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A # - .V ' I . LgWHILS?3aTt\ &n JW? lttosp^?: jfor % frrotgtigit of <fet |alical, Social, ^gritaltnral anb Ccntmtrtial |rrtertsta af tfre VOL. 14. YORKYILLE, 8. C., THURSDAY, JUNE 4, 1868. . ' . , , . ,; . 3^Q. 2.8;;,. jtn Original fjtotwlrttf. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ISOLETTE, THE FEMALE SPY. 1 STORY or GHA&LE8T0H AM) THE WAR. BY J. WITHERSPOON E&VIN. CHAPTER I : It is painful to speak of a lost cause. There is a feeling akin to despair in dwelling upon the incidents of a struggle id which genius, courage, and devotion, even unto death, pat forth all their efforts and made every sacrifice of which the human heart is capable, and made them, to all human seeming, in vain. Bat the good, the gifted, and the generous, never labor, nor live, nor die in vain. The toils Which they underwent may seem to have ended in naught, and the blood of a self-sacrificing and noble people may seem to have been spilled in vain; but the blood of a people, fighting for right and principle, is like seed sown in the ground which will some day spring np and bear its trait ' The hopes of the good and the wise once seemed to have nerished on the cross, and to be bnried forever in the tomb of Joseph of Aximathea. Sad and disconsolate disciples wept over the desolation of all their fondest hopes, Poor, despised, illiterate, and outcasts from among men; persecuted and hunted down by the hand of power, they sat down and wept over "a lost cause, the glory and triumph of which now fills the whole earth. That <(lost cause"?as they then deemed it to be?has outlived all the dynasties of earth, and will still flourish in undecaying splendor, when kings, and crowns, and sceptres, and the very stars and suns of heaven, have passed away forever. The cause is not lost? "Truth crashed to esrth will rise Mala; The eternal years of God are hers, But error, wounded, writhes In pain, And dies amid bar worshippers!" It is not fit that the memory of those who struggled, so manfully and devotedly, should pass away. A sketch taken here and there, to tell how they fought and suffered, and conquered even in their fall, is all that the writer aims in the present series to present. Come! let us mount to the top of yon tall and time-worn steeple; one among the oldest of all that stand pointing silently to the skies in this country of States. The last object on which lingers the ease of the outward bound voyage as he leaves behind him the metropolis of his State, and the first j that rises from the wave to greet him as he returns j to the shore where bis sweetest affections dwell, is * the spire of old St Michael's, reminding him first I and hut of religions duties and the sweet charms e that linger around the House of Prayer. If he is 1 not an unimagitive man he will think, as he nears c the shores of his native land, of the congregations that have worshipped there?the good, the wise c and the beautiful?who are now dust and ashes; of j the generations over whom its revolving shadow ' has swept, who are now themselves but shadows. J And he will think, too, of the beauties he has been J wont to see sweeping along its broad aisles^-faiiy * creatures with bneht eyes and sort rosy cneexs, 1 still lovely, still as beautiful as the houris of Para- ? dise, whose maiden love, uusullied and pure, out- i weighs in the estimation of one who knows the ' priceless worth of woman's love, the crown of a * king. ' Dear to the dweller in the city where its shadow c falls, and dear even to the dweller in the far inte- fi rior of the State, is the rising spire of old Saint 0 Michael's dear for antiquity s sake, and dearer " still for the hallowed and stirring associations that t finger around it ? But come! let us mount its well worn steps and 1 look around us. Upward an onward we go, wind- J ing wearily along the narrow spiral flights of steps, * so deeply worn by the feet of those who have trodden it before us, that the asceDt is both difficult 1 and dangerous. Round and round we go, and the 1 brain becomes dizzy and reels, bat we must plant r our feet carefully on the deeply worn steps, for e should we make a mis-step here, we shall tumble E scores of feet down the stairway, and lie bruised 11 and battered wrecks below, happy indeed if there v be not enough of life left to utter a moan of pro- t ' methean agony. _ a It is the month of April, eighteen hundred and t; sixty-four, and as we gaze from the giddy height c to which we have attained, the eye rests only upon c a warlike panorama. For miles around, the rude hands of war had scarred the faoe of Nature. The inanimate soil itself had been raised up into huge c lines of embankments, and we can turn to no point 4 but the eye falls upon forts and bastions, and en- a trenchments and bristling battlements. Far oat in the harbor, lying low upon the water, stands the f fragment of a fort, beaten intodGst and rnbbish bv ? the iron-clad batteries of the enemy. It is a mere ^ ruin, shapeless, deformed and blackened by con- s flagration and the smoke of battle ; but the South- * era Cross still floats as defiantly oyer the ruins as * when it was first planted on the intact walls of ? Sumter. The brave Stephen Elliot?peace to his i ailenudust!? has "fought it low down to the t water's edge," and while there is a foot of crurn- * bling mortar on which to plant his flag, he and his v brave garrison will stand by it with Spartan hero- 3 >sm, and if it be written in the book of destiny -that [ thev and their cause must fall, they will die like * cocks in the pit, chivalrous and game to the last ? flutter. Farther out yet, and quite beyond the bar, rides 3 a fleet of iron-clads, invulnerable to shot or shell. 1 These and Sumter are types of the two people at 4 war. The one, heroic, self-denying?cut off from a all communication with the * outer world, and depending on unassisted valor; and the other, aided a Dy all the mechanical appliances, and materials of 0 war which human ingenuity can devise or the a wide world supply. > g The guns of the various forts, which lie in sight, F are booming all day slowly, and at measured inter- 1 vals ; for this is one spot of earth where the spirit a of war hangs poised in air and suffers hot his min- 1 ions to rest. White wreaths of smoke burst from 1 the.various batteries, and the air is tremulous with r the dull booming roar that fills the hours of day 1 and night. Even the tall steeple in which we stand * is a mark for the enemy's batteries, and we can J hear their shrieking shells, screaming like demons F of battle, as rushing fearfully near the window from c which we gaze, they fall and explode behind us. 3 Little is the damage they may do, for it is among ' charred and blackened ruins where they fall and j burst It was when Sumter stood unscathed and * defiant, and the fleet from afar looked timidly over ? the bar, that the flames, kindled by the hireling in- c cendiaries of the enemy, burst forth in tbe good * city of .Charleston, and sweeping across its entire 1 width, left behind them acres of charred and ruin- c ous walls. Half-clad mothers fled with their babes s by night, houseless and homeless. Yesterday saw 1 . them the possessors of rich and