Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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m V ' LbWIS M. Gl^r,! ~~ ^ Iniepitnt fjkta^tr: Jfor % ^rwigtitm of% political, Social, ^grindtaral aitit Cinmmrtial Interests of% &md|. "VOL. 14. YOBKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 21, 1868. * : , : 3STO. J31. 'j ^ itar|-<?cUer. NORA AND JAMESY.' A TOUCHING STORY. "To the memory of Patriot Connor, this simple stone was erected by his Fellow-Workmen." These words you may read any day upon a white slab in a cemetery not many miles from New York; but you might read them a hundred times without guessing at the little tragedy they indicate, without knowing the humble romance which ended with the placing of that stone above the dust of one poor and humble man. In his shabby frieze jacket and mud-laden brogans, he was scarcely an attractive object as he walked into Mr. Bawn's great tin and hardware shop, one day and presented himself at the counter with an ? "I've been towld ye advertised for hands, yer honor." "Fully supplied, my man," said Mr. Bawn, not lifting his head from his account book. "I'd work faithful, sir, and take low wages tilll tin hetther. and I'd learn?I would that." It was an Irish brogue, and Mr. Bawn always declared that he never would employ an incompetent hand. Yet the tone attracted him. He turned briskly and with his pen behind his ear, addressed the man, who was only one of the fifty who had answered his advertisement for four workmen that morning. "What makes you expect to learn faster than other folks?are you any smarter?" "I'll not say that," said the man, "but I'd be i wishing to; and that 'ud make it easier." I "Are you used to the work?" "I've done a bit of it." i "Much?" i "No, yer honor. I'll tell no 1^. Tim O'Toole | hadn't the like of this place ; but I know a bit a- ( bout tins." + j "You are too old for an apprentice, and you'd , be in the way, I fear," said Mr. Bawn, looking at , the brawny arms and bright eyes that promised j strength and intelligence. "Besides, I know your < countrymen?lazy, good-for-nothing fellows, who never do their best. No, I've been taken in by x Irish hands before, and I won't have another." "The Virzin will have to be aflher bringing them , over in her two arms, then," said the man despairingly, "for I've tramped all day for the last fortnight, and niver a job can I get, and that's the last penny I have, yer honor, and its but a half I* one. As he spoke he spread his palm open with a half penny upon it "Bring whom over?" asked Mr. Bawn, arrested by the odd speech as he turned upon his heel, and turned hack again. " Jist Nora and J amesy." "Who are they?" "The wan's my wife, the other my child," said the man. "0! masther, jist thry me. How'll I bring them over to me if no one will give me a job? I wan't to be aiming, and the whole big city seems against it, and me with arms like thim." He bared his arms to the shoulder as he spoke, and Mr. Bawn looked' at them, and then at his face. "I'll hire you forthe next week," he said, "and now as it's noon, go down into the kitchen and tell the girl to get you your dinner?a hungry man can't work." And with an Irfsh blessing, the new hand obeyed, while Mr. Bawn, untying his apron, went up stairs to get his own meal. Suspicious as he was of the new hand's integrity and ability, he was agreeably disappointed. Connor worked hard and actually learned fast. At the end of the week he was the best workman in the shop. He was a great talker, but not fond of drink or wasting money. As his wages grew he hoarded e?*iry penny, and wore the same shabby clothes in , which he had made his first appearance. "Beer costs money," he said one day, "andivery cint I spind puts off the bringing of Nora and Jamesy over; and as for clothes, them I have ] must do me?better no coat to me back than no wife and boy by my fireside; anyhow it's slow , work saving." ] It was slow work, but he kept at it all the same. Other men, thoughtless and full of fun, tried to j make him drink?made a jest of his saving habits, coaxed him to accompany them to places of amusement, or to share their Sunday frolics. All in vain. Connor liked beer, liked fun, liked companionship; but he would not delay the long-looked-for bring- , ing Nora over; and was not "mane enough" to accept favors of others. He kept his way, a mar- ] tyr to one great wish?living on little, working at night, on any extra job by which he could earn a , few shillings, by running errands in his noontide hours of rest, and talking to any one who would listen of his one great hope, and of Nora and little James}'. At first the men who prided themselves on being all Americans, and on turning out the best work I in the city, made a sort of butt of Connor, whose "wild Irish"rways and verdancy were indeed very < . laughable. But it won their hearts at last, and when, one day, mounting his work-bench, he shook 1 his little bundle wrapped up in a red 'kerchief, 1 before their eyes, and shouted "Look, boys, I've got the whole at last! I'm going to bring Nora ] and Jamesy over at last! Whooroo! I have got it!" All felt a sympathy in his joy, and each i grasped his great hand in cordial congratulations. They parted in a merry mood, most of the men going to comfortable homes. But poor Connor's resting place was a poor lodging-house, where he shared a crazy garret with four other men, and in < the joy of his heart the poor fellow exhibited his > handkerchief, with his hard earned savings tied up in a hard wad in the middle, before he put it under his pillow and fell asleep. 