Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j |nt $nkpcitbetil Jfaittilg fUiosptptr: $uc tjft |)romOli(m of % political, Social, ^gricaltaral anir Commercial fnttmls of % Sonlji. TEEMS?$8.00 A TBAB, H AJ)YAS E. - ' - " / ' ' V' v " ' ' " '" | fim" 1-1-'/ VOL. 17. ' YOEKVILLE, S. O., "T^tXTRSD^Y, MAY 4, 1871. . I I I Original fwttg. Far the Yorkvllk Enquirer. A FAKHWELL TO WINDER. Written when the Hospital wa. closed. BY L. K. The mud Id (lowly sinking In the weit, And on the clouds bis golden radiance sheds, Soft twilight lores the sons of toil to rest, Where peaceftil slumbers soothe their weary heads. , Bat In this pensive hoar, sad and alone, What palnftil memories throng around me here, Where I so oft'hare beard the dying groan, And shad on noble worth the falling tear. What time, what place, can from my mind efface That now, and still will be to memory dear ? I ; What time through life will memory not retrace The rcenet of sufferings I have witnessed here ? Ah, scenes of sorrow, anguish, pain and woe! i 1 What lasting grief will countless bosoms swell, ' , And cause the hitter tears unceasing flow! The far off broken hearts alone con tell. j ' In distant homes, how many hearts will moan i 1 Of mothers, staters, wives in hopeless pain ; ; j And children long shall watt their sires' return, Rot all. alas! shall wait and weeo in vain. ' -I Par from their borne a, their hallowed place of birth, From all they held most sacred and tnoat dear; j ] That genius, Meats, virtues, noble worth? * j That love, that blighted hopes, lie buried here! , jj But dear to actuary kU 1 cherished here ! I Are those kind ones who watched life's fleeting breath; IJ Hoar woman's tenderness, and love aad care 11 Can snoothe aad cheer the dark, ooid path of death. ' ? Oh, demon war! when will thv borrow cease, I t When arilllmmaMel reign from ahoee to ahore, ^ And round this earth spread blessedness aad peace And drum and trumpet call be heard no more. Adieu, ye scenes of war, from you I go; 1 On thy aad themes no more my muse shall dwell ; g Adieu to anguish, sorrow, pain and woe i All, all Is past?and Winder, now, fluewtll. v ?u Original frize d x r Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. j TEMPTATION. a BY MBS. S. A. BEDELL. ( , 1 CHAPTER XIII. f General Arrowly returned to the army and r assumed command of his new brigade about the middle of April, and bore himself gallant- t ly in the battle of Chancellorsville, which oo- t curred about the first of May. In the battle s of the Wilderness, where Jackson .succeeded in turning Hooker^ flank, in one of his fori- t! ous charges, Philip suddenly came face to face with Gaspard, bis quondam friend, who I wore a Lieut Colonel's uniform, and was fighting desperately. Philip's sabre already dripping with blood, was uplifted when he recognised his foe. Instantly it fell to his side, u "Surrender, Gaspard !" he cried; "I cannot p strike you !" h "Never!" shouted Gaspard; "let rebels and h cowards yield?I conquer, or die!" and he A aimed a blow at his defenceless antagonist, fi that would have cleft him from the saddle, h had not one of Philip's men parried it; while a another struck Qolonel Gaspard to the ground, tl "Do not kill him," commanded Philip, as w he was borne on in the thickest of the fight u The enemy stubbornly contested every inch v of ground, and the battle was fierce and bloody. s .. The cavalry swept on, and infantry in. re- a* serve gleaned the field of the wounded. Col- a ' one! Gaspard was taken to the rear, where ' . PUUXAflrtJ tin vitien nlcrhf ha/1 folk an Hid ; - 4rhzeb|p 4vuuu ******y vtuvm |r?.w ? ? ??? , to the combat. After looking to hi9 own wounded, he sought Gaspard. He was wound- * ed, himself, and had hardly kept his seat through the day; but he sought his former 31 friend before having his own wounds attended h to. He found Gaspard stretched on a rude 7 litter suffering mortal agony, with the silence it of a brave man. il "Gaspard," he cried, taking his hand ten1derly, "this is bad; how do you feel ?" 7 ^ "I fear it is all over with me, Arrowly." "Don't say so?it can't be." it "Yes I think I am now fighting my last I battle.'* "Oh! no, I hope not; I am sure not; you '1 will notsucoumb toa cut like thisbut.while & Philip was speaking to him his deathly pallor alarmed him. "Arrowly, forgive ray dastardly attack on a you?I was blinded by passion." a-' "Say no more, my dear fellow, all is fair in war." it "I am very weak, I feel strangely," and ai without any warning, he fainted away. it Alarmed, Philip summoned a surgeon who, b after a careful examination, pronounced Gas- y pard's wound dangerous, but hot mortal. "Do what you can for him?spare nothing," j said Philip; "he was my friend and a noble ! fi foe, we must try to save him." i n "I will do my best," said the surgeon; "but j c< many of our own brave fellows are in a worse ! si condition than he." fi "That is true," said Philip, mournfully; j "go to them, I will attend to this man." ti Gaspard recovered from his swoon, and w after his wounds were dressed, seemed and felt better. d "How is it now?" asked Philip; "not going to die?" * " "Wn nlpftsp. (rod. ril null through this time, o That little fainting spell rested me. I've had a narrow escape this day." o "Yes, I was afraid yon would be trampled is to death ; the fight was terrible just where , ; you fell; they tell me the ground was covered with the wounded and slain." Gaspard evidently wanted to ask something ti but long hesitated. if "What is it, my dear fellow ?" asked Philip; U "speak freely, I am your friend, you know." 1( "How did the battle go? I am your prisoner, I know, but the conquered sometimes S take captives." . Philip's face glowed with patriotism. "We have gained a brilliant, but not com- ii plete, victory. The battle may be renewed in u a few hours. When I leave you now, which n I must soon do, we may never meet again ; for n - * you know many men go into battle, who never sj come out alive."* "Heaven preserve you, Arrowly, I would tl not have your army sustain such a loss, not a to speak of the selfishness of friendship." "If I live, I will come to you at the earliest <1 moment" "Thank you." d "As soon as you are able to be removed, I v will get you comfortable quarters." I "You are very kind ; I appreciate it believe li - me. When we talked blood and thunder in 1< Italy, we never imagined any thing like this? o did we ?" 