splendidly furnish- * ed mansions?to-day beholds them homeless, pen- * niless and naked. Angels might weep over half ? the population of a city?old men, and dependent 1 women, and feeble infanta?stripped of their all and 1 left homeless and naked to face the freezing gales of December ; but the bold sailors of the North? "the gallant tars" of northern ballads?hailed the conflagration of a city, filled with old men and women and children, with jubilant salvos of artillery. Not having the heroism to come to the rescue, when for tnirty-six long eventful hours the guns of the brave Anderson told of comrades fighting for life and honor, and summoned them in vain to his relief, they had not the magnanimity and the generosity which brave men ever exhibit to enemies in their misfortunes, and which forbid them to indulge in vandal exultations over the afflictions of women and children. But with the fleet, and the batteries booming around the harbor, we now have nothing to do.? The parties with whom we have to deal are on yonder Island to the right, where a handful of brave men, small and insignificant in number, bid defiance to the numbere and resources of the enemy, and time and again flung back from the bayonet point, their hired mercenaries as often as they essayed the capture of the city, over which we are gazing. Defiant and undaunted, the small force upon James Island, whose numbers, as we estimate them from our observatory, scarce amounts to two thousand men, have hurled the enemy tack again and again in their onward march, and driven them to the isolated sand banks where they cower timidly under the guns of their floating latteries. Conspicuous among the defenders of the island, we see the bright bayonets of the dauntless4 4Eutaws, '' not yet having undergone the terrible baptism of* blood and fire which, ere the year is flown, is destined to ootne down upon them. Thus far their duty has been to guard the approach to the city across the island, and to furnish a detachment to assist in holding Fort Sumter against the enemy. Well hitherto have they performed the duty assigned them ; but thev are destined, upon a wider field, with the eyes of the world upon them, to win a name, for daring and unfaltering valor, second to that of no corps in the service. There stretches around James Island, in a nearly semi-circular line, a number of batteries to defend the approaches from the Stono and the lower face )f the island, and in the rear of these batteries lie the few troops, while their picket lines gird the island some two miles in advanoe of the batteries. Every causeway along which a soldier can creep, ;veiy water-course along which a canoe can be propelled, is closely and vigilantly guarded. No mercenaries are these who guard the way, but soldiers oorn of the best families in the land, each one of vhom feels that the honor and security of the State s committed to his keeping. "There are stirring imes just ahead of us, and we hasten to introduce :he reader to the personages of tho story upon Those history we are to linger. As we look down from old St. Michael's, wecan rinre and there natch a climnse of the road which. irossing the Ashley on a bridge, near half a mile length, winds along the island and leads to the rarionscamps. It is still an early hour, and through he clear atmosphere of this bright morning we can liscern squads of soldiers moving about in various lirections. We see straggling groups along the oad of which we have spoken; some returning rom the city to the camp to resume their duties ifter the expiration of a brief leave of absence, and >thers wending their way to the city, rejoicing in a >rief respite from the tedium and confinement of he camp. ' . . There is a solitary cart standing by the roadside, ibout half a mile from the nearest battery; ana ounging upon the grass, at the foot of a live oak. ire two individuals who have left the city behind hem, and chosen this spot to make their morning neal. With the privilege of a writer, we will deicend and take our place by their side. The mule has been temporarily unharnessed from he cart, and the negro driver having given him lis morning feed, is lying indolently in the sunihine, his eves distended to the utmost, taking in he new sights that meet him on every side. The wo individuals of whom we have more particulary spoken, were sitting upon the roots of the tree ?itn an open box before them, from which, with teen appetites, they were drawing forth various idibles to make their morning meaL Ham and fggs, and broiled fowls, with potatoes?roasted and hed?and biscuits and rolls fresh from the city >akery, and various dainties carefully provided at lome, were drawn forth in profusion. A coffee >ot, too, with a kettle, was plaoed by the dying mbers, showing that our two way-fa'rers had evey disposition to make as comfortable a meal as ircumstances permitted. The two individuals before us were in striking ontrast in nearly every particular. One was a nere youth, whose age one might rate somewhere c >etween seventeen and twenty, aooording to the cirlumstances under which he was viewed. Almost c eminine iu appearanoe, he seemed, at times, a mere E >oy, until in nis dark brown eyes, so quiet and gen- J le, one read, at times, a flash that revealed the ; pint of heroic daring burning in his bosom. Care- 1 aland tender nurture and aristocratic breeding, I rere recognized in his manner and bearing at the * irst glance. These are often the concomitants of realtn; yet riches do not produce, and poverty v annot take them away. They spring from intrin- c ic excellence, and are as often found in the home if the unfortunate and poor, struggling against J lestiny and fighting the hard battle with life, as in \ he mansions where wealth and plenty preside, -1 nd felicitous fortune, like the slave of the lamp E n the eastern story, stands ready to gratify every 1 apricious and extravagant wish, as soon as it can J >e formed. j Victor Garnett had all the culture thataccompa- ' lies refined wealth ; but, in truth, his family was ( >oor. He was the only son of a widow in greatly 3 educed circumstances, who lived decently, and j ven tastefully, upon an income far less than her ' nost intimate associates dreamed of. Robert Gar- 1 iett, the father, was a skillful and able lawyer, who 1 worked hard, lived high, and died at an age before ( he emoluments of his increasing business had en- 8 bled him to accumulate the means of leaving his ; amily provided for. His widow, Isabella Garnett, 1 ittored no complaints over her changed and altered 8 ircumstances; but from her narrow and contracted J aeans, honestly discharged all debts to the last f arthing: and by carefulness and close economy, ! ontrivea to live in nearly the same style?so far as he public could discover^-to which she had been 1 ocustomed in the life-time of her husband. One wealthy relative she still bad, to whom it was c resumed, she could apply, at anytime, for assistnce, with the certainty of success. Jacob Read, ler maternal uncle, was a childless widower, nearly c ixty years of age, but still hale, robust, and with 1 he promise of many additional years. Isabella 1 rarnctt was the heiress presumptive to his immense state, for though he had