Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, r*roprietor.| j|n $nbrj>cnbcnt Jfamib ftclospapcr: ^or tjje ^promotion of tjje political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Soutj). |terms?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 18. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, 1STOYEMBEB 91, 1872. N~Q.47. JVtt ?rigitial J>tom Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE MISSING WIFE. BY J. WITHERSrOON ERVIN. CHAPTER I. "Gone!" exclaimed old Captain Player, as he lifted the pipe from his mouth, and stared up, in surprise, at his wife, who was sitting at the opposite corner of the chimney. "Why, Susan where on earth could she have ?TOne i to; and what could she have gone for ?" "!That is the news they bring, Mr. Player," j answered his wife, as she laid her knitting , down in her lap, and adjusted her lace cap; I "but what could have led Matilda to leave I her husband?if she has left, really?is more than I can imagine. I don't think he is altogether the bestand most affectionate husband in the world, but I don't know that he has ever treated his wife with intentional unkindness, or been cruel to her." "No; he's a good enough sort of man, I believe," rejoined old Mr. Player, as he puffed more vigorously at his pipe, which, in his surprise, he had nearly suffered to go out. "I don't think he would be exactly cruel to Matilda, but I have always thought him one of those kind of men that don't know what a tender thing a woman is, and how to humor all her little weaknesses. vBut I never thought him a right down bad man at heart." "Maybe you don't know him well, Mr. Player." "I'm sure, Susan, he always conducted himself very well, so far as we know." "Yes; but we don't know everything, Mr. j Player." "Well, I can't deny that, Susan," rejoined her husband, who felt posed by the manner in which the statement had been put, and who aaamaA 1iAround fnr anmfi means of controverting so unfavorable a proposition ; "but I think we ought to know Tom GalloWay pretty well by this time, since he has beea living almost in sight of us for ten years; and, I must say," added Mr. Player, in a more decided manner, as if urged to it by a suddenly recurring sense of justice, "that in all that time Tom Galloway has made a very good neighbor, and acted pretty squarely with every one. He is not a cross-grained man, I am sure. You never knew any harm of him, did i you, Susan ?" "Well, no-o," answered Mrs. Player, in a i manner that implied the censure she hesitated j to express. "I think, Susan, you are rather too hard on Tom," suggested her worse half, mildly. "Why, bless me, Mr. Player!" ejaculated his wife, "what have I said about the man ?" and she fixed hen eyes upon him with that peculiar gaze that requires a categorical answer. "Said?" asked Mr. Plaver. looking up in surprise, and casting about in his mind to gather up the words of his wife that had made on his mind so strong an impression. "You said?didn't you??I don't mean exactly in so many words?that you didn't think Tom treated his wife kindly." "I didn't say so," rejoined his wife. "Well, I don't know that you did?that is, in so many words?but"?continued the old man, with a flourish of his hand which seemed to intimate the wiuding up and conclusion of the whole affair?"I came to the opinion that you thought so." "If it wasn't so, do you think Matilda would have run off and left him without a word ; and she such a gentle-looking, affectionate and quiet sort of a creature?" "Oh! Susan," rejoined the old gentleman, spreading out the mantle of charity to its widest extent, "I expect Tom Galloway makes a right good sort of a husband." "Well, if he had courted one of our daughters instead of Matilda, and had come to you j to ask your consent, you would have been glad to have it so, I suppose ?" asked old j Mrs. Player, with a shrewd twinkle in her eye. % "No, no, no!" ejaculated her spouse, with a start that emptied the contents of his pipe into his lap, and kept him busy for some seconds? "that would never have done! Tom Galloway for a son-in-law! He mav be a eood enough neighbor, Susan ; but a son-in-law 1 I couldn't stand that, Susan ! He ain't altogether?that's the fact, Susan?he ain't kind-hearted enough for a husband." "Now, Mr. Player," rejoined his wife with an air of satisfaction, you have gone much : further in speaking about the man than I did. j You have come to the point, at last! You j don't think, any more than I do, that Mr. Galloway was as kind to hi3 wife as he should I be." "Well; but, Susan, we don't know these things," insisted Captain Player, "and therefore it won't do to whisper them ; but, I tell you, Susan, I think I'll ride over in the morning to Tom Galloway's." "And what will you do when you get there, i Mr. Player?" asked his wife, regarding him J with a smile of curiosity. "It won't do to ask j the man if his wife has run away and left; nun 7" "No, I had no thought of doing that," rejoined Captain Player, as he puffed away very j thoughtfully at his pipe; "but I'll just feel | my way around quietly, and learn all about it." "You will not learn much about it if anything unpleasant has occurred to drive Ma- j tilda away from home," returned Mrs. Player, j "I doubt if you could remedy the matter in ; any event. You could scarcely expect Mr. j Galloway to be very communicative on such a subject. If I were to run off from home?" "You!" exclaimed Captain Player, staring up in surprise as he sat smoking and using the end of his knife as a tobacco stopper. "Yes; you would not think it very civil in a neighbor to call upon you and to pry into every thing connected with it?" "That's quite a different thing," returned Captain Player thoughtfully. "If you had grown un almost at his hearth, as Matilda has at oure, and you had played with his children, from infancy up, until you seemed almost like his own flesh and blood, as Matilda does to us, I