Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | Jnbepenknt Jfamilj Itctospaper: Jfor tjje IJromoticm of t|e political, Social, Agricultural antr Commercial Interests of t|e ^ontjr. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 18. YOEKVILLE, S. C? THURSDAY, APRIL 18, 1878. NO. 16. Jm ?ri<jittal fri^c ^torg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE FATEOFMILDBED WEIR. BY MBS. CLARA DARGA3 McLEAN. CHAPTER IX. "Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False'face must hide what the false heart doth know. * * * * Methought I heard a voice cry, 'sleep no moro.' " Macbeth. The suo lit up the pleasant oreaaiasi, parlor where a small round table was laid for two. An elderly lady with that unmistakable air of respectability which belongs to the class of English upper-servants, was superintending the tea-tray where steaming urns of fragrant Mocha and "real old Bohea" reflected in their massive silver sides an exquisite set of Sevres ware, Colonel Meredith's partic- j ular penchant. A servant entered, bringing! the breakfast dishes. "Have you seen your master, Lawrence ?" the house-keeper asked. She had a certain inflection of voice which indicated at once her full appreciation of the responsible position she occupied. "Yes, ma'am ; he and Mr. Walderaar are talking on the colonnade." "Well, go and announce breakfast." The gentleman entered, both courteously greeting the house-keeper, who stood until they were seated. "Now, my dear Alexis," Colonel Meredith said, as if continuing, or rather concluding, a conversation, "dismiss all fears, and trust me for a happy issue. We will drive over to Weir-wood to luncheon this morning, and I will make it convenient to speak to Mrs. Weir." "You are very kind, sir," Waldemar replied. He was looking so pale that one even less interested in him than his guardian, who concentrated all affection upon him in lieu of other ties, would have been shocked at the great change in his naturally insoucient manner. There was, too, an evident restraint which he tried in vain to overcome. "You are very kind, sir," he repeated ; and was about to continue when he became aware of Mrs. Collier's presence. After pouring out coffee, she usually left the room, and had seemed to do so this morning before the conversation began; but now she suddenly emerged from a china-closet, and crossing the apartment as if totally unconscious of being //? fosvn af/w) fnr a mnmenfr. reiirrancrinir the flowers in a basket, and then her black silk with its frou-frou, disappeared in the veranda beyond. Colonel Meredith looked annoyed. Things were always so ordered that the presence of a domestic was not necessary at a iete-d-tHe meal, and many pleasant, unrestrained conversations had been carried on under this salutary arrangement. The meal was finished in comparative silence; and being over, Waldemar accompanied his host to the sunny colonnade where they smoked their cigars without fear of intrusion. No further allusion was made to the subject nearest his heart till they were on their way to Weir-wood, and Waldemar began: "I have been wishing to say to you that perhaps it would be better to let this matter rest for the present?at least until I am better known to Mrs. Weir. As a stranger?" "My dear boy," Colonel Meredith exclaimed, "I never charged you with a want of selfesteem before. There is no possible reason why you should wait, except this undue humility, which I allow is an attribute of true love. But remember the old adage, 'Faint heart'?and don't fear to put your fate to the touch. I will take the initiative by saying all I can in your favor to Mrs. Weir. As for Mildred I see there is no need of praising you to her. 'The thousand innocent blushes' speak her feelings plainly." Fairly overpowered by the unusual loquacity of his friend, Waldemar remained silent, while Colonel Meredith continued : "I am so truly interested in you, Alexis, that I may be influenced more by my affecfkon iiirlrtmonf Knt T om nnnvinpMl ! wwu wumu ujj j uugluvu v f l/uv jk mu4 wu i *mvw* that your faults?which I do not deny?will be greatly modified, if not entirely eradicated, by a happy marriage. I have known Mildred from infancy, and of all women in the world, I would chose her as the one best calculated to insure happiness to a man of your temperament." In the rapturous dissertation which followed, Waldemar forgot all save the fair girl whose praises he heard with glowing heart; and when they reached the iron gates of Weir-wood, he had no definite idea beyond his unbounded love for her. Colonel Meredith kept his promise to speak to the mother in behalf of her daughter's lover. Occasion offered itself when, luncheon being over, the lovers were side by side at the piano, and Aunt Agatha in whe diningroom on hospitable thoughts intent. He approached the subject very delicately, hav.mg first dwelt upon Walderaar's many good qualities, and then, by way of enlisting sympathy, alluding to his early orphanage and the sad isolation of his present life. Mrs. Weir made no response until he directly spoke of a desire to see his ward happily married. "Pray, my dear Colonel," she interrupted in a low voice, "do not allude to that at present. This acquaintance is too brief to build unon. and I cannot repress rav fears as to his capacity for domestic happiness. He is too much a man of the world?too accomplished? too handsome, in short?to rest contented in the quiet life of a country gentleman with a j simple-hearted wife." As she spoke, both glanced involuntarily j toward the piano where Waldemar was seated?the softened light from a shaded window playing over his upturned face, as he sang in low soulful voice, heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, m Oriana. When the loqg, dim wolds are ribbed with brow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana. Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. "Oh ! breaking heart that will not break, Oriana; Oh ! pale, pale face, so sweet and meek, Oriana, Thou smilest bnt thou dost not speak, And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana. What wantest thou ? Whom dost thou seek, oriana r"I cry aloud: none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise ^ Up from inv heart unto my eyes, Oriana. Within thy heart my arrow lies, Oriana. "O, cursed hand ! oh! cursed blow! Oriana. , I O, happy thou that liest low, 1 Oriana! I i All night the silence seems to flow j > I Beside me in my utter woe, j * Oriana. i c I A weary, weary way I go, Oriana." ' < "When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana. : c I walk, I dare not think of thee, j / Oriana. : Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree, j I dare not die and come to thee, 1 Oriana. j ? I hear the roaring of the sea, I i Oriana." The recitative?for it was scarcely more? I sank into a mere whisper as he uttered the last j (( | lines. Mildred had turned away her face j I for she felt the Dathos of the words?the music? I ^ r j g the intense expression?too much to remain : unmoved. Mrs. Weir saw the attitude of! J g each ; she heard the thrilling, attenuated, organ-chords which swelled and died beneath his fingers. All mother-prudence, all voice of selfish fear, was hushed. She leaned over j and whispered with moistened eyes: "I can never say 'No' to him." Colonel Meredith caught the kind, matron- ^ Iy hand, and his face beamed with gladness. "I can never thank you enough," he said, ^ "for granting me this." Swiftly the hours of that happy day went j by. Mildred never forgot it?the brightest . and sweetest of all her life's bright, sweet April. A passing shower, through which the sun still showed his smiling face; a little * breeze, tender as a mother's cradle song; the ^ the low lapping of waves on the shore; the fragrance of hyacinths and lilies and roses ^ pervading the warm air, almost tropic in its luxurious softness. To Walderaaritwas Eden. What black shadow warned him of the awful future? None! none! He revelled in the beautiful life of to-day as the dancing ephera- t era: the mysterious and fearful to-morrow he reckoned not of. 73 The sun was setting; and alone upon the level, shining beach the lovers walked. Only ^ a few hours had elapsed since the formal consent of her mother had been gained; and now t young, lovely, and beloved?what more could a Eate bestow! Waldemar's arm rested upon . the waist of his betrothed; her hand was in i ^ hio "Alexis," she murmured, "this happiness ^ seems more than I can bear. I feel as if ^ waiting breathlessly for something to come next?some terrible calamity." She shuddered and grasped his arm. Then ^ quickly altering her tone as she saw the sudden change in his face?the look of one at bay with Fate?she added : j "I remember those beautiful lines of Hood, , 'The sunniest things cast sternest shade, And there is even a happiness that makes the heart afraid.'" "Mildred"?Waldemar's voice sounded jj strangely deep and intense?"I believe now 0 that you love me. Can your love stand a v test?a terrible test ?" j The only reply was the tightening of the g slender fingers over his. There was a long 0 silence. The waves rippled to their feet; the p gulls skimming over the water seemed but e, motes in the level line of low sunlight which shone like a glorious path across the Gulf; the p wind came softly and lifted Mildred's brown hair; and the two angels, Ormuzd and* u Ahriman, fought furiously. Oh! fearful con- h test! Well might one shrink from its contemplation ; but in every breast that duel must come, sooner or later. " Voe Victis /" With Waldemai* it was brief. His face grew white and set: Conscience urged him to be true; Love urged him to be true. Then the demon, Self, lifted the two-edged sword, and ^ slew the gentler remonstrants. 8J "The test!" whispered Mildred, nestling ^ closer to lys side. n He started, and the fight ended forever. "My darling," he said, drawing her to him ^ with encircling arras, "I only asked that I ^ might hear your answer. I require only this ^ proof?" and bending his head to hers their gj lips met. It was the first time?and the last! p What Waldemar intended?how he ever hoped to disentangle this fearful web of de- ^ ception no one ever knew. Perhaps, true to V( his nature, he resolved to let'circumstances ge control him and dictate, step by step, his tuture course. No words did he breathe to his g( guardian that hinted at the difficulties in q which he was involved ; only an unnatural e, abstraction betrayed at times the morbid state j), of his mind. Two days elapsed without a visit to Weir- g( wood. Colonel Meredith was suffering from ^ sudden indisposition, induced by exposure to e( the damp night-air ; and Waldemar was un- g( dergoing the reaction of violent excitement g which made him glad of an excuse to be alone. He had sent a note, full of affectionate as- C( suranees, explaining the cause of his absence, J and was leaning against the gate, smoking Q and watching for the return of his messenger,' g when he suddenly became aware of the pre- g< sence of a man who stood in a similar atti- r( tude, nonchalantly supporting himself against a tree not many yards distant. Something in a the face and figure was familiar to him ; and a shudder of fear and hatred swept over 1 a Waldemar as his mind quickly reverted to the j( midnight scene in St. Stephen's church on q Mardigras. It was the face he had noticed g there. rj "What do you want, my man ?" he asked e, in a voice of feigned carelessness. He felt a conviction that it was better to risk nothing ^ by giving way to the fierce rage which shook n him like a very aspen leaf. ! n The stranger's face grew dark at the pa- 0 tronizing tone and manner. He was not ill- h looking; a broad, powerfully-built frame, a square and muscular, features large, yet well- J rounded, and thick hair and beard of tawny w yellow?a man, on the whole, that one would I r not willingly offend, so strongly were the ani- b mal instincts developed?so apparent the dog- b raatic Saxon attribute of self-assertion. No v wonder that Waldemar, shrank from the con- q test who though physically brave, was now a the slave of accusing conscience. u "Did you speak to me, sir ?" the stranger n questioned without changing his position. "Yes; I asked if you wanted anything of a me. If you do, I am willing to hear." c "Willing to hear!" was the scornful reply, h "Mr. Waldemar," advancing slowly, and look- v ing full into the face of his opponent?"you p shall hear. Do you know me? I am the only b avenger of Rose Collier?your wife." o He spoke the words distinctly and deliber- E ately ; then paused. g WoUomoi- nnllnotofl bin aoftffArpd SATlSfiS. I f T UlUV/LUUi WUVVVVU ittw WVMV?W?