8 "No; the horrors of this war were inoon- s ceivable. Here are you and I, brought up in the strictest friendship?there you lie in blue, i here I stand in grey?mortal foes. And this j is not the worst, brothers are often arrayed j - J* against each other. I have known them to meet breast to breast in the deadly battle's 3 front, dying, perhaps with a curse for each other on their lips. Oh, it is horrible?hor- 1 rible !" "Well, here I lie flat on my back, with no ! prospect of being well for months. I hope it! 1 will be all over before I get up again; for j 1 since talking with yon, it seems more like .; J war of brothers than ever." After a little farther conversation, they 11 wrung each other's hand, and Philip returned to his command. < On the 4th, the battle of Salem Church was < wqp, closing this remarkable series of victories i around Chancellorsville, and driving Hooker \ back across the Bappahannock to the camp < he had occupied before he ordered his advance from Falmouth. The cool, steady courage of General Arrowly, and his high soldierly qual-! i ities attracted the attention of his commander,j 1 and led to him being selected to conduct more i than one dangerous enterprise. After the < I lighting was over, he sought out Gaspard, and \ attended him as a brother. One morning |1 Philip said? "I must bid you good bye for a day or ttVo; 11 [ am going to beat up better quarters for you. * f have the surgeon's sanction to remove you ; 'hope soon to make you quite comfortable."'T "Thank you, Arrowly, it is rather rough 1 lere, but I have no right to complain, they ell me some of your own men do not fere as 8 veil." 11 "Indeed they do not?poor fellows. But I * tave a berth in view for you, that is just this u ide of heaven, and a dear little attendant, & rho is certainly not much lower than the I3 ngels." "I beg you will be particular to see that I n lo stop this side of heaven ; I would rather & tot have a through ticket yet, please the a jord." a Late that afternoon, a horseman alighted h >t Mrs. Dallas' gate, and directly, thereafter General Arrowly was shown into the parlor. * ?ate sat there in the twilight alone ; and the riendly shades hid her paiuful blushes as his 11 tame was announced. n "My little sister," said Philip, kissing her enderly ; "I am glad to see you, after all a hese days; have I surprised you by coming S t> soon f" d "Yes," she answered, simply; "I did not bink you would come again." ^ Did you not ? "How could you distrust me ? )id I not tell yon, I would come if I lived V' P "Did you say so ?" Bhe asked, tranquilly; ^ I have forgotten." a Philip looked at her in surprise. Was this l? idiflerent little lady, she who had wept so. ^ assionately at his departure? The little ^ ypocrite! Was not every word that Philip h ad said or written, engraved on her heart ? a: Lye, but Kate was getting to be wise, and the ruit of this wisdom was, she did not wear her ^ eart as openly as formerly, she shut the door nd turned the key on it, and told it to stay w 3ere until asked for. This newly acquired w isdom enabled her to meet Philip with a calm ^difference, which pleased his judgment rhile it did not flatter his vanity. ^ "I thought my little Rose would be glad to *c je me, but she never cared for me, I am fraid." J Never cared ? Ah! did he bu| knout "I am very glad to see you, General Arrow- If t," she replied, kindly; "and mamma, I ] h< now, will be delighted." j "I truBt Mrs. Dallas is well. I was so ab-; h< >rbed in you, I forgot to enquire after her di ealth, for which I cannot forgive myself, since hi ou say she will be delighted to see me, and ; is evident my little Rose is not," said Phil>, softly reproachful. "Why are you so great a skeptic ? I assure I ou, I am glad to see you again." le "That's a good child to tell me so; besides, af opens the way for me to present my mission, come a suppliant, my child." w Her heart beat tumultously ; well for her ai lat it was so dark. The glad light kindled a nd glowed and Aided and died unseen. D "Do you think you will grant my request?" "How do I know? Howcanltell? You ce re not presumptuous?I suppose you will not tfi sk amiss." "Accept ray thanks for your good opinion, is the first time my humility has been duly pprecrated. Now for my request, althougH di should rightly be presented to your mother, ut I do not forget, what a dear little nurse ou were to me." "Well," said she, hesitatingly. g( "I have a friend, ill, wounded?just a step om death's door; I remembered your kindess?nay, will I ever forget it?and I have j of )rae a suitor for my friend. In the name of j veet humanity, will you grant me this; ivor?" Gradually the happy hope, the sweet expec-1 itiondied; and Kate felt that the dream P' as over. "Am I asking too much?" anxiously, as she id not immediately answer. "Certainly not," she answered evenly; I cc Mamma and myself will be too happy to serve ur country in any capacity." "V! "Oh! but you will not be serving your n< ountry," he answered sadly, "for my friend i i our country's foe." ; She was silent from astonishment. tc "Can you do this for me, little Rose ?" "Yes," she said with something above pa iotism in her words; "my Bible teaches me, tl 'my enemy hunger, to feed him, if he thirst, j ) give him drink. Surely it is not sin to fol-1 C( >w the Divine teachings."' i ? "Blessed little one, how good you are! The j aviour in whose footsteps you are walking | is 'ill reward you." j b Mrs. Dallas came in, and after cordial greet- ] igs, the important matter was again brought j p, and after some demur on her part was fi- j ally agreed to. Philip remained during the j o' ight, and as he and Kate sat together, he I a lid: "You are such a dear little sister to me? ' h lie only one I ever had. I want to tell you secret. May I ?" a "You will make me happy by your confience." "May you be as happy as I hope to be some lay. There is but one person in this world ' j< ?ho is dearer to me than you are my sweet j lose; I thought her dead when I saw you 1 ast, but I have found her since then. It is a a ong story which I must tell you some time or , p ther; it is