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JMMCiuu ??? ^ ' ?* "'v. ' ;--^"? .^ ; ' I itiilf^ C r.Ewis m. grist, proprietm-.j ||n |nt>cpeni)ent Jfamilg ftetospaper: Jfor tjie promotion of % political, .Social, ^griraltnral ani? Commercial Interests of % #ont|. jTERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 17. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THUESDAY, NOVEMBER 33, 1871. {_ 3STO. 47. 1 - ? n N -x (Ngiual fttec J>tm ^ Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. % ' A TALE OP A SEPTUAGENARIAN. 1 CHAPTER X. One evening, Mr. Taylor entered the room where his wife, Mrs. Gower, and Maria were sitting, in higher spirits than usual. He had at last secured a superintendent for the work to be done at Mrs. Gower's?one whom he felt persuaded was the very man for the place. Said Mr. Taylor, "He is an educated man? a gentleman in person and address. In fact, Henfi^tta, he is so attractive, I proposed to him to have a room here and a seat at our table. He appreciated my offer, I am sure ; but he is apparently very reserved, and excused himself, giving a reason which I must admit, that he would prefer, if it could be ar^ y ranged, for him to remain ori"the"place;lor in addition to the benefit of always being with the laborers to overlook them, by being con-! stantly there, he could study the natural ad-' vantages of the localities and better comprehend my designs for its improvement." "It is very easy," said Mrs. Gower, "to make him quite comfortable there. Maum Sylvia and Moses being already in the yard, they can rityait on him; and a bed, chair, and table in onp of the lower rooms, will be easy to get. I think he is right?it will be better for him to ke there at all hours." "What is his name?" asked Maria. "Mr. Randolph. He's a very handsome man, with a dark complexion, has a reraarkbly clear skin, i3 tall, has a good form, bril^ liant black eyes, with a melancholy expression, A and one of the most peculiarly sweet voices I B ever heard in a man. Talks remarkably well, j and before I had made an engagement with him, I was walking here through these grounds showing them to him, and he used a quotation from 'The Odyssey,' which was as pretty a compliment as I ever received. He repeated the original Greek ; but I'll give it to you as Pope has rendered it: . "Great I* thy skill, Oh ! father, great thy toil, Thy carefiil hand U stamped on all the soil, Thy M]uandron'd vineyards weM thy art declare, The olive green, blue tig, and pendent pear; And not one empty spot escapes thy care, On every plant and tree thy cares are shown, Nothing neglected!" "Now was not that neat and delicate ? I must confess I was so fascinated, Maria, I thought I would bring him in and let you try your counter-charms this evening. I assure you he is worthy of any society; but he must return to Asheville to-night." "Ah I uncle, that Greek. I'm afraid, from | his wabt of sociability, he's a misanthrope and rides his hobbies, unlike you?selfishly." "Well, you'll see him to-morrow, for I want you to ride over with me in the morning to Mrs. Gower's an? ?ee the terraces, now they are fully begun. I think when they are done, they will,always bring to mind the 'Hanging Garden's* of Babylon'! I'm trying to make your place the tentn wonaer 01 iriU iwrM, Mm. Gower." "And you bid fair to succeed. I think its very generous in vou to surpass 'Fairview,' Mr. Taylor." "One's ideas expand. Besides, I'm not so sure your place will so much exceed this. They are of entirely different styles. 'Fairview' is of a quieter beauty than'Wildwood the genius of Henrietta and Maria preside here?that of Madam Gower's erratic taste there." "A very pretty compliment to a wife, Henrietta ; mine is a doubtful one." "He means an erratic phenomena, Mary." "I hope 'Wildwood' will be a phenomena of beauty," continued Mr. Taylor. "I think, Maria, you will agree with me yet, in regard to the terraces. They already develop somewhat my idea concerning them." Maria let the matter pass then, but she had J no intention but to find a way of escape from i the proposed ride of the morrow. The name of Randolph awoke recollections pleasing and L painful. She instantly recognized in Mr. ft Taylor's description, the collegian she had f known ; aud had she been in doubt, the quotation from 'The Odyssey' would have removed it, for it had been a marked feature in John Randolph's conversations?his frequent: classical allusions; especially was he fond of! referring to 'The Illiad' and 'The Odyssey.' It had been a subject of much thought to Maria, the reason of the change of John Randolph's manner toward her, in their last interview, and had caused her more pain than she liked to confess even to herself. Again and again, she recalled the coldness and restraint exhibited by him ; thought over her every action in connection with him, and felt acquitted by her conscience of any just cause of qflfcnce given him. She felt assured?she cou>J not say why?the young man described, was no other than the John Randolph McCollough she had known ; and from reasons, unexplainable to herself as she canvassed the matter, he was evidently incognito. ? Perhaps-^Tflfld her heart beat quicker at the i thouglft?he fancied thus to be near her. At least, she concluded, she would not ride to the: scene of his employme:::>? borrow, or at auj^! ticqp, till 1Te first sought her presence. It was -piot difficult to evade the rjfie, and MrvCTay-; lor, very happy in the thought of the able assistant he had secured, went contentedly alone to the scene of action. At the ena of a fort-night, Mr. Taylor's satisfaction in his new employee was entire. The ready appreciation with which his plans, as he unfolded them, were met; and the speedy 1 execution of them, was most gratifying. Then ' Mr. Taylor was a hobbyist on Greek, as well gardening, and the oft and apt quotations of j Mr. Randolph were quite delightful to the old ' gentleman. At first, Mr. Taylor extended an | invitation to the young man to join them sociably at dinner when it might suit his con- j veuience; or to come in for a cup of tea and ' some music, any evening. But no acceptance i was made, aud he did not avail himself of the j j. informal request. Then, Mr. Taylor asked I him, especially, on one or two occasions of tea-1 drinkings or dinings, but Mr. Randolph found a polite excuse, and so the young man was, to the Taylor household, quite unknown. For four years after John Randolph so abruptly left Chester, he had sought first one \ point and then another; never sojourniug long at any one place. He went from Chester to Salisbury direct; but there, as elsewhere, the object of his search, like the ignis fatuus, seemIedto lead him but farther on into obscurity. ^Mirected his course to