Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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WABamett & . lewis m. gbist, proprietor. J ^ii Jfnbtjprtratt Jfamilg ^tfosjpapcr: Jor tljt ^romotrim of % |)sfitttal, jjfotial, ^gricullnral anb Comrntrtial lirfmsfs of l|t j&onfji. |TERMS?$3.00 a teak, in advance. VOL. 17. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 24, 1871. NO. 34. i *li?*i i-i.? I J~:?l-J ~ Ktiio nnol qRp I ThpsA men strove and vied each with the oth Jtlertfd fwtog. THE SPRING AT THE FOOT OF THJ HILL. There's a dear, sweet spot way down In the past, To which my bean ever turns with a sigh, And my tears fall fast as leaves In the blast, When the winds of Autumn arc hurrying by! Tis the happy place where I drank my fill And cooled my burning thirst with joy, From the gushing spring at the foot of the hill, Where f drank when 1 was a boy! In the old stone house standing high above, With its honoat front and its open door, Dwelt the dearedt friends of my boyhood's love In the gay and happy times of yore! On their love and their friendship musing still 1 dream with sweet but saddened joy, Of the gushing spring at the foot of the hili, Where I drank when I was a boy ! I look around me and the friends arc gone Who played with me there in my boyhood's love, And still through this world I am wandering on, Now dreaming a dream, and now muttering a rhyme! But up through the mists of memory-still, Like music heard from the land of joy. Comes the gushing spring at the foot of the hill, Where I drank when 1 was a boy ! in the valley below, where the mnple shade Grows dark on the mound of her early grave, Lies sleeping forever a gentle maid, Who was lovely a* God to earth e'er gave ! And the stream flows on in its music still As It comes with a hymn of joy, From the gushing spring at the foot of the hill, Where I drauk when I was a boy! Jto Original ?me Jforg, Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. 2IBSSXHT. A TALE OF BEFORE THE WAR, BY ALICE ARNOLD. CHAPTER I. The fire had died low in the grate, and the afternoon sun, entering through the half-opened Venetians, fell upon the bowed head of a young girl kneeling upon the hearth-rug, touching and cresting with gold the dart tresses that fell, unconfined, over neck and shoulders, and reaching far below the waist? in her present attitude mingled with the brownbacked worsted birds wrought into the rug. She was bending very low over an ottoman, upon which rested a portfolio containing a half-finisbed manuscript; while upon the floor, by her side, lay several sheets of closely written foolscap, which her eager hands had un? consciously dropped. She was young and very fair. We will pause awhile to regard her. Of medium height and faultlessly symetrical in form, the dress of coarse grey material that she wore could not mar the perfect moulding of the limbs which her drooping posture gave forth; or conceal the dimples in the full, round arms, over which the sleeves fitted closely. Her complexion was as pure as alabaster, apd tinted like the lining of a sea-shell. Her face was more round than oval, for the fresh Hebe cheeks yet retained the fulness of childhood, with dimples printed in their rosy bloom ; while over a broad, intellectual white brow, rippled heavy masses oi rich chestnut hair with many a lurking golden gleam, which the sunlight now drew forth. Her eye-brows, though heavy, were gracefully arched and smooth; and the long white lids, which were amply fringed by long dark ]afib 8f-v?i4ed- eyes of the-deepest violet blue, such as are rarely seen beyond early childhood. Her nose, though somewhat retrousse, was delicate and expressive; and lips, full, fresh and rosy, parted to reveal two rows ol pearly teeth. Her hands were as beautiful and delicate as wax-work. The left was pressed upon her bosom, while in the right she held a pen and wrote rapidly. As she did so, the breath came thick and fast through her parted lips, a crimson glow deepened in her cheeks, and a light, almost of inspiration, kindled in the dark blue eyes. So absorbed was she that she heeded not a ring at the doorbell, or steps on the stair-way. The door opened with a sharp click of the latch that startled her wrapt senses, and springing up she stood confronting two persons who entered. One was a gentle-looking brown-eyed girl, simply attired in a plain grey walking suit, who had ushered in her companion, a remarkably handsome and well-dressed young man with an unmistakable air of haul ton about him. "Rose! Mr. Yelmonte. I hope you will both excuse me, as I am going out on business this afternoon." And without farther del?r the girl hurried off, leaving the two together. Our young scribe was blushing like a June rose, a3 she hastily gathered up the scattered fragments of her manuscript, and thrusting them into the portfolio, dropped the latter adroitly behind a fire-screen which stood on i-mo nf tViA rhimnev-nlfl.ee. Then she re collected that she had not asked her visitor to be seated. He was standing smiling in the door-way, his eyes following her movements with a mischievous twinkle, accompanied by a look ol undisguised admiration. "Forgive me," she said, coming forward and holding out her hand. "I was busy, and I never like to leave my things throwing-about, Sit down, please." He had pressed those soft, white fingers o little too firmly, perhaps; for she drew them away quickly and motioned him rather.imperiously to a chair. He, in his turn, colored and fixed his fine eyes deprecating upon hei face. "It is such a long time siuce I have seer you, Miss Rose." "A week or ten days, I think," she answer ed, looking steadily into the grate. "It seems a year to me," he said, half sigh ing. " Yes?" Her voice was steady and passionless. No! a quaver disturbed its smooth cadence; he] eyes still rested on the fading coals, while hi; anxiously scanned her features. ? "At least you are much better than when I last saw you," he said. "Oh! yes, I can walk all about now." "And you don't think of asking where 1 have been all this time ?" "In the city, I suppose," in the same un moved tone. "You couldn't have thought that, Miss Rose that I would be in the city and not have beei to enquire after you. The last visit I mad< here you were still on the sofa; and thougl absent, I have thought about you continually T 1 T *?11 I since, l am more nappy man j. ujiu icn juu, he continued in a low tone, "to find that yoi have so far recovered from your sprain, par ticularly as I came this afternoon to ask if ! might have the pleasure of taking you to th opera to-morrow night. Parodi will perforn in 'Traviata.' It is a fine opera and I an auxious that you should hear it." The young girl's heart beat quicker am she grew