*?> ? ? ? ? "I believe I recognize you, Gilbert," he said in a weary, deprecating way ; "you are her cousin?the little boy I used to wrestle t with on this very lawn." He looked around as he spoke. "I have done Rose a great wrong, but I oved her, poor girl! And I love her still. I mve done all I could to repair that injury, jilbert. You saw me make her ray wife; I ian do no more." "You can, and you shall," was the response. 'I tell you, Alexis Waldemar, there is but me alternative; either acknowledge her beore the world?or I will make you repent it." The threat was not desperate; it was quietly poken. But Waldemar felt what it implied n all his curdling veins. "Do you dare to threaten me ?" he cried, ind his eyes flashed with irrepressible fury? 'Do you dare to dictate terms to me ? Begone?or I will not be responsible for the conequences." He was turning away when the pressure of t heavy hand upon his arm arrested him. "Stop! This is the last time I shall give you in opportunity to right yourself. To-morrow norning your wife arrives here, and Colonel deredith shall know all?aye, and others beides him shall know." The words struck fresh trepidation to IValdemar's accusing heart. "She has promised me to say nothing," he >egan, but Gilbert Collier interrupted him. "Yes, poor silly soul, she would have prom3ed you anything; and I who loved her more n one hour than you could in all your era'en, selfish life, never asked her to make me a iromise. I thought she was worthy of a beter man?and God forgive me! I have helped ler sign her death-warrant" The storm-cloud on Bis heavy brow lowered earfully, and Waldemar could answer never , word. In a moment Gilbert regained his self-possssion, and continued: "My mother has told me that you are ploting to bring another iunocent young girl into aisery, but you shall not?I say, you shall \ot ! To-ihorrow morning Rose Waldemar omes to claim her place and name, and I !are you to deny her." A sound of galloping hoofs was heard; and he messenger rode up. Gilbert Collier walked way as quietly as if he had been discussing he weather. Waldemar looked after him nth a dazed stare. He could not?he would ot believe it. Rose coming! He had left er in an obscure boarding-house where she ad lodgings with a half-dozen other workingromen belonging to Madame Olympe's estabishment. Thither he went the night before is departure from the city, and made one rild appeal to the poor creature whose vanity ud credulity had been her greatest faults, le implored her to keep silence?at least for tie present; and then, when unable to refuse im aught, she had acquiesced, he endeavored y every means to draw from her the name f her accomplice in the deception. But in ain. On this point she remained obdurate, lis anger rose to boiling-point as he now beon ?n ononflnt rjilliorf- flnllior whn?hv his uu W\J OUO^VV V/tiWVIV w?a>w* tfMV ~ ^ ? ? wn acknowledgment?was the girl's cousin, erhaps her lover. This idea, Briarius-like, ntwined him with its thousand arms. He welt upon it till he began to feel like one ossessed. The note in his hand was crushed almost nread. He hastened to the house, and jcked himself in his own apartment. CHAPTER X. "One more unfortunate."?Hood. "Drowned ! Drowned!"?Hamlet. It was almost midnight when there came a tp at the door. Waldemar opened it, halfnothering an oath as he did so. The fair, ill face of the house-keeper appeared, illumiated by the lamp she held in her hand. "If you please, sir, Colonel Meredith wishes > see you," she said with a courtesy. Walemar looked keenly at her. Had she been etraying him to his guardian ? Mrs. Collier, irewd and quick of perception, read the susicion before it was fairly formed. "He is suffering very much ; the neuralgia as spread to his chest, and he is breathing ery hard. He thinks it might help him to >e you." Waldemar hastily threw on his dressing own and followed her to the sick-room, olonel Meredith was lying upon a lounge, iridently in acute agony. He did not speak, ut motioned Alexis to his side. The housekeeper was a famous nurse. She larcely allowed her master to rest a moment, ut administered some new medicine or offer i some new palliative continually. The nind of her footsteps and the rnstle of her ress became at last unbearable to the invalid. "I think," he whispered to Waldernar, "I juld perhaps sleep if she would only go away, can't stand that everlasting black silk. Mrs. tollier," raising his voice, "will you please o and lie down now. You are wearing yourilf out, and I shall want you again to-raor)w. Do try and rest, ray good woman." "Very well, sir," was the quiet reply; and fter shaking up the pillows, she left the room. In a few minutes Colonel Meredith fell 3leep. Waldemar sat by the window and )oked at the brilliant moonlit scene below, 'he gardens, the lawn, the far-stretching elds and orchards were flooded with silver adiance; and the intense stillness was only nhanced by the distant murmur of waves. He sat thus till the grey dawn began to reak?his own thoughts too confused and userable to be called a reverie; and the sick lan's breathing coming regularly