the different towns lUnich the various letters containing the reI - ' mittances for his use had been mailed, engag-1 j ing here and -there in different branches of ; business, taking the first opportunities which ' offered of honorable employment, and executing well whatever he undertook. His mind i became more and more unsettled, till he was fast verging into a monomanaist on being unknown. John Randolph had no idea of any of Mr. Taylor's antecedents or connections; and j in his absorption of the one idea, made no en' quiries concerning his household, and had no I J thought of Maria Haughton constituting one J ! of its members. He had come to Asheville, ! because from here had been mailed one of j those mysterious letters. The growing beauty - ? n I of this landscape gardening arrested nis ian-1 | cy and soothed his sufferings. He entered ; into the spirit of every conception, and surprised Mr. Taylor with the success of his own ideas. Occasionally, he had indulged in crel ations of his owu, much to Mr. Taylor's satis- < faction, for the old gentleman was no opinion- i ated enthusiast, but a true one, and admired ^the beautiful when brought jfqrth by another [fcraufancl haud, as much as if the paternity had been his own. The work at 'Wildwood' progressed rapidly,'j and in a few months from Mr. Randolph's as- ( | suraing charge, it was pronounced complete, j All' this time, Maria Haughton and her for raer admirer had not met. He knew not of j her vicinity, and, therefore, did not seek her [ presence. She knew not his ignorance, and j avoided him. Through Mr. Taylor's interest | in him and general comment^she knew he I was peculiarly reserved, rather taciturn, restless, and unhappy ; eager for active employ- ! ment, earnestly energetic in what he under- J took, seeking novelty, and, withal, paler, I sadder and thinner. When the day came that everything was j pronounced done, and the ladies, Mr. Taylor said, might go over, and by their presence give the finishing touch, Maria could find no plausible excuse for remaining away. In truth, had she known her own heart, she would have known she did not desire it. She knew the work being completed, it was understood Mr. Randolph would not longer remain Via Viort alrendv rwisit.ivelv I IU Ulttl Vtu.tl.ujr, W j r , declined the offers of several gentlemen around, to overlook and plan adornments for their places, his eminentsuccess at 'Wildwood' making them anxious to secure his services. The thought of his going away without her ! seeing him, overcame pique and pride. She could not bear the idea of another long separation, without an effort to reconcile what was wrong; and she fondly hoped this meeting would bring about an explanation of his inexplicable coldness. Mr. Taylor would not be watched at his work, and he had not permitted Mrs. Gower or his wife to visit the place-while the work on the grounds was going on. Mrs. Gower had entire confidence in Mr. Taylor's judg-1 ment?was not a person of curiosity, or irapa- j tience, and rested, without resistance, on his ! mandate. With Mrs. Taylor, her husband's j every wish was law ; so nt>w, he could indeed I enjoy their pleasure irf the novelties which ; Tfiet their view, "Hiilcc or twice, lie wouldTiave taken Maria with him to consult her, for he had great confidence in her taste ; but she declined the honor at first, and later, he found so able a coadjutor in Mr. Randolph, he had not sought advice elsewhere. With numberless exclamations of real admiration and surprise, the ladies gazed on the "hanging gardens," traversed the winding walks, and laved hands and_biuw-i?-*he* mimic waterfalls whiefe hficTbeen introduced along the little mountain stream, that ran through the grounds, so artfully done, they seemed the accident of nature, rather than handicraft of man. Each new device to increase the natural beauties of the place, was met by fresh exhibitions of pleasure by the fair visitors, and Mr. Taylor's tace beamed witn pleasure at tneir i thoroughly approving delight. "Now," he said, "I will take you to a rustic summer-house. There we can rest till time for our luncheon." He haid purposely reserved this for the last, as it was, beyond doubt, the chef d'ouvre. The shape was a hexagon?three of the angles solid walls, and ou them mosaics shaded in by the many varieties of barks gathered from j mountains and valleys around. One side had i represented on it, "Stonehenge," easily recognizable at a glance; another was a waterfall;! the third, "The Rock of Gibralter." The j arches of door-way and windows were curi-! ously wrought in of deformed cedar-boughs. I Inside, the walls and roof were lined with mosses of various hues, arranged in wavelets, one shade merging into another with a harmony which reminded one of the blending of clouds and sky on a winter day. There was a softness in the whole, seeming to float in upon you. as you stood gazing up into the dome?the old dream that "A tiling of beauty is a joy forever." In the windows were seats, made of twisted boughs and supported by gracefully entwined vines, which hung pendent from the arches above. There were two large chairs composed of like materials,-emailing in beauty the retreat in which tv~y v/ere placed. The floor \ was the mountain pebbles laid, in cemont, ar- j ranged in a figure of quaint device and regular in its eccentricities; but the centre stood r table, th*? wonder of all. Its top was a picture, unmistakably to all familiar with sacred o?mAnf AI* QAIA. i UlSlUiy, icpicscilliug xot juugmtnv ui m>iu- | raon between the two women claiming the same child," done in bark mosaic, similar to j those on the outside walls, but more finished , in its execution. Mrs. Gower's fine taste was in an ecstacy. "Mr. Taylor," she cried, with unwonted an- j imation, "you have, indeed, outdone yourself, j This excels everything I've ever seen in the j Old World or the New. It is positively a ! marvel of ingenuity and beauty." "I am forced to award all praise to another ! than myself. This arbour is entirely, fancy j and finish, the work of Mr. Randolph. It i certainly surpasses any thought of mine. I asked him how the idea of those mosaics of j bark ever came to enterhis mind, and he said j he had seen a bottle, or jar, of Isle of Dwight \ sand, representing a picture?you remember, j Henrietta, Mrs. John Lowndes had one?and I he thought if earth could so be worked into i delineating a scene of sea, sky, mill and moss, j why not barks ; and his first attempt was the waterfall." "Do bring us this young man and introduce j him. I long to meet him. Such a work of j art as this is the real effect of genius. 