Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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eewis m. ?rist, pi-oprietor.j Jit Jnkpenimtt Jfamilj) ftefospaper: Jfor tjjc promotion of tjje ?Jolttical, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Soufj). Jterms?$3.00 a year, in advance. "VOL. 19. YORKYILLE, S. O., THUESDAY, J ANITAEY 9, 1873. NO. 2. I - ? ' * J 1.1 1.? C JU (Orirjiual ?'to*||. / Written for tho Yorkvillc Enquirer. THE MYSTERY GF MOSSGROVE, A ROMANCE OF THE 19TH CENTURY. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER III. AN ILL-OMENED MARRIAGE. "Mamma, do not turn so coldly from me; what have I done that you should treat me in such a manner?" It was Lucy who spoke; her voice was tremulous and sad, and her dark eyes were eloquent with tears. "Your whole conduct is displeasing to me, Lucy; you know what my wishes are, and yet you totally disregard them." And Mrs. Carroll, who Was lying on a lounge in her chamber, applied her handkerchief to her eyes with a deep, reproachful sigh. Lucy was silent; her bosom heaved with suppressed emotion, and it was with difficulty that she restrained the sobs from bursting forth. After a pause, Mrs. Carroll resumed in the plaintive tone in which she had before spoken. "I cannot imagine, Lucy, how you can persist in encouraging Edward's attentions, when you know how utterly preposterous is the idea that you can ever marry him. He is very good and amiable, and had he the means to support you suitably, the case would be different ; but as it is, you well know that 1 could never give my consent to your taking such a step. It is, therefore, your duty to put an end, at once, to all uncertainty in the matter, and let him know that his hopes, if he is still insane enough to cherish them, are entirely groundless, and can never be realized.'" "Mamma," faltered Lucy, "Edward is not rich now; but he is very industrious, and hopes in a year of two to be able?" "A year or two !" interrupted her mother ; "does he imagine that, in the position he holds, he will be able in five years, or ten years, to make enough to support an establishment ?" "I would be willing to wait," murmured Lucy. "Willing to wait!" Mrs. Carroll's voice took a decidedly sharp tone as she turned to confront her daughter. "Lucy, I am ashamed of you?positively I am. How can you desire to place yourself in such a humiliating position ? Have you no self-respect, no proper pride ?" Lucy was silent. "And as to your cousin," continued Mrs. Carroll, waxing more indignant as she went on, "I cannot understand how he can have the assurance to expect you to make such a sacrifice. If he really cared for you, he would be more considerate,and less selfish." "Selfish !" echoed Lucy indignantly, "Oh ! mamma, Edward is the most generous, selfdenying person I ever saw. He has not a spark of selfishness in him. Papa used to think very, very highly of him." ??Tf ;0 nntvnrtliv nf von to trv to influence me by bringing in your father's name in the matter," said Mrs. Carroll, relapsing into tears. "I have never disputed Edward's good qualities ; it is only in this one instance that I blame his conduct. Your father would have been the last one to see you make a marriage that could bring nothing but poverty and trouble in its train. But I cannot argue the point farther," she continued in a weak tone, sinking back and closing her eyes; "I am already too ill to bear this discussion, and you only harass me and make me worse." This reproach was more than the tenderhearted Lucy could eudure. She burst into a paroxysm of grief, and taking her mother's hand requested her not to say such terrible words, but to believe that she would gladly do anything to make her better, if it were in her power. For some time Mrs. Carroll remained passive while listening to her protestatious, but finally said, in a melancholy voice, that it would be easy enough for Lucy to convince her of her sincerity by yielding to her wishes, instead of opposing them. "What am I to do, mamma?" murmured poor Lucy. "Tell Edward at once that it is impossible for you ever to marry him ; represent to hiin the madness of such a scheme, and the necessity of abandoning it without delay. Do this, Lucy, and I shall really believe in your affection, and your anxiety respecting my health. Refuse to do this, and I cannot answer for the consequences. My nerves are already shattered, my frame grows daily more feeble ; add this fresh grief to what I already endure, and feel when too late that you have been the means of hastening me to my grave. Xo more, Lucy," she added as her daughter was about to speak, "I can hear no more now. Leave me to repose; I will endeavor to com pose my mind, and brace my nerves to support with fortitude whatever additional burden may be laid upon me." Lucy perceived that farther opposition was useless, and weeping, left the apartment. The result of this, and other similar interviews, between the worldly?minded mother and the too yielding daughter, was the final attainment of the end desired by the former. Edward Carroll's manly, ardent and disinterested affection was rejected?his fond hopes forever crushed to the earth. Shortly after this, Alfred Stanley, who had continued to pay unremitting attention to Lucy, made a formal proposal to her, which, by her mother's mingled persuasions and commands, she was led to accept. After her forced rejection of her cousin, she appeared almost indifferent to everything, and made but little opposition to this plan which so fatally involved the happiness of her future life. She did not dislike Stanley, and had she been permitted to retain him simply as a friend, would have looked upon him even more favorably than she now did; but her heart inwardly revolted