Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. gbist, proprietor. | A11 Jnbtjjctikitf Jfamilg |tctosjrapcr : Jor % ||romotion of t|e political, Social, Agricultural aitb Commercial Interests of % j&onfjj. jterms?43.00 a year, fn advance. VOL. 19. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1873. HO. 37. JWfttd focttu. OLD AGE. I often think each tottering form That limps along in life's decline, Once wore a heart as young, as warm, As full of idle thoughts as mine! And each has had its dreams of joy, His own unequalled, pure romance : Commencing when the blushing boy First thrilled at lovely woman's glance. And each could tell his tale of youth ; Would think its scenes of love evince More passions, more unearthly truths, Than any tale before or since. Yes, they could tell of tender lays, A* mi/)nirvKf nonnorl in plfltMlV. Kh!l(]fiS ! ill. UIIUill6UI> J/U..UVU ... ? , . Of days more bright than modern days, And maids more fair than modern' maids. 1 Of whispers on a willing ear, Of kisses on a blushiug cheek ; Each kiss, each whisper, far too dear, Our modern lips to give or speak. Of passions too untimely crossed; Of passions slighted or betrayed ; Of kindred spirits early lost, And buds that blossom but to fade. Of beaming eyes and tresses gay, Elastic form and snowy brow, And forms that have all passed away, And loft them what we see them now ! And is it thus ? Is human love So very light and frail a thing? And must life's brightest visions move Forever on Time's restless wing? Must all the eyes that still are bright, And all thelips that talk of bliss, And all the forms so fair to-night, Hereafter only come to this? Then, what are earth's best visions worth, If we at length must lose them thus ? If all we value most on earth, Erelong must fade away from us ? ?lte Itatg ?cllcr. THE VENTRILOQUIST. My friend andchura, Tim Jocelyu, possessed to an astonishing degree the power of ventril- j oquisra. We had entered college together; I was his room-mate, and many were the times that my friend, while we were sitting together of an evening, after all had retired to rest, had given me proofs of his astonishing faculty, by filling the garret with the screams of turkeys, thesquealiug of pigs, and with different imi- j tations of the human voice, which he would J ??? ? -? ? anma Mmftfd rlisfnncp nnd I UUUVCjr arrojr w auiuv , , then gradually bring it nearer, until it reached the place where we were sittiug. 'It was unknown to any of the students except myself that Tim possessed this power, and he exercised it only on a few occasions while at college, and in one instance made it subservient to the accomplishment of at least his own good, and thwarted the purpose of villainy. Tim was humorous, yet a frank and nobleminded fellow, an excellent scholar, and much beloved by his class-mates. There was a fellow in the sophomore class by the name of Benson, the son of a wealthy landholder, who possessed but little talent, but who had that superficial and insolent, contemptuous bearing toward all the students whose circumstances were inferior in wealth to his, that rendered him deservedly unpopular among the class; yet, notwithstanding, as he was the son of Major Benson, who was an aristocrat of the old school, and who was desirous that his son should be placed in the highest rank of academic honors, his tutors?as in duty, or rather in interest-bound?made much of David, and did not scruple to exercise a leniency and forbearance toward him which they did not extend to others; aud although dozens of the farmers' sons, among whom was my friend Tim, outstripped him in study and the attainment of science, still there was evidently a desire ou the part of the tutors to put him ahead, and to prophesy that he was destined to become the greatest scholar of them all. This misplaced favoritism, added to the insolent and consequential demeanor of Benson, procured for him the unanimous dislike of all the inmates of the school, and many were the ' pranks that were played off upon him. Da- i vid affected a sentimentality and romance, i which was in him perfectly ridiculous?and j he would sometimes perpetrate doggerel, which I he submitted to the criticisms of the tutors, and sometimes to the students?deficient in mean- ; ing or measure, except where he had stolen j entire snatches from Byron's "Hours of Idle- j ness," and which never failed to gain him the i sneers of the school in the same proportion as i his verses were commended by the teachers, j ? ~ 1*" onnooi-od of fVio nrlininiiKr V/U U1JC ULXUCli/a a^/^Mivu mw v?v mmjw ^ village with a copy of his latest effort tacked to the skirt of his coat, which some, mischievous student had pinned there during school ! hours, and before Benson's departure. During a summer vacation, a ball was given ! at the neighboring village, and Benson and | Tim, among other students who remained du- j % ring the vacation, were invited to attend. Among the young ladies in attendance at the ! ball was Eliza Ayres, a beautiful girl of eigh-1 teen, whom report said was a great heiress. ! She was an orphan, and under the guardian-1 ship of her uncle, a miserly old fellow, whose tyrannies, though often extended over his J household, had as yet been kept from his ward, j Benson was here introduced to Miss Ayres, and exercised the whole of his powers to render himself agreeable to her. Tim was also introduced, and before the evening drew to a close, it was quite easy to discover that the in- j telligent and beautiful girl had, in her own mind, drawn the difference between the two ! young men. She seemed annoyed at the aped , tom-fooleries of Benson, while she listened j with respectful attention and a smile to the j conversation of Tim. Tim was standing by I Miss Ayres, who, after some remarks as to the i happy manner in which the eveuing had j passed away, concluded by inviting Tim to call upon her, at her uncle's. Before she had : finished this sentence, Benson came up, and politeness offered no other alternative than to j extend the invitation to him. He was about: to offer to accompany her home, but Tim had ; been too quick for him there. Tim accompa- j nied the lady home, and Benson returned mortified to his room. He, however, formed the determination of. visiting Miss Ayres, feeling the assurance that Tim would come off second best, when it was known that he was but the son of a farmer in moderate circumstances, while he was the son of Major Benson, with a fortune at his command. He accordingly often called on Miss Avres : and her uncle, for reasons that will hereafter be explained, encouraged his visits,' and exerted himself in his behalf, as a suitor