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lewis m. grist, proprietor. J Inbeptitbent Jfamiln ftefosppr: Jfnr % ^romotira ef % political, Social, ^.gritnltnral aab Commercial Interests of % j$ont{|. |teRMS?$3.00 a tear, in advance. VOL. 21. YORKYILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, JULY 22, 1875. 29. ? ? ? j - ~ ?rigittal ftcn|. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE SEVEN SISTERS OF YORK, CHAPTER X. One chilly, misty afternoon in the begin ning of September, Virgilia put on her hai and shawl and set out for Mr. Holdweg's cot tage. It was the day for her German lesson which she rarely missed even in the most in clement weather. She had not gone far be fore the rain began to fall; but she had taker the precaution to bring an umbrella with her and hastening her steps, she succeeded ir reaching her destination just before the light drops thickened into a very decided shower Mr. Holdweg, who had apparently beer watching for her, came out into the litth porch to meet her, and taking her hand let her into the house. "You are ray very good pupil," he said it German; for she had sufficiently masterec the language by this time to understand hire when he spoke to her. "You never slacker in your pursuit of knowledge, even under dif ficulties." ^ "I don't think it was my lesson that broughl me here, particularly," she rejoined. He had conducted her into the sitting room, where s fire had been kindled to counteract the damp ness of the atmosphere. And having taker off her wrappings, she stood leaning against the side of the chimney, and gazing at th( flame with a moody and downcast look. "No ?" said her teacher inquiringly, scrutinizing her face as he spoke. "You came then, for the pleasure of the walk ?" "Mr. Holdweg, you know why I came,' replied Virgilia in a quick, petulant tone. "Ah ! so, it is, then, because you remembered my advice. Is it not, mein Fraulein /" "It is because I could not help it. You draw me here when you will," murmured Virgilia, still without raising her eyes. A peculiar, covert smile rested for an instant on her companion's face. "What is it, then, dear young lady, this magic influence which I seem to possess't How comes it that you, in your home a mile away, feel the wish that I have to see you, and come to me accordingly?" "I do not know," replied Virgilia, "but sc it is. I could not have remained away this evening, had the weather been ever so inclement." "In that case I would not have been selfish enough to desire your company. But I knew, if you came, that I could do you good." "How?" "That is a question not too quickly to be answered. But why stand, mein Fr'dulein t Here are chairs in plenty, though not such comfortable ones as your big stuffed velvet ones at home, in your pretty parlor." He pushed one near her as he spoke, and she sank down in it, wearily. "I like these better; I hate the house at home and everything iu it." ^ "Why so ?" "You know well enough why!" she exclaimed, vehemently. "It is because I am utterly wretched there. I have told you so before." "So, so! Do not excite yourself, mein Friiulein. Is it, then, so bad as that? You should have come to me before." "Come to you ? Do I not come here twice every week ?" "Ah ! yes. But I mean, come to me for advice. Even the advice of a musty, fusty, ugly old foreigner like me may be useful sometimes. To begin with ; I advise you to put aside your books for this evening?we will have no class. See how the rain comes down!" "You will not teach me alone, then ?" "Not in German?no. For once we will take holiday. I wish to talk to you instead." "It is almost a pity, then, that I came," said Virgilia, glancing uneasily out of the window. "No, dear Fraulen ; it is good you came. But tell me, now, all your troubles ; open your heart to me?you know I am your true friend. Speak to me with entire caudor; a physician cannot heal a bad wouud without probing it first. Let us see, then, how deep this wound of yours lies." Virgilia, for some moments, did not reply. She sat with her deep, dark eyes fixed immovably on the fire, her hands clasped torrotKor nn Ion o nrl on nv?\1 nn nF nnn. goi>ugi vu 11 v& ia|^) aim au ^ a.yi woiuu ui wuu centrated gloom on her pale, intellectual brow, and about the lines of her sternly compressed lips. Mr. Holdweg, sitting on the oppositt side of the fireplace, watched her intently, as if striving to read her inmost thoughts. Al last, with au effort, she slowly looked up and met his gaze. "Things grow worse every day," she said in a low, reluctant tone, as if the words were being drawn from her against her will. "My sister is most unhappy, and her unhappiness is mine. It breaks my heart to see her striving with her sorrow, and yet not be able tc comfort her." "She does not come to you for comfort?" "Ah ! no?no, she never comes to me. Sine* this trouble, she notices me less than ever,' replied Virgilia, bitterly. "Ah ! and your youngster?the beautiful sister with the golden hair. She cannot console her, either." "Do not name her!" cried Virgilia, clench ing her hands ; "it is she who is the cause ol all our misfortunes?it is she who has wroughl evil to me from her babyhood. That I raigh! forgive?but to have her murder Edna's hap piness, that I can never, never forgive. She has come between me dnd Edna's love, like ac evil shadow, all her life; but I strove not tc hate her, until she turned to sting the bosom that had cherished her?the tenderest heart that ever beat, to her; though to me cold, cold as marble." "She is ungrateful then, this beauteous Claribel." "She has always been ungrateful. Sht loves Jeannette far better than she does Edna.' "And your sister Edoa is very, very unhap py ?" "Yes ; but she does not speak of it. She strives to appear calm, and to avoid watching and questioning. She goes about her duties at she used, but she moves as silently as a shadow and grows paler and thinner every day." "Ah I poor lady. It must be a heavy griei she has to bear. How long is it since hei lover has been to your home?" "Claribel's lover, you mean," said Virgilia with a bitter smile. "But that is not an acknowledged fact, if it, vie in Frdulein f" "No, not yet?but where is the use of keep- | ! ing up such a miserable sham ? Hugh Thorn- j - : ton was at our house two days ago. I did not see him ; I was up in my room." "Does Claribel receive him when he comes?" j I | "No; jately she has kept out of the way. j 6ut|it is likely they may meet at other times." 