Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. Cirist, Proprietor, j ^ii |itbepenbent Jfamiln fteiospaper: Jfor fjte |)romotion of % ^ulitical, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tjje Soutjj. jTERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 19. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JA3STTJAEY 3Q, 1873. 5. JU (Diiipual Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE MTSTERY OF MOSSGROVE. A ROMANCE OF THE 19TH CENTURY. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER VIII. THE 8HAPOW DEEPENS. As Lucy was walking out in the grounds, one or two mornings after the occurrence which had so excited Melissa's alarm and her own fears, she was suddenly startled by heariug a low, deep growl. She turned, and, with a cry of affright, beheld an enormous bull-dog within a few yards of her. SKp rUH r>nt nerceive that the creature was chained, and as he made a spring toward her she shrieked aloud, and was hurrying off as fast as her-trembling limbs would carry her, when she suddenly encountered her husband, who wa3 just coming around the corner of the house. "My dear Lucy," he cried, taking her in his arms, "what on earth is the matter?" "Oh ! the dog?the dreadful dog!" she panted, scarcely able to articulate, as she hid her face on his shoulder. "What! Medor?my splendid pet, my new household guardian ?" he rejoined, smilingly. "Silly child! Did not you see that he was fastened to his kennel? It would take more strength than is in his big body to burst his heavy chain. Why did you go so near him ?" "I did not see him," faltered Lucy, sufficiently regaining her courage to raise her head, though she glanced fearfully around as she spoke, as if to assure herself of her safety. "OK t Alfred, whv do vou have such a hor vt* J ? J rible animal here? Where did he come from ?" "I purcha jd him yesterday, from one of Mr. More's negroes," replied her husband. * "He is what I have long needed, an excellent watch dog. He is somewhat fierce in his disposition, I confess, and would consider it an easy job to make mince-meat of any one whom he considered as an intruder. But that is requisite in an animal used for such a purpose. See here; he knows me?I have accustomed him to me already," and approaching the brute, who was still growling, glaring, and tugging at his chain in a savage manner, he spoke to him in a loud, authoritative tone? "Quiet, Medor?quiet, sir! lie down this instant!" The dog crouched down, still keeping his eyes on Lucy, who was standing at a safe distance, and uttering low, ominous growls. "Quiet,sir!" reiterated Stanley, and taking up a huge stick from the ground, he advanced still nearer to him. "Oh! don't strike him," pleaded Lucy, pity now takiug the place of fear. "It is only because he doesn't know me." Cfonla*. omilo/1 on/1 tVirOlV (1VV8T thff St.ipk. ?> J L/C* LI 1w OUJilVU muv? kit* w n m ? "I shall not strike him," he said as the dog retreated to his kennel; "but he must learn that if he does not instantly obey ine, he must be punished. And do you remember, my love, not to approach him too closely in future ; and above all, be careful not to come out of doors after nightfall, or you may suffer fatally from your imprudence. You had best warn the servants, too?especially Melissa, your seutimental fevune-de-chambre, who seems to have a predilection for moonlight rambles." With this Parthian shot, Stanley quietly walked off. Lucy stood where he had left her, revolving many singular and uneasy thoughts in her mind. He was evidently cognizant of the fact that Melissa had walked in the direction of the "west wing" a few nights previously, though whether he also knew that she had accompanied her on her second expedition, she could not tell. He had been absent from home on that occasion, and therefore must have been told of it by some person who had seen or heard her ... at the time. This person, Lucy decided, could be none other than Mrs. Ford, whose chamber was situated in that part of the house, and overlooked the dark shrubbery. His object was, doubtless, to prevent a repetition of the occurrence, and for this reason he had provided a fierce watch dog, to terrify and keep away all intruders from that por-, tion of the grounds. What was his object in providing so carefully against such intrusion ? Was there some secret connected with the "west wing" and the chambers it contained, that needed such strict guardianship ? Was he, in fact, desirous of keeping this secret, whatever its nature, from her knowledge, and was Mrs. Ford his accomplice ? A thrill of natural indignation agitated her mind at this idea. She recalled the mysterious circumstauce of the light in the haunted room, which Melissa so positively asserted that she had seen, and began to wonder whether her maid's imagination alone had been excited, as she had at first supposed, or whether there had really been any truth in her account. That Melissa really believed her own statement, and meant to be perfectly truthful, she did not doubt. Could her eyes have played her sr> false as to mistake a lieht in some other room for one in that chamber, or was there truly a candle burning there at that time ? If so, how could she account for such a mystery ? Was the room, after all, not boarded up, as she had been informed, and did it still afford means of ingress ? If this was the case, what object wsw there in not allowing her to be apprised of it ? Or was the light, if there at all, produced there