University of South Carolina Libraries
/O | 1 gg | sgg i 1 ^^2 1 ?" "i M lewis m. grist, proprietor, Inbcptont Jfantxlg ftctos ppcr: Jftr tjje ISrcmofrorc of tjjt J^fflttical, ?otral, Agricultural ani> Cammercial Interests cf tfje Sonfjj. JTERMS?$3.00 AYEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. QO. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MABCH 26,1874. KO. 13. Selected laetru. ! - <3 -5 WHAT DOES IT MATTER? It matters little where I was boru Or if my parents were rich or poor, Whether they shrank at the cold world's scorn Or walkedin the pride of wealth secure; Hut whether I live an honest man, And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, I tell you, my brother, plain as I can, It matters much! It matters little how long I stay In a world of sorrow, sin anil care, Whether in youth I am called away, Or live till my bones of flesh are bare; Hut whether I So the best I can To soften the weight of adversity's touch On the thden cheek of a fellow man, It matters much! It matters little where be my grave, If on the land or on the sea Hy purling brook, or 'neath stormy wave, It matters little or naught to me; Hut whether the angel of death comes down And marks my brow with a loving touch As one that shall wear the victor's crown, It matters much! Jin OOnqittitl ftotw. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. DESTINY; j OR, HOUNDED DOWN. ! BY NELLY MARSHALL McAFEE. CHAPTER XL. The man did Dot follow the example of his guests. He never once thought of seeking rest. All he wanted was air. He felt stifled; he had been a prey to such awful mental anguish all that afternoon and night, that years of emotion and passion had been concentrated into so many hours. Rising, he staggered out of the room?out of the house?and on into the garden. There he paced up and down the gravel paths?up and down?until, weary and worn, he could hardly move one foot after the other. But the cool night-breeze fanned his flushed face and burning brow, and in the calm and the freedom that came to him out of doors, soothed him and gave him power to think, and to contemplate his position in every varying phase r?f UcrJit and shadow. Two accomplished facts ..6 . rose in the spectral midnight air and confronted him. One was murder; the other, the infidelity of his wife; or, rather, the fancied infidelity, for it was not yet clearly established to his senses and his soul that she was false, and that she really had betrayed his honor and his trust. The first misfortune?the death of the mulatto?no human power could remedy. The consequences that would eventually accrue from it, when discovered, were equally unavoidable. The last! But was Cecelia culpable? Never until to-day had he been able to fasten even suspicion upon her, with an evident justice. How could he go to her and accuse her, if he had not learned the entire truth ? Suppose she was innocent and could explain away, satisfactorily, the revelations of the mulatto woman, how could he ever hold up his head again in her presence? In what language could he frame a petition for pardon? But if she was guilty !?the damning thought set his brain on fire ! If she was guilty?then he had a punishment! When he entered the house, he was sobered ; i ' ?*** ' L-J A?i!aA1?f *rto?irvin/1 ?fo liaKitno] 1HS III 1XIU uuu cumeij inuuiw wivw.*. calm. Even Cecelia, who for years had made his face her study, would have hardly been able to discover any material alteration in the expression of his features. As he entered the house, he noticed a ray of light that seemed to come from Damar's room. Thinking to enter on him unawares, and, perhaps, find him without the wig Zaidee accused him of wearing, he repaired thither, instantly. Here he found Dalaval nodding in his chair, and Damar busy writing letters. ^ As Gadbury entered, Damar sprang from his seat. He met Gadbury with equal reserve ' and coolness ; and his face was cold and still as stone. Dalaval dozed on. "I am sorry to disturb you," said Gadbury, stepping into the apartment; "I had no idea } that your friend was with you, and thought I! would first seek you out and apologize for my j uncle's rudeness, and leave it to you to ex-! plain the matter to him." "I shall tell him, sir; but in my opinion, j we both deserved the rebuff for imposing so ! long upon your princely hospitality." "Now, do not pass useless compliraeuts. You I are both welcome. Make it all right for me ! with Dalaval; and to-morrow my uncle will i certainly apologize to you both for his rude-' ness." "We really do not desire that he should," j said Dalaval, looking discomposed and awkward. After having looked for a moment at the still form of Dalaval, Gadbury approached I the table at which Damar had been sitting, and glanced at what the latter had writ-: ten. ^ ' j "I am busily engaged writing important j business letters," said Damar, in answer to j his host's inquiring look. "Well, I will not interrupt you any louger. I am going now to my wife's room to say 'good-night,'and then for sleep and dreams." j The perfectly calm accents in which these | words were uttered, and the polite manner j which accompanied them, had something so j grave in their civility that Damar felt completely chilled by them. He did not understand all. When Gadbury glanced at the handwriting on the table, his suspicions wereconfirmed, by the mental comparison, with the letter he took j from the mulatto, and the note he had read in the opera box at Pike's. After leaving the room of the man he now ; knew to be McDonald in disguise, he went, as he said he would, immediately to the apartment of his wife. TKora qVip sat near the window, wide awake. ' ^ despite the lateness of the hour. The chara- j 1 her was sileut, and the lamp that lighted it j was shaded. Her table was filled with books, j embroidery and