mr. j Wilcox," or the iainter, "ha, ha, what a man you are!" "Let us go out to the air a little while," said Janie, "I fell suffocated here." They struggled through the crowd. "Mr. Danbar, there is a door here which wiD lead us to the garden; let us go out, I'm sick," said she, gaspingly. He looked at her?she was deadly pale. With a vigorous push, and yet without attracting attention, he reached the door just as Janie's faltering limbs refused to carry her farther. She had sufficient consciousness to say,' 'Don't call any one,'' and then for an instant she knew no more, till a rapid pace and the cool fresh air restored her to sensibility. She thought she felt Margaret's face against hers, Margaret's arm around her, as she said,. "Oh Maggie," and hidher head on the shoulder. The vienrous arm ner otrtfie garden seat, and with an almost womanly tenderness, rested her head again on his shoulder. "Suffer me, Miss Janie," he said, as he threw the thick curls from her face, exposing it to the cool breeze. "Do you feel strong enough to sit alone for a moment?" said he, after awhile. "Yes, I am better now," she answered, raising her head and blushing deeply. He waited a moment to see if she could ^sustain herself, and then walked rapidly away. Janie bent her head and wept unrestrainedly. Suddenly Dunbar's voioo said, "That will not do, Miss Janie; here, sit up and drink this wine I have brought you.'' Janie did not answer but wept on. He placed the wine on the seat, and taking both her hands in his, he raised her head saying, "If you will weep, weep here, stooping will make your head ache.!' He placed her head again on his shoulder. There was no tenderness?just a kind of brotherly peremptoriness that Janie could not gainsay. "Now drink the wine." said he, putting it to her lips. She tasted it. "That will do," said she, "I want to go home; will you call the carriage?" "No," said he, with his grave decision. "It will not do; you must drink it all, for you.have to go back in the room. You cannot leave till the party breaks up." "Oh! I can't go back," said she, "I'mso tired; do let me go home." "You can't go home, Janie," said he, firmly. "Pardon me for speaking so plainly, but there were others who witnessed the?what shall I call it??contre temps between you and Wilcox, and will rfemark upon your absence. You must not only go back, but exert yourself to be what Miss Janie generally is in company," he concluded smilingly. A deep flush settled on her cheek. "I see," said she, "and thank you. It is better?I will do it?give me the wine." She drank it alL "Shall we go back now?" said she rising. "No," said he, "we can sit here for half an hour ; we will not be missed." She sat down immediately; indeed she felt as ii she had no control over herself?this man with hit strange power was moving her at will. Then he talked about the nights in the East; the moonlight, so soft and clear, so intense in it? brightness. He told her how the heavens wer? gemmed with stars, and what strange fascinatioi the wondrous beauty lent to everything. He tolc her of the gorgeous flowers, of the stately trees of the umbrageous foliage ; told her of the East era language in shrub and flower; then spoke o: eloquence in nature, eloquence in music, and elo quence of the intellect. , "Did you ever consider," said Janie, "what ii . true eloquence ? Can you define it ? We/eel it [ but description seems only to put further from m , what we so inherently understand." "Yes, we know the characteristics," said he "we know it has four elements?the eloquence o pure reason and intellect; the eloquence of tast< and imagination; the eloquence of sympathy ant ; the passions, and the eloquence of action and ut 1 ' 1-t w*11 ?..4. i teranee; and yet we imgus *?cu ancmpt w uca ; cribe the form of an angel, as to attempt a logica : definition of it." ' 'Do you suppose these qualities ever met in om | man?" said she. Certainly," he replied; "in Demosthenes, whei t he endeavored to stir up his countrymen agains ) Phillip of Macedon; certainly in Cicero, defendinj r the rights of Roman citizens against Verres, an< i the safety of the republio against the traitorou 1 Cataline. We know that they met in Chatham ; in his fiery debates on the American war; his, 'I - I were an American, as I am an Englishman while a foreign troop