1 When he awakened in the morning he found his ! treasure cone. Some villian, more contemptible I than most bad men are, bad robbed him. < At first Connor could not believe it lost He searched every corner of the room, shook his quilt . and blankets, and begged those about him to "quit joking and give it back." But at last he realized the truth. i "Is any man so bad that he's thaved from me?" i he asked in a breathless way. "Boys, is any man < that bad?" i And some one answered: "No doubt of it, ! Connor. Itssthole." Then Connor put his head down on his hands, i and lifted up his voice and wept. It was one of those sights which men never forget It seemed ! more than he could bear, to have Nora and his i child "put," as he expressed it, "months away from him again." i But when he went to work that day it seemed to all who saw him, that he had picked up a new determination. His hands were never idle. His face seemed to say "I'll have Nora with me yet" At noon he scratched out a letter, blotted and strangely scrawled, telling Nora what had happened ; and those who observed him noticed that he had no meat for his dinner. Indeed, from that moment he lived on bread, potatoes, and cold water, and worked as few men ever worked before. It grew to be the talk of the shop, and now, that sympathy was excited, every one wanted to help Connor. Jobs were thrown in his way, kind words And friendly wishes helped him mightily; but no power could make him share the food or drink of any other workman. That seemed a sort of charity 'to him. Still he was helped along. A present from Mr. Bawn at pay day set Nora, as he said "a week nearer," and this and that and the other added to the little hoard. It grew faster than the first, and Connor's burden was not so heavy. At last, before he hoped it, he was onoe more able to say "I'm going to bring them over," and to show his handkerchief, in which, as before, he tied up his earnings; this time, however, only to his friends. Cautious among strangers, he hid the treasure, and kept his vest buttoned over it night and day until the tickets were bought and sent. Then every man, woman and child capable of hearing or understanding, knew that Nora and her baby were coming. There was John Jones, who had more of the brute in his composition than usually falls to the lot of man?even he, who had coldly hurled his hammer at an offender's head, missing him by a hair's breadth, would spend his ten minutes in the noon hour in reading the Irish news to Connor. There Tnm Hater. the meanest man among the number, who had never been known to give anything to any one before, absolutely bartered away an old jacket for a pair of gift vases, which a pedlar brought in his basket to the shop, and presented them to Connor for his Nora's mantelpiece. And here was idle Dick, the apprentice, who worked two hours on Connor's work when illness kept the Irishman at home one day. Connor felt this kindness, and returned it whenever it was in his power, and the days flew by and brought a letter at last from his wife. "She would start as he desired, and she was well, and so was the boy, and might the Lord bring them safely to each other's arms, and bless those who had been so kind to him.'' This was the substance of the epistle which Connor proudly assured his fellow-workmen Nora wrote herself. She had lived at service, as a girl, with a certain good Did lady, who had given her an education, the items of which Connor told upon his fingers. "The radin', that's one, and the writin', that's three, ind moreover she knows all a woman can." Then be looked up at his fellow-workmen, with the tears in his eyes, and asked: "D'ye wonther the time seems long between me in' her, boys?" So it was?Nora at the dawn of day?Nora at noon?Nora at night?until the news came that the "Stormy Petrel" had come to port, and Connor, breathless and pale with excitement, flung his jap in the air and shouted. It happened on a holiday afternoon, and half a lozen were ready to go with Connor to the steamjr, and give his wife a greeting. Her little home was ready. Mr. Bawn's own servant had put it in wder. and f!nnnnr took one neen at it before he started. She hadn't the like o' that in the ould country, he said. "But she'll know how to keep them ;idy." Then he led the way towards the dock where the steamer lay, at a place which made it hard for the rest to follow him. The spot was reached at last; i crowd of vehicles blockaded the street; fine cabin paesengers were stepping into cabs, and drivers, porters, and all manner of employees were yelling ind shouting in the usual manner. Nora would wait on board for her husband?he knew that The little group made their way into the vessel it last, and there, amidst those who sat watching for coming friends, Connor searched for the two so iear to him; patiently at first, eagerly, but patiently ; but by and by, growing anxious and excited. "She would not never go alone,'' he said. "She would be lost entirely; I bade her wait, but I don't jeeherboy. I think she's not in it." "Why don't you see the captain," asked one, ind Connor jumped at the suggestion. Iu a moment he stood before a portly, rubicund man, who lodded to him kindly. "I am looking for my wife, yer honor," said Connor, "and I can't find her." "Perhaps she's gone ashore," said the captain. "I bade her wait," said Connor. "Women don't always do as they are bid, you know," said the captain. "Nora would," said Connor; "but maybe she was left behind; maybe she didn't come?I somebow think she didn't" At the name of Nora the captain started. In a moment he asked: "What's your name ?" "Pat Connor," said the man. "And your wife's name was Nora!" "That's her name, and the boy with her is Tamesy, yer honor," said Connor. The captain looked at Connor's friends; they looked at the captain. Then he said huskily. "Sit down, my men ; I've got something to tell pou." "She's left behind?" said Connor. "She sailed with us," said the captain. "Where is she?" said Connor. The captain made no answer. "My man," he said, "we all have our trials; jrod sends them. Yes?Nora started with us." Connor said nothing. He was looking at the japtain now, white to the lips. "It's been a sickly season," said the captain," 'we had illness on board?the cholera. You know that?" "I didn't," said Connor; "Ican't read?they kep' it from me." "We didn't wan't to frighten him," said one man in a whisper. "You know how long we laid at quarantine." "The ship I came in did, that," said Connor. "Did you say Nora went ashore ?" Ought to be lookin' for her, Captain." "Many died," went on the captain?"many children. When we were half way here your boy was taken sick"? "Jamesy," gasped Connor. "His mother watched him night and day," said the captain, "and