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Y , yaw-. ' lewis m. grist, proprietor.! $ttbtptniieitf Jkntilj .fte'sjjajjtr: <#<* % Ilwmofioit rf % Sffcial, ^gricttltaral aito Commtrrial $ntmsts of % Srafjr. {terms?$3.00 a tear, IS advance. ' v * ' . ' ; ^ ' 't~~ VOL. 16. : YORKVELLE, S. CL 1HTJBSDAY.' FEBRTJAEY lO, 1870. . . ; i^O. 6. JV# #?0inal Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. J Edith Egerton; OH, THE UNCLE'S WILL. BY MRS. M. A. RIPLEY, Authors of-'Ellen Campbell; or, King's Mouut&in," etc. CHAPTER IX. Edith slept to dream she was lying in a snow I bank, upon which, utterly regardless of her j proximity, Hunter was showering' red-hot j rocks, which he took from a frozen stream, 1 Thus, alternately shivering and burning, she ' was powerless to utter a word, till his screech-! ing in her ears the ram des vaches roused her ! to a wakeful consciousness. It proved to be only chanticleer crowing his matin song; but and dizzy, Edifh had no derfhlly disturbed at seeing "tne clear young | lady" so ill, and finding Edith averse to both teas and steaming, she told her she suspected unbroken (Juiet was the best thing for her, and left her to rest. Mr. Gordon would fain have insisted upon sending for a physician, but Edith would not hear of such a thing, declaring she was ashamed of herself for being so helpless, and that all she needed was rest "Ah t Miss Edith," said Nellie, "if you only had Mr. Hunter; you don't know how kind and good he was to mother." "Silence, Nellie!" replied Edith; "you don't know, in the least, what you are talking about" "Mr. Hunter left this morning," said Mr. Gordon, "or I should feel like insisting upon Nellie's suggestion." "I am very glad the vexed question lies beyond dispute," replied Edith; "for I certaanlv would not have consented to any such | arrangement. A quiet day and a night of good rest, will enat>le me to travel in the morning." But all that day Edith suffered, and the next found her unable to rise. It was late the following evening, when, feverish, restless, discomposed, she heard the rapid gallop of a horse, the check of its rider, and then Hunter's quick, decided tones as he entered the cottage: " "Kellie, how is Miss Egerton ?" "La! Mr. Hunter, how you scared me! I didn't know you were coming back. Miss Edith's mighty bad. I told her if you had been here, you would have cured her, but she don't like me to tell her so." "Good evening, Mrs. Turner," said he, as the mother entered the room; "I am sorry to hear you have a patient in the house; have you not been successful in your treatment ?" "Ah, the poor lamb 1" replied the mother; she has been suffering ever sinee you left, and still I don't see that she mends; though after the first day, she has been as obedient and gentle as if she was my own, and takes whatever I give her." "Where is. Mr. Gordon," questioned Hunter ; and being directed, he shortly returned ? i1, *!???* ntl.,mon ivTm wpnt. nn tn Edith's Will 11 UUOl' ^WUVUJIMI) *I?*V "V? ~| room. "Here, my child," said Mr. Gordon, Landing her a cup; "you will not accept the phyhe beg? J*M not t* refuse bis remedy." i f Drinking the Offered potion without reply, ' she soon after fell into a quiet, composed sleep, from which she did not wake till morning, Hunter, in the meantime, taking care that the house was kept quiet She would have arisen in the morning, had she not received his imperative commands, enforced by Mr. Gordon, to keep perfectly quiet; but while the family were occupied in their out-door work in the afternoon, and hearing that Mr. Gordon was at the shop, and Hunter gone again, she persuaded Nellie to assist her in getting down stairs. "That will do nicely, Nellie; thank you," said Edith, as Nellie settled her in the only easy chair the house afforded. "Do not let me detain you longer; I will rest here a little while, and then you can come back and help me up stairs again." "I declare, Miss Edith, you look just like a picture," said Nellie, as she drew the soft, white Cashmere wrapper around her, and arranged the folds of her crimson shawl; "your face looks a little white, lying against the pillow, but it only makes your hair look blacker, and your eyes look like?like a lake in heaven." "When did you ever see 'a lake in heaven,' you mountain lassie?" said Edith, smiling, as she arranged to the most comfortable position her velvet-slippered feet, on the stool which Nellie had placed for her. The embroidered tips just peeped from under the white folds, and with a mgh of satisfaction, Edith yielded to the delicious consciousness of returning health. Every vestige of the late storm had disappeared, and though there was fire on the hearth, yet the soft, pure air blew through the open door, and the sun-light beyond looked warm and clear. Too weak for mental occupation, farther than the thoughts produced by the quivering of a leaf, a shadow on the road, or the twittering of a bird, she lay in that happy state of dreamy indifference to all surroundings till a shadow, a step, a voice, so rapidly did each identify itself with its forerunner, that she was scarcely conscious of seeing the first, till every sense testifying of the reality of a presence, startled her into keenest conscious 1)688. "Miss Egertou?and down stairs ? Better, I know?I see! There, I shall not allow myself the pleasure of even a single question, if my presence is to disturb you, in the least," said Hunter, as he crossed the room with his 1 rapid step, and grasping her hand, gently urged her to resume her recumbent posture. There- was no mistaking the pleasure depicted on his fine countenance, and the sparkling eyes and unusual color on the swarthy face, brought an answering tinge to Edith's pale cheea. "I need not ask you if you have suffered," said he, taking a seat by her, and seeming to forget that he still held her hand. "Yes," she replied; "but it is all expressed in the past tense. I am now feeling very comfortable, and I believe I have again to thank you for the relief." ' For the first time, she raised her soft eyes to his, but immediatelv, with a deeper blush, ' veiled them again. There was a pause most! embarrassing to her, while in spite of his re-! sistance, she drew her hand away. "I cannot believe you had much faith in the | physician, else you would have permitted him ! to see his patient," said he at length. "But I proved a nobler one in accepting j his prescription without question or demur," she replied. "When does Mr. Gordon leave f" asked Hunter abruptly. "I think we will go a half-day's journey tomorrow," she replied. a "And when am I to see you again ?" he asked, as he placed his hand over the little one resting on her chair. If she could, she would have resented this mountain forester's assured manner. What was it to her, if she never saw him, and how dared he to intimate that it could be anything to him ? But, on the other hand, how could she prove herself so unfeeling to the man who had probably saved her life, and who had been the means of now restoring her to convalesence. It was not in her nature to be so ungrateful. "Perhaps never, Mr. Hunter," said she as # calmly as she could, striving in vain to disengage her hand; "but rest assured?