Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Lewis Ctrist, Proprietor. | ^.ii Jnbqmrbcnf Jfrmiln ^tefospapfr: Jbr tjje promotion: of % political, Social, Agricultural uub Commercial Interests of fjjc Soufl). TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 19. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THTJBSDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1873. NO. 51. '-l M-lil L ?J. $hc ,ftflrw (teller. ! From Cussc|l*s London Magazine. THE HUNDRED POUND NOTE.j BY AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. CHAPTER I. SUMMONED TO A DEATH BED. The curate of a quiet country parish has ,; neither to work so hard as his brethren in , great cities, nor, as a rule, does he meet with those strange and startling experiences, which I is often their lot to witness. Still, at times, singular events cross the path of the rural clergyman, and they are afterwards all the more vividly remembered by him, because of the calm and equitable raouotony of his ordinary life. Such an adventure once befell myself, and as, although it happened several years ago, I retain a remarkably distinct recollection of it, I think the reader may be glad to see it in print. I was seated in my study one sultry Satur- j day afternoon in July, putting the finishing odrmnii which T had been re bVUUU^C bV bUV ? quested to preach the next day at Foxford Church, in behalf of the Foxford Dispensary,, when ray landlady's daughter tapped gently at the door, saying? "If you please, sir, David Dyraond has i come to say that his father's a deal worse, and ' would you be kind enough to step down and see him ?" As I have always made it a rule never to allow any other clerical work to interfere with J such solemn summons as these, I replied : that I would come immediately, and at once 1 took my hat. On going out, I found David ; standing on the porch, conversing in low, earnest tones with Maria Worth, the daughter i of ray landlady. I eould not help remarking 1 to myself what a pretty picture the youthful pair would have afforded to an artist's pencil, i David was a tall, broad-chested, handsome young fellow, whose originally fair complexion j was bronzed nut-brown by perpetual exposure J to the weather. His hair was li^ht and curl-1 ing, his eyes deep blue, and serious in their ! ovnroaamn while the wide-brimmed straw hat i and open shirt-collar added to the unstudied picturesqueness of his appearance. He was an excellent type of that noble Saxon breed which is apt to degenerate in great towns, and : is only to be seen in perfection in the rural i districts. Maria was, in her way, equally attractive, being of a slender, graceful figure, j with glossy black hair, which made the deli-1 cate coloring of her face seem all the fairer | by the force of contrast. As soon as I drew near, the young man hastily dropped a hand ! which he had been holding in his own. and a conscious blush overspread both the lovers' faces. I say "lovers," for it was currently reported in Headingley that a mutual affection existed between these two young people, and I it was affirmed, with equal confidence, that i old Worth, the wheelwright, would never per-1 rait them to marry if he could prevent the j match. The Dyiuonds were beneath the! Worths in social position. Mr. Worth was a master mechanic; owner of several cottages in the village, and with a vast sum of money,! nearly two hundred pounds it was asserted, innnotoj ! flio Konl- of PYivfnrd whilfi David ' 1 Li V COtCU ill iuv mwui\ mv vu?v> ? j ....... ? ? Dymond was the son of a humble day-labor- j er, who, exceptduring harvest time, had never in the course of a long and industrious life, | earned more than ten shillings a week. It is ; true that David had been emancipated from j the serf-like thraldom which had bound his I father, for he had served his time to the wheel- j wright business, and was now in receipt of; good weekly wages. Still, this did not re-; move the inequality which, in Mr. Worth's j eyes, existed between the two families. In ; addition to this obstacle, David had a halfbrother named Reuben, and Mr. Worth was loth that his daughter should ever call such a man as Reuben Dymond her brother-in-law. So the young people sighed for each other in secret, and exchanged mutual vows of affection whenever they happened, as in the present instance, to be for a few moments alone together. "I beg your pardon, sir," said David, touch-, ing his hat respectfully, "but I think you had i better take your umbrella. There's a storm I A coming up over yonder." B David was quite right. I had been so en- j W grossed by my sermon that I had taken no note of the threatening aspect of the weather. I now perceived that a huge bank of copper-! colored clouds had arisen in the northeast, | and was slowly drifting in our direction against | the lower current of wind. So I accepted the j wheelwright's advice and took my umbrella. We then walked briskly away together, fol-j lowed by a tender glance from Maria's eye9, ] which was more eloquent than a score of spoken farewells. On the road I questioned David concerning his father's condition, and learned that he was ! rapidly sinking. Some months before, while engaged in his usual field-labor, he had been smitten with paralysis. The stroke was very j slight, and after an intermission of a week or j two, he had been able to resume work; but since then, one shock had succeeded another with increasing violeuce, until it became evi- j dent that his earthly career was drawing to a ! speedy close. "Father's very anxious to see you, sir," said i David, "because he's afraid that before many j days he may lose the use of his limbs. He's ! got little enough to leave, poor soul, Heaven j knows; but he wants that little fairly divided ; betwixt Reuben and me. You know that Reuben's temper, sir, isn't al ways of the best ?" j "Indeed, I do, David," I answered. "It would be well that your father should put his 1 wishes in writing, if possible." "That's what I was thinking, sir; and now's I . the best time to do it. I left Dr. Webb in ' w the cottage, and Reuben and his wife will be j there by the time we get back. I should like ! the will to be made in the presence of every-' body who has anything to gain by it, with | vou, sir, and Dr. Webb for witnesses, and j then there can't be any disputes afterwards." J "Perhaps, David," I said, it will save time? and time in the present case may be especially precious?if I ask what sort of property your father has to leave." "Oh ! nothing, sir, that gentlefolks would think it worth while to make any stir about. The furniture's the principal thing, and