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LEWIfj5*e?^Ds^' ' Hn lii^nibnit Jawlj P?Wr: i?r % Irowtfa^^ |tlitical, gtcial, ^gritatoral anb Coimntraal gidtrtstsof % jSiifr j^ VOL. 14. YOBKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 33, 1868. ., ; ]SrQ^3C>.? JU Original Ilauvelcttc Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ISOLETTE, THE FEMALE SP1 A STORY OF CHARLESTON INS THE WAR. BY J. WITHERSPOON ERVIN. f f Buck number* of the "Exqcinn," from the commcncetot of thli Story, can be furs 1thed to new subscriber*. One Doll tor three mouth*. J CHAPTER XV. Chuckling pleasantly to himself at the trap i which the veteran Giles Shorter had suffered hie self to be caught, Captain Carbcrry rejoined tl guard and led them back to their bivouac at tl Grimball House, only replying in answer to the fi miliar interrogatories that were made of him, > to the cause of alarm, that the young pickets hi certainly killed one, and possibly two yankees, an captured their boat with a prisoner, who seem? to be a most desperate character; and that t judged it fit to leave him in their keeping unt daylight, when he might be forwarded safely I camp. As the guard emerged from the grove in* the moonlight, the captain took' the wise precai Ion nf makinc his men trail arms, carrying thei very low, that tbeir glittering might not betrs their movements to the enemy, who had not y< entirely ceased their firing. "Corporal," asked the captain, when they ha regained the place where they had made the bivouac, ' is Giles Shorter with yon ?" "He is not here, Captain," replied the corpora "and 1 wonder at it, for Giles is generally promj enough, when an alarm is given." "Please, Corporal, to look around and ascertai where Giles is, and send him to me," 6aid the caj tain. "I particularly desire to see him. You ma] by a short search, find him asleep under some tre< I)o Lawrie, my boy, step into the room and coi suit my watch, hanging over the mantel board, an see what hour it is; and hark you, Lawrie, if does not want more than two hours to day ligh put a little fuel on the fire. I am chilled' by tb night air and can scarcely sleep again." Lawrie, in a few minutes, returned and reporte that it was half past three, and that the fire wt kindled. "Now, my good Lawrie, you saw where I slej to-night?just at the foot of that live oak; gatbc up my blankets and carry them in to the fire, an also look on the ground, and you will find m coat?my suspenders, too, Lawrie ; I am nc formed for hip-breeches, and I am weary of hole ing on to the waistband of my pantaloons, like miller tugging at the corner of a corn sack. Brin them into the chamber. I will sit there by th fire and smoke until daylight." Some 91 x or eight soldiers, chilled by the nigl breeze, followed the captain in to share the genii warmth of the fire. Clustering around the heartl on terms of perfect social equality with the con mandcr, they lighted their wooden pipes, and soo the room was clouded with their smoke. In a fe minutes Lawrie appeared at the door with tl captain's baggage. 4'Spread my blankets in that corner, Lawrie, said the captain, indicating the place with a ge ture; "I cannot sleep any more, but I will lie dow and rest till morning. Bid you fiud my coat ac suspenders, Lawrie?" "Your coat wasn't there, Captain," answers Lawrie, but here's your breeches and gallowses." "My pantaloons, you mean?but they are n< mine, I am sure. I don't carry a spare suit c picket," replied Carberry. "Why, Captain, what ails your legs!" exclain ed Robin Lassiter, whose attention was attractei by the conversation, to the captain's dress. "Ms 1 be everlastingly walloped, if you ain't got yoi jacket on where your pantaloons ought to be, an your legs in the sleeves!" "Bully of me?that is a fact," cried the captaii looking down. "I thought it was a queer fit Look here, men, don't let this be spoken of ou side of this chamber, or I'll never hear the last i it. Hold up your hands, like good fellows, ac let me swear you all to secrecy." "I am agin all swearing, Captain," replied ot of his men, when the roar of laughter that follot ed the exposure had subsided. "lo-morrow mgi we'll be off duty, and next day have leave to { into the city. If you will treat the crowd rig] handsomely, Captain, you may count on me, f one, to hold my tongue. If you don't?" andtl speaker laughed and shook his head?"you'll ne er hear the last of it" "A treat, Captain, a treat!" responded one ai another?"and the matter ends right here." "Very well, boys," replied the captain, stead ing himself by the mantel board, while by La' rie's assistance he managed to divest himself the misplaced garment, "I surrender at discretio and accept your own terms. Honor bright noi boys ; never mention this to a living soul. I co fess, I felt?now pull the other leg, Lawrie?sleev< aye well then, sleeve, over my loot?like I hi been melted and poured in, and I thought the was an ugly rent where there ought to be non but, to tell the truth, I neyer suspected anythii wrong. God! what a figure I would have cut < dress parade." At this moment, Corporal Sweeny opened t door and diverted the captain's thoughts. "Well, Corporal," said he, "did you find Gil Shorter?" "I have looked everywhere, Captain," repli the subordinate, "but Ijcan't find him." "I hope no harm has oocurred to Giles; but it a very strange thing," said the captain, "that afl such an alarm as we have had to-night, GL should be ought of place. I fear something wrong." "Giles was bent. Captain, on seeing if th< young fellows were doing their duty, ' ctumea Robin Lassiter, "and he intended to play a tri on them, as they were but raw recruits, and se< he couldn't get their guns away and bring th( into camp. It's a poor opinion of raw soldi Giles has, any way." "Is Giles a very sound sleeper?" asked the ? , tain. "Why, bless you, no !" answered Robin La: ter; "Giles never will sleep, as long as he can f anybody to talk to. When I dropped to sleep J night, Giles was still talking to me; and when are on post together, his tongue goes all nigl and I don't kn^wwhy it is, but instead of keep; me awake it puts me right off to sleep. Gile tond of keeping awake and talking." "Perhaps, Robin, after you slept, he went to find a better listener in some of the pickets post," respouded the captain. "As for myselj sleep very soundly. I was scarcely awake to-nij until I felt the warm glow of this fire. I'm aim a somnambulist, I fear;" and the captain, v had now betaken him to his blaqkets in the cor of the chamber, shook his head and looked v sad. "A what, did you say. Captain ?" asked Ro I^assiter. "I've been a hunter more'n thirty-i years, and I hain't hearn of a critter, on wooc swamp, of that name, yet." "A somnambulist, Robin; have you never s a man walking about in his sleep with his e wide open, doing everything as reasonably as if was awake, and yet know nothiug of what he 1 done when ha was really awake?" > "Yes, Captain; I saw a man once?out in Mas sissippi bottom, twenty years ago?swim a bayoi ? where the alligators, in the day time, were thicke than you ever saw lizards on an old fence track i Spring. We called to him and tried to stop hire r Sam Stockbridge was down at the water's edge '" fishing for cats, and