Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | A a gnbtptnimtt Jfamilir Itefospprr: Jbr % |lromotton of f|t political, Uncial, Agricultural anir Commtrcial lateralis of % .j?ont|. |terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. vot, >1 yoekville, s. o., thursday, august 5, 1875. NO. 81. Jtn Original Jdutu. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE SEVEN SISTERS OF YORK.! CHAPTER XII. It was midnight. A solitary candle burned in the bed-room of Mr. Holdweg, the German J teacher, alias Professor Graves, alias?nobody ! knew what. By the light of the candle, this worthy individual sat deeply engaged in poring over some old papers, which were strewn about on the table before him. At his elbow lay a pack of cards, and a parchment scroll | covered with curious hieroglyphics, at which j he glanced from time to time. Screened from the gaze of all observers, and divested of his disguise, Mr. Holdweg was j quite a different looking personage from either j of those in whose character he had presented himself to the public. The pale, intellectual ' lineaments of the professor, and the hirsute ' visage of the teacher, were replaced by a j beardless, haggard looking face, deeply marked i ^ Kit fKn imnroaa ' Vy 11UC9 ui care, auu ouauuncu uj buv iui|/?vww ; of consuming passions, and the wear and tear i of many a stormy passion in life. Only the I brilliant, burning eyes were the same ; and yet not quite the same, for they now wore a restless, hungry expression, as he scanned, with a frowning brow, the mystic characters j of the scroll, and the various memoranda | jotted down in his own large, irregular handwriting, and bearing dates, for the most part, of several years back. "The days are drawing near," he muttered j at length, as he pushed the papers from him, ! and took up the cards. "Strange that my ; path does not lie clearer before me! Surely j I cannot have read the signs wrong, all com- j bining, as they have done, or seemed to do, to i direct ray course! No, I have never been , mistaken yet. But there is a stumbling-block somewhere, and it is still in the dark. Pit- j falls there are, which must be avoided?but j how ? Let me see again what the cards say." I He shuffled them carefully, and selecting j twelve of the number, laid them aside, then ! disposed of the remainder in little heaps, ar-1 ranged in a hollow square. In the midst of i this, he then placed the twelve chosen ones, ! and performed some mysterious manipulations, I the meaning of which it would have been dif- j ficult for a looker-on to explain, murmuring, j of qomo time snmp unintelligible words. ! of what appeared to be a species of charm, or I spell. TheD, carefully and with an unsteady ! hand, he drew out the lower card of each of the little heaps, and placed them iu a systemic shape around the others. "The ace of clubs again?always the ninth | card !" he exclaimed, in a vexed tone, when this was doDe. "What a wretched chance! But for that I should have no doubts?should feel no hesitation. Luck has always befriended me hitherto; I cannot see why it should desert me now. And this," laying his hand | on the scroll, "assures me that the consummation of my plans is at band. Well, once j _ i ? more, for the last time, I will try the experiment, and if it still fails?" Without finishing the sentence, he gathered j up the cards and proceeded to rearrange them, ; this time in a different form. Again he mut-| tered his half-inaudible exhortation ; again drew out the lower cards, and again the re suit was the same. "So be it," he said, shufHing them carelessly together, aud throwing the pack aside. "On j my own responsibility I must assume the burden, since Fate deciines to help me. There j is no time for dilly-dallying?I must act, and j promptly. I know I can count upon the ' girl; she is completely in my power. And j by the help of good luck?or the devil?I | shall soon have him in my power also." He leaned his forehead upon his hand, and meditated long and deeply. It seemed, however, as if the inspiration he wanted refused to come. He rose aud paced the chamber with I agitated, uncertain steps, his face still wearing its perplexed atid anxious look. "Stop!" he cried, at last, coming to a sudden | stand-still as he spoke. "It is beginning to ! dawn upon me now?it grows clearer by slow | degrees. The luminous star burns in the dis- j tnnt. ImnVnn and the mists are alreadv fad in? ! *%?MV "V. " J - O | away. Ah! my purpose strengthens?as-1 sumes a more distinct shape. Yes, yes, I see 1 it now. Perish those painted cheats that j would have led me astray ! They shall deceive me no more." And striding to the table he seized them up aud thrust them in the Hame of the candle, until they were almost entirely consumed; his air and look, as he did so, resembling those of a maniac rather than of a rational being. Dropping the still burning fragments of pasteboard on the floor, he trod the flame out with his foot; then pulling j out his table drawer he swept his papers into ; it, reclosed and locked it, and took out the key. "To-morrow I take the first step," he ex- j claimed, triumphantly. "To-morrow I secure , my confederate. She will prove an invaluable co-worker, provided I do not betray too much j and scare her off. Then the pretty doll, her : sister, once brought away and placed in safe-1 keepiug, the rest will not be difficult. My | foe shall be crushed; but before I crush him I would torture him by slow degrees?take from him what is dearest to his soul, and let j T f 10 AnltT ! I11UJ pilie 1U Vttlll lux its icdiuiauuu. jib to vu?jr : the way he has served his old sweet-heart! She, by the way, will feel his fate deeply, and so will the young one. Well, it can't be helped if they have to suffer. I must make use of every means in iny power to accomplish my end. After all, have / not suffered ? Have I not