some of that, such as the chest of drawers and the clock, I value chiefly because they've been in the Dymond family time out of mind. Reuben aud his wife will only think of the price they'll fetch. And there's a shelf of books, though mostly all religious books?" "I'm afraid," said I, smiling, "that poor Reuben won't dispute with you about the books." "No, sir, I don't think he will. He's a ^ better scholar than I am, but father's books [\ ain't much to his fancy." ~ _ j ' By the time we had reacnea me uoor ui John Dyniond's cottage, the sky had grown very dark, and large heavy drops, the forerunners of the deluge about to follow, had began to patter down. I was not sorry, therefore, that I had listened to David's advice, and brought my umbrella. CHAPTER II. TIIE THUNDER CLAl'. It was a touching sight to see the old worthy day-laborer, worn out with the weight of years . aud excess of toil, as he lay on his humble r \ bed, tranquilly awaiting the summons which \ would call him to another and a happier world. \ The snows of many a bitter winter had lent i 1 their hue to his scanty white locks, while remorseless time had ploughed nearly as many furrows in his wrinkled, weather-beaten features, as he himself had marked out in youthful days in his master's held. There was nothing terrible or tragical about such a death-bed, for the old man was ready and willing to depart; but there was something pathetic in the thought that after half a century of patieut, untiring toil, after a life of perpetual endurance and self-denial, such a mau should have so little to leave behind him. His worldly goods consisted for the most part of the humble, yet highly cherished heirlooms which had been handed down to him by his forefathers, and it was to make an equitable division of these between his two sons that he had espe chilly desired my presence at this solemn hour. John Dymond had lost his second wife some years before, nor had any of his daughters survived to the period of which I am writing, so that there was no female hand of his own kith or kin to smooth his pillow. Reuben's wife might certainly have offered to undertake the task, but she excused herself on the ground that she had a young family of her own jfrjoqk after; her place was efficientTy suppIiecffmnrt^rSP; TiyTT ItiothSny ^vldowwoman who lived in the adjoining cottage. When David and I entered the sick chamber, which was, indeed, the principal room of the house, the nurse was sitting at the head of the bed on one side, and Dr. Webb, the parish surgeon, on the other. At the foot of the bed, close by the table, on which was placed various articles of food and medicine, sat Reuben Dymond and his wife. I mention the exact position severally occupied by the various persons present, for a reason which will appear hereafter. As for myself, I sat next to David, at the opposite end of the table, but so near the bed?for the whole apartrueut was of very small dimensions?that I could conveniently shake the sick man's hand, and catch the feeblest accents of his voice. I need not describe the doctor and the nurse, but I must say a few words concerning the personal appearance of Reuben Dymond and his wife. Reuben was fully twenty years older than his half-brother, a man of powerful muscular frame, with a set of features rmnri Kni nnw rpnrfpred coarse and U1 I^IUdilJ gvyvyvtj WW V WW .? w..?.?. heavy by habits of dissipation. His wife, who was much younger than himself, was rather a well-looking young woman, but with an appearance of tawdry finery about her which did not attract me. The cherry-colored ribbons in her bonnet were new, and she had a pair of massive rings dangling from her ears, but her gown was dingy and ragged. After a brief interval of religious conversation, the sick man feebly pressed my hand and spoke thus? "And now, sir, about parting my bits of things between the two boys ?" At these words, Reuben and his wife, who had hitherto appeared totally uninterested, looked up with some little animation. "Reuben and David," continued the old man, as he endeavored to raise his head from the pillow, "you're the only children I have * " * T ' 1 1 _l left to me, and I want ye to snare aim snure alike." "That's scarcely fair, father, is it?" observed Reuben, with a sort of laugh. "You have knowed me a score of years longer than you have knowed David. Resides, he's a single man, earning good wages, while I've got Martha and five young ones to keep." "He speaks truth," murmured John Dymond. "Say, Reuben, what will content ye ?" "I shan't be hard to please," answered the eldest son. "Give me the pick of the furniture the pots and pans, and the ?" "Why, you want everything," exclaimed David, angrily. "And I've a right to everything, young whipper-snapper. Ain't I the first born by twenty years ?" "Hush, my friends," said I, interfering; "do not grieve your father's last moments by quarreling." "I have good cause to be angry," cried David. "He says I am a single man, and so I am ; but who has kept John Dymond from the workhouse since the palsy struck him ? Not his eldest son but his youngest. Who has fed and clothed those five children while their parents were idling at fairs and horseraces? Not their father, but their father's half-brother." "Boys, boys," said tbe old man, imploringly, "dou't get ye to words together. I want ye to be good friends before I take tbe last long journey. Say, David, what will content thee ?'" David was about to reply warmly, but I took his arm and whispered in his ear that he would please his father best by yielding to his brother. "But before six months are gone they will have sold everything, sir," remonstrated the young man in return. "All the old furniture will be in the hands of strangers." "I will provide against that," I said. "I will make Reuben an offer for it." "Come, David," said his half-brother, with a sneer, "can't ye make up your mind without consulting the parson ?" "Father," replied David, "if you were not lying sick, I should ask for a fair division ; as it is, I'm willing that you should give Reuben everything, except the clock and the shelfof books. Will that suit you, Reuben?" "Ay, that it will bravely," cried Reuben exultingly. "Give us your hand, Davy. You're a better brother than I took you for." "I should like Reuben to have one book," murmured the old man, "just by way of remembrance. Would you kindly look through them, Mr. Woodward ?" At these words I took the books from the shelf?they were only a dozen in number? and laid them on the table. "The 'Whole Duty of Man ?' " I said interrogatively. "No," answered Reuben, with a shake of