he got in Holiday's way to tr and dissuade him; but Holliday went around hit as naturally as if he was awakerand into the wate he went; and after swimming across, took u camp under an old cypress, where he slept unt ,Bt morning. Next morning we could hardly mak ^ the fellow believe he had swam across. He walke over a bluff into the Massissippi one night, and doubt mightily if he has waked up yet And that' ;Q what you call a socambulist ?" a. "A somnambulist, Robin?somnambulist. ie fear I am one. You may be sure, I could, no ,e have boen awake when I dressed myself. No wid a. awake man would ever have dressed himself as ^ did. I remember a good deal that took place to - I h.,*. wvilvvno* iliotinrttltf TJnw ili/1 T o/vf ^(J UlgUL, UUb UUbUlilK utniiiivuj. uvn vitu a ?v? |cj Corporal, when we went to inquire into the alarm ^ Did I act like a man fully awake? Did I shot ie any discretion and judgment?" .y "Well yes, captain," answered corporal Swin ney, "you acted splendid! You sent us unde l() cover, out of the fire of the enemy, and made u lm trail arms when we come out of the grove into th m low shrubbery. No body could have shown bet iy ter judgmeut. You done just as I would havi done, captain." "Thank you, corporal, for your compliment,' y returned the captain; "if I did well, I suppose i jr was all habit?mere habit. I'm wideawake now and I would like to go down to the point to knot j what tale those youngsters really did tell me. don't think I questioned their prisoner very close ly, which you know I would hqve done if I hat Q not been walking in my sleep. I think you hai v better take a guard?a file of men will do, corpc . ral?and go down and gather what facts you cai from the prisoner. I must send off a report t< camp at daylight, so please to get a detailed ac y count from those young men on post, of the fact y as they really occurred?or to use the phrase o i one of our most popular writers?as they 'trans e pired.'" "Transpired, Captain?" asked Swinney. ^ "Yes that's the word, corporal," rejoined th' captain; "find out all that'transpired in its ex act order; and hark you, corporal, try to find ou whether those youngsters suspected I was walkinj in my sleep. If they did not. discover it, don' j breathe a word of it? It would weaken my influ ence and authority as an officer, to let my afflictioi ^ be known. This is the first time, however, I havi ^ - i a .? 1 1 ] T 1 i been trouoiea wim sucn a weakness, aua x jjujt ^ it will be the last time. And, one more word, cor poral; go the rounds among the men on picket g and see if you can learn anything of Giles Shorter I suppose he must be there; if you find him, se t that he returns with you; men must not be per j mitted to straggle away from their place. H< j must remain with the picket reserve, for there i ' no telling at what time he may be needed. At tend to my orders, corporal, and report back ii time tor me to write out ray report by daylight (e That is all?you can go now, corporal: only carry i couple of spades with you." n Tite corporal saluted, and taking a file of sol diers, withdrew to perform the duty required o m him^ Giles Shorter was chafing?no that is too weal a word?but, to use the expression of corpora ^ Swinney, when reporting the matter on his return i was llrip-snort\ng" under his treatment. Firral believing that he had a yankee prisoner in charge Jt young Prescott was at no pains to mitigate hi 'n treatment by a relaxation of the stringency of hi orders. There was vengeance and death in his de ?" termined eye, and poor Giles, driven to frenzy an ' desperation by the humiliation of being unde iy guard, and of being forsaken, in his extremity, b ** his captain, had not the self-control to render hi position an easy ttnd quiet one by silence, an submission to inevitable necessity. He wept wit! aj rage, and swore as terribly as "did our army i Flanders," notwithstanding the only effect was t l* increase his humiliation and trouble, by subjoctin ^ himself to marking time, at whatever step his guar chose to prescribe. Giles was a strong and brave man, but his rage was so great that h ,e blubbered like a school-boy. . "Let him sit down and rest, Prescott;" intei posed Victor, whose feelings were touched by th prisoner's distress. "No, 1 must obey orders," responded Prescot! or drilv: "if he will not keep his tongue quiet, h 3e must mark time." v* "Here !' I will take him under my own eharg , awhile," said Victor, hearkening to the stron promptings of humanity. He took his place b the prisoner, while Prescott withdrew moodily, an y* seated himself by the tree where they first too post. ?f "Now, my good man, you may rest awhile, D> said Victor to his prisoner. "Take your seat c that ledge, and endeavor to be quiet, obey order n" and I will make you as comfortable as I may."Victor pointed, as he spoke, to a ledge of eartl oiossy and soft, just above high tide mark, whic re afforded a convenient and comfortable seat. Gile e > glad to rest, and somewhat pacified by the kin manner in which he was addressed, gladly availe on himself of the permission and, seating himself, ei deavored to be silent. Crossing his legs, he si continually shifting them. His red cotton han< kerchief was drawn from his pocket, and he wipe 'es his eyes and blew his nose, and sat sadly lookir down on the ground and ruminating. Sudden ^ his frame commenced shaking, and applying h hankerchief to his eyes, he began to blubber. ;is "Just to think?that's whathurts me so?th ter Captain Carberry and I have marched togetbei les messed?you may say, together?fought togethe is and, when the battle was over, lay down and slep side by side, like brothers, and now, like Juda >se that denied his lord and master, he won't acknov in edge me?boo-hoo-boo." ick "Look here, blue-belly;" said Prescott, wi s if provoking calmness, mimicking the Yankee di em lect?"the school marm had ought to been mo ere particular in larnin' you the cathechism. It w not Judas that denied his lord and master?it w IP- Peter." "l)urn you and the catechism and Peter too ssi- cried Giles, all his grief being suddenly convert iod into rage, as he rose from his seat, his eyes flas ast ing fire. "If I only had half a dozen switches, I we take your breeches down and lay it ou to you 'I ; you bellowed like a calf. I'd do it in spite of fil 'Dg muskets!" J i? "Look here, Yankee, since I'm not allowed shoot you, as I wish to do," said Preseott, layi off his musket on the ground and rising to his fe< on "I would wish nothing better than the fun of s< f, I ing you try it. There lies my musket?if you thi ght yourself man enough to contend with me, come ( iost I shall take no advantage of you; and if you c fho get the better of me, I'll take that canoe and pi ner die you over to the j-ankee lines and let you ery free, if I'm shot for it." "You don'tcarry me to no yankec lines, if I c bin help it," exclaimed Giles?"but here's at you five and before Victor could interfere, Giles spru 1 or forward and stood foot to foot with Preseott. I hands of both were clenched and drawn ba< een ready for the blow, but before either could stril yes a figure emerged from the grove and stood sudd< he j ly on the sands between them, liad "Merciful Jehosophat! Why, Giles, is