^shall not soon forget what you have done in my behalf, nor the unvarying courtesy and consideration with which you have ever treated me." Impulsive words on Hunter's lips seemed struggling for utterance; but the measured tones and calm look of Edith checked them, and bowing low over the hand he still held, he answered: "You have spoken more than once, Miss Egerton, of what I have done for you. Believe me, 1 would not advert to it otherwise. Are you desirous of giving me proof that you really value my simple ser-. vice ?" He waited for reply, aud she answered coldly and briefly, "If proof is necessary." "AlHhe proof I require is this"?and his tones w*ere those of a conqueror?"if accident or design ever favor our meeting again, will you grant me the privilege of seeing you ?" "You almost insult me by thinking a promiqo nor>M.ij!irv " rpnlifid Edithfc tfhkt kind of a heart dp you think I have P, xi T J would like you to adB this wivilege to the last and let me tell you, may I F'. The arch smile, which had so often fembarrassed her at the commencement of their intercourse, now caused her to turn away in visible coafusion. "Well, I will not press that now," said he; "but you grant my first request." "If you think it necessary to pledge myself by promise, and value a privilege thus obtained, certainly; but to my mind yctu petition for what the most ungrateful would yield as a right.'' "I have the promise," said he, without noticing her altered manner; "now give me a token upon which I can look and say, 'this was a gift of gratitude.' Is that not the name you give it ?" Where was this all to end? She was becoming nervous and impatient under it. How could she place this man in his proper positiop without offending her deliverer ? "I have a valued book of poems with me," said she, "which I will get uncle Walter to give you in token of his appreciation of your friendship, as well as in grateful rememb&nce." "A a nn*kAiw 4-a fr% "V7UI UpULl ^'UlU UCSU auuivio ias djsvw* w. living hearts!" he replied impetuously: "X must have a breathing sense of jortt presence; a tangible reality, upon which f can look and say, 'this is hers.' Give n\fr'something identified with yourself. This will do; may I have the bauble, or do yott attach special value to it ?" And ere she. Wis aware, he had drawn a curiously-caryea ring from her finger. "No," replied Edith, "it is an old-fashioned gift from Uncle Walter; there is no specialty attached to it." "You* do not fear to give it to the rude forester?" he asked with a keen glance. "Give it back," she said playfully; "the qu&tion implies a doubt of yourself." He looked at the ring. ' "Edith" was engraved on the inner circle. .J "One more promise. Will you, in your home of Oakwood, answer by your presence, when this token is sent to you? You will not contemn, in your luzurious^ialls, the rough mountaineer of Otter?" How humble the words?how proud the tone! What haughty humility mingled in his manner! It waffdimculftb reconcile the paradoxes. Thinking that perhaps a naturally sensitive nature was shrinking from the thought of slight or scorn, amid a circle to which he had been unaccustomqf, che answered sweetly : fYou fkill bte ad ac<|^tabIe|tb'Sne1 in the hails of Oakwood as you *ave been in this quiet mountain cottage, and the inmates of my home can appreciate worth and virtue, whether it comes in the guise of prince or peasant." He bowed low over her hand. Was it deference or pride which dictated the hiughty inclination ? "You have kindly granted all m; requests, Miss Egerton; I will ask nothing farther of you now, but to listen while I adartss to you a few brief words. I leave this afternoon. Perhaps, as you have aptly remarkel, we will never meet again. You have givtn me a memory of yourself; vou will not refuse one in return from me. I have no trinket that von would value, no Plft that VOU Would J ? 7 ? o - V prize, bufc I will give you a memorj of me that will not readily leave you." H^paused until she looked up in question. Her look met his?a gleaming glanct, as if the fire of his nature, forbidden to issue from the lips, found vent in sparkling scintillations from his flashing eyes. "J love you, Edith," he said, in low, deep tones. "You need not tell me the hawl cannot mate with the dove; I know it, bit?I love you ! Neither need you tell me that such declaration is ill-timed, rash and hasty; I inow it, but?I love you ! Nor need you tell me that the stranger of a day, without frienos or influence, unknowing and unknown, shiuld not dare to raise his eyes to one placed by accident of birth and of hereditary wealth, so far above him; all this I know, but?/ love you! And loving you thus, my purer j nature animated, my baser one subdued, mere than ever ambitious of excelling in virtue, in order to reach your standard, and more carefully shunning the temptations of vice, to avoid what your pure mind would censure, I feel that all meretricious differences are swept away, and in the might and earnestness, the omnipotence of that love, I claim the right to tell you that dearer than man ever .loved woman, I love you, Edith Egerton !" He arose, and leaned against the rustic mantel. Edith had, at the first startling declaration, bent her head till her face was almost hid; but the crimson color flushed to the very roots of her hair, though she ans'wered not a word. "Tell me good-bye, Edith; you would not refuse even a felon a kind farewell?do not account me worse than a criminal." Still she did not answer, and gently he her hand. It was not withdrawn, and agaCs he plead, "Tell me good-bye, Edith." "Good-bye, Mr. Hunter," she said almost inaudibly; "my kindest wish for you is that you may soon learn to forget me." "And thus part with the purest emotion of my nature ? God forbid! Never!" he replied, frith his impetuous and rapid utterance. "But good-bye! and Heaven bless you!" He stooped to kiss fervently the hand lying in bis; for a moment his shadow darkened the room; the step died in the distance, and she was left to wonder if it was not all a burning dream. Her confused and rapid thoughts surged like waves; but ebb and flow were all burdened with the one fervid memory?"J love you !" It was a tale to which she had often listened, though formerly the sequel had ever ended in question. But now asking, hoping for nothing in return, the wealth of a noble nature, the treasure of a heart, had been poured out before her; and compelled to listen to what was beyond her power to forbid, she had not been able to give in retum, even the niggard meed of sympathy, j "I am glad I am going to leave this place j to-morrow," she half whispered ; "everything [ here is associated with one whom I would I like to?whom I must forget Shall I mate with one?but pshaw! I am not asked to mate. There was nothing asked, but a memory de; manded?forced upon me; and truly, it will prove a burning one! But surge on thought, j dash as you will; I am weak and powerless now, but 'I tciU not,' is a rock in Edith Egerton's character upon which your proud waves may forever break!" | At this moment Mr. Gordon entered the I room, with an open letter in his hand. "Ah ! my child," said he, "you there ? And how well you are looking! I could almost declare that you have been causing anxiety to no purpose. I had not expected to give yon ^ny news to-night, but if you are strong enough, I will read you my letters. Mrs. Vere and Dora are at Vernon Hall, too well entertained to feel much impatience at our prolonged