to his niece. Benson was fairly in love, and as many lovers do, he assumed a virtue and amiability of deportment which was but ill- ; feigned, and his real character would often ap- j pear in spite of himself. Tim had also availed himself of Eliza's invitation, and often j visited her. A mutual attachment was the consequence, which soon ripened into an affcc- j tion between the two, and an exchange of j vows and the promise of her hand were won j h from Eliza. Benson, under the encouragement of her uncle, still continued his suit, proposed and was rejected. He now grew ' amazingly melancholy, or at least, affected to ! be so, and would wander in this mood to the bauks of the river and gaze upon the stream,! probably contemplating an acquaintance with suicide, and giving his body to the fishes for dissection. But Benson was not such a fool I as that, either. His disappointment became known at the college, and numerous were the ! jibes and taunts the poor fellow got from those over whom he had so insolently domineered, i This, of course, did not tend to add much to 1 the amiability of his temper, and on one occasion he showed his magnanimity and cour- J age by knocking down a bright-eyed lad, some j five or six years his junior, for saying that "a ! fellow who had been in the habit of taking i % ' airs on himself, had found Ayres which could not be so easily taken." Tim, who stood by, saw this exhibition of Benson's courage ; and in return gave him a blow under the left ear which sent him reeling to the floor. At this the whole school shouted, aud Tim was ever after hailed by the youngest as a protection against the tyrannies of Benson. But Tim himself was not entirely at ease on the score of Miss Ayres. The old uncle had frowned on him, as he entered the house, and had given sundry hints that Eliza was not for him ; while at the same time he had attempted to lay his commands upon Eliza respecting the acceptance of Benson. This uncle's name was Pell. He had been made the sole executor of the will of Eliza's father, himself having the profits of the large estate of the deceased gentleman, after supporting and educating the daughter in her minority, or until she should marry. An item in the will was to this effect?that if Eliza married a person of moderate fortune, the whole estate, amounting to sixty thousand dollars, was to ? ?- ^ ^moHMinraA sJott r\t* nrltnn eVin UUIUC Ut'IB Ull UC1 iiiauiagc uitjr, ui nu\,u anv became of age?but if her husband was himself heir to thirty thousand dollars, half of the estate became the property of her uncle? which sufficiently explains the anxiety on the part of Mr. Pell, that Eliza should marry Benson, as he would thereby become possessed of a snug little property. Tim visited Eliza one evening, and found her in tears. On his inquiring the case, she informed him that Benson had that day repeated his suit, and had again been rejected? that on learning it, her uncle had come in and upbraided her, and threatened if she did not accept Beuson, to dispossess her of iher property, alleging that he possessed the means of doing so, as nobody had ever read the will of her father except himself?that the subscribing witness did not know the contents?that probate had never been taken on it, and that j it was in his power to insert therein a clause, requiring if she married it must be with the consent of him, as her guardian and the executor of the will; and then if she married Tim, it would be without his consent, and she would thereby become disinherited forever. "Can't you get possession of the will ?" inquired Tim of Eliza. "I should think it impossible, as my uncle keeps it well secured in an iron safe." "I'll manage it my dear," replied Tim, and we'll get the will from the old tyrant, or I am no conjuror. You have told me, I think, that your uncle was very superstitious ?" "He is," said Eliza; "he imagines often that he hears the voice of Mr. Jones, and others of his former tenants who are now dead; and no wonder, for his oppressions were the ruin of those poor men." t "In what part of the house does your uncle lodge ?" enquired Tim. "On the first floor of the wing, ut the extremity of the building," she replied. Tim bade her good evening, and then went to consult Mr. Fletcher, his attorney. After sometime being spent in the consultation, Tim departed, and was wending his way, in a brown study, toward his boarding house, when he was accosted by Peter, the black servant of Pell, with? "Fine evening, Massa Jocelyn?I want to speak to you." Tim stopped and urned round to the negro. He was a stout, humorous looking fellow, and approached Tim very gracefully. He had been brought up by Eliza's father, and was a favorite domestic of that gentleman in his life-time. Peter commenced? "Look here, Massa Jocelyn, you not know what going on at Massa Pell's since I let you out of the gate this ovening. Dat feller Benson he come again to see Missis and she scamper off to her room and shut herself up, aud then Benson went away. Pretty soon Massa Pell (he wicked old chap, Massa Jocelyn) come and call young Missus out, and told her she must marry dat Benson in a mouth, or he turn her out of door. Poor young Missus cry and take on so, dat I couldn't stand it, and so I fell a blubbering too?caze you see, she's j my old Massa's darter, and I carry her in my arms when she little piccaninny. Dat ole Massa Pell berry cruel, Massa Jocelyn, aud he say she no hab any property if she no marry Benson. Now, Massa Jocelyn, what is to be done? Can't you lick dat Benson ? j Be sure you can." Peter was here interrupted by Tim, who,! findiug from the tone of the negro's conversa-1 tion, that he did not like his present master : over much, and would, therefore be of service | to him in furthering the plan he was about to propose, asked him where he slept. "In little room in de wing, close by Massa Pell's bed-room. He make me sleep dare, cause he 'fraid?and sometimes he talk in his I sleep, and say he see ghosts ; and den he call J me to set up all night wid candle." Tim here informed the negro of the circumstances relating to the will?that he was anxious to obtain possession of it, for the purpose of having it proved and recorded; then it would be put out of old Pell's power to injure his young mistress. Tim, I have said before, was a ventriloquist. He explained this to Peter, and they together formed the project of frightening old Pell out of the possession ot the will. It was arranged that Tim should | come to the negro's room about twelve o'clock that night, and their preconcerted management while there, is now about to appear. It was five minutes of twelve o'clock. The night