this you ' exclaimed the new comer, who was no other tfc j- corporal Sweeney; "this you! and the captair i, fretting and funning because you can't be founc t anywhere?" n "Yes, corporal, this is me, I believe?I won't i. swear it;" answered Giles. You've come at rathei !, a bad time, though, corporal; three minutes latei y would have suited me a sight better; but just n stand out of the way until I get this job off hand? r it won't take me long and then we can talk: Stand p aside, corporal!" il "Why, what's the matter, Giles; are you fighte ing with men on post?" asked corporal Sweeny, d "What's the fuss about ?" I "That young cub' has been treating me as if ] s was a yankee," retorted Giles eagerly. "Captain Carberry said he was a yankee, and I ordered us to keep him under guard until da; t light," answered Prescott e "It's all a confounded mistake." said Sweeny. I "It's no mistuke of mine," replied fiesoott, wnc b had lowered his arm, and stood looking very much :, surprised. "Captain Carberry looked at him well, ? and said he was an impostor; and that Giles Shorv ter was asleep at the station. Captain Carberry ought to know the men of his own company.'' i- "I think he ought to know one who has foot by r him as often as I have," answered Giles, who no ft longer stood in a pugilistic attitude, "but the cape tain disowns me, and I disown him forever and - everlastingly, amen." s "Corporal," said Victor, coming forward, "it strikes me as a very strange thing, that a captain should not know the old members of his company, t This man insisted that he was Giles Shorter, oi i Captain Carberry's company; and the captain de* clared him an imposter and a spy. What explaI nation can you give of the matter." "Look here, boys; how did the captain act when * he was here," asked Corporal Sweeny, withamys* terious air. " "Durn him, he acted like a Judos Isc&riot or a II Benedict. Arnold," exclaimed Giles, wrathfully. 0 "That's how he acted. He denied the best friend he had on the face of the earth." 8 ' 'Look here, Giles,'' said Corporal Sweeny,1 'you f are too hard ou the captain ; if the captain had ... > _?1J 1 Zl known wnat ne was doing, u wuuiu ue ij uuc auuiuer matter; but the fact is, the captain is fretting about your absence, now. He though t I would e find you with some of the pickets on guard, and " ordered me to hunt you up and bring you along to 1 the station. He has no recollection of having seen 5 you to-night. The fact is, boys?but mind, the t the thing musn't be talked about?the captain was " walking in his sleep to-night. Now you under1 stand the drift of my question?how did the cape tain act when he was here, to-night ?" 8 "Well, if my say is worth anything," responded Giles, whose injury was uppermost in his mind, ' "I would say he didn't altogether act the gentle* man by me." "Yes, but did he act like a man who was awake," returned the corporal, appealing to Victor and 5 Prescott. "He gave us very minute directions as to what we should do," answered Victor. "I thought him wide awake, and I think so, still; but I do not conceive how he could fail, under the circumstanEl stances, to recognize an old comrade." "Yes, Corporal," interposed Giles, "that's the f question'; I've been by the captain now, nigh on tc two yeare, and I think asleep or awake, he ought j. to know me." j "The captain feels mortified about his conduct, ! boys," continued Corporal Sweeny, "and he tolc y me not to let it be known. He is ashamed ol , walking in his sleep, and I beg you wi?.l not speal 8 of it He never got wide awake until he wen! s back to the station and got by the fire ; and blest you, we found instead of his pantaloons, he hac jj put his legs into his jacket sleeves, and had it but T toned around him. Think of that, boys, a fat mar y like the captain, with his legs stowed away in ih< 18 sleeves of his fatigue jacket." d "It is a strange thing, and I cannot understanc h it," said Victor. "I have seen sleep walkers, bm n none who seemed so clear headed as Captain Car o berry. He gave us strict orders to hold the prison g er until morning. However, we turn him over t< d you, Corporal, and the whole responsibility rest a with you." e "Well, that looks like the captain w.as coming t< his senses, again," interposed Giles, somewhai r- mollified. "I thought he had a kind of stare ou ,e of his eyes ; but still, gentlemen, I must say this that even if the captain was under the influence o K chloroform, when I speak heought to have no sor e of difficulty in knowing who it is. Ho made thi cards pretty tight for me, to-night, that's a fact ;e and I only hope, when he goes to enquire into ai g alarm again?if I am concerned?he will wash hi iy face in cold water, and take something inwardly U d rouse him up and get him wide awake, before h< k gives any orders." "Yes, even before he tries to put his legs inh " his breeches," suggested Corporal Sweeny, whicl n remark brought a grim smile to the face of Giles s, and dissipated the rest of his ill-humor. In obe ? dience to the command of the captain, the corpo ], ral then obtained a full report of all that had oc h curred at the post where the firing had given thi s, alarm, and turning over the spades to the youths d to dig a grave for the corpse, he took Giles Short sd er under his care, and set out to return to the pick i- et station. We may remark, in passing, that thi it interview between Giles and his captain took plac 1- in private, but two or three chosen spirits beinj id present, and that the amiable and credulous Giles ig having ceased to vow a bloody revenge so soon a ly he heard the statement of Corporal Sweeny, begai is at last, to commisserate the misfortune of his cap tain, and even before he was introduced into th at chamber where Captain Carberry?wily old hype r; crite?sat veiling his merriment under the saddes r; and most sober of visages, every trace of ill-humo ?t, had flown, and Giles entertained no other senti is, mentsfor his captain than feelings of genuine an< rl- hearty good will, joined with emotions of pity am . compassion on account of the infirmity by whicl th he was possessed. The visage of his captain, a- fat, hale, rosy man, of about forty-five, seated uj re on his couch of blankets, every feature carcfull as composed to express sadness, regret and despaii as was too much for the forgiving spirit of Gile; He rushed forward, with a sob, and threw himse !" upon his commander's neck, and wept hysterically sd The captain acted his part admirably. Giles' cou h- nides, forever after, bantered him as mercilessly i I'd they durst, upon being caught in the snare whic iill he had laid for raw recruits; but no suspicion ev< 'ty entered into the old soldier's mind that his captai had intentionally contributed to aid in turning th to tables against him. ng Although it yet wanted more than an hour I et, dawn, Victor and Prescott removed the corpse < Je- their slain enemy from the canoe, and laying it i nk the edge of the grove, where a patch of mooi >n. shine came down, folded a blanketcarofullyarour an it, and began by turns, to dig the grave on a gei id- tie swell of the peninsula, a few feet above higl go water mark. The office of a grave digger is sad enough, wh< an for the first time