a niece married at the t 'forth, she had been separated from him so long c hat he might well have been thought quite to have a orgotten her; and besides, his denunciations of the ( rhole people of the North were so bitter and un- c paring, that it was very reasonably concluded that c le would carefully provide that no one of Yankee a >irth should inherit a cent of his money. With c o wealthy a relative, Mrs. Garnett would not have g >een considered poor by any one of her numerous tcquaintances, and yet, to confess the truth, she had i lAtfAv oinAa tlio /loofk aP kni* KnoKon/1 vaaau'A/1 _ iv t\si i diuvv viiv v^vavu vi uvi uuovniJUj ivvvit vu j he smallest aid or assistance from her wealthy rel- ^ ;tive. i Jacob Read was an extensive owner of slaves, e .nd annuallysold from two to three hundred bales 1 f cotton. He owned several shares in Bank, was c . large bondholder, and year after year added r TeatJy to his overgrown estate by the purchase of ] repertv. He was a prosperous and thriving plan- c er, and did not disdain the smaller gains which a ccrue from sending to market all those smaller c (reductions of his plantation, which add so much ]; 0 the iucome of the prudent and thrifty. Beef, ji nutton, pork, and articlesof daily family consump- i ion, were two or three times a week brought into narket from his plantation and exposed for sale, s Lret never had it occurred to him that an occasional t resent of such articles would have been most ac- j eptable to his widowed niece. Two or three times v 1 month, at stated periods, when business called r lim to the village, he invariably called and dined J vith his niece, at her plain and modest, but well j urnished home. She knew the day when Uncle r Facob would come, and a warm welcome and a ? ihoice dinner ever greeted him. Cheerful and \ ligh-spirited, and loving hospitality as a duty, t Mrs. Garnett delighted to set before him the best t linner that her limited means could command; and s ihe even repelled the thought from her own bosom, r hat the feast which she set before her wealthy rel- [ itive, made her fare the poorer and more scanty \ 'or days to come. Oh! it is a spectacle that must ; sadden the eyes of guardian angels, to look down t lpon the proud and toiling widow, unmurmuring md uncomplaining, who, under a serene and smi- ] ing face, hides the secret of her poverty and dis- ? ress, and with unshaken fortitude and courage, { ights the fierce battle of life, struggling to feed, t md clothe with decency, the young charge that ^ Jod has entrusted to lnfr hands. W ho can fathom s ler midnight thoughts, when the struggle of one f lay is successfully ended, and she begins to think t >f the coming morrow, with its wants looming ] earfully up, like a dark cloud, and hiding the ever j eady hand of a benignant Providence ! The his:ory of her struggle is harrowing, but its lessons y ire sublime. s Jacob Read was not addicted to meddling with t ;he affairs of others. He never ventured to en- i juire, even of his niece, by what means she mana- 3 ;ed to live so decently and genteelly. Proud and j ady-like, she never ventured to obtrude her busi- 1 less affairs upon his notice, though he was the 1 )nly living relative to whoui she had access, .rer- i laps ho shrewdly suspected the true condition of t iffairs, and felt that it would be quite awkward to ( earn from her own lips the stoiy of her poverty i ind hard struggles, without offering to aid and re- 1 ieve her. Blunt and plain of speech, as he usually i was, he had sufficient shrewdness and tact to keep t >ut of sight and hearing of distress that it was his luty to relieve. He was always on the lookout for i jhoals of this description, and managed to give < them a wide berth. But his senses were equally ] is keen for every prospect of gain or advantage.? t [f there was a solvent note which the holder < was willing to part with at a large discount for 1 ready money, by an instinct like that which guides ?* ^ufjSflMS mm^^M, ' I tJHP^ja tv."'4 .'it * The above engraving presents a photographic iriewof the "King's Mountain Military School Duilding, located at this place. There are so many features of interest connected frith this institution, from its establishment in 1855 jntil its close in 1861; when cadets and instructors dike had abandoned it in order to take their places n the tented field, that we feel .constrained to preamt the readers of the Enquirer, with a brief outine of its origin and history. In the year 1854, two young men of high promse and energy, just before their graduation at the South Carolina Military Academy, in Charleston, simultaneously conceived the idea of establishing a Preparatoiy School, for boys; the object of which should be to fit them, in some measure, in advance, il?A vi rv i /T AA11 VTA A-P o4 nn/1 /] t n/vi nlniA ? / */i v* 1 *ww4 ur LUC II5IU WUIOL U1 OIUUJ ailUUlOLiyUUC iUjUIICU n the State Military School. These two young men vera Micah Jenkins and Asbury Cowara?names :hat a few years later had become too well introluced to the people of this State to require any brmal introduction here. These two young men )eing mem here of the same class?by some means? jecame informed as to each others' views, and detided to unite their effort^ in establishing the School. After some consultation, Yorkville was lecided upon as the location for their maiden enerprise. Immediately after graduating in Novem>er, 1854, one of these gentlemen came to this rillage, and made the necessary preparations for tpening the School in January following. The >rospects of success were hopeful only to those wo young men, whom everybody thoaght over anguine. The experiment of a private Military School, where boys were taught the duties of sollicrs at the same time they were learning how to >ecome citizens, was a novel one> to say the least >f it Undeterred by any suspicion of failure, the School ipened in January, 1855. Twelve boys only, precnted themselves at the opening, but the energetic )rincipals did not despond A temporary wooden milding was erected on the site of the present >arrack, which aflswered the purposes of a school 00m. This building was afterwards destroyed by ire. The first session of the infant Military School vore away, and at its close in July, the roll of calets numbered forty-seven. The second Session began in August of the same 'ear, with the roll augmented to sixty boys, and >efore the close of the year, it had run up to eighty, ^ever before had an educational idea met with inch an amount of popular favor, in so brief a iuie. The Preparatory School was a success. L'he admirable discipline?the rigid requirements >f study?the orderly behavior of the Cadets, and ;he thorough control exercised over them?togcth;r with tne competency and popularity of the mouthful Principals, had all united to gi ve the asriring institution a name and fame throughout the state, and to fasten it indellibly upon the affec;ions of the people. The Proprietors were not iglorant of these facts, and a contract was now given >ut for the building of the commodious brick ;tructure, tnat appears at toe neaa or tms arncie. Che continually increasing number of applicants or admission, also admonished them of tne neoeslity of enlarging the curriculum