from the ther end of the apartment alone preserved im from that sense of utter loneliness which t this time would have been unbearable, 'resentlv there was an unusual sound, as if of wheels grating upon the gravelled sweep. He ose softly, and going to a front window, saw elow a carriage, and a female figure desccndig from it. At the horses' heads stood a man rhom he instantly recognized as Gilbert lollier. In another moment the honRelreener w?? ? r? ppeared; and as the moonlight fell upon the ptumed face of the newly-arrived, Waldemr saw it was his wife ! He sank down upon the floor. Alas ! what coward had this man become. He, the acomplished swordsman, whose glittering blade iad clashed in a half-dozen Continental duels? ?ho knew no fear when scaling the giddy recipice in pursuit of the chamois and roeiuck?who shrank from no danger by field r flood, and dared a thousand deaths?he iow quailed before the presence of a slight ;irl! So true it is that "Conscience does make cowards of us all." Colonel Meredith awoke. "What is that noise, Alexis ?" he asked, in ones of alarm. Waldemar was at his side in a moment. "Nothing, dear sir, but the arrival of Mrs. ! Collier's niece. The night-train gets in at this I hour, you know." ] , j His voice was low and soothing. i j "Ah ! yes," the invalid murmured ; "I re1 member now, the good old soul said she exi pected Rose. The poor girl has been cooped < ; j up in the city so long that a little country air will do her no harm. Yes, I am glad she is < come, and Mrs. Collier has Gilbert here, too, which is very pleasant for them all. Ring I the bell, Alexis." When the servant appeared, Colonel Mere, dith declared he was so much better that no i other attendant was necessary ; and Walde- i *? * - ?L A? 1-2? ?AAM ^U?Am An ! mar weui iu ma uwn iuuw, uucn mui^n uu < the bed, and fell into a heavy slumber of exhaustion and despair. Poor misguided little Rose Collier was not < sleeping. She lay on her aunt's bed and tossed to and fro, till the sun-beams began to stream in through the closed blinds. Then she sat up, and pushed the tangled hair away from her burning brow. The house-keeper had long Bince gone away to her duties: she > knew all that was to be told of the Mardigras story?Gilbert had taken care that no blame ' > should be attached to Rose?and now she had only one idea and intention; to see that her niece was "righted." In her dogged English > mind no suggestion of compromise was ever entertained. Rose was to be called Mrs. i Waldemar; and Colonel Meredith was to 1 know all as soon as he was able to bear it So she settled, and though Rose was a spoilt, i petted, motherless creature, she never dreamed i of saying "nay" to anybody. Now as she sat up and looked around at the i familiar apartment, she wondered if all she had passed through since last she saw it, was , --i. L:J j -i i qui mo nit! niuuuua uruaui. qui, tuao i ii> nao a terrible reality. Hastily arranging her dress, 1 she went down into the garden?anywhere to get a fresh, full breath, for the atmosphere seemed to stifle her. As she walked slowly along through the winding paths, everything was teeming with 1 fresh, vernal life. Roses and lillies blowing? ( the green sward spangled with dew-gems? ( fleecy clouds piled up in the azure sky like i snowdrifts?all was so bright, so sweet, so ten- ] derly, exquisitely lovely that this child of Nature?whose whole sensuous being yearned ' toward the Beautiful?felt her heart expand , and glow with sudden delight She sat down j on the steps of a summer-house and folded ( her hands as if praying dumbly. Who < knows but that pryaer was for rest t And f how soon did God grant it to the tossed bark ! \ Presently the fragrance of a cigar floating 1 above the breath of a hundred flowers was t wafted towards her: then she heard a foot- | step, and Waldemar appeared, coming down i the walk. He recognized her?sitting there < so pale and sad, like the poor Gretchen be- 1 side her silent spinning-wheel?and his heart 1 melted with pity. /' r? _ ft i _ _.!j .aj; i !j. L*. J "Itose,' ne said, Sl&naiug ueaiue uer nuu holding out his hand, "I forgive you." How the quick blood flooded her thin white face! Joy flashed into each star-like eye. She caught his hands with both hers, and pressing them to her lips, bathed them with happy tears. "Oh ! do you indeed ?" she sobbed?"have you said those blessed words? Say them again?let me hear you say you forgive me? for I can never forgive myself." "It is too late for either of us to repent now" he said, sitting down beside her; "we will not ask whose fault was greater. I have but one favor to ask you, Rose; to say nothing till I give you permission." She was silent "Well," he added quickly, "at least you will not betray me to my uncle to-day. I want to have a long talk with you first." She bent her head in acquiescence; and then began to play with her fingers as if in embarrassment. "How and where can I talk to you ?" she asked, flushing painfully; "my aunt and Gilbert are?have said?they do not wish me to talk with you?and I don't know?" "The devil!" Waldemar exclaimed angrily; "they know I have a right, and why should they object? By Heaven! I will not be circumvented by such canaille as Gilbert Collier aud his mother." Rose grasped his hand, frightened at the violence of his manner. "I will do as you please," she murmured. "Then meet me at the little gate near the lodge this evening at five o'clock. Feign sickness?anything?so as to keep your room till that hour." He rose quickly as if afraid to trust himself to say more, and pressing her hand, walked away. At the appointed hour Waldemar stood by the wicket-gate, and Rose soon joined him. They walked on side by side till the edge of the Bayou was reached. It rolled dark and sullen under the shadow of thick-growing magnolias and cypress. No gleam of sunshine penetrated the dense foliage even at 1 noon; and now all was veiled in a ghostly twilight. Upon its very brink, at the foot of a gnarled i old cvDress thev stopped, aud Waldemar be ganatODce: ( "You have never told me yet, Rose, who ] assisted you in that effective and pretty little i masquerade of yours on Mardigras; and now I am determined to know." ( Until this time Rose had not looked in his ^ | face; as she glanced up now she saw it white, j set, desperate?not with the excited despera- ] | tion of that fatal night, but with the terrible, ' i deliberate energy of a madman. 