Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor.! g-it f ttbcpcitbettf Jitmiljr IfjUtospptr: Jk % llnrmotiim ttf % |!<rlitieal, Social, ^gritnltnral aitb Contmeraal |irimsts of % Sontjr. jTERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 18. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JIJ^TE 18, 1872. 3STO. 24. A Jto Original ffrig* Written for tbe Yoikville Enquirer. w AN HEIRESSIN HEROWN RIGHT. BY EMILY J. ROMEO. > CHAPTER VIII. % VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE. THE COLORED PEOPLE HAVE A HEARING. CONWAY BECOMES EXCITED. THE DAY WEARS ON. "There's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck ava; There's little pleasure in the house, When our gudeman's awa." Sleep was a stranger to Grace for the rest of the night. She soon heard a stir in the encampment, and in less tnan an nour, a dozen or more horsemen rode down the avenue. "I hope, hope father is far on the other side of the river," thought she. "They cannot well follow him, for the river is so high father said it was dangerous for any one who does not know the ford to attempt crossing; but maybe that false-hearted negro may lead them on. Just then a brisk shower began to beat on the window-panes, and as it poured down her courage revived. "They can't track him now till broad daylight, and he will have a good start ahead. I wish I knew they could not find him." Grace knew it was useless to be uneasy, but she could not help it. Her imagination pictured scene after scene of danger, all .heightened by the gloom and terror of her late Soon the drums beat and the reveille roused the whole camp. Then several shots were fired, and her heart was in her mouth till Stuart's "There goes some of our cows or hogs for those Yankees' breakfast," calmed her enough to make her remember it would be impossible to hear firing at the distance her father was. When she had told him the soldiers were going after Wheeler's cavalry he had replied, they left the day before and were far away by that time. The family heard men come in and go out of the sitting-room, and there was some talking in the yard; but as no one disturbed them, they lay quietly till day-light. Lance turned over, stretched herself and said? "Miss Grace, is you wake ?" "Yes. What is it ?" "I dreamed dem Yankee mens say dey was neber goin' to go away any more." "And do you believe it ?" asked Grace. "Dunno, Miss Grace. Specs dey would stay if Mass'r Claude ud let um?long's de rice last" Conway laughed. Lance, like all low-country darkies, was a great rice eater. Rice and fish were the two things she liked best, and to take her away from her native rice-fields and fishing grounds, was the greatest misfortune she could imagine. Even the few miles which now intervened seemed an immense distance, though rice was plentiful and tisli no rarity. When one of the negroes had sounded her about going off with them and she found they aimed for the city, she had said decidedly? "Ise been to dat Charl'ston, and de rice was brung way from de plantation, and de railroad mens lost a heap of it; and I'se bin way by dat place day calls C'lumby, an' dere want no rice widout mass'r buy'd it and pay de money, an' I ain't gwine to no more city. 'Sides, mass'r Jack tole me ef I didn't take jjood care of Miss Grace, he'd pay me well, An' I'se gwine to do it." As none of the negroes had much influence over Lance, and all had a spite against her, they did not persuade her, and Maud said? "0, let her alone. I'd rather stay myself than have her along," and thus it happened Lance was the only one of her race left in the house ; but she did not tell on the others. "You ain'tlafin',too, is you Miss Grace?" "No. I'm more afraid I should cry if the Army should stay. I think you'd better make a fire now. It is quite light, aud we ought to ibe dressed in case of any one's coming in." Lance made up a fire and then went down for more wood and fresh water. A soldier was at the wood-pile picking out the best sticks. "Halloo! you black beast. Clear!" was his salutation, and he brandished a small piece of lightwood at her. Lance started back, but a loud laugh from the soldier, as he walked off with his arras full, kept her from actually running away. "Clar outyou'self, you scrapin's of de norf," retorted she, as soon as she thought he was j too far to hit her, if he did throw a stick. "Pretty good, you flat-no3ed beauty spot! I "Where did you learn that ?" - T 1 ?x J.. )) "j\o matter ware, jl snows u uoe. "The man walked on smiling. "'Be scrapin's of de norf! That's what a coal ( bladk nigger calls us?pretty good 1" and he i laughed outright. "Wouldn't the Colonel curse if one should call him'de scrapin's of; de norf'?" and the man laughed again as if it was very amusing. "Black beast," muttered Lance. "He's one of dem Yankees wot Maud tinks is gwine to do sich great tings. I'd like to know wot shell say wen dey calls her black beast!"