couldn't take any offence at it. I think I'd make a clean breast of it, and try to rectify matters in the best way I could. Make your mind easy. I'm going to call upon Tom Galloway in the morning, and feel around quietly until I can find out whether there is any truth in this story or not; but, mind ! I * don't intend to offend the man, or to say one word that could make matters worse." The captain knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and laid it away on the mantle-board | with the air of a man who had fully made up i his mind. Mrs. Player resumed her knitting j in silence, knowing that it would be vain, at 1 present, to remonstrate with her better half ! against his visit to their neighbor. This conversation, above detailed, took ' place in a plainly furnished room in a respectable farm-house, lying in one of the most quiet j and orderly neighborhoods in one of the upper 1 districts?counties, as they are now termed? ! of South Carolina. j Captain Player was a plain, uneducated man; but possessed of a large property, which he had partly inherited, and partly amassed by his energy and industry. He was noted for his benevolence and public spirit; impulsive. aud easily led astray by his social sympathies; frank, blunt and direct in all his dealings ; yet giving himself great credit for his tact and penetration. As our readers will have abundant opportunities, in the progress of this "ower true story," for forming an opinion for themselves in regard to his peculiarities of mind and character, we shall leave these to their true and natural development, as the events of our story shall exhibit them. In personal appearance, the captain was a short, stout, burly man, who evidently was habituated to high living. He had a fair complexion and an amiable cast of features, a small mouth, a large masculine nose that was turned somewhat awry, and a fine forehead from which his light-colored hair was combed carefully. back. He was, perhaps, nearly sixty years of age, but his unbroken strength and iron constitution kept him still in the prime of his manhood. Taken all in all, had the reader looked in upon him, as be half-reclined in his easy chair by the comfortable fireside, with his full blue eye gazing down thoughtfully among the coals, as if meditating how he should approach the accom- J plishment of his purpose on the morrow, ne would have taken him for some broad-shoul- j dered, burly, bluff old Englishman, who, in a j fight with a mad bull, would have illustrated 1 his strategy and tact by taking the monster manfully by the horns. CHAPTER II. At an early hour the next morning, Captain Player alighted at the gate of his neighbor, j in pursuance of his mission, to find out, in as 1 delicate a manner as possible, the truth of the rumor that had reached him, in regard to the disappearance of Mrs. Galloway; and, in case the fact should prove to be as he had heard it, to employ his friendly offices?in a quiet and unobtrusive manner of course?to restore harmony to the broken family circle. The house was a plain, substantial up-country residence, rather pretentious compared mrtiAwft? aP fko AmalKnr* Kaiiqoq in WILLI LI1C LUOJVJ1LLJ VI LtlV Ultviiiug uvuuvw >u the neighborhood, and seemed to tell of the opulence of the owner, who was a planter in independent circumstances. Captain Player entered the gate, and, mounting the steps of the piazza, knocked at the front door with a countenance that took its expression from the troubled condition of his mind. His knock was answered by a negro servant, who stared at him in some trepidation. She was a serving woman of near the captain's own age, and her features were not altogether unfamiliar to him. "Why this is Prissy?" enquired the captain, looking somewhat relieved?"isn't it ?" The woman acknowledged the captain's greeting by a low courtesy and an affirmative answer. "Well Prissy, is Tom?that is Mr. Galloway, I mean?at home this morning ?" "Him out in the blacksmith shop, sir," replied Prissy court-sying low again. "Well, I just called to see him for a moment" rejoined the captain after a brief hesitation, "but your mistress will do as well." "Miss Matilda, you mean, sir ?" "Vno "PtMcatr T wicti coo Vipp n mnmpnt? just a message from my wife," added the captain, parenthetically. "She ain't in dis morning, sir, I believe," answered Prissy, glancing to the right and left, aud back over her shoulder, as though looking for the person enquired after. "Why, she is out early!" observed the captain jocosely, but with a more dismal visage. You are smart people over here to go visiting so early. When did she leave Prissy ?" "I don't know when she left sir," replied Prissy in a very dubious manner as she again I went through the form of looking all around her. "I thought I saw a carriage turn out of the avenue as I came in sight," continued the captaifc, venturing upon a fib of the most diminutive class. "I suppose that was your mistress riding out?" "No carriage left here to-day," answered Prissy, quite diplomatically. "Well Prissy," asked the captain, after an awkward pause, "Where is your mistress ?" j "Lord in Heaven only knows, raassa," ejaculated Prissy, surprised into a direct answer, as she threw up her hands and rolled up the whites of her eyes. "We all been talk about it among ourself, but we don't know nothin'. Missy was here yesterday mornin' 'bout dis time, but we ain't lay eyes on her sence, and we don't know when she leflf, or where she ' * 1 . ... J .11 went, fehe warn't liere last nigni, ana an we know is, datshe is gone widout anybody know anyting about it. She sperited away somewhere." "Well, Prissy, this is strange news and bad news," rejoined the captain, looking very grave and perplexed. , "Massa, don't say one word about what I ; tell you," pleaded the woman, appealingly. j "No, Prissy, not one word?not a word," answered the captain, in a kindly tone; "but 11 must see Tom Galloway and learn