i seen my only bright prospect in life destroyed? swept away by his coldly righteous hand? j What good was it to him that a poor devil j should lose his only chance of getting to rights j in a world which had always treated him ill, i and forced him to adopt methods of self-pres-; ervation which were?well, not always exact- j ly in accordance with the dictates of the code of honor! Honor?I am sick of the word, as some read it. I started in life with an exalted idea of this same honor; but when I saw : how it was perverted and twisted about and j misinterpreted to suit people's ends, I came to i * the conclusion that it was not such a fine j thing, after all, as to be worth a struggle to j maintain under all circumstances. Hopeless j poverty, for instance?starvation?suicide? | was it not better to ward off these, than to | succumb unresistingly to fate, simply because [ I did not wish ray honor to be tarnished ! I have long outlived all such boyish scruples as these. And I confess to having grown somewhat callous to the sorrows of my neighbors, in the buffetings which f myself have under gone. I have one object before me at present? : < revenge; and to accomplish that, all idle i scruples must be set aside. I would be a fool, j indeed, to neglect the opportunity I have , ( vainly waited for, all this long time?an op- 1 i portunity which, now if cast aside, may never j return. ^ ? "Ah! Hugh Thornton?honorable Hugh ' * Thornton?righteous Hugh Thornton! You i did a noble deed when you revealed your I knowledge of ray little peccadilloes to your s princely friend, and deprived me, thereby, of the situation that would have made my fortune. Even that I might pardon, were it not ^ for the destruction of another hope which was ] bound up with that one?the fulfillment of 1 which would, I think, have made me a better ,1 man. You blasted my reputation?you |1 turned against me the friends I had made? j you destroyed my one chance of recovering I the ground I had lost?you blighted the afi'ec-! 1 tion that would have softened my bad heart, ' and won me, perhaps, to the consideration of js higher things than have engrossed me Jsince ;! all this at the dictates of honor, which would j' not allow you to see your friend imposed upon { by an 'unprincipled adventurer.' Ah! ha!? j1 The adveuturer has you in his clutches now? j? and may he prove wise enough, and fortunate I enough, never to let you escape from them j again." , I ' Mr. Holdweg then sought his couch, but! ' not to sleep. Projects and plans revolved unceasingly in his busy brain, assuming now : * oue shape and now another; until, at length,!* they settled themselves into a tolerably dis- j tinct form, and his plan of action was mapped j out, of course, with the proviso that no unex- j 1 pected contingencies should arise to interfere j with its accomplishment. The day following was one on which his: * class assembled, and in the afternoon, at the ; J usual hour, his pupils presented themselves at j his house. 's "Remain a few moments if you please," he ' 6aid, in his broken English, to Virgilia, when !" the others were taking leave of him, after the J j termination of their lesson. Accordingly, she sat down, with a beating heart, and made a 11 feint of busying herself with one of her books, j until her companions were out of sight and ;c hearing. "Now, then," he said, with a smile, when ' * they were alone, "what have you to tell j" _ ? Q? ' me i "Nothing new," she replied. "It is always j the same old story." "It was not the same old story the last time, j for then you had quite an important piece of news." "Oh ! about their engagement. Well, that i j wnc not nripvneoted to me. I imagined that I it would end in that way." "But it will not end iu that way." "I fear there is little chance of preventing it now." "Why, now f There is as much chance of it as before. My pupil, did you not assure me that you would place your trust in me?" "Yes." "And have you lost your faith?or are you ! beginning to lose it?" ! "I believe I have lost my faith in everything," she replied, gloomily." "Not in me" rejoined her teacher, in a low, persuasive tone. "Lift up your eyes, Yirgilia?look me in the face." Surprised, she obeyed him. He had never , before called her by her Christian name.! Something in his gaze fascinated her. She ! could not remove her eyes from his, but re- j mained looking fixedly at him, and offered no j resistance when he bent forward and took her ! hand. j, " VirgUia ! all distance, an reserve, must ue j j at an end between w, now and henceforth," j he said, softly. "Dear one, there is a subtle j force which draws us to each other, which neither of ns can resist. You cannot resist < it?I would not, if I could. Does it give you pain to yield to it ?" She breathed a sigh, and sank back in her : chair, still looking into his face. "Must we not yield to fate ?" she asked, in j a dreamy tone. ; ( "We must?it is an inexorable law. But j we may yield joyfully, readily?or we may j ( struggle uselessly against the destiny we can- i not escape. Your destiny and mine are fixed. j They are one and the same. Do you fear to | j accept it ?" "No. With you, I cannot feel fear." j , "That is well. Our lives, then, are bound j' ' ? t , . .1 1 .1 1 1 I I . lnuissoiuniy togeiner, dui mis uunu must uc ] made effectual iu the eyes of the world?the | practical, coldly-reasoning world, which would ! ] frown even on our pure affection, were it un hallowed by the tie which it deems necessary , to sanction it." ; ] "What tie ?" "That of marriage. Virgilia, you must be-1 | come ray wife." I, "Your wife!" she echoed, in a startled tone ; her cheek grew paler, and for a moment the 1 j dreamy look vanished from her eyes. It soon J returned, however, as he continued to stroke , her hand, and still fixed her with his penetra- j ting gaze. j { "Yes. In the record of the