1 . "Waldemar," she cried, "Oh! don't look < so! You frighten me!" 1 It was indeed the wail of a poor scared d child. Waldemar heeded it not. r "Now you must tell me," he repeated in j the same tone?but lower, more intense?more i terrible. I "I will?I will"?sobbed the girl, "but I * ! promised so solemnly I never would. She j ! said you had slighted her, and she would be ^ ! revenged, and she got me the ticket and took g me with her in her own carriage. Nobody knew who I was?she said 1 was a friend? 1 and then we went to her box, and she left me * there. And presently I wandered down by 8 myself, and I waa leaning against the wall all J alone when I saw a domino just like mine. I ^ heard her voice, and I knew it was Miss Weir, a and when she dropped her ring?" Waldemar seemed unable to bear more. ^ He grasped her arm. 8 "Tell me the name," he muttered between f 1 his clenched teeth. t "Oh ! my God, would you murder me ?" ^ She stepped back as if to escape the fierce i: clutch?or the glare of those burning eyes, f Her foot became entangled in a trailing vine; I he let go her arm suddenly, she lost her bal- [ ance?and over?over into the dark sullen j watefs! One wild cry?"Waldemar!" and they ' closed over her. The murderer stood petrified. Was all j over so easily? Was his slavery thus quick- , ly ended ? The demon whispered; but a human pity dawned over that crazed mind even then. He could save her?he would. Poor IJftln Pnoa tttV\a kod lnnul Viinri ainpp alip WM Ilbbiu JLITVSOWj TT AAV/ IIUU AVV VU A4A1M W?"VW vmv ? ?? a toddling baby?Rose, who had pressed her aweet lips to his, and twined her soft arras around his neck a thousand times. Was she to die before his very eyes? Again the demon urged?"She is the rock which drags yon down to perdition." And all in one horrible moment darted through his brain like red-hot needles. Again he saw the white gleam of her dress; he heard a gurgling sound, and all was still. The dusk grew denser. The wail of the whippoorwill echoed with weird distinctness through the silent woods. Far off the banshee-cry of the screech-owl came faintly floating. Damp, odorous exhalations filled the heavy air from the poison-cups of many a brilliant creeper. On the mossy ground lay Walderaar?all along in abject despair?in insane terror. He lifted his eyes: they fell upon the ghostly surface of the bayou, now lit with the rising moon. Suddenly he rose and fled?on?on? through the thick wood, the overhanging boughs striking him in the face as with avenging hands. o ? [to be continued next week.] [Copies of the Enquims containing the prevloas chapters of ihls Story can be furnished to new subscribers.] IpJttltatrwmis fteadiug. THE FIRST OCEAN STEAMSHIP. In absence of more exciting topics, a brief account of the first ocean steamship ever built, may be found interesting. As is well known, jhe was named "The Savannah," and for her construction, which has led to such grand remits, the world is indebted to certain enterprising citizens of Savannah. The Savannah was built in New York, and finished in the month of February, 1819. She was three hundred tons burthen, clipper built, full rigged, for mast and sail, and propelled by one inclined, direct acting, low pressure engine, similar to those now in use. The size of her cylinder was forty inches diameter, with six feet stroke. She carried twenty inches of steam. The water wheels were of wrought iron, with only one flange, and entirely uncovered. They were so attached to the shaft that their removal and shipment on deck could be accomplished in from fifteen to twenty minutes, without occasioning the slightest inconvenience. She had two superb and elegant cabins for passengers, ladies' and gentlemen, the two being separated and both handsomely furnished. All berths, thirty-two in cumber, were state rooms, and provided with every comfort. She was commanded by Capt. Moses Rogers, and, as before stated, >wned in Savannah. At her trial trip in New York bay, the Savannah excited the greatest interest. Nearly ;he whole population were out to witness the jrand event?grand to them only for its novslty?but transcendently grand in the wonlerful revolution that it was destined to effect it no distant day in the naval and commer;ial marine of the whole civilized world. The cerformance of the new ship was not only satsfactory, but commanded the greatest adrai ation. Her trip down the bay to the present quarantine ground, opposite Staten Island, md back again, was accomplished in a period if time hitherto unapproached by ships, and ;he success was most gratifying to all. Her ipeed without sails is set down at five knots, ; hough vessels that passed her under steam j ind sail in her voyage across the Atlantic, recorted her movement at from nine to ten inots. The Savannah left New York for Savannah , in the 28th day of March, 1819, and arrived , n our port at six o'clock, p. m., on the 6th lay of April. The vessels which she spoke in her voyage, carried into port wonderful , ales of her speed and beauty, as she moved , i ri * *1 i j 1 ipon ine waters, oorae were greatly aiarmea ay the singular apparition, being accustomed jnly to sails as a propelling power on the seas. 3n her arrival, the whole population turned jut and assembled on the bluff, where, with ihouts and waving of handkerchiefs and hats, ihey greeted the extraordinary visitor. Her voyage was exceedingly tempestuous, and the jallant steamer thoroughly tried