44 'Meditation here May tliiuk down hours to moments. Here the heart May give a useful lesson to the head, i Anil learning grow wiser without books.' " "Yes," said Mrs. Taylor, "I often think, i this beautiful country of Cowper's lines; tho: in which he says, 'Scenes must ho beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years,' were written of just such views as our moui tain homes give." "I can quote the author of 'The Task', to ladies: 'God made rlie country and man made the town : What wonder then that liealth and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bluer draught "lint.sr.. imi.u nur in nil. thonld most atiound And %asi be tlireatened In the field* and grove*.'" "Hackneyed, uncle," said Maria, playfull; "And not altogether So apropos, eh ! Ver well; if you laugh at me, I'll leave you and g and look up Randolph. I see his sketch-boo lying here, so I suppose he's not far off. H spends here the few leisure moments he allov himself." "No wonder he should," said Mrs. Gowe "Let us take our lunch here, and bring in 01 young friend to share it with us." As Mr. Taylor went out, Mrs. Taylor too up the book to which her husband's remav had called her attention. Opening its page she found them filled with plans for building and grounds; but looking farther on, sli came to some poetry, evidently dashed off i a moment of feeling. "Our genius is a universal one, I think, she remarked. "Here are some original line and without thought of the surreptitious mar ner in which she had found them, read ther aloud: I'd drain the bitt'rest cup of life, My mother, Oh! my mother, To prove thou liv'dst an honored wife, None other, Oh! none other. I know not if on brow so fair, Could rest an early stain; But Oh! I know ihy grief I'd sharo, And by my love sustain. The name that should my portion be, More precious far than gold, Oh! nrnher, mother, whv from me, This heritage withhold ? I wander on the shores of Time, Weary and full of gloom, Seeking in vain to learn if crime Has wrought my wretched doom. But mountain, valley, hill and dale, Re-echo but one tone, They tell to methesame sad tale, Unknown! unknown.'.' unknown!!! The emotions of each was to the other as sealed book; but visible agitation was ouserv able in the different individuals in the littl group. Mrs. Taylor's voice trembled fror the second line so much, she could hardl; command it sufficiently to articulate the resl How thankful she felt tie sentiments were no those of her own child ; but that her daughte was with her and her young life unclouded b; the knowledge of the saadow which had s early fallen on herself. More than ever di< her heart go out in its fullness to her nobl husband, who having cared for her child's in fancy brought her now a happy inm&te o their home, and saved her from all shame Maria, as she wept in sympithy over her lov er's dreary plaudit, little knew how siraila were their states, or rather how much alik jthey might have been, had not the man he mother ra^rtjed shielded her from etil?evei the knowledge* of it. Mrs. Gower was moved as no one had eve seen her before. She coild scarcely restraii her sobs as Mrs. Taylor lead, and when sh ended, wept for some moments without re straint. Some moments elapsed before the; obtained their usual serenity, and even thjei silence still reigned. It vas. -broken by tli entrance of Mj^JEaytor and the young gentle uMMr-hrfiacTgone out to seek. He cheeril; introduced him, saying, "This, ladies, is th< architect of this Bower of Beauty. Mr. Ran dolph?my wife; Miss Haughton ; Mrs. Gow er. Your work here inspired us to repeat, i not make poetry; but they laugh at mine." As the old gentleman was speaking, Marii advanced with her hand held out. "How-do-you-do, Mr. MeCollough? Havi you forgotten me?" He gave her a bright look of joyful remem brance, and clasping the proffered hand, sai< warmly, "Forget you!" Mrs. Gower had now come to his side. "Young man," she cried, in exceeding agi tation, "Who are you ?" His countenance changed, the look of glac recognition it had worn toward Maria faded and in its stead was an expression of unutter able sadness and weariness of spirit. "Don't tell any one," he said, mysteriously "They have not claimed me yet; but my peo pie will. I am Louis the Seventeenth, thi lost Prince." "No! no!" cried the lady, "jou are raj son?John Randolph Carringi-on." Another change came to the young man' face; an awakening, as it were, from a horri ble night-mare?a look of wild supernatura joy"Oh! God, I thank Thee; I have a iuothe and a name. I am no longer unknown !" He tottered forward and fell senseless at hi mother's feet. She sauk to his side, seekinj to clasp him in her arms, moaning over an* caressing him. "My baby. Oh 1 my baby - and have yoi wanted me so longingly ? My Toy, yo'u hav loved my name, though I left you. Oh ! dat ling, how my hungry heart has cried out fo this moment; and now, have I found you, m; own ? Edward Carrington, if thou, from th spirit world dost behold us now, forgive, Oh forgive the wrong I, in my weakness, hav done thy son!" Spell-bound with amazement for a momeni the group stood gazing at the iuexplicabl scene. Mrs. Taylor, however, soon hastene to dispatch a messenger for Dr. Hardy i Asheville, and summon other servants to m sist in removing the young man to his roon When he returned to his friend he found Mt ria already had brought water from a contif uous rivulet, and was bathing Randolph' face and hands, vainly striving to restore cor sciousness. Mrs. Gower had roused to th necessity of restoratives, and chafed the smal white hands between her own, ever and ano pressing them passionately to her lips. The bore him to his bed, and when at last he wok from his long swoon, no light of reason bearae from his dark eyes; but wild, wandering glar ces rested from one to another, as if the vis ion was ever straining to catch sight of an ol ject always eluding it. All the time ther poured forth from his lips incoherent plaint touching apostrophes to his mother, wit pleading full of pathos for recognition an love. The fevered blood coursed through hi veins in bounding surges, and by the tim Dr. Hardy arrived, the attack had develope into a brain fever, which the physician pr< nounced, on his coming, of the most malignar type. The result, he unreservedly told then in was most doubtful. Everything rather seemse ing to indicate the worst Mrs. Gower would not depute the task of , nursing to any other, but she allowed Mr. Taylor and Maria to share with her the dreary j. dread of the long weary watches. For four j days and nights she sat by him, not seeking one 0 ( moment's rest.?her delicate frame strengthened by anxiety to bear the fatigue, j At last the fever waned, consciousness was ! r^tored, and good hopes were entertained of ! the young man's recovery. The germ of ini sanity seemed to have been destroyed by the fulfillment