was landed in my country,! [ never would lay down my arms?never, never never!' cannot be forgotten. The last speed t he made, was a bold and noble attack against th ; unjust and impolitic proceedings of the minister towards the colonies. At the close of it, he faint ed and fell, and in *few weeks the character that 'was stained by no vice, nor sullied by any meanness,' was no more. Grattan, the Irish orator, says-of him, that he lightened upon a subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but oould not be followed. They met, also, in our American Demosthenes, Patrick Henry, from the time his genius first broke forth in the Parson's cause, until alone, unadvised and unassisted, he wrote, on the blank leaf of an old law book, 'The resolutions of the Virginia Assembly in 1765, concerning the stamp act' and offered them to the house of Burgesses. Violent debates ensued, in the midst of which he exclaimed, 'Caesar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the third?.' 'Treason!' cried the speaker. 'Treason, treason!' echoed through the house. Henry did not falter, hut taking a loftier attitude, and fixing his fiery eyes on the speaker said, with the firmest emphasis?'may ptofit by their example. If this be treason make the most of it' " ha/1 *11 thft narta of an eloonent orator: a voice strong and musical, an expressive countenance, combining in his oratory imagination, ncuteness, dexterity and ingenuity, with the most forcible action and extraordinary powers of face and utterance. But time would foil me," said he, uas Newton would say, to tell of Fox, of Sheridan, of Burke, of Macauley, of our own Calhoun, and his great compeers, Webster and Clay; we must return to our brilliant panorama yonder." "Oh I" said Janie, hastily, "not yet." He smiled and offered his arm. She accepted it with a blush at her own impulsiveness, and as she walked toward the house said, with a hesitating manner, "Mr. Dunbar, don't think I encouraged Mr. Wilcox m speak as he did; indeed I oould not help it." She commenced very tremblingly, but as she ended, she looked up at him with such almost childish pleading, that involuntarily, he laid his hand for an instant on hers as it rested on his arm. "I do not blame you, Miss Janie," said he, "but for Aim?unmanly coward!" he muttered between his clenched teeth. They entered the room. "How lovely Margaret looks," said Janie, as she suddenly caught sight of Margaret's radiant face. Dunbar looked at her curiously?then at the reflected happiness in Janie's face. "What are you studying, Miss Janie?" * Janie laughed. 'The virtue and conscience of worth, would be wOo'd and not unsought be won,'" said she. He smiled a queer, quizzical smile. " ? TV . 11 V 1 1_ t. "And Hunter, in an eise unmovca, is weaic against the charm of beauty's powerful glance,' when associated with mind and nobleness, for it then creates an awe 'as a guard angelic placed.' I think, though, Miss Janie, his 'pleaded reason' bids fair to be approved. What do you think ?" Janie started. "I did not think you would so ingeniously construe my random thought. Mr. Hunter is an old friend, and there are memories of 'long syne' between him and Maggie," said she, immediately leading the conversation into another channel. But she had a part to play, and she would have nUyfrd it. if lifp had ?vira* ? threw himself constantly nen* her; she had to elude him without appearing to do so, and at the same time, to affect a gaiety she was far from feeling. Never had she been so brilliant; her sparkling bon-mots, her lively repartee, her acute perception, her ready wit,' astonished even those who had known her before as gay and brilliant Her cheeks were flushed as the heart of a pink-rose, and her eyes, melting or flashing, gave life to the alternate archness, tenderness and merriment of the eloquent face. Wilcox turned rudely from the inane Miss Benton, to listen to the lively sallies 'of the witching girl; but Dunbar stood, dark, gloomy and silent by her side, except when her provoking humor forced him to defend himself, or establish a position she would wantonly attack. Then, as if entering into her humor, he would playfully r any the assault, or provoking a keener shaft. would tempt her to a ridicule just saved from sarcastic provocation. At last the evening was ended. "Let me