what he ; has to say." I "He's at the blacksmith shop, massa." I "Thank you, Prissy, I won't mention your | name and, bidding her good morning, the | captain took his way to the blacksmith shop, j which lay somewhat over a hundred yards to | the right of the house, and a little to the rear J of it, just on the edge of a thicket of woods, I through which a path wound down to the ! spring and dairy house, scarce a rifle shot bei yond the shop. i The individual with whom the captain was i seeking an interview was so preoccupied and i busied, that he was not aware of his approach I until he was within a few feet of the spot . where he stood. A fire had been built of pine knots, a few rods from the shop, and Galloway, j assisted by a negro man, was industriously i engaged in adding pine knots to the burning ' pile, which was already of considerable size, covering & space of seven or eight feet in di-! ameter. He was a man of medium height, but stout | and pursy, so that it seemed almost an effort j for him to stoop to pick up the knots which he I was adding to the pile. From his very obesity, he was sluggish and ungainly in his movements. He was so absorbed in his occupation that his visitor had time to pause and remark j his appearanee. His heavy, red face, had in it but little expression of any kind ; but Cap| tain Player, who prided himself upon his talent for reading character, thought it wore a troubled and dissatisfied look, as if his matrimonial troubles were preying upon his thoughts and rendered him uneasy. There I were cat-like lines about the dull, sensual ! mouth that, to a close observer, were suffi| ciently suggestive of character. One could I not look at them without thinking of a cat, trifti cVinrn rpfrnrt.ilA rlaws. tnvinf* with Some r > ?j?o poor, helpless mouse, that was made to suffer all the pangs of a hundred deaths. His dull, massive head, was covered by a dense growth of light-colored hair, and his shaggy eyebrows, nearly white in hue, overhung his grey eyes, that had in them, at once, an expression of timidity, helplessness, and brutality. They were full of trouble now, and as he silently heaped up pine knots on the blazing fire, he looked like one who was laboring without any other motive than to substitute perplexity of hands for perplexity of thought, and to rid himself of anxiety by toil. The negro who was assisting him, seemed like one who appreciated the mood of his master, and trembled lest a word or a gesture might change it into wrath that would fall upon hinaself. Now and then he glanced stupidly at his master ; but, dull as was his expression, it was full of awe and fear, and his j teeth fairly chattered like one in an ague, j while his black skin wore a leathery hue. Captain Player,' who had paused for a raoI ment onlv to take in the scene, advanced to | wards the spot where they stood, but the noise I of the roaring fire, the clouds of smoke, and the preoccupation of the coal-burners?for j such at present was their employment?prevented them from noting his presence until he was within an arm's reach of the spot where they stood. Galloway, despite his dull lethargic temperament, was almost as much startled by his sudden appear****, as though he had fallen from the clouds. He suffered the pine knots ' he was bearing to fall from his hands, made a sudden step backward, and shuddered like one who has unexpectedly encountered an apparition. "Why, Tom ["exclaimed thecaptain, laughing heartily, as he advanced with outstretched hand, "I didn't dream you would let an old noiokknr and friend ctnrtle vnil an hftdlv." * "? " ? J JGalloway, who was really startled until his face grew pale and his dull lip quivered, dusted his blackened hands against his sides, and, with a sickly and sardonic smile upon his lips that still quivered nervously, murmured out some words of welcome and apology, and took the proffered hand of the captain. "Well, Tom!" exclaimed Captain Player, glancing around, "this tells the tale!" "Tells the tale?" echoed Galloway, staring at him in stupid bewilderment. "Yes; it tells how it is that you get on so well with your business?driving it, and never letting it drive you. Here you are with a pile of coals under your coal shed, enough to last you a year, taking advantage of an idle time to add something more to the heap, instead of waiting until they are wanted. You don't murder time as many of us do," Galloway glanced around wildly again, from the negro who stood with chattering teeth leaning against a pillar of the shed, within a few feet of them, to the blazing pile, and then again stared uneasily into the face of his visitor as though he were in a dream and but half comprehended what had been said to him. "Poor fellow," said Captain Player to himself?"he takes it hard?his wife's leaving him. It has knocked him all up in a heap! Tom's a more feeling man than we all gave i Kim nrarlif fnr " liliu VI VU1V 1V?* "Come, George!" said Galloway, speaking to the negro with the same mild and uneasy expression of face that had attracted the captain's attention and excited his pity?"throw | on more knots; and mind 1 don't let them burn down! I wish to make a pile! Rake j out, and throw on water as fast as the knots ; burn to a coal. Be careful, George 1" | The captain's attention was now mor#"particularly drawn to the negro. He was an obI servant man?so far as mere externals were concerned?and the coat of the negro caught his eye and arrested his attention. It was a coarse, gray coat, well buttoned around him with five buttons, all of a military fashion. The two upper buttons were of brass, the next was a white bell button, such as cavalrymen often wear, and the next two were of some white metal with a palmetto in relief But this was not all; the leathery face of the negro?that would have been ghastly pale but for his African skin?-his staring eyes, and his j chattering teeth, caught his attention and exI cited his benevolent compassion. "Tom !"