1 You are sure then that she returns bis j ' | love?" II "Yes, I am sure of it now. I thought dif'' ferently at first." ?| "What a pity that she was at home when " j Mr. Thornton returned from Europe. If she " i could only have been absent on a ntue visii, 4 ; somewhere, and left the coast clear for your ! ? eldest sister!" 1 "But that was precisely the case; she was 1 away for ten days after he came." "Was that so? You see, mein Fr&ulein, 1 she is undoubtedly the more beautiful of the i two; and man, roving man, seeks ever the 1 fairest flowers." | "Yes, that is their creed," said Virgilia, in a j 1 scornful tone. "Constancy is never their j I motto." 1 "They leave the nobler virtues to your sex, j 1 dear lady. But your forsaken sister?does she ; ' i turn against Claribel ?" "No?she simply avoids her, or rather the ' avoidance is mutual. Claribel keeps out of J ' her way, and shuts herself up a good deal in j k her chamber. When they meet they are out-' wardly the same as usual. Our life at home, i 1 is like a play upon the stage, everything on j ? the surface ; the real life hidden under a pre-1 ! tence, which must be put away before long." j "These pretences are sometimes necessary. . " Fate compels us to assume them." > "I abhor pretence. Why does not Hugh Thornton say at once, boldly, what his feelings are, instead ol hovering anout i^ana, as 11 ne ; still cared for her, while all the time she, and ' ' everybody, know that his heart is CJlaribel's ?" 1 "It is a difficult thing," said Mr. Holdweg, j ' smiling, "for a man to say boldly that he is faithless to one lady, and ask her permission 1 to wed another." "Then why does he not go away ? Oh ! I. 1 hate him! He is a coward?a faithless, per1 jured coward. He is not worthy of Edna. ' But if she cares for him, I would shed my heart's blood to win him back to her." "You havestrong feelings, mien Fraulein." "Yes. I can love, and I can hate, with all i my heart. But I caunot sham either." "I, too, can hate," said her teacher, in a j lower tone. "And strange to say, in this case ; my sentiments coincide with yours. I cor? dially hate Mr. Hugh Thornton." "You!" said Yirgilia, looking up in sur-; prise. 1 j "Yes. I surprise you, I see. I expected I ' j should. You were not aware, were you, that ' my acquaintanceship with Mr. Thornton is : one of long standing?" ' i "No. I did not know you had ever met 1 him before you came to live here." i "I met him years ago, in Italy. Let me see j i | how many?four, five?no, seven ; seven | | years ago. He did me an ill turn then, which j , I have never forgotten. I do not easily for- . " j get. One of these days I shall recompense j ' | him for it." " j "It is strange that he has never mentioned i I you," said Virgilia. 1 j "No. All things considered it is not very 1 i ofwonrtft T *?tll rtltm won q linlo ovnlonntlnn oiiaugCf j. nin giTo j wu i* iivviw va|/'mumv*vmj | I presently, of my words. You were saying ! just now, mien Friiulein, that you abhorred pretence." "Yes, I do." "But suppose it were necessary for a per1 son's safety?or for some other equally good i 1 purpose?that he should assume a temporary j disguise, would you abhor that, too ?" Virgilia looked at him earnestly. Something in the expression of his face struck her | j with a curious feeling of recognition, yet of | i whom or what, she could not tell. He saw j j her start slightly, and smiled at her with a ' friendly air, to re-assure her. "Dear Friiulein, do not be uneasy," he said, ; : in a gentle voice. "J am not a bandit in dis'' guise. I will do you no harm." j "You were not speaking of yourself, then ?" j "I did not quite say that, either. Look ' .; you ; ao 1 not remind you or some one wnom ! ; you have seen ?" i "Yes?but?Oh ! Mr. Holdweg, please do j not mystify me any more," cried Virgilia, ! turning pale as she spoke, and partially rising i I from her chair, for a vague feeling of terror J was beginning to take possession of her. , j "What do you mean ?" I j "I mean that I have a secret," replied her i teacher, "and I am going to make you the s recipient of it. I kuow that you caunot be*: > tray me. See here," and he lightly touched I . his long shaggy beard, "this comes off, and my j bushy hair too?presto! I)o you know me II now?" j But Virgilia had hidden her face and ' screamed as he had removed the false beard, s and would not look up. ( "Dear Miss Vaughan," said the ci-dcvant >; Mr. riomweg, speaking perfectly goeu it.nglish, and in quite a different tone, "why should J you yield to such unreasonable fears ? Look i; at me and assure yourself of my identity." Timidly, tremblingly, Virgilia raised her | eyes. [ "Professor Graves!" she exclaimed, in deep -! surprise. "Hush ! breathe it softly. There is no one . i near, or I should not have ventured on this F exposf- at present. But I must not venture t' too much ; I must don my hairy ornaments t; again, lest some unlucky chance should be-1 tray me. There !?now I am the musty, fusty ; old German teacher again." i | "But why," faltered Virgilia in bewilder> ment. He interrupted her, smiling, i "I know all you would ask?I know, too, t that I have run the risk of forfeiting your confidence and your esteem, by the confession of' this little deception. But it is a proof of the i faith I have in your generosity, your true no! bility of soul, that I have chosen you as my ?i confidante in this affair. Miss Vaughau, you j ' ' have heard of political exiles?men who have , been forced to leave their native land to es. cape persecution because of their adherence i' to principles which their conscience would not ; permit them to forsake?" i | "Yes." ,1 "You think it no crime in them to baffle the vigilance of their enemies by the assumption f of a feigned name and garb." r j "No," murmured Virgilia, who was still too j bewildered to answer except in monosyllables. , | "Then you will not refuse to pardon me for i the duplicity of which I have been guilty? 