his head, "not in my lin^ air" "A Tuxyor Rook ?" I continued. "No, let Davy keep it," answered Reuben contemptuously. "This seems a precious old family relic," I observed. The title page bore the date of 1729. "No, sir," replied David ; "father bought it only a few days before he took ill. He bought it of a traveling hawker for the sake of the big print." As he spoke I was slowly turning over tl^ ! leaves of the volume, searching from idle curiosity to sec if the form of service apposed ! for touching persons afflicted with the ting's evil was contained in it. Suddenly I uttered an exclamation of surprise. "My fiends," I said, "this Prayer Book ismort va^uhle than any of you probably suspected." As I spoke these words I hQ0 UP a llimsy > piece of paper yellow with ASe- It was a I Bank of Euglaud Note ff 9ne Hundred [ Pounds, dated in the year 1805, and signed ! by Abraham Newland, t**3 iamous Chief Cashier of that period. The storm which h-^ sc| l?ng hiin brooding ' on the horizon, hadJ)T this time burst over i the village. The 11 under growled, the rain 1 poured in torrenJ? while, although the sun I was still high the heavens, the room in which we sat.ttas nearly darkened by the dense glooo" . ' aild was chiefly illuminated by *e incessant flashes of lightning which d'^ acrosa the sky. i Eve?00(^ with the exception of the sick man, ySe on hearing ray words, and pressed ! aroi ^ m.e to Saze uPon the treasure which I hn unwittingly discovered. Doctor Webb j -nounced it a genuine note and held it bej Te John Dymond's eyes, briefly telling him .low and where it had been found. The thin, discolored slip of paper represented a sum of money which three years of hard toil under frost and heat would not have gained for the i humble laborer, yet he regarded it with unmoved eyes. His thoughts were elsewhere, i "If it be lawful to keep it," he said quietly, i "part it fairly between Reuben and David." No one had handled the note excepting Doctor Webb and myself, for as I entertained a tsrong distrust of Reuben and his wife I did | not care to excite their jealousy by afFording i David a privilege which I would not grant him. Itook the note from the doctor's hands, and, having resumed my seat at the table, ! was about to place it in my pocket-book, when a blinding flash of lightning of an appalling blue tint illuminated the room, followed in : au instant by alwPof thunder as if a thous i and cannons h&dHeen discnargea simuuanei ously. Weuttered an instinctive j cry of dread, aa$|nS(bcied that a convulsive shudder shook Uierfljpbs of the invalid. A i few moments later ? perceived r tliat Doctor Webb was pointing "with unwonted solemnity 1 of manner towards the bed. I Started from I my chair, and bending forward, peered eager! ly through the obscurity at John Dymond's ! face. He had ceased to breathe the jaw had ! fallen, and in the midst of Nature's mighty J conflict, his spirit had passed painlessly and j peacefully away. CHAPTER III. LOST. By degrees we began to recover from the j twofold shock which had momentarily confused our senses, and ray first thought was that I had left the hundred pound note lying on the table. I say my first thought, for af terwards my ideas on the subject became confused by incessant attempts at recollection and I began to doubt whether I had put il into my pocket book, or replaced it between i the leaves of the Prayer .Book. The inmates i of the chamber of death soon perceived thai ! something was amiss. The thunder storm was rapidly passing away, and as the ail grew brighter they noticed the intensely anx^ ious expression of my face, and the nervous manner with which I turned out the contents of my pockets and hunted between the leaves of the Prayer Book. "What is the matter, Mr. Woodward ?" de manded Doctor Webb, gravely. "The note!" I replied, with stammering ac ! cents, for I was in an agony of nervous ex 1 citement. "The note ! I can't find it any i where!" The doctor cast a sharp glance?a glancr i of suspicion in the direction of Reuben anc his wife. I noticed it, and I think they no ! ticed it, also. He then said? "It can't be lost, it must be in this room.' "I have searched ray pockets, and I hav< turned over every leaf of these books," I an swered. "My impression is that I left it or the corner of the table just at the time o that dreadful flash. I could almost sweai that I did so." "Maybe the thunderbolt burnt it up," ob served Reuben, with a sardonic grin on hi: face. "If it has it would only be like our usua | bad luck, Ruby," chimed in his wife. As she spoke, I saw that David was steadi i ly regarding his relatives with a darkening I frown on his forehead. A moment later hi I arose from his seat. "I must speak," he said, excitedly, "al j though the breath is only just out of poo ' father's body, I swear that I saw the note or ] this very corner which I now cover with mj j hand the instant before that flash of lightning ! A minute later it had disappeared. It can' be lost." "Don't ye think it's burnt?" said Reuben mockingly. "I think it's stolen," answered David calmly. "So do I," returned Reuben, coolly. "By whom ?" I demanded, for I felt that j was seriously implicated in the matter. "By him !" "By him 1" exclaimed the half brothers, almost at the same instant. Eacl brother stood erect, fierce and defiant, ant each was pointing a finger at the other. Tin mysterious disappearance of the hundret pound note had aroused all their mutual dis trust and dislike. Each man had at onci made up his mind that the other was a thief j As for myself, as soon as I became con vincer by repeated examination that the note wai neither in ray pockets nor hidden among tin books, I began to suspect that a robbery hat been committed, and as I could not believi i that the steady, well-conducted David woulc ! be guilty of so base an actiou, I was forced t< ! suppose that his half-brother must be the cul ' prit. Doctor "Webb said very little, but J 1 perceived that he shared my opinion, j "My lads," he said, "you have each charget the other with a very serious crime. We hai I better send the women out of the cottage, ant jsearch you both." ! "I'm ready," cried David. "And so am I," cried Reuben. "I won't leave without Mrs. Matthew: ' searching of me, I can tell ye," exclaimet I Martha Dymond bitterly ; "else folks will g< and say that my Ruby passed the note on t< j his wife. To think that I should live to hea: my husband suspected of thieving!" said th< woman, bursting into a passionate flood o tears. Men and women were accordingly separa , ted, and the search took place with all possi ! ble care and dilligence. Each brother