and tested )y the ordeal, and the ease and safety of her notion, surpassed all that her brave comnander had dared to hope for. Her arrival n Savannah we find thus chronicled in the Republican, of the 7th of April, 1819: "The steamship Savannah arrived at our jort last evening, after a boisterous passage of teven days, from New York. On her apiroach to the city, hundreds of citizens flocked \o the bank of the river, and while she ascended, saluted her with loud and long huzzas! rhe utmost confidence is placed in her secu ity. It redounds much to the honor of Savannah when it is said that it was owing to ;he enterprise of some of her spirited citizens ;hat the first attempt was maae to cross the Atlantic ocean in a vessel propelled by steam, rhe Savannah, we understand, will make a ;rip between this city and Charleston, and ;hen, perhaps, go to Havana and New Or enns, and immediately seturn to tnis place, j She will then proceed to Liverpool, via. New 1 Fork, unless a sufficiency of passengers should j )ffer direct. We sincerely hope the owners may reap a rich reward for their splendid j ind laudable undertaking." A part of the programme was subsequently j jhanged, as will appear. , The Savannah left here for an excursion | rip to Charleston, on the 14th of April, and eturned on the 30th of the same month, j May 11, she took down an excursion party to ( Tybee and the forts. Among the party on j joard was President Monroe, then on a visit ;o our city, together with a large number of t irmy and navy officers, and prominent citi- t jens. After a delightful day in the river, the j (hip returned to the city late in the afternoon, rhe Republican of that day contains an an- j louncement of the intended sailing of the j Savannah for Liverpool, and holds out 'ele- ( rant accommodations' as a temptation to pas- ] lengers. It does not appear from the record, lowever, (newspapers were slow coaches in hat day) whether any were induced to em- i >ark or not; probably none, as people are 1 generally suspicious of things untried. i At all events, while we have no report of 1 ler passengers or cargo, it is certain that May 11 !Oth~, the steamship Savannah weighed anchor, i ind set out on her voyage 'for Liverpool di- i ect,' an experiment hitherto untried in the \ listory of the world. She encountered every 1 rariety of weather, and her log shows that t he was equal to every emergency. s At 6 p. m., on Sunday, June 20, after a c royage of one month, the 8avannah came to t inchor in the port of Liverpool. During her c >assage, she worked her engine eighteen days, r t being found necessary, on so long a voyage, c o economize fuel. She used only pitch pine, e he use of coal in steamers not having been c ntroduded at that day. On nearing Liver- e >ool, the more effectually to astonish the Brit- U ishers, the wheels were restored to the shafts,' i all sails set, and she went into the Mersey J i amidst the wildest astonishment of all be- ] holders. ' j i The Savannah remained at Liverpool a lit- j tie over a month, during which time she made ! i several excursions in the river, to the de-! light and astonishment of the inhabitants. A journal of that city characterized those trips < as "the most striking exhibition of steam navigation which has yet been seen in our port." July 23d, the Savannah sailed from Liverpool for St. Petersburg, her original destination. She sned on her northern course, says one account, awakening the echoes of the distant Scandinavian shores with sounds even stronger than the shouts and battle songs of the ancient Vilkings. The approach of this beautiful messenger from the young civilization of the New World, to the still, half-sleeping monarchies of the Elder Hemisphere, only just shaken in their slumber by the iron hand of Napoleon, was an event in their history full of instruction and prophecy. At St. Petersburg, Capt. Rogers and his strange craft were received with every demonstration of respect and admiration. The Czar himself went on board, complimented the captain, his ship and his countrymen, and made him a present of two iron chairs, which, on his return, Capt. R. devoted to the city of Savannah. The Savannah remained at St. Petrsburgh for several weeks, and on her return touched at Copenhagen, Arundel and Norway. Many wished to purchase her. The King of Sweden offered Captain Rogers $100,000 for her, to be paid in hemp and iron delivered at New York, Boston ana Philadelphia, but the offer was refused. Whether the Captain had no power to sell, or preferred the cash, does not fully appear. The bold little ship turned her course westward and arrived in Savannah, in ballast, November 30th, after a voyage of fifty days from St. Petereburgh, including stoppages, all well, and, to use Captain Rogers own language, "neither a screw, bolt nor rope-yarn parted, although she experienced very rough weather." In the month of December the Savannah xinUnd WT nV? I n ZiJftT wllAVA oVa O CJ+/\n 1 Q Vl Ofl V lOllCU TT OOlIIUgbVU V/lhj y nuoio SUV HOWUIOM^U I the "collective wisdom," and from there went to New York. With this one trip across the Atlantic, appears to have closed her bright career. Why, we cannot say. Perhaps the heavy cost of running her with only wood ps fuel would not admit of successful competition with the sailers. Be this as it may, soon after her return to New York, and giving to the world a grand step in the march of civilization?glory enough for one ship?the Savannah was divested of her steam apparatus and converted into a packet ship of the same name, and ran for some years between Savannah and New York. Her engines and boilers were sold to the proprietors of the Allaire Works, in New York, for the sum of $1,600. The engines were put to other uses, and did good service for very many years. The identical cylinder of the Savannah was among the articles on exhibition at the Crystal Palace show in New York, some fifteen or twenty years