book it is so I j writteu," he replied, solemnly. "There, could |} you read those characters as I do, you would [ j see how our two pathways, hitherto separate,' ] meet aud unite, never to diverge from one j another again until the inevitable end comes, , which each must meet alone." j i "And will that be soon?" "J cannot tell?it is not given to me to ? penetrate so deeply into the future. But j t meanwhile we walk hand in hand, and work ; together as we go. Virgilia, there must be no j delay in this matter. When shall our mar-; | riage take place ?" "Ah ! give me time to think?this is so ( sudden," murmured Virgilia, pressing her { hand to her forehead, with a bewildered look. "You shall have time to think ; and I will { expect your answer when I see you next., But remember, a fortnight, or three weeks at j the farthest, must be the limit of the delay?" "Time Hies, and there is much to be done? j much that can be accomplished only by our I united efforts. Iiemember, your great object? i the restoration of your sister's happiness!" 1 < "Do you feel sure of attaining that?" "I do, if proper means are used. And if ' you are the instrument?through me?to ef- t feet this, think how completely you will win | her gratitude and love?the love you have i been pining for all your life!" :< Virgilia's eyes sparkled. "Ah ! do you ! truly believe that?" she cried. "Will she i love me?as I love her?if I help to restore j her what she has lost?" ; "Can you doubt it? But you know her'. jharacter better than I do?if she be cold or i ingrateful." "Cold?ungrateful! Edna has the warm- j ist heart, the loveliest disposition, in the vorld." "But she shows her warmth of heart to some more than to others?to Claribel, for injtance." Virgilia's face darkened. "Do not speak of that now," she said, in a sombre tone. "Why not?" "Because it makes me hate her, and that is vrong." "Ah ! Well, we will not speak of her at! ill, just now. We will speak of our mar iage. When shall it be?three weeks from ;o-day ?" "You promised to let me think about it." "So I did ; but I suggest the idea, that you : nay grow familiar with it by degrees. He-; nember, you are to give rae a positive an- j iwer by the day after to-morrow." He relinquished her band, and rising from I lis seat, moved away to the window. Virjilia sat, for a few moments, engrossed in bought; then she, too, arose and commenced ilowly to put her books together. "Shall I go now ?" she asked. "Yes, it is best now. Soon the happy time vill come, sweet friend, when my home will ie yours, and we will have no need to part." A slight shiver ran through Virgilia's 'rame. "Must I tell them about it?" she isked, in a low tone. "Whom ? Your sisters ?" "Yes?I suppose they will have to be prelared." "Assuredly?there is no need to have the af- j air kept secret. Believe me, Virgilia, you j lave nothing to be ashamed of in my love for rou?you will find me not unworthy of yours." She placed her hands in his, and looked steadfastly at him. ..t .1 .. 1 t 1 ? "1 UO 1101 KUOW 11 X luve J'OU, ouw oaiu ioft)y, "but I can refuse you nothing. It nust be, as you say, that my soul is swayed >y yours. Tell me, is this influence for good ; >r evil?" A peculiar smile flitted over his face as he Irew her to him and kissed her brow. Again, it his touch, a slight, electric Bhiver seemed ,o chill the current of her blood. She felt herlelf, by some mysterious means, completely inder his control. "That question," he replied, "is one which [ leave to your own heart to answer." Virgilia parted from him, and hastened loraeward with her brain in a tumult. What vas it, this strange new phase of existence into vhich she had entered ? By what agency lad she lost all power over herself, and conlented so unquestioningly to obey the dictates )f another's will ? She scarcely dared think )f the compact which she had made with him. Hie future lay dark and chaotic before her, ? J ? 1 nniAn UtAwnOfl tiQP nf UiU tl JJIUJJlicuu Hi vvai u vuiuo nai u^v* uv* w* langers invisible and unknown. Yet she had 10 thought of drawing back?she felt that ihe was resistless to oppose the fate which was eading her on. She was resolved to take advantage of the irst favorable opportunity to tell Edna of her ingagemeut, and that very evening, finding ler alone in the parlor, she ventured to broach he subject. "I have a piece of news for you, Edna," she commenced, trying to speak in an indiffer;nt tone. "I am going to be more candid .vith you, than you have been with me." Edna raised her pale, sad face. "How have I been uncandid, Virgilia?" "Oh! well?in not telling me of the state >f affairs ; but it does not matter?I suppose fou thought I would fiud it out by intuition. [ am going to repay you good for evil, and nake you my confidante. I am going to be narried. "Married !" echoed Edna, in astonishment. 'To whom ?" "To Mr. Holdweg." Had the earth opened at Edna's feet, she could scarcely have beeu more surprised. For the moment, her own troubles vanished from her mind, in the shock which this disclosure gave her. "Virgilia !" she exclaimed, in dismay. 'You cannot be in earnest. It is preposter3US !" "Why so? You know nothing against! hira." "Say, rather, I know nothing about hira ; ! pou do not, either?nobody here does. Oh ! Virgil ia, what possible at traction can you find in such a man ?" "He is a very good man; very clever, very learned, and?and?of excellent family." "How do you know that ?" "From himself. His name ranks high in iiis own country," "And you take his word for it! But putlog that aside, I do not see the smallest; jhauce of happiness for you in such a union." j "Be that as it may, I have accepted him ; md I am to be married in three weeks." Edna rose from her seat, with a look of: nuch emotion. "My dear sister, it cannot?must not be!" j she cried, earnestly. "Indeed, you cannot suf- j iciently have considered! It would be the I ashest act I ever heard of. A stranger?per- j laps a mere adventurer?a person utterly un-; snown, except as far as the merest acquaiu- j ancestor) frorfs. to everv one here! How can i L- 0?? - - J - - pou tell what his character may be? You i ivould be ruuuing a fearful risk." "I am not afraid," calmly rejoined Virgilia. 