by some supernatural agency ? For once, her natural good sense rebelled ^ strongly against this version of the matter. The more she pondered it, the more strongly was she persuaded that there was some plot afloat, the agent of which was most anxious to keep it concealed. Was this agent Mrs. Ford; or was there more than one, and was that other?her husband ? A sickening feeling of suspicion and distrust took possession of her. She tried to shake it off, but in vain. With a sinking heart and agitated mind, she slowly returned to the house. As she entered it she encountered the housekeeper, and was about to pass by her with her usual precipitancy, when the latter detained her, saying, in a deliberate tone? "If you please, Mrs. Stanley, will you step into the dining room ? Master Claude is in there, in a fit." "In a fit!" echoed Lucy, in terror; and i rushing into the dining room she beheld poor j Claude in a pitiable state. ; He was lying on the floor, writhing con, vulsively, while spasms contorted his features and the whites of his eyes were displayed in a terrible manner. j "Oh! Heavens, what shall I do ?" cried ; Lucy, who had never seen such a case before, j and knew not how to act. "How did it hap: pen ? Was he ever this way before ? Where ! is Mr. Stanley ? Have him called iramedii ately !" I "I have no idea where Mr. Stanley is," said I the housekeeper, folding her arms with an i unmoved air. "I have not seen him this ! >> morning. "But he was out there, in the grounds, five minutes ago?he must be called," said Lucy, rincrinrrflio hpll vlnlpnflv as shesnoko. "MrS. I *'"6"'b v"~ ??- j i j j Ford, Claude must not lie there?will you ! help rae lift him 011 the sofa?" "I would rather not touch him," said Mrs. j Ford, composedly; "he may bite me." With a withering glance of indignation, Lucy bent over the poor child, and lifting him, with some difficulty, in her own slight arms, I placed him on the sofa without assistance. Her very touch seemed to compose him ; his struggles became less violeut, and gradually ceased ; his eyes closed, and he lay for a moment as still as death, and almost as white. "Claude, my dear love?my poor boy!" murmured Lucy, her heart wrung with anguish, as she stroked back the fair curls from his brow, and pressed her lips to his cold cheek. He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a glance of recognition, then instantly closing them again, he hid his face against the sofa, muttering in a fearful tone? "Oh ! the black man?the dreadful man ! Take him away!" "There is nothing here?nothing to trouble you, my child," said Lucy, soothingly. "See, I am with you?don't be afraid, you are safe with rae." "Keep rae with you, aunt Lucy?don't let rae go," said the boy, clinging to her. "Oh! it was such a dreadful looking thing." "He is out of his mind," remarked Mrs. Ford, calmly. "These attacks commonly do them this way. I guess he'll come round after a little while." "He has been terrified by something," said Lucy, and she could not forbear a glance of suspicion as she spoke. "Nothing else could have brought on such an attack." "Dear me, ma'am, how little experience you must have," said Mrs. Ford, smiling. "These attacks come on quite suddenly, with-1 out any cause, whatever. It's an epileptic fit, that's all. Perhaps he is subject to them. Here's Mr. Stanley ; I dare say he can tell you about it." Here Stanley came hurrying in, with a face of great concern. "My dear Lucy, what is all this?" he cried. "Claude ill?Claude in a fit, the servants tell me! How did it come about ?" "I cannot tell?I found him so when I came iu," said Lucy. "I think something has frightened him," and she repeated, in a low tone, what the child had said. "All imagination?poor boy! He has very weak nerves," said Stanley, compassionately. "But don't be alarmed, my love?how pale and agitated you look ! It is not the first attack of the sort he has had ; he will be quite well again presently. He was always a delicate child, I believe. Claude, who had lain quite passive during u:? mis CUIlversailUU, uuw luiscw his cjroo and said in a languid tone? "I want aunt Lucy to stay with me." "And so she shall, my dear?so she shall," said his uncle, soothingly. "He is very fond of you, my love?very fo'nd 1" he added to his wife. ^Perhaps it will be best if you sit here with him for a time ; it will tranquilize him, and gradually restore him to himself." "May I not have him carried to my dressiug-room ?" asked Lucy. "It is so much quieter in there." "No, I would not move him," rejoined her husband. "He can lie quietly here, and nothing will disturb him. Besides, he will be sufficiently recovered td sit up presently." To Lucy's great relief, the housekeeper now left the room, saying that she must go and attend to her work. Stanley, after lingering for a few minutes, also took his departure, bidding her ring the bell if she needed auy assistance; and Lucy was left alone with her little patient. He lay perfectly still, with his eyes open, but with such a dreamy, far away look in them that she judged it best not to worry him by talking. Again she was perplexed by uneasy speculations, as to the possible cause of his singular attack. Could he have really seen anything to frighten him, or was the object that had caused his alarm entirely the effect of his imagination ? A short time ago, and she would have accepted the latter solution without difficulty. But now her suspicions had been aroused, and she was on the