of studies, and >roviding additional instructors. C. A. Seabrook, hen a recent graduate of the South Carolina Colege, was employed as instructor in Latin and Jreek. The limited accommodations, at hand, did lot permit the number of cadets to exceed eighty; ind thus, with Lieut. Seabrook at his post, opened the second year of the school. Shortly after the second Session of'56 h ad opened, he new building was completed, and cadets and ifficers of the School took formal possession. The esources of the School were now much enlarged, ts capacity of accommodation better, and the roll * ? he vulture to his prey, or leads the cat to the hiling place of the rat, he scented the matter out md turned it promptly to his own advantage.? Juiet and prudent, ne knew hew to keep his own ounsel, and since his sharp practices were all conealed, he had, with the public, the reputation of i kind hearted and public-spirited man, whose lealings were marked by great caution and circumpection. Mrs. Gamett had never once thought of applyng to him for assistance of auy kind, but she had low come to a juncture when uncle Jacob's aid vas indispensable. The war had greatly curtailed ler income; while, at the same time, it had greatly mhanced the cost of every necessary and luxury of ife. Her income scarcely amounted to one-half if what it had been in former years, while her cxlenditures had been necessarily increased five-fold. Daily, the cart of her opulent relative passed her loor, laden with marketable provisions for sale, ind the rich man grew daily richer, while the wants if the widow began to make themselves more sore y felt: and how to supply herself with daily food, oomcd up into a question of huge and threatenng proportions. Victor was approaching the eighteenth anniverary of his birthday, an age at which the laws of he land made it obligatory upon him to perform ailitary service. From the first opening of the far he had been feverishly impatient to nave "a ilacencar the flashing of the enemy's guns," but Mrs. Gamett bad prudently insisted upon his apilication to his studies, well knowing tnat the opjortunity he now enjoyed would soon pass away. 5he felt well assured that a long period of warfare fas before him, sufficiently stern and protracted o' satisfy all his aspirations for military life. At he time our story opens, he had returned home to ipend a few days with his widowed parent before dunging into the dark sea of war, whose waves >roke and thundered along'the whole frontier of a and reeline under the shock, but dashing back its vaves, broken, scattered and dispersed, only to reurn again with accumulated violence and strength. With asad, but an unshaken and resolute heart, VIrs. Garnett set about the work of making every reparation for the departure of her son. She lad the brave heart of a Snartan mother, and hough he was the whole worlato her. vet far more villingly would she have seen his bleeding and shattered corpse at her feet, than to know that he ailed in his duty to his country in her hour of rial. 'Yet the widow's heart was indeed sad. Bier face was a shade more pale than usual, but ler fortitude was unshaken. "Mother, " asked Victor, as he sat by her side, vhile she toiled over a suit of coarse grey cloth, itruggling with emotions, almost as painful as hough sne had been busied with the winding sheet ind shroud of her bright eyed son?"mother, are rou able to help me buy ahorse for cavalry service ? yi of my class-mates, who have gone into service, lave joined the Washington Light Horse Compaly, and they wish me to join them. The infantry narches are so fatiguing and hard, I wish to escape hem if I can. I fear I cannot stand them, burlened with r. heavy musket, knapsack, haversack, tnd other things. Besides this, I do not wish to je separated from my old friends. Do you think, Bother, you can spare the means to help me buy a suitable horse ?" Without answering, Mrs. Garnett quietly arose, ind going into an adjoining chamber, soon returnid with a large leathern pocket-book which she placed in the hands of the youth. She sighed as ?he did so?an inaudible and unseen sigh?such as iomes from a heart, burdened with a secret care diat it would hide from every 6ye. Victor opened the pocket-book and counted, in ' '' p?r -^W^ay ftfcpy. 1 aJgiBiraijj^^BI^Wil.... ai^fisi&i^sM wti Wl liaMB?wHMjfii^ii>*i I' i I ^TOaSpjKjS m BS t glories of bis comrades, on the .battle-field. He i died of Typhoid.Fever, at Yorkville, S. C., in A. pril.1860. i The names of. many of the pupils, too, foand a f place upon the roll of martyrs, 'while not a few were adorned with the well-earned titles of regii mental commanders. Thus was t he brilliant promise of the founders . of this School buried in the bitter sacrifices of the r battle-fields of the "Lost Cause/' Colonel Cowi ard survived the war, and in 1866 announced the re-opening of the Institntion under his care as suri viving Pnncipal. of students growing larger every week. To inee these applications, required a stilL further additioi to the roll of instructors, and the services of Lieut E. M. Law, then on the eve of graduation at th< Citadel, in Charleston, was secured for the opening session of 1857. The Preparatory School of Coward & Jenlrin was now established on a solid basis, and its influ ence extended into nearly every Southern State It was no longer an experiment, but a success ii which the people of South Carolina shared th< gratulations and pride of the projectors of the en terprise. From this time forward there was seldon a spare berth in the capacious building nor ever t name erased from the roll, without applicants read) for the place. Additional instructors were sought for, ana the name of Robert EL Thomas, anotnei graduate of the Citadel, appeared the next year as an officer of the institution. Later, the names ol R. T. Harper and J. W. Jamison?the fonnei another Citadel boy, and the latter a graduate at Paris, in France?appeared upon the roll of instructors. The year 1861 opened with the hot breath ol war fanning the seaboard of South Carolina, and the hurrying to and fro of armed men, to participate in the threatened conflict." The Officers ol the "Kino's Mountain Military 8chool" were not idle spectators of this scene? Their military education and experience, caused the people of the up-country, naturally, to turn to them as leaders it marshalling the soldiers of South Carolina for the field, and in leading them in the coming conflict That trust was faithfully met The onivalrout Jenkins became Colonel of the 5th South Caroline Infantry, and from April, 1861, at Fort Sumter, until the bloody field of the Wilderness in May, 1864, he led first,, his Regiment?then his famour Brigade?into nearly every battle field in Virginia; in the hard fought field of Chickamauga ; up the slopes of Lookout Mountain; before the ditches ol Knoxville; and finally, on the 6th of May, 1864, while leading his veteran Brigade to his lost victo ry, fell at its head mortally wounded. South Car olina sacrificed no truer soldier?no more chivalric and gentlemanly officer, than when she gave Brigadier General Micah Jenkins to the "Losf Cause." Capt Asbury Coward and Lieut Jamison conducted the exercises of the School through the first