'My miod is quite made up on the subject, ind I fear I must carry out my intention, Edna, whether you approve or not." Edna was silent for a moment; then approaching Virgilia she took her hand. "Virgilia, I entreat you to listen to me! I j :annot see you thus willfuly sacrificing yourself without using an effort to prevent it. ; What motive cau you possibly have for such j m act ?" "The same motive that other people have in marrying, I suppose." "You cannot love him." "Why not?" "Such a man !?how could you ?" "Edua, you do not know him as well as I lo." "It is absolute infatuation," said Edna, j 'And you cannot seriously mean that you in Lend to be married in three weeks' time?" "I do seriously mean it. But do not be ifraid ; I shall give you no trouble on the oc- j :asion?I intend it to be very private." "You will be the talk of the whole place," i said Edmonia, in despair. "Oh! perhaps that consideration affects: pou more than the thought of my happiness.! I forgot what a model of propriety you were." I "Virgilia, do not speak so unkindly," said Edna, in tears. "Heaven knows I am not speaking selfishly in urging you to give up this scheme." And troubled and harrassed 1 beyond measure, she hid her face iri her hands j and wept without restraint. Virgilia flew to her and caught her in her arms. "Don't, don't Edna 1. I did not mean to j grieve you?oh! if you only knew !?I would give my life?" She stopped, and with an effort resumed her self-control. "I cannot bear to see you unhappy," she continued, hurriedly; "but I hope?I believe?better days are ( coming for you. Hush ! don't question me? ; don't talk any more now. I know I am quite i unworthy of your affection?I don't com- j plain. One of these days you will know?" J An approaching footstep startled her. She broke hastily away, and quitted the room ; and Edna, equally unwilling to be discovered in her present disturbed state, was not slow in following her example. [to be continued next week.] jpjatttrg of J>. foroUua. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OK THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY BEV. ROBERT LATHAN. (continued from last week.) James Moore became Governor of South Carolina by the practice of fraud and deceit, and he so discharged the duties of that high office as to be neither honorable to himself nor profitable to the province. Although the official head of the colony, aud the acknowledged leader of a clan, he is still by no means to be regarded as a true representative of the people; nor are his hasty and inconsiderate acts to be regarded as the acts of the people. He and his party, although in the ascendency, were bv no means in the maioritv. There are many evidences that in spite of the party which he represented, the colony still continued to advance in civilization and increase in numbers. The majority of the Assembly were earnest in their efforts to promote peace, to advance the welfare, and increase the comforts of those whom they represented. As an evidence of this, a post-office was established in Charles Town, and Edward Bourne appointed post-master. In 1698, a law was enacted that the masters of all ships coming into the province should deliver all letters which might have been eutrusted to their care to Francis Fidliug, and to no one else. Whilst this enactment of 1698 must have conduced much to the convenience of the people; still it was not contemplated by it to establish a post-office, but was designed rather for the security of the province. Fidling was required to make a list of all the letters and packages which came into his hands, and to keep this list in some public place. On delivering a letter or package, he was required to write the name of the person to whom it was delivered, opposite to the name of the individual to whom the letter or package was addressed. For the delivery of each letter or package, Fidling was to receive six and a quarter cents; and in each instance that he failed to discharge his duty faithfully, he was to forfeit ten dollars. The act, ratified September 10, 1702, was, tn nil intents and nnrnoses. an act to establish a general post-office. This is evident from the preamble which states that "Several (many) foreign letters are imported into this province; therefore, for the maintenance of mutual correspondence, and the prevention of many inconveniencies that may happen by miscarriages of the same, and that an office j may be managed so that safe dispatch may be had, which is most likely to be effected by erecting one general post-office for that purpose." The date of the establishment of a post-office in South Carolina is September the 10th, 1702. This was just a short time before the Governor and his troops set out to capture St. Augustine. The gubernatorial career of James Moore was short. In 1703, he was succeeded by Sir j Nathaniel Johnson. The commission of John- J son is dated the .18th of June, 1702. Owing j to the troubled state of affairs, both in Europe j and America, the commission and instructions j did not arrive in the province until after ; Moore returned from St. Augustine. As was j the case with several other Governors, Nathaniel Johnson's commission embraced both the Caroliuas. On the same day that Johnson was comrais-! sioued Governor of North aud South Caroli- j na by the Palatine aud other proprietors, ! James Moore was commissioned Receiver- j Geueral of South Carolina, Nicholas Trott I Attornty-Geueral, and Job Howes Surveyor- j General. Thomas Broughton was also, at the ! same