absence. Charlie writes all kinds! of nonsense, which you may read at you leisure," said he, placing the letter on her lap^ "And Edith, here is one to which I woul^ call your particular attention. It is a letteS from Dacre, saying he will be with us early! in November. I like the tone of the letter; it is manly, straightforward and honest. He alludes to the embarrassing position in which Plharlia'a nonliironm V?oa nlnpprJ liim Hpara nip I ?; > ~-e>" ? to grant him an impartial hearing, to forbear judgment, and after deprecating your displeasure, beseeches you to prove yourself generous in his behalf. He confesses there is no excuse for his rudeness, and his strongest plea /or a hearing is that you have much to for-,, "giVe," / f < - "if my fo&iveness is worth anything to him," Teplied Edith, in a weary tone, "he has it I have ceased to remember the offence. But Uncle Walter, I will not see Mr. Dacre." "You grant, the letter then and refuse the spirit of the God-like attribute. That is not like you, Edith," he replied; "you have granted like a queen; do not withhold like a churl, that which makes your gift of any value." "You have asked ray forgiveness for Mr. Dacre, and I have gone farther and forgotten a resentment that most women would have made lasting. You ask me now to meet him, and meeting him, what then ?" she questioned with heightened color. "Why, replied. Mr. Gordon hesitatingly, "treat him courteously, grant him a hearing, onrl ? "And listen to him forswear himself! and so at last, cut bono /" said she, falling wearily as if tired of the discussion. "Well, well, my child, do not agitate yourself about this now, and do not think me unkind or stern, if I strive to carry out the wishes of your parents. But he must prove himself worthy, before I yield my girl. One Suestion more, Edith"?and lie paused, as if eliberating how to propound it?"I can tell him that your heart is free ?" "You can tell him nothing from me," she ' I replied, starting Up, her cheeks crimsoning ' and her eyes flashing; "he takes too much , upon him ; by what right does he dare thus : question me ? Let my heart be as it may, be can never control one pulsation, noi^ still a single throbbing! Uncle, do not ask me; Frank Dacre and I mnst ever be strangers 1" . The tears were in her eyes, as for a moment 1 she pressed her cheek against her hand. He kissed her fondly. "Do not fear me, 1 Edith. You shall <be forced to nothing your f heart does not sanction. I will not agitate 1 you further now. You look pale and worn, my poor child?your color has entirely left t you. I will call Nellie, and try and rest, or < .you will not be fit for to-morrow's travel,." 1 The surging waves of contending emotions ! dashed high and higher. The rock of "I will not}' seemed almost lost in the fury of chaotic 1 feelings. This stranger Dacre?she could not 1 forgive him for rousing by his untoward 1 question, an emotion which time, in silence, 1 might have buried. Now the living sense of "/ love you /" would not be stilled, and each ' tumultuous wave of its memorv dashed over ] [the rock of h^ flesolutioi, white mainly(hiAvJ^ [fling a *thuslar,1|ut no farther.' 1 1 "What is it, Miss Edith?" Mr. Gordon < said you wanted me," said Nellie. "Not yet, Nellie," replied Edith, striving to < speak calmly, "just hand me my knitting-bas- 1 ket off the mantel; I will not go up yet." 1 "I think you had better go soon," replied < Nellie, obeying her, "for you look right pale and weak." ] "Direotly, Nellie," she said; "come in half an hour, and I will go. Where is Uncle 1 Walter ?" 1 "Gone to the orchard with the boys, but ] call me when you want me; I will be just out- J side of the door." 1 Mechanically, Edith placed her hand on the 1 basket, when, attracted by the feeling of a ' soft substance, she looked to find a gentle- 1 man's gauntlet. She knew it at once. Hun- 1 ter had drawn it, from his hand on entering, and must have carelessly thrown it into her basket, when he leant against the mantel just ' before he left. A soft blush was on her cheek ( os Vioi- flnorora J-rtvofl fnr ft moment. with the ' fur-edged chamois; then startled with a deep- ! er blush, she would have thrown it from herj 1 had not a counteracting emotion led her to 3 draw it slowly on and smile to see how her ( hand was lost in its depth. Lost in thought, ' yet minutely examining every . ve, she fan- j cied she saw the faint tracing of a name on its ^ lining. It was almost obliterated, but the 1 graceful curve of the ascending lines and the ] firm stroke of the descending ones, were yet 1 visible, as she read after a moment's keen 1 j study, the name of? J "Frank Dacre, Toledo, Spain:! ( The secret, known to our intelligent readers , from the introduction of Hunter, could not ] have surprised her more, had one of the snow capped summits of the Sierra de Toledo tumbled at her feet. As soon as it was possible , for her to think connectedly, sho reviewed the , events of the last three weeks. The merest accident had thrown' them together. She < ould not think the meeting had been sought on his part, yet the question would recur, "Why should he be there?" She absolved her uncle from all connivance , ! in the matter.1 His nature was too open and sincere, to leave a doubt upon her mind. Charlie? Ah, she had it now! He was the author of this mystery, though accident had terminated the plot differently to what ae might have contemplated. But in what tn anomalous condition was she placed! Pledged t6 see Hunter; refusing to see Dacre! ' Accepting courtesies, services?nay listening expressions of love from a man she had ' v*\ved to avoid, contemn and scorn! JJ.t was vain to think. She could come to conclusion about the matter, and again ; tojing with the glove, which had all this while been firmly grasped in her hand, she ! surrendered herself to the happy consciousi nes? that events would take their course. [conclusion next week.] The Tower of Babel.?A w riter describes 1 the present appearance of the place where languages got nixed:?"After a ride of nine rnile^ we were at the foot of Bier-Nimrood. Our horses' feec were trampling oil the remain? of bricks, which showed here and there through the accumulated dust and rubbish oi' ages. Before our eyes uprose a great mound of earth, barren and bare. This was Bier-Nimrood, the ruins of the Tower of Babel, by which the first builders of the earth had vainly hoped to scale high heaven. Here also, it was that Nebuchadnezzar built, for bricks bearing his name have been found in the ruins. At the top of the mound a great j mass of brick-work pierces the accumulated ; soil. With ycur finger you touch the very bricks?large, square-shaped and massive? s: that were thoroughly burned, the very mor] tar, now hard as granite, handled more than j 4000 years ago, by earth's impious people. From the summit of the mound, far away , j over the plain, we sec glistening the gilded ! 