pale with pleasure. She was onl; sixteen, with all the eager, blind impulses c As soon as he was fairly oat of the street door, Mrs. Livingston hurried from the room, and presently returning with a scuttle full of coals, spread a cloth over the rug and began, with her own hands, to make the fire. early youth; and her proud, sensitive heart was touched at this proof of thoughtful re raerabrauce. She was passionately fond of E music, and though she had never, in .her life, attended a real opera, her enthusiastic fancy had depicted it to her as the most entrancingly delightful species of public entertainment. "I should like to go very much," she said, slowly; "but?" "But what? I can hear of no objection, now that you wish it. You will not find it j fatigueing. We will ride, of course, and you j are so fond of music that I don't think you will weary of the performance." "I am quite satisfied of that," she answered, softly, "but there are other things to be considered. I am very grateful for your kindness, Mr. Velmonte, but I must consult mamma and Helen." "Oh!" certainly, certainly ; of course, consult them," he said, impatiently, "but what j objection could they possibly urge? Don't i tiii'nL- \r;0Q "Rnse that vou are verv near- i ;uu ? j . ? - ly old enough to judge for yourself?*' Before she could reply, the door opened and ' a lady entered. She was of middle age; bu t - her face, which bore traces of former beauty, was sad and careworn. Her smooth brown hair was amply streaked with silver, and her black silk dress looked worn and rusty. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Livingston." Mr. Velraonte sprang up to get her a chair. "Good afternoon, Mr. Velmonte. I did not know you were here. Rose, my child, the fire has quite gone out." 5 "Yes, mamma," the girl answered, "but it ; isn't really cold; at least, I don't feel so." i t "You are improvident, nevertheless," said : her mother. "I will go and send a servant i in with some coals directly." < "Stop a minute, if you please, Mrs. Living- 1 ston," said Velmonte, as she was moving away. : "I must go, presently, and I came to ask your 1 consent for Miss Rose to go to the opera with 1 me to-morrow evening. And Miss Helen, too, J I mean," he added, politely. "My dear madam ; don't refuse, I beg. I will take the best ; possible care of them, and 'Traviata' is well j worth hearing. I have a private box where they can be quite free from observation, 1 and?" 1 A chilly little smile played over Mrs. .Livingston's lips as she interrupted him. "And is that Mr. Velmonte's usual style of extending invitations, with the inducement of escaping observation?" The young man colored and bit his lip, but bowing gracefully he answered, "Mr. Velraonte, madam, generally studies to please the taste of those whom he invites. I imagined that Miss Rosalie, not having made her debut yet, would scarcely care to find herself the cynosure of all eyes, as must undoubtedly be the case with any young lady of her appear ance who is not known among the frequenters of the opera-house; whereas, in a private box, with the curtains pleasantly drawn, we might enjoy the performance without encountering that battery of lorgnettes which we would oth, erwise be compelled to put up with. But. of ? > course, if you desire^lt, I will iromediatel^engage seats in the dress-circle, should I be so fortunate as to find that they have not all, by this time, been bespoken." . "Oh ! no, not for worlds," said Rose quickly. "Mamma, dear, please; I don't wish to go." ( "You may do as you will about it," said her mother (whose custom it was to oppose every thing violently at first and conclude by subsiding voiceless.) "I have nothing more to say." "If I dared insist," said Velraonte in a low tone, then louder he added, "Don't be so cruel, Miss Rose. Spare me this disappointment. I had set my heart on your going torow evening." His dark, bright grey eyes looked earnestly into hers. His voice was full of pain, and for an instant her resolution wavered. ' Mamma has been unjust and unkind to him, ' she thought, and I cannot mend matters by appearing to be the same. 1 "Could'nt you go alone ?" she asked aloud, naively. \ He smiled, rather a disdainful little smile, as he answered, "It is not necessary that I 1 should go alone, but I gave you the preference before all the ladies of my acquaintance." Rose was silent a little while, then looked i appealingly towards her mother, who looked j | persistently out of the window. She was not ; a very strong-minded woman, this Mrs. Laura Livingston, and her temper had been soured . 1 by reverses. Naturally rather weak of pur- | pose, and now painfully suspicious of every i 1 one's motives, she was just at present impressed with the idea that Velmonte's intercourse i ' with Rose was a strictly incog pleasure to him- i J self; and that the fashionable son of the i wealthy lawyer would dread to be recognized 3 as the escort of a poor bankrupt's daughter, j ! But a feeling of mortification overcame her as she perceived how inelegantly apparent she " ' had made her suspicions to a comparative < stranger. Rose, then, might look to her in 1 vain for instructions how to act. This the 1 1 girl perceived, and obeying her foremost im- < pulse she turned to Mr. Yelraonte. ] "At what time will the performance begin?" she asked. 1 "The doors will be open at half-past seven," < 1 he answered. "Then I will be ready by seven. You may : call for me any tirae.afiter that. 1 "Good-bye?au revoir I mean?and God bless you," he whispered, and again essayed to press the pretty hand held out to him. She drew it away more gently than at first; aud ^ he advanced toward her mother. * 1 n -1 iL. I I "Mrs. JLivmgston, wouia you uu me me 51 favor to accompany us ?." he asked. "My mother rarely goes out anywhere, and it would i II be pleasant for the young ladies to have you ! with them." ! At his words Laura Livingston's pale cheek j ^ : flushed with the recollection of former days, i and mentally there arose before her a picture j "; of a girl, young and fair as Rosalie, clad in : bright robes, the centre of a gay party in a j ? theatre box, and observed by many glasses;; i i who, heedless alike of music or lorgnettes, j 3; heard only the low, whispered words of one, i young, handsome and persuasive, who sat be-1 J side her. And lier mother, long since dead,! ' | glancing anxiously, from time to time, upon | i the couple. She would enter the same build- i 1 ing now under very different circumstances, j I j Broken, faded and weary of life, to behold e, that mimic life which, in its most tragic! 