undertaken?especially when tl 1" earth is opened to receive the body of a foemt ng whom our own hands have sent to his long accoun he "Unannealed, unknelled, ,l With all his imperfections on his head." ce, Even Prescott, thirsting as he was for reveng jn- felt his appetite for blood satiated, as lie sat by tl pale body of his foeman, whose pallid featur !" seemed more unearthly still in the cold moonligl tan that streamed down upon them. A i?entiment i pity and compassion, that startled even himself I 1 the suddenness with which they took the place i his late tiger-like mood, stole into his heart, as 1 I sat by the still form of his country's enemy, no r powerless for evil as for good, and had it been r his power to raise the cold clay to life again, 1 L would gladly have seen his foe depart upon his wi uninjured and whole in limb. Thus, perhaps, 1 I thought others might have felt as they stood ov the bodies of his own brothers slain in battl Could he now refuse to forgive them? Had the hands any deeper stains of guilt upon them the now dyed his own ? He felt, taught by his own e: ' perience, that revenge was a most unholy and fiem ish passion, and that regret may still be busy wil I the heart, when necessity is enforcing the hands i > rWdn of violence and blood. By early dawn, the grave was completed?not mere hiding plaoe for the body, where it might 1 i hidden from the eye of day, perhaps to be bid ba: i by the first drenching storm, but a deep and silei home, like those which in our family burial groum > yawn for the cold forms that we loved, alas! bi too well; a resting place where it would repose ui disturbed, till the earth and sea should be callc upon to give up their dead. , In silcnoe and in sadness, too, the young soldie . tenderly bore the body of their fidlen enemy to ti brink of the grave which their hands had pr pared. And now the body was to be searched pr ; paratory to burial?not for plunder, but to asce i tain the name and rank of the soldier, that, at fitting time, his fate might be communicated 1 his friends. It was a sad and a revolting office i search the pockets of a dead man, but Victor r . luctantly entered upon it In the breast pock was a package of papers, consisting mostly of le ters addressed to Lieutenant Hardwyck. The: was a fine chronometer, a purse well filled wit gold and 1'greenbacks," and several other articli of smaller value; among the number was a mini ture on ivory, of a most beautiful woman, whic Victor subsequently ascertained, from the lette was that of a wife, whom his hand had assisted i making a widow. All the pockets being searched, there was no nothing left to be done but commit the body to tl n?: nf +1 Barm. VUIIUU3 iu OWCIUUII tuc uaiuiii VI* Jt, wound by which he had fallen, Prescott and Vi tor turned the body and found two bullets hi , pierced through the chest, either of which wou have taken life, almost instantly. The aim of eai , had been 9ure, and the hand of each had an equ ! share in his death. Just as they were gathering the folds of tl blanket around his form, the face of the corpi seemed to flush with the warmth of life; the your soldiers started momentarily at the sight, but was only the first rays of the uioming sun flasl ing over the face of him whose sun had set foreve Its last beam, as it set, saw him full of lusty lift its first, as it arose, shone only upon his cold cla Silently, and with difficulty, the body was loi ered into the grave, and in a few minutes a fre: mound only marked the resting place of the i! fated man. This task completed, Prescott retur ed to his post, while Victor sat down by the gra^ to examine the papers he hod taken from tl pockets of the corpse. There was abundant material before him f | thought and wonder. Some of the papers we . merely letters on business, others from old friend one or two from his wife and one?Victor start< when he read the name?from Isolette DeVeri I Eagerly he read it through, and in it he read, b P too truly, the heart of the unfortunate beauty, wl . had trusted her affections to a wily pleasure-see ^ ing man of the world, unwitting that, in a far < 5 village, among the hills of New England, lived I fair young being, whom, in the solemn language the ritual, he had vowed "to love and to cheri; ( until death us do part." 5 Well was it that the bullet had sped so truly < its way, to cut down him who had spread the sua I for virtuous and trusting womanhood! Had 1 t not fallen, how ill might it have fared with Isolett now driven by her conduct to the protection ai care of the man who was plotting for her ruir j Not until this letter had been read, did Victor f( , a quiet satisfaction in standing by the grave th his hands had helped to fill. True, he thoug j also of that far off home of the widow that dreai . ed not of her widowhood, in which, after a ft ? * ? vi : L ...... ? snorc a ays, me cry ui wnu un^uisu auu uuu uim lament should ring. He looked at the miniatu upon the soft face of the beautiful wife, and whi t he shed a tear of sympathy for her, he still i a joiced that his hand had swept a destroyer fro . the path of Isolctte. The one was a stranger, ^ whom he was bound by only the common ties B humanity; the other?had she not bent over him j when he lay senseless and pale, with a heart ago g ized as for a brother; did not the events of t! last two days seem to show that their fates we mysteriously interwoven together, by some ine j plicable connection, and were their hearts n drawn together by that subtle and strange instill [ which gives us warning of those whose destin whether for good or for ill is, strangely mingl with our own ? e Among the letters was one addressed to Mi Camelia Hardwyck, in a village of New Englan . which we shall not call by name. It was seal . and ready for the post. A less scrupulous soldi e would have broken it open and curiously read tl e thoughts of the heart now cold forever, and the j, perhaps have suffered it to pass from hand to hai , throughout the camp, gratifying a prurient curie s ity, at the expense of those finer emotions of t a heart, which teach us to feel for those, strange and aliens it may be, on whom a terrible visitati e has fallen. Fate had made Victor the deposito _ of this last confidential communication to his fai ily from the hands of one now cold, and he resp< r ted the seal most sacredly, j. The letter to the widow, as yet unconscious (j her widowhood, the watch, the purse with its cc 3 tents, the miniature and other similar articles b interest or value, found on the body of the unfi a tunate soldier, accompanied with a lock of his hair * * ' ' "XT' - A ? _ IAM 1%1Q nil fflACA TTfl tenderly reserved Dy v icu>r jui 1(U, y made up into a package to be forwarded to t r family of the fallen man, by the first opportuni 3' The letters written to Lieutenant Hardwyck byl If wife, and those written to him by the ill-stan Isolette, under the delusion that he was an unin ried man, Viptor reserved for another purpo ls Isolette, to whom Ins heart wanned as to an i h fortunate sister and friend, must learn what d Jr traction she had escaped. Learning the duplic n of the man, whom she had loved but too well, 1 ie grief at the fate which had befallen him would mingled with thankfulness at her