1 i J of which I must still be guilty, as regards evi cry one but yourself, until the time is past | when danger would attend the discovery of ^ the truth. In me you behold one of those un- ( fortunate exiles of whom I have spoken, driv- : en by the decrees of a tyrannical government to seek an asylum iu your hospitable land. I cannot yet reveal any true name, even to you." . "Your name, then, is not really Graves ?" "No?no more than it is really Holdweg. Dear Miss Vaughan, I appeal to your generosity not to press me farther on the subject. My confidence must of necessity be only a partial one. But this much I will tell you, that the name I am forced for the present to a conceal is one which for many generations ! has been bright with the lustre of untarnished ; ( honor,-and stands high?higher than you I r would perhaps believe, were I to tell you?in I j the annals of my country. In your demo-1 c cratic America," he added, smiling, "perhaps ! c this fact would be of little weight. Yet it j c must count for something, I should hope, in I t the estimation of those v^hose true aristocracy j j of feeling teaches them to withdraw instinct- j , ively from contact with the mean and low." There was a silence of several moments. Virgilia had turned partially from him, and with her hand resting on the table, and her eyes bent upon the floor, appeared to be considering deeply. Mr. Holdweg?for we must still call him by that name?paced several times up and down the room in perfect silence, his arms crossed upon his breast, while occasionally he directed a searching glance at his companion, who stood as motionless as a statue, until at length he paused in front of her, and spoke in a low, deprecating tone. "Miss Vaughan, have I sinned beyond forgiveness? Is my conduct unpardonable in your eyes?" Virgilia looked up, her cheeks flushing, and her glance kindling. "So far from it," she replied, "I thank you l for the confidence which you have reposed in r me, and assure you that I will not prove un- g worthy of your trust. Your secret shall be s as safe with me as if you had never revealed it." i "I felt assured of that," he rejoined, "be- t fore I spoke. You do not blame me, then?" j "No, I have faith in you, and believe that ( the motives which actuate you are lofty and ^ pure." She held out her slight hand as she spoke, x and her teacher, with a reverent gesture, j clasped it in his. t "Sublime faith?sublime charity !" he ex- } claimed. "Mass Vaughan, I can but feebly t express to you, in words, the gratitude I feel ( for your kindness ; but my actions shall testi- e fy to it in all time to come. Ah ! how truly x I felt, when fate first brought us together, that j there was a bond of sympathy between us, f unseen by others, yet linking our souls as ? surely to each other as though they were t bound by a tangible fetter?that secret unison ( of our finest sensibilities, our loftiest thoughts, j which exists between natures cast in the same ( mould, and which no time can obliterate, nor t separation destroy! You believe in the exis- ? tence of such an affinity,do ?ou not?" t' "I have read of such things," murmured t Virgilia, in a tone of awe. Like one fasci- 1 nated, she kept her gaze riveted upon him as i he spoke, and made no effort to detach her t hand from his grasp. ( "You do not, cannot, reject a theory so 1 knn..(U'.il on siioinp 1 fnr thp first. tl'mP t UUUUtlXUi, OU Ml T >U\y AMMIJ4V* W*?W M.V. . . I fully realize the joy of knowing that henceforth I can no longer be alone. Whatever vicissitudes in life fall to my lot, I shall be sustained by the consciousness that a sistersoul is passing with mine through every trial, every joy. Destiny has so ordained it. We cannot, if we will, alter her decree. Miss Vaughan. you tremble?is there something so fearful to you in the thought of this soulunion ?" "I cannot understand it," said Virgilia, in an agitated tone. "It is all mysterious?dim and vague?like the phantoms of a dream,1 which elude me when I strive to see them j more clearly. My comprehension is too feeble to grasp the truth in its whole beauty and force." "'Tis the natural shrinking of an inexperienced mind. Once accustomed to its contemplation, you will revel in the discovery as | I do. See there," and he pointed through the j window at the rays of the setting sun, which j at that moment broke through the clouds and I mist, gilding, with rainbow light, the land- j scape glistening in the newly fallen rain ; 1 "even so will wisdom's rays one day scatter j the clouds which obscure our miuds, and illumine these faint revelations, which dawn but J s * * ?j 1: i .,4.. ! lmperiecuy upon us now, who uazzuug uc?ui,jr and clearness." "You said," observed Virgilia, aftera pause, ! "that you could help me in my present troubles. How is that possible ?" "I can and will help you. But nothing j rash?nothing premature must be done. Before I decide upon anything, you must answer tne first, clearly