ago, and attracted no little attention. The final fate of the Savannah was a sad one. In one of her trips from this city to New York she was driven ashore in a storm, on Long Island, and went to pieces. Savannah Republican. THE NEW YORK HERALD. The editorial staff of the New York Herald consists of one chief, one managing, one financial, one city editor and eight editorial writers. The ship news, foreign news, domestic news, statistical matters and translation departments each have a chief, with such assistance as he may require from the city department. The city department is presided over by a chief who must have gone through all the gradations of the reportorial department This force consists of twenty-seven reporters, who cover all the news points in New York, Jersey City, Brooklyn and contiguous places of easy access to New York. The salary of managing editor is $3,000 per annum; and financial editor $5,000 per annum, and 1 the writers, or sub-editors, from $40 to $60 1 per week; reporters $25 to $30 per week. In the composing room, seventy-five men are employed, whose pay depends upon the j 3kill and steadiness of their labor, some making as high as $44 per week. \ The clerical force of the paper numbers about twenty, divided into relays for day and 1 aight work. 1 The editorial force meet daily in the "council room" of the establishment. The meeting 1 JaJ AMAB W*. A? n AM AAM Afl 1 10 jJicoiucu uvci ujr jjcuuch, latiici ui ouu, aa the case may be, or in the absence of both these gentlemen, then by the senior writer, Dr. Geo. B. Wallis. At this council all the current questions of the day are discussed, all formality in speaking on topics is avoided, and it partakes more of the character of a family gathering. Mr. Bennett, after carefully looking over his memorandum points, breaks silence, and the conversation takes a cheerful turn and continues for upwards of two hours. In the interim, each editor is assigned to write a certain article. Mr. Bennett, Sr., has not written an article in the Herald for upwards of thirty years, yet he identifies himself with the editorial columns by requiring the editors to keep the tone and style of their articles within certain cardinal points. Mr. Bennett has a telegraph wire (nine miles long) connecting the Herald office with bis residence at Fort Washington; also a shorter line (three miles) to his house on Fifth avenue. By this means he is in constant communication with the office. Important news from Europe, and, indeed, from any Sart of the world, is announced to him, and e sends the points for a leader over the wires, the telegraph key being manipulated by the gentle hand of his daughter, Jeanette. The foreign correspondence on the Herald is now in charge of a gentleman in- London, who receives a salary of five thousand dollars per year in gold. He moves and instructs the correspondents at the various Europeon capitals. The receipts from advertising range from wo thousand five hundred to five thousand dollars per day, according to the changes in the busy season of the year. Mr. Bennett's income from his real estate ind newspaper is two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars per year, and that of his son, 'orty-five thousand dollars. "Rflnnat.f ftr__ is seventv-five vears of ape. *7 v O ' . P'et his brain is as vigorous as it was twenty rears ago. His habits are of a very abstemious character, and to this he ascribes his good lealth. ? 1 Haste and Health.?It is not at all i vholesome to be in a hurry. Locomotives 8 lave beeD reported to have moved a mile in a i ninute for short distances. But locomotives f lave often come'to grief by such great rapidi- c y. Multitudes in 5ieir haste to get rich are a uined every year. The men who do things a naturely, slowly, deliberately, are the men vho oftenest succeed in life. People who are r labitually in a hurry generally have to do e hings twice over. The tortoise beat the hare t it last. Slow men seldom knock their brains d lut against a post. Foot races are injurious f o health, as are all forms of competitive exer- I lises; steady labor in the field is the best gym- ii lasium in the world. Either labor or exer- a ;ise carried to exhaustion,* or prostration, or k yen to great tiredness, expressed by "fagged ii tut," always does more than the previous ex- ti ircise does good. All running up stairs, run- p ling to catch up with a ferry-boat or vehicle, are extremely injurious to every age and sex and condition of life. It ought to Be the most pressing necessity which should induce a per3onover fifty to run twenty yards. Those live longest who are deliberate, whose actions are measured, who never embark in any enterprise without "sleeping over it," and who perform all the every day acts *of life with calmness. Quakers are proverbially calm, quiet people, and Quakers are a thrifty folk, the world over. JEFEFBSON DAYIS. A Radical journal having asserted that exPresident Davis was a native of Massachusetts, and sneeringly spoken of him as "the plebian son of a Yankee wheelwright," Col, McCardle, / of the Vicksburg Herald, replies as follows: "In the eyes of Radicalism it is doubtless a grave offense to be born of "Plebian stock," and to be the son of an industrious "wheelwright," is "rank and smells to Heaven!" The shoddy swindlers who ought to be in the penitentiary, may turn up their delicate noses at the son of a mechanic, but the hardy sons of toil can afford to look down in contempt and scorn upon the miserable horde who but yesterday crawled out of the gutter, and who, today, dressed in "purple and fine linen," the result of plunder and pillage, attempt to play the fine gentleman, put on airs, ana effect to be above "the son of a wheelwright!" This Washington despatch is, however, a simple, unadorned falsehood. The father of Jefferson Davis was a Baptist clergyman, a man of education and ability, and a native of South Carolina. We have known persons