go home," whispered Janie, as the guests were departing. Dunbar looked at her; every vestige of color had left her face, and she was trembling in quick and painful shudders. He drew her arm farther through his, and walked out as rapidly as possible. "Call Margaret," said Janie, as he led her to the carriage, "and get my cloak, if you please." "Let me seat you first, Miss Janie; I will attend to that afterwards." He placed her in the carriage, and Janie thought he had scarcely time to get to the door, before he "-* 1 11 . ) was back. "Unve to Mr. barter s, ana quicmy, said he, in his peremptory tones, as he sprang into the carriage. He closed the door, and the carriage moved rapidly on. "But Margaret," said Janie, placing her hand , in expostulation on his arm. "Will follow us," said he. "I saw Hunter. Now rise, for you are cold, you are trembling like a leaf." She half arose. "Did you not get my cloak ?" said she languidly. "Yes, or a substitute," said he, enveloping her in a soft fur-edged garment "Why this is not mine," said Janie, as she felt the sable against her face. , "You will not refuse it because it is mine," said he; and Janie sat down trembling more than ever. "Are you quite comfortable?" said he, in a tone i of gentle solicitude, as Janie leant silently back in the corner of the carriage. ; "Yes," said she, struggling against the tears ) that had been striving for mastery so long. . Neither spoke again until the carriage stopped, i Dunbar sprang out [ "Throw the cloak from you, Miss Janie, it will ( inconvenience you." He assisted her out. f "Wait one moment;" and taking the cloak, he . again wrapped it around her. She trembled so she could scarcely enter the gate; her steps grew 3 more faltering as it closed after them. "There is no help for it, Miss Janie," said he, 3 as he threw his strong arm around her, and almosl bore her into the house. Poor Janie; she could stand it no longer?she burst into tears, f "What will you think of me, Mr. Dunbar?" ? said she, as he rang the door bell. 1 The arm around her was drawn almost insensiblj . tighter. "Everything that is brave and strong, that L? i true and noble in woman," he whispered, in a sofi sweet tone of rapid utterance. Then, as the dooi B opened, he advised her in a cold firm voice, to go ai once to her room, bowed a good night, and left hei a to decipher, if possible, the mingled - feelings witl t which the night events had left hpr. ? [to be continued next week.] i [Back numbers of the Enquirer containing s( s much of the foregoing story as has been published; , can be furnished, if applied for early.] f i, It is not true that the Legislatures of Nev I York and Wisconsin will elect Senators in the plaa of Senators Morgan and Doolittle. The terms o b these Senators expire on the 4th of March, 1859 e but as the members of the lower House in thes< s States are elected annually, the election of Senator: r will devolve on the Legislatures elected in 1868. UtisttJlaneous fading.; AN ELOQUENT SPEECH. A Democratic ratification meeting was held at 1 the Cooper Institute, New York, on the night of I the 31st ultimo. At this meeting Hon. D. W. * Voorhees, of Indiana, was the principal orator, i and he came fully up to the occasion, delivering a 8 speech rarely excelled in power. We extract from it the following sad but truthful delineation of the oppression of our country : "In our school hooks we learned to mourn over the cruel fortunes of Poland, and to flame with indignation against her great barbarial executioner; c the funeral and wailing shadow of murdered Hun- D gary convulsed this continent a few short years f ago, and made,the name of Austria hateful to the t ears of the civilized world; the perturbed spirit d of Irish Liberty walks the earth at all hours, in i all its distant four quarters, adding every disciple c of freedom in every clime beneath the sun to their y train of followers, and pointing to England as the ^ odious assassin of a people entitled to be free; but, ^ at our own doors, under the folds of our own flag, v a vast and magnificent portion of the American 6 Republic lays this hour in a condition beside ^ which Poland, Hungary, and Ireland are the radi- a ant homes of happy freemen?it lays there a vie- c tim to a needless, vengeful and remorseless tyran- c ny, beside which the