time, appointed Deputy for Lord Carter-1 et. During the administration of Moore, po-. i * " 1 L-J ' nticai sirues ana ecciesiasucai ujmcumes imu | been engendered, and now they assumed a tangible form and shape. Lord Granville i was one of those deluded creatures who think that the religion of no one is worth any thing i which is not, in every respect, similar in all i its forms and ceremonies to that practiced by | themselves. In one word, Lord Granville! was maliciously opposed to all dissenters.; His opposition was measured by his ability. Nathauiel Johnson was easily swayed by Granville. Attorney-General Trott was a man of decided talent and very considerable j learning, but, withal, an unprincipled and designing politician. James Moore would enter into any scheme, provided theire was a fair ! prospect of remuneration. With Lord Granville as Palatine, and Johnson, Trott and Moore the chief officials of the colony, a party ' was organized to which it would be difficult to give a proper name. It was neither polit- i ical nor ecclesiastical; and yet it combined , some of the features and assumed some of the J prerogatives of both. The party which had beeu opposed to the course of Moore now de-! spaired of redress. A petition was sent to the grand jury, by j Edmund Bellinger, asking that the disorderly, j unbecoming and unconstitutional conduct of' ihp lfltA Governor be investigated : but to no ' """ w"" " " O ' purpose. The dominant party exercised too much power. The prosecuting officers were the most guilty persons. Deprived of what they regarded a3 their inalienable rights, one hundred and fifty of the best citizens of South ] Carolina drew up a fair and unbiased repre- i sentation of the facts and circumstances connected with the late election riots in Charles Town. John Ashe, who had been one of the 1 sufferers in the riot, was sent to England to make a statement of the facts in the case, and ' <5 lay the representation before the proprietors, f The complainants met with no encouragement ~ from the proprietors. The Governor and Grand Council had done nothing contrary to the notions of Granville. ft Notwithstanding the fact that Granville's j " party was in power, it was still greatly in the e' minority. In Colleton county it scarcely had ' " an existence. Such being the case, it was S necessary for the Governor, the Attorney-; General and the Receiver-General to make a vigorous effort to carry the election in Craven | tj and Berkely counties. The election for both : ft these counties was held in Charles Town. As; the day for the biennial election was approach- j d ing, every effort in the power of these individ-! d uals was exerted. When the day arrived, a j scene more ignoble and more digraceful than . that which was enacted at the previous elec-1 ^ tions was exhibited. The laws of England j b were trampled in the ground, and all the cus-1 toms and regulations of the colony were treat-1 y ed with the utmost contempt. In the language of the honest petitioners for right? Sl "Jews, strangers, sailors, servants and negroes" were dragged to the polls and voted for the i tools of the dominant party. Thus the en- [ 01 emies j>f the welfare of the counties, and the J disregarded of justice and right, triumphed. I r< Whilst such proceedings were undermining ^ the abilities of the proprietors to hold posses- tj sion of the territory, it was the subject of mirth ^ and drunken hilarity to the party in power, d, The resources of the colony were complete- rr ly exhausted by the St. Augustine expedition; but still, for some ration, it was determined " to send out another expedition?not against c St. Augustine?but against the Appalachee Indians. These Indians were allies of the w Spanish, by whom they had been partially nr converted to the Roman Catholic religion, b The Pope of Rome, through his agents, had established missions in many of the Indian towns and villages in the territory which is j now embraced in the States of Florida and " Georgia. In these towns churches had been f built and richly furnished. As a rule, the p church formed a component part of the forti- ti fication of every town. What Governor w Johnson had in view in sending out ex-Gov- p ernor Moore against the poor, mal-treated and ^ insulted Appalachees, it is not easy to tell, b It is barely possiblo that on account of the h recent failure to capture St. Augustine, these it savages had assumed a more threatening attitude. The probability is that Governor n Johnson simply yielded to the entreaties of . Moore. There is scarcely a doubt that Moore's g, object was to wipe out the stains of his St. a Augustine expedition, and enrich himself by capturing Indians and reducing them to slavery, and also to plunder churches of their . plate. Late in the fall of 1703, an army of one thousand Indians and fifty volunteers from the colony was collected. Ex-Governor Moore h was made the commander-in-chief, and John ? Bellinger and a man by the name of Fox, n captains. Late in November, or early in a December, the array commenced its march jj' *' " 1-*- ? 