we did all we could, but at last be died; only one of many. There were five buried that day. But it broke my heart to see the mother looking out upon the water." "Its his father I think of," said she; "he's longing to see poor Jamesy." Connor groaned. "Keep up if you can, my man," said the captain. "I wish any one else had it to tell rather than I. That night Nora was ill also; very suddenly. She grew worse fast. In the morning she called me to her. Tell Connor I died thinking of him," she said, "and tell him to meet me?and my man, God help you?she never said anything more?in an hour she was gone." Connor had risen. He stood up trying to steady himself looking at the captain, with his eyes as dry as two stones. Then he turned to his friends: "I've got my death, boys," he said, and then dropped to the floor like a log. They raised him and bore him away. In an hour he was at home on the little bed which had been made ready for Nora, weary with her long voyage. There, at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr. Bawn bent over him; he had been summoned by the news, and the room was full of Connor's fellow-workmen. "Better, Connor?" asked the old man. "A dale," said Connor.? "It's aisy now, I'll be with her 600n. And look ye, masther, I've learnt one thing?God is good; He would not let me bring Nora over to me, but He's asking me over to her and Jamesy?over the river; don't you see it and her standing on the other side to welcome me ?" And with these words, Connor stretched out his arms. Perhaps he did see Nora?Heaven only knows?and so he died. HOW I HAD MY OWN WAY. I am the only daughter of Orlando Puggins, of Fizzleton, retail dealer in dry goods. My fa ther is a very prominent man in town, and I am the belle of the village. I think I have very good reasons for calling myself handsome, for not less than a score of young men of my acquaintance have assured me that such is the fact I have no reason for doubting the word of these very estimable young men, fori think I should have been convinced of my beauty even if they had not whispered it in my ears. My father's hobby had been for several years to make a match for me. Perhaps you know what a good match is. It is simply to marry a man you positively hate?a man who is excessively ugly and disagreeable?in short, a fool, just because he is wealthy. If he has money it makes no difference what his character is?it is what the world calls a good match. My father thought just as the rest of the world did; and often have I heard him say that his Beatrice should ride in her own carnage some day. That was his highest idea of happiness. Perhaps it is needless to say that my father and I differed very much on this point. I think I had imbibed what the generality of people call romantic notions. Can yon believe it that the belle of Fizzleton, at the age of twentyone, imagined that there was such a passion as love ? I longed for something more than a poodle dog to lavish my affections upon. I know it is very un maidenly for me to say this; but it is true. I had plenty of lovers, to be sure, but ugh ? I preferred the poodle to them all. My hero had not yet arrived. I knew he would come sometime.? Perhaps he would come in a ragged coat; but the coat does not make the man, you know?though it does make a great many things that call themselves men. Meanwhile my father brought a lover to me?a Mr. Cattle, from Boston. He was doing a large business there, and was considered very wealthy. "There's a lover worthy of you, Beatrice," said my father, after Mr. Cattle had made the first call. "His wealth can hardly be estimated." "I am ?ure his age cannot," I replied. "He is certainly twice as old as I am." "Well?" "I think that is enough." My father opened his eyes with astonishment "Do you mean to say that you would not marry him if you had a chance ?" "Yes, that's what I mean." "Bless my soul 1" said father. "Are you sane?" "Perfectly." Father looked incredulous. "You read too much poetry, child. You are a woman now, and it is high time for you to banish such sentimental ideas from your silly head. Such an opportunity as this doesn't come to a woman but once in a life time." "T oVimild hnnflnnt" Father stamped his feet withrage, and looked unutterable things. I took up Lalla Rookh and commenced reading the Fire Worshippers. "Beat, do you wish to bring down my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave?" "No, but as I have to live with my husband through life, I would much rather have one of my own choosing." "Yes, yes, niy child. But I have lived longer than you, and I think my judgment is better. I wish to see you happily married. I don't want you to marry some scoundrel without a cent in his pocket and have you wear your life out as his drudge. As the wife of Mr. Cattle, you will lead a life of luxury and ease." "A life of misery."* My father looked grieved, but said no more, and soon after left the room. Such is the perversity of female human nature that I think that if any scoundrel, without a <wnt in his pocket, had proposed, just at that moment, I should have accepted him at once. I believe women are like the Irishman's pig. He wished to drive the pig to Dublin ; but he made him think he wished him to go in the opposite direction. Consequently, the pig was bound to go to Dublin, and to Dublin he went. Mr. Cattle never called again. 