11 dome of a mosque, reflecting the bright rays ! j of the morning sun. This was the tomb of! i the holy Ali. To pray before this at some ' ; period of his life; to kiss the sacred dust of s I the earth around there at some time wr other; | to bend his body and count his beads, is the 11 daily desire of every Mohamedan." ElUIlBOBHOOD ^IMHfll^Hpt part, hy families from BHHH||fSouth Carolina. Among ^BJH^^PWmiamses, Palmers, Marions, I Brians, Pierces, and Cotruriers. WB ^mese came up prior to the RevoluF^&X^Jjvar?some after its cloBe. They were wealthy, and brought with them into tne district, a large number of negroes. Being high livers and poor managers, they soon scattered among their thrifty up-country neighbors, a number of their slaves, asdt was quite a common rule with them,to sell'(toe or two negroes each year, to bring in a reventie for next year's !. Although TtbeV were money-making citizens, these lamifles were r* valuable accession to York district They | were people of high tone of character, warm hearts, genial hospitality and courtly manners. This mingling with the earlier settlers, had a softening influence in sooial life, and introduced a gentler element of modes and means. I distinctly remember old Capt Joseph Palmer, the very embodiment of an old-school gentleman?always wearing the beautifully plaited ruifled shirt, well blacked topped boots, and riding a fine horse; with a bow of grace and elegant dignity, old Sir Charles Grandison could not have surpassed. During the war he was, part of the time, Commissary for Colonel Edward Lacey's Regiment of mounted Infantry. After peace was restored, he held, for many years, the office of Magistrate. He was a Surveyor by profession, and one of the most accomplished of his kind. His plats were models for their accuracy of measurement and neatness of execution. He was universally looked up to and respected; even a stranger was bound to feel the power of his finished manner and courtly address. It was really an advantage to the youth of his vicinity to enjoy the opportunity of imitating such accomplishments. These, too, held him a good deal in awe, for they well knew a gaucherie or luueucsa, wuuiu uul poee, jlu uu picocuuc, uncorrected. Over the broad mantel-board in the hall of his house, during the Christmas holiday#, in plain letters, easily deciphered, he would chalk the following quaint distich: "Pray stand aside, sirs, 'tis every one's desire, As well as you, sirs, to see and feel the fire." And the shivering little urchin who would thoughtlessly plant himself in front of the blazing logs, to the exclusion of others, would hang his head abashed, and step deftly to one jide, when his attention was pointed "to the writing on the wall." Some of these families, after a few years, sold their purchases and returned to the lowcountry. Others made York their permanent home, and their descendants still reside in the district. When I was a boy, numbers of the Huguenot families of Pineville would, every 1 summer, travel up in theircarriages, spending the season in our more salubrious climate, with their relatives and friends, who were setr I tied here. I To a Septuagenarian, nothing is mere striking I than the change of social customs within his I recollection. A young man wanting t6 ad-1 iress a in theA>ldqft grne, rdj lemhelRr guardian of Tis inamoraBT^H %ecty of me house." This being granted bin,^ whether the attentions were agreeable or otlr-1 crwise to the young lady, she was bound by w respect to her father and every sense of polite-T cess, to receive the swain's attentions with I courtesy, till he came directly to the point ) with her; when she could give him a decided refusal or acceptance. , I recall a practical joke played by a gay ind beautiful young widow, Airs. AI., and her niece, Aliss Betsy AI., who was not far inferior in attractions. It would be now deemed a jest unrefined beyond fastness?in those days % merry humor; though I cannot sa^ I would not now question its propriety, if committed under my tuVlage. But those who perpetrar ted it, would have shrunk, with blushes, from the indelicacy of a round dance. It was Christmas week and hog-killing time. Two young gents?Jimmy M. and Mangfield Gr.?concluded to go a sparking, and the charming widow and Alias Betsy M. were, to each, an attraction. The cheery blazing fire inside, was a pleasant contrast to the snow on the ground outside. So cozily did the day roll round, they concluded they would remaufc iuring the night. About the hearth, the circle gathered ; told stories, asked riddles, and Klio ovpnincr nuiswl richt merrilv. When the bour for retiring came, the ladies m*de an excuse that the candles were out and they had not yet another supply?the fire light must 3erve the gentlemen in their stead, and "by it, they hoped they could make their way to the bed. Jimmy M. said he knew their quartern, having occupied them before. Mr. G. was squally complacent Good-nights Were exchanged, and all went to their different apartments. G. disrobed before his bed-fellow and ran and jumped into bed. As he slipped in, he hastily drew up the covering to exclude the frosty air. Out he bounced, crymgat the top of his voice, "Snakes! snakes! !-?snr&lfen the bed." "Snakes!" exclaimed tbnat^^ished Jimmy. "Snakes, and ground ?" And seizing a blazing pi'neg3^^ he ran to the bed, threw down the' ^Hr and discovered, lying 'about the middle{gjPil of?expanded hog-entrails. There had been a larger amount than was needed prepared for the sausages, and the surplus was seized by the girls to blow up> and with them, perpetrate the joke. A buret of smothered merriment from the next room? the domicile of th^ ladies-^{dj^n<5^th<yiL| fair to the young men. JinwnyM. was banTI in love?took the trick in good part, laughed ^ heartily at the excellent counterfeit and G.'s unseasonable snakes. The latter, more sensitive, re-dressed, declared he felt himself insulted and would leave. The ladies, who were still in full toilet, came out and met him as he was starting, begged his pardon, assured him it was but a jest of the season, <fcc., &c. He could not Umo them tip, they had the entraps, so^lfcfti.away in cold dignity. Xow^^A*?i Nat Marion, took his mortific<da^^^Knj^^ He escorted home one Sur^^|^H^B^ft&ng-house, one of old There ?idp 1 p. house, sever Escort, and the | tea a^rt!|^^^|jjHGfl^the boots of the gentlemdljHH|^^^^p|ra!slippers boots for the morm^^BHRw^^as customary, although the ladSB^ce present, the beaux, without hesitancy, imomitted to the pulling of their boots and the comfortable substitute offered, until Nat's turn came. He declined. "His boots were not much muddied "were veiy hard to get off," he said, and "the servant need not black them." "Oh!" replied the Colonel, "this boy can pull any boot I ever saw?let him take them off for you." "No, I thank you," returned Nat, urbanely, "I'm sure he could not succeed with these. I have always to Use a boot-jack or get to the crack of the door." Old Col. Beckham's pride in Cresar's efficiency was aroused, and he insisted on his being allowed to try. Nat was in for it, and the stout negro laid hold. Nat was a small man ; but, just then, a very determined one. He held a stubborn foot and rigid toes, but the burly strength of the black was too much for him ; his foot gave way, the boot slipped off, and there, in full view of the ladies and all, lay the gist of the matter. Poor Nat boasted no foot to his stocjjjtfg^-a leg and heel was all?the rest completely worn off; and to use the oft-repeated pjtn, "each toe spoke its perfect health, for they were all able to be out" At- weddings, quiltings, or parties of any kind, where there were enough assembled together, the young people would always have a dance. No one ever made any religious objection, and