against marrying one for whom she entertained no positive affection. Her mother arranged all the preliminaries of the wedding, which, according to Stanley's entreaties, was to be consummated as soon as possible after the betrothal had taken place No one would have recognized in the pale dejected Lucy, the bright and blooming maiden of a few months before, whose joyous voice had gladdened the house with song, ant: whose rosy lip had been ever wreathed will smiles. She well knew that had her father lived this sacrifice would never have been demand ed of her, and felt, more bitterly than ever the loss of this kind, devoted and indulgent parent. The wedding day arrived at last. Owing to the deep mourning of the family, the ceremony was to he very quietly performed, and 1 ouly a few intimate friends were invited to be present. . Lucy had passed a restless and broken night, and shortly before daylight fell into a j troubled sleep, when she was visited by the j following singular dream. I She thought that she was being attired for j the bridal ceremony, and that the veil was about to be placed on her head, when a pale woman with disheveled, flowing hair and holI low eyes, suddenly appeared before her, and taking the veil in her hands, tore the delicate fabric ruthlessly from the top to the bottom, saying as she did so, in a sepulchral tone? "As this veil is rent, so will be the unholy tie made between you two this day." She theu laid one of her hands, which was deathly cold, on Lucy's left hand, and said? "May the finger that receives the marriagering perish and wither, even as a blighted heart has withered away, and as yours too, will wither, even to the grave." With these mysterious words she disappeared, and Lucy awoke, her forehead covered j with a cold dew and every limb trembling with nervous agitation. The morning light shining into her room, in some degree re-as-, sured her, and by degrees she succeeded in composing herself, and banishing the terror caused by her vision. The wedding was to take place at ten o'clock, | and the bridal pair were to leave immediately afterward for Mossgrove, the residence of Mr. Stanley, in Uniou District, in the upper part of the State. This place had been recently purchased by him, in view of his intended marriage, and was said to be fitted up with every comfort and luxury that wealth could procure. Mr. Stanley had not invited Mrs. Carroll to accompany them, an omission which greatly offended her, though she was .too prou3 to show her resentment. And now Lucy stood before her glass, passive and motionless, while her mother adjusted the folds of her dress, and arranged the long, flowing veil of delicate lace, which fell around her like a snowy cloud. The face of I ' i-- i_.., tne DF1U6 WHS scarcely leas nunc, aim uci | features were statue-like in their marble rig idity of expression. Suddenly, as she gazed into the glass, her J eyes dilated, her lips parted and a horrified look tame over her face. Slowly raising one trembling hand, she pointed with her finger toward her own image, and in a faint voice muttered? "Mother, see there; there are two!" and fell fainting into her mother's arms. She had plainly seen in the mirror, standing close at the side of her own reflection, the form and face of the woman who had visited her in her dream. All was now terror and confusion; her mother and the servants, who were in attendance, applied, in haste, the necessary restoratives to.revive her. from her swoon, from i which at length she awoke^ Opening her eyes, she raised them piteously to her mother's face, and murmured? "I cannot marry that man." "Lucy ! Lucy, my dear child!" said Mrs. | Carroll, greatly agitated, and feeling the nc-! cessity of using every soothing argument iu | her power, "something has excited you unusually ; your nerves are in a morbid stale. What j has frightened you, my love ? Tell me, what j caused this sudden attack? Are you feeling j ill this morning?" "Did you not see her?" inquired Lucy in a j fearful tone. j "See whom, my child ? There was no one ! present but ourselves anil theservants." "Her?that woman. She stood close by me?she looked over my shoulder?I saw her | in the mirror. Oh ! don't let her come again," j and with a shudder she hid her pallid face in ; her hands. "It is a case of extreme morbid nervous| ness," said her mother to the frightened seri vants, who, with the readiness to yield to su I perstitious impressions peculiar to their race, ! , stood ejaculating and wringing their hands | with every expression of dismay. "Don't go i on so foolishly," she continued in a sterner | tone ; "don't you see you will only make Miss j Lucy worse? She has had some dream, or ; I fancy, that worries her, and only needs calm-, ! iug down." j "Oh ! missus, such tings is sent for a warn-' | in'," said Melissa, Lucy's faithful waiting- j j maid, who was to accompany her to her new ; ! home. "Maybe 'twas a ghos' Missy seen, sent' ! wid a special message from de Lord." j "Will you be silent?" asked Mrs. Carroll, J irritated beyond endurance, as she noted the j I shudder that passed over Lucy's frame. "If, I you say another word I shall not allow you I to go into the country with Mis3 Lucy, for IJ ; don't consider you fit to wait upon her. Lucy, | my love," she continued, bending over her i ! daughter as the discomfited Abigail, silenced i by the threat, retreated into a corner, to in.! dulgein otnnious mutterings unheard, "try to rouse yourself from this morbid condition,; ; and listen to reason. You have allowed your imagination to get the better of you, and ! make you fancy all sorts of disagreeable things. The more you indulge in such feelings, the harder it will be to overcome them. Come ! ; sit up, and let me see your face. Yes, the ' color is coming back?that is right; now you are my sensible Lucy again," she added as Lucy, with a great effort, exerted herself to rise, and allowed her to re-arrange her disori dered hair and veil. She still trembled, however, and stood with downcast eyes,-fearing t-. 