and positively, some questions j I shall ask you. First, do you desire to win Hugh Thornton back to his first love?" j "Yes ; but that, I fear, is not in my power." "Never mind that. I have promised you my aid ; have I not ? Next, do you trust me?not partly, not fearfully, but wholly and implicitly? Pause before you reply." I Virgilia pondered, with bowed head, then raising her eyes to her companion's face, an- j swered in a firm tone, "I do." "That is well. Thirdly and lastly, do you promise to submit yourself, in this matter, j wholly to my guidance?" "I promise, willingly." j "And now," said Mr. Holdweg, with a sud- j den change of manner, "I must not detain you any later. See ; the sun is already below the horizon, and soon it will be growing dark. Wrap your shawl well around you, for the g evenings are chilly now when once the twi- i light tut is. uooa-nignt, my pupu: ,, "Good-night, sir," said Virgilia, as she me- ( chanically obeyed his directions ; and as he i t dismissed her with a parting pressure of the ? hand, sheset out like one in a dream, on her |, homeward way. j ] "What have I promised ?" she murmured t to herself more than once, as she slowly re- ? traced her path through the woods, all sodden g aud wet with the rain; while the evening!, shadows crept mistily about her, aud the dis-' n tant voice of an owl, uttering an occasional ( raelaucholly hoot, came like a harbinger of;fi evil to her ears. i 8 [to be continued next week.] tkiff" Speak as little as may be of thy neigh- c bor, or of anything that concerns him, unless f an opportunity offers to say something good of ' J him. 1 pstorg of Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY REV. ROBERT LATHAH. (CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK.) On the death of Joseph Blake, in 1700, Toseph Morton, the oldest landgrave, was, by i majority of the deputies of the proprietors, ilected Governor. The intentions of the jrand Council were thwarted, and Morton lever entered upon the duties of the office, n the colony there was a man by the name >f James Moore. This Moore was a restless iharacter, hopelessly involved in debt. Withlut extraordinary endowments, he was ambiious, reckless and unscrupulous. Governed n hisacts, not bv principle, but by policy, he cno rpnrlv tr? Hnnnvthin^ or esDouse the cause " ~??J -? J o -- 1 ifany party, provided there was a slight hope hat such a course on his part would retrieve lis ruined fortune or exalt him to position. Vioore was one of those Btrangely constituted nen who are never in their element unless ipposiug some measure or some person. Eve y time that Moore's name occurs in the previous history of the colony, it is connected vith some opposition movement. He was not ilways on the wrong side; for he was, no loubt, one of those vascillating creatures that eadily unites with any party, and as readily juits it. The history of James Moore and Nicholas Trott is intimately associated with all the ivents of the colony, from the time of which ve are speaking up to the time that it passed >ut of the hands of the proprietors into the lands of the crown of England ; a period of learly twenty years. Both were unprincipled tnd designing men, and were capable of intigating others to perpetrate base deeds. When the majority of the deputies of the iroprietors, in accordance with the constituional regulations of the colony, chose Joseph Norton as Governor, James Moore, also one >f the deputies, opposed the choice, on the ground that Morton had been commissioned fudge of Admiralty, by the King of England. \.ll the previous history of Moore proves bat this was a vile subterfuge. It was true hat Morton was Judge of Admiralty, and lad been advanced to this position of honor >y the King; but this could not, in itself, lisable him from exercising the office of Governor of the colony. Neither the Charter lor the Fundamental Constitutions of the jrovince made any provision for any such ofice as Morton held. The necessity of such in office was admitted by all. Admitting bat it was unsafe in any individual in the col>ny to hold office at the same time under the jroprietors and under the King of England? >r rather, to hold two offices at the same ime?one under the proprietary government, ind the other under the Crown of England; fames Moore was the last man in the world bat should have objected to such a thing, tie had, but a short time before this, been negotiating with the King of England to work he mines of the province for the promotion )f the interest of his majesty. So secret had his negotiation in reference to the working of lie mines been conducted, that it is very probible that few, if any, of the colonists, except hose immediately concerned in the scheme, mew anything about it. Had they known his fact, it is reasonable to suppose that they ivould have rebutted Moore's arguments tgainst Morton with his own conduct. The inly reason why James Moore did not hold a jommission from the King of Eugland was, hat the English Board of Trade did not see it to give him one. The unblushing audacity of Moore prevailid, and he, we may say, thrust himself upon he people as Governor. He commenced his idministration with a kind of political fraud ind deception, and its continuation was mark- j ;d by a series of outrages seldom equaled in j die annals of government. In fact, the com-! neucement of James Moore's administration | narks the beginning of the downfall of the ; proprietary government in South Carolina. A few individuals, amongst whom was Nicholas Trott, constituted themselves into a j iind of oligarchal rulers and inflicted upon the > people trouble of mind, suflering or ooay,anu ntolerabie expense. Sometimes these self* ' instituted managers of the affairs of the col- i >ny were agreed amongst