?the captain had an irresistible fondness for employing terms of familiarity? "look at your boy, George. He will be on the sick list unless something is done for him speedily. He has almost an ague upon him now, and looks almost as leathery as an old shoe that has had a month's rain upon it. You had better give him a glass of whisky to brace him up." "Maybe it will help us all, captain," said Galloway, with a smile that was intended to be insinuating, but which ended in a ghastly expressiou, "Well, really Tom, I don't like to indulge ! so early in the day as this," said the captain hesitatingly; "but aa it is a raw morning and I feel a little down in the mouth, a small drop might not be altogether amiss." Galloway made a gesture to the negro man, j George, who silently entered the shop, and i bringing forth a tin cup, a junk bottle and a ! can of water, placed them on the work bench j j under the shed, where his master and his guest j ! were now seated. | The two helped themselves without ceremo-i ! ny, aud Galloway poured out a dram for the j negro, which he gulped down with a most; ! solemn face, and again went to work, adding j pine knots to the blazing pile, j "Negroes generally brighten up, Tom, at: . the sight of a dram," observed the captain ; i "but George still looks as glum as if he had ; , seen a ghost. What can ail the fellow?" ; He ain't, at any time, a lively fellow, capi tain." i "Lively? No! I've seen him at log rol lings lively enough, like a cock-of-the-walk; but, now ! the fellow is as solemn as if he was at a funeral." "A funeral!" echoed Galloway, as he poured out and swallowed near half a pint of whisky. "Yes, Tom; George?I know him well? used to be one of the liveliest fellows in the neighborhood; but now he droops about as if he might be falling into the typhoid fever. What is the matter with you, George ?" asked the captain, calling out and addressing himself to the negro. "Matter with me, sar ?" stammered the negro, with whitened lips, and speaking with great effort, as though the words were jerked from him, while his frame shook and he stared at the speaker with stony eyes?"I'm sick, sah?sick to death, burning these coals, here /" "Go on to the house, George?go to the house!" cried Galloway, hastily, and with a startled look at the captain, as he rose from the bench and invited him to accompany him to the dwelling house. "Let us go. I will send some one else to attend to the coal bed." The negro took his way to the dwellinghouse, and Captain Player and Galloway followed on silently, side by side. Galloway ushered Captain Player into one of the front rooms; and, without entering himself, returned to the door where the negro was standing, and beckoning to him, led the way to the rear of the house. Reaching the back door, he motioned to the negro to enter and followed after him. The two were then at the foot of a broad stair-case that led to the upper story. A gesture from Galloway, and the negro, like an automaton, mounted the steps up?up, up to the second story. At another gesture, he | mounted another flight and ascended to the garret. Here, at a gesture from his master, who seemed strangely nervous and troubled, he entered a small chamber to the right Galloway closed the door, and turning the key, locked the negro in. "Let him rest till I am ready, and I'll phys ic him," muttered Galloway to himself. His hand trembled visibly as he drew the key from the door and put it into his pocket; but there was no one to see it, and no one to mark the villainous expression that came into his eyes, as with a face full of fear and trouble, he made his way down to meet his visitor, who sat expecting his reappearance. Galloway entered, seemingly somewhat more at his ease than he had previously appeared ; but, before he entered the chamber where Captain Player sat, he passed through a side room, and taking a decauter from a closet, filled a tumbler near two-thirds full and swallowed it at a draught. His hand shook until the brandy was spilled ; but even this fiery draught failed to stimulate his system. He ordered decanters and glasses to be set ou a table in the chamber where his guest sat, and then, dismissing the domestics from the house, locked the back door, that no eavesdropper might enter the house unseen. This done, wim me same siupiu, uiieoa^ cApiuoiun on his face, he entered ?nd took a seat near the chimney corner, facing Captain Player. His visitor did not fail to remark his nervous and apprehensive manner. Now he was on his feet arranging something on the mantle board; now he seized upon the poker or tonga and stirred the coals, or heaped wood on the fire? all with a troubled and preoccupied air, as though unconscious of what he was doing. Captain Player made his internal comments, with his characteristic shrewdness and penetration. "He takes it hard," said the captain to himself, with a feeling of tender compassion for the unfortunate husband. "You needn't tell me, after this, that Tom is a hard-hearted and callous fellow I He takes his wife's leaving him to heart as much as any man could do, and I honor and respect him for it. It shows he has a feeling heart, and I doubt if Matilda wasn't too hasty. I am bound to find out how matters stand, and rectify them if I can. 0, deary me 1" and the Captain sighed as he looked about him and puzzled himself in de-1 vising how he should open the subject as delicately as possible. The captain at last opened the subject in his own peculiar style. "I was in hopes I would have met Matilda here, this morning, Tom," remarked the captain, at last, with visible embarrassment in his manner. "Take some of that spirits, Tom, it will do you good; for I know this is an unpleasant thing to talk about. Take it and be a man, and let us talk over this thing in a neighborly way." This advice was dictated by a feeling of compassion for the man before him, whose face