1UV U.nm f,-v flio (iliica nrrnin TTev rrmtlior tu 1I1L I..W.U lu. ?..v. b.?. ? ..fc .. continued to utter encouraging and re-assur' ing words, and gradually succeeded in restoring lier at least to outward composure; but it was so long before this result was attained, ' that it was eleven o'clock, instead often, when 1she was able to make her appearance, and the s bridal party entered the church, which was but a short distance from their residence. Pale as death she moved up the aisle, Ican; ing on the bridegroom's arm ; and her set fea: turcs and large, immoveable, melancholy eyes, s combined with the snowy whiteness of her . drapery, might have justly won for her the , appellation of "the Marble Bride." ; As the ceremony commenced, a low nuit> tering peal of thunder was heard, and a sudI den darkness overspread the church. This i was the presage of one of the summer storms that so quickly come up in our southern cli, mate, and which are often as quick to pass - away as they arc to gather. The gloomy ,'omen, however, seemed to impress every one present. The clergyman paused involuntarily in his exhortation, a slight frown passed over the bridegroom's face, and the bride trembled visibly, and grew paler than before. The break, however, was but momentary, and the service proceeded. In a few moments ! it was completed, the ring was placed on LucyTS trembling finger, and the irrevocable words pronounced which made her Alfred J Stanley's wife. The rain was now falling in large heavy drops, the lightning flashed repeatedly, and the whole party were compelled to remain under the shelter of the porch until the storm , had somewhat abated. Lucy was forced to receive the good wishes and congratulations of those present, which she did with assumed composure. Iler mother, standing near her, took upon herself the office of answering for her, in order to hide as much as possible the agitation she well knew she'was still suffering from. At length they were able to return home. Lucy's bridal dress was exchanged for one more suitable for travel, adieux were made, and wishes for a pleasant journey uttered, and I .1 . tv.? i 1 i 1:..~ I tney seion iu a nuuusuiue uuwuug ^uma^, which was to carry them the first few miles of their route. It was on the evening of the next day that the cars, which they took at a station about thirty miles above Charleston, stopped at Unionville, where Stanley's private equipage was waiting for them. A four hours' drive was still before them, consequently it would be quite late before they reached home. It was a dark night, and the road was a rough and uneven one. Already exhausted by excitement and fatigue, Lucy felt scarcely I equal to bearing the jolting of the carriage, [and leaned back "with closed eyes, in utter weariness, in her seat. "Are you much fatigued, my own?" asked Stanley, in the soft and melodious voice that could be so well attuned to the utterance of tender words. "We will soon be at home now?our home, my Lucy, which you are to gladden with the brightness of your sweet presence. How my heart thrills at the thought of the happiness that is before us! Does not yours, too, respond to the blissful anticipation?" "I scarcely know," answered Lucy, in a low tone. "It seems to me that there is a gloom, a mysterious foreboding of trouble, hanging over me which I cannot dispel. I have tried to shake it off, but in vain. Every circumstance connected with our marriage seems to confirm this impression of sadness." "Every circnmstance!" echoed Stanley, pressing her hand. To what do you allude, my love? To your esteemed father's death? I can think of nothing else which has trans pired, to cause such gloomy feelings on your part." " That is indeed a heavy grief," said Lucy, in a faltering voice," and it will be long ere I can cease to mourn so great a loss. But I was thinking of other things?minor circumstances, which seemed to point toward some unhappy end. I may be very foolish, but I cannot entirely divest myself of the impression they have caused." With many fond words, and much tender persuasion, Stanley urged her to explain to him what she meant. For some time she could not bring herself to betray her weakness , but at length his entreaties prevailed over her reluctance, and she told him of her dream, and the vision she had afterward seen, or imagined she had seen, iu her mirror. Stanley listened in perfect silence; but she felt his hand, which clasped hers, tremble as if with agitation as she proceeded, and when she concluded her narration, he cleared his throat once or twice before he answered her. , "My dear Lucy, you are a sillier little woman than I thought you," he said, in a tone of affected gaiety, at last. "To let a dream cause you such anxiety ! Your vision, as you call it, in the glass, was simply the effect of that dream, which took too firm a hold on your fancy, thereby causing its re-appearance in your waking hours." "And the storm yesterday," murmured Lucy, "did not that, too, seem like a warning of evil ?" "The storm, too! Did that affect you so much ? Why Lucy, Lucy ! I shall have to reproach you as a coward, or a very superstitious little mortal, if you go on at this rate. Positively, I shall have to scold you into a more rational state of mind." He laughed as he spoke, but it was an uneasy laugh, and it was well for him that the darkness concealed his face from the observation of his bride, or she would have noticed how pale he had grown, and