sufficient for the present to say j he lives, and lives for me, though I don't de-j o erve her; but who- does ? Bless her!" "I want you to know each other; you are ; ny sister, you must be hers too; for she, like ( y rou and me, was an only child. Will you , c iromise to love her for ray sake, Kate ?" "One can never know; I hope I shall. Do ! rou think I will ever see her ?" b "That you shall. I promise to bring her lere the very first place. Must I ?" "Oh yes, I want to see her." o Poor child ! the shock had come, and she had met it bravely, and she did want to see her?to see the woman so blest as to possess his love, and to be able to make his happiness. Philip went on wounding her id his ignorance. "When we are married?of course this dreadful war will be over then?you must jome to our Nottoway home, and go with us n winter, to Louisiana. She is a daughter of die South, a gorgeous creature, just like her iwn tropical beauties." "No wonder you love her." "If you say so without having seen her, vhat will you say when you know her and call ler sister." "I suppose I will say: Poor little Rose, her irother cannot possibly care for her now." Don't believe it; next to my wife will be ny little sister." They separated after this. Philip, in a uxurious bed?to which he was a stranger jow-a-days?fairly reveled in the foil fruition ! ?f sleep. Kate, as volnpkiously^odged, did : lot close lier eyes in sleeps (hiring-the wholes tight, but was busy until the grey dawn. Busy? Busy at what? Digging a grave, ,nd burying her dead out of her sight. The oorning light shone down into her heart, on be newly made grave, unwet with tears, and inmarked with hope. The love that might iave blessed a life. and made it grand and eautiful, was buried there. She bade Philip a smiling farewell and did' ot shrink from his brotherly salute. He was o bring Gaspard the next day, and she went bout making ready for the advent of this oldier, who had come south to destroy her ome and not to enjoy her hospitality. Philip rode off thinking to himself: Tom 'as mistaken after all; indeed, I thought myilf, that she cared for me, but I'll be hanged - it looks like it now. The little witch, she ever did, I'll be Bworn. It's just like women, lev can fool a man to the top of his bent, # * ny day. Well, I am glad of it?yes, very lad of it, only one never likes to be so eucedly taken in. In due time an ambulance arrived at Mrs. >allas' and Kennet Gaspard was lifted out. Philip saw him pleasantly established; he erceived that his suffering was a passport to le kind hearts of his entertainers, then, with sigh, turned his back on friendship and his ice to danger. What that danger was, he sarned on the flame-crowned heights of Getreburg, where seriously wounded and fainting, e fell into the hands of the enemy, but was fterward rescued by the faithful Tom, who vore that no durned Yankee should have [as Phil. He was carried to Richmond where from ounds and fatigue a fever was brought on, hich nearly proved fatal to him. What bright vision was it that one delightil morning presented to his conscious eyes ? That, but Maude sitting by his bedside, and oking pityingly on his sufferings ? No wonder the sight was an inspiration of bw life to him. He could not talk much at rst; but every day he fell asleep with W ind in his, and wer eyes looking on him as i floated out into the shadowy, illimitable ,nd of dreams. When he had recovered sufBiently to be up, Tom announced to him one ly, that a strange gentleman desired to see im. "Show him up Tom." And Colonel Gaspard entered. "My dear Arrowly, you have been ill, and could not get to see you. I did not get ave to come to Richmond until a few days "I am glad to see you; you are looking ell, my dear fellow. But how is it that you e still here? The authorities promised me parole for you before I left you with' Mrs. alias." "Yes," answered Gaspard quietly; "I resived it, but I have been recaptured since len ? "Recaptured ?" "Yes." "How? You did not violate your parole? ,d you ?" "No,. I don't think I did." "Who then dared to recapture you ?" "I think?but I am not sure, that the young mtleman belonged to the Royal Archers." "The Royal Archers f' "Yes, I believe he is a subject of the king hearts." "Cupid! as I live!" "The very same." "With whom have you fallen in love, now ?" "Now ? This is my first offence, if you [ease. But can't you gue3s ?" "Not with my little Rose?" "And who may your little Rose be ?" "Why your best of nurses?Kate Dallas, of rnrse." Gaspard drew back, flushing haughtily, /"hat am I to understand by this ? Kate did 3t tell me?" Philip laughed pleasantly. "Don't be jealous, she is only my little sisir." "Your sister ?" "Yes, she lets me call her so?the dear lite witch!" "It seems to me," said Gaspard, not very jrdially; "that you are very fond of your lopted sister." "Fond ? I should think I am ; why, there only one person on earth whom I love CbVCl. "And that is?" "My promised wife?who else?" Gaspard with all the doubt and trouble gone ut of his face, shook his friend's hand for bout five minutes uninterruptedly. "My dear Arrowly, you have made me very appy." "And my dear Gaspard, you have made my rm very tired." "Hang your arm 1" "I had begun to wish you would let it hang." "Be serious. Some how, I always had an lea that Kate liked you." "I hope she does." "Yes, but not as I feared; she has been an ngel of healing tome, and she has almost romised to stay with me aud be that always." j "Accept my congratulations, Gaspard; you j ught to be a happy man." "I am." "How will you do when you are exchauged; ou cannot draw your sword against her ountry." "No, I shall fight no more." "That's sensible, I can take you to my leart as a brother now." "I hope we may ever live so." "Dear little Rose, I must get strong, and go ut to see her in her bashful happiness." One morning as the shadows were gather* ing, Kate sat alone at her piano, and the sweet melodies floated out from her Angers as j : snow-flakes, when the air fairies dip their iu-.U visible hands into the upper granaries, and : scatter abroad their softly falling treasures, f A step sounded in the hall, entered the par*!;j lor, and paused at her side. "Is that you, Rennet?" she asked, without | turning her head. J) I A mustache just brushed her cheek and ] a kiss nestled softly down on her lips, while a ; < laughing voice whispered mischievously. J i "This is for the one who loves her best" j i It was the first time that, by word or look, j I Philip had alluded to that girlish escapade, j and it covered her with confusion; neverthe- j s less she met him with pleasant fearlessmes?Jj saying: j-t "That individual is not a bankrupt he on | c meet all legal demands?your offering, th^e-11 fore, is simply a work of sUpererrogaticn," , rl ! and with; words of graceful badinage, ibarrassnjou? wr>re off. ' i1 "I have news for Tittle Rose." ^ "What kind? Good or bad?" . - t "Good. Her sister is in Richmond."