themselves, and lometimes they were not. To these restless ind evil-designing spirits, it was a matter ofi ,he utmost importance to have the members I >f the Grand Council, and also of the Assemjly, either to think as they thought, or to be j vholly under their control. In November, j L701, a new Assembly was chosen. All kinds j >f frauds were practiced. Persons, in every ense disqualified by law to vote, were taken j o the polls and voted. Strangers, aliens, \ legroes and mulattoes were not only permit- j ed to vote, but solicited to do so. Iu this j raudulent way some "men of no seuse and ; :redit" were chosen members of the Assembly. J rhose who opposed such a course were rudely i reated by the frantic mob which espoused j he side of the Governor and his party. At! his time Lord Granville was Palatine, and he ! sanctioned the course of Moore, first by con- j irming him in the office of Governor, and hen by treating with contempt any petition i lint urn a apnt nn hv the Deoule of the colouv w -J- -J ------ ,, I isking for relief from the high handed raeas- i ires of the Governor. Notwithstanding the fact that Moore had lucceeded in having several individuals chosen nerabers of the Assembly, who were wholly inder his control, still the majority of the As- j lembly was true as steel. When the Asseraily convened, petitions were sent up from va- j ious quarters, but especially from Colleton ! :ounty, asking an investigation of the official londuct of the sheriff, who had acted as man- j iger at the precinct where the illegal votes i vere cast. To prevent an investigation, j Vloore, by a wise stroke of policy, prorogued i lie Assembly. Previous to this, Moore had j ittempted to have a bill passed by the As- j embly, which was designed to give him, indi-j ddually, a monopoly of the Indian trade.; The object of Moore, in securing the office of; jovernor, was to repair his ruined fortune ind amass a large estate. This purpose he teadily kept in mind. . By some freak of fortune, Nicholas Trott! ipposed this bill for monopolizing, the Indian ! rade, and it was defeated. The probability s that had Trott been a sharer in its gains le would not have opposed it; but since Governor Moore alone was to be benefitted j by the passage of the proposed bill, Trott op- j posed it, and mainly by his opposition it was | defeated. During the session of 1701, but few ! laws were enacted, and none of very great importance to the prosperity of the colony. The time of the members was consumed in angry tind excited debates. There was one law ratified on the 1st of March, 1701, which serves to confirm the truthfulness of one of the traditions of the country. It is well known to all the old inhabitants of the State that less than a century ago the country was full of wild horses. Such was the case within the recollection of some persons still living. In Fairfield county there is a stream which is now known by the local name of Horse river. The original name of the stream was Horse-Pen Branch. This name was given to the stream nfilinWll/ltod nfillfl tlPflT it UCV/AUOC bliC lCkL U1C10 UUIIOUI UVWU ^/wuw ?<?? ?? .v for the purpose of catching wild horses. Now, the question may be asked, how did the wild horses get into the country? It is well known that when the colony was first planted at Charles Town, there were neither hogs, horses nor cows in the territory. Horses were brought from the northern colonies, but especially from Virginia. Great numbers of these animals were, during the few last years of the seventeenth century, driven from Virginia to Charles Town. Some were sold to the planters; but the larger number of them were turned loose in the swamps. Here they were permitted to remain, summer and winter, and in these swamps they increased in numbers, and in a short time many of them became so wild as never to be recovered by their owners. As the low country became more densely populated and the swamps drained, the wild horses, as well as the other wild animals, made their way into the upcountry. The northern colonies, and especially Virginia, made South Carolina a grazing ground. Any and every kind of horses were brought into the colony, and turned out to graze. This had a tendency to increase the number of horBes, but to injure the quality. The planters paid little attention to breeding, either fine or serviceable horses; but depended upon what was called "woods colts." To prevent stock being driven into the State, and "for the better encouragement of more serviceable horses to be bred amongst us," the Assembly passed a law that twentyfive dollars should be paid for each horse brought by land into the colony. It is probable that this had the effect to lessen the number of horses brought into the settlement about Charles Town; but it did not wholly prevent the practice. We find that forty years after this, the practice of driving horses from Virginia to South ' * " ?*- j T>:-I?a uarouna sun couuuueu. ivivuoiu jvihwbuu | came to Fairfield county about 1745. He came from Virginia, and settled on the Wateree, in the eastern part of Fairfield county. His descendants, at least many of them, still form a part of the population of the county. He was a man of considerable wealth for that time, and brought with him a large amount of stock, amongst which were fifty brood horses. Whilst this subject is under consideration, we cannot refrain from remarking that the general features of the up-country have been very greatly changed in the last one hundred and twenty-five years. At that time, according to reliable traditions, there were but few large trees in the forests, and the country was, during the summer,covered with clover and wild pease. Many of the branch bottoms aud some of the ridges, were covered with canes. Stock of all kinds became fat