1 think father put a flea in his ear, for he saw plainly that I was not to be driven into a union with a man I did not like. About this time father hired a new clerk. He was rather good looking, and all my young lady friends voted him a proper nice young man. I presume he was what father would call a scoundrel without a cent in his pocket. To be sure he dressed elegantly ; but I havn't the slightest idea that the coat uDon his back was paid for; but what of that? Wasn't lie agreeable? Couldn't he whisper soft nonsense for an entire evening ? Hadn't he all the poetry of the affections by heart? Then he wrote about love and moonshine in splendid rhymes, upon scented paper, and he gave these effusions to me. I almost thought I loved him; and I am sure ho loved me, for he told me to. I had it all written out in black and white, in the most elegant verse I think I ever read. Father tried to keep cool through all this, but it was terrible hard work for him to do so. Once I heard him tell mother that if I was bound to go to the deuce, he didn't know as he could help it "Its only a flirtation," mother said. "Flirtation, indeed! I tell you she is bewitched after him," my father said. And then he added, "Well, it's not so bad as it might be. Torseldorf isn't a bad young man; of course he has got not a cent, but if they are bound to marry, I'll do what I can for him, and possibly he may make something yet" My ardor cooled at once. There wasn't opposition enough to feed the flame; and consequently love died out. That evening Mr. Toseldorf called. I received him very coolly. He noticed it, and exerted himself to be agreeable, but it was a signal failure. I never smiled once while he remained. When he rose to depart I followed him to the door, and informed him as gently as I could that his company could be dispensed with. "What has happened, Beatrice?" he inquired. "Nothing." "You do not love me!" "You are exceedingly good at guessing, Mr. Torseldorf," I answered, smiling for the first time that evening. "Heartless!" he muttered. "Oh, no! But I should be if I had given my heart to you." Mr. Torseldorf jammed his hat over his eyes, and departed. I never saw him after. I noticed a change in my father's manner immediately after that. I saw that his hopes had revived. He treated me in the most affectionate manner and for some time all went well. But when everything seems to be going well with you, you may be sure that something is going to happen. I have always found it so. It was at Mrs. Tremoine's soiree that I met Arainidab Fagge. He was a very ordinary looking ' mortal. He had red hair, gray eyes, a fine red moustache, a broken nose and a variegated skin. He was 6ix feet in length and six inches in thickness. When we walked, you expected him to fall to pieces every minute. I didn't think he was properly put together; he squinted dreadfully, and his voice squeaked. I presume no one would call Aminidab Fagge a handsome man. I know as soon as my eyes fell i upon him that he, at least, had not heen spoilec ' by flattery. For reasons which you will doubtless understand none of the young ladies at Mrs. Treraoine's par , ty took the slightest notioe of Mr. Fagge. Foi that very reason I entered into a conversation wit! him, and found that he wasn't a fool, and that if saying considerable. I even danced with him onoe. I was not anxious to try it again. I nevei danced with a pair of bars, but I can now. Mr. Fagge asked permission to call on me, and I replied that I should be happy to see him any time. Next day he made his appearance. Fatherlooked at him in astonishment. I proceeded to make the two gentlemen acquainted.' "Dear father, this is Mr. Aminidab Fagge. Mr. Fagge, my father." Father bowed, muttered somethingthat sounded like Fagge?rag?shag, and,left the room. I explained to Mr. Fagge that my father waf very eccentric, and then we fell into conversation. I believe I remarked before that Mr. Fagge was no fool. On the contrary be had the largest assortment of general information in his head of an; person I ever met He had a fresh, original way of expressing himself, too, that was quite charming to me. I found myself becoming quite interested in him in spite of myself; and at last, when he arose to go, I pressed him to call again. He ' fn Knf ao 1 ouur Kim rminty rlnom fKf JJIUUJIO^U WV) UUV uo A UUII Uliu gvtuQ wvnM ??.? steps, I felt that he never would, for it did not seem possible that he could ever reach home without breaking his neok. He seemed to be walking on stilts, and no one would have thought this was hie first attempt While I was watching him father returned to the parlor. "Do you know who that is, Beatrice?" he questioned. "Certainly," I replied, "that is Mr. Aminidal Fagge." "Fudge I I know that But what is he ?" "Oh! well, really I don't know, father. Possi bly he is a perambulating tin merchant" I half expected father would go into convulsions but he didn't, though he seemed very much exci ted. At last he calmed himself enough to nsl what Aminidab had called for. "To see me, I suppose. He didn't inquire foi any one else. I made his acquaintance last night at Mrs. Tremoine's." Father began to boil again. "He's nothing but a poor, miserable fortune hunter, and if he comes here again, I'll kick him out of the house." "Don't, father,at might hurt him." "Beatrice," in a voice of thunder, "go to youi room." 1 made my exit. The paternal Puggins, whet he gets excited, will be obeyed. I retired to my room. Was there not some romance in this? 1 enjoyed it hugely. There wai everything in it to make it highly interesting to i young lady of my temperament There was ? stern and cruel parent, the poor but noble lovei and myself. I felt then that my hero had arrived. The lover for whom I had been waiting so lonf had at last appeared in the person of Aminidal Fagge. "Horrible 1" you exclaim. Oh I no, th< ugliest person in the world, when seen through i lover's eyes, will look lovely. Mr. Fagge began t< grow beautiful in my eyes from the moment fathei threatened to kick him from the door. Wo ral]od fhe next. dnv while father was ont 1 received him in the parlor. I told him, as gcntlj as I could, that father had conceived a dislike foi him. "Impossible 1" said Mr. Fagge. "Not at all. He said he would aid you in ma king your exit from our door if he ever caughl you again!" "I think I had better retire, then," said he. "Oh 1 no, father is never at home at this hour." "But this is dishonorable." "We can't help dislikes you know, Mr. Fagge," I said, with a bewitching smile, "You called tc see me, I believe. I am of age, and shall be happy to see you at any time when you please to call." An angelic smile lighted up Mr. Fagge's countenance, and to me he seemed really beautiful. When we parted at the door, he pressed my hand slightly. Oh 1 it was so sweet. After that Mr. Fagge and I were together almost every day for a fortnight Luckily my father was not aware of this. I did not suppose he would ever put his threat into execution; but still, had he found us together, he might have made use of some rather hard words, and they might have caused us an unpleasantness. But I felt that this could not always last?there is certain to be an explosion some day. It came rather sooner than I expected. Mr. Fagge and I were together. We had beet talking, as usual, for nearly half an hour, when he suddenly turned towards me and said : "Beatrice, there's something I've been wishing to tell you for some time." "Indeed!" I gave him a glorious smile. "What can it be?" "Beatrice"?I knew by the way his moustache bristled what was coming?"I love you." "Is that all." "Isn't that enough." "Why, I thought by the expression of your countenance that it was something more serious," I replied. "It will be serious enough for me, unless you all mo tJ,of mo Invo ?