worst tyrannies of the old f world are liberal and respectable forms of govern- a ment Instead of ten States existing in their ori- ? ginal beauty and strength, as our fathers made 0 them, we have incorporated into the same work of 4 the American Republic, five military districts entirely unknown to the Constitution, and utterly c inconsistent with the first and plainest principles fc on which our Government was founded. Not a * vestige of civil liberty remains beneath the shadow J3 of this stupendous usurpation. The great muni- 11 ments of freedom?those high and adamantine ' walls of personal security for whose erection gener- 6 ations have toiled with bloody sweat, have all per- * ished under the destructive and treasonable ^ as- 8 saults of Congress. The right to the writ of Aa[ beai corpus?that resplendent right of freemen by * which the hand of unlawful power can alone be re- s strained, now lies dead, powerless and despised on * [ the very battle plains where its enjoyment was se- J cured by the surrender of Cornwallis to Washing- a , ton. Trial by Jury is a mockery, a delusion, and 1 a snare at Eutaw Springs. The Cowpens and * Guilford Court-House. Over the sunken graves 0 I ? ^ m AVTI11T of fltn kolioof ^ I UX LIIU XVCVU1UUUU cv r lauuiug uiuij) uv uuu i^uvov of Congress, controls flections and dictates the use of the elective franchise at the mouth of the can- f non and with levelled muskets. Aye, the South- ? era sky of the American heavens is shrouded in 0 black. Once it was filled with stars more radiant 1 and lovely than Arcturus, Orion, or the Pleiades. a Our fathers of immortal memory planted them ^ there. They burned with the light of liberty regu- * lated by law. But they burn no more. Rayless * and quenched they wander in a dark and trackless 1 void. The baleful wrath of Radicalism, coming up ? thick and poisonous as the "dimest smoke of hell," 1 has extinguished- one-third of the constellation of f the American glory. Who will question the fideli- 1 ty of this picture? Who so bold as to deny that * Congress has overturned every institution of free * government m uimw wgiuua mm ueiu tfl'military"1 power ? And who dares to say that he finds a 1 warrant for this action in the Constitution which k an oath requires him to support ? But the stable 1 and miserable answer to this terrible accusation is ( that the people of the South have been in rebellion and deserve no better at the hands of victo- } rious power. Does this fact, even if it were so, 1 justify revolution, usurpation, broken oaths and * deliberate treason on the part of Congress? Admit that the South attempted to revolutionise the 1 Government and destroy its institutions, does ( that mitigate the crime of the North in comple- ' ting what the South labored for in vain? No! ' Nor can this destructive and despotic policy be 1 pursued with impunity to the North itself. While it is only your neighbor who is prostrate by the 1 wayside, bruised and bleeding, the priest and the : levite of Radical vengeance will pass on heedless of his groans. While the South alone suffers in 1 chains, the North may still sleep softly on the bed ' of its luxurious wealth. But the day is close at 1 hand when the blighting influences of a standing 1 army and military power in one section of the coun- * try will spread and be felt over all. Indeed, the 1 day is already now upon us. The public mind of the North is almost fatally accustomed to acts of Federal usurpation. We have stood by with fold- 1 ed arms in a species of astonished apathy, while ' pillar after pillar of the temple of our institutions has been torn away, until I fear, at times, that if 1 the sacred edifice itself should fall, we would be content to emerge from the ruins with* no present 1 intention of rebuildingits glorious proportions. A ' wandering Committee of Congress is now traveling . .1 11! it-- ? f*t.? ] at rne puuuu expense ever me luvcui we wuuuj, commisioned to enquire whether certain States, 1 some of whom were born with the Revolution, ' have republican forms of government The pub* ( lie mind scarcely heeds such a monstrous preceding. This committee is as lawless in its formation, and with no more legal power to enter upon such a mission than so many Italian Banditti, and so all men know; yet they are at their work at the home and grave of Henry Clay and by the tomb of Pinckney, preparing to destroy other and Aore States and subject them to the increasing and insatiate demands of military force. REGISTRATION. The Charleston Courier says the following is the official return of registration in this State, as re- ( ceived at Gen. Canby's headquarters. It will be ( observed that there are white majorities in only nine out of thirty one Districts: District. Whites. Blacks. Abbeville 1,722 3,352 1 Anderson 1,801 1,398 Barnwell 1,902 3,695 Berkeley 983 8,264 i Beaufort 926 6,273 . Charleston 3,452 5,111 Chester. 