vie< with the other in affording every facility fo: the investigation of his garments, and eacl | brother watched with painful keenness fo j some evidence of his kinsman's guilt. Botl ! were disappointed ; no note was forthcoming ' and Reuben and his wife sauntered toward their own abode with sullen, discontentec i faces. i The storm had by this time passed complete |ly away, the sky was untainted by a sin &To nlnnd rind t.hfl hirdu nnnlpd and rp freshed by the moisture of the air, were mer lily singing their evening song. Docto: Webb and I walked away slowly side by side ' | "This is a most sad afliiir," I observed ; "What do you think of it ?" "I scarcely know what to think," he replied , "At first I felt convinced that Reuben was th< | thief. I dou't think so now; the undaunte< way in which he submitted to be searchec ; looks like iunocence." ; "Do you suppose that Martha took it with out Reuben's knowledge ?" ! "No, I don't." "You surely don't suspect David ?" "I don't suspect any of them. I don't know : what to think?I'm fairly puzzled." CHAPTER IV. TIIE FUNERAL. Tl.n *l./v -e 1 t,n .Liu* nunc ui tut; siugujui uiauuvciy ux UIV j hundred pound note, and of its still ip^fc singj ular disappearance, spread wildfire through the village. Moreo^r, the tale was told with many exaggenrtfons. It was reported that while I was^n the act of repeating the Lord's Prayer the note miraculously bej came visible between the open leaves of the Prayer Book which I held in my hand. The | old gossips shook their heads; that hundred pound note was no real piece of earthly paper; it owed its orgin to demoniacal agency, and was permitted to appear for the sake of stirring up bitter enmity between Reuben and David. It was asserted that they had not only branded i each other with the disgraceful name of thief, but that they had exchanged blows across j their father's corpse. This latter charge was I entirely without foundation. Mr. Worth, the wheelwright, took a much r more prosaic view of the affair. He believed ; * that the note was a genuine note, and he 1 ! strove to console his pretty daughter?who , 1 . was shedding bitter tears because her beloved | 1 David was accused of felony?by telling her | f i that if the note had not been lost, he should ! f ' not have minded taking David as a son-in-law. ] For why ? Fifty pounds was a nice comfort- ! ' able sura for a young couple .o begin house- C i keeping with, while as for Reuben, the objec- ! , | tiouable brother, he had many a time vowed ; that it was only want of money that prevent-, j ed him from trying his fortune in America. , j Poor Maria vainly strove to take comfort! ;' from these tantalizing remarks. Her father j ; was willing to let David marry her if? And , that obstinate "if" spoilt everything, i Nearlv a week elapsed between John Dy- * ~y * t i mond's death and the funeral, during which j ! j time no communication took place between j the half-brothers, for each obstinately persist- ^ J ed in believing the other guilty. At first j Reuben flatly refused to attend the funeral, 1 i j simply because he knew his brother would be | j there; but on my pointing out to him that he | i j would never cease to reproach himself after* I ; wards for having neglected such a plain act of r | duty, he unwillingly agreed to go. I felt un- j I ! able to address him with any cordiality, because I strongly suspected that he and his ( wife were in possession of the hundred pound ( note. It is true that Reuben had never hitherto been charged with felony, but he was a free-living, lax-principled man, who would be | i quite incapable of withstanding a sudden and , . powerful temptation. j "Very well, Mr. Woodward," were his con- , r eluding words, "I'll come to the funeral, . though I don't much fancy standing near a ' . thief, and that thief ray own half-brother." ( WnUJ Ko/J o T-ia*.5/-x-l nf Konntifnl plmifllpss , " CUttU 1...V4 o. V/. ^ ?"V , t, weather since the great thunder-storm, but on ( i the morning of the day appointed for the fu- ( i neral, a change appeared likely to take place. . The old folks of the village, John Dymond's ( i friends and contemporaries, were well pleased at this. "Happy is the corpse that the rain rains on," says the old adage and they hoped ? that a shower might fall before the coffin was j deposited in its final abiding-place. 5 Although it was a busy season of the year, , and a week-day?for John Dyraond had ex pressed a wish that his funeral might not take place on a Sunday?there was a very full as semblage of persons in the churchyard. The worthy old labourer had been much respected, , - and many persons of superior grade attended hisfuueral to do honor to his memory. A ; large portion, however, of the spectators had I been drawn together by lower and coaser mo tivcs. It was rumored that some scene of violence would take place between the half' hrnthprs ns snnn as their father's coffin had j been committed to tbe grave; while others . darkly hinted that some preternatural appeari ance, some palpable evidence of the enchantf ment which hovered over the Dymond family, r would become visible at the conclusion of the burial service. There was a great deal of . staring and whispering among the crowd when i the two half-brothers, who seemed instinctively to keep as far apart from each other as ] possible, made their appearance. By the time that part of the service which - is read in the church was concluded, the sky r had become completely overcast with a man3 tie of watery-looking clouds, and rain was evidently imminent to the great satisfac tion of the old folks who stood around me. r I was in the act of delivering the beautiful ex1 hortation which tells that "man that is bom f of woman hath but a short time to live, and . is full of misery," when the first drops of rain t began to fall. A smile of simple pleasure appeared on the elders' faces at this favorable , omen, while I less imaginative or less superstitious, instinctively expanded my umbrella. , As I did so, a piece of paper, of a dingy yellow bue, fluttered slowly from it, and fell on the newly-dug earth at my feet. It was the [ Hundred Pound Note! David and Reuben both saw the paper fall, - and each rushed forward at the same moment. i They met on opposite sides of.the grave, while 1 at the same instaut a murmur of astonishment i arose from the assembled crowd. 1 For fully a minute the brothers looked each other steadily in the face; a softening 3 shade of regret then passed over each of their countenances. 1 Reuben was the first to speak. "Davy," 3 he said, hoarsely, "I called you a thief with; out reason." 