<a wtnrnpd." he said, throw iug himself on his knees before me. "Indeed!" I was wondering how he was ever going to get ilp. That was a very serious consideration to me. "Can you love me?" ? I did not feel quite certain about that. In fact I think that I was as much in doubt about the state of my heart as Mr. Fagge was. "Will you have me darling?" The next instant Mr. Fagge gave a yell of pain that pierced my soul. With a hurried glance I took in the situation. Father had arrived, and was putting his threat into execution. Mr. Fagge made no resistance, but allowed my father to lead him to the door. That was too much. My blood boiled. I sprang towards them, and grasped Mr. Fagge around the neck. "My dear Aminidab," I cried, "I do love you, indeed I do! You shall not take him, father; he is mine, my beloved Aminidab.'' "Beatrice!" shouted father. "No, father, you shall not part us." "Beatrice, will you obey me?" "In all but this. But you can never tear us assunder?no, never." And I clung tightly to the beloved of my souL Father sank into a chair, seemingly quite overcome. I waited for him to speak. "Mr. Fagge, take a chair," he said, at length. "Beatrice," turning to me, "do you mean to marry this man ?" "Yes, sir." "Enough 1" Father smiled. "Beatrice, allow me to introduce you to the Hon. Walter Sdllfleet, of C , one of the wealthiest men in the city, and my particular friend." I turned towards Aminidab. He was just removing a wig from his glossy black curls, and in his hand he held a fire-red moustache. With a cry of joy I sprang into his arms. "Will you love me as well as you did Aminidab Fagge ?" Walter asked. "Yes," I murmured. He kissed me. I "There is only one way to manage a headstroi girl, Mr. Puggins," father said as my mother e , tered the room. We all laughed heartily, r "You played your part well, father," I said, i All this happened several months ago. We a: i married now; but I have never regretted my fatl i er's ruse. Miscellaneous Reading AN OLD 8TORY. Many years ago a celebrated Italian artist wi ' walking along the street of his native city, pe plezed and desponding in consequence of some i ritating circumstance or misfortune, when he b held a little boy of such surprising and surpassii 1 beauty that he forgot his own trouble and gloo in looking upon the almost angel face before him > "That face I must have,"said the artist, for n studio. Will you come to my room and sit for 1 picture, my lictle man ?" The little boy was glad to go and see the pictun ' and pencils and curious things in the artist's roon and he was st Jl more pleased when he saw wh; - seemed to be another boy looking just like bin self, smiling from the artist's canvas. i The artist took great pleasure in looking at thi sweet face. When he was troubled, or irritate* > or perplexed, he lifted his eyes to that lovely in i age on the wall, and its beautiful features and e: pression calmed his heart and made him hap; ' again. Many a visitor to his studio wished to pu > chase that lovely face; but, though poor, and of en wanting money to buy food and clothes, 1 > would not sell his good angel, as he called this po trait. So the years went on. Oftentimes as he look( up to the face on the glowing canvas, he wonder* > what had become of that boy. "How I should like to see how he looks now I wonder if I should know hiin ? Is he a go* man and true, or wicked and abandoned? Or h he died and gone to a better land ?" > One day the artist was strolling down one of tl - fine walks of the city when ho beheld a man who : face and mein were so vicious, so depraved, so t most fiend-like, that he involuntarily stopped ai gazed at him. "What a spectacle 1 I should like to paint th figure, and hang it in my studio opposite the ang boy," said the artist to himself. ? The young man asked the painter for money, f i he was a beggar as well as a thief. "Come to my room, and let me paint your po trait, and I will give you all you ask," said the a r tist. The young man followed the painter, and set f i a sketch. When it was finished, and he had r ceived a few coin, for his trouble, he turned to g< but his eye rested upon the picture of the boy; 1 11 looked at it, tamed pale, and then burst into tear i "What troubles you, man?" said the painte i It was long before the young man could spea r He sobbed aloud, and seemed pierced with agon At last he pointed up to the pioture on the wa [ and in broken tones which seemed to come fro > & broken heart, he said: > "Twenty years ago, you asked me to come i 1 here and sit for a picture, and the angel-face > that portrait Behold me now, a ruined man; i f bloated, so hideous that women and children tui away their faces from me ; so fiend-like that yc want my picture to show how ugly a man cou ' look. Ah I I see now what vice and crime lw " done for me." The artist was amazed. He could not bcliei his own eyes and ears. "How did this happen ?" he asked. The young man told his sad and dreadful storj how, being an only son, and very beautiful, his p , rents potted and spoiled him; how he went wil bad boys and learned all their bad habits and vie and came to love them; how, having plenty money, he was enticed to wicked places till all w; ' lost, and then unable to work and ashamed to be ' he began to steal, was caught, and imprisoned wil the worst kind of