Session of 1861; and then formally closed the institution. Captain Coward entered the Adjutant General's Department in the field?participated it the battles around Richmond, at Manassas in 1862 in Maryland, and finally became CokmoL^f the fiim/mc ?ith Smith f!?rn1ina Infant.rv?fillinc th( vacancy occasioned by the promotion of Jcnkin: to Brigadier General. In this capacity, he remain ed until the surrender of the cause at Appomattos Court House, in 1865. Lieut E. M. Law resigned his Professorship in the School in 1859, and removed to Alabama, That State called him to the lead of one of bei best Regiments?the 4th Alabama. Several time.' wounded, and acting a conspicuous part in all the great battles of Virginia?promoted to Brigadiei General, and leading a Brigade from Fredericks burg until the surrender in 1865, he well met th( expectations qf his Alma Mater, and sustained the confidence of the State of his adoption. The other Professors in this Institution?Jami son and Harper?sustained each acreditablepart ii the war. Lieut C. A. Seabrook entered service as Cap tain of the Jasper Light Infantry; and, while faith fully doing his duty as Assistant Adjutant Genera of Jenkins* Brigade, fell at Manassas Plains, Au gust 30, 1862. Gallant, accomplished, and belov; ed, he yielded the precious sacrifice that all stooc ready to offer. 4 4R&piiescat in pace.'' Lieut R. K. Thomas?a noble youth of but 2L years?was not permitted to share the dangers anc silence, its scanty contents. There were just one hundred dollars, in Confederate currency, and a note of hand upon a neighboring planter, for an equal amount, with interest, payable at the close oi the war. 4'Is this all the money you have, mother?" enquired Victor, looking full into his mother's face, with an expression of painful astonishment. "It is all I have on hand, at this time, Victor," replied his mother evasively; 44but you see there, also, a note of hand payable after the war, which will be of more service to you than the Treasury notes." 4'What other notes, or papers of value, have you, mother?" asked he, while his scrutinizing glance rested upon her face. "That is all l have, Victor," replied his mother, with an indescribable sadness in her face and tones. 44We are not rich, Victor; we are very poor; but I am more than willing to spend the lust dollar I have in equipping you for service. If wliat i nave given you is not enough to buy you a suitable norse, give whatever price seems to you just and reasonable, and I will secure the debt, by a mortgage on our home, rather than see you unprovided for." . "Oh! mother, there is not enough here to pay your expenses for even three months," responded the youth, with touching sadness, as he poised the light pocket-book in his hands?"and think you, I would rob you of your little all ? No, mother, no! the thought would be too heavy a burden to bear. It would be sweeter far to fall with weariness, and perish by the road side, than thus to employ your little means. But, mother?now dc not deceive me?what resources have you when these scanty means are exhausted ?" "He who feeds the ravens, and marks the fall of the sparrow will not fail me in my hour of need," replied his mother with touching solemnity. "The Lord, who met the bond-woman by the way-side? even Jehovah Jireh?is my trust. Let him be your God and counsellor, too, Victor; for more than ever now, you will need His guidance and support and protection.'' Tne youth averted his eyes, and a slight flush kindled on his check. He was more than comnionly sensitive and reserved, and there are thoughts in the human heart, thoughts that underlie all others, that seem, especially to the sensitive, the reserved and the young, too sacred and solemn to be uttered aloud, even to the ear of a sympathizing mother. The heart guards them in sacred silence, even like the unwhispered secret of a first and early love. After a silence of a few seconds, during which tima Victor had closed the pocket-nook and deposIi-J Ia it. IIJ _?_l, Vnol.^4. 1... lieu 11 uu me iiu 01 111c yiuin-uooM-i u? uia winner's side, he suddenly turned to her ana spoke with a brightened face. "Mother I" said he, with something of renewed animation, "I have been thinking of applying to uncle Jacob Read to assist me in purchasing a horse. Having so much staked on the issue of the war, he surely will aid in equipping a soldier, so near akin to him as I am." Mrs. Garnctt was silent, for a moment, before she replied. "Your uncle Jacob is not a very liberal man, Victor," said she reluctantly. "I would not have you think evil of him, but he loves money, I fear, too well. He complains that his taxes are very high, and he thinks, in this way, he contributes his fair share to the support of the country. Ii you desire it, you can at least make a trial of him.'' "It is not for myself, mother, but for the country, that I appeal to him. He has no son, no kinsmat in the service, and however much the war maj press upon otners, it has increased, rather than di i -ror two years, ana now entering upon tne tnira, ' he has been training, for the different Colleges, as fc well as instructing independently, a few young men whose parents have been fortunate enough to me i something out of the wreek of the past, for that f purpose. He has employed the servioes of Lieut. James A. Watson, as Asosfant Instructor?a grad; uate of Davidson College, N. C., and a thorough - scholar and gentleman. The commodious buildings. known years ago as utlie barracks," are still used P for the purposes of the school. 1 One word more on the system of instruction adopted at this school. , . , P The military basis of this school is an important > adjunct to the plan of instruction. The great ,dif' ficulty heretofore experienced in Southern Colleges, s was to preserve discipline .in so far as discipline i was necessary to instruction. But this could not be t easily accomplished under the ordinary methods of Collegiate government Students did not respect i their Professors?obtyed.no directions that dianot i suit their inclinations, and recognized only one pen, alty for gross infraction of rules?that of suspen, sion. It needs no logic to demonstrate the futility > that must attend all efforts to instruct a youth, ; who refuses to submit hisconduct to the control of s his instructors. If discipline then is a necessary f ingredient of the plan of instruction, how was the , fiery Southern youth to be brought under the con trol of instructors to a sufficient extent to meet all the requirements in the recitation "room? They s would not submit to what boys and youth' are air ways delighted to term the tyranny of Professors. ' The question had found a solution in the working of the State Military Academies, where military i discipline had been resorted to?a form of discips line which operated through the esprit du corps of t the young men?which made disobedience dishoni orable, because unsoldieriy; and which taught obe, dienceas the highest duty of tjbe. soldier. Th<^ > plan succeeded beyond all expectation in the parent : school, and a modification of this plan, in some uni important features, was that adopted at the Pre paratory School at Yorkville. This idea is still : acted upon in the conduct