escape from t< lQ that were ready to be drawn around her, as a b that the fowler has doomed. ,n Early on the day succeeding the burial of I j. brave but pleasure seeking sailor, the package, d 1(j tined for his wife, was forwarded under a flag a. trace, sent from the fleet to ascertain the fate [j. the missing lieutenant. "Killed and buried by our pickets," was I >n brief and business like answer returned to the ?e quiries of the enemy, and this brief message, 1 in an envenomed shaft, was sped on the wings of i t, wind, to bury itself in a heart that, knowing no ing?recking nothing?of his errors and transgi sions, longed to bury its pain and its sorrow w e, him, in his far off and unknown resting pis ie where human feet seldom tread, and the only te es that bedew his grave are those that night and bt ture weep. of [conclusion next week. ] I JUpitnltal department ie iW From the Lend we Love. >D LIME A3 A FERTILIZER. ie Having been frequently asked the value of linn V as a fertilizer, and requested to state its specifit ie uses in the economy of the farm, I propose to sun er up the _ best established practical results derivet e< from science, and confirmed by the experience o jj the most judicious authorities on the subject. Lime is a substance familiarly known to all oui m fanning communities, and is everywhere valuet for its varied and important applications?so val i- ued that some have regarded it "the basis of al :h good husbandryana even so excellent a judgi to as Prof. Johnston declares it to be "the most val uable and most extensively used of all the minora substances that have ever been made available ii a practical agriculture." A fertilizer that can clain k such a high encomium from such a source, deserve re to have its merits better understood?its nature nt its modes of action, its practical results more thor jg oughly comprehended. We propose to confini our remarks to such points only as are applicablt to carDonaie ui jiujc uuu its uerivauvco, sutu a. n* quick lime, slaked lime, &c. id In the form in which it is usually offered in th< market, and in which, therefore, it is most gener re ally available for the farmer, lime is a caustic alkn ie li, (burnt lime, ) and this caustic quality is the mail cause of its activity and efficiency in the service ol the skillful agriculturist The food we eat is no in a condition to nourish our bodies at it comes ii r- its crude state from the harvest field?it must b< a cooked, masticated, and even when swallowed ii to cannot be taken up by the blood, and distributee . through the 'system for the nourishment of ou: bodies, till it has been acted on by the gastric anc e" other juices?it must be "digested." So with th< et plant; its food, too, must, in some sense, be cook t- ed, masticated and digested, befpreitcan bo taker ro up and assimilated by the living organism, jj Caustic lime is the cook that prepares the food and the gastric juice that digests the nourishment es for the plant. But while this digesting operatior a" is, perhaps, in the great majority of cases when :h lime is artificially applied, its most important func r, tion, it must not be forgotten that this is not it: ;n only office; lime is not only the cook that prepare1 other food for the growing crop, but is itself essen tial to the nourishment ot the plant, entering int< w its composition, constituting an important part o > its inorganic elements, besides performing othe: ie valuable offices to be discussed as we proceed. c. There are five modes of action by which minera l(j manures may profit the growing plant when ap .1 plied to the soil. j* 1st. They may themselves become food for thi ? growing crop. al 2nd. They may digest and prepare the food al ready in the soil. ie 3rd. They may absorb gaseous fertilizers fron the atmosphere, and retain them for the future us< of the plant. 4th. They may destroy or neutralize substance in the soil which are poisonous or injurious to thi b- crop. ? r. 5th. They may improve the mechanical condi 3 tion of the soil. '' Some mineral manures perform one of the offi '' ces, and some another, but lime accomplishes then *- all. }h In regard to the first uiode of action, chemica II- analysis settles the question; it shows that lime i n_ present in the ashes of all our field crops, and tha in some of them, as clover, peas, turnips, &c., it i a principal ingredient. Hence lime, if it be Datu 16 rally deficient, may be usefully added te the soi simply as a food for the crop, and, if wholly want or ing, its addition becomes an absolute necessity, a no crop could be matured without it. ijj In regard to the second point, lime may be cor 1 sidered as a specific; the most important servic i which it generally renders to the plant, when ap 2' plied in large quantities, is the digestion and pre ut paration of other manures, which, though foum io in the soil, are not in a condition to be absorbs by the roots, and thus made available for imme /r diate use. By its caustic and alkaline properties, lime fa a cilitates the decomposition of all vegetable and ani of mal matters, liberating their nutritive elements ih and converting insoluble, into soluble compounds thus rendering them capable of being absorbs and appropriated. 30 Even the inert mineral masses of the soil do no re escape the digestive action of lime: felspar am tie other minerals containing the silicates of potasl ?, and soda, more readily surrender, in the nresenc 1(j of lime, their treasures of potash aud soaa; am j f these alkalies in their turn help to convert the in ( soluble into soluble silicates, and thus supply t our cereals the elements that support their stenif at enabling them to bear up against storm and wind ht it is the absence of this solublo silica, which lim n- assists in digesting, that causes our grain crops t (W fall to the ground before they are fully matured As to the third point, the absorption of fertili ll? zing elements from the air, lime, both directly am re indirectly, by its own action, and by its pulveri ile zing effect upon compact soils, exerts a highl, e- beneficial influence. True, it docs not, like plus mi ter of Paris, absorb ammonia directly from th t0 atmosphere, but what is quite as much to th f farmer's interest, it converts the ammonia whic may be forming in the soil, into nitric acid, am ? thus fixes its valuable elements so as to prever n- escape into the air. Moreover, we have thc?higli he est authority for saying that when organic matte re is decomposing, in the soil, ammonia is generate by absorbing nitrogen from the air, and thus, a ' we have seen that lime promotes,, this decomposi ot TM-nmntoa nl?n the formation of these nios tlUUj Il> piVUIVIVU HIW] .v. ... ict valuable manures from atmospheric elements. iy, In the fourth place, it is well known that lim ed will countei-act the injurious acids, both orguni and inorganic, which collect in damp soils wher much vegetable matter is decomposing, and whicl renders the land sour and unfavorable to succesdl d, cultivation. It is of the nature of an alkali, lik ed lime, to neutralize these acids and make these sou er lands sweet and mellow. Lime also decompose ke and counteracts the injurious sulphates of iron, c magnesia, and of alumina, all of which sometime n' abound to the serious injury of every variety c ad field crops, and often disappoint the hopes of th )s- industrious laborer. he In the fifth place, that lime affects the mechan ,re cal constitution of the soil, would be naturally ir ' ferred from what wc have seen of its power to dc compose the earthy matters which contain th *7 valuable mineral elements of the soil, m- Lime, by pulverizing the solid particles, rendei jc- the land more loose and friable, at the same tira that it liberates the valuable stores of nutrition 0f matter locked up in them. By its chemical actio it makes stiff and heavy clays more light and poi ,n" ous, while its mechanical effect is to render moi ?f compact the texture of looser soils. 