of his "heart's desire." He was so y I v weak he could not wonder, and in the fullness P0 | j of delight would fairly bask for hours in the - 1 light of his mother's presence without fc^Sftkinor a word. His convalescence was slow. /8 ' w Mr. and Mrs. Taylor came almost daily to cheer; but Maria no longer assisted Mjjp* jr Gower in the care of the invalid. The only clouds which visited our hero's recoventure occasioned by her absence; been true in her promises, and ne trusfcecT still' to her whisperings and felt assured the kind 8> Providence which had given him a mother and a name, would crown his happiness with e | the love of Maria Haughton. "The melancholy days had come, * The saddest of the year: ? Of wailing winds and naked woods, And meadows brown and sere," s' before the mother would let her dear patient venture out of doors. In spite of the "falling 11 leaves," the days were very bright to these two. In one another's society they found sunJ light. Mrs. Gower exerted her wonderful powers of entertainment to shorten the hours I of convalescence, and in the exuberance of i her happiness, was unusually brilliant The i two were of very similar tastes; had read | much, and very congenial company were they to each other. ? One bright October day, as the sun had reached his zenith, Mrs. Gower,-with her son i leauing lightly on her arm, went out with him for his first walk after his illness, and wendee their way to the Arcadian spot where they had found one another. He was comfortably* resting in one of the "sleepy hollows" of his own devising, when Mr. and Mrs. Taylor came a inr_ "We drove up just as you left," said Mrs. e Taylor, after the compliments of the day were ~ : passed, "and concluded to follow you here an- [ j stead of recalling you to the house." J "I am glad, my friends, you have come this j t' morning, for.I intend, although he has never ] r j asked it, to unfold to my son this morning the ' i circumstances of my early life, my marriage ! 0 | to his father, and his desertion by myself. I ^ owe, too, to you, the explanation, and am e I glad you are here now to listen, as I read _ ! from the pages of my life so long sealed, that f I may not again have to open the record, , painful still, even though past. "I was born and raised in Cplumbia, South ! r Carolina, and when quite <*r>girl, knew e Gower. He wa^early a suitor, and a favors r one by my friends. My mother was a wid^B ? Jwith but one child, beside myself? Tteeii years my elder. On this son r were entirely dependant. He was a sucoeH g ful merchant, had made some happy speculn e tions and was in good circumstances. I was] ^ very much attached to my brother, though 11 feared him abjectly. My mother, herself, stood in awe of him. He was imperious in e the highest degree; could not bear to have his will thwarted in the smallest matter, and P would, to effectit, meditate for weeks a way to e | work it. Unfoigiving and revengeful, still . j he was not at all unkind. He was a pleasant I and amusing man in conversation, with a p j great fund of anecdotes, which he told re! raarkably well. When in a good humor, he ^ was an indulgent guardian, often gratifying my whims where another would have refused ; g and although passionate and selfish when excited, was oftentimes good-natured and generous. In truth, his character has always been , an anomolv to me, and I dwell on it to enable , 1 j you to form some idea of the dominion, he ' I wielded over me. He was a moody man, and i | my mother and myself slaves to his caprices. At times he was a kind lord ; at others a tyrannical master. We entertained a good j deal of company ; my brother often giving me pleasant little dancing parties at home, and '; allowing me to attend them at other places whenever I wished. One of the young men most frequently a visitor to our house, was Ed* ward Carrington, a student in the South Carolina College from Virginia. He was a frank, 3 out-spoken youth, fearless and independent in opinion and action. In a matter of little imr port, there was a difference of opinion between ray brother and the student, in which Mr. B Carrington, without an idea of giving offence, " adhered with his usual firmness to hVown 1! way of thinking. My brother's dictatorial . ' spirit was affronted, and the consequence was j r ! he cherished an intense dislike toward the young Virginian, although no angry words tr s cessation of civilities took place. % "Already, an attachment had grown up be1 tween Edward Carrington and myself. No formal declarations "hud fin* 3. young, fresh hearts, beat responsive. My I e brother saw this, and set to work to end all j ' intercourse. First he directed me, by ray j r manner, unmistakably, to intimate to Mr. j 7 Carrington his attentions were not acceptable j e ; to me. I dared not gainsay the edict, even J ! | though I did not altogether obey it. About | t! a week after this, my brother sent me up to j Lancaster district, on a visit to some relatives j t, | of our father's, who lived there. I knew, well? e: enough, the object he had in view in sending I d me from home, at that time, was to end my in-1 n tercouxse with Carrington; but he said nothing : 3-: relative to the subject. About two weeks af- [ 1.1 ter I got to Lancaster, Carrington was sus- j i- pended from college. He suffered for the1 1 nisdemeanor of another, but generously would'; 's j #ot expose the real delinquent to shield him- j t-1 self from punishment. He shared the blame j e j with one of the actual offenders?his chum? ! 11 j a young man from Lancaster district. In- j n j stead of going home, he accepted the invit^ y | tiou of his friend to go with him and spend a ; e | fev weeks in rustication, d ; "The family with whom he stayed were next, i- i neighbors and intimate friends of my rela- j 3-! tives, and thus we were thrown frequently to-"' )-1 getler. The natural result was an avowal e : of love and a secret troth. Afterwards, I 3, wornd think of ray brother's anger and cower j h i within myself with terror. In the woman j d you have known mo, you can form no idea of J is j the timid, impressionable young thing I then j ie | was. I tell you, I often would awake in the ! d ! night from a dream of my brother's displeas) ure, and cry like a scared child, it "Not long after my engagement, the Methi, odists held a camp-meeting not far from my j cousin's house. A portion of the family wish| ed to "tent"?the others did not liko to do so. They compromised, by each party using their pleasure. Some camped on the grouutf; but a part remained at homo at night, attending in the day when they desired to. It was a protracted meeting. There were a good many converts made, and the preaching continued tor some days longer than was at first expected, i.I-would