of the school. Although the military pride and spirit of the people of the > South seems to have been utterly crushed, yet the sagacious Principal of this school still uses his r military regulations, as the code of school discipline, j The school, as now conducted, preserves the i military feature just far enough to enable the r Principal to insure that amount of obedience and subordination, that experience has demonstrated ) to be necessary for imparting instruction. It eni tails no harshness or severity upon the student; but at the same time enforces order, punctuality, - and behavior. The military feature is, therefore, i secondary and subordinate. . The location is beautiful and healthy, being sit uated upon the ridge dividing Broad and Catawba Rivers, and swept by the balmy air from King's 1 Mountain. During the whole existence of the school, from January, 1855, until July, 18<H, but - one death occcurred among the students?that of I John Palmer, of Charleston. For beauty, health. salubrity of climate, and exemption from immoral 1 associations, the location of this Institution is 1 unexcelled. i minished, his resources. We hare never asked aid i of him to the value of a farthing, and I think we i are justified in calling upon him now/ As time is F precious, I will go and see him at once." "Do not be disappointed, Victor, if he declines ' helping you," said his mother, as he rose tofeave the room. "Your uncle Jacob may take a different view of matters from that which presents itself to you. If my credit will avail anything towards the purchase of a horse, jfbu are at liberty to use i it freely. You will not go to uncle Jacob's on foot?" "No, mother, I shall call by Harvey Haley's," 1 replied Victor, "and he will lend me his horse unless he has special need for him." Bidding bis mother good evening, Victor took his way through the streets of the old village, to the farm of Harvey Haley. The residence of Mrs. Garnett was on one of the most respectable and quiet back streets of a gleasant village, in the middle country of South arolina. The village was located on a plain, naturally poor, sandy and uninviting, but taste and art had done much to render it beautiful and attractive. Although Spring bad but begun to breathe upon her realm, made bare by the ngore of winter, yet the neat white cottages, embowered among evergreens and facea by cheerful flower gardens, neatly paled in, where iohnquills and otner early flowers of Spring had already begun to enamel the earth, with here and there clustering vines just bursting into leaf, made a pleasant pic; ture to look upon. The well beaten side-walks, along every street, were bordered by wide-branchins oaks, making a long arcade, shady, cool and refreshing, when the Summer's sun rose to the ze> nith. Then, the old village was in its loveliest attire, with all its clean, sanay streets, anditssmooth, level side-walks, sheltered by long avenues of dark green oaks; its white cottages with green Venetian Blinds, and its cheerful flower gardens bordering the streets and filling the air with delicious fra- . grance. , Victor, however, did not pass through the vil- i lage; but crossing one or two old fields, to the rear of the house, where the decaying stems of the last i year's weeds were still thickly standing, soon fell i n .rcoll-fmrlrtnn Bill A nath- SPnftr?lffid frDITl thfi i ; public road only by a deep ditch. Hastening a- i , long this path, a mile or more, he turned to the left into a narrow Jane that debouched obliquely into the road. Following this, for a few minutes, *he i | came suddenly, by an abrupt turn in the road, upon one of those weather-beaten structures?old, decaying and out of repair?which one so often meets i with in the neighborhood of towns and villages, < standing among its freshly-painted and decorated i compeers, like some sturdy rustic of antiquated i customs and manners, disdaining the fashion, the 1 style and the more modern manners, that new set- i i tiers, from the more polished world, have intro- < duced into the rugged and old fashioned communi- i , ty in which they five. j > It was an humble "log house" before which Vint - etiwl ftnnftistimr or two loc nens seDarated 1 T IVW4 ? ? ?"D r * # i by an open passage-way, having shed rooms in the 1 rear, and a piazza in front A field of some fifteen , or twenty acres lay to the rear, and about fifty i s yards to the left of this primitive structure, was a small enclosure, containing a group of some four or ' five log buildings, among which were the barn and i stables. Other necessary outbuildings lay on the P other side and to the rear of the dwelling house. A few straggling trees, of native growth, stood a, round the building, and, here and there, in (he i yard, and scattered through the field, the bright ' pink bloom of the peach relieved the eye. Pulling the bare, Victor took his way to the door of the dwelling, undeterred by a couple of fierce looking a dogs that imbed furiously toward him. ' a Down 1 Turk; down, Flora I" cried hem they seemed ready to leap upon abd devour him. In f an instant, the rage of the powerful brutes seemed a Changed into the wildness of joy. They'crouched t at his feet, whining with uncontrollable pleasure, leaped fewningly upon him, and boanded firwrft- n cally around, barking in their eager dehght "Afif r you know me againT" cried he. "Yon hare riot. a mya old playmates, forgotten' the many long and a exciting hunts we have had together." tl The attention of Viator was, at this juncture, p diverted from the dogs to their owner; who, with b hatchet iu baud, came around from the rdar of the c building where he had been at wort. I "Why, hallo 1 Victor, my fine fellow!" said the 0 stranger, as he advanced; "Is this ycm?" Why C how you have grown since our coon hunt last M! j< And Turk and Flora, I see^havn't forgot you yet e You can^otmt oifthe brutes when you canTcotifiF n on aaything^i^. They don't turntbeir backs ?m v you,iibt even if -jrou were to' come in. rage. But t! come into the house." ... a "T ^ 1 r?rr? f l tiave uiuy ? uiuiuic lv ouy, ?vj?? [Victor, "i am going into serviee in a day or two, and as I wish to go into' the cavalry, I must see y uncle Jacob Read, to get him to help me purchase u a horse." "Uncle Jacob! hey Victor?" responded Harvey c Haley, shaking his head dubiously. "He might n sell you a horse at atip top-war price, but he'll hard- f< ly help you to bay one. xoucan't gather dew-tarries from cane grass! I don't wan't to say it to o you, Victor, but old Jacob Read's Gods are in his old leather pocketrbook." ? "He u very economical and careful," replied n Victor. 