was dark and stormy, and the wind howled over the branches of the trees, and creaked the shutters of the mansion. Old Pell had retired to his room, and undressed himself, put on his nightcap, and was busy in [ mind respecting the thirty thousand he was j to obtain if Eliza married Benson. He went : to the safe, and took out the will, and thus soliloquized : "Thejade must be compelled to submit, or ; she gets no property. Here is a blank in the , will sufficiently large to insert what is ncces- j sary, and as I drew it originally, it will be the seme hand writing, and never be detected. So I'll just insert here, where it says Eliza is to become possessed of her property on ho* marriage day?'Provided she marries with j the consent of Samuel Pell, whom I have con- j stituted guardian, and sole executor of this my last will and testament.' Pi ter's room was adjoining that of old Pell; there was a glass window in the door between them, and there was one who had beeu an attentive observer and listener to the conduct and soliloquy of old Pell. The old scamp had dipped his pen in the inkstand, smoothed out the folded parchment, and crooked his elbow to write, when? "Forgery !" cried a deep toned, hollow and supernatural voice at his elbow. "Forgery!" reiterated the same voice in another part of the room, and again the horrible word "Forgery !" was slowly pronounced, and in tones gradually sunk in the earth beneath the floor. Old Pell suddenly dropped the pen, and shrank back pale and trembling, with horror and fright depicted on his countenance. Having a little recovered from his astonishment, he looked around the apartment and under the bed. Nothing was to be seen. He listened. Nothing was to be heard but the snoring of Peter in the adjoining room. He be gan to think it an illusion, and was last recovering his courage, aud was about to take up the will again, when as soon as he had placed his hand upon it? "Forgery!" again cried the voice in a tone of thunder. Pell drew away his hand as if lie had received an electric shock, and leaving the will on the centre table, ran into Peter's room and awakened him. "What's de trouble, Massa Pell ?" asked : the uegro. . "Get up," said Pell, shaking with fright, : "and come into my room." j j Peter went in accordingly. Pell continued, "Did you hear nothing, ! Peter?" I "No, Massa. What you hear that scare j you so?" "No matter, I want you to stay with me ! ' and keep a candle burning. I'll go to bed." j Pell accordingly prepared himself to turn | i in, but he bethought himself that it would be ; best to put the will again into the safe before I he retired. He advanced to the table for J that purpose, and was in the act of taking up ! the parchment, when the same unearthly voice i i AYnlftimerl? "Let the will alone, old Pell!" He started back with so much force as to upset Peter, who, falling against the table, upset that also?the candle on the table became upset and extinguished, and all was total darkness. "What in time ail you, Massa?" asked Pe- 1 ter; "what scare you dis time ?" "Didn't you hear a voice?" asked Pell. "No, Massa, I hear nothing." During the darkuess and confusion, Tim slipped into Pell's room, and with a phosphoric preparation wrote on the wall the ominous word "Forgery!" in large, gleaming characters, picked up the will, and made his exit 1 back into Peter's room. If anything could 1 add to the consternation of the already hor- 1 ror-struck Pell, it was beholding that terrible word blazing and twinkling on the opposite wall. He swooned away with fright. Peter 1 raised his master on a chair, threw some water 1 in his face, and relighted the candle. Pell < soon revived, and was about hastening to bed, I after inquiring of Peter if he saw nothing on J the wall, to which the negro replied he saw 1 "nothing but massa's cloak banging there;" 1 and charging Peter to stay with a lighted can- ? die in the room all night, he parted the cur- 1 tains, preparatory to a leap mto tne oeu. i "Don't come in here, you old sinner!" shrieked the same voice, issuing from the bedclothes ; but Pell had already thrown himself upon the bed, when he swooned again. Peter threw some water in his face, and Pell revived again; but he was so exhausted with the numerous frights, that he was fast sinking into a sleep, when the same voice, iu a singing strain exclaimed: "Good night, good night, old Sammy Pell! And recollect 'twill be as well That naught of this night's scene you tell." Tim now made his escape from Peter's room and went home. The next morning he called on Mr. Fletcher, and after due consultation with that gentleman, the subscribing witness to the will, a Mr. Sampson, was found, and before night the will was duly proved and put on record. "Do you iutend to keep the will ?" asked Mr. Fletcher. "No," replied Tim, "I intend to return it. There is no danger of forgery now, since it has been proved and recorded." Fletcher laughed. Tim had, of course, confidently communicated to him all the particulars as to the manner in which the will had been obtained. Fletcher replied that Tim would make an excellent lawyer. Pell rose the next morning after his nocturnal scene, pale and troubled in mind. Peter, in answer to his numerous inquiries, stoutly contended that he had neither seen nor heard anything the night before, except the accident of upsetting the table and extinguishing the candle. ~ "It is very strange," said Pell. On looking for the will, he found that it had gone! and he no longer doubted that it was the apparition of the deceased testator, who had visited him the night before, as he was in the act of mutilating the instrument by forgery, and had spirited it away in a miraculous manner. He kept his room the most 1 of the day, gloomy and moody; and recol- i lecting the apparition's startling warning, he was silent on the subject of last night's scene. 1 Night came on, and he made Peter sleep in i the same room, but allowed liiin to put out i the light. Nothing occurred during the night j to disturb his slumbers, but what was his as- i tonishment in the morning, on finding that ] Peter had left him, and was snoring away ' most unmusically in his own room. If this < little fact surprised him, how much was his ! j cousternation increased by finding the centre- i' table upset, the candle lying on the floor, and i i the will also a few feet from the prostrate I I table, all in the same situation as they were < wheu in his fright he had overturned the ' table the night previous to the last. ] Old Pell now cautiously approached the { will, as it lay on the floor?first touching it I with his cane, and then listening, but hearing l no noise he grew more bold, and at last grasp- j ed it up, and hurried it into the iron safe, I locked it, and put the key into his pocket, t He next went into Peter's room, and after ] awakening him, asked him "what he meant I by leaving him and going into his own room to sleep, when he had been charged to the con- \ ( trary ?" 