1 "I was as bad," answered David, hanging j down his head. 1 "Let's shake hands," muttered Reuben, i drawing his coat-sleeve over his eyes. "We . j couldn't choose a better place than over fath[ j er's grave." David held out his hand willingly. "God 1 j forgive me," he said, "for all the hard thoughts i 1 I had of you, Reuben." 1 | "My friends," I exclaimed, looking round J at the spectators, who stood regarding this (touching scene with the most intense interest, j "My friends, it is well worth while that this s j solemn service should be interrupted, since the 1 ' interruption has been the means of reconciling j [ two brothers who have been at variance. 31 Let us now proceed." I proceeded accordr | ingly with the exhortation, Reuben and David 2 i clasping each other by the hand till the serf, vice was concluded. A very brief explanation will suffice to - show the probable manner in which the hun dred pound note got into such an unnatural 1 hiding place. On entering John Dyraond's r | cottage that eventful afternoon, I had placed i . my umbrella, which was slightly wetted by r: the commencing rain, upright against the table I i und no doubt when I turned sharply round on ! ,; witnessing that blinding flash of lightning my j 8' coat-tail whisked the note into the folds of" j 1 i the silk. There it lay, snugly enough, phis- j J tered us it were between the ribs, while with | .; equal naturalness it fell out on the first ex- j . pansion of the umbrella after a period of dry ! .; weather. But I may as well confess at once .: that this prosaic explanation was entirely rer jected by the more marvel-loving portion of , my fiock. They maintained that the huu- , dred pound note was of preternatural origin, j though on perceiving the good effects which i it had wrought, they no longer attributed its , j manufacture to a malignant fiend but to a be-1 j ] nevolent fairy. They were not staggered jjy i | the the fact that the Bank of England phGcr- j ] fully converted the dingy old serapaper j .1 into a hundred bright yellow s^jxJfeigns?for c fairies are capable of decking anybody. ; ^ ! Still, they would not ha<e been surprised if [ i those same sovereign^disappeared some fine ( r day, leaving onj^ " few bits of dirt behind ! ] them. It is 9*fy right to mention that in ac- j i | cordancc v-rtli John Dymond's last words, we ! t ' adverted the discovery of the note, but no t ! cljvoiant appeared who was able to prove his j ,i<Jwnership. ! The newly-born friendship between the j i i-ifi....ii ?i...i.j i... i .1 ; nun uroiners was uui icsieu uy any leugmeucu I c | intercourse, for shortly after he received his share of the hundred pound note, Reuben jt sailed with his family for America, where, 11 n afterwards understood, he got on better than j v any body in Headingly had ever anticipated. I y As for David, Mr. Worth was so melted by ; v the fifty dazzling arguments in favor of mar- c | riage which the young man produced from a b canvas bag that in a few months I joiued his J a hand and Maria's in holy matrimony. v j Some years afterwards, on passing through b Headingly, I found that many changes had a taken place. The front garden in which I fi used to meditate had been converted into a d busy yard, where the firm of Worth and Dy- n i mond carried on their wheel .manufacture on ! I I a greatly extended scale. My pretty hand-1 d naiden, Maria, had become a buxom matron vitli a half a dozen children about her knees, >ut she gave me a hearty welcome, and mating me sit down in her trimly furnished par- j or to drink a glass of wine, showed me in a j rame over the mantle-piece a photographic j ac-simile of the famous Hundred Pound , NOTE. SfUisccilattciJus leading. THE TROUBLE IN THE ARK. In the autumn of 1830 I attended a pro-1 racted meeting in the interior of Georgia,' ind heard a sermon which I have never been j ible to forget or describe. I have attempted | leveral times to write it. But it cannot be j Hit on paper. The main force of it was in ! ,he snuffing and spitting and groaning and i lound-after-a fox sort of yelp and whine, to j which no pen can do justice. Tiio ni-nonlior lmd iiitjh hnpn licensed and it ! was his first sermon. In person he was small, j bullet-headed, of a fair, sandy complexion, and ais countenance was indicative of sincerity ; xnd honesty. His remarks evinced great rev-1 jreuce for the works of God as manifested ' in zoology and natural history, and he "was j taking up the Bible in regular order for the j first time in his life." He had gotten as far as j the history of Noah, the ark, the flood, etc. j Besides, just before his conversion he had been reading Goldsmith's 'Animated Natar," and the two together, by the aid and assistance of the spcrit, had led him into a powerful frame of thinking as he stood at his work-bench "day in and day out." But whatever his 3ermon may have been, it was his own. The text was: "As it was in the days of Noah, so shall the coining of the Son of man be."?After commenting upon that portion of Genesis descriptive of the flood, he "warmed up" suddenly and broke out in the following strains : "Yes, my brethren, the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, g-r-e-a-t deep kivered the waters-ah, and there was Shera, and there was j Ham, and there was Japheth ah a-1-1 a-gwiue into the ark-ah. "And there was the ele-phant-ah, that 2-r-e-a-t animal-all, of which Goldsmith de acribes in his Animated Natar-ah, what is as I big as a horse-ah, and his bones as big as a i tree-ah depending somewhat on the size of the tree-ah, a-1-1 a-gwine into the ark-ah. And the heaven of thb windows opened-ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters-all, and there was Shem, and there was Ham, and there was Japheth-ah, all a gwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the hippopotamus-all, that g-r-e-a-t animal-all, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Natar-ah' what has a g-r-e-at horn-ah a-sticken up out of his forrard-ah, six feet long, more or less-ah, depen-1 ding, somewhat on the length of it-ah, all agwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the giraffe, my brethrin, that ill-contrived reptile of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Natar-ah' whose forelegs is twenty-five feet long, more or less-ah, depending some what on the length of'em-ah, and a neck so long he can't eat hay off the n ' ? i iT_i. ? top oi a nam-an, depending souiewum uu me hithe of the barn-ah, all a gwine into the arkah. And the heavens and the windows was opened ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters ah ; there was Shem, and there was Ham, and