twitched nervously as the captain made his opening remark, and who appeared too sorely troubled to speak, except with a painful effort. Captain Player suggested the only prescription that occurred to him for one in trouble, and, pouring out a glass of brandy, he handed it to him, feeling that he was acting the part of the good Samaritan, and was, figuratively, pouring oil into the wounds of his neighbor. Galloway clutched the tumbler nervously, and swallowed the contents with effort. "There now, Tom!" benevolently remarked the captain, as he received the glass and returned it to the table?"we will talk over this matter calmly; and I know you won't take any offence at an old neighbor and friend of the family, talking over your trouble with you in a philanthropic spirit, Tom. We've heard, Tom, that your wife, Matilda, has gone." "I don't know, captain, what the neighbors will say or think." "Oh! Tom; I think we can be prompt enough to forestall any opinion on that score. Give and take, old fellow, you know?give and take. It makes no difference who is in the wrong?that is not the question now. Before the thing leaks out, you can bring Matilda home, and both forgive and forget, and let bygones be bygones. That's the way to n-> J >1 11? manage, rom ; now, uuu i you reuny mm a. i bo ? Honor bright, Tom ! Isn't that the j proper course between man and wife?" "Yes, captain, you are quite right!" an-1 swered his host, in an absent manner, as he I stared into the face of his visitor, without at j all seeming to be relieved of his trouble by 1 the suggestion. Any other man might have j observed that; but Captain Player only saw ; what he had made up his mind he should see? [ the anxiety and embarrassment of a husband i under domestic difficulties, that were the talk j of the country. "That's right, Tom! that's right!" cried i Captain Player, approvingly, as he shook the hand of his host mostcordially. "Now, Tom, carry out the programme, without delay. Matilda must be brought home forthwith." Galloway stared into the captain's face with his stony eyes, shifted uneasily upon his seat, and breathed heavily. "Ain't that all right, Tom ?" asked Captain ; Player, rather disappointed at so lukewarm a j reception of his suggestion. "Yes, that is all right, captain," again as-' sented Galloway, looking awkwardly into the fire. "Well, Tom, I have discharged my business, and now I will return home," said Captain Player, rising from his seat. "You, of course, know where your wife is, and will j bring her home at once." "Captain Player," said Galloway, feeling : that his guests eyes were looking upon him, and that he was awaiting an answer?"I don't know where she has gone, nor why." "Ijooa Heavens rr ejacuiatea ine captain, i as he again seated himself?"not know why? j There was some unpleasantness between you ?" asked he, with his eyes fixed sadly on his host. "None in the world, on my honor as a man !" asseverated Galloway, as he toyed with the poker, and averted his eyes from the earnest gaze of his visitor. "She was here, yesterday morning at breakfast; since which time I have not seen her." "Good Heavens, Tom, you alarm me !" exclaimed Captain Player, while his face became more serious still. "Was she ailing, Tom?" asked he, earnestly ; "was there anything strange in her conduct or appearance, to lead you to believe she was not quite right in her mind ?" "Nothing that I could see," returned his host, still busily beating the coals with the poker. "She was just as usual." "And you have looked about, Tom, to see if you can find any trace of her ?" asked Cap- j tain Player, after a painful pause. "I thought she might have gone over to some of the neighbors' houses and would soon return ; and so I made no search. We had a heavy shower late yesterday afternoon, and I supposed that might have detained her. I don't feel at all uneasy, captain," continued his host, looking up with a more re-assured air. "She sometimes goes out visiting without speaking of it. She has her own way. I am not an exacting husband, and she knows it. I don't wish to keep her caged up at home, and ? J i? ?:n T ? ane cornea auu goes ul net win. jl am ouic she will be home sometime in the course of the day." "Well, really Tom," exclaimed Captain Player, who was more perplexed than ever at the changed complexion given to the affair. "I feel a burden lifted from my shoulders? indeed I do. But, Tom, why couldn't you have told me this at once, when you saw I was laboring under a mistaken impression ?" "Because you startled me, captain, by your serious face, and I didn't know what was coming. Now don't let this be the talk of the country. It would hurt me very much, captain, that my wife could not go out, when and where she pleased, without giving rise to unpleasant gossip. Please don't speak of this rumor to any one." "I certainly shall not, Tom," replied Captain Player, who felt that he had suffered himself to be betrayed into a very silly intermeddling with the domestic affairs of a neighbor, in a most reprehensible and obtrusive manner ; but the captain exonerated himself, partially at least, from censure, for his precipitancy, by the consolatory conclusion, somewhat dimly entertained, that he had suffered his " ? * 1 ? - il xf _ wire to tnrust mm lorwara into tnis quixotic adventure, against the sober dictates of his own better judgment. After a parting drink with his companion, Captain Player rode home in a most unenviable frame of mind. There were many things to perplex and confuse him. These were considerations apart from the mortification he felt at having suffered himself to be made the dupe of circumstances. "I don't understand it," he muttered to himself, for perhaps, the tweutieth time. "Didn't Tom Galloway give me to understand that there was something wrong between him and his wife?and didn't he promise to forgive and forget; when, as it seems, there was nothing to forgive or forget ?" These