?for-1 getting that Maud was a handsome mulatto j and she a coal black, thick-lipped negress. i She poured out her complaint to Grace as soon as she went, in, and was comforted by a 1 few kind words. "Did you say anything to the man, first ?" "No, Miss Grace, I never seed him tell he ; riz up an' said 'Clar out wid ye, yer black ! beast.'" "Then, what did you say ?" "I jes say, 'Clar out yerself, an told him i dey was de scrapins of de norf.' Dat was evry word." "Atd he didn't shoot you ?" "No, Miss Grace, he didn't dare to do dat." Grace smiled. "Who did you ever hear call them that name?" "Mass'r Jack's Cresar said so, an' he knows." Cmsar was a great favorite with Lance, and having been off to Virginia as a waiting boy, was an oracle to some of the home negroes. "Well, Lance, I wouldn't call any more of them so. They might be angry and hurt you. Go down and set the table now. I see raaurn Hess has a fire in the kitchen, and she won't be long cooking breakfast." "Mother," said Conway, "Stuart is out among those horrid men. He must be just going on with them, for there's half a dozen I around him, and they seem delighted at what' ; he's saying. The child would be ruined if j i they should stay a week." "They'll not stay a week," said Grace. "How do you know ?" asked Conway,! quickly. "I don't think they will; and didn't Cap- j tain Clinton say so yesterday. "Heaven grant they go this day," and Con- \ way gave the finishing touches to her careful i toilet. "I don't think any harm will come to Stuart i from the little intercourse he has had with 1 the soldiers. He is tired of being confined to ! the house so long, and its only the horses he j is discussing so intently, from appearances," I said Mrs. Elliott, turning from the window ( where she had been watching Stuart. "How pale you are, Grace. Are you sick, > my child?" "Not at all. I didn't sleep any the latter part of the night A cup of coffee will brighten me wonderfully," and she gave a kiss and little caressing hug to her mother. "Had you been awake long when I spoke | to you ?" "It seemed a good while ; but the hours are longer when one is wakeful in the night, than in the daytime," said she evasively. "Let us go to breakfast, mother. I detest cold coffee,and maum Hess rang the bell five minutes ago. Come, Grace and Alice," and ; Conway led the way down. "Shall we ask Captain Clinton to breakfast ? He may go to-day," said Grace, before they were seated. "On no account," said Conway haughtily. "I don't think he'll expect it," replied Mrs. Elliott. "He has been very kind to us," ventured Grace. "It was only because it was a debt he owed Claude. We are quits with him now," and Conway's brows were knit, as they could be, on occasion, when she was determined to have her way. "We are very thankful he has been grateful, and done so much for us in return for the kindness he received in Virginia"?Mrs. Elliott could not speak her son's name without emotion, but she often alluded to him in an indirect way quite touching,?"but some other way of showing our gratitude may be more agreeable, I think." Mrs. Elliott was never ungracious in her firmest refusals, and was always particularly 1 careful to speak gently and kindly when Con- i way's words had fallen sharply on any one's feelings. In the middle of the meal, Conway spoke out suddenly? "0,1 had such ?, strange dream or feeling last night. I woke in the midst of it, or it came over me as I woke, I don't know which. I thought I heard some one go out the side door and lock it, and 'Grace has gone! Grace 1 has gone!' came over me like a flash. I was 1 tempted to spring out of bed and rush after ] her, but the fright awakened me so complete- 1 ly I found it was because she was not in bed < with me, as usual, that gave me the dream. ' I should have gone for her to come in and ' sleep with me the rest of the night, but 1 ' feared it would disturb you, mother. Why, ' Grace, what is the matter ? You are perfect- 1 ly ghastly!" "You are sick, Graceand Mrs. Elliott 1 was rising from the table, but the blood came back to Grace's face and she said earnestly? 1 "I am not sick, mother. I assure you I am not. It was merely a nervous shock came over me while Conway was speaking. I'm quite over it, now." "Well, drink your coffee. You haven't 1 tasted a drop. I shall never forgive this army if they frighten you into nervous at- 1 tacks." "I never thought Grace was one to be easily overcome. We have seen nothing to what thousands have passed through. In fact, this may be called merely an unpleasant episode, and when it is over we may be sighing that there was so little danger to call out our courage. It would seem so much more grand and heroic if our courage, instead of our tempers, was tried. I always feel lowered after an exhibition of pride or temper, and wish I were more like Grace, and did not see so much to ruffle my dignity." "O, Conway! You surely don't wish your regal nature like my diminutive one?" "Regal and diminutive! The terras are misapplied. I wish for your serenity sometimes when I see you superior to things which irritate me to freuzy. Y oil pass over them; I let them strike me in the face." "They pass over me. I am not great and strong, to put them down and crush them like you." Grace always gave Conway credit for all the good qualities she possessed, and could see more than any one else. "Both of you have excellencies and defects. I am glad your words have roused Grace to a little life," said Mrs. Elliott. "Try and ; take a nap this morning and we'll not wish for ! any danger to interrupt it." They had scarcely left the table when Capt. j Clinton sent to know if they would see him for a few minutes. "I am about to leave," said he. "All the ! army has gone on, and my company is to fol- j low. There may be stragglers passing for a ! day or too, but they will be in such small parties you can protect yourselves. They will not be apt to do any harm but pillage the place, and your son has a gun if they offer violence. No troops are behind us"?a slight glance at Grace?"but a small company will