3r- Lime is thus the busy agent of the farmer, co ? lecting. pulverizing, elaborating, digesting whai ;re ever it can find in air, earth or water, and dilligen he ^ exacting tribute alike from the animal, vegeti . bleand mineral kingdoms, for the use and suppoi *7* of the growing plant: it is not only itself a foot his but it also acts as a digester, an absorber, a net ed tralizer and a mechanical improver. What moi Qr. could be expected from a single fertiliser ? Th gg surely is a great deal, but it is not all. Among the effects of lime Prof. Johnson cnumi In~ rates several particulars in which it modifies eve fs" the character.of the vegetation. For instance, ity alters the natural production of the soil by its tei ler dency to extirpate certain coarse grasses wnicn 11 be fest some localities, and prevent the growth < jj|g richer and more nutritive kinds. "It kills,"!: . , says, "heath, moss, and sour and benty grasse and brings up a sweet and tender herbage, mixe with white and red clover, more greedily eatei :he and more nourishing to the cattle. Indeed, a e8. fodder, whether natural or artificial, is said to 1 , sounder and more nourishing, when grown upc ~ laud to which lime has been abundantly applied. 1 It is said also, that it "improves the quality of a most eveiy cultivated cropall kinds of grain the peas, turnips, potatoes, &c., are found to be moi jn. suitable^ for food when grown on well-limed soil It is claimed that it also "hastens the maturity i , the crop," causing the small grains to mature fro ten to fourteen days earlier on limed soils than c '"** those unlimed. The quantity of lime necessary es- accomplish these results when applied to cultiv ith ted lands, depends upon so many conditions ^ soil, climate and cultivation, that no general ru ' can be given. We learn from experiments carefully conduct! na" in England, that "the quantity of pure lime co tainea in the crops produced upon one acre durii four years rotation amounted, on an average, 242 tW This gives us about 66 lbs. per acre, ? actually removed from the soil- eveiy year iu com- i . position with the vegetable matter, and which was i necessary to its growth and healthy development i We thus see how much of this element may be i needed for the actual nourishment of the plants, i B and how rapidly soils, not abundantly supplied by I r, nature, must become exhausted of this essential f j ingredient, if it be not artificially applied. I j Under such circumstances lauds, which other- i p wise might be highly productive, may become 1 sterile and useless. 1 But this statement only includes the lime neces- i sarv for a single one of the five uses specified above, t and that one ordinarily demanding a less quantity < than either of the others. If to this bo added the ^ amount sufficient for all the other purposes, we t may appreciate more fully the quantities some- < times profitably employed in countries where ag- i riculture is carried to the highest perfection. Ac- 1 cording to Bossingault "soil which is without a < g considerable proportion of the calcerous element, never possesses a high degree oHertilitXjLL , < ' A 1. ?l?lAt.nn mil VIA I A Oiliipic l^iUUIUUUU VT111 ouvn turn. na?>? .. . 3 lime is present in the land, it will require about ( 3 400 bushels per acre to give the small proportion ] ^ of only one per cent, of lime for a depth of 12 inches below the surface. , Few soils are thus wholly devoid of lime, and . much smaller quantities will suffice for all the purposes of agriculture. Bossingault informs us, that , in England, clay lands receive the large amount of p from 230 to 300 bushels of lime per acre, and t lighter lands from 150 to 200 bushek This must , be but once for a term of many years. In France } the amount applied is greatly leas, about 60 or 70 [ bushels pet acre, at intervals of seven or eight I years. Johnston tells us that in Great Britain a r dose Is on an average from 7 to 10 bushels, per j acre, a year. In Flanders, where agriculture has , achieved its greatest triumphs, the quantity used [ is not so large, only 10 or 12 bushels every three , years. In this country the experience is similar to Europe. A practical farmer in Schuylkill countv, Penn., | writes: "Thequantity (oflime) depends on the , kind of soil ana after-treatment. Heavy clay can > bear 100 or more bushels to the acre, while, on ' light soils, from 50 to 80 bushels will answer very 3 well.'' Another report from Chester county, . Pennsylvania, says that, "lime is mostly spread on the sod at the rate of 30 to 60 bushels to the acre, 3 once in each course of crops,''and to show the p practical results, it is added, "nearly all our land r for miles around, was formerly worn out old fields, which would produce nothing, but the application ] of lime unlocked the hidden treasures ot% the soil, . and rendered available, as food for plants, tha inert organic matter which it contained. This, ao, compamed by judicious cultivation and proper rotation of crops, has entirely changed the appearance of our neighborhood. Scarcely an old field is now to be found." Hon. T. G. Olemson, who 3 was formerly connected with the Agricultural De3 partment of the United States Government, remarks that so small a quantity as a bushel to the g acre has produced good effects. Gnv. Hammond, of South Carolina, one of the i most successful, as well as intelligent planters the i . South has ever had, was accustomed to boat lime, j in the condition of shell-marl, twelve miles up the i . Savannah river, for the use of his plantation, and I a apply it at the rate of 200 bushels per acre. The < wnter haa witnessed on his light, sandy, pine lands, I J thus limca, a yield of 38 bushels of corn to the acre, 1 s while the same kind of land in an adjacent field, < t not limed, would scarcely average 10 bushels. These i s statements show, at once, the importance of lime - as a fertilizer, and the marked difference in the il quantity which experience has shown to be best ' . suited to the soil ana climate of the several countries i s mentioned, and points out the necessity for a thorough understanding of the whole subject, in order i. to a judicious application of it. To apply to the e loose and sandy soil of Flanders, the 200 or 300 bushels, per acre, which the Englishman finds de- i i. sirable on his compact clay lands, or on his cold j and tenacious heath meadows, would be a sad mis- 1 d take. # i >. Enough has been said to show that, compare- i tivcly, large quantities oflime are found to