* ? "That is good?for Roee's brother." 5 "And for Rose, too ?" ' .Jt "Yes, for her, too." I n "I am so anxious for you to know each other. Come, go with me to Richmond, to see t my gorgeous southern lily." JJ "Is she like a lily ?" |ji "Ym nr ativ nth?r flower that is nnre and 11 magnificent. Bat you will go and see her, will< l you not ?" '' ' J j i "I will go, but not just yet" "Why?" L "Oh! a woman's reason?I am not ready." ' / "Well, get ready," persisted Philip, obsti- C nately. \ "So I am doing." i: "Are you really preparing to go to Richmond ?" "Yes, really." - -i "I am delighted. You will let me escort e you there, and as a reward, I will let some-j, body come to bring you back." ^ "Somebody will go with me." 5| A light flashed on Philip's dim perception, i, "Are you going to be married, Rose, and go * there as a bride?" "It is so decided. Don't you like the arrangement ?" Hi "Yes, oh! yes." t! "Why are you so serious, then V tl "Envious, my child." t< "Envious ?" n "Yes, all my eloquence has failed to move r that obstinate sister of yours, to a like com- ri mendable step." A "Poor Philip! Poor brother! How deso- <5 late!" b "Indeed, it is no laughing matter. A hap si py little affiancee like you, cannot appreciate the situation. How did you manage to make I up your mind, Kate ? I want the recipe, to ci carry to my ungovernable Southerner." * "We have nothing to jyt for, said Kate, jJjj efynply; "and ESS onnoKtilnfl ia mftn^r auTW be done with the bother." < "Phe-e-ew! that smashes the poetry of the It tender affair into Bmithereens." "That is what truth usually does for poetry." tl "My little Kate, philosophizing! That will p never do. Wisdom is not for such pretty 0 lips." * "Where is Tom ?" asked Kate, to cover -H this doubtful compliment. a Philip laughed. "Would you believe it? ti The black scamp has fallen a victim to the b prevailing epidemic. Tom is hopelessly in a love r "Who can have taken up her quarters in Tom's great heart?" ^ "A sable damsel from Louisiana, Rhoda by name. She came to Richmond with her mis- g tress, Miss Alleyn and proceeded forthwith to ^ take Tom captive. The poor fellow struggled manfully until he suddenly discovered, that ? I was the victim of the mistress, then he suecumbed gracefully, and at once." "That will be a very suitable arrangement" j, "Certainly, a drawing together of family M ties." In due time Kate became Mrs. Gaspard and ? went to Richmond, where she met Maude, t] with whom she was unaffectedly charmed. ^ These two women were noble specimens of dif- ^ ferent types. While Kate inspired all be- s holders with love, Maude inspired them with 5 respect,almost with reverence; her simple, earnest nature, her graceful tact, her gentle j words, her loving acts stamped "her as no or- f( dinary woman. When Philip pressed her to ^ name an early day for their marriage, with ^ generous self-denial she steadily refused, "We have no time to waste in selfish dal- n liance, however sweet," she said; "let us first f( consider the claims of others. Your place, my p Philip, is facing the enemies of our country, ? and I know my own weakness too well, to set,, j] up rival claims. If I had the right to bid j n ofoT* /1a wnn tliinV T nnillH Sllflfp.r VOH to I JVU OUO.J, v*v V" J ? go again to the perilous field of battle ? No ^ indeed, I must not then invest myself-jyth y this right, lest I make you as coward!yas?M| Philip pleaded his cause earnestly, and pflHj sionately, but to no purpose. Even the recip^* furnished by Kate, was unavailing. ^ 1 ^ "We have much to wait for," Maude aver- t< ed ; "brighter or darker days; if brighter, our f love shall crown their glory ; if dp >er, it shall t< be our consolation." p Thus Philip was sent back to the front, f where he won distinction on many a hard- J fought battle-field; where men sought not the p "bubble reputation," but liberty or death, & "even in the cannon's moath." v All in vain. We had passed through fire, j] hut were not yet purified. The great boon of i v freedom is not for this generation. Hearts ! c not more eager may enshrine it; hands not' & more undefiled, may grasp it; but the Aft- (_ wise Ruler has withheld it from us. May d they, to whom it is eventually vouchsafed, be f worthy of the trust. a Disaster after disaster brought the Confed- tl erate army to ill-fated Appomattox, and the b Confederate cause to naught. General Ar- j * rowly escaped from that sad field, aud his J sword now hangs in his hall on theNotteg^yr p The weary working and waiting is over, o and in one of the Richmond churches with A the echoes of cannonry, mingling with the a voice of the minister, and the glare of burn- a ing buildings over all, Philip Arrowly and I Maude Alleyn were married. fc When they looked back on their earlier t troubles, they stood like phantoms in the t shadowy past, so much had come and gone I since then. u For two years they rambled in Europe and ibt East, Phi Hp delighting in showing his iSautifbi wife to the old world, and of showng the beautiful old world to his wife, r^n Naples they stood beside a grave, over $ich wild flowers grew, and around whose garble column roses twined ; another was tear it, which bore the name of Luigi Anto* tetfir Father and daughter sleep side by side Kith the song of the sea and the wind former ^ghing over them. And when Maude's first little daughter Srae, the tender European flower, she asked ipd obtained permission, to give it the name ^graved on the rose-wreathed column?Aleiea. General Arrowly and his wife spend their ommers in Virginia, and their winters in liouisaua, and on Maude's table, blazing in be evening light, is seen the identical plate arriedoffby Captain Tafton's command, and he captain's social face is often reflected from bs polished surface, for he has come "down ^h" to seeK* rebei-wife?and a fortune? negrors- ot course, iMt of them still cling to their old K..