Japheth-ah all agwine into the ark-ah. "Ah there was the zebra, my bretheren-ah, the beautiful animal of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater'-ah, which has three hundred stripes a runnin' right rounu his body-all, more or less, depending somewhat on the number of stripes-ah ; and narry two stripes alike-ah, all a-gwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the anaconder-ah, that great sarpint which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Natar-ah,' what can swallow six oxens at a meal-ah, provided his appetite don't call for less ah, all a-gwine into the ark ah. And the heavens of the windows was opened ah, and the floods of the great deep kivered the waters ah, and, there was Shem, and there was Ham and there was Japheth-ah, all a gwine into the ark-ah. "And there was the lion, my bretheren-ah, what is the king of the beasts accordin' to scripter-ah, and who, St. Paul says-all, prowls around of a night like a roarin' devil-all, a seekin' if he can't catch somebody-all, all a gwiue into the ark-ah. "And there was the antelope, my brethereu, that frisky little critter-ah, of which Goldsmith describes in his 'Animated Nater' j ah, what can jump seventy-five feet straight up-ah, and twice that distance down-all, provided his legs will take him that fur-ali, all a gwine into the ark-.ih. And the heavens of the windows was opened-ah, and the floods j of the great deep kivered the waters-all, and ..1 Ol J il u UlCre WUS QllCLU UllU LUvM'C una nam auu intjt was Japheth-ah, all agwine in the ark-ah. Just at this point he stopped speaking 1 a few moments, wiped his forehead, tHrned , back his wristbands, ran his fingers through 1 his hair, spit and rubbed his boot in it, drank I a little, commenced on a lower key, and pro- ! ceeded as follows: "But time would fail me, my brethern, to describe all the animals that went into the ark-ah. Your patience and my strength would give out before I got half through-ah. We talk, my brethern,' of the faith of Abraham and the patience of Job-all, but it strikes me they didn't go much ahead of old Noer-; ah. It tuck a right smart chance o' both, to j gether up all that gopher wood and pitch and other truck for to build that craft-ah.! I am a sort of carpenter myself and have j some idee of the job-all. But to hammer, and j saw, and maul, and split away on one thing a ( hundred and twenty years-all, and lookin' for, his pay in another world-all?I tell you jvy brethrin' if the Lord had sot a Job at tl?rf, it's j my opinion he would have tuck his life's ad-1 vice inside of fifty years-all. Besides, no doubt, his righteous soul wa* Vexed every day, j hand runuin', with the#thy communications | of the blasphemou^t that was always a loaferin' and saunjprfn around-all, a pickin' up his tools and-V misplacin' em, and a callin* him au fool orsomethin' worse-all; and to can>^e climax, he was a preacher, and had j n? i,:? p/iilL Viii^uuij ^iiiciatiun 111 mo iiauuo lyui j 3unday-ah. But the Lord stood by and seed liim through the job-ah; and when every- j thing was ready he didn't send Noer out to j icrammage and scour and hunt all over the vide world for to get up the critters and var-; nints that he wanted to save-ah. They all :orae to his hand of their own accord, and j Soer only had to head 'em in and fix 'em ound in their places-all. Then lie gethered j ip his own family, and the Lord shut him in, | tnd the heavens of the windows was opened-ah. I: "But my bretheriu', Nocr-ah had use for ' latience after this-ah. Think what a time he j nust a had a feed in' and a waterin' and a ; ileanin out after such a crowd-all. Some of. i em, accordiu'to Goldsmith's 'Animated Xa- j j er'-ali, was carniverous, and wanted fresh : neat-ah, and some were herbiverous, and , i wanted vegetable food-all, and some were' < irnrmi vermis. nnd swallowed live fhinrrs i i'hole-ah ; and lie had to feed every one ac- j ] ordin' to its nater. Hence, we view, my j < iretherin'-ah, as the nater of animals wasn't s ltered by going into the ark-ah, some of'em 1 i-ould roar and howl, and bark aud bray, and ( late and squeel the whole enduriu' night-ah, | t drivin' sleep from his eyes and slumber 1 rom his cyclets ah ; and at the first streak o' s aylight, the last hoof of 'em would set up a i oise accordin' to its nater-ah, and the bulls of j lashan wern't nowhar-ah. I've often won- [ s cred how the women stood it. Scripter is 11 silent on this pint-ah ; but I think I know of ai some that would a been vapory and nervous t< under such circumstances-ah, and in an on- 1( guarded moment might a said somethin' besides their prayers-ah." Here the speaker stopped again, spit, took tl water, etc., and hastened to a conclusion. I P "My bretherin'," said he, "one more word I ii for old Noer, and I will draw to a close-ah. j h After the outbeatin' time hehad first and last j1< for so many hundred years-ah, if he did by y accident or otherwise, take a leetle too much h wine on one occasion-ah, I think the less ort v to a been said about it-ah. Besides, I think h he was entitled to one spree*ah, as he made a the wine hisseir, ana accoruin io senpier u g makes glad the heart of man*ah. p "The world will never be drowned agin-ah. p It will be sot a fire, and burnt up, root and , e branch, with a fervent heat-ah. Oh! what f will wretched, ondone sinners do on that orful p day-ah. They won't feel fit for to live, nor fit h for to die-ah ! They will be put to their wit's a end, and knock and straddle around in every s direction-ah. For all at once, ray bretheren- r ah, they will behold the heavens a darkenin'- i ah, the seas a roarin'-ah, the torabs a bustin'- a ah, the mountains a meltin'-ah, and every- i thing, I Ahink, will be-in a confined and on- i settled state. May the Lord add his blessing. \ Amen. s 1 THE MODEL NEGRO FARMER. g There is a freedman living in south-western ! ] Georgia, upon a plantation belonging to a a gentleman of this city, who has run it for two j c years with the usual results, and in conse- c quence has become not only greviously de- f moralized, but immensely disgusted. In s January last he rented the place to the afore- t said freedman for a certain number of bales c of cotton ; at the same time selling him e all the mules, corn and fodder on the place, ] to be paid for in cotton the first day of Decern- c ber at farthest. He also agreed to furnish ? the meat necessary to run the place for the ? year, which was to be paid for before or by I the above date. The renter also agreed to keep up the fences, etc., and return the farm f to the owner at the end of the year in as good J condition as when put into his hands. s By the 24th of September the rent had been ] paid, and by the 27th of October the debt i for the mules corn, meat, etc., had also been > paid, every dollar, and the renter has now t only a small indebtedness for labor, orders j tn hands, etc.. to nav off with his surplus cot- i ton. He has made enough to do him next i year, and will commence operations the owner of eight mules, all the necessary farming utensils, wK'?a plentiful supply of labor, and with nothing to buy but his meat. He has, made the best crop with the least expense and with fewer hands than has been produced on the place in three years, and in all his operations has shown a judgment in intelligence and economy that entitles him to public mention and consideration. Although a person of much weight with his race, and able to control a considerable number of them in political matters, he takes but little interest in such things, and contents himself with voting, !