1,222 2,198 Chesterfield 1,071 817 Clarendon. 754 1,552 Colleton 1,370 3,870 i Darlington 1,572 2,910 [ Edgefield 2,597 4,367 Fairfield 942 2,434 . Georgetown 432 2,726 ^ 2.077 1,485 . Hoitv 1.065 466 r Kershaw 839 1,765 Lancaster. 983 881 Laurens 1,628 2,372 L Lexington 1,480 974 ^ Marion 1,837 1,737 r Marlboro 961 1,267 t Newberry ~ 1,131 2,251 r Orangeburg 1,645 3,371 Pickens. 2,075 853 Richland 1,235 2,812 Spartanburg 2,690 1,462 Sumter 1,190 3,285 ) Union .' 1,426 1,893 Williamsburg. 860 1,725 * York 2,006 2,078 Total 45,751 79,585 T * 5 The Charlottesville (Ya.) Chronicle says f "In town here the other day, a gentleman of , twenty-seven determined to marry; he selected his 3 victim; and prepared the following schedule of a s courtship: 1. ' 'Mary, can you make, a potato pudding?" 2. "Mary, can you work on a sewing ma* hine?" 3. "Mary, would you be wjllftig^to give ip hoops ?" 4. "Maxy, could youlove me 1" But Mary broke down at the first question." No wonder the poor giri'collapsed at the starting interrogatory.- In this section the universal jractioe is to reverse the order of the above rationed catechism, beginning with the lastquestion. for is it a safe thing for the would-be husband to sk the other three before he is securely married. [by request.] . ; ' A LETTER FROM BRAZIL. . Ybicaba, Nov. 1, 1866. Dear Sir: Yours of the 5th of August is reeived, and I reply with pleasure. Hie Govern aent of Brazil does not propose to give free transportation to emigrants to this country and one honsand acres of land free of charge. What I understand to be die proposition of the Government j, that it will pay the passage, of .all those who are tot able to pay their own passage; hut they are equiredtopay it back at the end of five ypars, with merest at 6 per cent, and that it will sell them md at 9A renin tmt ann. in hn mid in five vrats. / rith interest at 6 per cent But the true policy of migrants is to buy land from private individuals, "hey can boy good land 'with improvements, such a houses and cleared land for less money thft^they ould put up the buildings, and can makers, jgood rop the first year. Whereas, if they purchase * torn the Government, they get no imjnpvements ,nd cannot expect to make money before the third ear. The land'is heavy and hard to put iq a state if cultivation. It would be much better to -jjiay hree dollars per acre for land in raJtirationhere, ban to have land given -them in the. woods for Kjghing. They can pay for it, (and Evei well all be time) before tbey pot up their buildingq, clear heir land so that they can begin to Kve and make aoney. That is my opinion decided!}/' Behgion stole rated here. Americans can settle here, form heir own society, build churches, establish schools, to., etc. The Government and the bettercMxof Brazilians will be pleased to see it, especially the cbools. I think it would be good policy foe your.,colony o bring a small portion of agricultural implements rith them. It will be neoesBary for you to have a ew wagons, and if you have .n^Blacksnnth.vth rou, you had, best bring some plows. Ten will ilso want some carpenter's tools. If thaw is an ton square in Brazil, I think it is lost It would ib well enough to bring various lrinds of garden md other seeds with you. They will be oifhand rhen you want them. Provisions of every kind are cheaper here than hey are in the United States. The land is fertile; fc will produce from 50 to 80 bushels of com to the icre, with very little cultivation. You can have as nany hogs, cows, goats, sheep, horses and mules is you want, with very little trouble, or expense. !fo country in the world affords greater facilities or good and cheap living than the provineeof S&o Paulo. All that a man has to do to