1 A f AnnfArtr ? to ine suuwi-weai, iunaiu hid iduuuij vwm ^ pied by the Appalachees. These Indians S1 supplied the garrison at St. Augustine with o provisions. Hence, Moore thought, no doubt, b that by cutting off the Appalachees1 he would inflict a heavy blow upon the Spanish, by ^ whom he had been so recently caused to retreat. About sun-rise, on the 14th of Decern- h ber, Moore arrived at Ayaville. So soon as Moore approached, the Indians poured upon tl him and his men a volley of arrows. Near " by the town was a huge mud-walled bouse. * To this house the invaders fled and held a ^ consultation, when it was determined to take 0 the town by flrst making an assault upon the o church. Perhaps, Moore and his military advisers thought that by attackiug the church, they would awaken some superstitious notions ^ in the minds of the savages. Be this as it ? may, a vigorous rush was made upon the ^ church by the soldiers with axes. The door p was soon broken down and the fort taken, k The church was set on fire. The only white I p man in the fort was a Catholic triar. vvnen ? the invaders entered the fort, he came out and begged for mercy. Moore lost two men, j. Francis Plowden and Thomas Dale. Twen- a ty-five Indians were killed and eighty-four n taken prisoners, including the women and n children, who were considerably more than 11 half. si The next morniug after the battle of Aya- h ville, the commander of Fort St. Louis, with twenty-three Spaniards and four hundred In- ^ dians, boldly attacked Moore and his men. p In this battle, also, the Carolinians were vie- ir torious. The commander of the fort and eight b Spaniards were captured, and six killed. Of ^ his Indian allies he lost two hundred. The 0 Carolinians lost Captain John Bellinger, who jj was shot down while bravely leading on his a men, and Captain Fox, who died of wounds 0; received on the previous day at Ayaville. V Two days after the affair at Fort St. Louis, the Chief of the Ibitachka tribe, who was sta- 9t tioned in a strong fort with one hundred and w thirty men, surrendered, buying peace with j: the invaders by granting them all his church ]a plate and ten horses loaded with provisions. After this, Moore continued his attacks el upou the Indian towns and forts. The in- 01 habitants of five towns surrendered without ^ conditions, and the inhabitants of one town j tier! Fnur nf the eaDtured towns were re- ' " 1 , J duced to ashea, aud the whole Appalachian w country overrun and subdued. i Is' In March, 1704, James Moore returned in ! lo triumph to Charles Town. He published an account of his expedition in the Boston News. 8 When he returned, he had thirteen hundred , free Indians and one hundred slaves, together j u, with a vast amount of plate taken out of the J fr Roman Catholic churches. The ignomy of| St. Augustine was wiped out, aud James j j Moore felt that he had added much to his pe- \ jj, cuniary resources. i it (to be continued next week.) : to A Real Cracker.?A correspondent who signs himself a "Georgia Cracker," writes to j ai a newspaper as follows : In a recent number : tii of your paper I saw something like an inqui- > ^ ry as to the meaning of the word "cracker," j w as applied to a certain class of the Southern . ti, people. Being an humble descendant of that y( honorable class, I beg leave to state, for the th benefit of your readers, that the term is very j significant, and is the legitimate result of one i J of the rural customs of the first settlers of the ' st United States. Years ago, before mills were i wi established in the country, when the back-! be * * ? * ? I woodsmen, or those who nveci in tne interior, i in remote from the ports of entry, were unable j le to procure transportation, tbey adopted a way ! ar by which they cracked corn with huge rocks. j lb The interior people were labeled with the dis- j pi tinction, com cracker?hence the term. I re ' anc GIVING AWAY A CHILI). <>ne On board one of the lake steamers, bound >r the far West, was an Irish family?hus- ) and, wife, and three children. They were cau iridently in very destitute circumstances; but the le exceeding beauty of the children, two j an.c iris and a boy, was the admiration of all c" leir fellow-travelers. With a view of adoptig one of the children, a lady made applicaon to the father, through a friend, who gives , y le following touching, and we suppose, truth- ' MC ll account of the negotiation : I I proceeded, he says, immediately upon my cur elicate diplomacy. Finding my friend on y eck, I thus opened the affair : j prej "You are very poor?" I ^ j His answer was very characteristic : ! p "Poor, sir!" said he, "ay, if there's a poorer j ?an than me troublin the world, God pity i oth of us, for we'd be about aiquil." i "Then, how do you manage to support i ftn our children?" # | jj;" "Is it support them, sir? Why, I don't' pj jpport them any way ; they get supported , p0g )tne way or other. It'll he time enougn ior jra le to complain when they do." I i "Would it be a relief to you to part with ,i _ ne of them ?" I It was too sudden ; he turned sharply jjg )und. arjj "A what sir 1" he cried : "a relief to part 1 i om my child ? Would it be a relief to have me le hands chopped from the body, or the ! flu, eart torn out of my breast? A relief, in- j ^Je eed ! God be good to us, what do you i lane?" ex. "You don't understand me," I replied. "If Qf( ow, it were in one's power to provide com- i >rtably for one of your children, would you j g-1(j and in the way of its interests ?" ! re(] "No, sir," said he; "Heaven knows that I j c0{] ould""willingly cut the sunshine away from _U] lyself, that they might get all the warm of it; i ^ ut do tell us what you are driving at." ! pU] I then told him that a lady had taken aj0f| tncyto one of his children, and if he would ; CQfl Dnsentto it, it should be educated and final-1 ^ / settled comfortably in life. j i This threw him into a fit of gratulation.) 