+ oKnnf lomes, ifnanBfiBfmsei ve? uut illfliiV uuvuv -dices and Uniott Leagues. As for Tom and thoda, they regMd themselves as the real teade of the family, and Mas Phil, and Missy a merely accessories. Though there are silver threads in Philip's irown locks, and Maude is a mature, grave vbman, their happiness is not less complete. QtA^junshiue of perfect love aBd trust illumiates.their home, and will never pale, but 111 some day grow brighter with a divine ef'ilgence in their home of eternal bliss. [the end.] 'Copies of the Enqoimr containing the previous chapters af Hfcglpry caa be famished to new sttoecrlben.] ^isfrilaucous Reading. T DISINTERMENT OP NAPOLEON L by dr. r. shelton mackenzie. ^After Napoleon Bonaparte died, in St. Hel^a, his "last will and testament" was taken ^OgJatrd, and duly deposited and proved, |it is called, in the Prerogative Court. This i&<}.uaint old place in London, where the set will and testament of William Shakepoare is also still preserved. * V^apoleon's was duly deposited and 'proved' ^London. I was curious enough to pay one [tilling sterling for a sight of it, and do not j [link, at this moment, that it was money brown away. It is something to have seen, 3 have touched the very last signature of the lan who once ruled the greater part of Euope. Napoleon's will was executed at vaioua dates. The first portion, dated 15th ipril, 1821, is signed five times; and four pdicils, dated 24th April, 1821?ten days efore his death?also have "Napoleon" gned five times. Some years ago, at the request of Napoleon II, the document was surrendered, and is now arefally kept tfttong the archives of what ros the f^npeh Empire. Considering that not one sixpence of BhaValbeen no .ground for detaining his ist will and testament The second sentence in Napoleon's will runs iu8: "It is my wish that my ashes may reose on the banks of the Siene, in the midst f the French people, whom I have loved so ell." Napoleon's executors intimated the ish to Sir Hudson Lowe, the British jailor t St. Helena, whose treatment of the illusrious captive was so bad that, of Thomas foore's satirical poems, few were so popular s one beginning: "Sir Hudson Lowe ! Sir Hudson Lowe! By name, and ah, by nature so !" The miserable creature ridiculed the idea of iapoleon's remains ever resting in France, nd ordered that they should be interred in t. Helena. The executors selected a place hich, though he had seen it only once, Nac4eon had suggested as well adapted for the urpose. There, accordingly, a grave was ag" and a vault made. He was interred itbjnilitary honors, artillery and musketry emg discharged the iustant that the coffin ras lowered into the grave. The Abbe Vig(dira Catholic clergyman, performed the meral rites. In the hurry, no one had sought of consecrating the ground?which as a small hollow about a league from Longood, Napoleon's late residence, and close to fountain, shaded by a weeping willow. The Tig"? \TfKAn rvwA^nofnnf P.konlnin IWX Jl f- V OlllUtl, HIWl JIIUKflHIUa Vll(*|flHiU Plhe East India Company (owners of St. Lelena,) informed me, in 1843, that when he >ond the grave unconsecrated, he hastily ent to it in advance of the procession, and ie masons having just finished their work on teTOhlt, walked around it, saying: "O, Lord! lay it please Thee to consecrate this ground >r the reception of the mortal remains of Naoleon Bonaparte." Thus the grave of the louqueror was consecrated, with more fervor aan pomp, by an humble English clergyian. Sir Hudson Lowe would not allow NapoK?'s companions to place upon a tombstone St. Helena, far out in mid <3?oe the burial place and the Hvuilip^i 11 f flin great man. In 1840, Monphr Thiers, the historian, being Prime Minisir of France, opened a negotiation u ith Lord 'almerston, the Foreign Minister of England, ) transfer the bones of Napoleon from St. lelena to the banks of the Seine, among the 'rench people, whom he "had loved so well." 'he request was granted as soon as made, for 'almerston warred not with the dead, and a piadron commanded by the Prince de Joinille, was sent to St. Helena to bring home lie ashes of the great departed. On board 'ere five persons who had shared Napoleon's aptivity, namely: Marshal Bertrand and his on, General Gourgand, a son of Count Las Jnsas, and Marchand, Napoleon's first valete-chambre, to whom the sum of 400,000 ranca had been bequeathed with the grateful vowal, "The services he has rendered me are hose of a friend," Bertrand and Montholon eing the others. The French squadron went to sea eaely in uly, 1840, and reached St. Helena in three Months. The account of the disinterment has ften been given by Alison, by Thiers, by Lbbott and by others. I shall not refer to ny of these; but happening to have found, raong my papers, a letter from one of the Yench deamen who was present at the disinerment, giving an account of the opening of he coffin, it shall supply me with materials for he rest of this article. The Jack Tar's rrench is not very good, but I shall freely tse its substance in my own language.The disinterment began precisely at mid night, on the 16th of October, 1840?bang the twenty-fifth anniversary of Napoleon's arrival on the island. It was a wet night, and the men worked with shovels and pickaxes, by lanterns and torch-light At half-past nine o'clock in the morning they raised the coffin. There were four coffins, of mahogany, lead, harder mahogany, and tin or sheet iron. In last, Napoleon "Lay like a warrior taking his rest" .. The soldering of the inner or tin coffin was slowly cat, and the cover was carefully raised, j According to the custom pf the Indies, a layer of wadded satin had been plaoed in the coffin for the dead to rest on. This lapped ' over and concealed the remains. Gently ' raised, it disclosed the body of Napoleon. Every eye was moist Bertrand was greatly 1 moved. The body lay in a natural and easy < position, with the head a little raised on a ] cushion. The sknll was seen