1 "I no understand you, Massa Pell." ; 1 "Why, you black scoundrel! didn't I tell i you to sleep in my room last night?and did i I not go to bed and leave you sitting there?" i "No, massa," replied the negro, "how could you tell me dat, when you have been fast I asleep yourself, eber since the night before i last!" _ _ < Pell opened his mouth in wonder, and ex- I claimed, "Whatdo you say, Peter? Havel ? been asleep since the night before last?" | i "Yes, you hab," replied Peter, "and I found I ] it impossible to wake you all day yesterday." Pell scratched his head. The fright which < lie had endured had in a measure affected his senses, and having but an indistinct, recollec- 1 tion of the scene he had passed through, find- ? ing himself contradicted by Peter in every- I thiug which he attempted to describe as hav- < ing taken place, and withal not a little will mg to believe that the horrors which he had j i suffered were imaginary, he finally settled }' down upon the conclusion that it was as Peter |. had represented?he had been asleep thirty- j < six hours, and had been dreaming ; and that' I was all. He now resolved more firmly than I! ever not to be thwarted in his design respect- 1 ing Eliza ; so he goes to the safe, takes out the will, and it being day-light, he felt fear- j less. He sat down by the table, and took up : 1 his pen, and after some trembling, finally in- j i j serted the clause therein, the purport of which i; the reader has already seen. ! i He went to Eliza, and informed her that j' she must be prepared to marry Benson within 1 , a month, hinting that it would be useless for her to protest against it, for if she should per- j' i sist in marrying Tim, she would thereby for- j I | feit all claim to her father's property. Eliza ! < ; had seen Tim only a few hours beforo, and j i ! she had been told everything respecting the ' I obtaining possession of the will, and of its ! I having been proved and recorded, and that j | henceforth it was out of her uncle's power to \ i do as he had threatened ; she, therefore, wore j l a more cheerful countenance when Pell made ;! ; the above announcement, and said? j I "If I must be married so soon, Uncle?as J < it is summer I shoud prefer that the wedding < ; should be at my aur.t Winthrop's, at her ! ] beautiful mansion at Farmingdell Park. It! will be so delightful to get married in such a i ] beautiful retreat, and it is only eight miles i distant. I'm sure our friends would be glad : 1 to accompany us." i < Pell, who expected a shower of tears and complaints against his cruelty in compelling her to marry Benson, was overjoyed to fiud :! her so seemingly tractable on this point, and j 1 in the exuberance of his joy promised her that' < the wedding should be at her aunt's ; it was,! therefore, arranged that Eliza should go to Farraingdell Park, there to remain till the 1 day of her nuptials. This arrangement was j soon communicated by Pell to Benson, who j was, of course, exceedingly elated at his coming prospects, and constantly put on an extra degree of supercilious behavior toward his class-mates, aud rubbed his hands and laughed i when he saw Tim. "Let them laugh that win," thought Tim, and said nothing. Tim paid one visit to Eliza and her aunt, i at Farraingdell Park, before the evening of the wedding. How well he played his card when there, by insinuating himself into the 11 good graces of Mrs. Winthrop, and the result I of the conversation had with the old lady and her niece, will be shown in the sequel of our i tale. It is sufficient to say that Mrs. Win-1 < throp liked Tim, and had always disliked old < Pell. Tim communicated this secret to me, and requested that I would appear on that < evening, dressed as a grooms-man. < The day of the nuptials arrived. The elite ? of the country around, and of the college, were invited to Farmingdell Park. Tim and myself were dressed in the extreme of fashion, and 1 also procured a coach still more splendid, in ? which we wended our way to Mrs. Winthrop's in advance of Benson and his party, consisting of old Pell and the groomsman. Having i thus taken the lead of the train, by the appli- ( cation of the whip to our horses, we found j ourselves at the Park some twenty minutes t before the rest of the party arrived. 1 On entering the parlor, we found Mrs. ? NVinthrop, Eliza in her bridal dress, and her c cousin, Mary Winthrop, as bridesmaid ; and { ilso Mr. Strong, the clergyman, to the latter ? of whom Mrs. Winthrop introduced Tim as t die bridegroom, and myself as his groomsman, t [t waS arranged that as soon as the party ar- t rived and had properly assembled, that the oride and bridesmaid and Tim and myself, ' should take our stations at the upper end of she parlor, when the clergyman should perform t she ceremony. f The whole party arrived soon after, and 7 vere arranging themselves for their appear- i c ince in the parlor. Benson, on his arrival, a isked Mi8. Winthrop for Eliza, and was answered that she chose not to appear till the c lour of the ceremony should come, when she i .vould enter the room from the wintr adioininc i ;he parlor, with the bridesmaid. In less ;han an liour everything was ready for the jeremony to commence. Pell had seated him- r lelf near the upper end of the room, and Mrs. ,1 Winthrop was stationed near him. Eliza and ier bridesmaid made their appearance from c m adjoining room, Eliza led in by Tim, and r [ had the honor of conducting her cousin to v ;he place where we were to stand. We had t ust arranged, wheu Benson, with his grooms- v nan, came up?and here considerable confu- ^ lion ensued. Benson offered his hand to Eliza, f ivho did not extend hers, but waving it and a ;ourtesying, requested him to be seated, as ;here was an unoccupied seat near her uncle j Pell. Tim could hardly restrain himself from c aughing outright, while Benson was so stag- a jered with surprise, mortification and disap- , Doiutment, that he only moved a few paces, s tnd looked the very picture of despair. 