make bleqty n Hva on. is to work and nlant his cron. ana it will prow and moke plenty. But Eb live well, and make noney, you most be industrious, economical and nterpriong, as in all other countries. The climate 9 delightful and healthy. I have often said, if my amily were here with a few of my American riends around me, I would not exchange this conn; _ ry, wrauy ouwrfuu uw juwh 01 imb ^M,lud 1*? xope soon to realize that long wished for condition. Several Americans have purchased lands around ne, and will be here with their families soon. I iipect my family to arrive in Deoember. I am not prepared to advise you in relation to rour steam mill I learn that some times lumber b in great demand here, but other times no sale , ' or it So I will not advise one way or another. We have the finest timber here that there is in :he world. Mahogany, Boeewood and a dozen )ther kinds almost as good; and I have no donht but that the time is dose at hand* when a steam saw-mill will do an overwhelming buanea, and it may even do well now; I can't say. . Since writing the above, I have conversed irith he most intelligent Brazilian in the whole Produce. He says bring your steam-mill by all means. Ihe Government will transport it to any place you may wish, free of charge. I would advise you to bring some good seed corn. Bring it in the ear rith the shuck on. Several persons have tried it shelled, but it will not grow?no one has been able to get one single grain to grow. Try it in the shuck. The Brazilian awn is not as good &s the American. AU that I have seen is hard and flinty. If it is possible, bring a good phwrtatiwi blacksmith. An Artesian well borer would do a good . business in this country. The time is doaeaihand when a gin factory will do an overwhelming business. The government of Brazil has sent an emigrant agent to the United States to encourage and facilitate emigration to this country. For further information, I refer you to him. I suppotu ho will reside in New Orleans. He will, no doubt, issue a circular to the people in the Southern States. I bave written this hastily?you can use it as you Jbink best Respectfully, yours, etc., W. H. NORRIS. P.S. The agent's name wQuiwnNOfiotJATUVA. ? J"t EGGS. Few persons understand the magnitude of the egg trade of New York. Hie receipts for nine months of this year have averaged at least 1,000 barrels a day. Each barrel contains about 80 dozen, or 960 eggs. The aggregation, therefore, would be in one day nearly a million. The balk of arrivals are from Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. New Jersey and Long Island furnish about equal quantities to this market and these supplies are considfrom the West. like cotton' and oom they are considered a cash article, and can be sold immediately. New England and New York State have a large demand in every neighborhood at home, and ship very little to this city. Next to the consumption for family use, bakers and confectioners are large consumers of eggs. An insignificant amount?six barrels a day?is used for albumenizing or glossing paper for photographic purposes. For this, the white of the egg, only, is appropriated, and the yolk is sold or given away to the Five Points mission. Book-bindersa}ao use the white of eggs for gilding covers and leaves, and confectioners for frosting. The yolks are employed to some extent by tanners of kid leather, espeniollw thoi. mannfftctnred into cloves. They con tain much oil of fine quality, and with salt, alum, and other ingredients, form a liquid in which the leather is steeped and softened. Chemists employ eggs to a very small extent in experiments. *' The consumption for any purpose, except food, is very trifling.?N. Y. Evening Post, % > fl?-Brunswick, Ga., has established a direct trade with Europe, principally in lumber. Gen. Wayne, of that city, has, since the war, sent over fifty cargoes to the different ports of Great Britain and the Continent. TT1? vessels return in ballast, as there are not sufficient importations to give them oargoes. He expects to load thirty vessels for Europe next season, and the return of these will afford facilities to immigrants desiring tooome to the South. ^ I?" In Texas the Freedmen'a Commissioner is called the "Bono manwhich lis explained when we are told that' Tamo" is the vernacular for jackass.