drawings, pencils, rubber and ' easel; but she was not busy with her pretty j trillings with art to-night. She was deeply 1 meditating upon a forbidden subject. The soft serenity of her apartment gave no token , of her uuuttered thoughts, and Clarence Gad-1 bury, as he entered it, felt the agreeable j change from the smoke and noise and gllfre of the other rooms, and wondered, indeed, if the beautiful occupant had ever been guilty of wrong in heart or brain. The noise of his entrance disturbed her rev erie, aud she turned rather pettishly toward | him, believing at his first approach that he was Ola, her waiting maid. But when, instead of her whom she was prepared to repri- j mand for disturbing her, she recognized Clar- j ence, the impatience her features betrayed suddenly gave place to the expression of great and intense fear. She could not repress the movement of con-, straint and formality that prompted her to j rise as he approached her, and remain standing, as if waiting to hear his errand, and then to dismiss him. - /? . n ,1 . ! There was no apparent justincation ior me ; apprehension she seemed to feel, either in his manner or expression ; for he was smiling, and ' his air was perfectly tranquil. Whatever j aroused vague fear of hira in her breast was known only to her. When she saw that he 1 evinced no thought of immediately retiring,: she sank back in her seat with an involuntary ; sigh, and said in languid tone that evinced ; she had been suffering, and with an expression ' of gentle reproach, "I am glad you came in ! to see me to-night. .1 began to fear you had J forgotten me. You deserve to be pouted at, j for you have been a little inattentive! And ! then the loud talking annoyed me!" "Did it?" he said,gently, and with an inquiring look ; "what is the matter?" "I have had a severe headache all day!" Clarence Gadbury here leant over his wife and put one arm about her shoulder, and with the disengaged hand lifted up her sweet face and kissed her tenderly on the eyes, and on the mouth. He was acting deceptively toward her for the first time in his acquaintance with her. And while be played his part, he narrowly studied every expression that flitted across her lovely features. She could not forbear aj shudder when she felt his arm encircle her, | for she thought of dead Zaidee in the wood. She could not forbear shrinking away from his kisses, or holding lips as cold as marble to receive them, for she remembered his terrible oath to punish her if her sin found her out. But her aversion condemned her. It was unmistakable at thetoucb of his lips, and his hand's caresses ! He turned away from her and slowly paced to and fro the length of the apartment. He was convinced in his suspicions, and nearly beside himself. She noticed his agitation. i "What is the matter with you ?" she said. Had she not spoken, he would have betrayed all. Her inquiry roused him. He answered, carelessly, as he approached her? , "I ans vexed with my uucle?for something more than a trifle, this time." "0, I know; you are angry about the way he behaved in the parlor ! Docia came by and told me of it." "He is angry, too, and threatens to cut us j off iii his will 1" | He then recounted the whole scene to her, I just as it had transpired; and, in addition,! 1 1 ' ? - A (ir?iffan I snowea ner u iiolk me uiu iuau uau nnugn, j and which he had received on his way to her I room. Cecelia read the note aloud. It was very , lengthy and full of absurd complaints. He i said that he would leave the Bluffs immediately if he had become an object of disrespect to its inhabitants ; that he knew where to put his money at a better investment than there ; and that he would go where he could be treated courteously and hospitably, and not be battered and pushed about as though he was an infliction upon the household, rather than the blessing he knew himself to be. "I am so sorry he isso angry4" said Cecelia, with an irrepressible smile. "You are the only one, my love, who can restore his good humor," said Clarence. "If you think so, I will go to him instantly," she said, rising. "If he is stubborn about going, tell him I am bound to go to Louisville on some business, and that you don't like to be left alone. Insist on his remaining, aud by the time I do return, he will have abandoned the idea of going at all." Certainly I will," she said, obligingly. "You know, dear, I am bound to go, and it j would not be courteous to our guests to leave i "mi Hore nlrm.* tr> entertain them." J ?*' -?- ? "Certainly not," she replied, quickly. j "As far as I am concerned, I see nothing to j, object to in such a course," said Gadbury, j with a forced smile ; "but appearances are j every thing in this world. You are young j and beautiful, which is enough to put slander; : and gossip afoot. And theu Docia is always ;. more of a bother than a help to you." "Why are you going to Louisville ? You J, never said any thing about it till now!" j, "Go," he said, ignoring her question and , seating himself on the sofa; "I shall remain , here until you return. If you don't make | haste, uncle Gadbury will have retired. I j ( will start early in the morning, and must learn j, his decision before I go. I will not be back , for a week." When Cecelia left the room and closed the ' door after her, her husband rose and ran, rather than walked, to the shelf on which | stood the shell-box Zaidee had described. A little key was in the tiny lock. She had evidently been iu it lately, and had left it open by accident or carelessness. lie took it in his hand, lifted the lid, and there, revealed to ' view, lay the miniature and a package of letters tied with a blue satin ribbon. A rapid ? . /tnnttmnn/1 h 1 ni f lin lnf foro llforO exanuiiauuu WIUIUVCU uiiu bitv ivitvio huiv from McDonald, and of a recent date. A glance confirmed