8 The lovers joined hands, and the minister g joramenced repeating the ceremony, when old Pell, who had cast his eyes toward that end ( )f the room, discovered what was going on, c ind screamed out?"I forbid the bans !" ? The minister stopped. ^ "I forbid the bans!" repeated old Pell, his < ;eeth gnashing with rage. "I have never jiven my consent" "You have no consent to give," replied Mrs. Winthrop. "Will you please proceed with ;he ceremony, Mr. Strong. Mr. Pell, this is ( ny niece's wedding, and in my own house ; I, ( ;herefore, hope you will take the hint, and let t js have no more of your interruption." t "I say," replied Pell, "'tis written in her ather's will that she cannot marry without c ny consent." 1 "Forgery!" cried the same supernatural s /oiee, which Pell well recollected. It came c n a smothered tone?no one heard it but Pell t i *c? aij r>-ll _?l? | | ina iurs. uiuuirop. viu xeu grew p?ie, lud said no more. The ceremony was now inished without interruption, and Tim and Eliza were pronounced "man and wife." Then there was a tittering and laughing all jver the house. The students of the college, particularly, enjoyed it much. The idea that Tim had so outgeneraled Benson in this hynenial campaign was too good, and they laughed together an hour. Benson only waited for the pronunciation of the sentence that Tim and Eliza were "man and wife"?he then ushed out of the door, followed by his jroorasmau and old Pell, and called for his lack. As he came rushing out, the students lissed, and hailed him with, "Benson, how jallant you are, running away from your jride!" His carriage was soon got ready, ind in jumped Benson, groomsman and old Pell, driving off at the rate of ten miles an lour. After their departure, the evening passed )ff merrily?the good fortune of Tim, and ;he discomfiture of Benson and old Pell, furlishiug matter of conversation and laughter br the whole party, The assembly broke up it a late hour, and departed to their respectve homes. The next morning the servant announced ,he arrival of Mr. Pell at Farraingdell Park, iccompanied by his lawyer, Mr. llidgely. Pell lirected the servant to summon Mrs. Win;hrop, Tim, and Eliza, to the parlor. The servant departed for that purpose, and in a j lew moments they entered the parlor, where j Pell and Ridgely had seated themselves. | Eliza broke the silence. "You have come : 2arly, uncle, to pay your respects to the bride. ! Y"ou can't tell how much I feel gratified and j honored by this mark of your friendship and solicitude for my happiness." As she said |? this, she bent an eye full of roguish meaning ' t du Mrs. Winthrop and Tim. | t Old Pell's wrath was up. "I've come to | 1 tell you, Madam," said he, addressiug Eliza, c 'that you and your husband are beggars! : t By your disobedience to me, you have forfeit-! > sd all claims to your father's estate, which by I f his will has now become my property. You [ t and your husband will please never show your 1 faces at the homestead !" j t Tim replied, "If you were not an old man,1 c my only answer to your insolence would be ; by softly handing you into the street As it | is, I have only to answer that unless you ! yourself immediately quit the homestead, and render up as executor, the possession of my j ivife's estate, you will meet with trouble of which you may not be aware." , Mr. Ridgely spoke: "I have examined the | will of your wife's father, Mr. Jocelyu, and j find a condition in the will that she was | ouly to be possessed of the property by marrying with the consent of Mr. Pell, the executor of the will. It is therefore needless for me to say that any attempt on your part to litigate so plain a feature in the instrument would involve you in costs, and the mortification of i failure. Madam," continued he, turning to: Eliza, "you did very wrong in being so disobedient, and yet," he added, turning his eye on Tim's noble figure and frank, intelligent! countenance, "there seems to be abundant reason for your conduct?ha, ha, ha !" j Tim answered, "I entertain great respect for you, Mr. Ridgely, and regret you have not a more worthy client. Lucky will it be ! for him, if your services are not hereafter re- j quired to shield him from the penitentiary. I wish you both good morning," and presenting lii.s arm to Eliza and Mrs. Winthrop, they ; left the parlor. 1 "The impertinent youngster!" exclaimed j old Pell, "let us go, Mr. Ridgely, and get the ' 1 will proved. Mr. Sampson 13 the subscribiu witness." "I'll call upon him and have it establishei this afternoon, and then I'll see who is t possess the homestead and estate." They took their departure. In the after noon Pell called upon Mr. Sampson, and pre ducing the will, told him, as he was the sub scribiug witness, he wished him to go befor the Judge of Probate and prove the will. "Why," replied Sampson, "I have done tha already?six weeks ago." "What do you mean, Sampson ?" "Just as I say?that about six weeks ago ! jwore to the will before the Judge of Pro bate." "Impossible!" replied Pell, taking the wil ^ -r i - i-.i. L..i. ? l- i__i. u: jui oi ma pocKei; uui us ne iuuu il uui, m jyes for the first time fell upon the following indorsement upon the parchment. " County, ss: The within instrument July proved, and by me recorded in Liber M )f Wills, page 208 and 209, this 17th day o June, A. D., 18?. Solomon Hale, Judge of Probate." Pell was dumb with astonishment. Ai ength he enquired who had produced the wil it the time it was proved." "A Mr. Jocelyn," replied Sampson. The whole truth now flashed upon Pell'i nind. Tim it was who had so frightened hiir )n the evening the will was taken away, anc Tim must have been the apparition who hac ;aken it away. His rage was now withoul lounds ; and not recollecting how he stood iffected by what had transpired, and that hit >wn crime of forgery might be made to ap iear, he mounted his carriage and drove with ill haste to Farmingdell Park. On arriving here, he burst into the room where Mrs. Win hrop, Eliza and Tim were seated at the teaable. "You are very kind, uncle, said Eliza 'one's friends do not often call twice a day.' "You villain !" roared Pell. "And so, Mr locelyn, you was the thief that stole the will rom my bed-room table about six weeks ago fou need not think to escape. You will be sailed upon by an officer to-morrow morning, md go to jail." "lhank'ee," said Tim, "I've no occasion ; I nly borrowed the will a few hours, just to gel t proved. Was it not returned the next evenng ? Ask Peter." Old Pell almost foamed at the mouth. "And so you conspired with my servant tc ob me of the will, did you ? Very well, Mr, locelyn, there is a law for these things." "Yes," replied Tim, sipping his tea very ;oolly, "Peter did assist me a little in the natter. I was in his room, and stood at the viudow of the door, as you were about to comuit the crime of Forgery!" The last word vas pronounced in the same unearthly voice hat had frightened Pell on the evening alluled to. He saw that his crime was known, ind that