be left to garrison Potter's Bridge. If they annoy you at all, you can complain to their captain, with whom I have left a particular request that you shall be protected. He will also forward letters at any time. Good morning, ladies." A bow to each one, and he was turning to go, without waiting for the thanks Mrs. Elliott was about to give, when Grace stepped for- ! ward and held out her hand. Their eyes met for an instant, the hand was raised slightly, kissed, and Captain Clinton was gone. The grace aud delicacy with which it was done, for a moment preserved the silence of the room; then Conway's pride rose like a tide in the bay of Fundy, and she almost 1 stamped her foot as she gave way to her anger. "The wretch ! The infamous, audacious wretch; to presume, to dare, to do such a thing ! Why did you not strike him in the 1 face ? But it was your own fault You had no business to offer your hand to a Yankee? to an enemy! What better could you expect from such a source? I am only surprised I that you, Grace Elliott, should have given oc-1 casion for such a disgrace." "There, Conway, you have said enough," i said Mrs. Elliott, firmly. "But, mother, it was shameful, shameful ! j And before the children, too," and Conway's proud head was raised with unusual scorn. Grace neither blushed nor looked ashamed.; She stood quietly with her left hand clasped over the one which had raised such a tumult, | until Conway was silent, and then spoke un- j falteringly? "I did right, and Captain Clinton no wrong. \ You can think what you please. I have no explanation to offer." Stuart and Alice sat silent and wondering. They were too well trained to interrupt any one ; and knew it was not well to draw Conway's rage against themselves. Mrs. Elliott, without saying much, always shielded the weaker party and brought back peace. "As Grace is so much like one who is gone," and the mother's eyes were raised to the portrait of her lost son, "we will suppose it was j meant as a tribute to him." She held out her hand, Grace went and took it, bent over and kissed her mother, and tears were in the eyes of both. Conway was silenced. Several times that day the eyes of Mrs. Elliott sought those of Grace with a questioning look, and hers replied with a beseeching "not yet." None of them could set themselves to any steady employment. They were all in that restless state which follows the withdrawal of great excitement; and there was a little unpleasant feeling from Conway's studied avoidance of Grace. The sitting-room was found to need very little rearranging; every thing was as much in its place as if a lady had occupied it?nothing was gone; and on the table were Savannah papers of a late date. Afterwards was found behind the table? as if it had fallen accidentally?a small volume of Whittier's poems?on the fly leaf of which was written, "Henry L. Clinton, Auburn, New York." i Mrs. Elliott gave the book to Grace with a I kiss, and the remark, "Take it, pet; you and I are good friends of its late owner, and we'll keep it for his sake." Conways eyes opened with astonishment 1 There was more in it than she could understand, and from that moment her coldness began to disappear. But we anticipate. No stragglers appeared, and as the day wore on, one and another began to wish father would come. "If I only knew he was in safety," said Mrs. Elliott. "If he is safe, he'll be here to-night; he'll be here to-night, thought Grace, for I told him the army would leave to-day," but she did not dare to say it. She dreaded to be questioned. The look Captain Clinton had given when he had said 'no troops are behind us,' haunted her. Did he mean they had giv- 1 en up going after Wheeler's cavalry, and had returned from looking for her father? If he 1 had been sure of it, would he not have been ! more explicit? And while she was uncer- ! tain, she did not express her hopes; but was both hopeful and fearful. 1 Wl/lv "nir?lr anrl mnnm TT#>aa wprp lnild in their complaints of what had been stolen from them, and how they and Miss Georgia "was 1 done broke up." "Dey took my fryin' pan right off de fire, wid de meat in it, an' walked off. I jis' was 'bout to lef' ebry ting and have 'era back, wheder or no, wen de whole army came crowdin' right in my house ; an' wen dey was through, dere want 'nuf of nofin' lef for grease a griddle." Maum Hess' "whole army" was a dozen or so of soldiers, who turned her neat cabin topsy turvy, and carried off everything eatable, besides kicking out of doors her bed and box of "Sunday meeting clothes." i "Dere ain't a lock lef on the corn house, < an* de rice is jes' ruined wid dera men's trampin' on it to get dat little bit o' meal was < in de lof; an' d .n wen I 'monstrated 'bout it, ] dey jes' said it was no'count swamp seed, an' kick near 'bout a peck right in my face. I was so mad I toledera wot I thought, an' dey i laf like it was fun," said old daddy Dick. i "What did you tell them, daddy Dick ?" 