how restlessly he gnawed his lip, as if half infected by her fears, or oppressed by some secret thought he was not willing to reveal. Her words had, in truth, brought strange recollections to his mind. Far away in his memory lay hidden a secret of the past, that he would have shrunk from revealing to any one, above all to this innocent girl who had been given into his keeping. Was it to be disclosed to her by some means over which he had no control?was the dread communication to be made by an agency from the grave f In spite of his habitual coolness and imperturability of disposition, his mind was shaken at the thought, and drops of cold perspiration started out on his forehead. "Pshaw!" lie said to himself, "what folly this is! I must be the veriest child, to allow it to disturb me for an instant." His reflections were interrupted by a violent jar of the carriage, accompanied by the plunging and snorting of the horses, the imprecations of the driver, and the shrieks of Lucy's maid, who sat on the box. A bridge they were crossing had given way, and they were partially immersed in a stream of water, while one of the horses' feet being eutangled { between two of the broken logs, there seemed 1 to bo some danger of not being able to extrieate it. At the same time the strimcles of both animals threatened to overturn the carriage, which already leaned far over on one side. "Sit quiet, Lucy?don't be alarmed!" said Stanley; and instantly jumping out, he took her in his arms, and deposited her safely on the bank, and then proceeded to the assistance of the driver, whose clumsy efforts rather impeded than aided the efforts of the horses. It was impossible to accomplish anything in the dark, so a pine-knot wus procured and kindled with a match. The horses were unharnessed, and one led out of the water and tied to a tree, while Stanley and the coachman returned to the aid of its companion. This one also was finally released ; but both ' of its feet were so badly hurt that it was evi1 dently unfit for farther service for the present. j "Now we must pull out the carriage," said j j Stanley ; "and then, Robert, you must go to : I seek help in some direction or another. You , know the places about here?is there any one j close bv who could lend us a horse to carry us ' i! on ?" j The negro, after some deliberation, named ; i a residence about a mile distant, the owner of j j which, he thought, might lond them the re- j | quired aid. j He was accordingly despatched on his erj rand, and the belated party had to await his i return with what patience they might. Stan! ley paced restlessly up and down, occasionally j } stopping to pat and examine the injured ; horse. Melissa indulged in lamentations over j I a certain box of her own, highly valued, j i which had come to grief in the water, and the j I coutents of which she declared, must be; I 1 j "done spiled and good for nothingand Lucy, j , tired and shivering, sat looking on at the j j scene, illumined by the light of the flaring i j torch, which revealed only the more distinctly ! ; the deep gloom of the pine woods around. j At length Robert returned with a borrowed horse, accompanied by a servant, who undertook the charge of Stanley's disabled animal ; for the night. Once more the party got in I motion, and in about an hour's time, their j destination was reached. The gates of Mossgrove swung open with a heavy, creaking sound. Owing to the lateness of the hour no one was expecting them, and Stanley led his bride across the threshold of a mansion as gloomy, chill and dismal as the feelings of her own heart, i It was a fitting commencement, surely, of her married life. CHAPTER IV. MOSSGROVE. The first few weeks of Lucy's new life passed without any event of note occurring to break their quiet monotony. A few persons came to visit her; but Mossgrove was not in the immediate vicinity of any other residence, consequently not favoraj bly situated for the exchange of much social ? j intercourse. It was a large and venerable-looking estate, pervaded, however, by an air of gloom and dullness that was not calculated to improve the spirits of one already as dejected as the < young mistress" lately put in possession of it. Groves of ancient, picturesque-looking trees . excluded the sunlight, the gardens were of a stiff and formal description, and the very carol of the birds sounded rtiore plaintive and , subdued here than elsewhere. A sleepy, sluggish-looking stream wandered through the ' < 'Mi?/ a? grounds, wnose SUll waters reiieuieu umj U>?hnngiug boughs and clumps of brown rushes, < instead of dancing and dimpling in the sun. . The house itself was an old-fashioned wooden edifice, added to, from time to time, with a wing here and a porch there, and odd little gable ends and casements all about, until it presented an outline too irregular to be classed under the name of any particular shape. Its walls were brown and dingy, and too overgrown with viues and creepers of every des! cription, to make painting a practicable job, I without the total destruction of this verdant I adornment. Inside, it was handsome enough, and fur- i nished in a luxurious, almost princely fashion, i Velvet carpets covered the floors, curtains of i rich damask and lace draped the windows, and gilded mirrors adorned the walls of the i ; principal apartments, where lounges, sofas and divans of rosewood and velvet, scattered about with tasteful negligence, invited to the luxury of repose. There was a large library . well stored with books, statues and pictures ; this was, perhaps, the pleasantestroom in the house, for it opened with glass doors on a pretty veranda fronting the south, the steps of ' which led down to a bit of smooth sward en! livened by roses, pinks and