sometimes stay at the tabernacle, but more frequently preferred returning to the comfortable quarters of a fixed residence. Edward Carrington was my continual escort 4 back and forth. We rode on horse-back, for excepting one Jersey-wagon, there was noth ' !? j_ a, lDg in tne snape 01 a carnage iu me vieiuibj. Times were too primitive. One day the services of the meeting were much enlivened by ! the arrival of the famous Lorenzo Dow, who ^curried on the exercises, preaching two "seri mons which awakened much feeling. In i Spite of the entreaties made him to stay longjj&herefused, paying other appointments ^va!TeTliTfc~\vhich he must fulfill. After -his ^departure, I went back to the house withEdi ward Oarrington as company. About half-way home, we met part of the family, who did not yamp out, going out to the camp-ground, -flrhey had heard of Lorenzo Dow's presence, 'and supposing he would preach that night, were going to hear him. We told* them he was gone, but after a little parley, they concluded to go on any how, and spend the night ap they had arranged to do, telling ray cavalier trod myself the cook had the keys, and would make us comfortable at the J^ouse. i, "Twilight shades were deepening as we got ty our stopping place. Justentering the gate, 'tf&8 the singular man who had preached that day. He had asked lodgings in the Lord's "name. The cook, a trusted servant, bade him enter and welcome, and in the plenitude of her Methodist heart, bustled about to get a good supper, - i . i.U ' "You need not suppose I naa not torn my }over the fear In which I held my brother; and in-vivid colors I.painted his vindictive opposition. Edward Carrington's heart was not cne to abate in ardor at the prospect of difficulties to encounter. He, too, would have to combat home prejudices, he said, for there had beeu an arrangement entered into when he was a child, (by his father and a brother) that Edward and a cousin, about two years his [jjuuior, should marry when at years of maturity ; but he did not fear his powers to win [ his father to consent to his marrying myself. 'I will study very hard,' said the buoyant spirit?'graduate with an honor, and so please father he will do anything to gratify me.' Child as I was, while I listened, my feelings were cheered ; but when he was absent, I desponded as before. "We found Lorenzo Dow a pleasant companion. He told us of his short courtship jdth Peggy; their tour through England; of HUuth of his child while he was absent in ^^^^^in fact, much that was interesting in Ht through all run the thread of his j was per striyiug to j ^^^^^^^naster s cause. That-eccentric fully persuaded, was one of 'the ^^^^pieart.' ^BHfter supper, Edward came to me and jm>posed an immediate marriage. He would get this preacher to perform the ceremony, and when once we were married, we would be secure in our happiness. Then, come what might, 'those whom God had joined together, no man could put asunder.' We were young, impulsive and romantic. After a little demurring, I consented. For the sake of expediency, we determined to keep our marriage a secret till Edward's graduation?a little more than a year off. Then, we fondly believed, as there was no mending the matter, our friends would make the best of it, and we would be forgiven and received as of old. I . .?a t?Tk_.? cannot unaersiaua now iyuw puituibkcu imu4elf, under the circumstances, to marry us. He told me, long after, 'he obeyed an impulse,' and I suppose it was just so. Still, it is singular to me he did not at least warn us of our imprudence. Without a witness but the eye of the Omnipotent, we entered into a state never to be gone into 'lightly; but reverently, discreetly, and advisedly,' and the solemn prayer and benediction of the man of God, we fondly trusted, would bring the blessing he invoked. "Some weeks later my brother came for me and I trembled at his frown, when, casually learning of Carrington's stay in the vicinity and frequent attentions to me, he turned one of his blackest looks upon me. Not long after I got home, Edward Carrington came one evening to see me. My brother was absent, and in our delight at meeting, we forgot all clouds impending. My brother, on hia return, (a day or two after,) wrote to him forbidding hiin again to visit the house, and exercised a strict surveillance over my walks md visitings. Edward wrote me of the man ' e, and wanted immediately to brave consequences and announce our marriage. I pleaded the prudence of delay, and for awhile preyflftdou bhwto promise-silence. .4 We corresponded daily; but fearing this clandestine intercourse might be discovered by the interception of a letter, we wrote under ficticious names and in enigmatical sentences. Not long did this continue. The high spirit of Edward Carrington was not born to brook dissimulation, and he wrote to me one day reclaiming his promise of secrecy, i The next morning, he declared, it was his in-1 tention to write the whole matter to his father, \ and in the evening he would visit my mother \ on/} KrnfVior Cnr fKp an nip niirnnsfi : for. he af- I UUU U1 UUIiV* J AW* **IV ? jr J , firmed, he could not be satisfied with the course he was pursuing. He felt himself unmanly in doing so, and if there was wrong in our precipitate marriage, he would not continue the error by concealing it longer, but claim me as his wife in the face of all. If his father and my brother persisted in their displeasure, he had at lea0* youth, health, a fair education, and an undaunted heart to take gvith his young wife into the world and battle tor a living. My husband's brave words cheered me. I was very weary at being cut Off fronri him, and was glad he had, in spite of me, forirfed this resolution. I looked eargerly forward to the next day, as the time for his comintii^He never came. The accidental j dischaJ? of a gun, in the hands of his chum, cut off, Jg" the morning of its existence, the bright]? in. which was bound up my happiness. was sittin^at his desk, and only traced ,ords,'My dear Father', when the silver cord was loosened and the golden bowl broken!' My brother laughed at the story of my marriage asa convenient fiction. My mother could nbt disbelieve my word. I know since, neither did my brother; but she said if my ' own brother thought the tale untrue, who; else would believe it I was wretched, wretch- j . ed! In a state of abject misery, I knew not ! where to turn for comfort, for ray mother's j condition was little better than ray own. She ; foreshadowed the disbelief and scorn of the; world, chided my imprudence, and pitied my ; sufferings alternately, ever appealing to my | brother for counsel and assistance. He shewed no sympathy for her distress; no kindness to me in my anguish. ''After some time of this