1 askecl Stuart "I tole dem dey didn't hab no sense, to call I good rice as dat, swamp seed; an' dey didn't \ hab no manners to 'buse an' ruin it up in dat I way. My ole mass'r was one ob de fus' fami- i lies in de State, an' he didn't raise no swamp ] seed. Dey mus' tink he was poor buckra, like dem folks were day come from, wot don't 1 own no black people." i "Did they let you talk that way ?" said i Alice. ] "Yes, little Miss, dey jes'laf an'laf. Dey i ? T i 1 ax me now I KIIOW mass r \^iu uue was uue uu | de fus' families ; an' I say, case he is?it's in de blood. We has got good blood ; dere's not one has eber been an oberseer, and not one has eber married 'neath him, an' dey'sgot heap o' black peopleand old Dick chuckled at the thought of his wonderful answers. "How did you know so much about our family ?" queried Stuart. "How I know ? Hain't I been in de family eber since it fus' started ? I was done growed wen your fader was a little boy. I b'longed t'yer gran'father'syrecd gran'father." "I didn't know you was so old," said Alice, wonderingly. "You must remember the revolutionary war." < "'Member it? I reckon I does. I knows all 'bout it." 1 "I've heard daddy Dick tell about a good many things that I heard grand father talk ] of, before he died," said Stuart. , "We wan't some more wood, daddy Dick," s said Mrs. Elliott, going to the door. "Come | in, children, and get ready for dinner." ] "Mother, did you hear what daddy Dick , said about our family ; and is it true?" asked I Stuart, as he left the piazza. ? "It is about our branch of the family. 1 But, Stuart, honor must go with blood to make i it truly noble." 1 "Tf ?a flip hlnnd that, tr'iv&n the honor. 1 think," sajd Conway. i "You are too ultra, Conway. You don't ? express your real sentiments." i "No, mother, it is you who are descending from our old and high estate." < "Old things pass away and new ones come c up, or the old assume new forms with every ' age and generation ; but true nobility consists 1 more in merit than name in all ages," said s Mrs. Elliott thoughtfully. t "I know all that, but there is a great deal ( in family and position, to give one a chance to c develop merit, and you seem to undervalue these advantages." "I do not undervalue them?I prize them highly ; but I do not believe in presuming on them and basing a claim to respect and honor on the great deeds of ancestors without living so as to deserve esteem on our own account. And I am also willing not only to give credit, but to lend a helping hand to those who are founding good families and doing good to the world." "Let them keep in their own station, though. You don't wait till you are really sure they have founded their family. You would go /Mif on/1 loir fkoir nnrnar sfmiAs and nolish thera, too, I believe. You and Grace read Dickens, Thackeray and such writers till you are becoming demoralized." "Demoralize^ is not a proper word to apply to your mother. I still believe in filial respect." "I used it in the sense it has acquired since the war began, and not in one that even implied disrespect,'mother. It is not easy to keep from using words we hear so constantly, and see so frequently." "Then, remember, it is just as hard to keep from imbibing ideas which come from the best authors." "But, mother, you don't see those ideas received with much favor in our circle. Purity of blood and position have special claims there." "Too much so. More is assumed on that than on real virtues; and often those who have, bv talents and enerev. won honors and posi J OV ' tion, are passed coldly or treated with neglect by their inferiors in mind and heart, merely because they are not an old family. I have heard and seen it till it wearies me. Grace, ray child, you don't say a word; and you are bo pale. What is the matter ?" "Nothing, mother. I was only wishing father would come." "We all wieh thatand with a sigh Mrs. Elliott walked to the window and looked out into the fast gathering darkness. Conway knew when her mother had closed a conversation, and finished her dinner in silence. She thought how different her mother's views were from so many in their station who had much less to make them proud; and in her heart she respected her mother for what she often seemed, in her conversation, to dislike. "Mother is not proud in the same way as the Elliotts and some others are; but she has so much firmness and dignity, I'll defy the haughtiest dame in the State to walk over h^-," was the closing clause in Conway's reverie. CHAPTER IX. THE RETURN. NEIGHBORLY KINDNE8S. A SPECIMEN OF THE WORK DONE BY 8HERMAN'8 ARMY. "A friend in need, is a friend indeed." ''But when nhe got there, the cupboard was bare." Everv one was soon expectant and listen ing. But first it was daddy Dick with more wood, who startled them; then it was Lance going up stairs to make fires in the bedrooms; and again it was Dick to know if they wanted any thing more before he went home. "Keep an eye out for your master," said Mrs. Elliott; "and don't let any one creep up to surprise him, if he does come." "I'll listen out for him for shuah. My ole eyes no 'count any mo' at night, but my years good as eber. Tank de Lord." Eight o'clock, and the remarks that had been made occasionally, grew fewer and farther between. Nine o'clock, and a dead silence reigned. All were anxious and uneasy, especially Grace, who could scarcely restain her tears. She feared something dreadful had happened, or her father would have been there before then. Suddenly, without the least warning, a step was heard on the piazza. "It is papa! It is papa! I know his footstep," shouted Alice; and before she or any one else could reach the door, Mr. Elliott was in their midst All were around him in an instant; but Grace knew she received an embrace npxt to her mother. "My brave child," began he. "Don't say it. Don't tell any one but mother," whispered she eagerly, and slipped aside for the others to have their share of kisses and endearments. All wanted to hear Mr. Elliott's story, but first he made them tell theirs; and