other cheerful and ' fragrant flowers. The chambers and lesser j rooms, of which there was a great number, I also Dossessed everv annliance of taste and r - J 4 4 comfort. ; Lucy found some amusement in reading, I practicing on the elegant new piano, and tendj ing the flowers ; but it was lonely enough for i her without a female companion, and herhus- i band spent a great portion of his time out of i doors, and when he was in the house, often re- ] mained shut up in his private study for hours together. She soon discovered that he was of an indolent, somewhat morose disposi- j; tion, not so well inclined to exert himself to ; be agreeable at home, as she had found him previous to their marriage. He appeared, however, very fond of her, and anxious to j surround her with everything that could con- j duce to her pleasure?exccpl society. Books,;; pictures, jewelry, dress, expensive toys and j ' knick-knacks, he lavished on her with an un- j sparing hand : but he was averse to her visit- j ! ing, or receiving company. After her bridal I calls had been returned, on which he accom| panied her, he expressed his hope that people ; would be obliging enough to let them alone, j i , as he did not care about the fuss and inconve- J i j nience of having them about the house, or i j driving around the country to see them in re-11 j turn. Lucy, in truth, cared little about so- j j ciety in general, now that all her feelings j had undergone such a change; yet she found ; j this extreme solitude irksome, and when a ! couple of months had passed, ventured one day to express a wish that her mother could come and pay them a visit. "Your mother!" said Stanley; "pray, can't ' ' " ? t-M_ i, ; you exist without ner ior a litue wnue, my . love? A re you already tired of me?" j "I see very little of you, Alfred," said : Lucy gently, "and when I am alone it is very dull. If mamma was here I would have some ; companionship; and it must be lonely for her I at home too, now that I am away." jt j "When I married you, I suppose she expcc-1 1 ted to do without you?she seemed willing j ' enough to let you go, at all events," rejoined her husband with a slight sneer. Lucy was ' wounded at his manner ; she Hushed deeply, j and the tears started to her eyes. Stanley j laid down the paper he had been reading, and ; coming to her side, took her hand in his. "Listen to me, Lucy," he said with empha! sis. "Now that you are my wife, I expect you to put aside all past associations, and j ! give yourself up wholly and entirely to vie. It is what I have done for you, and therefore j , it is only reasonable that I should expect the ; same in return. You belong to me; your thoughts, wishes and opinions must be subject to mine; I love you, and desire to make you happy, but it must be in my way, and my, way must be yours. If you had fifty relatives, from whom you had never lived apart before,, and who all loved you to distraction, I would i expect you to be willing never to see one of those fifty relatives again, if such was ray desire. I wish you to be satisfied with my affection and ray society, aud to find thera amply sufficient for your needs. And above all, you must clearly understand that a wish once expressed by rae is law, and by that law you must abide. Any remonstrance on your part, any appeal from such a decision, will be quite useless, aud only lessen my opinion of your amiability and good sense. Just now when I spoke to you, I saw tears in your eyes. I detest tears, and the only effect they ever have on me is to irritate me instead of exciting my compassion. Now, my love, you know my opinions thoroughly, and having explained them in a way that can leave no uncertainty in your mind, I need not add that I expect you to follow them in every particular" With this quiet declaration of tyranny, de livered in a most matter-of-fact tone, as though the ideas he had expressed were entirely in accordance with all the feelings of tenderness and consideration supposed to exist in the mind of a husband of eight weeks, Stanley kissed his wife and left the room. From such a declaration there was no appeal. Lucy yielded without a struggle, and thenceforth remained passive under his control. She found that even iu trifles she was expected to defer altogether to his wishes and tastes, no matter how contrary to her own. " If he liked a certain song, or piece of music, she must play it oftener than any other, and at any time that he chose to ask for it. If on the contrary he took a dislike to any piefce she played, he requested her to put it aside, as it gave him no pleasure to listen to it. She must dress exactly as he pleased, and never wear any color that did not suit his fancy. Although a year had not yet elapsed since her father's death, he required her to lay aside her mourning, saying that he detested black, and that a bride was not expected to disfigure herself by wearing it. If he desired her to accompany him on a walk or ride, he did not ask her to do so, but simply stated that he would go out at such an hour, and that he expected to find her in readiness. She must put down any occupation that she was engaged in, no matter how interesting, to attend to his wishes. In a word, she became his slave ; and her master, unfortunately, 3howed himself to be a despot. Had he acted differently, he would in time have won her affection, for she was of a gentle and clinging nature, and her very loneliness would have drawn her nearer to him. But as it was, ail the impulses of her naturally loving heart were chilled and crushed, and 3he settled gradually into a sort of apathy 1 1 - 1 - ' ovAiinrl finci toiai inuinereuuu iu cvcijuuug uiuuuu her. Her husband was not harsh or unkind, but he treated her as a mere toy, or an automaton