who had heard heard him preach. Some of these persons, when young, attended a school taught by him in South Carolina. The truth is, Mr. Davis would have been neither better nor worse had he been a "wheelwright"?but he was nothing more than a christian minister, a conscientious teacher, and an honest roan! The story of his residence "in old Stockbridge, Massachusests," is pure bosh, and "the house where he lived on one side of the road, and the shop where he worked on the other side," are pure figments of the brain,, born of the imagination of some malignant Bohemian. The Rev. Mr. Davis migrated from South Carolina to Georgia, where some of his children were born, and from that State he removed to Southern Kentucky, where his son a* n *1- I'Ai. TT Uf jenerson arse saw me ugni 01 neaveu. ?r e do not believe that the older Mr. Davis was ever north of "Mason and Dixon's line" in his life, but that he resided in Massachusetts and "worked on the other side of the road" as a "wheelwright," we have the best possible reasons for pronouncing wholly and entirely false. If the father of Jefferson Davis had been a mechanic, we know no one who would be prouder of the fact than the illustrious genman in question. It may suit the shoddy race that rules, and is fast ruining the country, to sneer at the son of a mechanic as of "Plebian stock," but Jefferson Davis belongs to a Godlike aristocracy of intellect, of honor, of virtue, of patriotism, of courage 1 The aristocracy of which he is an honored member, was born of God, and is as old as the stars! It dates from the birth of man, and crowns, stars and garters, the insignia of fank, grow pale and tawdry as the spangles on Harlequin's coat when confronted with the bright radiance which beams from the brow of the intellect, and sits enthronged in the heart where honor, virtue and courage have their home. Was Morgan Killed ??Thousands believe that Morgan was not killed for exposing the secrets of Masonry: others believe that he did not expose its secrets, and thousands believe that ne was killed. The whole proceeding was shrouded in mystery. He, it is said, was confined in a Canandaigua jail for stealing a shirt, and subsequently taken out and put in a sleigh, and by relays was hurried towards Canada. The body of a man was found in a lake; he had his throat cut. Mrs. Morgan was sent for. She hunted for a private mark on the body by which she could distinguish him. She did not find the mark, and declared it was not the body of her husband. Mr. H. was a lawyer, and engaged in the abduction of Morgan, and told a friend, in presence of a son, then about twelve years of age, that Morgan was not killed, but was put on board of a British man-of-war. That son is now in this city, from whom we learn the following particulars: In 1848 Mr. H' says he went to Hobartown, in Van Diemen's Land. There he met an old friend, who asked him ibout Morgan. He told him what he knew ibout him, and the man, laughing, said: 'Morgan is living here; I will introduce you ;o him." They went to the office of the Holartown Advertiser and there found him. Af;er some conversation and comparing reflections of the region of country m New York vhere ifwas supposed Morgan was killed, he -elated the particulars of his capture, and staled he was put on board of a British man-ofvar and kept there for four years, when he was anded on Van Diemen's Land, and had been here ever since. H. asked him why he did not go back. Morgan replied, "I cannot, if I would. I cannot get a permit, and if I could go back I vould either be killed or be denounced as an mpostor." He was in good circumstances, ind part owner of the Advertiser?San Franrisco Examiner, March 22. + Keep Out of Debt.?Half the perplexity, annoyance and trouble that men have in fvorld, is in consequence of getting into debt. It seems to be natural for some people to buy ind incur obligations without measure, so long is they can avoid paying ready cash. Give ine of this sort a chance to buy on credit, ind the questions of payment are matters that le cares out little about. But what a crop of rouble springs up from the seed of debt 1 EIow many gray hairs it brings, and how-often t shortens life?sometimes leading men to commit suicide or murder. And yet, how easy it is to keep clear of this terrible moniter. Every young man should form a fixed and inalterable determination,before commencing lis active business career, not to incur one jenny of indebtedness, under any circumstances. Never buy anything, unless you have he money to pay for it at once. Pay no at;ention to "splendid opportunities," "rare chances," "bargains" and the like. Such are >nly traps set to catch victims. If you see mything that you would like to accept, look irst at your money pile and make the answer nnnn 4-Viot A lmotra notr a a vnn ftf\ icpcuu u^uu luavi xxin ^ Jvu gvt [f you are short of money, gauge your aenands accordingly.?Plantation. - -4 The Sick Chamber at Night.?The glare >f the bright light at night tends to keep an nvalid from sleeping; and yet in many cases t is not desirable to be in total darkness. If i burning candle has common salt put on the nelted part of it, until it reaches the black >art of the wick, it will not only cause the landle to burn very slowly, but make it give i dim, mild and mellow light, proving very agreeable to the invalid. Another expedient in this connection. A oom can be very well ventilated, in the hotter lights, by lighting a candle and placing it on he hearth in the fire-place; this causes a Iraught upward, which is promoted by the resh air coming in at an open window or door, n the Winter, a fire should be always burnQg in the grate or fire-place, more necessary t night than in the day time; it not only eeps the air of the room pare and good, but ; prevents the room from getting too cool, bus endangering pneumonia or lung fever, in roportion as the invalid is debilitated. Hall's Journal of Health.