the memory of the mau's peerless face. Carefully replacing the articles,; he closed the box, returned it to the shelf and j resumed his seat. When Cecelia came into the apartment a ! few moments later, she found her husband j completely engrossed in a game of solitaire.; "I succeeded !" she said, joyously, "uncle j Gadbury has consented to stay." Her husband made no reply. "It is just as you said," she weut on, not I noticing his silence; "in a few days his anger , will all blow over, and he will not go at all!" . Clarence now pushed aside the pack of cards, retaining only one, as if by accident, in ( his fingers. He tried to appear calm. But | in spite of himself, a desperate passion fired I his face, that would have alarmed Cecelia, had ' she seen it?just the expression that distorted it when his fingers closed in a death grip on Zaidee's olivaster throat. She did not see it, though. Her eyes were fastened on the pretty card that Clarence still held, and which his fingers were now tearing into bits. "Dear me, Clarence! Why should you ruin ray pretty pack of cards ?" There was surprise and fear in her voice. At this he rose, and threw the bits of painted pasteboard on the floor. "I don't know what ails me to-night!" was ! his reply ; "I feel irritated, and ray nerves are ! as unstrung as an old woman's." Then he (added, with evident effort, "I shall go to bed now. I go in the morning before you waken, i1 I must take rest." 11 i "I hope you will he back soon! I shall1 miss you !" she returned, in her sweetest aci cents. He went away without another word. He j found it difficult to control himself. Some i devil in his heart kept telling him to turn on i < her and rend her on the spot for her base j treachery toward him, and the awful dishonor j she had brought on his noble house; for guiltless as we know her to have been, he believed j i the worst things of her he could believe. I ! CHAPTER XLI. The day had dawned; its hours had drifted j into eternity ; it was dead. In the morning, as he 6aid he would, Clar- j ence Gadbury departed, leaving his guests to the care of Cecelia and the tender mercies of his erratic, dotaged old uncle. Docia was cross and disagreeable. Indeed, that had been her frame of mind since the evening in the library, when she and Cecelia disputed over Darnar. Old Mr. Gadbury did not bother himself with anybody or anything but his cat, and it was sick from overfeeding. Dalaval had not shown his face since the night of the dispute in the parlor. He had not recovered his good humor, and remained under protest, that Damar might see Cecelia once I more alone. But he kept his room and pre- i tended to be sick, in order to defer, as long as possible, the moment when he would be compelled to rejoin the family?old Gadbury among them?and interchange the civilities that well-bred society exacted with aristocrat- , ic severity, and which he dreaded above all j things. ^ Cecelia remained with her uncle, when she was out of her private apartments. She was resolved to hold no more secret conversations with Damar. She was endeavoring to do her | io trno hpr pflfnrt. wan reliir.tantlv jr * " ^ , made; but it was made, although this love occupied every corner of her woman's heart, j and although it was exacting and strong. . The poet says? "There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at its flood, leads on to fortune. 1 There is a tide in the affairs of women, Which, taken at its flood, leads?God knows , where." ' This was true in regard to Cecelia. She was affectionate by nature. As a girl, she had i loved McDonald. She had married Colonel i Vaughu Fessenden to please her aunt. As a i woman and a wife, she still loved McDonald, I and he knewit. But free and gay, she com- < raenced to trifle with him ; her pride was i wounded at what she esteemed infidelity on < his part; and just then Gadbury caught her heart in the rebound. Had he endeavored to i be good and kind and attractive to Cecelia, ] he could have held her a willing and a loving i slave to his will forever. But he did not. He was jealous, suspicious and cold ; he re- i < pulsed her as he had once won her. Even j before McDonald appeared on the scene, she j had become unhappy in her domestic relations 1 at the Bluffs, and more than once had sighed for the old gay days of freedom and folly and i frolic, that she could never know agaiu. For i 1 no Turk ever guarded his harem as Gadbury 1 did his wife. And now as recompense for his J j espionage all his suspicions respecting the in-1 fidelity of that wife were confirmed. She had j i corresponded with her lover, and he had been j < received by him?her injured husband?as a j I guest under his own roof, and had been roy- ! i ally entertained. "What an accursed hypocrite she is !" mut- j I tered Gadbury between his clenched teeth ; j "with what consummate cleverness she has i kept her infernal secret! And McDonald, 1 also. Ha! ha! ha! How they have chuck- s led over my blindness! To think that I | i should not have seen through their knavery 1" The man's brain was in the wildest confu- I sion, and he found it to be an absolute and 1 utter impossibility to arrange his thoughts in ? anything like proper order. His heart beat ' i .i- i i J 1 J I i VlOIfcULiy J IUS lltuu IIUIUCU, ovtoui uuu iiuuu- | ? bed, until he felt nearly on the verge of mad- j 1 ness. He had been disgraced and wronged ;' ] this he thought?this he knew?and the wife j 1 who had pulled upon his head this cruel j t shame, had likewise covered herself with dis- j honor, sorrow, guilt and despair. She had 1 fallen from her proud estate to a depth from J which he might never raise her. Henceforth she would be a target for public criticism; she i would be scoffed and sneered at by all those s who had once courted her smiles; and those who had loved her best were in