3 scenes, could present to her nothing so cruel j i as reality. It was more than she was equal! to, and her voice trembled as she gently de1 clined, giving her hand to the young man, y who bowed respectfully over it and took his ; f i leave. "Let me doit, mamma," urged Rose. "No?no," said her mother, decidedly; and the daughter walked away to the window to watch for her sister's return. "Rose, what will you wear to-morrow evening?" "I don't know, mamma ; I've not thought of that yet." "Nevertheless, it is quite an important consideration." "Yes, mamma, but I dare say Helen can help me to fix up something." "My child, what would you do without Helen?" "T 1 ? 1- ? T'? MXHA onaolrmr* nf "1 UOU I KIIUW, X 111 auie, auu v angels, here she is," cried Rosalie, as she ran lightly out of the room to meet her sister. ComiDg up the stairs, directly ahead of Helen, was a tall, thin figure, shabbily dressed, with a frown on his brow, and an ominous red blotch on the end of what had once been a handsome nose. He was evidently in feeble health, for he clung to the ballusters for support and winced frequently as though suffering with rheumatism. Knitting his brows and chewing tobacco vigorously, he was not a pleasant or enno-1 bling spectacle to meet a daughter's gaze, and almost involuntarily, Rosalie averted her face and ran up to her own room in the garret. It was not a wise or a filial act, but the contrast was painfully strong between her father and one whom she had lately seen. As soon as she had seen him enter the parlor and close the door behind him, she leaned over the ballustrade and called to her sister. Helen did not speak, but only clasped Rose's hand as they entered their own room together, and svhen the latter kissed her, she felt that her face was wet with tears. "What is it, ray own darling?" asked the younger sister, tenderly, drawing off her gloves as she sank into a chair. "Oh! Rose, I am so weary, so weary of this constant humiliation. This afternoon ivhen I had finished giving Hattie Fraser her nusic lesson, Mrs. Fraser sent for me to come nto the drawing-room, and introduced me to lome ladies who she is tryiug to interest to *et pupils for me?Mrs. and Miss Chandler. They are very pretentious, over-dressed people, ?vho say they used to know mamma, and asked rae a great many questions about poor Beatrix?how they ever came to know about her [ can't imagine?and all of us. They are lot even certain of being able to assist me; iut when I arose to leave, volunteered to walk part of the way with me. I would gladly lave dispensed with their company, but of lourse I could not help myself, and just as I was parting with them?Oh ! Rose, it nearly kills me to think of it?we heard a great disturbance in a small corner shop, where they iay a woman sells liquor, and turning, I saw >ur wretched father disputing with this vomaa-r-a hidepus, red-haired Jrish, virago-5vho was shaking her fists ana gesticulating violently. A motley crowd had collected, to ivhom she was proclaiming that he had not paid her a cent in two months, and had been luying liquor all that time. And, Oh 1 child, [ felt my poor, guilty face grow so red that ny companions must have known who it was mmediately. I wished them good-bye hurriedly, and walked into the shop. I had ten lollars, which Mrs. Fraser had just paid me, I ind half of which I intended to give you,' 3ut that is out of the question now. "Please, ! papa, go home," I implored; and paying the ! ivoraan what she demanded, I saw him go { nf mp nut. nf the haleful Dlace. Of! course I was a gazing stock for the rowdy j Multitude, and taking another direction, 11 ;ot here just after I saw him enter the street i loor. Oh ! Rose, it is a bitter, bitter thing I" Rosalie laid her head upon her sister's lap md sobbed aloud. "The idea of my showing myself in .public!" she exclaimed, as soon as j >he could speak. "I will write a note to Mr. j Velmonte to-night, and tell him positively ihat I cannot go with him to the opera to-morrow evening. Oh! I wish?I wish I were far, far away from this place, like Beatrix!" "Don't say so, darling," said Helen, smooth- j ing her sister's beautiful hair. "You don't even know where poor, darling Bee is now, or what she may be suffering. A.11 that we can do is to pray for her. But :ell me, what is it about Mr. Velmonte. and the opera ?" In a broken voice Rose recounted the af- j ternoon's interview, and concluded by vehe-1 mently protesting that henceforth she would | renounce the society of Velmonte and of eve- j ry other young and agreeable man with whom i iccident might bring her into contact. "Don't be so precipitate,.little Rose," said Helen, fondling and kissing her, "but I think pou are right about not going to-morrow. You write the note, and I have still fifty sents which I can give old Daddy Andrew to 2arrvit. Do vou know where Mr. Velmonte lives ?" "Yes; in street. I don't know the num- j ber, but after old Andrew gets there, any j ane can point out to him the residence of the | Hon. Frederick Velmonte; that is Mr. Louis' j father. Oh ! Helen, what a terrible differ-1 ence there is between people in this world, j How rich and light-hearted and happy Louis I Velmonte's sister must be!" "Hush! don't think of that, dear," said , Helen, as she lit a little piece of candle, and j Rose proceeded to indite her note. Leaving her thus employed, we will indulge in a little retrospection, and acquaint the reader with some of the antecedents of the characters met with in this chapter. CHAPTER II. Few men have entered life with fairer pros-; pects than did Edward Livingston. Possessed \ of naturally fine abilities, he enjoyed all the j advantages of a first-class education; and 1 having closed his collegiate career with con-; siderable eclat, directed his attention to the i study of law. For some months he applied himself vigorously, but soon wearying of the flnsp nnnfinament. snrlrlpnlv announced to his friends his intention of betaking himself to ! the Old World, with the design, as he said, of j prosecuting his law studies more thoroughly i in Germany. Livingston remained absent about three years, during which time the entire stock of capital with which a widowed mother had furnished him was exhausted, and he had roamed over the greater portion of continental Europe, not remaining longer than three weeks in any one place but Paris, and learning nothing but extravagant habits. During his absence, little or nothing was heard of him in his native ci^ ty, except that about a year after his departure, Frederick Velraonte, a young barrister who had been a fellow-student in the same office with him, being summoned to the deathbed of an uncle in Paris, on his return to L gave no very favorable report of Liv * /?! /! .1 ? 