<*;? Is r\ovf'nnfl,r oAnroniont for Viim to IpRVP his business to do so?if not, not. We suppose he is a Radical, but as he considers politics entirely subordinate to the great business of improving his material condition, and laying the foundation of a substantial pros- ( perity for his children, we conclude that he is not a very ardent politician. i In addition, he is a man of his word in all j pecuniary and other matters, and enjoys the < highest character in his neighborhood, both | with white and black, for honesty, industry, i economy and kindly disposition. There is no one more respected for the possession of these i qualities than he. He is one often thousand, it is true the exception to an almost univer- ; sal rule, and as such we have thought that not only for his own sake, but in order that the brightness of his example may cast at least one ray of light upon the dark picture ( that surrounds him, this statement is worthy ] of record.?Macon Telegraph. i * 4 Sleeping in a Cold Room.?Hall's Journal of Health says that cold bed-chambers .al- i ways imperil health and invite fatal diseases. 1 Robust persons may safely sleep in a temper- I ature of forty or under, but the old, the in- ] fant and the frail should never sleep in a I room where the atmosphere is much under fifty degrees Fahrenheit. i All know the danger of going direct into the ' cold from a very warm room. Very few 1 [ rooms, churches, theatres, and the like, are < j even warmer than seventy degrees. If it is < | freezing out of doors it is tmrty degrees?me ; i 1 difference being forty degrees more. Persons j will be chilled by such a change in ten minutes, 1 < although they may be actively walking. j ] But to lie still in bed, nothing to promote j j the circulation, and breathe for hours an at-! ] mosphere of forty and even fifty degrees, when 1 < the lungs are always at ninety-eight, is too i greata change. Many persons wake up in the I morning with inflammation of the luDgs who { went to bed well, and are surprised that this should be the case. The cause may often be found in sleeping in a room the window of i which had been foolishly hoisted for ventila-. i tiou. The water-cure journals of the country i have done an incalculable injury by the blind i t and indiscriminate advices of hoisting the j \ window at night. j < The rule should be everywhere during the ( part of the year when fires are kept burning, ) to avoid hoisting outside windows. It is safer i and better to leave the chamber door open, as < also the fireplace?then there is a draft up the t chimney, while the room is not so likely to t become cold. If there is some fire iu the room I r all night the window may be opened an inch, c It safer to sleep in a bad air all night with c a temperature of over fifty, than in a pure air c with a temperature under forty. The bad air [ 1 may sicken you but cannot kill you ; the cold ! \ air can and does kill very often. j j Old English Eccentricity.?Rather a' i good anecdote is told of an inveterate Eng- t lish sportsman, the late Earl of Oxford, grandson of the famous Sir Robert Walpole. This nobleman had a weakness for doing every- J J thing that other people didn't do, and espe- e cially in connection with sporting. A freak h with which his memory was identified, long u after he passed away, was his habit of driving v a four-in-hand team of red deer stags, which : p he reduced to such perfect discipline in his n own park that he was at last tempted to make I f< an excursion with them to Newmarket. The ! c iucident that befell him here excited no small 1 degree of amusement among the then Prince ! a of Wales' set, of which Lord Oxford was au j tl habitue. As the phaeton,with its strange team, {ii approached Newmarket, the cry of a pack of n etnrrliminrla woa siwlrlptilv ViPJird in thfi flir. e< The huntsman of the pack had been exercising j I his hounds in the neighborhood of the heath j ft and was astonished, on crossing the road, to : I see his dogs put their noses to the ground, and j w give tongue in chorus as they set off in pur-; in 3uit. The scent left by four stags was natu-, ec rally breast high ; nor was it long before the j Jeep voiced music of the eager pack smote ' I .ipon the sensitive ears of Lord Oxford's team. | in Fear prevailed over discipline, and, in spite th )f all the efforts of the noble charioteer, the in stags dashed off at lightning speed, and ; er whirled the light phaiton after them, with the | hi celerity of a whirlwind. In vain did the ; at rained grooms on horseback take part in the wl leadlong race. The stage rushed along main gr itreet of the little town, and never stopped intil they turned at full speed into the open ar mortals of the Ram Inn. The doors were dc Jammed just in time to exclude the foremost B lounds, and "this singular circumstance," cli elds a contemporary wruer, anuuugii ?tmded with no accident, effectually cured his )rdship's passion for deer driving." The First Meerschaum Pipe.?In 1723 here lived in Pesth, the capital of Hungary, Carol Kowates, a shoemaker, whose ingenuity i cutting and carving on wood, etc., brought im in contact with Count Andrassy, ancestor d the present prime minister of Austria, with ?hom he became a favorite. The count on is return from a mission to Turkev brought dth him a large piece of whitish clay, which ad been presented to him as a curiosity, on ccount of its extraordinary light specific ravity. It struck the shoemaker that being torous it must naturally be well adapted for lipes, as it would absorb the nicotine. The , xperiment was tried, and Karol cut a pipe or the count and one for himself. But in the mrsuit of his