honor bound ? to steel their hearts against such regard, and to pass her by in proud disdain, now that she t was a fallen and a guilty thing. CHAPTER XLII. j! The night was misty and dark. Not a star < shone in the firmament. There was a chill, j blustering wind that foreboded a dashing rain j before the day dawned. The windows of the Bluffs mansion now ! ? and then rattled noisily, and every little while I the tree-boughs sighed and shrieked as they j were twisted rouud and round and to and fro by the strength of the coming storm. Cecelia Gadbury sat alone in the library. She looked weary and sad. Evidently, her 1 thoughts were still in errant defiance of her 1 better judgment, lingering tenderly where they J should not have been, and she was grieving j over the hard fate which had once more linked j her for life to a man to whom her soul was j indifferent, and consequently condemned her I to everlasting unhappiness. She had wedded : so rashly! She knew it now, and acknowl- j edged it; but it was too late. She was asking herself if there was not dishonor in allowiug a man to claim her hand when he no longer I possessed her heart? If she was not sinful in ' remaining bound to a man when she thought 1 constantly of another, and loved him more and more every day and hour ? Was she not j s acting like a coward in still calling that man i husband, when she knew that her affections ' | belonged to another ? Was it not her whole | f duty to confess the full truth to him, and ask | him to release her from her bonds ? He would , release her if she told hira I She felt cunfi-1 dent of it. He owned a noble spirit, and he i 1 would not stoop to claim a loveless wife for j an hour! No, no, she could not, would not j do it! What if she did adore Irving Mc- > Donald, ought auy power on earth ever tempt 1 her to forget her marriage-vow ? She might i sin in thought?that much she could not re sisfe doing?but in actual deed ? Never! nev-! i er! would she betray the man who placed his i faith in her?whose honor was in her keeping, and who called her Wife. Because experi- i ence proved hira unloveable, that was no just < reason why she should forget her vow made at God's high altar! The hours went by while she sat thus engaged in deep aud sad meditations. The clock struck one?a long hour ! 1 past mid-night. She rose to her feet exclaim- (1 ing? "So late! So late! Ah! how my sad i I thoughts possess me ! They make me forget i even the flight of weary time !" She took up her night taper, and opening i < the door, started out, only to pause in conster- | nation. Some one was descending the stair- ] case. She recognized the footsteps. j i ?<n 5f io Ko I" rHa whisnprAfl. in 9uddeil ! terror, standing there with bated breath and ! ( tottering limbs. Her heart beat so quickly 11 that it almost stifled her. Her first impulse i i was to make her escape from this interview? j i her second, was to remain where she was, and I facing the danger, to subdue all hope in the i man's heart forever. I With sudden decision, as she saw him ap- I proaching her, she reopened the library door, < and entering with him, closed it with precau- i tion. The lamp she held lighted but dimly i that portion of the room in which they stood ; I the rest was in semi-darkness. She placed it on a table, and then turned toward McDonald, I > whom she tremblingly regarded. i He took her little hand, which was cold and clammy and quivering with excitement. She withdrew it hastily. < "O, I am so alarmed !" shecried, in a smoth- 1 ered voice of terror. ] "What is there to alarm you ?" he asked. < "0, go back to your room, instantly ! Go, ! do go!" she plended. i But instead of obeying her anxious behest, < he caught her band and pressed it passionate- i ly to his lips, despite all the resistance she of- < fered. I "I will not go !" he said, a stubborn passion i ind reproach flashing in his eyes ; "I will do i anything but that! Order me to blow my ? brains out at your feet, or stab myself; I will < '1 a filtKnii in nr KoT/n-o T will lpflvp vnil 1" I i She still persisted in trying to release her j band from his grasp ; but he would not yield < it. "O, you are cruel, to persist so!" she said, in a voice faint with excitement. 1 Struck by the anguish and alarm betrayed | in her tones, he instantly released her hand. She reeled, and would have fallen, had he J [lot caught her in his arms. She was pallid, { is, afterward, when her shroud was wrapt ( iround her. He supported her to a sofa, and i diere caressing her, and holding a glass of water to her lips, he revived her, so that a lush faint, as the rose of dawn, bloomed on her j jheeks. c "0, I am so frightened," she commenced, is soon as she could talk ; "I am afraid of t pou?or for you! Do go away! Please leave ( ue, for God's sake!" i She hid her face in her hands and shuddered. i 1 He fell upon his knees before her and t lought to clasp her in his arms ; but she thrust c lira away indignantly. \ "If you deem rae worthy of your love, sir, r jnderstand that I am also worthy of your f lonor!" c Then rising with a majestic and menacing j ittitude, she pointed to the door. "Cecelia, you acccuse me of cruelty? It is i /ou who are cruel!" he exclaimed, in the sad- f lest accents; then his unconquerable passion f for the beautiful creature once more rising in c i flood-tide of feeling, he said? "Fly with me, Cecelia! Our lives hereaf- ! :er will be lives of bliss?of unspeakable joy!" C "Elope ?"