1 ragstons raoue 01 jne in tnat gay capital. x ei when two years later the death of his mother summoned him home, society received with open arras the gay wanderer, and the general impression that he had inherited a handsome property, added to his many personal attractions, soon gained him access to the best houses in L , and won for him the smiles and encouragements of many a mother with marriageable daughters to dispose of. But, like Count Otto, he "bowed and smiled to ray lady, I smiled and bowed to my lady's daughter," I yet remained unblest. In a year's time, Mrs.;j Grundy began to shake her head ominously: The young ladies still voted him "a but prudent elder brothers compressed thei* lips, and their faces darkened when his name, was mentioned. It was rumored that he hacf flirted three unwary maids in that time, had | borrowed money from more than ten times I three unwary men, who began to realize that the payment thereof was everlastingly in antioination. and showed no disposition whatev-; er to engage in business of any kind. Suspicious people began even to doubt the existence of the property hefore-mentioned, and to say that Ned Livingston's income consisted solely in a clever and ingenious system of sponging, which he steadily practiced; but in this, as in every thing else, opinions varied. He was very popular with the gentle sex, and about this time made the acquaintance of Miss Laura Denham, one of the reigning beauties of the season, to whom he devoted nimself so assiduously that far-sighted Madame Rumor began to speak confidently of bride-cake and orange flowers, and Miss Laura's mamma began to cross-question her daughter and pass sleepless nights. Theyoung lady in question, possessed, in her own right, a small property. She was a spoiled, selfwilled, vain beauty, unwholesomely addicted to novel-reading; and though some latent sterling qualities lurked in her natnre, the education she had received was, by no means, calculated to develop them. Her fastidious taste was captivated by Livingston's pleasing exterior, her vanity flattered by his adulation, and after a few weeks' acquaintance, she had unconditionally engaged herself to a Comparative stranger. Mrs. Denham was violently opposed to her daughter's choice, but Laura's determination was unalterable, and the mother was compelled to witness a marriage which her soul abhorred, and which she survived but a few., months. And Laura Livingston's married life (wtacu was very splendid at its outset) was destined to prove ^ bitter chastisement for her unfiliat conduct. As soon as the honeymoon was over! Mr. Livingston established himself m *buwfc ness on a very grand scale, as a wholesale wine merchant, taking into partnership Louis Velmonte, an elder brother of his ci-devant fellow-student, and for sometime the firm flourished nobly. Mr. Livingston lived magnificently and entertained in sumptuous style. His wife drove the finest equippage in L , and her milliner's and dress-maker's bills were greedily caviled over in the numerous charitable associations, of which her mother had once formed an ornament. When their first child, Beatrix, opened her baby eyes upon a life that, for her, wjis fraught with sorrow and pain, the sum expended on the little one's wardrobe alone, would have supported a poor family for a year. The christening robe was a marvel of embroidery and extravagance, and was subsequently sold to buy its owner a pair of shoes. The outlay was not so great when Helen and Rosalie arrived, within twen- 1 ty months of each other; but the children were all reared in the most delicate and luxurious style. Beatrix early manifested an extraordinary talent for music, and sung with such a sweet, correct little voice when she was only six years old, that her parents engaged a celebrated German professor to instruct her, pt the same time placing her at one of the most fash ionable day-schools in the city. The child was spoiled and capricious, and did not win the affection of her playmates; but, being clever and fond of study, she soon took her place among the brag scholars, and was certainly the best dancer in her class. The mother was excessively proud of her grace and agility, and the child, though not pretty, was, to grown up-persous, peculiarly attractive with her lithe little figure, earnest grey eyes, and singularly sweet voice. She was also possessed of a remarkable memory, and would, when very young, repeat with singular pathos and accuracy, long verses of poetry, which would have done credit to an older child. Helen was a gentle, sweet tempered littltT thing, who learned to sew as well as to read and write, was extremely obedient and al^Wiij kept herself neat and orderly, doting, in a' little motherly sort of way, on "baby Rose,!'' the beauty of the family, and delighting to assist "maum Hannah," the seamstress, or Jane, her mamma's maid, in the different functions of their respective departments. While things prospered with him, Mr. Livingston was a kind, indulgent husband and father. He lavished money in costly presents at Christmas and New Year; and delighting to see them all elegantly dressed and making a show, went on involving himself deeper and deeper, till the future grew dark before him, and the last vestige of integrity of purpose was lost in the great gulf of reckless, selfish speculation. The great crash came when Beatrix was nine years old, and > n? Ti A_ llttIC itOB6 only nve. it was a temuie ttifair?the -worst failure that had ever been known in L ; and a large portion of the community was more or less involved in it. Velmonte was irretrievably ruined, and Mr. Livingston found a defaulter to tbe amount of more thousands than the unhappy man had ever possessed. Two hours before it became public, he had fled from the city, leaving his wife to learn from strangers that she was disgraced, impoverished and forsaken. It was a fearful blow, but the injured woman did not suffer it to paralyze her energies. As soon as she recovered from the first shock?as annn aa 0V10 rofllivWl that, her children had none other than herself to depend upon?summoning all her courage and smothering her pride, she plead with the creditors for a small two-story brick house which she owned in the suburbs of the city and had always rented out; abegjwo faithful negroes whom she had owned from childhood. These, through the intervention of an influential friend, were granted her, while every thing else was swept away; and with this wretched dependence, she was ?Ut nAinn nf lior nrpnorniiQ rplftt.ives to bCU UJ OUIUU VA iiv* ....... __ confer herself "extremely fortunate." Farther than this, not one of them put forth a hand to aid her. The most efficient kindI nep she received was from Beatrix' music j teacher, a good-hearted, eccentric German, who offered to give the child her instruction gratis, until she should complete