trade he could not keep his .onrio nlson onrl mflnv o. niftnp nf wax became lauuo uivuuj UIIU IMMUJ M ?. .ttached to the pipe. The clay, however, intead of assuming a dirty appearance, as was laturally to be expected, when Karol wiped t off received wherever the wax had touched i clear brown polish, instead of the dull white t previously had. Attributing this change n the tint to the proper source, he waxed the vhole surface, and polishing the pipe, again moked it, and noticed how admirably and >eautifully it colored; also, how much more weet the pipe smoked after being waxed. ?arol had struck the smoking philosopher's tone ; and other noblemen, hearing the wonlerful properties of this singular species of day, imported it in considerable quantities or the manufacture of pipes. The natural carcity of this much esteemed article, and he great cost of transportation in those days, if limited facilities for transportation, renderd its use exclusively confined to the richest European noblemen until 1830, when it beame a more general article of trade. The irst meerschaum pipe made by Karol Kowates tas been preserved in the museum at Pesth. ? + How Thimbles are Made.?The manuacture of thimbles is very simple, butsingu arly interesting. Coin silver is mosny usea, md is obtained by purchasing coin dollars, ience it happens that the profits of the busiless are affected instantaneously by all the variations in the nation's greenback promises ,o pay. The first operation strikes a novice is almost wicked, for it is nothing else than jutting a lot of bright silver dollars, fresh 'rom the mint, into nasty crucibles and rneltng them up into solid ingots. These are -oiled out to the required thickness, and cut by a stamp into circular pieces of any required size. A eolid metal bar of the size of the inside of the intended thimble, moved by powerful machinery up and down in a bottomless mould of the outside of the same thimble, bends the circular disks in the thimble shape as fast as they can be placed under the descending bar. Once in shape, the work of brightening, polishing and decorating is done upon a lathe. First the blank form is fitted with a rapidly-revolving rod. A single touch of a sharp chisel takes a thin shaving from the end, another does the same on the side, and a third rounds off the rim. A round steel rod, dipped in oil and pressed upon the surface, gives it a lustrous polish. Then a little revolving steel wheel, whose edge is a raised ornament, held against the revolving blank, prints that ornament just outside the rim. A second wheel prints a different ornament around the center, while a third wheel with 3harp points makes the indentations on the lower half and end of the thimble. The inside is brightened and polished in a similar way, the thimble being held in a revolving mould. All that remains to be done is to boil the completed thimbles in soap-suds, to remove the oil. brush them ud and Dack them for the trade.?Springfield (Mass.) Republican. ? + Three Paragraphs of Gold.?A good advertisement in a widely circulated newspaper is the best of all possible salesmen. It is a salesman who never sleeps, and is never weary; who goes after business early and late; who accosts the merchant in his shop, the scholar in his study, the lawyer in his office, the lady at her tea table; who can be in a thousand places at once, and speak to a million people every day, saying to each one the best thing in the best manner. A good advertisement in a newspaper pays no fares on railroads; costs nothing for hotel bills; gives away no boxes of cigars to customers, or merino dresses to customers' wives; drinks no whisky under the head of traveling expenses ; but goes at once and all the time about its business free of expense. A good advertisement insures a business connection of the most permanent and independent basis, and is in a certain sense a guarantee to the customer of fair and moderate orices. Experience has shown that the deal ir whose wares have obtained a public celebrity is not only enabled to sell, but is forced ;o sell, at reasonable rates, and to furnish a jood article. ? ^ ? Mr. B. F. Remington, of this city, who ivas present when some bodies were being disuterred at Clarksville, Harrison County, for e-interment in Battle Grove Cemetery, Cyn;hiaua, informs us that a metalic case, in vhich had been placed the body of a two-year)ld child, daughter of Dr. Currant, was openid. The body was found to be remarkably veil preserved, and the features wearing alnost the same expression they did when the ihild breathed its last, with the exception of he sinking of one eye, a slight flattening of he nose and shrinking of the upper lip. A ose-bud had been placed on the breast of the ihild when buried, and when the case was ?peued, it was found that the bud bad expauled into a beautiful full-blown rose, and was ying upon the breast of the sweet little child, vho had been an angel for more than eighteen rears. It was a beautiful sight, and was acepted as a good omen by those who looked ipon it, and truly expressed that "of such is he kingdom of heaven."?Paris Kentuchian. How A HOTEL-KEErER KNOWS an HONEST Ian.?A New York hotel-keeper has discovred an infallible rule for determining1 the lonesty of his customers. He says:- "1 have tiade it a rule in my house, whenever a man ?ants a room and has no baggage, to demand ay in advance, as is usual. If he manifests 0 objection, and puts his hand in his pocket Dr money, I tell him it is all right; that he an pay just as well when he goes away, 'hat kind of men always pay. But there is nother sort of fellow who, when informed of lie rule, pretends to be very indignant, insist]g that he is a gentleman, by , and is ot in the habit of having his name question1 or his honesty doubted. In such a case, invariably insist on the production of the inds, for I know if I don't get them then, never should get them in the world. Men ho talk about their honor, and assume to be isulted when requested to pay can be depeud1 on for first-class dead-beats." + fear The estimated value of all farming lands the United States in 1870 is a little more ian 89,000,000,000 against $6,500,000,000 1861. The increase in some of the northn States is most extraordinary. Indiana is nearly doubled in valutation; Illinois id Michigan have nearly doubled theirs; bile Iowa, most remarkable of all, has own up from 811,000,000 in 1860, to almost 100,000,000 in 1870. The Southern States e slowly going backward. This decline will mbtless continue for many years. In the ritish West Indies, values have steadily deined from the date of emancipation.