while he partook of a hearty supper they had saved him from dinner, found time to ask many questions and learn the main events which had occurred at home. When he had finished eating and pulled off his boots, he sat down with his wife on one side and Grace on the other. Alice was on a footstool at his knees, and Conway leaned over his chair, smoothing his hair in a caressing way, very unusual with her. Stuart leaned his head on his mother's shoulder, and all listened intently. "I staid two days on Port's island, or the horses were there; and Mr. Wright and I were reconnoitering. We kept ourselves pret- j ty well posted as to the position of Sherman's array, and knew this place was the lowest! point they came. It seems they thought there was a body of cavalry lower down, so they didn't straggle that way. From old Abe, who 2ame with the basket of provisions you sent, 1 learned you had a guard and were not much molested." "I did not send any provisions by Abe or any one else," said Mrs. Elliott, in surprise. 'Did any of you?" and she looked at all. "No. We knew nothing about it," replied they. "The rascal just came as a spy then, for he knrl nnp r>f mir haskets. a towel with vour same, and as good a meal in it as I could de-1 sire. He said you were all very uneasy and oegged him to come back and bring word low I was, if he found me. I know, now, he ivas the one who betrayed rae; and if it hadn't seen for"?a quick warning gesture and beieeching look from Grace, caused him to withiold her name?"a friend, who gave me waning, I should have been captured, perhaps silled, this very day." Mrs. Elliott clasped the hand she held, more irmly, and laid her head on her husband's ihoulder. He slipped his arm round her waist ind went on? "As it was, we had time to bring the horses >ut and get them across the river by a less langerous ford than the one from the island, rhe water was high and we were wet through, in*, wa didn't, mind that. Mr. Wright then itaid by the horses, and I came back and racked the soldiers who thought to have jaught us so easily. A brisk shower before laylight obliterated our tracks so much, that after the soldiers had gone to the island, they could not- tell where I vent out, and b Abe, or whoever led them, took them down to Screen's bay instead of the way 1 had ^one. t I followed thera till I saw where they tui ned k off to go back to the main army. I kepi be- e hind them, even then, for a few hours; fed & my horse on what they had left where they c halted at noon?for a foraging party must k have joined them?and think some of the t potatoes and a ham bone they left, made n the sweetest meal I ever ate. Late this evening I got back to where Mr. Wright p was, and we brought the horses over this side, h gave them the last kernel of corn $e had, and n then left them to take care of themselves while o we came home. I think we shall be undis- s turbed now, for the army is at least fifteen miles above, and the company left at Potter's C Bridge will not be very apt to molest us." o Grace was down stairs the first one the next t morning. She had slept bo well and her heart n was so light, she was as blooming as usual, v Conway was so silent and constrained, she had f not felt like waiting for her, so she had gone d down early. She was arranging the table y and singing when her mother entered, put her arms around her, and with tears and kisses y said, "My brave darling" I In saving your f father's life you have save mine, too. Why t didn't you tell me about it yesterday ?" v "I was afraid you would be uneasy for fear they would pursue and overtake father. And e the more I thought of what I had done, the less I wished any one to know it" a ""Rut tfrtn urill lof. ma fall Cnnwav ?" 1 "I'd rather not; or, at least, not at present, o She will blame herself too severely in regard I to what passed yesterday morning." a "She cannot do that She needs a lesson h to teach her to check her hot temper; but e perhaps to let her gradually regain her usual I kindness and then find how unjust she h^s C been, will be more effectual than putting her a right at once." t "Conway don't mean to be cruel; she only v thinks I have too little pride." b "She is too much like some of the Elliotts, v who can neithersee from more than one stand- d point nor believe there are too sides to any o thing; but I'm glad she has many good quali- il ities to counterbalance it." v In the evening came Mr. Wright with sun- a dry packages and a bag of rice. Great was b hia surprise to find how effectually the place fi had been guarded and spared from pillage. "I understood the guard was not put here & till after every thing was torn up," said he; Jj but I'd rather bring "coals to Newcastle" than f see you in the situation my place is. You a have reason to be thankful for your good for- fc tune." s "Did they destroy much at your house?" v asked Mrs. Elliott. "It is easier to tell what they left than what J they destroyed. There's a table, five chairs, c a couple of bedsteads, some bedding, a few of d our common clothes, one oven, and a large & wash pot. Part of the things we buried were y aarra/J . Knt nntKinor in rnmnarifmn to what a (*TWU f UUV UWHM?Hg <M w was lost. If the children hadn't found a bro- i ken comb, and a battered tin pan, we'd have v been badly off for toilet arrangements." n "You take it very cooly to laugh about it," said Mr. Elliott. ^ "And you are actually deprived of every c comfort and convenience, and left without the 8, necessaries of life ? Its dreadful; its shock- a ing!" tl "Yes, ma'am, its pretty hard; but I shouldn't have minded it much if the scoun- n drels had not found my box of choice books, j, and torn them to shreds. I've had the chil- ? dren gathering up the fragments, to see if I t] could put the leaves together and save some n of them ; but it is a useless job, and I feel as <j if I had lost one of the family. Provisions, a clothes and furniture will come after awhile; j but I don't know when I can regain my li- a brary." a Mrs. Elliott and Grace, who knew how Mr. j Wright prized his books, what care he took j, of them, and what valuable works they really ^ were, expressed their warmest sympathy. 