were questions which the captain could not answer to his own satisfaction. Of an unsuspecting and frank disposition, and little prone, either by nature or habit to weigh the words and scrutinize the expressions of those with whom he came in contact, the whole morning's work was a tailzied web. too com plicated aud perplexing for him to unravel. He gave up the task in despair; and, with a sigh of despondency and self-dissatisfactioD, rode slowly homeward, resolved never again to obtrude himself upon the domestic affairs of his neighbors. "I didn't feel my way as quietly as I intended," he muttered to himself. "If I had, I would have found out how things stood, and not have made such a fool of myself!" With this consolatory reflection he alighted at the gate, with but little appetite for his dinner, and no disposition to be especially communicative in regard to the success of his mission. [conclusion next week.] ? * Dull Pupils?Avoid wounding the sensibilities of a dull child. There will always be those in every school who are slow to comprehend. After their class-mates have grasped an idea during the teacher's explanation, they still have the vacant stare?the unintelligent expression. This may be so after a second or a third explanation. The teacher is strongly tempted to indulge in expressions of impatience, if not of opprobrium. This temptation he should resist. Such children are to be pitied for their dullness, but never to be censured for it. It is an unfeeling thing to sting the soul that is already benighted. He should cheer and encourage such a slow mind to greater effort, by the sunshine of kind looks, and the warm breath of sympathy, rather than ? " ? ? i Ji. Ireeze up tne ieeoie current ui vivucny ?uiun yet remains there, by a forbidding frown, or a blast of reproach. A dull child is almost always affectionate; and it is through the medium of kindness and patience that such aone is most effectually stimulated. 4 4 Some one who is styled "a modern philosopher" has ascertained that "people go according to their brains. If these lie in their head, they study; if their stomach, they eat; if in their heels, they dance; if in the region of their pockets, they steal." ! Ebony wood weighs 83 pounds to the cubic foot; lignumvitre, the same; hickory, 52 pounds; birch, 45 pounds; beech, 40; yellow pine, 38 ; cedar, 28; white pine, 25 ; and cork, 15. 4 ?4 S&" Envy is littleness of soul, which cannot see beyond a certain point, and if it does not occupy the whole space, feels itself excluded.' IpiSttltanwttSi lUMfag.! ziziziz====Z====I=ZZ=I=: i AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. Dear head so low full well I know The crown is bright thou'rt wearing, That precious dust, a Saviour's trust, Waits only His appearing. No shaft may rise where low it lies, A Saviour's promise proving. Rut shaft or stone has never shown Memorial like my loving. Would thou could'st see how deep for tlieo My heart its love is keeping, Its hreaking woe as hot tears flow Above where thou art sleeping. Oh! that thine ear one cry could hear, The cry I cannot smotherHow much I yearn, remember, mourn, And love and miss thee, mother ! ? 4 From the Correspondence of the New York Sun. LIFE IN SOUTH CAROLINA. Washington, November 12. The following story, which was told to me by Mr. Joseph Stewart, a lawyer of this city, and a perfectly trustworthy gentleman, illustrates very aptly the condition of the white people in South Carolina: Two Pennsylvania Quakers, or rather two sons of a Quaker, who had served in the Union army in South Caro lina, at the close of the war obtained 812,000 each, and purchased a plantation in South Carolina, near Beaufort. They intended to plant cotton, and stocked their plantation for that purpose. As they were original abolitionists, born and brought up in the faith, they, of course, expected great things from the freedmen, and gathered about them many of these poor unfortunates. The first season they had every prospect of a fine crop of cotton, and were felicitating themselves on the good fortune in store for them. When their cotton was ready to be picked, they were surprised at the small quantity brought to their gin. The freedmen stole and wasted at least one-half of it, and, to cap the climax, when the crop had been nearly all gathered, the negroes set fire to the gin and burned up the remainder. The next season the brothers planted sweet potatoes, calculating to anticipate the Northern market by early shipments, before the Virginia potatoes were ready to ship. They accordingly put down their whole plantation in potatoes, and as the season was favorable, they had every promise of retrieving the disasters of the previous year. About the time ?| ' ?i i. a.\? ? tneir crop was reaay 10 narvest mey nuuvcu something wrong with the vines, and they kept a watch in the fields during the night. Some of their most trusted workmen were detailed for that purpose, but still the depredations continued. The negroes protested that they could never see anybody in the fields at night, and seemed totally at a loss to account for the disappearance of the potatoes. Finally the brothers determined one night to go on guard themselves, without letting the negroes know their intention. Providing themselves with arras, they took their positions so as to observe all parts of the neld, without themselves being observed. They had not long to wait. Soon objects were discovered moving about in the field, in close proximity to where the trusted negroes ought to be keeping watch. One of the planters, getting within gunshot of the thieves, fired and wounded one so seriously that he could not run away with his companions, who, surprised at this unexpected entertainment, made for the swamps. When the planters scanned the features of the wounded man, they found him to be one of the negroes they had been relying on to protect their property. This opened their eyes, and