her course, and be able to earn a livelihood from teaching. Mrs. Livingston thankfully accepted tint-tiffer, and establishing her little family in the upper story of the house, which she con(with some odds and ends that she had bden allowed to take away from her former , ajigrtnt residence) to furnish scantily, rented | t^Ower floor, and hiring out her man-serthe housework with the maid, ^^^^mingements of the little household [wfcfe very ingenious. A good-sized dining| iwa was fitted up as a sleeping apartment for Mrs. Livingston and little Rose; the adjoining room used as a dining hall, and the opposite one as a parlor, while the only habitable garret was occupied by Beatrix and Helen? The children took kindly to their new "TJfcartere and gave their mother very little trouble. The two youngest she removed from school, and undertook their instruction herself ; but resolving to make any sacrifice rather than deprive Beatrix of this advantage, she engaged plain sewing and embroidery, ^ad with this humble source of revenue to help eke out her scanty income, managed to keep her children and self above 'starvation. Jt was little more. Their food was of the plainest, their clothes carefully mended and worn season after season without regard to fashion or fading; but the poor woman, whose Shftracter had shown so flimsy in her fair days, &une out nobly in adversity. Of all the many friends whom she had formerly assembled around her, there was not one to whom - ? Tx she might now apply ior assistance. it was the old story of heartlessness and self-interest. Some months after her misfortune, some "of them vouchsafed her the empty compliment of a call, encroaching upon time which she could ill afford to lose, and wounding her pride with their awkward condolences; but for more substantial sympathy, she might look in vain. Naturally haughty, in her wealthy days she had never made friends, and many there were whose malice rejoiced in her hu"mtfiating downfall. She did not now encourage a repetition of those visits, and, consequently, was left much to herself. Many a time, when the children had gone to bed, and the weary woman sat alone plying her needle until long after midnight, her heart ached sorely for the husband who had sworn before God's minister to abide by her "for better, for worse." Only to see him again, she could forgive and forget all his Viewing them the tender,, raer^ ciral light which her woman's love shed over them, they were but misfortunes. She would cling to him while the whole world scorned. "What was the world to her now ? She had a bitter lesson of its worth, and was resolved, henceforth, to live apart from it; but Oh! however humble their lot might be, would that he were there to share it with her! Yet no news of him came. For three long, weary years she struggled on in her loneliness and poverty, with no society but that of her children, and gnawed by a constant anxiety which was fast consuming her youth and beauty; and all enquiries had resulted in nothing. The second year of their reverses, one of her prosperous relatives was so far touched by her uncomplaining fortitude, as to make her a handsome present of money; and this he repeated frequently during the year that followed. It was a great assistance, enabling her to keep Beatrix at school and to hire a second-hand piano upon which the elder daughter began to instruct Helen. The children were a great comfort to her. Little Helen seemed fully to realize their situation and worked very hard at her lessons. She was not as talented as either Beatrix or Rcee, but her untiring dilligence and perseverance seemed to master all difficulties. She was a great help, too, in the housework, and did an amount of mending for all of them. Little Rose was very bright The child seemed to take naturally to books, and learningTo read in a surprisingly short time, was never at a loss for amusement. And the mother found her very companionable; she was so full of original ideas and pretty little fairy fancies which her childish brain was constantly weaving; and the circumstances of"her life, being so unlike that of other children, served to develope the poetic genius which was born with her. The persons who rented Mrs. Livingston's rooms were a Swiss family, consisting of a man, his wife and one little child, a pretty, just two years younger than Rosalie.^ They were quiet, unobtrusive people, who paid their rent regularly, and little Edgar, one day finding his way up-stairs, made friends with Rosalie, and behaved so pleasant ly that Mrs. Livingston encouraged him to repeat the visit. A friendship soon sprang up between the children which lasted out some distance into their young lives. Edgar was a foreigner, and isolated from other boys by reason of his ill health, sought Rose's companionship continually, and soon grew to be i the repository of all her little childish confi- : deuces. i Bnt of all the children, Beatrix was the : one who felt their situation' most keenly. ; Going out among other children, as she was obliged to do at school, she was not long in i ascertaining how far the family had fallen in tliomnlol ar?nla ond Viar nrniifl snirifr. writhed ii^iw ivvlml ovtuv; WMV4 mw* vuv. ,, at tie insulting mention which she frequently hea^d of her father's name; for children? the generality of them?are by nature coarse and cruel, and it is only careful education . wliuh can raise their minds to a higher tone. I Therefore, as they did not love her, Beatrix' J patdied dresses and coarse shoes came in also ' ( for their share of scornful comment. The j chilfl was not humble or tolerant, and fiercely reseating all insults, soon found herself no , longer molested, it is true, but shunned and neglacted by those children even who, with theii parents, had once been accustomed to freqient her mother's house and had delighted ii the bountiful hospitality with which they were invariably entertained. Tie lesson of life, coming thus early, was hard and Ditter, ana nor aitogemer Bmuuujr for while it strengthened her will and steadie< her determination of purpose, it embittere< her nature and filled her heart with harsh rebellious feelings against her absent father The person for whom, perhaps, she caret most, was her music teacher?a gruff, uncere monious sort of a man, with a great deal o the genuine milk of human kindness abou him; and, devoted to his profession, anyom who evinced a decided talent for the science could not foil to win his affection. Beatrix had delighted him on first acquain tance, and the master would sooner have par ted with half his income than have relinquish ed so interesting a charge. It was througl him that she enjoyed the only recreation tha I* ^ flwflii Trnonf (Xr tffirv fpp liCl OnU UUilU'illU c v vi nuottj m t v* j ??