who was to act and speak only as he pulled the wires, and never else. He caressed her, but it was as he* would have caressed a pet animal whom he expected to yield wholly to his caprices, to receive his favors with gratitude whenever it pleased him to bestow them, and to withdraw submissively when he was weary of this amusement. Thus placed under the influence of his powerful will, she never dreamed of asserting her own, and appeared at last almost to lose her own identity. People in the surrounding country wondered greatly at theseclus.'on in which the Stanleys lived, and thought.they must either he very eccentric or very proud, and unwilling to associate with their neighbors. This idea gaining ground, the few efforts made to draw them from their retirement soon ceased, and Lucy lived as isolated from the world as though Mossgrove were a jail and she a prisoner confined within its walls. It was a strange, sad existence for one who had begun life with prospects as brilliant as hers had been. Once she had been the idolized daughter of a wealthy father, who thought no trouble or expense too great, if it could give her pleasure?whose hopes were bound up in her future, and who found his own greatest happiness in providing for hers. 'Now the only love bestowed upon her was of a kind so solPsh that it sought only its own gratification, and the wealth she was mistress of brought her no pleasure or satisfaction. Other love truly was still hers, but it was far oft'. Edward Carroll was still faithful in his attachment to her, for it was an attachment which had grown and strengthened with his years from early boyhood, and could never be conquered while he lived, though he was forced to conceal it now in the securest hiding places of his heart. Her image, so long and fondly cherished, ever haunted him; in his waking hours and in his dreams it was alike present to him, and though it was a dangerous pastime, he could not cease to indulge in reveries in which it played the chief part. Far better would it have been if the ambitious mother who had blighted his hopes,had allowed her daughter to share with him a life of comparative poverty, illumined with the sunshine of mutual affection, instead of condemning her to the existence she now led. Fortunately that faithful heart did not know the extent of the sacrifice that had been accomplished, or he would not have been able to wear even the semblance of forgiveness toward the author of it. He thought himself the chief sufferer, and tried to find consolation in the thought that Lucy, at least, was happy, though it was a consolation that brought a sting with it. Mrs. Carroll could gather little from Lucy's letters, which her husband always read before they were despatched, and which consequently i were guarded and formal, never touching on > anything but the merest common place subjects. Lucy had hoped that her husband might carry her to Charleston in the winter, but she j found it was his intention to pass his whole ' time at Mossgrove, aud that the severance be- J tween herself and her family and friends was, ' therefore, complete, since he would not per-1 mit her to invite any of them to visit her. Her faithful maid, Melissa, was the only 1 person left to form a connecting link between j her present and her past life. Melissa was several years older than herself, and had been her attendant from childhood, and on this humble companion she was forced to depend I for the only true sympathy and comfort she , could obtain. Melissa would have given the very eyes out of her head to serve her "missy," and saw, with no small grief and indignation, the tyranny she was subjected to, and the I dull, unhappy life she led. She had never j liked Mr. Stanley, nor brought herself to call j < him "master;" and lie, in turn, conceived a> dislike to her, the more especially, as he saw , that his wife depended upon her more than he , chose to think proper. "I do not think, Lucy," he said one day, that it is suitable for you to have a servant so constantly about you. It seems to me that I j' never come into your room that I do not find her there. Surely you cannot need her services all the time; and her conversation, I should think, cannot be particularly entertaining." Lucy replied that it had always been Melissa's custom to bring her sewing into the house, and that she had not thought of making her discontinue the habit. "Let her discontinue it in the future," said Stanley. "She can take her work into the servant's hall, which is the proper place for her; I suppose she is experienced enough not tn noorl vnur nnnflrvision." "VV? J 1 So, to Melissa's unbounded wrath, she was banished from her mistress's room except at such hours only when her attendance was necessary. The overweening jealousy of Stanley's disposition would not permit him to endure any object, however humble, about his wife, which he thought engrossed too much of her consideration or affection. Left thus entirely to her own resources, except when acting in blind obedience to her husband's will, Lucy passed much of her time in readiug, and the morbid state of her mind led her to select books that were unfortunately of the very worst description for one so cheerlessly situated as herself. Romances of a gloomy and unnatural tone, abounding in ghostly horrors and supernatural occurrences, seemed to possess an unwholesome fascination for her; and over these she would pore for hours at a time until her nerves would be completely unstrung, and she would tremble like an aspen at the sound of a suddenly closed door, the creaking of a shutter or the sighing of the wind. These feelings were fostered, too, by Ae scmbreness of her surroundings, and the perfect silence and repose that pervaded the atmosphere in which she moved. There was a certain long corridor leading to the rooms in the "west wing," as one portion of the house was called, which she would not have dared, after filling her mind with these ideas, to traverse after nightfall alone; the more especially, as she had been informed by Melissa, who heard it from the other servants ~ U~.., A. AU/s *V? n llAIICO frtr TTIQ n V (IUUUI tuc bug uvuov MMU AW* *?