he was in Tim's power. Tim saw his situation, and commiserated lim. He promised not to divulge his crime, >n condition that, after surrendering the will ind estate, he would leave the country. This vas immediately done, and Tim and Eliza oon after left Farmingdell Park for the home' tead of her father, where they still reside urrounded by wealth and sincere friends. As for poor Benson, he never returned tc :oliege, nor was he ever seen again in the vi iinity. "RUNNING THE STATE." "Qui Vive," the Columbia correspondent o Charleston News and Courier, says: "Ex jovernor Scott feels a very deep interest ir he welfare of the State, and is disgusted witl he profligacy and extravagance of the pres int administration. He says that he had nc >pportunity while he was Governor to display lis fine parts and show how economically anc atisfactorily he could run the State on accoum >f the imbeciles and rascals who were associa ed with him. He pledges himself, and says le will give bond and ample security for th< aithful performance of his contract, to rur he entire State Government next year anc my tne interest upon an tne aeot, witn a tas >f nine mills on the dollar, and thinks he wil nake one or two hundred thousand dollars ai hat. His offer, however, is upon the condi ion that the General Assembly shall remair it their homes. It is a novel idea, certainly o let out a State on contract, but if Goveruoi Scott, or any other equally responsible party vill undertake it for a tax of nine mills, it vould be a clear saving to the people of ai east a million and a half of dollars. Per laps if the thing were advertised and the con ract let out to the lowest responsible bidder ome northern capitalist might take it at ever :onsiderably less than nine mills. Mr. Sprague or instance, could run the concern to greal idvantage, for he has the water-power right al he capital, where all the machinery for the ;overnment is located. It is the best plat ,hat has ever yet been suggested to relieve the state of her financial embarrassments and the leople of oppressive taxation, and it ought al east to be given a fair trial. Judge Carpen er and Mr. Chamberlain are also away at the tforth. Senator Patterson is at his home it Pennsylvania. He has not been in Colum >ia, except on a flying visit, since last winter 3ut his influence here with the party is ver) narked, nevertheless. Judging from the fre [uency with which his opinions upon State natters are quoted and eleferred to by the Radicals in and about the capital, it is proba )le that "Honest John" has more control ovei he rest of the rascals than any white man ir lie ranks. He has a scheme, so I was told s lay or two ago, for the adjustment of the state debt different and better than the one idvocated by the attorney-general. "Hones! rohu's" proposition is to scale the debt so ae o reduce it to about seven million dollars )ut not by the indiscriminate repudiation o ine-half, both of the honest and fraudulenl iebt, as Melton advocates. "Honest John' vould preserve the relative value of the dif erent classes of bonds, somewhat, by scaling hem in proportion. For instauce, the oh )onds which are now selling for, say thirty wo cents, he would scale at about sixty-five >r seventy cents; those that are selling al .welve to fifteen eeuts, he would scale at twen y-five or thirty cents, and so on. This is )etter, of course, because more equitable thar o put the good bouds and the bad bonds upor he same basis. But there is a still better waj iven than this modified method of repudiaion, more honorable, and one which is likely 0 give equal relief to the people. It is tc iave the fraudulent bonds canceled by the :ourts, and then pay the interest upon the ralid debt in full. A Bad Boy.?They say that the chief asronomer at the Washington Observatory wue Ireadfully sold a few days ago. A wicked )oy, whose Sunday school experience seems inly to have made him more depraved, caught 1 fire-fly, and stuck it, with the aid of some nucilage, in the centre of the largest lens ic he telescope. That night, when the astrononer went to work, he perceived a blaze of iglit apparently in the heavens, and what imazed him more was, that it would give a :ouple of spurts and then die out, only tc jurst forth again in a second or two. He eximined it carefully for a few moments, and lieu began to do suras to discover where in he heavens that extraordinary star was placed rle thought he found the locality, and thenexi norning he telegraphed all over the uuiverse hat he had discovered a new and remarka)lc star, of the third magnitude, in Orion, g In a day or two, all the astronomers in Euro and America were studying Orion, and th 3 gazed at it for hours, until they were ma o and then they began to telegraph to the mi in Washington to know what he meant. T - discoverer took another look, and found th i- the new star had moved about 18,000,000,0 i- miles in twenty-four hours, and upon exai e ining it closely, he was alarmed to percei that it had legs. When he went on the don t the next morning, to polish up his glass, found the lightning bug. People down Alexandria, seven miles distant, heard part [ the swearing, and they say he infused into -1 much whole-souled siucerity and vigorous e I ergy. The bills for telegraphic dispatch I amounted to S2,tiUU, and now tne astronom s wants to find that boy. He wishes to const I with him about something.?Max Adeler. CURIOSITIES OF WEDLOCK. [ In 1853 the owner of a thrifty little for f in the luxuriant region of Kentucky, knov as the blue grass country, was a comely wide whose bereaved condition had tempted mo t than one matrimonial pretender to offer futi I suit for the succession. It was believed, i deed, by the neighbors that she had dete mined to accept no second liegelord; but 01 3 day, in the autumn of the year mentioned, i dusty wayfarer on the public highway lea I ing through the farm, thought he detected I less selfish disposition in the hospitable lac t of the grange. A stranger in the place, pau I ing at her doorway to ask for a drink of w 3 ter, this astute individual was asked to ent . and take temporary rest; and so ingratiate i himself by his deferential manner that tl ; kind hearted widow did not hesitate to gb an affirmative answer to his request for pe . mission to call again. He was a respectab educated Irishman of the better class, trave ; ing in quest of some farm superintendency, at ' resolved at once to remain in the neighbo hood for a while. His second call was fc | lowed by a third, and that by another. I short, before the neighbors had fairly exhau , ted their stock of wonder at the strange a quaintance, they were informed that