during the summer, and suffered but comparatively little during the winter. A large portion of Abbeville county was, when first settled, a canebrake, and all the Wateree section of Fair field was covered with red clover; and in some sections it still remains in spite of the raids made upon the forest by the devotees of cotton. These facts, together with others of a similar kind, which might be presented, accounts for the practice of the Virginians driving their horses down into South Carolina; and also for the fact that there were many wild horses in the country shortly after its first settlement. We now return to the main subject. In April, 1702, Governor Moore again summoned the Assembly. So soon as tbey met, the members concluded that it was to their interest to adjourn until the 5th of May. The reason assigned for this was, that since most of the members were planters, and April was the month for planting the crops, it was irapor-1 tant for them to be at home superintending their farms. On the 5th of May they met, and Governor Moore abused them for adjourning, charging them with selfishness. To retaliate, he prorogued the Assembly till August. It is clear that bitter feelings existed. The Assembly had lost all couhdence in tne | Governor, if, indeed, it ever had any; and j the Governor was bitterly enraged by the in-1 dependent course of the Assembly. To increase the mutual distrust, it was cur- j rently reported that, at the suggestion of Rob- j ert Daniel, the Governor had determined to j declare martial law. This infuriated the As-1 serably, and but for a shrewd device of the j Governor, something in keeping with their : feelings might have been done. For several reasons Governor Moore determined to make j an attack upon St. Augustine. The real ob-1 ject of the Governor was, in all probability,; to capture Indians and reduce them to slaves, i and plunder the Spanish towns. No friendly feelings existed between the colonists and the Spanish; and no doubt Moore : thought that by proposing to the Assembly an expedition again3t St. Augustine, he could rliwprt f.hfiir minds from the frauds which had i been practiced in the receut election. The expedition was proposed, and with closed doors the Assembly began the discussion. All those in the colony who knew anything about the fortiBcations of St. Augustine, were summoned before the Assembly and asked to communicate all they knew. This was justj ou the eve of the breaking out of "Queen ! Anne's war" or the war of the "Spanish Sue-' cession." It seems that when Moore proposed j the expedition against St. Augustine, nothing 1 was known in America about this war be-! tween England and Spain, and that the As-1 sembly opposed the Governor's scheme until ; it was ascertained that war was declared. j Governor Moore had, at least, a plausible ! pretext for undertaking this military expedi-1 tion. The Spanish of St. Augustine had, at j various times, made unprovoked attacks upon ; the settlers in South Carolina. In 1686 they came to Port Royal with three galleys, and, in a most inhuman way, destroyed the infant colony planted at that point by Lord Cardross. From thence they proceeded to North Edisto, plundered and burnt everything before them, and carried away a number of prisoners, amongst whom were the brother and brotherin-law of Governor Morton. Their ravages upon the people were stopped by a storm. Two of their galleys were blown to the shore and rendered useless. On one of these vessels was the captive, Morton, in chains. So soon as the Spanish saw that the vessel could not be relieved, they set it on fire, and left Morton bound. Both were consumed. This was barbarously cruel. In the early part of 1702, another design was formed against the colony in South Carolina, by the Spaniards of St. Augustine. An army of nine hundred Appalachee Indians was raised by them and actually on its march, before the settlers learned that the Spaniards had aDy intention of attacking the colony. The Creek Indians, who were on amicable terms with the whites of South Carolina, made the discovery and communicated the fact to the traders. These traders collected, as speedily as they could, five hundred Creek Indians and set out to meet the invaders in the territory now belonging to the State of Georgia, on the Flint river. Late in the evening both armies met on the banks of the river and camped for the night, expecting to begin the attack early in the morning. It was a custom amongst the Indian tribes to commence battle early in the morning?long before the sun rose. The traders and Creek Indians, aware of this fact, bad recourse to a stratagem which succeeded in securing them a complete victory, and in driving the invaders back. Long before day, the traders and Creek Indians got up, kindled their campSres, and then retired into the surrounding forest. Their blankets and camp stuff were all arranged as if they were still quietly reposing in camp. Soon the Appalachees, led on by the Spaniards, raised the war whoop, and rushed into the camp of the Creeks. They found nothing but empty blankets. The bewilderment was of short duration, for the ambushed traders and Creeks poured in a deadly volley of arrows and bullets, which soon put the enemy to flight. It is true that these invaders did not reach the settlement; but evidently the destruction of the South Carolina colony was its design. (to be continued next week.) IpscrlkttMUjs jtwdimj. "HE FIT WITH STONEWALL JACKSON." He was at the Central Station yesterday, waiting to go to the County Insane Asylum. There was a wild look in his eyes, and now and then he muttered to himself; but one would sooner think him the victim of poverty and hard luck than a lunatic. Hisgarments were faded and rent, the left arm was off at the elbow, he had a