the next day, upon making an examination, they discovered that the negroes had, by carefully lifting up the vines, and scraping away the dirt from the side of the hills, succeeded in removing nearly the whole "??? rkAfafAAQ Tn/lnnr] t tcoQ nrtf tlUp Ui |JUliabVCOi xuuuvuj liivt V If MW 4JVV enough left to pay expenses. This was not all. Their cup of miseiyr was not yet full. The brother who had fired at and wounded the thieving negro, was arrested i:3a ku-klux, thrown into prison, and it was with much difficulty that he was saved from conviction. The negroes, even those they had given employment to for nearly two years, swore to the most outrageous lies against them. Even after the Quaker was released, he and his brother found the negroes so incensed against them, and so determined to do them a serious injury, that they packed up a few of their personal effects and started North, abandoning their plantation to the negroes. This story is given just as I hear it. I have no doubt that it is true in every particular. More than this, I believe it is not an isolated case, either. It is the same story that you hear from almost every Thau who comes from poor, oppressed, negro-ruled South Carolina. The negroes are absolute masters of the soil. The triumph of the Moses party?the elec tion of another negro legislature?will inten-1 sify the viciousness of the negroes, and white people who have remained in the hope of some amelioration of the evils under which they have groaned so long, will now be at the mercy of the black and white vampires. Sappho. THE YERMOXT SLATE QUARRIES. The whole region about Lake St. Catharine is remarkable for its inexhaustible quarries of argillacerous slate, the commercial value of which is just beginning to be appreciated. From the rude Fairhaven school slates, for ciphering and drawing portraits of the master, this hardened clay has risen to an economical importance that puts it into competition with the choicest marbles. The quarries do not run several hundred feet deep like those of Wales, and are consequently worked with great facility. Large blocks are blasted out and split with wedges, and raised with derricks, and separated into smaller slabs by deftly directed blows from a wooden beetle. The roofing slate is wet in order to facilitate splitting, the thinly laminated formation rendering the process an easy one with the chisel. It is not expedient to take from the quarry more than can be readily split, as the slate splits more freely when fresh, although it is said that frost will restore the splitting property. The thickest slabs are readily sawed and planed by machinery. Large, handsome flagstones are prepared by simply sawing. Mouldings and other decorative pieces are shaped j with tools. A great impetus has been given i to the slate trade by the demand which the Chicago fire has created, especially for roof- I iner and tiling. The slate companies inter- j change products with the marble companies, | for interspersing white marble with dark slate j for floors. Slate is rapidly taking the place j of marble for interior decoration; but so long i as our extensive forests remain we shall not J need to substitute it for wood, as the English do. With us it is still a luxury rather than an economy. For ornamental purposes, the slate after being properly cut and trimmed, is scoured with pumice stone, then rubbed with powdered pumice stone, and polished with felt. It is now ready to be transformed into marble. The slabs having been prepared, and painted with the groundwork color, they are ready to dip. A vat is at hand, containing water and I cannot say what else. A man dips a small brush in oil colors and sprinkles it on the surface ; then he fans the water with a palm leaf and draws the brush through it several times. The oil mixed paint spreads on the surface of the water, like the veining in marble, and the slab being gently raised against it receives the ; impression. A mere change of groundwork and colors j gives the varieties of marble, Egyptian, Spanish, Galway, Pyronese, &c. The most elaborate work, as for altar pieces, chess-boards, and borders, is done by hand. After the application of colors, succesive bakings and pol ishings finish the work. This raarbleized slate is quite elegant, possessing sixteen times the strength of marble, and scarcely distinguishable from it. The imitation of marble in slate is employed for coffins, caskets, table-tops, mantles, billiard-beds, lamp-stands and innumerable domestic and ornamental uses. The best workmen here are from Wales, having learned the business in the immense quarries of Carnarvonshire. They are a sober, industrious, moral people, improvident for the future, noticeably fraternal among themselves, kind and generous toward all. They take Saturday afternoons for holidays, and make up the hours during the rest of the week. These slates are not inferior in quality to those of Wales. The quarries are comparatively shallow, but more easily worked, and they are too numerous and extensive to be exhausted by a single generation. The Vermont and neighboring slate trade is still in its infancy; but capitalists are beginning to be lieve and determine that it shall rival the important marble interest?Letter to the New York Tribune. a mexican'circus. Our readers must have noticed for some days past a caravan passing through the streets, from the interior of which a brass band thunders forth strange melodies with much braying of brazen instruments, while behind the powerful wagon a squad of strangely clad horsemen gallop to and fro in single file, wearing the serapes and huge sombreros of the Mexican vaquero or cattle herdsman. These men ride small, but vigorous and fleet mustang ponies, and are the most daring horsemen probably that haTe ever visited New York city. Recently, at the Capitoline Grounds in Brooklyn, this Mexican circus company exhibited in presence of a small but select