criminals; came out still mo ' depraved to commit still worse crimes than before how every bad deed he performed seemed to drr ' him to commit a worse one, till it seemed to hi he could not stop till brought to the gallows. It was a fearful tale, and brought tears into tl artist's eyes. He besought the young man to sto 1 offered to help him, and tried his best to save hit But, alas 1 it was too late. Disease, contracted 1 ! dissipation, soon prostrated the young man, ar ' he died before he could reform. The painter hur his portrait opposite that of the beautiful boj 1 and when visitors asked him why he allowed su< ' a hideous looking face to be there, he told the the story, saying as he closed: "Between the a ' gel and the demon there is only twenty years 1 vice." The lesson of his tale is in the tale itself Yc ' who read it can tell what it is. Think of it oftei and heed it always. POPE AND LEE?A CONTRAST. i A correspondent of the Cincinnati Enquirerm tributes the two following anecdotes: Two little incidents in the history of Gener Pope, of the Federal array, and General Lee, < the Confederate, very richly illustrates the diffe ence in the character of the two men, one of tl army of the Potomac, and the other of the anr of Northern Virginia. The story of the form* was related by an attache of General Pope, and thi of the latter by a surgeon in the Confederate arm; While General Pope, attired in a gorgeous su of uniform, and with hat in hand, was walking n< far from his quarters, he was accosted by a sraa man dressed in a plain suit of black. "This is General Pope, I believe," said the cr i ilian. "Pope is my name, sir," said he, after casting hasty and indignant glance at the stranger, whoi he regarded as a country fanner, come to ask son favor. "I wish to see General Pope on business," coi tinued the civilian. "Go to my Adjutant," said General Pope, tun ing on his heel, and regarding the stranger with haughty stare, continued to walk. The strange somewhat abashed, but gathering new courage, i gain addressed himself to Gen. Pope. "My business is private, and I wish to see Gei Pone alone." "See my Adjutant, sir," exclaimed Gen. Pop* in an authoritative tone, and turned indignant] away. Twice thwarted, the stranger entered the Adji tant General's office, and addressed a peremptoi order to General Pope, requiring his immediai presence. Signed , Assistant Secretary < War. Pope was thunderstruck, and sent word by h Adjutant General that he would see him in fiftee minutes. The Assistant Secretary immediately sent anotl er order, demanding his presence forthwith ; an Pope soon presented himself, with hat under h arm, and made an apology to the Secretary, whic was waived by the latter. On the 30th of June, 1802, during the grei i battles around Richmond, and at the very momei . the bloody and sanguinary assault was being mac on General McClellan's position on Malvern Hill, i solitary horseman, some distance from the scene < action, had dismounted under a cluster of tree and was apparently listening to the roar of artill ry. This elevation had been selected by a surgec ng of the corps lor a field hospital, and so terrible was n- the conflict of Malvern Hill, that all the shade of the little promontory was required for the comfort of the wounded One of the surgeons approached the stranger, whom he supposed to be only a citire zen attracted to the spot to witness the battle, and ti- requested him in rather a hasty manner to move out of the way. 5! "Certainly, gentlemen," replied the stranger, "the wounded should be kindly cared for," and shifted his position. ? In a few minutes a courier dashed up and inquired for General Lee. is "Here he is; move quickly I" r- The surgeon was thunderstruck, and hastened r. to offer apologies, which General Lee readily ace cepted, mounted, and galloped to the front THE WORLD o'wES ME A LIVING. m This is one of the vile, stereotyped falsehoods ^ -1?c- J -r ?ii ??? no aMr Hiai luuitjra uuu ruguco ui au ouiu use <*? ?>? <**>? 'y ogy for their laziness and other rascalities. a The Jeremy Diddler, who sponges on society, comforts himself with the idea that he is thus only 58 getting some of the debt which "the world owes" a> him. at The thief sometimes intimates that, in helping a" himself out of somebody's till, he was merely taking his own. It was a part of the debt uncancelled at that society?that enormous bankrupt?had refused to pay. Q' The whole theory is false and fraudulent The r" rule is the reverse. We owe the world an upright V life, and in return the world will give us a living. 5" The lounger about the grog-shops, or other places k" of loafing, may fold his arms in idleness, under the 16 consolation of being so large a creditor ; but we'll r" just tell him how the "world" will pay him ultimately. It will square off with an instalment on hunger, poverty, contempt, degradation, and the ^ alms-house. It will give him rich dividends of scorn and starvation, and finally pay him in fufl ' with six feet of earth in the pauper's grave. Per^ haps, as he goes along, he will receive occasional M payments "on account," by generous orders on the county jail or the State prison. In the latter place, ie we believe the "world" liberally throws in a new 86 suit of clothes of beautifully variegated colors. Our advice to young men is, to trust to their two ^ good bands, their brains, their economy, their industry, and their honesty for a "living." With at such aids?and strong self-reliance, backed by in domitable perseverance?there are but few indeed who fail of reaching the goal at which they aim. or The world is full of glorious illustrations of this truth. We see young men rise from obscurity and r* poverty to reputation and wealth, and we wonder r" how they "get along so well." It seems a mystery, but the whole mystery lies in the qualifications or above named. They commence right, they con* tinue right, and they end right y? If we mark the history of such a man, we shall ie invariably find that he has been a hard worker and ^ careful manager. He has looked after the spiggot jr* as well as the bung-hole of his business. He has husbanded his earnings, and added them to his y* capital, instead of leaving them all at the box-offioe of the theatres or wearing them upon his back, or m pouring them down his throat We said he was a "hard worker." That, we 'P apprehend, is the great difficulty with the loafer. 