0 "Did they take all your provisions?" asked n Mr. Elliott. "Everything, and then broke the locks to ^ every door on the place. My wagon, cart, carriage, ploughs, and every farming utensil they could find, they put together and burned so they are useless." j "And what have you to eat then ?" inquired ^ TW?*o L "Nothing except the few things we buried, [ and some rough rice left in one of the outhouses." xj "And you have brought us a part of that ?" said Mrs. Elliott, in astonishment. ^ "Why, yes. We thought if you had fared as we did, you were without anything at all. c; Albert and Ellen beat the rice in an old hand ^ mortar they found at one of the negro houses; I dug up our little box of groceries; and ray g, wife sent a share over here. The tea is for ^ you when you have a headache; she knew you would have shared with her, and she was glad h she had even this for you." "I do not know how to thank you and your n wife. I am grateful; but feel unworthy of w your generosity. We, who had fared so well, it had scarcely thought of our neighbors; and & you, who lost all, are caring for us." si Tears stood in Mrs. Elliott's eyes, and Mr. tl Wright had to look out of the window to hide al the mist in his a. Mr. Elliott gave him a w warm grasp of the hand, and said? w "After this expression of kindness, joined with what you did for me while we were hi - i n J J JA ,? hiding out, it you ever need a iavor auu uuu l u come to me, I shall be offended?very much offended." il "I shall have to ask a favor now, but don't hi wish you to think so much of a little neighborly act. I should like to borrow your cart m and go down to bring some corn from ray field tr on the other side of Burnt Bay. I sent down fe this^morning and found that corn house has N not been troubled, and I'm needing corn n< badly." fe "You are welcome to the cart, but its too late to go so far to-day. Take what you need . from here, and send there another time." "Thank, you Mr. Elliott; I will gladly do so, for there are many things to do at home to make my family comfortable; and then I J must start at daylight to see about our horses 1? ff again. lo "I'll go with you. I'll be out at the cross be roads with a wallet of corn by day-break." cc "This bag, in which I brought over the ta rice, and another one I had off with the horses, w ' I Wi are all we have left. There wasn't a bag, ra sack or basket about the place when I got ge home. ar Mrs. Elliott now reentered with some large undies. 1,Mr. Wright, here are some things for yon o carry to your family. The tea I shall :eep, and next time I have a headache shall xpect it to have a balm no other could posese ; but the sugar, salt, and other things I annot take. I shall never forget, though, how :ind it was in vou to bring them. What is here you need most ? Don't hesitate to let ae know, for I wish to send whatever it is." "Well, Mrs. Elliott, if you could spare a few dates and cups, we shall be very glad. We iad to eat our rice right out of the oven this aorning and noon. Our forks, spoons and ne set of knives I took with me, and they are aved; but our crockery and glass is all gone." "You were badly treated by the army, jrace, will you help Lance pack up a basket f that white set in the right-hand closet in he dining-room ? Mr. Wright, I am fortulate in having a full assortment of crockery rhich we never use, so it will not be necessary or you to borrow it. You can keep it, for we lo not want it; and if there's any thing else ou need, I wish you to call for it freely." "Thank you. We are greatly obliged to ou; but don't wish to tax your kindness too ar.' Good evening, Mrs. Elliott, I must load he cart and be off. I won't ask you to come vhile we are so upset." "But I'm coming soon, any way. Good vening." Mrs. Elliott went over in a couple of days, ,nd found they had indeed been "upset" [*he yard was littered from one end to the ther with broken articles. The sitting-room, ower bedrooms and piazzas, had been cleaned ,nd the remnants of furniture put in order, >ut the dining-room, which they were beginling on that morning, was a perfect sight Cvery thing had been injured or demolished, taps of coffee, the milk-pitcher, molasses-cup, ,nd a dish of hominy had been dashed against he walls and spilled on the floor. The table ras torn apart, the doors of the sideboard roken off, the drawers thrown down, while it ras pitched on the ruins of the table, chairs, ishes, and all mixed together. One window urtain bad a plate of fried meat tied up in ?, and the grease had run down window and rail; the others were torn down and trampled mong glass, crockery, and the remains of the reakfast the family were eating when the irst soldiers arrived. "That room was the worst," Mrs. Wright aid; but when they went up stairs, Mrs. Eliott thought that?saving