<. quently, when she had made unusually go<x progress, he would reward her by taking he: to the theatre or opera. She went first when she was eleven yean old, and returning home wild with deligh and tumble to sleep, kept HelecMjawafee hal the night repeating to her portions of the plaj and going through the parts so admirablj that the little nine year old sister clapped he: hands with delight and begged her to "do ii over for mamma and Rose" next day. Mamma did not applaud the performana as much as they had expected. She grev very pale, and soon said, "Beatrix, we hav< had enough of this;" but Rose and Edgai went into exstacies over her, and the younj tyro was well pleased with the approval of hei first audietfee. A year late**, as the little family were as sembled one rainy evening in the parlor, then was a loud, impatient ring at the street-dool bell, almost immediately followed by tht stamping of a man's boots on the lower piazza, and presently Edgar trotted up stairs, at tended by a tall figure buttoned up in an overcoat?a very shabby overcoat which, like its wearer, had been handsome in its day?and pushing open the parlor door the husbdftd and father-stood in presence of those whom, for three years, he had abandoned to the cold charity of the world. Mrs. Livingston was so over-powered by the meeting that she slipped from his embrace, and sank fainting upon an ottoman, with her head supported on Helen's shoulder, Slowly and doggedly Beatrix came forward tc receive her father's kiss, while Rose, starting up from a volume of "Undine," in which she had been lost for the past three hours, gazed wonderingly upon the intruder. Mr. Livingston had no right to expect a more loving welcome, yet he was disconcerted and angry that one of his children should not even know him, and turned with a look of petulent inquiry to his wife. But Laura had so far recovered herself as to get out of the room, and little Helen, with the utmost sweetness, although the child was ready to cry, put her arms aroun^ her father's neck and kissed him affectionately ; then explaining to Rose, this little one suffered him to embrace her and shyly.offered to help disencumber him of his wrappings. , y ; x , Mr. Livingston was delighted with her. Taking her upon his knee he fondled her tenderly, praising her beautiful hair and eyes and stroking her velvet cheek, to which endearments the child rather submitted than anything else. She was too young to understand exactly how things stood, but her father's looks filled her with a vague distrust and dread, and her eyes wandered, from time to time, toward her eldest sister, who sat apart, silent and unforgiving, her fingers straying noiselessly over the piano keys and her eyes riveted steadily upon a sheet of music before her. Mr. Livingston did not appear to notice this, and when the mother re-entered with tea and refreshments, he partook of them in seemingly high spirits. But it was not until after the children had gone to bed that he attempted to enter upon any explanation to his wife. And then the poor woman, faint and sick at heart, as she regarded his altered visage, upon which the signs of dissipation were but too legible, heard a rambling, disconnected account of grand schemes that bad failed for want of the proper support, and appreciation of the world ; of Herculean labors that (of course through the villainy of some other man) had been thrown away; and, in short, he had accomplished nothing, and was now come back to live upon his wife. Mr. Livingston did not say so, of course. He spoke in a gay, careless kind of way, of "getting something to do," and "only being here on a visit," &c., but in that interview poor Laura saw her future life mapped out pretty clearly before her. Her husband expressed his gratification that she had managed to get on so well during his absence, but seemed quite to overlook the fact that she had so "managed" entirely without his assistance; n*1*3 TMiftffir orv/vn *tnfli on ovni?aoo5rro vovxm ttUU OVWUj IMVU (*U VA^/iWOO?f V JWTfM; signified his willingness to retire. Mrs. Livingston rose wearily and bolted in the shutters without his offering to assist her; then put out the fire, lit a lamp and led the way to her bed-room. Little Rose, of course, had been transferred to the garret, where Beatrix and Helen slept, and from that time the children realized that the family unity was destroyed, and that henceforth, their mother would be a something apart from the others. The three sisters did not talk much to each other?as children arc apt to do under such circumstances, on going to bed that night, but Helen?as she assisted Rose to undress, dropped some hot tears on the little one's neck, which the child, with instinctive delicacy forbore to comment upon. Beatrix said nothing, but wheeled about with rapid, wiry movements, her face very pale and her lipe firmly set; and that night the girl registered a vow on the fly-leaf of her Bible, From that day fresh calamities befell the poor little circle wh^ch had been so rudely broken into. The wealthy relative who had paid for Beatrix' schooling withdrew his contributions, and the child was of course obliged to discontinue her studies and part with the piano. Beatrix had never before exhibited a grief so violent as that which she manifested on this occasion. She did - not so much object to leaving school, but her piano was her great est solace, and she wept and wrung her hands like one possessed. Mr. Livingston was extremely irritated at what he termed "this outburst of a violent and uncontrolled temper," and scolded his daughter sharply for it, at which Beatrix said nothing, but went to her music lesson that afternoon with very red eyes and an unusually i uejeviuxi uuuuwuiuiuc. iwi ??uv v?. -? 1 had not yet learned to mask her sorrows, and 1 the master did not fail to remark that something had gone wrong with her. The kind: hearted German coaxed the cause of his pu1 pil's trouble out of her, and when he had - learned it, obligingly made an arrangement by f which she could practice in his rooms, and t even continue to teach Helen on one of his b obsolete pianos. It was improving to her, he , argued, to impart what instruction she had received, and Beatrix was comforted. Little Helen, though not really talented, w was an excellent scholar. There were no 1 * i- 1 ? J 1 - D0UDC1S 10 ner assiuuiiy, auu uer sister tureauy } began to feel a pride in her pupil. It was t4 well that there was something to occupy their minds and hearts?poor little things!?for i affairs at home looked very dark and cloudy, r Mr. Livingston made a feint of seeking employment in his native city, but it soon bes came evident to his wife that he 'had really t no intention of'working. He complained in- 7 fear the man's whole constitution seemed, in 7 that short time, to be completely broken down, r He had evidently been living a most irregular t life, and his intemperate habits soon became plainly apparent to all the little household. 