painful limp, and he was old and gray. Suddenly pausing in his walk, he stood at "attention" and exclaimed : "Right dress?front!" Some of the men looked up, and the old man continued: "I fit with Stonewall Jackson?that's what ails me." "Were you a soldier?" asked one of the men who had carried a musket for three years. The old man regarded him with a look of pity and contempt, and loftily replied : "T will show vou !" He had his coat and vest off in a moment, and, pulling open his old woolen shirt, pointed to a terrible scar. "Was struck there with a bayonet," said the old man. He exposed his left thigh, and there was another terrible scar, showing where an ouBce ball had plowed its way, and explaining why he limped. "Got that fightin' with Stonewall Jackson 1" he said, his voice betraying pride. He mutely pointed to his maimed arm, waited a full minute, and then whispered: "I got that under Stonewall Jackson, too!" He stood at "attention" again, his eyes fixed on the wall. His face was hard and stern for a moment, but then it softened and lighted up. He seemed to see a picture of the past on the blank wall, and presently he was wearing the gray again. He trembled with excitement as he wheeled around and exclaimed : "Did I fight with Stonewall Jackson ? You bet I did !" Waiting a moment he sat down and continued : "'Member when we'uns came down on you'uns in the Wilderness I I saw him a dozen times that day, and we'uns knew you'uns would catch blazes. Forward, forward? march, march, all day long, uo rest, no rations, no let up. Old uncle Robert (General Lee) had sent for Jackson, and Jackson was bound to be thar in time. Along the road, across the fields, and just at dark we struck you'uns?struck like a tornado! Down along the thickets?through the woods?across the swamps, and you'uns didn't see we'uns com;n??? *"6 "Great blazes!" continued the old man, as he sprang up. "We charged right down among you'uns, doubled the liue up and drove it. That's who Stonewall Jackson was?that is how we fit. I got this ere hurt in the hip there, and while I was lying there, you'uns chawed this arm off with grape-shot. Die ? Lots o' gray backs would have died, but wasn't I under Jackson?old Stonewall ? We fit, sir?we couldn't stop long enough to die!" His eyes flashed, color came to his face, and for a moment he showed all the pride of a veteran of Waterloo. Then his true situation came back to him, and he sat down, excitement and exultatiou all gone, and said : "I havn't money enough to buy a crutch, and my head isn't exactly right. I've surrendered to you'uns, and you'uns are going to take me somewhere. I'm old and used up, and I wish I'd died uiyler Jackson !" The men waited awhile and then questioned him, but he fixed his gaze on the wall and made no reply. When the officer came to escort him to the depot he noticed the old j o t-\ '<-1 1 n rvi a*> ao pi on/) o o lr oa] lUrtU O JdlUCUCOO UUU UCQ.V/U "Shall we take a car ?" "No, sir," was the prompt reply; "for- j ward?guide right?'arch?I fit with Stonewall Jackson!"?Detroit Free Press. The Deacon and His Calf.?Last Sunday, just as one of our straightest deacons was getting ready to shake the lines over his horse's back, and say "ge dap," his wife happeued to remember that the calf hadn't been fed. The deacon looked at his Sunday clothes, and observed that he dicl not deem it incumbent upon him to suffer for the negligence of others; to which the deaconess replied that such lan-1 guage in the presence of the children, on a ! Sunday morning, and from a pillar of the ; church, was enough to shake one's belief in the professions that bad been made by some ' rtrvnlA nomo TKn rlnannn Konrlo/1 4VIA ; UUOOUC tuuiu UftUICt JlUV uvuvvu uwuwww ?uv i liues to his eldest boy, and climbed over the wheel, without saying a word. He went around to the front door, and took the door key from under the mat, came around to the ; back door, and as he was trying topnt the key in the hole, the key slipped from his hand and j slid down into the mud. Finally he got into the kitchen and started for the barn yard with the milk. He set the pail down on the ground and called to the calf, but the beast whisked his tail iu the air, and bellowed at him. Then he captured the animal and pulled it along by the ears and jammed its head into the pail, but the calf gave a spring, sending the milk in a cloud of spray over the deacon's shirt front. In trying to recapture the beast the deacon dropped his hymn book out of his pocket, and before he could rescue it the calf stepped both feet on it and tore the cover off. The deacon got mad. He took a hop-pole and belabored the calf. One end of the pole struck the shed, and bounding up, knocked the deacon's plug hat off. It rolled directly under the calf, who set his foot through the tile, and then went tearing around the yard with bis tail in the air, and that hat fastened just above the knuckle joint. The deacon went into the house, and as he unbuckled his shirt-collar, he called out, "Maria, you go to church, and if anybody asks after me, tell them I staid at home to feed the calf!" STORY OF AN ELEPHANT. Elephants have a decided liking for military life. Various regiments whilst serving in the East have had such an animal, which often rendered good service to the corps to which he might be attached. The King's Rangers at one time were in possession of a fine male of enormouse size, which for many years was never once absent from parade. At soon as the bugle sounded, he would walk majestically to the place of muster, and take up his position at the right of the column. If the mahout or driver presented himself, the elephant would lift him on to his shoulders by means of his trunk, and evidently without the slightest effort to himself; but, if left to his own