audience. Those who have read Mayne Reid's highly sensational hunting novels may have formed some idea of what these hardy vaqueros of the debatable land on the Texan and Mexican frontiers can do in the way of riding, with or without saddle. As it is, it is necessary to see the performance to understand it. There are nine horsemen in the company, who have all been bred in Mexico and Texas from childhood, the principal of whom are named Thomas, an American-Mexican; Morosco, Carquiero, Kossuth and Lopez. Thomas was the chief ranchero for President Benito Jaurez, who had ninety farms in the sister Republic, and he is certainly one of the most expert horsemen we have ever beheld. While dashing at headlong speed on his fiery mustang he stooped, without stopping his speed, and picked up a white handkerchief from the grass. Leon then was the next to appear on ftipfippnp A aavaora and anracrad Texan hull ?? -- ? "O"* was brought forth, and Leon successfully threw the lariat over his horns and brought him up standing on his hind legs, although he made desperate efforts to gore the spectators, who ran out of his reach. Then Leon jumped on his back, rode him around the grounds to the bull's utter discomfiture, and all the while smoked a. Havana segar with the greatest coolness possible. Carquiero threw a wild mustang a complete somerset by the tail while the latter was going at full speed?a most astonishing feat. Four of the riders, while going at a speed that made the spectators dizzy, in the twinkling of an eye, drew up in an even line, the mustangs panting and endeavoring to break loose from the inevitable grasp of their riders. A smart pony, with as many tricks in him as Ben Butler possesses, was lassoed by the riders and brought up standing. Then there was a pony race to see who should own the odd steer, as is customary with vaqueros in Mexico, and no such speed has ever been seen on a race track in America as was made in a spurt of three-quarters of a mile by these wonderful horsemen yesterday. It is a pity that these splended horsemen and bull riders and bull tamers could not have an opportunity to exhibit at Jerome Park or at i 1 1 1.1 rrospect rarK, wnere a large assemoiage 01 both sexes might have opportunity to witness their unexampled feats of horsemanship. As it is, they can remain but a few days at the Capitoline Grounds, as no other place could be found large enough for the exhibition. For grace, management of the horse, simpleness of riding and perfect agility in the saddle, or horseback riding, they are unequaled. Their saddles weigh sixty pounds and their stirrups are very clumsy, but they do not seem to mind encumbrances whatever. A comical Irishman offered himself as a victim to be lassoed, and two horsemen galloped their mustangs at full speed after him, throwing their lassoes with the greatest swiftness, but the Irishman was too much for the Mexicans, as he ran all over the field in such a zigzag manner that the vaqueros were completely vanquished and the Irishman raised much laughter from the crowd. It is a very dangerous thing, however, to do, as it might possibly result in a broken neck to the victim who is lassoed by the wild Mexicans. Altogether this exhibition is the most novel one that has ever been offered to the New York public by any strangers in the circus line of business.?New York Herald. HOW ARE VoU,lpipPER ? As an evidence that the operators of our city are not behind hand in the matter of "having their fun," the following is related of Jim , a well known attach^ of the Western Union. During the theatrical season of last year the drama of "The Long Strike" was produced at one of our theatres, and for the manipulation of the telegraph instrument, which plays an important part in the most important act of the play, Jim was engaged. His position was such that he could see the audience without being seen, and when, upon taking his position, he discovered in the auditorium a brother operator from Memphis, by the name of Pepper, (who had that day arrived in town,) he determined to have a little sport on his own account. Accordingly, when the time came for the sending of the first despatch, Jim loudly sounded on his machine the words, "How are you, Pepper?" The quick professional ear of Pepper caught the words instantly, and wondering "who the deuce it was," straightened up and stared at the stage as if he would have given two dollars and a half to know something more. "Pepper, how's your mother ?" came from the instrument, and Pepper, thoroughly mystified, turned confidingly to his fair partner to express his utmost astonishment at the most singular circumstance. As luck would have it, the auditorium held quite a delegation of telegraphers, who by this time saw that Jim was nn tn nnp. of hia old trinha. and with nnft ,,w ~r ww w? i accord they began to look about the theatre for "Pepper." Jim saw the effect of his experiment, and enjoyed himself hugely. Pepper hadn't got through telling his girl all about it, when there came another message. "That won't do, old Pepper. I know you well, and you hadn't better be fooling that confiding creature with any soft nonsense." This roused the telegraph boys to the very pitch of curiosity, ana many of them stood up, gazing longingly about them as if their only object in life was to discover Pepper. Pepper felt that he knew him, and the confusion which had been gradually covering his nanasome ieatures grew into moruncauou when he saw so many eyes evidently levelled at him, and at last actually culminated in his withdrawal from the theatre. But Jim was bound to give him a parting shot, and as he faded from view, he heard T>orne to his ears, "Good-bye Pepper, put your trust in Providence, but keep your powder dry." Those who appreciated the affair were much amused, and so indeed was the victim himself, when, on the following day, he learned who had so neatly captured him.?N. 0. Times. A