5 His intense selfishness did not scruple to acf ceptof bis wife's hard earnings; his pride 3 seemed to have quite deserted him, and e'er r long he had lost toe veij semblance of a genr tleman. A few months after her husband's return, a distant relative of Mrs. Livingston's dying, , . left her a small legacy. It yielded but a pit) tance annually, yet but for this they must < . have starved. Mr. Livingston at once took i j upon himself the arraDgement and disposal of 1 . his wife's little property, and with gross indel- ! , icacy speaking offt as "ours," insisted upon . hearing regularly an account of the manner j , in which it was spent; omitting, however, to ( [ observe the same particularity in regard to ] [ the sums whioh he peevishly and almost im peratively exacted from her for his own ? I Fortunately for her, the money w,as,in the j hands of a trustee, and the principal, at least, | . secure from her husband's clutches ; but she , , had little enough to spend on her family. j When she first received it she purchased, < secretly, and smuggled into the house, a cheap, 1 , third-rate piano. It was only six octaves and 3 , .iorribly out of tune, but soon became the de- 3 | light of Beatrix' heart She sold an oldfashioned, yet much cherished, ruby ring to , have it finely tuned and put in order, and i both of her younger sisters subsequently | learned upon it [to be continued next week.] i fading.; " KACY LINES. j I "Life is bnt a span of horses: , One Is 'Age,' the other 'Prime,' Up and down the hill our coarse is; ' , 'Go in,' ponies?'makeydar time.' i "Boyhood plies the whip of pleasure; ' i YouthfUl folly gives a stroke; j Manhood goads them at his leisure? \ 'Let *wi? rfprthey're tojgh as oak.'- ? "Hi yaV there; the stake we'll pocket, , To the winds let care be sent; Time, 2:40?'whip in socket;' ( I 'Give'em string and let'era went' J "On the sunny road to fifty, 'Prime' is drowned in Lethe's stream; ] 'Aire' is left old. unthrifty : fife then proves 'a one-horse team.' "Age' jogs on, grows quite unsteady, Reels and slackens in his pace; 'Kicks the bucket,' always ready ; 1 'Give it up'?Death wins the race." t A BLACK MAN'S VIEWS. f Major M. R. Delany, a black man of some t education and considerable independence, who is dow established in Charleston as a land 1 agent, has published a letter to Fred Doug- ? lass, containing a review of the condition of j things political in South Carolina, which, he ( thinks, will also justly apply to nearly all, if i not all, the reconstructed States of the South, i We make some noteworthy extracts from the I letter. 1 When the war ended the colored people of the South had little knowledge of social and political affairs, and had of necessity to ac- ( cept such leaders as presented themselves. The first of these were in the persons of vari' ous agencies; as school teachers (mostly wo- ( men,) the Christian Commission, colporteurs . and agents of the "Freedmen's Affairs," (not t the Bureau,) who aided in directing their so- t cial and domestic relations. t When reconstruction commenced, political ^ leaders were greatly required, but few to be had. Southerners (the old masters) studious- ^ 1 ly opposed and refbsed to countenance reconstruction, and the freedmen were fearful and would not have trusted them if they could * have obtained their aid. * Those who came with or followed the army, 8 with a very few native whites, were the only i available political element to be had to carry out the measures of reconstruction. These were readily accepted by the blacks c. (by this I include the entire colored people) c and the fullest confidence reposed in them. Some were or had been officers in the army, * some privates, some sutlers, others peddlers c and various tradesmen, others gamblers, and f even pickpockets, "hangers on" and "bum- 1 mere, I am particularly speaking of the c whites. Among these were men of refinement, educated gentlemen, and some very good c men ; but a large part of those most active v were of the lowest grade of Northern society, J negro-haters at home, who could not have j. been elected to any position of honor or trust c Just such men as murnt down negro orphan * asylums and hung negro men to lamp-posts in j the New York riot of 1863. In this review I J intend to speak plainly; call things by their * right names, and look those of whom I speak 9 directly in the face. c The best and most competent men were cho- " sen to fill the most important positions in State and local governments, while the others 1 readily obtained such places as required incumbents. Indeed, there was scarcely one so incompetent as not to have been assigned some Q position of trust. ! Positioned in places of power, profit and trust, they soon sought by that guile and deception known only to demagogues, under ac- 8, ceptable appellations of Yankee, Republican jj and Radical, to intrude themselves mto the f( confidence of the blacks, and place themselves g at their head as leaders. So insiduously did ? they do this that it was not discovered by the n few colored men of intelligence who held pla- c ces among them till too late to remedy the fa- n tal evil. n These demagogues laid the foundation of (j their career upon a basis of the most danger* ^ ous political heresy. Deception, lying, cheat- ] iug, stealing, "whatever can be done in poli- ? tics is fair, and to "beat is the duty in a po? a litical contest, no matter what means are used a to effect it," are among the pernicious precepts a of this moral infidelity. p Jealous of the few intelligent colored men among them, they studiously sought to divide the blacks, by sowing the seeds of discoid tl among them. This was facilitated by prqju- A dicing the ignorant against the intelligent, b er, regardless of consequences, to place himselfin the lead of a community of blacks in both town and country, which in time was reduced to little else than a rabble mob of dis- * order and confusion. Trained in the leagues as serfs to their masters, it became dangerous to oppose the teachings of these men or mischief. Because, having been recommended tn their confidence at the commencement of reconstruction, their experience and knowledge in public men and matters were too limited to believe anything against them. A knowledge of this emboldened these men to a persistence in their course of crime and corruption. Hence, many otherwise good men, both white and black, from age, inexperience or weakness