unaided intelligence, he obeyed the ordinary words of command without ever making a mistake, such as "Right face," "March," "Mark time," "Halt." He insisted at all times on giving help to the men whenever they were engaged in loading or unloading baggage, and was evidently pleased to be allowed to make himself generally useful. When the wagons were impeded on the march, as it not unfrequeutly happened, Jock was duly sensible of his own importance, for by his enormous strength be would push a heavy load up a steep declivity, which six or eight oxen failed to do without his assistance. It happened that the Rangers were suddenly ordered to embark for China, and there was no accommodation for taking Jock on shipboard. To the great disappointment of the men, the authorities decided thathe should be left in India. He was, however, permitted to accompany the regiment as far as the quay, to watch the troops as they went on board, many of whom had a parting word of kindness for their old comrade. Good-by, old man?"Poor old Jock"?were repealed, with many variations, both by officers and men. Meanwhile the animal watched the proceedings with great apparent interest, as if wondering when his own turn would come to go on board. But when the vessel steamed off and left him ashore, he became frantic with rage and disappointment. It had been proposed that be should be transferred to another corps, but he most persistently refused to have any thing to do with it. Neither the coaxing nor the threats of his mahout were of any avail. Though he had previously manifested the gentlest disposition, he now threateningly withstood all kindly advances on the part of his would-be comrades, and at length so savage did he become that it was deemed expedient to place him in confinement. Even the mahout himself was several times placed in a very awkward predicament, and on one occasion barely escaped with his life. No means could be found to assuage the grief^r to calm the anger of this faithful creature who so constantly mourned the loss of his friends. But, in little less than two years, the Rangers came hack to their old quarters, and were informed of the melancholy change which had come over their old comrade. , "No go near?no touch, sahib; he stri&e hard," said the mahout; "he kill." "Why, Jock, my boy," said a young officer, formerly one of his special friends "why, what's the matter ?" . ' The animal pricked up his ears;-.and instantly recognized the voice, which was proved by his manifesting unmistakable signs and sounds of joy. It was quite affecting to see, when once more he was permitted freely to repair to the parade-ground, with what kindly recognition he embraced many of his companions, placing his trunk tenderly on their neck and shoulders. I need hardly say he was at once reinstated in his old regimental post, the duties of which he recommenced to discharge as if no interruption had taken place. A Memorable Year.?"Eighteen hundred and starved to death," was the grim name given by old New England farmers to the year 1816?the year without a summer. The winter months were unusually mild ; the latter part of March and the first of April were not unseasonable; but the weather grew colder as April advanced, and ended with snow and ice. In May ice formed half an inch thick ; buds and fruit were frozen, corn killed, and the fields were replanted again and again. Never was there known such a June. Frost, ice and snow were frequent. In Maine and Vermont snow fell to the depth of several inches?also in Massachusetts and the interior of New York. On the 5th of * n J At 1 A XT V 1 jujy ice was xornieu mrouguuut new j.ui*, New England, and some parts of Pennsylvania. August was even more cheerless. With ice forming half an inch in thickness, Indian corn frozen, and almost every green thing destroyed, what wonder that the hearts of the farmers were heavy, and a gloom spread throughout the whole country! In September thefe were two weeks of warm weather ; then these son became cold, and in November there was good sleighing. Such, in brief, was the "cold summer of 1816," when the sun's rays seemed to be destitute of all heat. Don't Tell All You Know.?It is a bad plan to place unreserved confidence in man or woman. Never tell any one everything about yourself?let there be a little mystery and reserve; your friends then will like you all the better for it. A book that you "know by heart" must inevitably be cast aside for a fresh volume; so will you be served if you allow yourself to be thoroughly read. But be prepared, in any emergency, to look your own life and acts squarely in the face without ever flinching, or making vourself a coward. It is not necessary to publish to the world all that is strictly personal, unless ridicule and frittering of powers are desired; but if gossip makes itself busy with your name, do not be aggrieved if a grain of truth is spread over a dozen of lies. Pass them by in silence, and do not even then forget your habitual reticence. Justice will be done you in lime, never fear, and the less you clamor for it the better. Don't talk too much. ? ^ + Indian Tradition.?Here is the Yute account of the creation : "In the beginning the earth was covered with mists. You could not see before you. The Great Spirit took his bow and arrows and shot?shot so well that he scattered the mist. The earth became visible to him, but there were no medf:upbn it. Then he took clay, fashioned a man and set him to bake. Man came out white; the fire had not been strong enough. The Great Spirit began his work again, and this time the man came out quite black ; he hsid remained too long in the oven. It was necessary to try a third time. The experiment at length succeeded, and man came out done to a turn ; he traa#'redskin, the most perfect^ium