miserable existence, he took me to Rowan county, North Carolina;, | boarding me there in a retired part for some | j months; then came for me in a carriage which j I liA A r*r\Tie? ki'monlf TTo frtlrl mfi nnne of his I uo uiuve iitiugvi?? aav ?w>%? ? w ? ? plans. I asked no questions, but supinely did his bidding, We stopped on our route at Mr. McCollough's, Chester district, South Carolina. There my child was born, and my brother left me. I often prayed my baby and I might die then together,ior suffering had matured me and. I thought my brother's intentions were to separate me from it, and I knew myself completely in his power. At times I brightened with the hope he might relent; but I should have known he was not one ever to turn from a revenge. Again I would feel that with such excellent people as the farmer and his wife, my child would fare better than with me, for even could I establish his legitimacy, under ray brother's roof, I would often see fall on his innocent head the dislike felt for his father, and I unable to defend him or find redress. "My babe only wanted one day of being a month old, when, early in the morning, my brother rode by. I alone saw him, and he dropped a ncite, which I secured and read unobserved. It merely directed ray meeting him at the 'wash-place' after dinner. My heart foretold his design. When the farmer came in for the noon-day meal, he named ray baby, and his calling him John Randolph seemed to me an inspiration, for the distin-1 guished Virginian was a kinsman of my husband, and enthusiastically admired by him. "At the appointed time, I made the plausible excuse of wishing to wash a few articles, and with a suit which my infant had worn? ever since my most precious possession?I committed my child to Mrs. McCollough's care and went from it. Twenty-seven cruel years passed by before I again pressed my cheek to his; but can I tell of how often I dreamed of his growing charms, his prattling infancy, and merry childish prank ? No ! no! I lived a double life. Outwardly the world's devotee; inwardly a very Rachel. Without my child I could not be comforted. "My brother awaited me at the designated spot, and without a word, for I well knew their uselessness, I obeyed his behest. We walked through the woods a mile, to where he had his horse secreted. Here I mounted behind him, and we slowly picked our way through the forest, five miles farther, to where he had the carriage and other horee hidden., Weftravclfd on aHf night' Without stopping,' 1 and at dark the nextdfljLJ'eached Columbia. The over exertion, excitement and grief I had endured in these trying days, brought on a spell of desperate illness. For days, my life was despaired of; but it was spared. It seemed that all left me of my former self was existence, for in face, form, and temper, I was changed. My friends would meet me on the street and not recognize me, and my mother could not realize my different disposition. I was now as determined and self-reliant, as I had been vacillating and dependent I be * /? . i I came my mother's champion, ana conirontea my brother, to his and her astonishment, in his over-bearing moments; shielding her from his unkindness by interposing myself. I had known the worst, and no longer feared his vindictive spite. "Mr. Gower had long courted me, and in spite of the change wrought in me, sought me for his bride, It was my sole chance of escape from ray brother's domicile?the only way in which to provide for ray child, for I stipulated a handsome settlement when I gave my consent to be his wife. So, in less than a year from the time Edward Carrlngton's noble heart ceased to beat, I became the wife of another man. "I told Mr. Gower nothing of my former marriage or my brother's actions in regard to it. The desertion of my child would give it an air of improbability, I knew, to so thorough a man of the world as was this Scotch merchant, and I would not risk this offer of independence. I despised the deceit, but I did him no wrong, for I had been an honorable, though unfortunate wife. "I sought one confidant, for it was necessary to have an agent to disburse the sums I intended my child should have. The man I selected was that most noble gentleman, Ainsley Hall, of Columbia. Being a merchant, he had facilities for sending enclosures from different quarters and thus elude enquiry. Yearly he sent a sufficient remittance for the wants of my little boy. As long as my mother lived, she shared, with my infant, the proceeds of mv Din-money. Mr. Hall, without exciting suspicion, managed to obtain ac- J counts of him for me, which were always of a gratifying nature. "When Lorenzo Dow was in prison in , Charleston, I visited him and obtained a cer- < tificate of my marriage with Edward Carrington. I thought, seriously, then, of telling j1 the whole history of it to Mr. Gower, but I j, well knew, even if I did, his sensitive spirit ] would never permit me to bring home my j child. I, therefore, concluded no good could ] be accomplished by the narration being made j to him; so I wrote the account of it, made a ; will bequeathing my property to my son, and j sealed it up with Dow's attested certificate, i and put the package in Mr. Laurens' hands , to be opened in the event of my death. I i still kept my counsel, and did not disturb ? Mr. Gower's equanimity with any confidences, < for he was very good to me. "I was much delighted with my son's col- ( lege career, and pleased with his entering one ? of the learned professions, The simultaneous ] death of Mr, Gower and Mr. Hall, prevented < that year's remittance being made, and when 1 I sought information concerning- my son, ( meaning to immediately declare myself to j him, I learned he had suddenly left Chester,' ^ to go, no one knew whither. , "I sought out a lovely spot to make a home 1 and found it here, and desired to make it all i heart could wish, for my son's retreat when I 1 found him. My heart grew cold with appre- j hension as month on month went by and the ? agents I paid to find him, lost all trace of his < wandering ; and I little dreamed the genius s beautifying my grounds, was no other than the son and heir to whom all belonged. "From ray present stand-point of years, ] see many errors in my eventful life; but witl all, my heart has never wavered, from first t< last, in its devotion to Edward Carrington? my first and only love?and our child!" "Mother, my dear mother McCollough al ways judged your actions leniently. True indeed, were she and dear father McCollougi] to the trust you reposed in them. You must go with me, mother, to see them all. Sam h as noble a fellow as ever breathed?generouf to a fault; Rose is the prettiest, sweetest now eret that blooms in Chester District I know their hearts often