were induced to accept the monstrous teachings and join with or follow the lead of these wretched impostors. Their sole object being personal gain, they cared little or nothing for public weal, the interest of the State or people, black or white, nor the Republican cause, upon which they had indecently imposed themselves. * This is that which controlled Charleston politics and brought deserved defeat to the Republicans in the recent municipal. election.. It waa^wtxeirhu- ? tion to a set of unprincipled miscreants, noting on the people s rights under the name of "Republicans." Honest, upright men .of all parties, white and black, no longer able to bear it, determined to put down the abominable thing; leading Republicans, who had been standing aloof, taking an active part. Among other things they taught the simple-minded people that suffrage was inviolably secure, the blacks being in the majority, would always control the affairs of State in the South \ that the fifteenth amendment had abolished color and complexion in the United States, and the people were now air of one race. This barefaced deception was so instilled into them that it became dangerous jn many instances to go into the country "and jpeak of color in any manner whatever, without the angry rejoinder: "We don't want to bear that; we are all one color now!" These ridiculous absurdities were fostered by the demagogues the better to conceal tneir )wn perfidy and keep themselves in the best positions, as "Republicanism knows no race," ;hey taught Another imposition was that colored people lid not require intelligent colored leaders; ;hat the constitution had been purged of color by a Radical Congress, and to be a Republican was aU that was required to make a true representative. That mental culture and qualifications were onlv required by the proud Eind arrogant; that all who requested those accomplishments were enemies to both black and white; that race representation was making distinctions on account of race and color. By this meansthey opposed the qualified men among the blacks, encouraged the ignorant and less qualified that they might of necessity take the lead and occupy the best places in the party. These areplain, indisputable truths, which, will not be denied by any upright intelligent Republican, black or white. Before the introduction of these men among them, there never was a better population, rural or town, out of which to shape^a useful political element Good-hearted, simple-minded, mostly uneducated, they were ready and willing to receive any instruction supposed for their own good, whioh they anxiously awaited and as eagerly sought. And could they have bad the advice of the maturely intelligent, *ood and virtnous friends of humanity, such is was received and given by us during, more than thirty years' toilsome battle for liberty and right, there never could have been the . 2ause for the complaint against us as a race, now in a measure justifiable. One most fruitful cause of mischief in the party arose from the age and want of expe ience on the part of the good white men who issumed to lead in politips?*s well as igno ance in the most of them?and the same nay be said of their colored colleagues. For he most part, young men, where they poesessid the cultivated qualification, they were deicient in experience and knowledge in poliics. To such an extent are they misled that they -egularly trained themselves with fire-arms tnd marched in companies to political meetngs, frequently led by miserable white men. Menacing, threatening, abusing, quarreling, sonfusion and frequently rioting, are common 'esults pf this most disgraceful state of affairs ""J** wtinli mo linn oil in ttifl nnmo nf Rp. jublicanism. The effect upon the people is wonderful, from a polite, pleasant, agreeable, kindly common people, eyer ready and obliging, there s now to be met with an ill-mannerly, sullen, lisagreeable, unkind, disobliging populace, leemingly filled with hatred and ready for relentment. These changes in the character of he people must have Deen noticed by every ntelligent observer, in contradistinction to heir former excellent reputation. Formerly hey were proverbial for their politeness, laterly they are noticed for the absence of it These people are despoiled of their natural haracteristics, and shamefully demoralized >y renegade intruders. The remainder of the letter is mainly derated to mention of the grievances under vhich the black major conceives that his race till labors, and to the consideration of the nost available remedies. Diamond Cut Diamond.?A corresponlent, writing from Saratoga, relates this wcilent: "Among our visitors is a young clergyman. He is smart, and has his eyes open. He is a hurchman, and will make his mark. An inident will illustrate this. His college chum a settled in the Baptist ministry. Our hurch friend made a call on his chum. It ras Saturday, and he proposed to spend Sunlay with his old associate. He was made welcome, but with the least bit of embarrassnent that he did not fail to observe. At ength the baptist brother spoke, 'I should be lelighted to have you preach for me to-morow. But the fact is, it is our communion. Ye have it directly after our morning service, t would be very awkward, you know, for you o preach for me and then go out of the house ?itn the unregenerate, for, by the rules of our hurch, you, not being baptized, cannot comlune with us. The churchman laughed and aid: 'Oh I don't be uneasy. I will preach or you. But were I forty times baptized, I ould not sit down to your table, for by the ule of our church, you, you know, are not rdained, and cannot administer the ordiances at all.' And so he preached, and at he close went out to his dinner." Poison.?If a person swallows a poison, inte&d of breaking out into multitudinous and ?i a. 1 *: j: a-i. juuuereiii cauituuuuulio, uiopaiuu builic uuc ar a doctor; meanwhile, run to the kitchen, et a glass of water in any thing that is hany, put into it a teaspoonful of salt, and as luch ground mustard, stir it an instant, then atch a firm hold of the person's nose, the south will soon fly open, then down with the lixture, and in a second or two up will come he poison. This will answer in a larger numer of cases than any other. If by this time he physician has not arrived, make the paient swallow the white of an egg, followed by k cup of strong coffee (because these nullify , larger number of poisons than any other .ccessible article,) as antidotes for any of the oison remaining in the stomach. ' .' 1 ' i |. HI1) ,"l' >i >? iW. ) 11 h I l?T Eve was the only woman who never breatened to go. ana live: with, mamma, idam was the only man who never tantalized is wife frbout "the way moth or used to cook.