the wii ow and the late wayfarer were engaged to 1 married. ; When the wedding took place it was a fu ther scandal to the gossips that, as the brie was a Baptist and the bridegroom a Roms Catholic, a.id each firm in their respectb , faiths, there were two ceremonies; one in tl Protestant and one in the Catholic churc Unpopular as the match was in any light, th . doubling of the bond was regarded as ominou , and public sentiment predicted that no goc would come of it. Sure enough, after a whi the Irish husband suddenly disappeared fro Kentucky, wrote briefly to his wife from th , city that he had been abruptly summoned 1 Europe on business requiring immediate a tentiou,and setsail on the day upon which h ' strange letter was dated. The next news fort! deserted lady was a report of the loss of his vc sel at sea with all on board; and as fivo or si years past away without contrary intelligeni , from him or anybody else, the widow discardt her robes of mourning and gave her still desir; ble hand to a third husband. But, as the re der had probably suspected, the Celtic rov ' was not dead. Two or three years after tl remarriage of the lady of the grange the la ter learned, to her dismay, that he surviv< the peril of the sea somewhere abroad, bi , would not disturb her by returning to th country, and counseled her to make her pre ent social status good by obtaining a divor from him, At once withdrawing from wedlock, tl horrified woman did procure a divorce; aft f which she and her last husband were re-ma - ried. Thus twice wedded to two successi i lords the lady should have been matrimonia i ly settled in life at last. It seemed, howevi . that the story was not yet ended. In 181 > she was once more a widow, and the eccenti r gentleman in Ireland, hearing of it, crossi 1 the sea ODce more upon another visit to Ke t tucky. Once more he appeared at the do - of the farm house as a dusty, thirsty wayfart j was recognized by the same hospitable hi j tess, and, in very penitent fashion, renewi i his old suit. Unspeakable was the fresh sea I dal of the neighbors when they heard that tl : pair were to be married for the third tim 1 but, for all that, the wedding took plac t though only in the Protestant form on th . occasion, as the bridegroom had renounci i his Catholicism ; and the union has been e , emplary in its harmony and happiness ev : since. The story'is given to the Clarksvil , (Mo.) Sentinel by a former elder of the Ba t tist congregation in which the three-raarrii t husband and wife are now zealous commur . cants, and he thinks its illustration of the pi . ralities of matrimony possible within the stf , ute^and canon laws as more curious, if n i more romantic than the average invention , the novelist. t t MRS. R. E. LEE AT SIXTEEN. > The Hon. Senator Foote, formerly of Te i nessee, now bordering upon eighty years ; age, is now in Washington, D. C., and fu ; nishing oue of the papers of that city son t very readable reminiscences of his editori - days. From one of his recent articles we e i tract the following in reference to one of Vi i giuia's greatest aud most beloved matrons -1 Mrs. Robert E. Lee, the surviving widow . the late distinguished General. After refe r j ring to the Hon. John McPherson Berrier great speech, one of Georgia's most eraine ? sons, alluding to the occupants of the gall > ries, he says : "Seated near these ladies was one whom : am tempted more particularly to describe, i allude to the only daughter of Mrs. Oust i the present Mrs. Lee. She was then about si ? teen years of age, and was indeed the obser } cd of all the observers. Iler personal charr t were such as would most inevitably have coi 5 mnnded admiration and sympathy, indcpe , i dent of the adventitious advantages which fj richly clustered about her. No ono, I a t! confident, has ever beheld a more placid ai ' i winning face than that which was now pr | sentcd by her gaze. She was richly and plai r: ly attired, as was her mother, and there w; I I a modest and reserved dignity about both . them that significantly bespoke their rank ar ;! bringing up. Miss G'ustis was described II me by those who knew her best as a your . i lady of souud and vigorous intellect, in whi< j! judgment and discrimination decidedly pr i dominated. Her education had been iu a i ! respects such as was best calculated to mal '! her happy herself, and the source of abu .! dant utility and happiness to others. Tho > I who had beheld her venerated ancestress, tl t! wife of Washington, often pointed out tb > | striking rcscmblaucc which they suppose i J themselves to have discerned between the u j blest of American women and the youthf j representative of her virtues and her bloo .; Miss Custis was the heiress expectant of tv i1 of the largest estates that Virginia could tin |1 boast, aud it is rather a curious and interes i' ing fact that her uncle William Fitzhugh wi , j one of the first large owners of slaves in Vi s! ginia who provided for their emancipation I i j will, and provided liberally for their cduc tion and support. I had the honor of forming Mrs. Lee's pe ; soual acquaintance iu 1825, and the varioi t accidents of a vexed and tumultuous life witl ? held me from the enjoyment of a blessir . which I should always have so highly prize I until the lapse of "thirty-seven years hs i proved to both of us that time steals on us ai: . steals from us; snatching fire from the mir ; and vigor from the limb. When I met h< ? by accident in Richmond oue morning in tl year 1862, I found her pale, attenuated, ar , hobbling on crutches. She was then tl N pc mother of a numerous and worthy offspring, ey and the dutiful and loving wife of one of the d; most renowned military commanders of the an age. How ray heart sorrowed over thesufferhe ings and troubles which I was told she had at! been compelled to endure as the result of the 00 most calamitous and wasting war, in the bringm ing on of which, perhaps, no three persons on ve this broad continent Jiad less participancy le, than her uncle, husband and herself.?JBallihe morean. of LINCOLN *AND GRANT. it A reporter who has had a talk with Frann cis P. Blair, Sr., charges the latter as having es spoken as follows of President Grant. Mr. er Blair said: "I never underestimated the man. lit He has a great deal more talent than he gets credit for. He is endowed with that unknown quality called common sense. He is very quick in his perceptions, a good judge of men m as well as horses, looks at circumstances, m weighs everything carefully, and when his iW mind is once confirmed in his deductions he re acts as decidedly and successfully as any man le I ever knew in all ray long experience among n- public men.