I've seen an Elder, of pure piety Atf-wiy man who ever lived, lead off the reel. Ourmipistter used to look on and say he much preferred it to games sometimes introduced to vary the entertainment. When pawns were forfeited by some faux pae, by an unlucky individual in the game, a frequent penalty in paving was?the offender being a young man?. tolciss some designated girl through the rounds pf&idiqir, placed on his head for the purpose. X roost jigreo with him. It is a far more vfi^PBTwhich are instituted as a vent for the exiw^rance of spirit that youth, health and untried hearts are given by Dame Nature. < tVhen a few young persons accidentally met at a friend's, and would gather in the long win ter evenings around the huge fireplace, which took up almost the half of the end of the good sized hall, they would agree, alternately, to tell a tale, ask a riddle, and sing a song. The rule compelled each to contribute their share to the evening's amusement. All would comply, and those whose attempts were failures, stood being laughed at good naturedly; feeling, in that way, if not the other, they had their quota to the evening's fun. Those ^P&ang well were called on repeatedly for songs, and there i& a ballad much admired, sixty years ago, which I have never seen in print; but my memory serves me (so well as to enable me to recall all but about four lines. It is, I think, a pretty sequel to the always popular Scotch song of "Auld Robin Grey," and I cannot refrain from giving it. It was called THE DEATH OF AULD ROBIN GREY. "The summer it was smiling, All nature round was gay; And Jeannie was attending, On poor auld Robin Grey; - For he was sick at heart, And bad no friend besides, Save only poor Jennie, Who newly was a bride. 'Oh! Jennie, I shall die,' he cried 'As sure as I had birth; Then see my poor old bones, I pray, , Laid decent in the earth And be a widow for my plaice, A twelve-month and ji day; And you shall have what e'er belongs To poor auld Robin Grey. , I laid poor Robin in the earth, As decent as I could; .And shed a tear upon his grave For he to me was good. # I took my Kockall ih my hand, a And to my cot I hied; A Crying wae is me I what shall I do, V Since poor auld Robin's died? Search every land, throughout thfe world, W > There's none like me forlorn: I I'm ready e'en to ban the day, I . That ever I was Lorn, f I tried to laugh, 1 tried to sing, To pass my time away, l l For father was dead, mither was dead, ^^>jy^.ad e'ejpkuld Jjlpbin Grey. / k i length toe merry bells rang out, I" Jk could n&' guess the cause; J ' But Rodney was the man they said, ' ^ Who gained so much applause. I doubted if the tale were true, Till Jamie came to me, And shewed to me a purse of gold, Said Jeannie 'tis for thee; Auld Robin Grey is dead I find, t And still your heart is true, 'Oh! Jeannie take me to your arms, And I will be so too I Pres' John shall join us in the kirk, And we'll be blythe and gay.' I blushed, consented and replied, 'Adieu I auld llobin Grey.' " The air was a sweet, plaintive one?that suited well the simple tenor of the tale; and the voice now long silent that poured forth the mefody, better far?untaught though it was, by all but a true ear and fine taste?than many a one I've heard since, trained under many masters to trill Italian Sonatas and French Rigolettas, not one word of which could the listeners understand, to add interest to notes my old fashioned ears deemed more torturing than pleasing. As the witching hour of midnight drew near, the tales would increase in horror and mystery. Each one of the circle drew their chairs nearer to one another and the sinking fire, and excited imaginations all aglow, made even the boldest half afraid to look behind them on the gloaming darkness. Vehicles of all kinds were Bcarce. Ladies, as well as gentlemen, usually rode on horseback, and many a well-to-do farmer hatiled up his corn crop on sleds. The 8aid corn was made without a trace-chain, for they used, as a substitute, laths made of white oak. As they knew no better, these did excellently well except at the end of the row, as in consequence of thb stiffness of the laths they had to lift the plough clear round. It was a great im proveineut wnea ruw tun-iugo, nmuc uu? ui green cow-hides, were introduced. The stretching and contracting properties of these geais, were exemplified?overwell, perhaps?by the tojfilold by a countryman, who was swapping lies With an old acquaintance. He said he cut down a bee tree about a halfa-mile from his house, on the creek. The tree broke as it fell, *jd out gushed a stream of honey into the creek, that made metheglin of its waters for a matter of twenty-five yards. He ran directly r^>mc for his cart. and yoked qg. Ids tl'e g^r fin. iTddH n green. IcuMS&s.'AJ-le dro've beck to his bee tree, loadw his cart heavily, ant. then drove off for home. The oxen went well, but the cart never moved a step, for the cow-tugs kept stretching till they stretched all the way to his house. He turned the oxea loose when he got there, threw the yoke over the limb of a tree, and in the evening the cart came screaking up to his home, for the sun had drawed up the cow-tugs to the right length again. At the period of which I speak, there was but one glazed house in ti e district, outside the limits of Yorkville. That was built by old,, Col. Bratton. It boasted two or three windows, filled by one sash, each, composed of four panes, not more than about six by eight inches in size. I am under the impression the building is still standing at Brattonsville. I often think those primitime times were very happy ones. The very absence of elegance and luxury stifled envy and extravagance, and encouraged sociability and hospitality., Bacon was almost invariably out by har vest, and from that time on till winter, there j would be slaughtered, alternately, a pig, beef! and sheep, to furnish meat. Boned turkeys, I eggs la cram, &c., were unknown efforts; and I - - - ? ? . , !- I a roasted lowl, baked pig, or uig emeuen pie > were the chef d'ceuvrept' our cuisine. The low-1 country families of Turkey Creek usually had, j as daily diet, the luxuries of coffee and sugar; j and I remember an instance of a gentleman of | the Scotch-Irish stock marrying into one of j those families. On his next trip afterward to ! market?Charleston?he brought home, for I his newfife's menage, a full sack of coffee and | a barrel or sugar. His relatives looked on this as unparalleled extravagance. It was the amount of such stock usually laid in by a store! With forebodings, they prophesied "that woman would surely break Alec." Their habit was a cup of coffee for breakfast, on Sunday mornings, and this, with its inva liable accompaniment of fritters, was a feast worthy a laird. Practical Makes were much in vogue, and usually takewMn good part, though occasionally an irrascible disposition felt like resenting them. Old Mr. Jamie Mc? was an Irishman born, and a perfect gentleman. He, though rich, never owned slaves, but had a family of free negroes in his employ, and a man-of-all-work?Jim Downs?an Emerald Islander, He always ate and slept in the kitchen, and^was a dirtier specimen of the genus homo, than most of the blackamoors. One day den. Lacey went to Mr. Daniel Williams', on Turkey Creek. The compliments of the day being passed, Mr. Williams naturally enquired if