?her voice was stern, her manner i mposing?"withyou? Never! never! Noth- big could tempt rae to forget my own self-re- ( >pect?yours?and also the esteem of the world!" It was a tragic scene. This woman?beautiful?impassionate?yet unapproachable in icr purity?looking down from the sublime t il^tude of her pride upon the magnificent nan kneeling at her feet, a suppliant for her . irailes and her love ; the mellowed light of ihe lamp?the dusky gloom of the richly-aplointed chamber?and outside, the raging viuds, with hoarse voices, foretelling misfor- j ;une to the unhappy lovers ! Suddenly, Cecelia's cheeks blanched from i ear and trepidation. "Hark !" she said, "did i fou not hear a sound ?" j "Nothing, love! It is only your disordered j 'ancy that gives airy nothings form and j lound," he returned. "No, no," she persisted ; "I am sure I heard iomething!" "0, it was nothing at all!" he replied, atcmpting to appease her alarm. She shivered and glanced around her. , "I am so frightened," she said, "the least! .rifle makes my heart iieat to suffocation! ' knd to-night I am filled with a terror that I j ;annot overcome. 0, that I wero free to do ; is I wish, without this dread gnawing at my i ioul, like a wolf. "You are free?if you love me!" he an-j iwered her, tenderly."Hist!" she interrupted him again, listening J vith intense anxiety, for the sound that had j iwakened her fears; "I thought I heard foot- j iteps ou the stairs." i They paused?but heard nothing except | ;he monotonous moaning and sighing of the : .vinds. Once more she was, for the moment, reiis-1 c lured ; once more she turned to McDonald i lud gazed full in his eyes, her own beaming t ivith affection. 1 "Oh !" she said, softly, "if I had not been i .urned from you by jealous indiguation I. t night to-night give you my soul and still re- i naiii worthy to offer my prayers to God ! I; \ night still be happy?happy as I have often j c aeen in dreams ! Your loving tenderness 11 would be the glory of my life! A glory , s which no dread of coming evil could shadow! j ( McDonald drew her head down on his j shoulder. Her hand was clasped in his; his 1 impassioned lips were pressiug kisses on her {t golden hair; when, suddenly, with a convul- j * si ve pressure of his hand, she started up and 1 said in a voice grown childish weak? ^ "0, God in Heaven. I am lost?lost J" J t Instinctively, McDonald lifted his eyes, and (i blazing with affright, they remained fixed | < upon the door. I Gently?gently it opened?wider and wider, t as if a shadow were entering, and there stood Clarence Gadbury fully in view, and immov- c able as a statqe. c Cecelia, without a word?without a sound? i slipped from the sofa to the floor, unconscious t and cold. . i McDonald made no attempt to raise her. j t He put his hand to his breast-pocket and s [Irew out a revolver. Then stepping forth to- s ward Gadbury, be stood still and immovable, , 1 too. 11 The silence was grave and terrible. It a lasted but a moment. Not a sound was heard i I but the redoubled fury of the stormy winds.; c There lay the beautiful woman prostrate on | v the floor. There stood the two men eyeing I f sach other and pitting their strength mental- j t ly against each other with merciless scrutiny., a Gadbury's gaze was implacable/heavy and f fixed. McDonald's gleamed only with des- {i oerution. Suddenly. Gadbury shifted his po-1 a sition, advancing into the apartment. : fj "Another step toward me, and you are a : c dead man!" said McDonald, lifting his pistol | I and deliberately taking aim. Gadbury an- j t 3\vered his menace with a look so full of dis-11 [lain and contempt, that McDonald would j c have" feared any deadly weapon less. His ! s manner was fearless and cool. McDonald j r blushed to the roots of his hair as he noted j c this, and ashamed of his emotion in the pres-} r ence of so calm and scornful a man, he re- a turned his pistol to his pocket, and in turn, c issumed a freezing manner, that was immuta- r ble. a "You will follow me, if you please, sir," v said Gadbury, stepping out into the hall, and v speaking in a low voice. a McDonald glanced down at Cecelia, who c was lying prostrate and motionless. Instead r of obeying Gadbury's behest to follow, he j: bent over Cecelia with a feeling of pity and v love and attempted to raise her. The grip of I Gadbury's fingers on his arm checked him. r [t was like iron?that terrible pressure. But v it roused the man to a recognition of his honorable duty under such a distressing circum- v itance. He had insulted Gadbury?he had a outraged his hospitality and trampled upon o bis honor. To exhibit interest, ever so faint d ? r\ rrt? * /! O^Klirv'c U7 Jfp Q7flC D U IUJ ItillUCIIICSS, bunaiu vj?uuuu. j u > >>, i new outrage ; and he could not divest him- h self of a feeling of cowardice in being guilty n )f it. So stifling the sorrow that was break- C ng down deep in his heart, and obeying the tl gesture of Gadbury that still pointed to the ^ )pen door, he said gravely? s "I am at your command, sir." a The terrible finger of Gadbury still pointed ;o the door as a sign that McDonald must 81 irst pass out. 81 "Will you not render some assistance to c ler, even if you refuse to allow it from me?" 8J isked McDonald, irresolutely ; "it seems cru- ^ d?and it is?to leave her thus, without sum- ^ noning assistance, if you refuse to give it!" 0 "She will recover," said Gadbury, curtly. ^ McDonald's heart sank like lead ; but he c jave no sign. Hesitating no longer, he went ^ nit of the room. t( Gadbury followed him without casting even ^ i casual glance at the woman whom he had Cl :ondemned without pity, and to whom he was i i o esoivea 10 snow uo mercy. They descended the stair-case, lighted only _ jy the lamp which Gadbury had taken from ,he desk in the library. At the lower hall- w loor they paused. Gadbury drew a nightcey from his pocket, and unlocking the door, ^ loiselessly passed out into the long verandah ^ rontingon the picture-gallery, and at the end >f it paused and once more unlocked a door, md followed by McDonald, disappeared. The whole passage was made soundlessly as 1 f they had been ghostly visitants; for each U eared to rouse the domestics, knowing that * or the present, at least, an expose was less lesirable than any course they might pursue. P [to be continued next week.] _________________ D PtefcUMMttis lading, J Correspondence of the Yorkville Enquirer, h WAIFS FROM GOTHAM. ^ New York City, March 21,1874. | D As some of your readers may not havealjj >roper conception of the vastness, in mauy J t] hings, of I NEW YORK CITY, j f( t may not appear inappropriate in this con- i 0 lection to say, in the language of a represen- j w ative in Cougress from this metropolis, that j ti 'the State of Oregon is but a suburb to New j 0 fork." New York city is the gateway to the j e] vhole country. Two-thirds of the entire cus- i st oins revenue of the United States is collected it this port, aud New York city pays oneenth of the whole internal revenue tax. The tl vealth of this city amounts to three and a jr lalf billions of dollars, and the tonnage of a teamers and sailing vessels required to ac- ]e lommodate her commerce is more than one s, lundred millions tons annually. Four mil- tj ions of dollars are spent every year for char- C) table purposes ; four millions for education ; p hree millions for the maiutenanceof churches, 8( Lnd the Crotou water consumed by the iuhab- i n tants in one month would float a navy, j j There are 73,564 dwelling houses, in many of i u vhich fifty persons are living, and the entire j rc lopulation is conceded to be 1,840,000, the j j, raudulent census of 1870 to the contrary not-1 Ii vithstanding. j a With each succeeding week, some new ex- tl jitement or fanaticism, for the good or evil of j P nankind, springs up to supply material for ! tj jossips, or money to those who live by C( heir wits. The latest sensation in this line is ! b he societies denominated | s( SIDEWALK I'RAYINO BANDS, j 11 :omposed of females?old and young, mar-1 ied and single, handsome and homely?for ! a lie suppression of the sale of iutoxicating I o: iquors. This "new sensation" had its origin j ^ n the West, supcriuduced and fostered by I ^ hat arrant humbug and would-be moral re-! a ormer (for pay) Dr. Dio Lewis, of Boston, k r?Vw\ fieat rroiii Kit liia rrvmnocfin 1 K ""'"'""j "j bj*" j w :ollege for the development of the muscles of n he strong-minded Amazons of Yankee land,' 81 ind afterward as the proprietor of the Belvue |t( Turkish) Baths on Beacon street, Boston, i ? This gentleman (whom I know well) is cele- i tj prated for his efforts in all the new reforms? j $] hat pay him. Fiuding the teaching of gym- j " rustics unprofitable, he tried, as I said before, j r( o establish the Turkish baths in this country, | ^ vhich, according to his theory, would revolu- i ^ ionize the practice of medicine, by curing j 0 heumatism, consumption, and restoring the j n lead to life. That speculation proving un-j n profitable, he sold out his establishment and , w ,urned his attention to i Cl THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE, i a smigrated West, organized societies composed j u )f women, who in turn, organized themselves Sf nto "praying bands," and commenced a sys-1 e< eroatized raid upon the rum mills. The 1 j< uanner of proceeding seems to have been for j' hese bands to call upon parties in the line of r elling rum, and demanding that each vender " hould sign the pledge and give up his busi- j t less. Upon the refusal of the delinquent,! d hese bands immediately invaded the premises , n tnd commenced a series of prayer meetings. | a n some instances, warnings having been given j >f the approach of the raiders, the bar-rooms j eould be closed. Nothing daunted, if they i r ailed to gain admittance, impromptu prayer-! ti neetings were organized on the side-walks t md continued till the venders gave up, or the s fraying bands were exhausted. The epidem- 1 c spread till it reached this city. The first ^ ittempt at reformation in this line was inau- t mrnfofl a foro ntrpninoq flcrn ftt. the rooms a - "" b~ -o-? -* v if Harry Hill, on East Houston street, near a 3roadway?a resort of the most vicious gam- a ilers, prize-fighters and degraded women in a he city. Having a desire to witness the pro- 0 eedings, I dropped in to take a few notes and j atisfy my curiosity. I found the pieraises al- i eady prepared for business, and a motley s rowd in attendance, awaiting the commence-11 nent of proceedings. People arrived slowly 1 ,t first, but by half-past seven the room was ? rowded to suffocation. Among the first ar- j( ivals were several well-known temperance ^ .dvocates of the feminine gender. After- b yard they came in pairs, and then in triplets, t vithout male escorts, and were generally of * .n uncertain age, judging by the profusion 8 if "cork-screw curls" and vinegar countelances. There was a large number of females v iresent, but the greater part of the audience r yas composed of "men about town." The I est of order prevailed, and a gentleman, con- r lected with the movement, after the crowd ras seated, gave out the hymn? j "All hail the power of Jesus' name," ^ thereupon the ladies began to sing, and the j udience doffed their hats and sat quiet and 0 rderly, many of them wearing a look of won- f, lerment, which seemed to denote that the t aost of them had never heard a hymn sung n iefore. The singing was followed by an ear- n est prayer by a Mrs. Lawrence, who prayed 0 Jod to give strength to the cause and save he nation from the curse of rum drinking. n Another hymn was sung, and a gentleman h tepped forward, Bible in hand, to speak; when 0 voice near the door cried out: "Touch us ight,old boy," and "make us feel awful bad," aid another. These gibes were promptly ^ topped by Harry Hill, and the proceedings t, ontinued, with little or no interruption, by r peeches, hymn singing and the reading of p jtters?among which was one to Mrs. Gen. ll Jrant, requesting her influence to stop