to be very large. ' The forehead high and square. The eyelids wef6 doeed. One of the doctors had gently raised thpm- nnd were seen the eyes? those blue-gray eyes whidli nau uu m.n.y x er in life?and for a few seconds they looked bright, as if in the living head; then a film seemed to creep over them. The lower part of the nose alone had fallen in?scarce perceptibly. The cheeks were plomp, and soil and supple to the touch?pale rather than pallid. The beard, which had grown a little since death, had given a bluish tinge to the firm chin, which had not lost its shape. The lips, slightly separated, disclosed three very white upper teeth. The hands, though they lost their plumpness, had retained their beautiful shape?the nails were long and white. The well-known little hat rested on the right thigh. The legs had been encased in military boots, the seams of which having opened, four toes of each foot were visible. The body was attired in the well-known uniform of a chasseur of the Old Guard, the colors of which had not faded, though the gold iace and the epaulettes, were tarnished. On the breast the . Star of the Legion of Honor still glittered. . Between the legs were a couple of silver vases, containing the heart and viscera. The body was then transferred to a leaden coffin, brought from France, which was conveyed with great difficulty, to the place of embarka- ' tion, on a car with low wheels, drawn by four , horses covered with black housings. The . coffin was within other coffins, and the entire weight of all was twenty-four hundred pounds. How the re-interment of Napoleon took place in Paris, in the midst of a million of spectators, can be found in many histories. I have merely allowed a French seaman to tell what he saw. ' HOW GOLD WAS FOUUD. THE ORIGINAL SEED OF THE CALIFORNIA FEVER. The first discovery of gold in California, at Sutter's mill, in 1843, which opened the gates for the tremendous excitement of that period, is thus narrated in the San Francisco Bulletin, ay one of the met) concerned: "I was one of nemeh at work at Coloxha at the time the Md was found by MarahalL I well remember when he sent a young Indian for James Brown, to send him a plate. Brown was on the top of a saw bit; he jumped down, saying, "I wonder what Marshall wants with a tin-plate?" After we had quit our day's work Marsball came into our shanty and told us he believed he had found gold, and directed Brown and myself to shut down the head gate early in the morning and throw in dirt and leaves so as to completely shot off the water, which we did, while Marshall went alone down into the tail race. In a few minutes he came up with a most pleasing smile on his face, carrying his old white hat in his arms, saying: "Boys, by damn, I believe I have found a gold mine ?" At this he sat his hat on the work bench, that stood in the mill yard, and the mill hands all gathered around in an instant; and there, sure enough, in the top of his hat crown (the top knooked in a little) was the pure metal, how much I do not know, perhaps an ounce. One of the company, by the name of Azariah Smith, pulled out a five-dollar gold piece and compared the coin with the particles. There was a differ ence in the looks, bat this was accounted for y on account of the alloy in the coin. Any of < us would have been willing to have sworn and ? testified that what James W. Marshall had ? lying on the top of his old hat crown was i gold, although none of us had eter seen gold t dust before. . f Some three or four days after this Marshall 1 went down to Sutter's Fort, to see about grub \ and to have the mineral tested ; he was gone e four days. When he returned and was asked e what he had made out of the metal, his reply \ was : "0, boys, by damn, it is the pure stuff! t I and the old captain (Gen. John A. Sutter,) \ locked ourselves up and was half a day try- t ing it; and the outsiders wondered what was c up, and surmised that I had found a quicksil- v ver mine, for you see there is a quicksilver t mine found by a woman down toward Monte- t ry; but we let them sweat. We found it 1 agreed with the encyclopedia, and we applied t aquafortis, and it bad nothing to do with it. ( We then weighed it in water by balancing the dust against silver on a pair of scales in c the air, having a basin of water. We let the t scales down, and when it came in contaot with r the water, by damn, the gold went down and 1 the silver up (motioned it out with his hands,) 1 and that told the story that it was the clear ? stuff." He then said Sutter would be up in } a few days to look at and examine the race. ^ In a few evenings afterward Marshall came i into our shanty and told us that Sutter had ] come; that he was up at the other house; } "and now, boys," said he, "we have all got a f little gold dust. I motion that we all give e Henry (myself) some, and in the morning, t when you shut off the water, let him (Henry) i take it down and sprinkle it all over the base ( rock. Not let on to the old gentleman (Sut- y ter,) and it will so excite him that he will set out his bottle and will treat, for he alwpyB carries his bottle with him." So next morning early,'before the old gentleman came down, we did as Marshall proposed. Just as the mill hands were finishing breakfast, we saw the old gentleman coming, stabbing, along with his cane in his hand (a well-dressed old gentleman, too,) Marshall on one side and Weimar on the other, Butter in the middle. As they neared our shanty, we went out and met them. After shaking hands and passing the common salutations, we were all invited by Sutter and Marshall to go along and have a general time prospecting in the race. Just at this time one of Weimar's little boys, not knowing what was up, ran on ahead and pick ed up nearly every particle, and came running back, nearly out of breath, meeting us and exclaiming, "See here how much I have found!" having, perhaps, fifty dollars' worth in his hands, and wedarednot say a word lest the joke would be found out and we lose our liquor. The old gentleman, as soon as he saw what the boy had, thrust his cane into the ground, saying, "By Jo, it is rich!" However, we all went into the race and found a number of particles, and from that forward gold began to be found in other places