18 He would be perfectly willing, no doubt, to hold 30 the hat, if Providence wcmW si tower guld into it, m or, if it would rain roast beef, he would have a ,u platter ready to catch it But to Work, and work hard?"there's the rub." Let fortune come to 'e him in any other shape than that But, young man, work it must be?work I? 7e work !?work ! It was designed from the beginning that man should earn his bread, not by ? " ? t_.L. it i -? v:_ k ii rru??? loanng, Dot oy me ?w*sii ui mo uruw. mux r> drops the industrious man coins into the golden a" mint drops that fill his coffers. th es Remonstrance Against the S. C. Constituof tion.?Colonel J. P. Thomas, J. G. Gibbes and as Colonel L. 1). Childs, representing the State Ceng) tral Executive Committee, of the Democratic parth ty of South Carolina, came hither to present to re Congress a remonstrance on the part of the white ?; people of South Carolina, against the Constitution re recently adopted by the Reconstruction Convenm tion. Yesterday, the Committee appeared before the Reconstruction Committee of the House. Mr. je Stevens, the chairman, received them with courtep( sy. Colonel Thomas, chairman of the committee, . and representing the State Central Executive )y Committee, remarked that in analyzing the propoid sed constitution for South Carolina, there were two ig objections which stood out in bold relief, viz: unj; qualified suffrage and the taxation law. He ar>h gued to show their disastrous effects upon both m races. The constitution established taxation withn out representation. Those who have no property of are to tax those who have all the property. Under the constitution two millions of dollars might lu be raised iu the way of taxes, one million of which n, might be for educational purposes, and yet these advantages were to be enjoyed by the blacks alone, as the white children would not attend the black schools. The State, heretofore, in its most prosa" perous days, had not been able to pay a tax of more than from three to four hundred thousand dollars annually. ^ Colonel Thomas, in conclusion, said he felt it to r* be his duty to state to the Committee that while ie the whites are willing to concede to the negro all >7 civil lights and a qualified suffrage, yet the white 2r race would never acquiesce in negro rule. You may, said he, make us pass under the yoke, and Y- we shall have to do so, but by every means which God and Congress have left us under the constitu5t tinn und laws, we will resist this domination of an ^ inferior race. By peaceful means, by political efforts, by industrial agencies, we will carry on this 7~ political contest until we regain the control which of right belongs to the power of mind and the ina fluence of virtue. Nor can you have prosperity in 111 the South under your reconstruction scheme. But ie give the South a fair showing, restore the States to the Union on a just basis, and again will our people return with willing hearts to the Union, and the same energy, the same self-sacrifice, the same valor which they gave to the lost cause, will they a give now to the Union, provided you meet them r> in a spirit of just magnanimity, and concede to them the rights to which they deem themselves entitled.? Washington Express, May 9. 1. John Randolph's Black Colony.?The fairC3t experiment on any scale of magnitude that has ly been made in this country to test the capability of a negro community to maintain itself, was the noi table one made by the celebrated John Randolph, y of Roanoke, who, by his will, emancipated a conte siderable number of slaves, who were subeequentjf ly settled on good land in the free State of Ohio. The latest mention of these negroes we find in the is Cincinnati Enquirer, and it comes from a gentlem man who resided for some time near John Randolph's colony of blacks. His statement is that i- the original settlers were extra-intelligent negroes; d that they were established on farms having good is houses and fences, and well stocked with domestic h animals, implements and requirements; that their condition was better than that of the small, even it moderate, fanners of the neighborhood, but now it what remains of them and their descendants are le sunk into a state of barbarism, shunoed by their a neighbors, except the Quakers, who still extend Df charity to and communicate with them; that their s, houses are dilapidated, their fences rotted down, e- their fields grown up in briars, and their animals >n and implements long since gone. I ANECDOTE OF JOHN C. CALHOUN. More than thirty years ago, when it was customi ary for gentlemen 6f the Sonth to make long journeys on'horseback, a traveler, on a winter evening,4 stopped at a farm-house in North Carolina and asked a night's lodging. It was cheerfully granted. After the hospitable supperhad been concluded, the stranger assumed a meditative mood; he sat with his large, mekncholly, strained eyes, fixed upon the fire, as if in painful and prolonged thought But the host was not disposed to indulge the silence of the stranger; he was evidently determined on the reward which the countryman in his situation usually exacted from the traveler he entertain^ ed?a comfortable talk ou the politics of the times, which was all the better if seasoned with argument and controversy. So politics were introduced, the farmer, a Henry Clay man, and an advocate of high tariff, taking np nearly. all the conversation, talking at a great rate, while his guest now and then nodded such distant recognition as became a ? . .t man listening from politeness rawer man irpm interest FinaHy the volubility of tiny farmer was spent; be had evidently exhausted his stock of argument When lie had fairly got through, and was enjoying the silence of the stranger as proof of his conviction, the latter turned upon him, and looking him steadily in the fhoe, commenced a remarkable speech that lasted fully an hoar. He bocame animated as he