the use P f intoxicating liquors. One asking Senators ? !arpenter, Chandler and Sprague to be a t] oramittee to receive the praying band at the $ ar of the United States Senate, and another tl 3 Dr. Hall asking him to use his influence to 8 ave the use of wine dispensed with at the omnaunion-table. At a late hour many of 0 lose who had attended?through curiosity, ? r probably for a better cause?had gone; the ^ ar once more assumed its legitimate func- ti 0113, and to all appearances few converts a rere made. t( ANOTHER MEETING ill be held at the same place at an early ay; and if the cause of temperance is not j euefitted, I am of opinion that the business of ? larry Hill will in no wise suffer. y THE BLEAK WINDS OF MARCH a Mitinue to whistle mournful tunes and cause w s to draw our overcoats closer around us, as H e pass through the crowded thoroughfares, s< ringing to mind sad thoughts of the suffering ^ oor of this great city. How many homeless a 'ayfarers are on the streets to-night, with fi ought to screen them from the cold blasts n ut the blue canopy of heaven, and with no ? illow upon which to rest their weary heads, ^ ive the hard flag-stones of the pavements, it is ard to tell. There must be thousands, judg- p ig by the numerous applications as I pass it long, for a penny to buy bread, or a dime to tl rocure a bed. The suffering among the poor tl as been terrible this winter, and I am afraid ^ ie end is not vet. Thousands of dollars in loney and necessaries have been contributed ^ >r the relief of the poor, but in consequence n f the villainy of many persons connected ith the societies of relief, much of the chari- a j thus contributed has been appropriated for n ther than the purposes for which it was givo, and the parties intended to be benefitted Q jffer in consequence. 0 THE SOUP-HOUSES. r< Vast numbers of people manage to exist by a le charity dispensed at these establishments a 1 various parts of the city. These houses ^ re under the personal supervision of benevoint citizens, and the management is very ^ ?stematic. There are thirteen of these esiblishments in charge of Delmonico, the E ^lebrated restarateur, and some of them pre- h are soup for as many as fifteen hundred per- ^ his daily. Owing to the great number of e< rofessional paupers, much care is necessary to ^ iscrimiuate between the deserving and the ft ndeserving poor. To avoid fraud, a com- h littee make it their business to visit the poor q' 1 their homes and ascertain their needs. n some instances, persons of excellent char- 11 cter, are found reduced to extreme want, by p1 le pressure of the times; while others are n aupers from sheer "shiftlessness," and a love u >r rum. These people would not work if S iey had an opportunity, and as a matter of y1 )urse, are prevented, as far as possible, from C( ecoming a nuisance and depriving the de- 1 irving poor of the pittance which they so mch need. Hunkidori. ^ Foote's Story of Two Duels with Sareant S. Prentiss.?This is the substance a f the matter we have heard, as detailed by ai 'rentiss: n A friend of Prentiss was at the point of st eath from an attack of vxania-a-potu. For sc week his physicians had assayed every it uown remedy to put their patient to sleep, T ut in vain. Prentiss knew that Foote had is lade a visit to Texas. He was nursing his ol ck friend, when a consultation of the doc- is >rs was held, and they announced that the cj ase was hopeless unless the patient could be vi ut to sleep, out mat tney wouici exnausi an at le means known to the profession. Prentiss T prang from his seat, and said to the doctors, ai Damn it, give him Foote's book on Texas to w 3ad, and I will insure its soporific effect." ; ti 'he remark of Prentiss was too good a joke ol ) be kept, and it reached the ears of Foote, ci ho challenged, and Prentiss was too much T f a Southern cavalier to decline, and they ic iet, and Foote was wounded and the parties c< jade friends. It happened that the meeting w 'as so notorious that a very large collection rc rossed the river at Vicksburg to witness it, is nd among them a number of boys, who were e: > anxious to get a full sight, that they climbed pi p many trees about the grounds. When the er iconds had planted the parties, Prentiss look- Si 1 around and saw the noys in the trees, and ui sstingly remarked, "Boys, you had better ake care, Foote shoots mighty wild." This emark was published iu the papers, and anioyed Foote to such a degree tnat he again halleuged Prentiss, who met him a second ime as a gentlemanly solace to Foote's wouned spirit. At the meeting Foote fired and aissed, and Prentiss fired his pistol in the air, nd the parties were again reconciled. narrow-gauge railways. The friends of the narrow-gauge system of ailways in this country have been actively hough quietly at work during the past two or hree years, with practical results which wiil urprise those who have not closely observed he progress making in this new and imporant movement. There are at this time in the iffereut States and Territories no less than hirty-eight different narrow-gauge roads eithr completed or in the course of construction, nd all of them in actual operation, having an ggregate of 989 miles of track already laid, nd which, if finished according to the plans n which thev have been begun, will give au ggregate of 3,751 miles of narrow-gauge road, n a late number of the American Manufacurera' Journal we find a mass of interesting tatistics on this subject, showing more clearly han anything which has hitherto appeared, he progress of the narrow-guage system, eslecially in the South and the far West. Of he thirty-eight roads referred to above, the ongest is the Denver and Rio Grande, which las 159 miles of completed track, and it is to ie extended to a total length of 870 miles; he Cairo and St. Louis