beside the tail-race." Sutter, anticipating the stampede that the announcement would occasion among the workmen, begged that the matter might be keptsecret until the mill was finished; but the thing was- too good to keep; the whole affiur was made public, the stampede did take place, in consequenoe of which the mill never waSsfiniahed, and its frame, like a gaunt and ipedifal skeleton, stood for a long time after, . ?? .? .? . e /i a 1 . V . onw, tfiroogti ine action or lire, aecayeq, ana raid* of relfc huntaryevery vestige of the refears ago. Making the inquiry on the ocoa- ' non of taking his picture as to the whereabouts )f the discoverer of the gold, the old pioneer, frith a quizical facial expression and charaoeristic shrug, replied, "Oh, he's gone away >op in de mountains, hunting after de big tumps!" Alas for the futility of human expectation; poor Marshall's anticipations of finding "the big lumps" never were realised; ind discouraged and disheartened, he has lived for years past in a sort of tumble down tener Kent, within view of the scene of the discovery which has rendered his name famous, eking cut a mere subsistence by raising poultry, grapes, and other fruits. It is to be hoped that he may realize something handsome from bis newly published biography. AH UNUMJA1* ELOFfcMBIT. Elopements are by no means unusual occurrences now-a-days, bnt one which occurred In Alleghany a few days since is so different in its character from the usual elopements Eat it can only be'classed among the extraorlihary. The knowledge of the facts connected with the affiur is as yet confined to a comparatively small number of persons, but, like nurder, they "will come out" From the information we received, it appear* that someime since a young man hailing from Philalelphia, settled in Alleghany city, and finally narried a young woman who resided in one >f the suburbs. The domestic relations of the couple seemed to be of the most pleasant .1? ? * *'1 kimluin/1 nnoMvofin an/) in wmwwr) BUU MID uusunuu) ouwgvatv uuu ? lustrious as he was, seemed to be proeperiog. Some months since the father jof the young nan, who was possessed of considerable neans, and a resident of Philadelphia, paid a risit to his son. He remained a short time, md then returned to his home. Before leavng, however, he congratulated his son upon he excellent choice he had made in his matrinonial alliance, and expressed himself well rieased in everVway with his daughter-in-law. j)f course, the ion was considerably elated jrer tlfe matterAnd donbfless took the first )pportunity to |pll his wife of the faVorable mpression she l&d made. Matters progressed imoothly and pleasantly, not a ripple occur ing to disturb the domestic tranquility. One evening last week the husband returned home md was very agreeably surprised to meet his ather, who had arrived from Philadelphia luring the afternoon. He extended a cordial velcome, and indulged in the idea that this lecond visit had been prompted solely by a lesire on the part of the father to enjoy the Measure which his home afforded. The father made no immediate effort to undeceive the ion as to the real object of his visit, but the >bject was not long to remain unconcealed. On Monday night, when the son came home, he wife in the most calm and deliberate manler, stated that she had a few words to say to rim. She commenced by assuring him that ihe had always found him to be a kind and rue husband, and that she had not one comriaint to make against him. She had discovered, however, that she did not love him as ""11 oVta minti and fViof oho had rnnnllldtvl TWA UO OJUV UllgUV) HUU VMM* WMW ?. .? o leave him. The surprise of the husband, when this announcement was made, was overwhelming ; and when he had recovered suffisiently to be able to ask what had brought ibout this sudden change of feeling and where the intended going, the wife, in the same calm, . mpertnrable manner as before, informed him hat she had discovered that she loved the ather, and that she intended to go with him! The son laughed at first, but when the father, who was present at the time, corroborated the tatement, he was thunder-struck. The fathsr wife did leave that night despite the w jRchfulness of the husband. Before leaving; > he couple visited the house of a sister of the wife, and took a friendly leave. The husband raced them to that place and thenoe to the lepot, but could not ascertain whether they went east or west. He was so surprised at he suddennes of the afikir, and the coolness tnd deliberation which characterised the ake any effective measures to prevent its sue<C88# Since the departure word has been sent &st and west It has also been ascertained hat the father converted all his available >roperty in Philadelphia into cash, before eaving, and it is supposed that he has with tim upwards of ten thousand dollars in moniy. His wife and family in Philadelphia mew nothing of his operations until receiving word from the deserted' husband, and then nvestigations made revealed the fact that he lad disposed of the balk of his property, lie iad still left a sufficient amount to keep the amily from want It would seem that the ilopement was planned daring the first visit, is circumstances have come to light which ndicate that if the husband had made any letermined effort to frustrate the designs, he vould have been quieted effectually. The extraordinary character of the affair, be strange infatuation of the old man, and the itill more readiness of the wife to become a larty to the double wrong, makes the case of j n usual interest?Newark Owner. Physical Capital fob Children.?Every hour that a child sleeps is just so muoh investment of physral capital for years to jome. Every hour after dark that a child is iwake is so much capital withdrawn. Every lour that a child lives a quiet tranquil, joy)us life of such sort as kittens live on hearths, squirrels in sunshine, is just so much investment in strength and steadiness and growth if the nervous system. Every hour that a jhild lives a life of excited brain-working, 11 ' . either in a school-room or ball-room, is just so much taken away(from the resewed force which enables nerves to ftrinmph through foe sorrows, through the labors, through foe diseases of later life. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child eats, at seasonable hours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter bow long it may. be. Victor Hugo, the benevolent exile, baa found out that to be well fed once in seven days, for one meal, has been enough to transform the apparent health of all the poor children in Guernsey. Who shall say that to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days, an unwholesome supper of chicken salad and champagne, may not leave as lasting effects on foe constitution of a child? f ? T . POISON IS A KE0UL4B KPT. It is a common assertion "that theliunian body can accustom keelf to anything," and though this is an exaggeration, the capacity of the physical system to sustain conditions which, it would seem, should .destroy it, is a most almost inconceivable, when we consider that very small portions of It will destroy life in those not so habituated. Arsenic and belladonna are much more commonly used than is generally supposed; used chiefly by the fair sex to improve their personal appearance and apparent health. As. to the nse of amnio, there are in some districts of lower Austria and Syria, and especially in the mountainous regions bordering on Hungary, numbers of persons who make a constant practice of eating as much anenic per diem as would serve to kill off a large population of such as were not regularly educated to the "arsenic 1?L:. >>, fru:. L.UU nkt.ini ^fcMa aimw tllft UJW1W Atua u?m? w?mi .j , . 0 peasants of these localitieB,*nd ? Allowed for the purpose of encouraging a healthy appearance of the akin; arsenic being, as has already been shown, a remarkable preservative of the form and color of thetissuei,evea after death. It is also eaten in thoae mountainous countries to improve respiration in cUmbingloftynndneaylyinpoacwibJeiwightH. A morsel of this poison, dissolved in the mouth, produces the most surprising results, and enables the pedestrian to bear exposure and fatigue without difficulty or djtnger. These poison-eaters commence with something less than half a grain, taken fasting, and gradually increase the dose, eating it. daily through, a long life, and only tafftring;when, by any accident, they are compelled to dispense with it One hale and hearty old man, upward of sixty years of age, had taken arsenic in fourgrain doees daily for more than forty years. Many, .however, die fromearelessnees in its use; and it is found that cessation from the practice producee all the symptoms of poisoning by arsenic, and health is only regained by a return to the habit In Vienna, arsenic is commonly given to horses to make them fat and sleek. In Constantinople, and in Peru and Bolivia, corrosive sublimate is eaten for the same purpose. very remarkable Act that nearly all poisons have been found to be antidotes to other pot ^ sons, and also curative agents for diseastt which present the same morbid conations. Thus, in India^aroenic is one of the ingredients of a very valuable antidote against the poison of serpents.?Appldori* Journal. ;,i: SLEEP AM) DEATH. "To live without fearing death," said Hufeland, "is the only means of living happy and dying at a good old age. People who dread death seldom attain longevity. If death presents itself to as under a repulsive and terrifying aspect, it is solely owing to our habits and prejudices having perverted our feelings." Montaigue justly said, that it is the darkening room, the faces of grief and desolation, the mourning and crying that make death terrific. -Civilization, by investing death with the most lugubrious associations that it can conjure up, has also contributed to render it a hideous sp tre. It is the reverse with the patient. In nine cases out of ten it is not only a relief, but almost a sense of voluptuousness. # Sleep daily teaches us the reality of death. "Sleep and death are twins," said the poets of antiquity. Why, then, should we fear death, when we daily invoke its brother as a friend and a consolation ? "Life," said Bufibn, "begins to fail long before it is utterly gone." Why, then, should we dread the last moment, whoa we are prepared for its advent by so many other moments of a similar character ? Death is ps natural as life. Both come to us in the same way, without consciousness, without our being able to determine the ad^ent of either. No one knows the exact moment when he goes to sleep; none will know the exact moment of his death. It is certain that death is generally a pleasant feeling. Lucsn used to say that life would be insupportable to man if the gods bad not hidden - - * % _ t__ from him the happiness he would experience in dying. Tullius Marcellinus, Francis Suahib, witfilw yliiHiwjyhBrtwMuiu WJ, SU upuw of the voluptuousness of their last moments. Such are the consolations whioh philosophy presents to timids that dread death. We need not say that much higher and loftier consolations. await the Christian, who is firm and steadfast in his faith, and has before him the prospect of eternal life. Diffusees of Happiness.?Some men move through life as a band of music moves down the street, flinging out pleasure on every side through the air to every one, far and near, who can listen. Some men fill the air with their presence and sweetness, as orchards, in October days, fill the air with the perfume of ripe fruit. Some women cling to their own houses, like the honeysuckle over the door, yet, like it, fill all the region with the subtle fragrance of their goodness. How great a bounty and a blessing is it so to bold the royal gifts of the soul that they shall be music to some and fragrance to others, and life to all I It would be no unworthy thing to live for, to make the power which we have within us the breath of other men's joy; to fill the atmosphere which they must stand in with a brightness which they cannot create for themselves. ! " ' ' '+ * ' 19* Anybody can tarniph the reputation of any individual, however pure and chaste, by utteriBg a suspicion which his enemies will believe and bis friends never bear of. A puff of idle wind can take up a million of the seeds of the thistle, and .dp a work of mischief which the husbandman must labor long and hard to undo; the floating particles being too light to be seen and too light to be stopped.