be use i- ful in the experience of all these countries, where scientific agriculture has successfully worked out i, the highest practical results; but each individual i must reflect for himself upon the principles involvj ed, and upon their application to his particular case. It may be said, in a general way, that larg,t er portions may be profitably added to stiff and j heavy clays, than to light and sandy localities?to h wet and marshy lands, than to dry and mellow rec gions, to deep rich loam, in which vegetable niatd ter abounds, than to poor and exhausted fields. Ini deed, as the primary object of using lime is to dio gest the organic substance already present, rather i, than to act as food for the plant, there being gen; erally enough for that purpose naturally in the soil, e it becomes a point of the first importance to have o this organic matter abundantly present, and where1. ever this condition is fully met, as by the roots, i- grass and leaves of freshly cleared ground, or by d green manures plowed in, or by barnyard composts, i- we may confidently use the lime with a liberal hand, y but if these conditions be not complied with, dami age and disappointment will follow, instead of the e rich rewards anticipated. More lime, also, mav be c safely applied in cold, than hot-climates, and to h land subject to deep tillage, than where plowing is d always shallow; for it is plain that a less quantify it will suffice to supply the soil, if only four inches i- deep, than if it be plowed 12 inches. Wherever r then, a system of high culture is proposed, both d theory and practice suggest that we begin at first q with a heavv limine, proportioning the quantity to i- the quality of the soil, and especially to the amount it of organic matter it contains, and that this be followed at the close of every rotation of crops, eme bracing a period of several years each, with lighter c liniings. The Flemish rule, which gives the small- , e est quantity of any of the examples quoted above, h requires 10 to 12 bushels, per acre, at the close of il every three years, making an average of 3 or 4 1 e bushels annually. This in Flanders yields the best r results for the investment. In France and Eng:s land, experience has indicated a larger amount. >f But one thing is certain, that we of the desolated ts South arc hopelessly ruined as an agricultural peo>f pie, if we do not now avail ourselves promptly of e all those artificial aids which are applicable to our case, and which have combined tp make other i- countries agriculturally great. The same practical i- wisdom, energy and earnestness which have made ?- the marshes and sandy plains of Flanders the gare den of Europe, can convert the abused and wasted regions of the South back again to even more than s their primeval fertility and beauty, e If the application is to be made to clay or bogis gy and peaty lands, or to such as have large supn plies of inert vegetable matter, the lime should be r- slaked quickly and applied immediately, in a caus e tic state. When it is required on lighter lands, it should be "air slaked," or allowed to slake slowly 1- and spontaneously, by absorbing moisture from the t- atmosphere, as this gives it in a finer powder and t- somewhat milder form, and therefore, less liable to i- injure the tender herbage. But for general purrt poses, especially where the soil is light and poor, 1, it is best that the lime should be well composted 1- with rich vegetable mould, or such decayed veget;e able matter as mily be available: in this form it is can be more regularly scatceredj and its caustic power being somewhat masked in the compost, it 2- is less liable to do injury, at the same time that it 'n acts more promptly anil efficiently upon the growit ing crop; this increased efficiency in the composti ed state is due to the fact that the digestive proi cesses which lime ordinarily carries on in the soil, jf have already begun in the compost heaps, thus ofie fering food for ready absorption. On this account s. too, the longer it nas Deen in mis state iue mure :a fertilizing it becomes. It may bo added, also, with beneficial results to composts of f resh animal matill ters, as it so controls the fermenting processs as to >e cause the valuable elements to form compounds m which are not subject to evaporation, while if lime " had not been present, these same elements would 1- have entered into combinations which are highly s, volatile and liable to escape: it should never be re mixed, however, with animal manures which are s. already decomposed, as it expels the gaseous fertilof izers existing in the mass before the lime is added, m When properly composted with animal or vegeta?n ble matter, lime may be applied just as any other to rich manure, directly to the growing crop, whether a- it be tender grass, or clover, or grains of any kind: of but if it is to be applied in the condition of slakea le lime it will not produce its full effect at once upon the soil, and, therefore, as long an interval as posjd sible should intervene between its application and n- the planting of the crop which it is intended to ig benefit?as, for instance, in the early fall for the to benefit of winter and spring grain. Some authorities, as Wiring's lyements 01 Agriculture, and the American Muck Book by Browne, > with much plausibility, urge the use of a "lime ind salt mixture" as containing more valuable qualities, both for manuring and digesting, than lime tself. This mixture is obtained by slaking fresh surnt lime with water thoroughly saturated with ialt. using the materials in the proportion of three iusnels of lime to oue of salt The lime decomposes the salt, giving us chloride of Kme and carbonate of soda, t>oth valuable agents in promoting he fertility of. the soil. To secure the more perect combination of the lime and salt, the brine hould not all be applied at once, but at intervals >f a day or two, in order to give time for the changes to take place more thoroughly; and even after be slaking is completed, ten or twelve days should ilapse before the mixture is used. There can be 10 doubt of the value of this compound, especialy in cases where salt would be a desirable manure in its own account ''* ' ' "" For evident reasons, lime, when intended to ben-' ifit the land generally, should always be as evenly listributed, and as 'tboroegllly incCt^ovated with ?UO duii U9 pvacilhc. lb nuuuiu iiwj iivwvtvij w flowed in very deeply as it has naturally a constant tendency to descend in the soil; and because, ilso, while near the surface, it k more easily reach" id by the air, which is essential to those digestive unctions which constitute its chief value. When quick-lime is added in large quantities to soils naturally wet, and which have not been suffiiiently drained, the lime may form into a mortar, uid become hardened to such a degree as to pbV struct the free passage of water and air, as well as >f the roots of the plants. Under such circumstances, of course, the liipe would be an ipjury, and he remedy for the evil, thorough draining. On soils which are light, dry and poor in Vegetable natter, a heavy application of pure lime wouldtlso prove injurious by renderingihe land too open, ind by its chemical effects