yearned toward me. Nevei from them would I ?.ave learned I was nol their child, and when taunting tongues tolc the tale, they gilded the bitter truth with lov ing words. But, mother ! mother ! how pre cious is the heritage I've found 1" "Something better, I trust dear child thai tbrdreara of bdtrgtfolarlWe&r"*"" "I wonder, Mr. Taylor, you did not discov er my aberration. I remember all the whih I worked here, I thought I was modeling i after the garden in which I had played a Trianon." "Any eccentricities I noticed, I thought th< accompaniment of genius. I suppose in truth I was so delighted with our work, I nevei thought of your peculiarities. Maria, if she were here, would saucily tell me, his quoting Greek so well and understanding gardening would be sufficient to convince me of his sanity, had he been mad as a March hare." "By-the-bye, Henrietta, let us make our conge. We told Maria we would soon return. I tried to induce her to ride over with us this lovely day, but she declined. She has seemed quite out of spirits latterly." The Taylors walked away, and John Randolph Carrington told to his doting mother the tale of his love for Mr. Taylor's ward. Perhaps, the woman felt a moment jealous, that her treasure must be shared with another?that her darling's heart could not be satisfied with her devotion, and must seek another love, but sbe gave no sign to hira of the emotion. Putting her beautiful;'hand on her son's head, she solemnly said, "Thou hast given him his heart's desire and hast not denied hira the request of his lips." For she had watched Maria Haughton, as together they had nursed John Randolph, tand the paling cheek and anxious eye, had revealed to her, what the girl would fain have hidden. "I am not afraid mother, now I've won you ; but I may her. How blessed it is to be no longer tiie unknown. the end. fveadiug. [Original.] SENSATIONAL PARAGRAPHS. Naturally, most persons are fond of excitement This is especially true of the young. Most boy^ are willing t&4rd.any distance to see a fight, or even' to he^ir of a fight The human family glory in a row. Some newspaper publishers make capital out of this morbid state of the public morals. They seem to be always on the lookout for some, "horrible murder," or "desperate case of robbery." They are scrupulously careful to give the details of all the horrid crimes of which they can hear. Such a course is not wise. It is calculated to ruin the public morals. To publish to the world how some heartless monster ruined the character of an innocent girl, or how some villian contrived to break into a bank or store and feloniously taken charge of a large sum of money, is but to tell some boy who is strained for funds, or has a lecherous heart, how he can secure the desires of his soul. The less people, generally, know of crimes, the better it is for them. To tell us how some one succeeded in perpetrating crime, is but tell us how we can perpetrate it. This is not all. It is calculated to incite us to perpetrate crime. Many a man Has committed suicide, who, perhaps, never would have thought of such a thing, if he had not heard how some unfortunate one before him had laid hands upon himself. Reading the accounts of those. horrid acts that wicked and brutal men and women often commit, has a hluntimr effect uDon the sensibilities. ' "It har O dens the heart and petrifies 3II within." We remember a terrible scene which was once enacted, that had its origin in a mother brutally killing some chickens. It is no easy thing to cultivate the heart and make it soft and delicate, and susceptible to the impress of virtue; but it is-the easiest thing in the world to make the heart callous and hard as the flinty stone. LEE AND HIS* TBOOPS. Thegreat simplicity of his habits was another ground of popularity. He fared no better than his troops. Their rough, scant rations were his as well. There were times when for weeks our army had nothing but bread and meat to live on, and not enough of that. On one occasion some molasses was obtained and sent to the field. One of General Lee's staff, who was oaterer that week?that is, he drew the rations for the headquarter's mess?set a small pitcher of molasses before the General at dinner, who was delighted to eat it with his hot corn-bread. Seeing his satisfaction, the caterering colonel remarked, "General, I secured five gallons for headquarters. "Was there so much for every mess the size of ours?" 3aid the General. "Oh, no. The supply won't last a week." "Then I direct, Colonel, that you immediately return every drop you have, and send an order tnat no molasses snail be issued to officers or men except the sick in hospital. The Colonel was dumbfounded, and ever afterward boasted of his superior providence as caterer for the mess. When the two armies were on the opposite banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of '63?'64, meat was sometimes very scarce in ours. Even the usual half-pound per diem ration could not always be issued. During one 3f these periods of scarcity, on a very stormy 3av, several corps and division generals were it headquarters, and were waiting for the rain to abate before riding to their camp, when Seneral Lee's negro cook announced dinner, rhe General invited his visitors to dine with bim. On repairing to the table a tray of hot eorn-bread, a boiled head of cabbage seasoned with a very small piece of bacon, and a buok5t of water constituted the repast. The piece )f meat was so small that all politely declined taking any, expressing themselves as "very fond of the boiled cabbage and corn-bread," on which they dined. Of course, the General was too polite to eat meat in the presence of guests who had declined it But later in the afternoon, when they had all gone, feeling very hungry, he called his servant and asked him to bring him a piece of bread and meat, rhe darkey looked perplexed and embarrassed, and after scratching his head some time said in a deprecating tone, "Lord Mas Robert, i J dat meat what l set neiore you m, umuci wan'fc ours. I had jest borrowed dat piece of [ raiddlin' from one of de couriers, to season de ( cabbage in de pot, and seein' as you was gwine to have company at dinner I putit on de dish > wid de cabbage for looks. But when I seed you an' none of de genelmen toche it, I 'eluded you all knowed it was borrowed, and so after I saunt it back to de boy whar it belonged to. I's mighty sorry, Mas'Robert, I didn't ( know you wanted some, for den I would a , tuck a piece ofFn it any how 'fore I saunt it home." J So the General got no meat that day. An' ecdotes like these, founded on actual fact, would spread through the army, and often rer conciled a hungry, ragged Confederate to his r hardships.?Remin iscences of Lee and Jackson,'' y