*V?A*J years been known to be haunted, and that in regard to.this "west wing" there was some mysterious tradition, the exact nature of which she was not positive about; "but "she knew it was something 'bout a ghos', and she wouldn't sot her foot dere after dark, not she!" The screech-owls, those denizens of the woods with which every resident in the country is familiar, but which, having always lived in the city, Lucy had never become acquainted with before, appeared to her like mysterious harbingers of evil, and she never could hear their unearthly cry without a shudder of apprehension and dismay. Even the dismal croaking of the frogs at twilight sounded like a prophetic chorus of ominous import, which often sent a cold chill through her veins. My readers must not think poor Lucy a very silly, weak-minded woman, but take into consideration the peculiar circumstances which surrounded her, and the unnatural bias given to her mind by the mode of life she was compiled to lead. So nervous and excitable had she become, that the following incident, apparently a simple one, agitated her exceedingly ; though on considering the matter afterwards she could not but acknowledge to herself that her fears had been needlessly aroused. She was walking alone one afternoon in the grounds at the rear of the house, awaiting Stanley's return from a ride, when she perceived advancing toward her, through the trees, a woman wrapped in a cloak, with a hat and veil on, which shaded and partly concealed her face. She stopped involuntarily, and the woman stopped also, and confronted her with a somewhat peculiar expression, though without any appearance of incivility. Thinking she might be a stranger who had lost her way, Lucy, again advancing, asked if she wished anything, or if she was looking for any body. "Yes," said the woman slowly, and still keeping her eyes fixed on Lucy's face, "I am looking for somebody, but it isn't you, madam, though I should be glad if you could direct me in my search." "I will do so with pleasure, if it is in my power," said Lucy courteously. "Then can you tell me, madam, if Mr. Alfred Stanley lives here ? I was directed to this place, but I seem to think that my informant was mistaken. This is surely not Mr. Stanley's residence?" "Yes, it is," said Lucy. "Yonder is the house, among the trees. Do you wish to see Mr. Stanley ?" "I do. madam ; is he at home?" "He is not at home, just now, but will soon I return ; will you not walk on to the house, and sit down ?" rejoined Lucy. "I thank you, no?I will remain here until he comes ; or?no,"said tha woman, as if suddenly changing her mind, "that would not be advisable, either?no, no, I must wait! I iuust see him alone, quite alone! I have business with Mr. Stanley, madam, which must be attended to without witnesses?I have an important fact to communicate. You are, probably, his sister?" she added, in an enquiring tone. "No," said Lucy, who now began to think the manner of her new acquaintance a little strange, "I am Mr. Stanley's wife." "His wife!" said the woman, smiling, as if amused at the assertion, "his wife ! You jest, madam, I am well aware, for I have proofs to the contrary ; but a harmless jest I am never i offended at?no, no, never; I can jest, too, sometimes, I assure you I can." "I do not understand you," said Lucy, beginning to be frightened ; "I have told you the truth, that I am Mr. Stanley's wife; I seldom jest, especially with strangers." The woman gazed at her for a minute, contracting her brows with a puzzled expression, as if striviug to solve a problem ; then nodded her head once or twice, as if she had arrived at some satisfactory conclusion. "I see, I see," she said, in a thoughtful tone; "I was altogether mistaken. I am apt to be mistaken sometimes; 'tis an old trick'of mine, a very troublesome one, which I cannot overcome. I thank you for setting me to rights. It was not your husband, madam, but some one quite different, whom I expected to see. My informant was wrong?just as I said at' first. <jrooa evening, ana many iuuua.3 l'ji opting me to rights!" "Good evening," said Lucy, now fully convinced that her visitor was crazy, from the singularity of her look and manner, and proportionately anxious- for her to take her leave. The woman retired a few steps, with a musing air and thoughtful face, then suddenly returned? "You are sure, quite sure, that Mr. Stanley is your husband?" she enquired, anxiously. "There is no mistake, whatever ?" "None, whatever," said the trembling Lucy. "I assure you, I have told you the truth." imnnrtiinitv " xes, CCriHlLliy j excuse uij iuip>uU..; , but?will you kindly inform me of your husband's age?" Lucy replied thatshe believed he was about thirty-two or three. "Oh! that settles the question entirely," said the woman, in a relieved tone. "My Mr. Stanley is a much younger map. I am very much obliged to you, madam?once more, good evening 1" and before Lucy could reply she walked rapidly off, and disappeared among the trees. Lucy was so shaken by this interview with a mad woman, as she firmly believed her to be, that she trembled in every limb, and, for some time, was unable to move. At length she saw her husband approaching, to her great relief, and advanced to meet him. "Why, what is the matter, my love ?" he exclaimed. "You look as white as a ghost." In