qui vive for new discoveries. She mistrusted the housekeeper, with her smooth tongue and hypocritical, yet covertly insolent manner. She did not, alas! even put faith in her husband. There seemed to her to be some mysterious agency at work about the i house; some dark, evil influence overshadowI ing it like a threatening cloud. And she felt {powerless to act, to do anything to protect herself against this unseen, unfathomable in; fluence. And the helpless child lying here ! before her, was he the object of some malignant scheme, which she could not discover nor baffle ? Was he?were they both?in the ! power of some secret enemy, wno ior some i ; dark end was aiming to undermine the hap- j I piness of the two, innocent and unprotected j ' as they were ? | Unprotected! Yes. She no longer confided j I in her husbaud's protection ; she no longer j I trusted to his apparent fondness for herself, j i There had been something in his actions of; ! late that had destroyed her confidence, and j > made her feel bitterly that she had no one but | ! herself to depend on. I In one respect she wronged Stanley. He j ! did love her still, and would fain, if possible, have shielded her from evil. But he was . himself a victim, the victim of his own dark , deeds done in the past; the victim of a fate . which he had brought upon himself, and i which was now hurrying him on toward the I brink of a precipice, over which he must sure ly fall, involving himself and the innocent alike, in a ruin which he was now powerless to avoid. Could she have seen him in his hours of solitude, she would have pitied him. Could she have read the secret of his heart, pity would have been swallowed up in horror and detestation of his crime; in shuddering horror, in impotent despair, at the prospect of her own fate, stalking like a dread phantom, coming ever nearer to clasp her in its embrace. Stanley, wearing as he did a smiling face and careless ease of manner in the presence of his household and beneath the gaze of the world, had hours of anguish, all the more terrible for its helplessness. When alone, he would oft-times appear to be struggling with some invisible fiend ; while in the contest the impress of his powerful internal agitation would appear in his pallid face, trembling limbs, and the cold dew that stood in great drops upon his brow. Claude, after lying for sometime without moving, at length turned toward his aunt, and, in a low tone, said? "Aunt Lucy, is any one here but you?" "No, ray love. Are you better now?" she asked, tenderly laying her hand on his forehead. "Yes, I am pretty well now, only I feel a little weak. What was the matter, aunt Lucy?did I faint, or what?" "Yes, it was a sort of faint," replied Lucy, unwilling to reveal to hira the true nature of the attack. "Did you ever faint before, Claude?" "No, I don't think so; I don't.remember if I did. But?" he raised his head and looked apprehensively around ; "if you are mre nobody will hear me, I want to tell you what it was that made it happen." "You had better not talk about it, dear boy," said his aunt, fearing that any repetition of the excitement might have an injurious effect. "Some other time you can tell me. "No, I might not have a chance?you know I am hardly ever with you alone now. Please let me!" "Well, then, you must speak very quietly, aud not get nervous," said his aunt, who was, in truth, anxious to hear his version of the matter, and uncertain whether she would again have an opportunity of holding as unrestrained conversation with him as at present. "I won't get nervous. But I want to tell you that I did really see what I told you I did ; it was no fancy," said Claude, twining his fingers tightly around hers, though he spoke in a composed tone. "People sometimes really think they see things, when they do not; especially if they have a vivid imagination, which yours is," said Lucy. "Yes, but I couldn't fancy this, because I was not thinking at all about such things, and I saw it all of a sudden before me. I will tell you how it was. I went to play ball in the corridor, because Mrs. Ford said I would break the windows in the rooms, and uncle did not want me to go out; and I had been playing awhile, and running from one end to the other, when all at once, when I was near Mrs. Ford's room, I heard a sort of groan, or queer sound of some sort, which frightened me, and I stopped playing. I stood up aud looked arouud, and as I turned mv bond tiiprp was n tall man with a horrihlp face, as black as ink, and terrible glaring eyes, staring at me; and as I looked I heard the groan again. I just remember screaming out as loud as I could, and then I suppose I must have fainted right away, for I don't recollect anything more until I woke up on the sofa here, and found you looking at me. Now, aunt Lucy, I couldn't have imagined all that, could I ? 