the grease?it was ully as bad. Pillows and beds were cut open ,nd feathers filled every place. Quilts, blan;ets, sheets and pillow-cases were tern in trips, tied round bed posts, festooned over windows, or left scattered on the floor. "From the little I have examined," said lire. Wright, "I think the bed ticks are not ut very badly, and the bed-clothes are torn aostly in straight strips so they can be put ogetber again and be of some service when re can get needles, thread and thimbles. I hall miss my sewing machine now. There I is," and she pointed to a pile of broken iron rhich bore no resemblance to the neat, handy aacbine it had once been. "How can you take it so coolly ? If we iad been served this way I have no idea I rtiiM hoar if an nnlmlv Ynil hftd VOUr hoilSP o nicely furnished, and it was go comfortable nd convenient, and now the most necessary kings are destroyed. It makes me feel badly." "Yes, but our house was spared ; no rudeess was offered to any of us, except in injurig our property; and Mr. Wright says we lust look on the bright side, take it as one of tie misfortunes of war, and show how much jy Scotch thrift can do to remedy our losses, 'he children are constantly finding something, nd when we are clean and all in order again, hope to get along very well. Susan found pair of scissors with only one point broken, nd a good hair brush under the house; ohny was lucky enough to find a whole am and a little bacon under a pile of rubish; and Mr. Wright has four bales of cotton n the Burnt Bay-place. I presume there are lany families who haven't any thing left." "I am sorry for them," said Mrs. Elliott, rith a sigh. "So am I," said Mrs. Wright, as she stooped ) pick up a needle; but it was broken in the ye. "If it was the point, it could have been barpened," said she. Mrs. Elliott had never eard before, a broken pointed needle could e made serviceable. "Here is the pestle to the iron mortar," ailed out Johnny, as the two ladies went to ie gate. "Pick it up and put it away," said Mre. Vright. "I saw the mortar under the kitchen," ried Susan, and away she scampered to get ; out "T lpfttnpd nnt. tn desnise 'the dav of nail thiDgs/ " said Mrs. Elliott, as she rode omewards. "And I, too, have learned a lesson," replied er husband. "Had I been broken up like bright, I should have set down in despair, ot knowing what to do; but he is already at ork, planning, repairing and working, as if were only a common occurrence. He has [most nothing left. Once I should have lid, 'See what it is to be used to poverty,' but lat won't apply to him, for he is as much bove the poor white trash in the country as e are; and he has always had plenty, if he asn't rich." "My dear, we may yet have to learn by ard experience that this life consisteth not in le abundance of things which we possess." "I hope, for your sake and that of ray fam- ; y, we may have no harder lesson than we ive already been taught." Mrs. Elliott sighed. She had a presenteat that hard times for them and the couny were yet to come. "What had they suf- , red ? What did they know of privations ? i othing," and her hopes that they might < * ? A I? 3Ver KI10W, were uuuuieiuamutcu ujr uci are. [to be continued next week.] ? f Copleu of the Enquirer containing the previous chapters of j Story can be furnished to new subscriber*.] ? ? A Gentleman.?What is it to be a gensman? Thackeray says: Is it to have fty aims, to lead a pure life, to keep your rnor virgin; to have the esteem of your felw-citizens and the love of your fireside; to :ar good fortune meekly; to suffer evil with m9tancy; and through evil or good to mainin truth always ? Show me the happy man hose life exhibits these qualities, and him e will salute as a gentleman, whatever his ,nk may be. Show me the prince who pos- t seed them, and he may be sure of our love \ id our loyalty. 1 IHisceUatieou* Reading. THE LAST SCENE AT APPOMATTOX. There was a re-union of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, held at Cincinnati, on the 7th ult. At this celebration the oration was delivered by General Stewart L. Woolford, of New York, and from this oration we make the following extracts: The morning crept slowly on?first into gray dawn, then into rosy flush. Still on 1 still on! The mists crept upward and into line you wheeled, and on your muskets lay down, each man in place, to get scant rest, which even in the exhaustion of those thirtysix hours of terrible marching, you neither 1 V 1 1 "XT .1 sougnt nor neeaea. iou were squareiy aeruw Lee's front, and had closed forever his last line of retreat The enemy reaching your cavalry advance, saw the serried line of Union troopers. Gordon gathered and massed his men for their last charge. Tattered and hungry, worn by ceaseless marching and fighting, with no hope of victory, with little possibility of escape, they closed their lines with a fidelity of discipline and a soldierly resolution, to which words can do little justice?but which each soldier's heart must recognize and honor. As the old guard closed around their Emperor at Waterloo, so these men closed round the flags of their lost cause. My heart abhors their treason. But it warms beyond restraint to their manhood so grandly brave, even in disloyalty. Slowly they advanced to their last attack. No battle yell, no crack of the skirmisher's rifle broke the strange stillness of that Sabbath morn. Steadily, silently they came, when Sheridan drew back his horsemen, as parts some mighty curtain, and there stood