causing the crop to-' 'burn as it is called. In each of these cases, if he lime be added in a well composted state, all ;he evil consequences are at once averted, at the. same time that additional supplies of warmth and lourishment are given to stimulate the growth of iregetation. Indeed, the opinion is maintained by some that lime may be indefinitely added without njury, provided we, at tho same time, proportion-^ illy increase the organic elements of the sofl.? Whether this be correct or not, it is certainly true ;hat what is ordinarily spoken of as the "exhausting jffect of lime, is only the effect of t?e larger crops trhich it causes the soil to yield, and which, of iourse, requires more of the elements of the soff for its growth and maturity?what is needed under such circumstances is not less lime, but more -Ii-flronin fivwl If lias h,nru>nMl tW even so valuable a fertilizer as lime has been Wholly abandoned in particular localities in consequence af unskilful applications, or hasty inference? from partial experiments.. Of course where nature abundantly supplies the soil with this important element, artificial additions would be waste of time ind money. So, in like manner, when lime is applied, as in some parts of England, at the rate of rom 40 to CO bushels to theacreat the end of each rotation of crops, embracing a period of 4 or S years, it would be no argument against the rate use of this agent, if after a lapse of yean^^^H^^ these large additions should produce 110 seusibJjH^^^^B effects whatever in consequence of the soil havin^^^^^E. become fully saturated. AodK again, the which is required for uucomposted lime to take its^EM^L effect upon the soil is a fruitful source of discour- ^ igemeut and often of the abandonment of this ^ 0 valuable fertilizer. An experimental farmer, re- V porting his results for the first year writes, "I applied 100 bushels (of lime) to the acre on a conu 9 itubble and planted asain in com, but saw vci^b. little profit to the crojl.-^InTeference to the samalV soijf and the same liming at^trr end of the third ? year he writes: "For the past two seasons I have mowed the finest of grass. Lime, though a most efficient and valuable fertilizer, is slow in developing its finest results?ihdeed it scarcely exhibits fully its true character, unless when applied in the composted state, till the second or third year after its apj li cation. < Liine is also distinguished for the permanence of its effects as a fertilizer. There is known to chem ists a mysterious power called' "disposing affinity,'' for the want of a better name, by which one substance while in the presence of another, is induced or influenced to enter into combinations which it would not form in the absence of the influencing body. This is the nature of many of the changes brought about in the soil by lime, and it is by virtue of this disposing power that it continues to act and retain its peculiar qualities as a fertilizer. The permanence or its action is further increased by its slight solubility; at the ordinary temperature it takes about 7*>0 pounds of water to dissolve one of lime even in the caustic state, and still less can be dissolved after it has been acted on by the carbonic acid of tue air. Thus it remains for a long time in the soil performing its important offices., Jt is said to produce sensible effects upon the irop after the lapse of 20 or 30 years, ana some insist that a good supply, once added to the soil, never wholly ceases to be felt This persistence s the effects nf lima ia a tiiorti mon't nnd nnA wVitpVi infflTM to the farmer, sooner or later, if judiciously used, an ample interest upon his investments We have already seen that when lime is to be applied in the slaked condition, except ih the case of stiff clays or rich vegetable mould, it should be slowly "air-slaked," because, in the latter case, it is not only more completely pulverized, but also of n milder character, as the caustic quality of about one half of it is neutralized by combination with the carbonic acid of the air. As a labor-saving consideration, this slaking process should take plucc in the field, sinoe, thereby, from one fourth to one-half of the weight, and a large increase of the bulk, caused by the slaking, will he saved from transportation. To effect this it may be piled up in heaps and covered with earth in the field, and left till it completely crumbles to powder: the covering of earth protects it from heavy rains which might convert it into mortar, and also from too free access of air which tends to change, it back into the state in which it was before it was burnt. When prepared for distribution this may be accomplished by drawing it out from a cart into little neaps, from five to seven yards apart, and in quantities proportioned to the amount we desire to apply per acre, after which it can be evenly scattered. Some to accomplish the distribution more regularly, checkoff the land into little squares of convenient size, and apply a given quantity to each square. Lime, then, is useful to the farmer, as %od for his crop?as a digester of the animal, vegetable, and mineral manures in his soil?as an absorbent, indirectly, of valuable manures from the atmosphere?as a neutral,zer of injurious acids and other injurious compounds?asa pulverizer of his stiff clay soils, and as a general stimulant which improves both the quantiiyand quality of his produce. The quantity of lime to be used depends on the character of the soil?on the abundance of organic matter?on the kind of cultivation?on the charactor nf the climate?on the quantity already present in the soil, and on the cost of lime in the market where it is used. Tke mode of application depends on the object chiefly aimed at. If to pulverize compact tenacious clay lands, the caustic, water-slakca condition is best; if to act upon the mineral matter of lighter soils the milder, air-slaked form will do the work; but if to digest organic matter, or to serve the general purposes of a manure to enrich the soil and give it warmth and energy?to stimulate the plant and promote a prompt development, or whatever else may be deemed necessary, the composted state is greatly preferred. Hence, every fanner should have his cattle-lots, and horse-stalls abundantly supplied with leaves, straw, grass and organic matter of every kind, to be trampled by his stock, and. ultimately thrown into compost heaps with limeand vegetable mould, or peaty matter, which will absorb all the gases that might otherwise escape. The quantity of lime for these purposes need not be great We have seen that, though in many cases large amounts may be profitably applied~where it cant>e cheaply obtained, yet even very small quantities are highly useful, and experience indicates that these small auantities, frequently repeated, are more beneficial than larger amounts applied but once. Let each farmer then do what he can, even if his efforts are confined to a few acres, for the time has come when our people must abandon the old system of extensive planting, and concentrate their time, energy, and means upon comparatively small areas of land, which, to be remunerative, must be stimulated to its highest capacity by all the appliances of science ana art