1^ saw the man as plainly as I see you, every bit; he had on a sort of cloak, reaching nearly to the floor, and his face was worse looking than anything I have ever seen. I declare," said Claude, sinking his voice to a whisper, "if it had been the devil, he would not have been more terriblelooking." "It must have been one of the servants, playing a trick to terrify you," said Lucy. "You know, my love, that there are no such things as supernatural appearances, so that it could only have been some one dressed up to hoKlr- nn nnn in toriftnrt tn alarm you ; but it was a most culpable thing to do. I am sure, if your uncle could find out about it, he would punish, whoever has done it very severely." "I don't know any of the servants who would play me such a trick," said Claude, doubtingly. "There are only Andrew and Charles about the house, and Charles is a boy ; this was a great tall man. And none of the other negroes would come into the house for that, you know. They are always good and polite to me, too; I never do anything spiteful to any of them, so why should they to me?" "I cannot explain the matter to you, dear child," said Lucy. "I shall do my best to find out the truth of it; but even if I don't succeed, I shall never believe but that it was some wicked device to frighten you. Don't think about it any more ; you will only worry yourself needlessly, and I don't think it will happen again." "Don't you?" said the boy in a Believed tone. "Well, I hope it won't; for indeed, aunt Lucy, in spite of all you have said, I think if I was to see that dreadful man, I should just faint away again. One thing is certain, I shan't play ball in the corridor any more." CHAPTER IX. CLAUDE. Some weeks now passed, unmarked bv anv M. ' J J occurrence worthy of record. Lucy gradually regained her tranquility of mind, which had been so greatly disturbed by the events related in the last chapter. Claude was permitted to be oftener with her than formerly, a privilege equally valuable to them both. Stanley was kind and affectionate in his manner, and Mrs. Ford kept constantly in her own apartments, seldom showing herself, except for a short time at stated hours, when engaged in housekeeping duties ; and porhap3 this circumstance contributed as greatly as any other to Lucy's satisfaction. She was much interested in conversing with Claude, and learning from him the particulars of his past life. "Do you remember your parents at all ?" she asked him one day, wheh he was in her room. "No ma'am, not at all. Uncle says they J died when I was a very little boy; I suppose ! ! I must have been almost a baby. The first i j thing I remember is living at a farm-house in : I the country, but I don't know where. It was j a very nice place There was a pond with geese and ducks swimming in it?I recollect that pond perfectly !?and a brown pony, that a man used to let me ride. Sometimes he < ' would hold me on and lead the pony; and sometimes take me in front of him, until at last I could ride by myself. There were no children there, but plenty in a village near ' by; but they never let me play with them. Mammy said I was a gentleman's son, and must not associate with common children." "Who was mammy?" asked Lucy. "The woman I lived with ; I always called Kor mnmmv T snnnoqe mv nwn mother must i have been dead then. I can remember somebody showing me a picture once and telling me it was her likeness; but I don't know what ever became of it. I haven't seen it since before I went to school." "How old were you when you first went to school ?" asked his aunt. "I must have been six or seven years old, I think ; it is not more than about three years ago. But I didn't stay at the farm-house all thg time before that. One day a carriage came and took me away, and I went to a sort of boarding house where there were a great many other children. The people that kept it were named Clarke; I remember Mrs. Clarke well, she was such a kind lady. I liked it better than the farm house, because I had so many companions. Uncle Alfred was traveling in Europe then, but he used to send on money to pay ray board, and get everything I needed." "Where was this boarding house you speak of?" asked Lucy. "It was in the country, too; somewhere near the Hudsen river, in New York. And after a while a letter came from uncle saying I was to go to Mr. Bell's school in New York city, and I went. I was sorry to go, but I did not mind it after I got there. The teachers were good to me, and I did not have very hard lessons, and I had some good friends - among the boys. I used to be rather lonely in the vacations, when all the others went home, and I had to stay there ; but there was nowhere for me to go, because I had no relations at all but uncle, and you know he was away." "I wonder some of the boy's did not invite you," said Lucy. Once one of them did?Tom Markley, my room-mate. He wrote to his father to tell him about me, and his father wrote back to say he must carry me home with him to spend the vacation, and I wanted ever so much to go I But when I asked Mr. Bell, he said no; that uncle had told him he wished me to remain all the time at school, and not go anywhere else ; so I had to refuse Tom, and we both cried about it. Wasn't that silly ?" ?Tt TOQO trortr natural tn rrv fthflllt Rlich Jl I disappointment, I think, my dear." "And at last I heard that uncle had come home and had got married. I didn't know, then, how dearly I should love you when I knew you," said Claude, giving his aunt an affectionate squeeze. "Do you love me so much, Claude ?" "Now, aunt Lucy ! You know I do. You are the best friend I have?just like my own mother. I don't know what I should do without you here, I am sure," said Claude with a serious look. "If it was not for you I should want to go right back to school." "But your school-master is dead, is he not?" asked his aunt. "Yes?I was so grieved when he died! Mr. Bell was fond of me, and always treated me kindly, though he was a grave, stiff sort of man in his ways. But I would rather go to any other school than to live here, if it was not for you, aunt