4 "E-co-nom-i-cal!" ejaculated Harvey, pronoun- tl ring the. word slowly ana with disdain; "Well 1 I ft rather reckon you can say so 1 Its no perjury to k swear that live eels don't stick to your hands like pitch." oi "I can, at all events, give him a fair trial," re- si sponded Victor. "I nave never asked a favor of gi him yet, and never shall ask one purely personal. But unless men of wealth will come to the rescue U and assist in equipping soldiers, we can have no s( efficient cavalry force." h "Try him then, Victor," rejoined Harvey Ha- a ley; "make your approaches on every ride, but b you'll find him a tough old Malakoff. V J rather b make a charge oo Cburubusoo and Chapultepee oi again, than try to get a lame, blind, and yiricus old vi mule from Jacob Read, for the service oj^he oountry. I'm willing to help you make the tnaL" ." "I will have to bee your assistance, Harvey," a responded. Victor. "1 am afoot,. and J wish to k borrow 'Snip' for a ride to uncle Jacob's: sc "You're welcome to Snip, Victor," replied Bar- J* vey; "but I'll tell you, you bad better save your- b sen the ride to Jacob Head's and take Snip for * ninety-nine years or the war. If you both come ei out safel you can bring him back to his old stable; if not, my good boy, I can send a horse as freely h as a widow can send her only son." h "I thank you, Harvey, but so heavy a burden < , must not fall on your shoulders," rejoined Victor. P "I think I can arrange with uncle Jacob for the b purchase of a horse. If not I can even try ope * campaign on foot. I should like to go at once, and b I will see you as I return." f "Weill said .Haryey. Haley, in the tone and h with the air of a man who gives up his opinion ? reluctantly, "you can try it! Let's go to toe stable." . , n Taking his bridle, Harvey at once proceeded to the stable, accompanied by Victor, and Snip was ir brought forth, bridled slid saddled. He was a superb stallion, fall sixteen hands high,- and evi- ? dently a thorough-bred. It required only a glance to see, that with all his strength and compactness, * he was a9 active as & cat, ana. as fleet as the wiudt " "Now there!" said Harvey, surveying the baautifu! animal as he buckled tbe girth ana stepped J back a.pace or two, "no man needs a better horse 81 than Snip; and he is yours, Victor, if you will only g accept bun. Don't think me a fool ibr offering bl him to you freely. I want to see you mounted as. a well as the best man in the army, and there is no better horse in tho country. Again : the impres- I? sing agent will be along,' some or these days, and before Snip shall be taken off by some whiskey- pj swilling flunkey, I'll draw my knife across bis ? throat! Let them send a boy with an empty 8( sleeve to impress and I am dumb; but no be-wnis- D kered, hearty young man, who ought to be in the * ranks, shall touch hair or halter of Suip; and if h they send here one fit for the ranks, I'll make him u fit for tbe hospital, before he gets outof my hands, b if I have to kick him around a ten acre field." ? Victor could not forbear a smile as he listened ^ to the indignant language of the generous Harvey Haley, who waxed more and more warm in his in- Q dignation, until his swarthy cheeks were kindled ai into a glow. The knowledge that Harvey would .. be much more apt to exceed than fall short of his {J threats, rather increased than diminished the ** mirthfulness of his smile. With an eye, sparkling {* at the idea of Harvey following up an impressing 1)1 agent with his heavy-soled boots, and waxing ? more emphatic and choleric at each blow, he dm * not trust himself to speak again, bat pressing the * hand of Harvey, leaped into the saddle and can- n tered away. Returning along the same road, over which he 13 had just come, he passed through the streets of a the neat and pleasant village, and taking the main road into which all the streets led on the farther uj side of the town, he found himself upon the highway leading to the plantation of his wealthy kinsman. About three miles from the village, he reached the first fields belonging to the plantation, Hi and cantering a mile farther, he turned, at right f angles, to the left, into a long, straight avenue, at 10 'he farther end of which were visible the buildings pi of the wealthy proprietor, distant nearly a mile , from the highway. - - - 80 W 01 CHAPTER IL th The mansion of his grand-unde, before which b Victor dismounted, was a large and weather beaten Y structure with no pretentions to taste or elegance. 111 The horse-lot, #witn its substantial buildings, com- n( prising capacious barns, stables, and sheds for the ra various venicles about the place, stood to the left ca of the house and somewhat in front. About fifty "< yards in front of the house wu3 a gate opening into th an enclosure, embracing about an acre. As he entered this, the stables lay to his right and on his hi left, but beyond the enclosure, were the work-shops bi of the plantation, whence came the sound of tne w< bellows, and of hammers ringing upon the anvil et In the horse-lot was a gang of laborers, gathering ac into vast heaps the piles oflitter which, from time ta to time, had Deen strewn over the lot and cast into oo the stables. Wagons were rolling in with straw, ei newly gathered from the woods, and others were tc hauling, into the ac^jaccnt fields, manure from the oo newly raised heaps. The whole place presented a hi picture of stirring and active industry. "To the^ h< sides and rear of the mansion were various offices, H comprising the kitchen, loom-house, store-room, m dairy, smoke-house?with its never-railing quad- wi rangular roof?and buildings for the house-ser- to vants. To the left, as one entered the house, was co a well-stocked garden, and against the wall which enclosed it, sheltered under a hedge of mock or- H - ? * . 1-- t! A ange, stood some twenty or tmrty Dee-mves. jo. uu few scattering oaks, of large 8izet with here and there a sycamore, or Pride of India, oj flowering so shrub, sheltered the well-swept and sandy yard; m< and in a corner, near the horse-lot, stood the well, with its old fashioned sweep, and, conveniently m near, the trough which conveyed the water to the di, cattle in the lot. Securing ms horse in the enclosure of which we have spoken, Victor entered into H the yard, by a small gate, and advanced along the vi walk to the piazza. As he was ascending the hi steps, his attention was attracted by the shutting of a gate a few yards to his left, and dancing in gi that direction, he saw his grand-uncle advancing to tb receive him. He had evidently been among his workmen at the blacksmith and wood shops, and hi seeing a visitor arrive, he had hastened on to the te: dwelling to receive him. Victor had abundant leisure to examine his per- -J sonal appearance as he approached the steps along gi the side-walk. His stout, musoular, and powerful ca frame, caused him to appear some inches lower w than he really was. He seemed a short, broadchested man, of great strength and endurance; V had a grave, business air and a face that never w lighted up with a smile. He was neatly, but plain- ft ly, dressed in blue homespun, and wore a white of broad-brimmed hat, with a black band, crumpled I and worn, but still unsoiled. His wide shirt collar, w tied with a black riband, was scrupulously neat, "I am glad to aee yon. Victor,'' mid rithout even a momentra relaxation of hi^^pwyw nd business-like air. -"Come, walk mt? U?