8jj( le scratched his head, and looked the very ge( icture of bewilderment. The struggle be- ^re veen a father's love and a child's interest as evident and touching. At length he said : i "0 raurther, wouldn't it be a great thing ra^ )r the baby ! But I must go and talk with ^ lary, that's the mother of them ; it wouldn't gor e right to be giving her children away afore i er face, and she to know nothing at all about to . "Away with you then," said I, "and bring jQ ; le an answer as soon as possible." we, In about half an hour he returned, leading i no of his children. His eyes were red and j}e ivollen, and his face pale from excitement 0f, nd agitation. ^ "Well," I inquired, "what success ?" "Bedad, it was * hard struggle, sir," said he. jU( But I've been talking to Mary, an' she says i it's for the child's good, may be the heavns ahnve will edve us strength to bear it." "Very well; and which of them is it to be?" ^ "Faix, and I don't know, sir," and he ran is eye dubiously over both, "Here's little lorah?she's the oldest, and won't need her 1 jother so much ; but theu?oh! tear and me igers?it's myself that can't tell which I'd eac ather part with least; so take the first one tjje bat comes, wid a blessin.' There, sir," and jng e handed over little Norah; turning back he aatched her up in his arras, and gave her ne long, hearty father's kiss, flaying, through ' is tears? wai "May God be good to him that's good to yea ou ; an' them that offers your hurt or harm, get iay their souls never see St. Pether." ant Then taking his other child by the hand ela e walked away, leaving Norah with me. wai I took her down to the cabin, and we bee lought the matter settled. It must be con- old :ssed, to my great indignation, however, in pai bout an hour's time I saw my friend Pat at her le window. As soon as he caught ray eye shi e commenced making signs fjr me to come bee ut. I did so, and found that he had the woi ther child in his arms. sue "What's the matter now?" asked I. ter "Well, sir," said he, "I ax your pardon for roo "oubling you about so foolish a thing as a the hild or two, but we were thinking that may pai e it'd make no difference?you see, sir, I've to I een talking to Mary, and she says she can't imj art with Norah, because the creature has a shii >ok ov me; but here's little Biddy, she's to ] urtyer far, an'av you please sir, will you [ bet >vap ?" | If "Certainly," said I; "whichever you like." I anc So he snapped up little Norah, as though ' 10 ; were some recovered treasure, and darted j tha way with her, leaving little Biddy, who re-, to s mined with us all night; but, lo ! the mo- esc icnt when we entered the cabin in the morn- shii ig, there was Pat making his mysterious wit gns again at the window, and this time he W1 ad the youngest, a baby, in his arms. col "By the hoky fly, sir, an' it's meself that's wh lmost ashamed to tell you. You see I've tha een talkiu' to Mary, and she didn't like to pai art with Norah, because she had a look ov wa; le, and, be my soul, I can't part with Biddy, tha ecause she's the model of her mother, but stoi lere's little Paudeen, sir. There's a lump ; un< fa Christian for you, two years old, and not j this day more; he'll have the brightest one av anj e betakes after his mother, an' av he takes shii fter his father, he'll have a fine broad pair hac f shoulders to push his way through the world, me /ill you swap agin, sir?" pai "With all my heart," said I; "it's all the bee ime to meand so little Paudeen was left I eco ith me. 1 of "Ha, ha," said I to myself, as I looked into j wil is big, laughing eyes, "the affair is settled at' is a ist." I But it wasn't; for ten minutes had scarcely I J ansed when Pat rushed into the cabin with- ! ^ea it sign or ceremony, and snatching up the j 'u 1 aby, cried out? j -A- ' "It's no use ; I've been talkin' to Mary, an' j whi e can't doit. Look at him, sir; he's the | v'n aungest and the best of the batch. You j hre ouldn't keep him from us. You see, sir, | ciei orah has a look ov me, aud Biddy has a sPr iok ov Mary ; but, be me soul, laittle Pau- hir< sen has the mother's eye, an' my nose, an' a j ?rei litle of both uz all over ! No, sir, no ; we j if ( in bear hard fortune, starvation, and misery,; get ut'we can not bear to part from our children, j haj oless it be the will of Heaven to take them ! ami om us."?National Magazine. Per ; bin Think.?Do your own thinking. Yes, that the the idea. Thiuk for yourself. It is well to j hav sten to the expressed thoughts of others, and | Th< is an agreeable pastime to give expression in t i your thoughts; but when alone, weigh ; eWr hat you have said. It is well to do this, for atte will assist in curing you of false notions,1 id in eradicating unprofitable ideas, and in I 1 me making you better men and women, j The fhat vou thus pain from surroundings, you ! the ill unwittingly transmit to the rising genera-' are an, and the result will be, that you will do J thei )ur share in the glorious work of elevating ! five e human family. Do your own thinking. spir *--?- ! Thi Tea should never, uuder any circum-j an(j ances, be boiled. Put the leaves in a well- tom armed (scalded out) tea-pot; pour fiercely jca| >iliug water directly over them, and drink ^ e fresh infusion almost immediately. If ^rii ft stewing on the fire, the aromatic qualities e boiled away?the very qualities that en- 16 ;en and inspirit the wearied body, and sup- mot ement, as it were, nutritious food?and there said mains a concentrated decoction of theiue inai [ the astringent matters with which it is ibined. Such tea produces nervousness I fretful temper, and cannot refresh any i who drinks it. SIMPLE QUESTIONS ANSWERED. iVhy does smoke ascend the chimney ? Beise the air of the room, when it passes over fire, becomes lighter for being heated; 1, being thus made lighter, ascends the mney, carrying the smoke with it. kVhat is smoke ? Small particles of carbon, arated by combustion from the fuel, but ; consumed. >Vhy do smoke and steam curl, as they end? Because they are pushed around 1 around by the ascending and descending rents of air. >Vhy do some chimneys smoke? Because jh air is not admitted into a room so fast it is consumed by the fire; in consequence which a current of air rushes down the .i i f ' J_!