Lucy. I just hate Mrs. Ford," said Claude, sinking his voice to a whisper, as if he thought the walls had ears. "Is she not kind to you, Claude ?" asked his aunt, gravely. The boy flushed deeply, and hesitated. "Tell me the truth, dear child," said Lucy, ! taking his hand. "Don't be afraid that I will I betrav vou." J * - "She is cross sometimes," said Claude, evasively. "Does she ever punish you in any way, if you displease her ?" asked Lucy. "No ma'am?that is?she makes me stay in my room," stammered Claude, looking away from her as he spoke. Lucy perceived clearly that he was afraid j to speak openly on the subject, and his hesitation convinced her that there was really something in the background, which he had been told to conceal. She did not know how far to press him ; for on the one hand she was unwilling to expose him to the farther malice of the woman, who, should she ever discover that he had betrayed anything wrong in her conduct toward him, would surely wreak her vengeance upon him in some way which she (Lucy) would be powerless to prevent. On the other hand, she was most anxious to discover how far Mrs. Ford j had really ventured to go, and was wretched j to think of the poor boy being left so completely in her power as he often was, if she did entertain any malignant feelings toward ; him. None but a fiend, she thought, could be j harsh or unkind to the innoceut child, who j was most gentle, submissive and unoffending j in all his ways. If she treated him badly, it must be with the object of promoting some end of her own which she had in view. Lucy's heart burned with indignation at the thought that a creature of so coarse and 1 ? " ^ Wrt oltrMilsl Kn nllATTOrl f H tyrannical a uubuic, miuuiu uc ununvu I wreak herown unkindly impulses at will upon j one so frail and tender as the orphan boy. j She was about to question him farther, in ' the hope of obtaining more direct and satis-1 factory information from him in regard to the i matter, when the door opened and Stanley I entered the room. Of course there was an end of all confidential conversation for the present; but she ob-1 served that, contrary to custom, Claude looked rather pleased than otherwise at the inter- j ruption, and that his countenance wore a de-1 I cided expression of relief. She frequently thought afterward to ques- j [ tion him on the same topic, but invariably, as ; j she was about to lead him to it, something j i would occur to interrupt her ; and indeed ( ; Claude himself not infrequently managed to j ! evade the subject, which was evidently one he j I was afraid to touch upon. Lucy's uneasiness wa3 increased, therefore, j ; without her having any means of setting it at j I rest. She noticed, too, that the boy was looking j thinner and paler than when he had first come j to Mossgrove, and that the natural melancholy ; of his disposition appeared to increase. He j rarely smiled, but would sit apart with an ab- j sent, listless expression, occasionally reading, j but oftenest gazing into the fire, or out of, some wiudow, with his hands folded idly in j his lap. One day, while sitting thus, he sighed so | heavily that Lucy not could forbear going to j him, and laying her hand on his shoulder,, asked him affectionately? "What is the matter, my dear boy?" Stanley, who was in the room, laid down a newspaper he was reading, and looked up to hear his reply. "Nothimr." said Claude in a low tone. "Nothing ? Then why did you sigh so deeply n minute ago ?" The boy looked up and tried to smile, but his lip quivered, and turning aside his head, he burst into tears. Stanley immediately rose from his seat and came to his side. "What is all this, my dear?" he said, addressing his wife. "Is Claude sick ? Why are you questioning him in this way ?" "I do not know if he is sick," said Lucy ; but he certainly looks pale and delicate, does he not?" "He looks pale," said Stanley, considering him with an attentive air; but that is surely nothing to cry about. What are you crying for, my boy 1" There was so much kindness in his tone that Claude looked up at him with more confidence than usual, as he sobbed forth? "It is nothing, uncle?only?only?I don't feel quite well. My head aches badly to-day." "Then go and lie down," said his uncle. "Go to your room, close the windows and remain perfectly quiet on the bed until you feel better." Claude rose submissively and left the room. "My dear Lucy," said Stanley, in a serious tone, when he was out of hearing, "it is not well for you to encourage Claude in the morbid fancies he has appeared to me lately to entertain. He is naturally nervous and a little weak in his disposition, and it would be more judicious to t*y and banish these feelings, than to make him believe he has any ground for them." "Alfred," said his wife earnestly, "I am sure that the child is not ^iappy. He seems so timid and uneasy in his manner, that I fear he is cowed." "Cowed!" repeated Stanley; "and by whom ?" Now was the time, Lucy thought, for her to make a bold stroke; and with a degree of * 1 i t x J f _ courage sue couia never nave musiereu in her own cause, she replied? "By Mrs. Ford. She dislikes Claude, and he is evidently afraid of her; and I cannot help thinking that sometimes, when we are out of the way, she treats him badly." "My dear, imaginative Lucy," said Stanley calmly, though his face wore an uneasy look as he spoke, "what singular fancies you have. Will you never overcome your unfortunate prejudice against