there were any news afloat "Yes; Jim Downs is dead." "Jim Downs dead ? Poor old fellow! I had not heard he was sick. Well! what a life ho led at Mr. Mc?'s; as bad as a negro. In factMc?kicked and cuffed him about [ worse than a negro^ ' When did he die > and, wnai was me matier \ "Old Mo? came home in a frolic the other night, took a notion and made Downs wash himself right clean all over, put on clean clothes, out and out, and, to top all, put him to bed on a clean feather bed.'r\Next morning they found old Downs dead." A good laugh followed the exposition of the hoax. It was repeated from one. to another until it came to old Mr. Mc?'s esm- He did not relish the sarcasm, and laid up a good tongue ba8ting,at least, for Lacev, when he met him. A vendue in tifi'neighborhood, not long after, afforded the opportunity. A drink or two taken, however,'drowned malice and they were soon together, merry as boon companions. Parson McCarra joined the group, and took more than one social glass. The whole party felt their liquor. Mc?, stupefied, fell dead drunk. Lacey'a merry mischief in the ascendant, with the parson's help, lifted the prostrate Mc? on some plank, then composed his limbs, like those of a corpse for burial, placed on each eye a silver piece, and paid McCarra a silver dollar, to preach Mc?'s funeral sermon over him, which the latter did. When Mc? returned to consciousness, and learned the sport he'd made for others,, his wrath was loud and strong, and for weeks after he carried a gun to kill Lacey. However, anger died out before he met the General, and it all at last passed, in its proper light, as a drunken humor. j- ; I cannot sav I commend this scene above the doings of the present generation. It; will, perhaps, be hard for my readers to credit me, that two of the prominent actors were of the highest respectability?in fact, among the leading men of their community?considered themselves as gentlemen and were deemed so by every one. With McCarra it was different. His had been a higher vocation, and this he bad forfeited by his own weakness. Not preserving the elevated standard of morals usually practiced by the clergy, which raised them so far above common men, they were revered as those to whom "it was given to be called the sons of Godwhile he was deemed, fit to give zest to an inebriate's gleeful fancy. ' He was a talented reprobate, and had he been true to himself and his calling, the record of his name might have been one of merit and honor, instead of the mournful memoriam, "An unfaithful Shepherd." [to ne continued.] i f! fpSfritottMiw ^trading. LIVING WRITERS OF THE 80UTH. The New Orleans Picayune of the 18th ultimo, contains the following merited compliment to Mr. Davidson's new book: "The Living Writers of the South," by Jas. Wood Davidson, A.M., New York: G. W. Carlton. Prof. Davidson finds 241 living writers in the South?166 male and 75 femaledeserving of mention. Of these, 201 have published books, and the aggregate number of volumes referred to is 789. Classified into departments we have 74 writers of fiction, 117 of verse, 8 in poetry, 63 in history, (including travels, memoirs, biography,) 20 in theology, 15 in science, 6 in philology, 5 in philosophy, and 2 in law. This is a very creditable showing on the part of the South, especially when we remember how few of our writers pursue literature as a profession. Few at the North write simply for the love of letters, as do many of our gifted men and women. If the North has a larger number of more finished literaieurs apd professed authors, or writers of books, than obtain amonglis, the fact that literature is there a profession accounts for it, more than do their excess of population over that of the South. Literature is as jealous a mistress as the law, reserving her honors for those of her votaries Who labor in her service, "scorn delights and live laborious days." i ? i t* : J " vy e cannot conceive now j.ur. x/twiuauu o. volume could be improved upon. It is condensation itself, even in the larger sketches; S'ves a vast amount of biographical and bibigraphical information, and is marked by candor and critical acumen in its literary judgment. "We have read nearly all the chapters devoted to our leading writers, and have been much impressed with Mr. Davidson's literary research and the unreserved candor of his criticisms. He rejects, for instance, after due examination, Lamar Fonlaine's claim to the authorship of "All Quiet Along, the Potomac To-Night," and though fblly recognizing Gilmore Simms' many high merits as a prose writer, pronounces his poems prosaic, commonplace and Tupperesque. Tne volume should find a place in every Southern household. We especially commena it to our young writers on account of iLs several fine literary criticisms of verse and prose." i* DEATH OF 8TOWEWALL JACJ18ON. Gen. Joseph W. ftevere, who commanded the 7th New Jersey regiment in the late war, furnishes a New York paper with the following account of the death of "Stonewall" Jackson : j "At the battle of Chancelloraville, I commanded the second division of the fifth army corps, and our division was held in reserve near the Chan^Brsville House, until about 5 o'clock, o^Htday afternoon, the 2d of May, 1863^^^Blas the time of the furious attack maJHPfm^right of our line by Jackson, which brokethe eleventh corps, hurling it. back in disorder. We were almost immediately ordered to the front, to check the attack of the enemy, and deployed in line of battle ' /-1 in to tne rignt 01 me u range vaiun j.xuubc jjioua road, not far from our first position, the enemy stopping any further advance at that time. As soon as my line was formed and pickets .brown out in front of it, I rode to the front to inspect the picket line, as it was my invariable habit to do, to rectify its position if necessary. It was now twilight, and a little later the moon's light aided the vision to pierce the darkness ot the dense forest in which was our position. While engaged in changing the posts of some of the sentinels, covering the left front of my line, in a comparatively clear place near the plank road, I heard the sound of an approaching cavalcade from the side of the enemy, which soon appeared, and the foremost horseman detaching himself from it came on alone, so near the soldier, nearest me, levelled his rifle for a shot at him; but I stopped ljim from firing, not wishing to reveal our position, and judging him an officer making a reconnoissance, in which case it would have been a useless thing to kill him?even ff he could have hit him in the uncertain light. After a few moments, spent apparently in trying to pierce the gloom, this person slowly turned V his horse, and the whole party returned to ward the Confederates at a gallop. The clatter of the hoofe Decame fainter in the distance, when suddenly the darkness in that direction was lighted up by a flash, succeeded by the well-known rattle of a volley of musketry, from at least a battalion, on the right of the road, and after the interval of about twenty seconds came another volley from its left Being apprehensive that some of our troops might possibly be in that direction, I determined to ride forward alone and satisfy myself, as if called into action, there might be danger of firing upon our own troops. I did so, leaving my orderly within my picket line. Emerging from