by J. D. Imboderi, in. November Galaxy. I Historic Estates >*nder the Hammer. - The transfers of land in the Southern States . from the old proprietors, who used to cultivate it upon tne system of large fields under slavery, to the new settlers, wno pursue the ^ more profitable plan of smairtillage . labor, constitutes one of'the mbsf -*^faets connected with the new order of thingsV 3 in that section of the country. Old things W t are passing away, in Virginia especially, and V t a new people are succeeding to the old Dominion. Among the large number of farms 4 and plantations that are just now advertised ' for sale in this State, there are two which in? dicate with emphasis the changes of the time. Upper Brandon, on the Jattoec River, and s Montpelier, in the Piedmont region,.,the for mer seat of James Madisotl, are soon to pass into new hands. One cannot but feel a sentimental regret that this must be. The lower part of the James River has been the seat of the Harrisons for many generations. The pioneer Virginia Harrison was of the repubi lican, and not the cavalier, English element i j of the colony, and was closely related, we believe, to that Harrison who was one of the judges of Charles Stuart. The high qualities of courage, energy and command which distinguished the regicide were exhibited by the Harrisons of Virginia. They sat in the Burgesses, they were of the colonial council, they bore a prominent part in the Revolution, and at a later period one of them became President of the United States. Upper Brandon was one of their greaj estates, and has remained in the same family through many chances and changes of administration in the commonwealth and the country at large, from the day of dependency on the English crown through the revolutionary struggle and the late rebellion, to the present day. Montpelier, where lived and died James Madison, like Monticello, the seat of Thomas Jefferson, passed out of the possession of the family of its illustrious owner years ago. But the in terest that attaches to it by reason of its < former ownership will long survive, and the spot should some day be marked by a na- ' i tional monument to one of the authors 01 tne Federalist and the most conspicuous among the framers of the Constitution. It was namep after Montpelier, in the south--of France, and the house looks around upon a landscape as fair as any of the soft prospects of that Province.?N. Y. Evening Pod. ^ Punishment of the Wheel.?The pun- v . ishment of the wheel, which was suppressed-in 1790, was one of the most frightful that can be imagined. The criminal was extended on a St. Andrew's cross. There werjte&kit. eight niches cut, one below each arm^beffoeh 1 the elbow and. wrist; another between each elbow and shoulder ; one under each ,thigh; > and one under each leg. The executioner, armed with a heavy triangular bar of iron, gave a violent blow on each of these eight places, and of course broke the bone; and a ninth on the pit of the stomach. The mangled victim was now lifted from the cross and stretched on a small wheel, placed vertically ^ at one of the ends of the cross, his back on the upper part of the wheel, his head and feet handing down. The sentence provided that he was to remain there as long as it pleased I God to prolong his life. Many lingered there five or six hours, some longer. A son of a jeweler in the Place de la Daupbine, who had murdered his father, was only relieved by death at the end of twenty-four hours. These unhappy wretches uttered horrible blasphemies, always tormented by a continual thirst, incessantly calling out for something to drink. A priest never left their side during the excruciating agonv, aud incessantly put water to their parchea lips, wiped the sweat from their burning brows, and pointed to a merciful God above the scaffold, extending his arras to receive them. This holy duty was always discharged by a doctor of the Sorbonne. To Develop Talent.?Place a man in a position that will often bring the blush to his cheek and the sweat to his brow, a position that will overmaster him at times, and cause him to rack his brain for resources. Place him in a position like this. But every time he trips go to his rescue; go not with words of blame or censure, but go with manful words of encouragement; look him boldly in the eye, and speak to him with soul and emphasis. This is the way to make a man of a boy, and a giant of a man. If a man has pluck and talent, no matter whether he ever filled a given position or not, put him in it, if worthy, and he will soon not only fill it, but outgrow it. Put no one in a position with a faint heart. This is the way to kill him. Put him in grandly- with most unmistake&ble confidence. Drop no caveats, but boldly point the way, and then stand by with a will and countenance of a true friend. * Thus try twenty men, such as have been named, and nineteen \ will succeed. Money IV^ade Fast .in the Followino Way.?If you go into business, enter into one ' of which you have a perfect knowledge. Have a cash business. Never venture on a fiEdjjL business at commencement, but buy:a^^r' ' cash. Never overstock yourself. Never take advantage of a customer's ignorance, but sell for one price, and small profit, and you will find all the most profitable customers?the cash ones will find you. . If ever deceived in business, never think to save yourself by putting the deception on others but submit to the loss, and he more cautious in future. According to the extent of your business, set aside a liberal per centage for printing and j advertising, and do not hesitate. Never let | an article, parcel or package go -out from j your store, without a hanasotnely printed wrapper, card or circular, and then people will not forget where you are. Choose the newspaper for your purpose, and keep yourself ever before the public. Significant Facts.?-There is a tannery and shoe manufactory in Oconee County, which employs eleven hands, and turns out, in a year, six thousand hides and twelve hundred pairs of coarse boots. The proprietor, Mr. Lay, informs the Walhalla Courier that a raw hide worth 83, is worth from 88 to 812 i when tanned, and, when the leather is made into boots and shoes, is worth from 820 to 830. The bark of the oaks which cover the hills of Oconee is worth three times the selling price of the forest lands. Three good, trees give a cord of bark worth 85; ana yet twenty of these trees, with the land on which they stand, are often sold for one dollar. It is estimated that Oconee County pays $25,; 000* a year for boots and shoes, the ray; ma terial of which costs $3,000. and stay, all of ~ it, be obtained within the _ county limits. These significant facts are a conclusive argument in favor of home manufactures.