Mrs. Ford ? What possible cause can she have for disliking Claude, or treating him unkindly ? The idea appears to me preposterous." "I do not know what cause she can have," replied Lucy; "in fact I cannot see why any one should dislike so amiable a child as he is; yet, nevertheless, I feel convinced that what I have told you is true, improbable as it may appear to you. It is no idle fancy of mine." "Has Claude ever told you that Mrs. Ford was unkind to him ?" asked Stanley. Lucy was on the point of saying I "never could get him to tell me anything;" but reflecting that it would be wiser not to betray that she had questioned him, she simply replied in the negative. "I have great confidence in our housekeeper," pursued Stanley, "and only wish I could inspire you with the same. She is an excellent person, though a little unprepossessing in her manner, perhaps ; and I cannot see why you should have taken so unwarrantable a dislike to her." "I wish, at any rate," said Lucy, who had grown wonderfully bold in pleading Claude's cause, "that you would let the child be more with me ; I would try to cheer him and amuse him, and help him recover his spirits." "He will do well enough," said Stanley ; "and I must ask you in future, my dear Lucy, not to give yourself and rae, such unnecessary anxiety on his account. You may depend upon ray doing all that is requisite to promote his welfare while he remains under our roof. You must have but little confidence in my judgment, or my affection for my nephew, if you think it necessary to interfere in his behalf. No one shall be prompter than myself in redressing any wrongs of his, or of any other member of my household, should I discover that such wrongs exist." His tone admitted of no reply. He spoke more sternly than he had done for some time past, and Lucy felt sorrowfully that she had accomplished no good by speaking, and only feared she might have done harm. She resolved to be as vigilant as possible, in order to discover whether her apprehensions were correct or not. If she could really discover any proof of what she feared, surely, she thought, her husband would then take some measures to put a stop to it. This, however, she could not succeed in doing; she was no match for the cunning that was arrayed against her, and which baffled all her efforts to find out the truth. Claude was usually sent to bed at an earlier hour than that at which the rest of the family retired, and Lucy observed that he would frequently hesitate and appear uneasy, when his bed time came, as if unwilling to go to his room. One night,as she was going up stairs to her own chamber, she was suddenly startled by a little figure in a white night-gown rising up in her path and laying hold of her dress with a convulsive grasp. This aparition was none other than Claude, who had been crouching down in the dark on , one of the landings, waiting for her to come up to her chamber. , "Claude, my dear boy! why are you not in j, bed ?" she asked in alarm. j; "I can't go," he gasped ; and by the light j j of the candle she held,'she saw that his face ] was white with terror, and his frame shook as if with an ague-fit. "Oh, aunt Lucy, let me stay in your dressing-room to-night; please, . please don't send me to ray own room!" ! "What is the matter! #as anything hap- j pened to frighten you ?" she asked. i "Yes?Oh! please don't send me back !" I He seemed in such an agony of terror, that to pacify him, she told him she would not send him back, and carried him off to her chamber to hear what had caused his alarm. He was so overcome with mingled cold and fright that at first she had to occupy herself solely in trying to get him warm and quiet again, while mentally wondering what new iniquity had been perpetrated to put him in such a state. She wrapped a shawl around him and made him set on a little ottoman near the fire, until he was sufficiently composed to give a clear account of what had happened. , It seemed that for several nights past he had been disturbed by strange noises after retiring to bed, sometimes like a person groaning, sometimes like a cat mewing, just outside of his door. Afraid to investigate these noises, he had always covered up his head, and after a time they would cease, and he would finally rrrv fn ol^n 6" On this particular night, however, they had been-more weird and terrifying than usual, and had also continued for a longer time. At last he heard a creaking sound, and venturing to peep from under the covering, saw the door of a closet that was in his chamber, slowly being pushed open from within. His bed stood between this closet and the chamber door, and overcome with fright, he had darted out of bed and rushed into the entry and partly down stairs; from thence he was afraid to proceed farther, for fear of encountering his uncle or Mrs. Ford; and cowering down, with his face hidden, awaited the coming of his aunt, who he knew must soon pass up on her way to bed. "My poor child," said Lucy, putting her arms around him ; "they have been frightening you again, as they did before with the figure you saw in the corridor. What can I do to put a stop to these wicked practices ? How can I find out who it is that is destroying your peace of mind in this way ?" She rose in great agitation, and paced excitedly up and down the apartment. "If I could only sleep in your dressingroom," said Claude, "I would not be afraid. I don't think anything will trouble me in there." "And so you shall, dear