as few words as possible, she related what had just occurred. Stanley listened attentively, looked thoughtful for a minute, then, with a smile, bantered heron her timidif ,7 v She noticed that evening that he was more silent than usual, and wore an absent, preoccupied look. [to be continued next week.] THE HEATHEN CHINEE. In Chinatown there is a Diana Game, which is largely patronized by the Celestials. We do not know enough of the game to give a inscription of its intricacies, but can state that a man who happens to bet on the card about to be turned wins forty for one. There is a Chinaman who bets at the game who is looked upon with dread by the owner of it. Within the last ten days he has won over $1,600, and his luck or prescience, whatever it may be, seems never to desert him. Night before last the Chinaman packed off over $400 which he had won from the game. The proprietor says this Chinaman comes in every evening, and will stand aloof from all nfVioro fnr o enn/>P nf five minutes or so. when VlllWU .V. > he will walk up to the table and bet, play on the nine of diamonds, and on the square surrounding that card, and also on the three other nines. The deal goes on and up comes the nine of diamonds. On the card the winner is paid forty for one; on the square he gets two for one, and on each of the other nines he receives ten for one. This was the first bet made by the Chinaman on Tuesday evening. After receiving his winnings he retired to one side and communed with himself for the space of five or six minutes, when he again approached the table and bet his money on the eight of hearts, and on the square and on all the other eight spots. The next card turned was the identical eight of hearts, making him a winner as before. On his money being counted out he recounts it, piece by piece, with the utmost coolness, and again steps to one side. After the usual lapse of time he again approached the table, this time betting on the deuce of clubs, which wins like the other two pets. Retiring as before he appears to be absorbed in mental calculation. Approaching the table for the fourth time he places his money on the six of spades, and on all the other sixes on the square. Again he hits upon the winning card, and receives his winning with the same stolid look of indifference. By this time he is pretty well loaded down with coin, a certain per centage of silver being paid him, and he retires for the night. The Chinaman has been betting with the same run of luck, or whatever it may be called, for about two weeks. He has not won every bet he has made in the meantime, but he has not lost over 675 in all this time, when he has won, as previously stated, over 61,600. The owner of the game is beginning to entertain a superstitious dread of this silent and methodical Chinaman, and on yesterday he purchased a new box and new cards to be dealt. He says that if the Chinaman keeps on winning as he has started in, he will break his bank.?Nevada City Enterprise. HOW GEO. WASHINGTON WAS PUMMELED. George Washington's regard for his person was in consonance with the majesty of his character. His reluctance to bare himself to the sculptor, Houdon, is well known. On a certain occasion one of the persons alluded to in the anecdote below, ventured to clap him familiarly on the shoulder, a wager having been laid that he would not do it. Washington's rebuke was simply a glance of the eye, but so intense and severe that the familiarity was never again attempted. It is not known, however, that any human being everpresumed to strike Washington in anger. Yet this really occurred, if the memory of a relative of Col. Peyton may be trusted. Her account of this remarkable incident is as follows: In the heated canvass which followed Jefferson's nomination for the Presidency, Gen. Washington's intimate personal friend, Lighthorse Harry Lee, was opposed for Congress by Colonel Peyton. So great was the interest felt by Washington for Lee, that on election day he mounted his horse and rode up from Mount Vernon to Alexandria, for the purpose of influencing, by his presence, as many votes as possible for his friend. Among the many acquaintances he encountered was a plasterer who had been employed at Mount Vernon. This plasterer was a small man, defective, no doubt, in reverence, and it may well be believed, somewhat the worse for liquor, early in the day as it was. Having saluted the Pater Patrim, the little man proceeded to upbraid him for his known friendship for Gen. Lee, a man who, in his opinion, (the plasterer's,) was not only a Federalist, but an aristocrat to boot, whereas Col. Peyton was a Democrat, a friend of the people, and especially of the poor laboring classes. Nettled by the disparagement of his personal friend, Washington replied that the plasterer's preference was more of general ignorance on all subjects than of any correct knowledge, either of the character of the respective candidates or of the issues involved T"t-? u:? * Ill 111(1 CUUVUS5. JLlie aiiuoiuu tu uia nam, ui education was more than the intoxicated little man could stand. To the astonishment of the witnesses he ripped out an oath and said:? "Well, I don't care if I am ignorant; I know ray rights anyhow. You fought for our liberties, and won 'em, and ? me if I don't intend to exercise'em!" Whereupon he delivered a number of dry blows upon the chest of the august chieftain. The by-standers made a rush to tear him in pieces, but Washington, placing his hand upon the small man's shoulder, drew him close to him and said: "He shall not be harmed. I have wounded him in the tenderest part of his nature. He is not to blame for his ignorance, and it is but natural that he should resent an allusion to it." So the plasterer went scot free.