> owe ; it is too oool to ntop tiw piacxa:tocday.? . Victor followed hiskiosuap into k-oleioiyjfo?rf ^ed^botoomfgUbkiroom, wbet*V(ire painfiilly broken conversation follows. As liofle witb^wjioni becamecontact, yet Jt bought in the mind of Jacob Read. cotild caroely conceive of sfcck-*- tkingatfa membraotable and friendly visit, witho<rt atone oftoio*?fatJ *t He made a remark br two about thnweskv r, made polite enquiries'lis to the MkkftNf 46> ieee, and after a few degaltory'iiniaff iiaetoiki> ?alAnaAi) infA nleaaiaoi- iiaonnstmutofflurlaiftj FM) IClQ^iJOU IUW DiiVDw^ ? ^ &re^ > jnd, now ^d Jhen ^Wjj^jjjj^ " ' he object of bis visit. . jJ't'zu Iq cjb /T sen y<? have oqtfe auun^ fcnpf about, ou, uode Jacob," paid Victor, at frst ig the otgect of ms visit. If' ' Humph I yes," replied his grand-nncfe. basing at him, as if to read his thougfctsj iany idle. At five;d<!iilf?)mii^ro^tfLiaar jed costs me no little." /! \ ' ^'Woiddjoa wish torefl one ofJauDo vou knovr^ any one 'wW wiabps tcrlfcry;1 rictor?" asked his grind uncle, suddenly'kiolring' pp.'. ; . f&r^r '! > rttftOl CifT"*? "Yes sir," replied ViQtof,cointog^ddeufrUr le point, UI wish to enter into rnnitf oummb irthwith, and have oome over this evening to now if yon can lend or aeB meai horse:" wt J *io Jacob Read laughed' aloud: i It W^otTn janial r iuvoluntaiy laugh, Mt a voluntary and xprafri iye one, which was intended, iad^.to^MgtmLM Kid deal .. r Tin vn:ifi na "I haye lward, Victor, of Iendi^Wa^jfc > mill, said he; "or to dba. day. rpjorag, 4? imetimes do myself; hut this ave ever heard of lending a horse as a mark tor lionie bullets and bomb shells h The lender had, stter make a gift at once; for his prospect would' b bnt slight of ever seeing his hdrsOfcgain. Nine at of ten cavalry hones are rtarredowbot inaeff ioe." . i\:cu ::}rrr.rt(XlJj "That'is very true, ?r?!* rerfiedVietdtyoadtif? and it shefrs what a heavy drain thtvetis en ran ivahy, and what Sacrifices ouvht-to d*mud*T? eep up this important 'im of. the terries 11* ildiers who risk theirowH !faul*?dmb?t dafylV % irvioe, are, many of t^)ltpo,pMifrfmht& orses, since thev have given un all means of nfe. rahty of le indigent soldier can risk his own Ufo flatly, pa, attlej surely, the wealthy, can risk is horse tq cany ^There is sometruth In' lied Jacob Bead; "but the. wealthy, eyed how, aye burdens enough-' What becowfeuF thewBJBBr pay in taxesf IM\tht^d?#h ay cavalry hones.'. Tbra^fcftdeiri^ raally distributed. The man IjtlMp&wjkfr pkjfi is taxes according, to law, dees his, duty just s* illy as the soldier in theHeki" 'The', soldier in the fidd, Who leaves his mterefct eglected at home, has jdrt as heavy a tax to pay n his property. asthe nan whowbdtiodakfcaW i making money," replied Victor.--*41^'*" Vdwiouj uAyel xephed Jaoob Bead, "but: kelp many in yon Mine whopay mire than a mere trifiel J: "Then, Uncle JaXb>" xepUwd Vieto* <??*? > much the more need that those who are shfe aouldassist ukaputtpingthem." . "Don't I do that in paying my tax?e?'7 mked acob Beta. - "I pay a very,Lug? a wont, I Mi ire; it is a heavy burden^as I can testify* Ifw* overnment squanders of nlisappfise it^Who iato lame? Let them take the money,aad bar m lany cavalry horses as they need." Jbosdas* Well, Uncle Jacob," replied Victor, 1 J wfll not iscufis the guestipn with you "as to jrwfter we aght to confine ourselves to the strict rcqpireWfitf f the law, in siding our government, at a tim ke thi^when property and hberty areJxrthTM nd I propose^to buy one from you > let all my pay as a soldier be employed. io payig you. , If I escape disease aha bm|fita^o<ma e paid every dollar t if the horse is not kiUea "at io close of the war, his sale will help to pay you.' f I am killed early, and the hone is omajtrred, on will, at worst, only have been deprived of Jus se a short time, tor which pay monthly pay will mply reimburse you." / " r-i ;-J-fT "Bless me 1" returned Jacob Readvwho had stened attentively to hispropoRticB, 'whatamnh* jrof'ifs'go to that: bargain 1 Business ir bum* BS8, Victor, and when I nuke a bargain, it must j one that has some limits mod fewer mffi I m't make a bargain on sooh indefinite terms. * H were able to give Tea* horse I would gbully do >, bat in these war times laakpoor, Yitist*j sally poor I It is nothing but taxes?Uys^tlJ' s! I almost think, the man who has no-ptoperty ^better off than one who has so muon to. ne w"I can make yoa an of&o without an 'if' ncle Jacob," responded Victor, who felt ashamed * the illiberality and meanness of his idatxv&-rr My mother has a note on Josiah Thompson ftt ie hundred and fifty dollars. It was given before le war. and, of course, will be equal to gpldand Iver when paid I am wifling to give tms for i lerably good horse. Will yon take this ndte hM rovide a horee for me ?" _ **7 "Equal to gold and silver? Well! I should mbt that," replied Jacob Bead "The man is Ivest now, ana able to pay all he may own; bin bo knows what he may be wotthwhen the war t| rer? Besides, debts may yet be paid in Ooftfede* to currency, and who would bo wilibgto take at amount in Confederate money fcr-aImree?^i these days, it would not boy a lean eow* No, ictor, it would be a great riskto run. Take me, my good feflow^ and look abonf yoo; the ite may bring youm a suitable home; but, I ther think, I nave none that I can spare. Ifl in help you, at any time, come to me with oenft* mce. I am resolved to do all I can for yoo, but lese are very stringent times?very?very 1" Victor, with a flush on his cheeky rose to take s leave. Jacob Bead pressed htm to remain, it, in truth, he felt too great a oontempt for his jalthy relative to trust himselflonger in his pres> tee. He knew that his clear annual income was i almost fabulous sum, even after the payment of zes and all other expenses. He knew that hs old have assisted him in purchasing n horse, or en have furnished him one from his stables gxa? itously, and not have felt even a temporary nvenience by his act of liberality. Victor took i .All 1 J ? s leave respecnuuy anu ceremumuiuuy, auu ? >or thereafter was again at the door of Harvegr aley, to return his borrowed horse, having fully ode up his mind to make no further attempt, Ith his slender means, to purchase a horse; hat forego his cherished wishes, and enter an infantry mpany. "bo you got the horse, Victor." said Harvey aley, looking into the bight ana cheerful face of ir hero. . - 1 . "I failed completely, Harw^ ie&raedti^, uling; uncle Jacob Was too poor to lend or hire a one, and too suspicious to selL'^ "Drot his stingy old soul 1 I hope the Yankees ay harry him yet 1" exclaimed Harvey Hidey ingnantly. / ' v?'' ''Don t cherish any evil thoughts against him, arvey," replied Victor, in a pleaaanttooc. "E1 wishes, like birds, come home toiooaL He is done me no harm, and I wish him none." "But, Victor, the stare old ouss eoold have ven you. a half-dozen norses and. notmissed em, penutswu xiorvcy. "Perhaps it is best as it is," replied Victor; *1 ive thought over the matter well, and I have dermined to join an infantry company.H "No, Victor, yon don't!" exclaimed Harvey. Here's Snip, as good a hone as ever trampled ass under foot?you shall take him and join the valry. Now don't say 'no,' for I see your heart set on joining the cavalry. "Indeed, you are mistaken, Harvey," responded ictor. 'Tor many reasons that have lately occurd to me, I think it better to join the infantry. I tank you very much for your kind and generous Fer, but my mind is fully made up now. Were to lose my horse, since I cannot replace him, I ould have to take my place in any infantry oom[CONTDfUlD ON IBS POUBTH PAOft] I i i i_uij_aiiiiii?MumtLLXLL