child : you shall stav there, and nobody shall know anything about it," said Lucy, resolutely. "I am not going to have you frightened to death without trying to preveut it. They may do what they like to me, but I will protect you to the best of my power.'' She took him into the dressing-room, and tucked him up comfortably on a lounge that stood there, resolving to say nothing about it to her husband, as she was quite uncertain how he would accept the information. Poor little Claude held up his face to give her a grateful kiss, as she bid him "good-night, and not to lie awake thinking about disagreeable things." "Oh, I feel safe now," he replied; and when she took a parting peep at him before getting into bed, she saw that he had fallen fast asleep, with his little pale cheek resting in his hand, and a peaceful look of rest on his face. Her prayers that night were fervent, for the protection of the innocent and the frustration of all malice and wickedness. She felt that they needed the protection of a higher Power, who could discover what was concealed from Knmnn otroa and in whom ftlonfl shfi Could confide in time of anxiety, helplessness and suffering. It was almost impossible for her to sleep that night. Long she lay awake, pondering on the trying situation in which she was placed, and the dangers and difficulties that seemed to be gathering more bewilderingly about her path. Oh! for a ray of light to guide her out of the darkness of this labyrinth, or a voice of friendly counsel to uphold her in time of need. She resolved, cost what it might, to shelter Claude, as far as it lay in her power, from the evil influence that seemed at work against him, even though she should suffer in consequence. Love and pity gave her courage, and made her dare for his sake, what she would not have dared for her own. Early the next morning, after Stanley had gone down stairs, but while Claude was still asleep, there came a knock at her door, and on opening it she discovered Mrs. Ford. "If you please, Mrs. Stanley," said the housekeeper, with a searching look, "can you give me any account of Master Claude ? I went just now to his room, to awaken him as usual, and he is not there, though his clothes are all lying by his bed." "Claude is quite safe," said Lucy, composedly. "You need not worry yourself about him, Mrs. Ford." "I am only discharging my duty," said the housekeeper, in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion. "He is under my charge; and, therefore, I look after him." "Do not give yourself that trouble in future," said Lucy. "I now consider him under my charge, and relieve you of all responsibil lty in the matter." "Will you be kind enough to inform Mr. Stanley of this fact ?" said the woman, with a gleam of mingled rage and hatred in her green eyes. "It was he who laid the responsibility on me, and I wish him to know that I do not resign it of my own accord." "You may leave that to me," said Lucy. "I will tell Mr. Stanley all that is necessary." She closed the door as she spoke, to prevent all farther parley. She had taken a bold step, and her heart began to beat at the thought of what might be its possible consequences. Would Stanley again oppose her wishes, and use his authority to counteract her plans? She resolved to say nothing to him on the subject, but wait for Him to broach it first. To her surprise, he did not allude to it, but appeared unconscious that anything unusual had occurred. She had Claude's bed removed to her dressing room, and he continued to sleep there every night without any notice being taken of the fact, or any sign given that it was ob- i served. The truth was, Stanley was perfectly aware 1 of everything that was going on, but forreas- ' ons of his own, he did not desire to notice it. ^ He was unwilling to push matters too far, and resolved, in this particular, to let Lucy i have her own way. I [to be continued next week.] | i The Canadian way of measuring a tree 1 is said to be as uncertain as it is grotesque. ! Vou walk from the tree, looking at it from < dme to time between your knees. When you I arc able to see the top in this way, your dis- < ;auee from the root of the tree equals its height. 1 gjisjfenat??u0 |lcadiug. For the Yorkville Enquirer. GYMNASTICS A NECESSITY IN SCHOOLS. Mens sana in corpora satio. The great truth of this proverb of the ancients, that a sound soul dwells in a sound body, will be true forever ; for the free development of mind and soul will be more easily completed when the being enjoys bodily health. The Greeks of old were the first who practiced, after certain laws, calesthenics and gymnastics. To them the idea was unknown that man was composed of two unevenly entitled halves, and that it ought to be his duty only to improve his spiritual abilities. To this ancient people of Helas belongs the theory that they acknowledged soul and body as two even essential parts of the human organism, and in this way they cultivated both in the right proportion. Bodily health, beauty of form, a steady, easy step, vigour of motion, energy of limbs, endurance in fatigue and fight, and presence of mind, were not less treated than the development of the mind, acuteness of judgment, and the practice of the nine muses. This was sufficient to raise, from generation to generation, their youth sound in body and soul; and thus enabled, they fought bravely for the freedom of their country. Under such influences they raised men in the true sense of the