-Jle is superior to his party? !r. much better than his party in every respect. 3e Now I do not remember of ever having heard a in ray journalistic days of a third term moved ment; but I know that Mr. Lincoln wanted a a third term. |y "Shortly after his re-election the subject l8. was quietly talked over among his most intia. mate friends. Mrs. Lincoln relished the idea, er spoke of it frequently to those she thought she ;c] could confide in, and Mr. Lincoln himself ie was pleased at the suggestion. Perhaps it ;e had a reasonable basis in this case; but we r. will see. The first term of office had been the le most trying a President ever endured. The >). second terra, to which he was assigned in the id November electton of 1864, promised but litr. tie rest. The war was nearly over, and the ?j. disorganized seceded States had to be fitted n again into the confederation?I mean the 3. Federal Union. The suggestion of a third c. term came happily to Mr. Lincoln, who hoped d- to enjoy the last four years with the peaceful )e honors of his predecessors to crown his retirement to private life. There was something r. more. Mr. Lincoln's ambition was to see if ]e he could not execute ttye duties of his office Ln without the aid of Mr. Seward or 'Mr. Stance ton. They eugrossed all the authority, dicta]e ted what should be done (though Mr. Lincoln |], only regarded their views as far as he thought jg proper,) and, in fact, constituted themselves g> the executors ot the government, it oecarae >(j a serious question, you must know, with Mr. le Lincoln, whether the stability of the Amerim can government actually depended upon these is two men, and he wanted to test that point, to He thought that a nation that could stand the rigorous onslaught of half her people, survive is the blow, and resume her wonted tranquility, ie was not wholly dependent on the heads of the s. State and the War Department, and it was 1X Mr. Lincoln's purpose to eliminate them and ;e call about him his advisers, and not dictators." :d ^ a. Humor and Sarcasm.?It is not everya. body who knows where to joke or when, or er how; and whoever is ignorant of those con1G ditions had better not joke at all. A gentleman never attempts to be humorous at the ex>d peuse of people with whom he is but slightly acquainted. In fact it is neither good manijg ners nor wise policy to joke at anybody's ex53. pense; that is to say, to make anybody uncomce fortable merely to raise a laugh. Old JEsop, whojvas doubtless the siihiect nf ^? j,e gihe on account of Lis" Lumped back, tells er the whole story in his fable of "The Boys and ir_ the Frogs." What was jolly for the youngve sters was death on the croakers. A jest may cut deeper than a curse. ;r Some men are so constituted that they can51 not take even a friendly joke in good part; .jc instead of repaying it in the same light coin, ed will requite it with contumely and insult. n. Never banter one of this class, for he will or brood over your bandinage long afler you ,r have forgotten it, and it is not prudent to incur one's enmity for the sake of uttering a ecj smart double entendre or tart repartee. Ridu. icule, at best, is a perilous weapon. Satire, [ie however, when leveled at social follies and e. political evils, is not only legitimate, but e! commendable. It has shamed down more ,jg abuses than were ever abolished by force of *d loEic + ? x' To Develop Talent.?Place a man in a position that will fearfully tax him and try him, a position that will often bring the blush Pj to his cheek and the sweat to his brow, a posi. tion that will overmaster him at times, and cause him to rack his brain for resources. Place him in a position like this. But every time tie trinfl cm In his rescue ; po not with ?{; words of blame or censure, but go with manful words of encouragement; look him boldly in the eye, and speak them with soul and emphasis. This is the way to make a man of a boy, and a giant of a man. If a man has n, pluck and a talent, no matter whether he ever ot filled a given position or not, put him in it, if ir" worthy, and he will soon not only fill it, but outgrow it. But put one in a position with a al faint heart. This is the way to kill him. Put him in grandly with most unmistakable Ir* confidence. Drop no caveats, but boldly start ~ the way, and then stand by with a will and ot countenance of a true friend. Thus try twenty men, such as have been named, and nineI 8 teen will succeed. nt e* Rules for Longevity.?Those of our readers who are anxious to know what are I their chances for long life, may derive some information from the following, which we clip l3> from the New York Standard: "Dr. Lams' bert, in his lecture on Saturday evening, said v' that when a person measures six or more as inches through the head, from side to side, u" just in front of the upper part of the ears, u* where they are attached, it will be found that so he had ancestry on his father's side reaching m ninety years or upward. If the calibre meas1(* ure from the bridge of the nose to the orifice e" of the ear be five inches, his ancestry on his u* mother's side will average ninety years. If as, the whiskers arenaturally lighter than thehair ?j and eyes, a person takes in longevity after the 1(* mother's side; if darker, after the father's t0 side." ig ih Weather Observations.?When you e- wish to know what the weather is to be, go out II and select the smallest cloud you can see. ie Keep your eyes upon it, and if it decreases and n- disannears it shows a state of the air which will se be sure to be followed by fine weather; but if ic it iucreasea in size, take your great-coat with ie you if you are going from home, for falling id weather witt not be very far off. The reason o- is this: When the air is becoming charged ul with electricity you will see every cloud atd. tractiug all lesser ones toward it, until it gathyo ers into a shower; ancf, on the contrary, when :n the fluid is passsing off or diffusing itself, then it- a large cloud will be seen breaking to pieces is and dissolving. r >y BSaT The origin of the kiss is traced to wine a- drinking. After a shrewd Roman had caught his wife sucking his finest wines r- through the bung-hole with a straw, the js custom became general for husbands to kiss h- the lips of their wives, that they might ig discover the quality of their good ladies' id stolen libations. And so, ever since, it is the id old couplet over and over again of "women id and wine." id *? er Itch.?Dr. W. W. Hall, says that the itch ie can be cured by keeping the itching parts id covered with sweet oil. The infinitesimal ie animals are thereby smothered to death.