Road, which is to be 50 miles in length, 144 miles of track being lready laid ; the'Uath Northern Road of 160 niles, with 70 miles completed ; and the Kanas Central Road, 560 miles long, 65 miles of rhich have been completed. Besides the oads in the United States, there are in the Jritish possessions of North America five narow-gauge railways having an aggregate of 56 miles of completed road, and which when inished will make an aggregate of 811 miles, n addition to the roads partially or wholly >uilt which are in actual operation in the Jnited States, there are a large number of thers already in construction. The 3/auu:iclurers' Journal gives the names of twentywo of these which are to be from 10 to 950 riles in length, eight of them being over 200 ailes long. It also gives the names of thirty ther compauies organized to build narrowauge roads. So far as reports have been aade concerning the practical working of the arrow-gauge system, its results have been ighly encouraging. The Denver and Rio rrande road for the first ten months of 1873 howed net traffic earnings amounting to nearj 49 per cent, of the gross receipts. The Toonto, Grey and Bruce road in Canada for tie year ending June 30, 1873, reports net' raffic earnings of 34 per cent, and the Toonto and Nipissing for the same year of 391 er cent, on the gross. The Arkansas Cenral Road, for its short line of 64 miles comleted, showed net earnings at the rate of 2,000 per mile per year. We do not know 'hat this road cost, but the first division of tie Denver and Rio Grande Road cost only 13,500 per mile, with its equipment, while ie Canada roads are said to have averaged 15 000 per mile. Whatever opinion railroad men may unite n in respect to narrow-gauge tracks for the reat established thoroughfares of traffic, there an be no doubt that their introduction will e of immense value in developing new secons of the country where railroad facilities re required, but where the capital is wanting ) build roads on the plan in general use. THE POOR RICH MAN. Look at him! He is just getting out of is carriage! He steps with difficulty; his ice is seamed with care ; his coat is rusty? ou would not know him in the street from ny hard-working business man. Yet he owns 'hole streets full of houses, and miles of un a ???* ? TJ? 1, oono on armv nf IJJJIUYCU piv/pcibj* c*u U.IUJ va irvants in his great house up-town, and n army of clerks in'his business houses own-town. He has neither chick nor child, nd he lives on a bowl of gruel for bisbreakist and the wing of a chicken for his diner?he dare not eat srpper. What does he et out of his money? His house, it is true, cost him a hundred lousand dollars, but heoccupies the smallest Dom, sits on the plainest chair, eats the simlest food, and sleeps the least of any one in While he was saving the money, he nought he was doing it for himself, and the sought stimulated himtosave more. While e was building the house he thought he was uilding it for himself, and he consulted arhitects, and bad plan after plan drawn out, util he believed that he had found one that ras perfection. But he knows now that it was a mistake 11 the way through; he did not save the loney for himself, for there is nothing that he ants of it now that he has got it. He did ot build the house for himself, for he cannot ccupy it; it is simply a small hotel, which ffers luxurious accommodations free, and a Dund sum for pocket money, to a dozen male nd female domestic, who enjoy it infinitely lore than he does; who give him as much or 3 little as they choose of everything that he qo who nnncirtar him nnlv valuable US a loney-bag, from which their supplies are rawn. As a lad, how he envied the rich man! [ow he dreamed of what he would do when e became possessed of wealth! How greedily e looked at a fine house, at a handsome juipage, at the insignia of money, and social osition! And now he is rich, but he does not realize ; he thinks of nothing but the twinges of is rheumatism, the complainings or delinuencies of his tenants, or the "tricks" of his rascally" servants. He does not really live 1 his house or ride in his carriage, for in the oe he does little but sit and think upon the appy times when he was a poor boy at home pon the farm, and in the other, wish that by iving it, with his fine horses, to the manly oung fellow whom it passes in the street, he Untr kia onfi'oifir on/1 nnwfiP fif JU1U UUJ Uld iigaibU) (IVHT1WJ MUU |/v ?t V. ?ijoyment. It is not What a man has, but what he is, lat makes a man rich' + A Breathing Cave.?In the range of lountains in western North Carolina known 3 the Fox Range, a most singular phenomeon exists. It is a "breathing cave." In the immer months a current of air comes from it ) strongly that a person can't walk against , while in winter the suction is just as great, he cool air from the mountain in the summer felt for miles, in a direct line from the mouth f the cave. At times a most unpleasant odor emitted upon the current from dead carisses of animals sucked in and killed by the iolence. The loss of cattle and stock in that iction in winter is accounted for in this way: hey range too near the mouth of the cave, ad the current carries them in. At times, hen the change from inhalation to exhala-' on begins, the air is filled with various hairs f animals ; not unfrequently bones and whole trcasses are found miles from the place, be air has been koown to change materially i temperature, during exhalation, from quite >ol to unpleasantly hot, withering vegetation ithin reach, and accompanied by a terrible )aring, gurgling sound, as a pot boiling. It unaccounted for by scientific men who have tamined it, though no exploration can take lace. It is feared by many that a volcanic 'uption may break forth there some time, ach things have occurred in places as little lexpected.