word, and no peopleon earth has achieved, by such asysteibi such great deeds as the old Greeks; and her great men are still admired in all branches of education. In our present time there is another nation which follows the same principles of the Greeks, and that is the German nation. There are schools in every town and village; every institution of learning has a gymnasium on its premises, and every child is compelled by law to go to school from its sixth to its fourteenth year. The fearful consequences of the neglect of popular education are furnished by the late war between the German and French nations. Were not the latter equal to?even stronger? than the former? Had they not military prestige," war glory, confidence, all on their side ? And did they not boast of their soldierly elanf And yet they won not a single battle, and were routed in every one of the many contests that took place. Army after army were taken prisoners, for the first time in the history of wars, and fortresses subdued and surrendered that were considered impregnable. And if we ask what caused all these unheard-of and astonishing disasters, only one answer can be given, namely, that it was all on accouut of the better education and training of the German people. Neglect of education, and ignorance of the French did it all; and confidently we may say, "German education has conquered the French." The value of gymnastics as a methodical system, based upon anatomical laws, depends upon the well known law of nature?that human beings, in order to remain healthy, need steady exercises. A writer of old says? "Flowing water remains clean, but standing water will be spoiled." So exercise preserves health to the body, while inactivity is the source of sickness and destruction. The expansion of the chest, which is promoted by gymnastic exercises, prevents disease of the lungs and the heart. The fundamental necessity of all life is the restoration of new organic substances, and so the energy of life will be powerfully increased. Only by thoroughly training the body, as the Prussian system teaches, will men be masters of their bodies. Thus I have shown to every one the manner by which he may attain independence, courage, strength and activity in the fulness of their sense, enabling him to do the most important services for himself, his fellow-men and bis country. N. + * Carefulness in Old Age.?An old man is like an old wagon ; with light loading and careful usage it will last for years, but one heavy load or sudden strain will break it, and ruin it forever. So many people reach the age of fifty, or sixty, or even seventy, measurably free from most of the pains and infirmities of old age, cheery in heart and sound iu health, ripe in wisdom and experience, with sympathies mellowed by age, and with reasonable prospects and opportunities for continued usefulness in the world for a considerable time. Let such persons be thankful, but let them also be careful. An old constitution is like an old bone?broken with ease and mon tdWVi A rnnnop t.rpp hpnrls to the gale?an old one snaps and falls before the blast. A single hard lift, an hour of heating work, an evening's exposure to rain or damp, a severe chill, an excess of food, the unusual indulgence of an appetite or passion, a sudden fit of anger, an improper dose of medicine, any of these, or othersimilar things, may cut off a valuable life in an hour, and leave the fair hopes of usefulness and enjoyment but a shapeless wreck. Home Influence.?If the father talks "money, money" at home, he generally rears a family in the worship of the almighty dollar. If he talks mainly horses, games and races, he breeds a batch of sportsmen. If fashion is the family altar, then the children are offered up as victims upon that altar. If a mamnakeic h?o uhu CiiuiJu?atlimi'iti, In, may reasonably hope to anchor his own children around it. My neighbor makes himself the constant evening companion of his boys. The result is that his boys are never found in bad places. But if the father hears the clock strike eleven in the club-house or the playhouse, he need not be surprised if his boys hear it strike twelve in the gaming room or drinking saloon. If he puts the bottle on his own table, he need not wonder if a drunken son staggers in, by and by, at his front door. When the best friend that childhood and youth ought to have, becomes their foe, the homes become the "starting post" for moral ruin. 4 How to Bore Holes in Glass.?Any hard steel tool will cut class with creat facili ty when freely wet with camphor dissolved in turpentine. A drill bow may be used, or even the hand alone. A hole bored may be easily enlarged by a round file. The ragged edges of glass vessels may also be easily smoothed thus with a fiat file. Flat window glass can be readily sawed with a watch-spring saw by aid of this solution. In short, the most brittle glass can be wrought almost as easily as brass by the use of cutting tools kept constantly moist with camphorizea oil of turpentine. Keeping Fish Fresh with Sugar.?A method adopted in Portugal for preserving fish consists in removing the intestines, etc., and sprinkling sugar over the interior, keeping the fish in a horizontal position, so that the sugar may penetrate as much as possible. It is said that the fish prepared in this way can be kept completely fresh for a long time, the flavor being as perfect as if recently caught. One table-spoon of sugar is sufficient br a five-pound fish.