the thick undergrowth upon the road, a riderless horse dashed past me toward our lines, and I reined up near a group of three persons, two of whom were supporting the third, who was stretched on the ground, apparently grievously hurt A horse, or perhaps more than one, was near by, as I saw indistinctly, but whether they were WWU to UUp ur IICIU UJ( UWCI imouuo a (could not make out I saw at once that these were Confederates,'probably officers, ?nd< visions of the Libby began to flit through ray mind at finding myself so near them, but reflecting that I was well armed and .mounted, that I wore a private's gray overcoat and a slouched hat, which were coumon to both parties, I sat still, regarding the group in .silence, but prepared to fly, if.necessary, at the first warning. The silence was broken by one of the persons, who seemed to regard me with surprise, and speaking as one having authority he directea me "to ride up there and see what troops those were," indicating the direction by his arm, to which I gave a sign of assent, and, too happy to escape, I rode in that direction until out of sight of the group, when making a circuit I returned within my own lines. About a fortnight afterward, at the camp in Falmouth, I saw the Richmond Enquirer, giving a detailed account of the death of Stonewall Jackson, and the circumstances of his receiving his wound, which made it clear to me "* man T o?.r lmnirnn flu* irfftlltlfi At lCOOt lilldb Uiaui o?n aj iuk vu wmv was himself, and that he was killed by his own men. Other Confederate accounts mention "some one was sitting on his horse by the side of the wood, coolly looking on motionless and silent" "The unknown individual was clad in a dark dress, strongly resembling the Federal uniform, but it seemed impossible that he could have penetrated to that spot without being discovered, and what followed seemed to prove that he belonged to the Confederates." Capt Wilbourn directed him to "ride up there ana see what troops those were," upon which the stranger rode slowly in the direction pointed out, but never returned with any answer. "Who this Silent personage was, is left to posterity, etc." As I well knew Stonewall Jackspn, from the time of the late Mexican war, I could not have failed to recognize him had I 'interviewed" him on this-occasion, which would, however have resulted most disagreeably to at least one of the parties?a finale for which I avail myself of the present occasion to heartily thank "Capt. Willbourn" for having averted, by his opportune command, hoping he will excuse me for having "never returned." As to Jackson' receiving his death &t the hands of the First Massachusetts, that is impossible, as that regiment occupied a position on the left of our division, near the plank road, and Completely out of sight and range of^e opot he^dvMoed to ^hile reconnoiter-I ing. - " ' ' ' f PASICAT SEA. A correspondent of the New York World, writing from Kingston, Jamaica, gives a vivid description of a disaster which occurred to the British steamer, Twinkling Star, and the panic which followed* He says: About 9 o'clock on Saturday, the 27th ult, when about fifty miles from St. Nicholas Mole, and about 9 o'clock at night,^.he engineers discovered that the iron plates about midships, and in front of the paddle wheels, had been strained from the heavy seas through which she was passing, and that large volumes of water were comjng into the hold" of the vessel, through cracks on either side, be1 x!? ?-1? ?Cam. a#, ilia T>occonrrara IUW lilt? UUlliO iiUU ^wovugvio on board were advised of thufjand gradually the passengers and crew were ovejjpken by a panic, when there was a rush to thfc' life-boat, which was speedily lowered, and into it escaped the United States Consul of this port, Mr. Aaron Gregg, and several others. But the lowering of the boat was so badly man aged, in the effort of every one to save himself that the bow of the boat was elevated out of the water, while the stern was submerged in the foam which le'ft the paddle-wheels, but they managed at last to cut the rope, and so disentangled them from the steamer. No sooner had this life-boat parted from die ship than a panic overtook the firemen and others, who were left on board, and the scene when the firemen forsook the furnaces, the oilmen the engines, the stewards the kitchens, and the captain took leave of his senses, was perfectly hellish. The panic-stricken crew seeing that the life-boat had left-them, believed that the ship was about ready to founder, and just at' this critical moment, Mr. Thomas Lewis, the second engineer, and the only American citizen on board, seeing every post deserted, and all hands flying in the jaws of death* rushed upon the deck, and with a voice of thunder and thrilling earnestness, addressed them in this wise: "Hallo there! "Where are you who call yourselves Englishmen; who fly from your stations when there is a little bit of danger, and call yourselves men and Englishmen? Come back here to your places?-I am not afraid! I'll stake my life, and back all I have, that I will take this vessel into port with perfect safety?if you but do your duty." Then turning to the captain, he said: "You captain, you>e lost your head; and allowed these cowardly fellows?-these lazy land-lubbers who call themselves English, to take your senses from you. Go up to your place on the hurricane deck, and order the wheelman back to his place." (Turning again to the firemen, who stood with their bags ready to quit the ship)?"Go back to your places and do your duty, and if we are to die, let us die like brave men, and not as cowards! I am but a young man yet, and do you think I am going unnecessarily to risk my life ? And I have a young wife and a little family in Jamaica, and do you think I am going to leave them to want? Not a bit of it. I mean to go back there, and not to ran away in a little emergency like this." Then addressing Mr. Nathan, who was buckling on a life-belt said: "Talje that off, sir; not the slightest necessity of any nonsense of that kind. You stand by me," and everything .will go well;" Afctlythat little American citizen, Mr. LeljdftyeO inspired confidence into the whole paniostricken crew that they resumed their, places/and carried the steamer successfully into the harbor of St. Nicholas Mole, and I am informed by Mr. Nathan, a passenger on board, that had it not been for the courage and presence of mind of this second engineer, the steamer must have foundered, and all hands been lost, whereas the steamer was safely conducted into one of the best harbors in the world, without her cargo having been damaged to. the extent of a single shilling. The cargo was valued at ?12,000. The lifeboat got into port a few hours after the steamer, and Mr. Consul Gregg, with the other passengers, came on to this port in the American schooner, Lady Woodbury, of Portland, Maine, performing the voyage of over 270 miles in a little less than twenty-four hours. ? An Arab Sermon.?One morning Eddyn Effendi ascended his pulpit to preach, and ad dressing his hearers, said: "0 believers, know ye what I am goingto talk about?" They replied that they did net- "Well then," rejoined he, "since you do not know, do you suppose I am going to take tlie trouble to tell you?" Another morning he again appeared in the pulpit and said: "0 binevers, know ye not what I am going to tell to you ?" they replied that they aid. 