_: mney to supply tne aenciency, urmug mo oke along with it. Why are some parts of the ceiling blacker 1 more filthy than others ? Because the , being unable to penetrate the thick joints the ceiling, passes by those parts, and delits its soot and dust on others more pcneble. Why is water purified by being filtered ough charcoal? Because charcoal absorbs impurities of the water, and removes all agreeable tastes and smells, whether they 30 from animal or vegetable matter. Why does charcoal remove the taint of at? Because it absorbs all putrescent ef?ia, whether arising from animal or vegetamatter. What is charcoal ? Wood which has been )osed to a red heat till it has been deprived ill its gases and volatile parts. Why are water and wine casks charred ine? Because charring the inside of a cask uces it to a kind of a charcoal; and char.1, by absorbing animal and vegetable im ities, keeps the liquor sweet and good. Why does a piece of burnt bread make imre water fit to drink ? Because the surface the bread, which has been reduced to char,1 by being burnt, absorbs the impurities of water, and makes it palatable. Why should toast and water, placed by the ? fVio oirtlr ho mnrio nf hurnt bread ? cause the charcoal surface of the burnt ad prevents the water from being affected the impurities of the sick room. Why should sick persons eat dry toast her than bread and butter? Because the ircoal surface of the dry toast help3 to abb the acids and impurities of a sick stomach. Why are timbers which are to be exposed damp charred ? Because charcoal under!s no change by exposure to air add water; consequence of which timber will resist ither much longer after it has been charred. Why does water simmer before it boils? cause the particles of water near the bottom the kettle, being formed into steam sooner ;n the rest, shoot upward, but are condensed lin as they rise by the cold water, and proce what is called "simmering." Why will a pot filled with water never boil en immersed in another vessel full of water o ? Because water can never be heated >ve the boiling point; all the heat absorbed water after it boils is employed in geneing steam. Why does a kettle sing when the water sirars ? Because the air entangled in the water apes by fits and starts through the spout of : kettle; which makes a noise like a wind ? trument. preserving" shingles. rhe house in which the writer was born, 3 covered with shaved pine shingles in the ir 1805, at which time the roof received a lerous coat of oil paint made of linseed oil " ~ ~ * ? ' ? 1 _ J i Venetian red. Alter twenty years nau psed another coat of paint, nearly black, 3 applied. Since that period no paint has in applied, and it is now a good roof for an one. It does not leak, and the only rers on it have consisted of a shingle added e and there where a portion of a poor ogle was worn out. If the roof had not n painted, the butts of most of the courses aid have been worn entirely away; and if h long periods had not been allowed to invene between the times of painting, the f would have been a good one, even after lapsfe of 100 years. The true way to nt a roof is to apply paint of some kind both sides of the shingles. It is quite as Dortant that the under side of every ngle be covered with paint as the surface, prevent the water from being drawn up ween the courses by caj. illary attraction, good shingles are painted on both sides, 1 good paint be applied to the roof once in years, it will continue leak-tight for more n a hundred years. When it is desirable lave the water for drinking, coal-tar is an lellent and cheap paint for preserving ngles, and it will pay well to smear a roof h this material once in four or five years. ien roofs are not painted, moss is liable to Unt ot Vmtfa nffluftrv finurse of shineles. ich promotes their decay more rapidly ,n alternate rain and sunshine. When oil t is used for painting shingles, it is alps better to employ some light color rather .n black, as the apartments of the attic ry, beneath a black roof, are liable to be comfortably hot in the summer; and besides 3, as black paint absorbs more heat than r other color, neither the paint nor the ogles will endure as long, as if the roof 1 been covered with light-colored paint. A talic roof covered with light-colored ut will last much longer than if it had n painted with a black paint. The most nomical paint for a roof is a generous coat coal-tar once in a few years; but coal-tar 1 color the water for five years after a coat ipplied to the roof.?Industrial Monthly. 3ird Ghosts.?Birds have a great fear of th. In illustration of this, Madame Buist ler new book on birds, relates the following: ben canary belonging to the author died ilst nesting, and was buried. The survig mate was removed to another cage: the eding cage itself was thoroughly purified, insed, and put aside till the following iug. Never afterward, however, could any d endure to be in that cage. The little atures fought and struggled to get out, and jbliged to remain, they huddled close toher and moped and were thoroughly un>py, refusing to be comforted by any ount of sunshine or dainty food. The eximent was tried of introducing foreign is, which were not even in the house when canary died, nor could, by any possibility, e heard of her .through other canaries. } result was the same; no bird would live hat cage. The cage was haunted, and the ler was obliged to desist from all further i- 1 ~ ? ^?.nA a in ofor in if 'lupis lu UUttA Ul a Uli u bv Ohtmj ??* *vt + -? low to Cure the Passion for Liquor. ;re is a prescription in use in England for cure of drunkenness, by which thousands said to have been assisted in recovering uselves. It is as follows: Sulphate of iron, grains; peppermint water, eleven drachms; its of nutmeg, one drachm; twice a day. s preparation acts as a stimulant and tonic, partially supplies the place of the accused liquor, and prevents that absolute physand moral prostration that follows a sudbreaking from the use of stimulating iks.?Scientific American. + ^ ? rA little girl happening to hear her her speak of going into half mourning, ?"Why are we going into half mourning, a nma? Are any of our relations half-dead?'