the close-formed battalions of your infantry, the cannon gleaming in the openintra ntiiatlv ft wai liner thflonmincr of Gordon's men. Instinctively your enemy halted. Meanwhile Lee has turned back to meet Grant and surrender his command. Sheridan swung his cavalry around upon Gordon's left, and was about to charge, when Custar reached Longstreet. Assurance of surrender was given, and the end had come. That Sabbath day, with tears and in sorrow, Southern men folded the banners of the "Lost Cause," and their bravest and best sought honorably to bury them from sight for ever. How sad it is that poor ambitions, jealousies of race, the wretchea greed of pelf and place, and the miserable haters of social rivalries, should so often disturb the hearty reconciliation of that surrender and for a time revive the bitterness which you then sought to bury in a common grave. This hour is no time for politics. Mine not the lips, I trust, to introduce them here. But when I think of that heroic past, which yonr faces and presence so vividly recall, and then how trading, trickster politicians, forgetful of what baptism of blood sealed the new birth of the nation, seek to array races in needless hostility, to excite the ignorance of the one and the brutal prejudices of the other, I would liketosummon a guard, half from the rebel army of northern Virginia and half from the loyal army of the Potomac, take such malcontents out, give them drum-head court-martial, immediate execution and soldierly burial under the apple tree at Appomattox. ? ? A GOOD WORD FOR ROMPING GIRLS. Most women have a dread of these. Mothers would rather their little daughters were called anything than romps. They say to them, "be very quiet now, my dears?don't run or jump?try and be little ladies." As if a koolfliv n^iiM ha atill oa if if a/mi M C* IJLUltltJ Vllliu VUUIU WV OVI11 I UO 11 iv WUAIA take time to walk or step over what came in its way; as if it could fold its little hands in its lap, when its little heart is so brimful of tickle. It is absurd and wrong in mothers to talk so; absurd and wrong because it is unnatural. Children, girls as well as boys, need exercise; indeed, they must have it to be kept in a healthy condition. They need it to expand their chests, strengthen their muscles, tone their nerves and develop themselves generally. And this exercise must be out of doors, too. It is not enough to have calisthenics in the nursery or parlor. They need to be out in the sunshine, out in the wind, out in the grass, out in the woods, out of doors somewhere, if it be no bigger a place than the common or park. They need a romp every day of their lives. Suppose they do tan their pretty faces. Better be as brown as a berry and have the pulses quick and strong, than white as a lilly, and complain of cold feet and head-ache. Suppose they do tear their clothes?tear them "every which waysuppose they do wear out their shoes, a pair a month, even; it don't try a mother's patience and strength half so much to patch and mend as it does to watch night after night a querulous sick child, and it don't drain a father's pocket-book half as quick to buy shoes as it does to pay doctor's bills. The odds are all on the side of the romps. Indeed, we don't believe there is a prettier picture m all the wide world than that of a little girl balancing herself on the top rail of a zig-zag fence, her bonnet on one arm and a basket of blackberries on the other, her curls streaming out in the wind or rippling over her flushed cheeks, ner apron nan torn irora 11a waiat ana aar.gling to her feet, her fingers stained with the berries she has picked, and her lips with those she has eaten. Mother, mother, don't scold that little creature, when she comes in aud {>uts her basket on the table and looks ruefuly at the rent in the new gingham apron, and at the little bare toes sticking out of the last pair of shoes. Wash off her hot face and soiled hands, and give her a bowl of cool milk and light bread, and when she has eaten her fill ana got rested, make her sit down besiJe you, and tell you about what she has seen off in those meadows and woods. Her henrt will be full of beautiful things?the so and of the wind, the talk of the leaves, the music of the wild birds and the laugh of wild f.owers, the rippling of streams and the color of pebbles, the shade of the clouds and the hue of the sunbeams?all those will have woven their spell over her innocent thoughts, and made her a poet in feeling if not in expression. No, mothers,don't nurse up your little girls like house plants. The daughters of this generation are to be the mothers of the next, and if you would have them healthy in body and genial in temper, free from nervous affections, fidgets and blues; if you would fit them for life, its joys, its cares and its trials, let them have a good romp every day while they are growing. It is nature's own specific, and if taken in season, warranted to cure all the ills of the girl and the woman. Size of Nails?The following table will jhow at a glance the length of the various sizes, and the number of nails in a pound, rhey are rated 3-penny up to 20-penny. Number. Length in Inches. MalU per pound. 3-penny 1 557 4-penuy H 535 5-penny If 282 6penny 2 177 7-penny 2i 140 8-penny 2 J 111 10-penny 2? 68 12-penny 3 54 20-penny 3J 34 1^* The population of Europe at the present ime is three hundred and forty millions. It las doubled within a century. The U. S. dou)les its population every quarter of a century.