'If you know it then,' said he, "I need not tell it to you ;'r and he descended from his pulpit, and went his way. His auditors, puzzled what to do,: at length agreed that, if he again made his appearance, some of them would say that they aid know, others that they did not. And again (jjEddyn Effendi mounted in to the puipit, and said :0 Mussulmen, know ye what I am going to say to you ?" To whichfsoroe replied, "Wehnowr others, "We know not" "Good!" returned he, "let Jjioee who know tell those who do not" . ... ? '.it -.1 ? ? AUDUBON AND DANIEL 1(M^^ , In the recently published "Life of>Audubon" is an account of an interview with Daniel Boone, tbe Kmtucky pioneer, at Frankfort, in that State . i. : "While at the town of Fnwki>e|: (about the year 1812), Audubon badanopp&taafey of seeing the celebrated Daniel Booubi "barking squirrel^ !or, in a Jess technical, jhnuff, driving them out of their places by ^nnginto the bark of the tree isumediately bf^ide Uie nnm'tinn f K n*r nwinot mtn A iiHnVwin mawt Atif jyuciuuu ?uvj; WWIWM ?M"f| ?TfT^-T?^ITP-?-, " *' with Boone to see the sport, and writes: "We walked ont together, and followed the rocky marcina of the Kentucky river, until we reached a piece i of flat land thickly covered with black walnuts, oaks and Hickories. As the mast was a good one that year, the squirrels were seen gamboling on every tree around. My companion, a stout, hale, atblet- 4 ic man, dressed in 4' homespun bunting shirt, barelegged and moccasined, carried a long and heavy rifle, which, as he was loading it, he said had proved efficient "ih all bis' unaerihkings, and which he hoped would not, teflon this occasion, as he felt pwjnd to show me his skill. The gun was wipw^tepowder measured, the ball patched witlnflfb^idred thread, and die charge sent home wity a hickory rod. "We moved not a step from the place, for the squirrels were so numerous that it was unnecessary to go after them. Boone pointed to one of these animals which had' observed us, and wascronched on a branch abdat, fifty paces distant, and bade me'nlarik well the spot where the ball should hit. - * He raised his piece gradually Until the bead (that being* the name given by the Kentuckiaus to the sight) of the barrel was brought into the line with the spot which he intended to bit, and fired. "I was astounded to find that the ball had hit the piece of bark immediately beneath the squirrel and shivered it to splinters, the concussion produced by which had killed rive animal, and sent it whirlhig through the air, at if ithad been blowed up. -'"' ?' ' ! "The snuffing of a candle with a ball T had an opportunity of seeing near the bank* of \ Green river, not iar from a large pigeon roost to which I had previously mads a visit I heard many reports of guns miring the early part of a dark night and knowing them to be those of rifles. I went toward the spot to a? certain the cause. On reaching the place, I was welcomed by a dozen tall, stout men, who told me they were exercising for the purpose of enabling them to shoot, under night, at Ac -reflected light fidtathe eye of adeer ot a jtffcf by torchlight U <; "At a distance of fifty paces stood a lighted candle, badly distinguished in the darkness. One man was placed within a few yards of it, to watch the effects of the shots, as well 4s to light the candle, should it chance to go Qt|t, or repair it should the shot cut it acprpSf. > "Each marksman shot in bla turn. Some never liit either the snutfor the candle. One of them, who.was particularly expert, waa very fortunate, and snuffed the eandla three times out of seven, whilst all the.other shots either put outthe candle, or.cut it immediate* ly under the light. -, . A Widow's Viciim.?There appeased, on a certain day in each of the daily papers, an adv^nisemfnt.setting forth that a ''young widow lady "o?<refinement, education, beauty and wealth, intends to make the tour of tqe Continent, and wishes to engage as companion and protector a young gentleman of cultivation and refinement, wnowill receive a libera} salary and have all his expenses paid." That brings a crowd of the prettiest young men in town to the office of the "Employment Bureau" man, who acts as her agent. Each take him aside and says, quite confidentially, "My dear fellow, if you get this engagement for me, I give you?(twenty-five or fifty dollars as the case may be.) Then the agent says, "My dear sir, I don't think I ought to do iti but still I like your looks and think the lady will?yes, Lam sure shewill ahd Ihave influence with her; so just take a note from me, see her and come back Each understands that "come back." It means "come down after the engagement is obtained. Each and all see her in turn, in afmagnificent brown stone mansion, and they find her very pretty, Very smart; and when she seems to take a great' fancy to each one in his order, and engages him as her companion at a splendid salary, each pronounces ner an exceedingly.chafming woman, and himself one of the luckiest tnen alive. She engages them all, and they all return and pay the agent bis handsome fee. The next day the office is closed, the rent was about due, and this was the grand ?desp of the agent's art to close in a blaze of professional glory, "bribing" even the landlord and the man from whom he hired his furniture. As for the beautiful young widow, the placet which knew her know her no more.' She only engaged board for a week in thebrow stone mansion, and left before the week wad up. "r.! Chicago Tribune. i: !n'J 1? ' ? * ' i .hih.v.ii . Thb Signature op the Crow.?The mark which persons who are unable to write are required to makerinstead of their signature, is in the form of a cross; and this practiqe having formerly been followed by. kings and nobles, is constantly referred to as an instance of the .deplorable ignorance of ancient rimes. This signature is not however invariably a . proof of such ignorance. Anciently, the use of this mark was not oon'ined to illiterate,persons; and it is still always used by JEfioman Catholic bishops as part of their sigqateies. Among the Saxons, the mark of the crom, as an attestation of the good faith of the pegtyB, signing, was : required to be attached fio . fifes > signature of those who could not write.In those times, if a man could write or even read, his knowledge was regarded proof presumptive that he was in holy orders., The wopu clerisiw,. or clerk, was synonymous with penman ; and the laity, or people whp are not clerks, did not feel any urgent necessity for the use of tetters. The ancient use of the cross was, therefore universal/alike by those who could not write; it was, indeed the symbol of an oath from its holy associations, and generally the mark On this account Mr. (Jharies Jt-nigni, u an uotw to the "Pictorial Shakspeare," explains the. expression of "God save the mark," as a form; of ejaculation approximating to the character of an oath. This phrase occurs two or more times; in the plays of Shakspeare j but hitherto it had been left by the commentators in its original obscurity. . ,/j 9ST "Wasn't that a finished sermon we bad this morning V' asked one person of another, as they came out of church together. "Finished 1" was the reply, "yes, it was finished at last, ah . though I began to think it never would be." *