proceeded; he spoke in rapid, decisive sentences'; he set oat with an Hlretra* tion of the tariff and free trade in the wants and exchanges of a neighborhood; he evidently designed to bring the subject within the grasp of his hearer'8 mind, and within the limits of his personal experience; and although his image* were homely, his language was pure, his pronunciation cultivated, and his manner angularly earnest The farmer had never had the subject put to him iu this way before. He seemed to be impressed at every sentence of the stranger; the expression of surprise and conviction grew steadily in his face; he had the. awakened and pleased air of a man receiving new troths. When the stranger had oonoluded, the conviction was complete. Suddenly the silence that ensued was broken, and after a thoughtful pause, the fanner turned abruptly on his guest, eyed him from head to foot, and said, very deliberately: "You are John O. Calhoun, of South Carolina." "I am," was the quiet reply. This anecdote?and the writer is prepared to prove its authenticity?is a striking illustration of the peouliar style, the intellectual identity, of Mr. Calhoun.?Edward A. Pollard, in Nao York Oil' izau A Soldier Punished for a Practical Joke.? It will be remembered that shortly after the beginning of the War Department difficulty, it was reported that Mosby was coming to this city with an armed force, and a letka received by him from this city was published in most of the Southern journals, who charged that it was from a Government detective here to trap Mosby; bat the facts 1 in the case are contained in an order just issued from Headquarters Department of Washington, which sets forth that before a court-martial in session in this city, of which General John B. Ricketts is president, Sergeant Frank Forrester, Company H, Twenty-ninth infantry, was tried upon a charge of conduct to the prejudice of good order " Ami military discipline. Tlie BpecifloaUou~cfagrgB8 that he did, with intent to incite insurrection and resistance of the laws of the United States, write and cause to be sent to one John S. Mosby, formerly an officer in the Confederate army, a letter, of which a copy is appended, in which the writer says: "The rumor is afloat that you are raising men to march on this city with the intention of putting things in shape to snit yourself. If so, I glory iu your undertaking. 1 think it a Christian act I wish yon to inform me at once if such is the case, and I will assist you in your undertaking. I was once a colonel in the Jb'ederal army, hat now only a sergeant I have been misused, and will be avenged. Write in confidence to me; all will be right; no danger of betrayal. I will keep yon posted in regard to Congress, military movements," Ac. The court found the accused guilty, and sentenced kirn to be reduced to the ranks, and to forfeit to the United States ten dollars per month of his monthly pay. General Emory has approved the sentence, and says: 'The sentence awarded is evidently founded upon the belief that the accused had no malicious intent in writing the letter contained in the charge against him, of which be has been found guilty, and that he merely intended a practical joke. Concurring in this view, the sentence is approved, and will be duly excuted; and it is hoped it will serve as a warning that jokes upon matters of tbat kind, calculated to disturb the public peace, may not be again attempted."? Washington Star. CHARACTER BY THE HAIR. Coarse black hair, and dark skin, signify great power of character, with a tendency to sensuality. Fine hair and dark skin indicate strength of character along with purity and goodness. Stiff, straight black hair and beard indicate a strong, rigid, straightforward character. Fine dark brown hair signifies the combination of exquisite sensibility with great force of character. Flat, clinging, straight hair, a melancholy but extremely constant character. Harsh, upright hair, as the sign of a relicent and sour spirit, a stubborn and harsh character. Coarse red hair and whiskers indicate powerful animal passions, together with a corresponding strength of character. Auburn hair, with florid complexion, denotes the highest order of sentiment and intensity of feeling, purity of character, with the highest capacity for enjoyment or suffering. Straight, even, smooth and glossy hair denotes strength, harmony and evenness of character, hearty affections, a clear head, and superior-talents. Fine, silky, supple hair, is the mark of a delicate and sensitive temperament, and speaks in favor of the mind and character of the owner. Crisp, curly hair indicates a hasty, somewhat impetuous and rash character. White hair denotes a lymphatic and indolent constitution; and we may add that besides these qualities there are chemical properties residing in the coloring matter of the hair-tube which undoubtedly have some effect upon the disposition. Thus red haired people are notoriously passionate. Now, red hair is proved by analysis to contain a large amount of sulphur, while very black is colored with almost pure carbon. The presenoe of the matters iu the blood points to peculiarties of temperament and feeling which are almost universally associated with them. The very way in which the hair flows is strongly indicative of the ruling passions and inclinations, and perhaps a clever person could give a shrewd guess at the manner of man's or woman's disposition by only seeing the back of their heads. * Looking Glasses.?What if there should be a resurrection of that which has been buried in looking glasses? IiUle children's faces, anxious mothers, budding girls beginning to inspect their own beauty, vain and giggling looks, grave and aad looks of those who hate to grow ow, vuw looks of those who have cut themselves in shaving, timid and anxious looks of those who have been sick, double images of lovers glancing upon the sweet picture of their embrace, prim and prig pendants touching up their gray whiskers and covering their baldness with the few strawy locks yet left, -simple and wondering looks of curly and wooly Philis, whose honest homely face is just as d^ar to her as if it were Cleopatra's.