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I..E wis m. grist. Proprietor, j ^a |nbepentient Jfamilj IJetospapcr: jfor tjjc promotion of tjje political, social, ^.gricaltural aaii Commercial Interests offjje Jsoutji. TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 31. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1875. NO. 39. ' I /-? l:- ??^niirrororJ a Inner I offtmnincr dnwn the carden walk with EQV $hc ftoru idler. ^ ~THE GHOST-SEER. Translated from the German of Schiller, by Co F. Gardner. The Count of O., to whose memoirs Schille refers as having furnished him with the matt rials for his novel, "The Ghost-Seer," was, ac cording to that document, the intimate friem of a German Prince, who, without a prospec of succeeding to the throne of his ancestors, re sided in Venice, where he led a life of retire ment; his intercourse being confined to a fes old acquaintances. In this city, where the count of 0., passet some time with him, the Prince became ac quainted with a mysterious person, who, some times in the garb of an Armenian Friar, and a others rh a Russian officer, foretold events an< brought divers things to pass, which induce< the Prince, after much reluctance, to believ him possessed of supernatural powers. The Prince being desirous of obtaining al tko inttrmnliAa ko Mali! oonocrning tkio in dividual, went with the Count of 0., to th< State prison in Venice to make inquiries con cerning him, of a certain Sicilian who wa there confined. This Sicilian, a short tira< before, had endeavored to impose upon th Prince by the exhibition of magic art, whei bia false pretensions were suddenly expose( "" by thesuperuaturai interposition of the "Tru Magician," and he himself was arrested b; the same mysterious person, acting as an offi cer of the State Inquisition. At the request of the Prince to disclose ti him all he knew concerning that wonderfu man, the Sicilian tells the following story: It is now about five years, he begau, sine I was in Naples, where I carried on my ar with considerable success, when I made th< acquaintance of a certain Lorenzo del M. Chevalier of the Order of St. Stephen, a younj and wealthy cadet of one of the first houses o the kingdom, who overwhelmed me with obli gations and appeared to take a deep interes ill my aeurcL uij'aLcijr. He disclosed to me that his father, th< Marquis of M., was a zealous devotee of th Kabala, and would be highly gratified to re ceive so learned a philosopher, (as he wa pleased to call me,) uoder his roof. The ol< _ Marquis was then living at one of his estate on the sea-coast, about seven miles from Na pies, where, in almost total seclusion from al intercourse with his fellow men, he grieved ove the memory of a beloved son. The Chevalier Loreuzo gave me to under stand that he and his family wished to mate use of my art in a very sad and serious affair that by means of my mysterious and secre skill, some knowledge or discovery might b had, as all natural endeavors had entirely failed to give auy information. He added besides, iu a manner full of meaning, that he himself, perhaps, would have reason to consid er me as the architect of his peace and entir future earthly happiness. The whole circumstances were these: This Lorenzo was the younger son of th< Marquis del M., and had been destined foi holy orders. The estates of the family woult be inherited by his elder brother. Heronyrao bo this older brother was named, had spen some years in travel, but had returned hom< to his father-land about seven years before th< eveuts now about to be narrated, to fulfill i marriage engagement with the only daughtei of the neighboring noble house of C?th, t< which both houses had been pledged, eve since the birth of this daughter, in order there by to unite their possessions. And though this engagement was altogeth er the work ot the parents, ana tne ieenng o neither of the affianced parties bad been con suited in the arrangement, still they hat quietly and heartily acquiesced in it. Herony mo del M., and Antonie C?th had beei brought up together, and not the least restraiu had been placed upon the intercourse of th< children, who, while still childreu, were ac customed to thiuk aud speak of themselves a a betrothed pair. This precocious and tende attachment was further strengthened by th< complete harmony of their characters, anc during the years of travel, had grown into at ardent affection. Four years of separatioi had kindled, instead of cooling, the flame, au( Heronymo came back as true and devoted t< the arms of his bride as if he had uever beei separated from her. The transports of seeinj each other agaiu were not yet cooled, and th< preparations for the celebration of their nup tials were pressing hastily forward, when th bridegroom mysteriously disappeared. He was accustomed to pass, often, a consid erable part of the day at a country seat be longing to the estate of his father, which wa near the sea shore, and to amuse himself ii sailing in a pleasure boat. After one sucl day, it happened that he remained longe than usual. They sent a messenger to seek who went out upon the water to look for hire No one had seen him ; none of his servant were missing, so that none of them could hav accompanied him. Night came on and h did not return ; morning came, mid-day an< evening, and still he did not return. Sooi they begau to give way to the most fearfu surmises, as information was gained that a: Algerian corsair had landed at this place th< day before, and several of the inhabitant had been seized and carried off. At once a galley was manned, which la; there ready to set sail. The old Marquis tool command of it himself, determined to rescm his son at the risk of his own peril. On th third day they got sight of the corsair, o which they had the advantage of the wind They would soon have overtaken it. The, got so near that Loreuzo, who was in the gai ley, declared that he recognized his brothe on the enemy's deck, when a storm suddenl fell upon the sea and separated the vessel from each other, "fwas with difficulty the could save their own vessel and the corsai had entirely disappeared ; and their cripple condition forced them to run into Malta an laud their crew. The agouy and grief of the whole famil were beyoud description. The old Marqui wandered about, tearing out his gray hair lik a maniac, and would not be comforted. Th life of the young Countess Antonie was almo! despaired of. Five long years passed in fruitless searc and inquiry. Vessels were sent along the er tire Barbary coast. Large rewards were o fered for the ransom of the young Marqui: but no one presented himself to claim then Finally, it appeared the most likely eupp< , sition that the corsair had foundered in th storm which had separated the vessels, an that the whole crew had perished in the wate However plausible this supposition, yet it wr far from certain, and did not eutirely destro all hope, that the lost one would not still, one more, make his appearance. But should he never return, with him pei isbed the family, unless the second brothe should abandon the position for which he ha been destiued aud take the place of the fin born. Grief and age were bringing the old Ma: quis rapidly to the grave. With every ri newed fruitless search, hope sank of ever agai beholding the lost one. He beheld the fai ure of his name, unless prevented by the con mission of, after all, a venal offense. If h r only could resolve to gratify the youngt brother at the cost of his duty to the churcl and fulfill his engagement with the nobl house of C?th! It needed only one name to b substituted for the other. The object of bot families would be accomplished, whether At | tonie be called Lorenzo's or Heronymo's countess. The weak possibility of the again appear_ I ing of the latter, ought not to be placed against ~ ! the certain evil of the passing away of the | whole family, and the old Marquis, who felt j each day more and more his end approaching, ' : wished impatiently to be relieved from this I disquieting thought before his death, r j The one who fought most obstinately against >-1 this step, was the one who gained the most !- thereby, viz.: Lorenzo. Unmoved by the d I charms of immense wealth ; indifferent to the t: possession of a charming creature that would - ; be surrendered to his arms, he denied himself, i-! with the most generous conscientiousness, to v | rob a brother who was, perhaps, still living, ; and would yet return to enjoy his own. Is J not the fate of my dear Heronymo, said he, : through this long imprisonment, sufficiently ! horrible? Mu9tl, too, with a theft, deprive t him of all that is dearest to him ? With what 1 conscience or heart conld I pray to heaven for 1 his return when his wife lay in my arms ? e With what face could I hasten to meet him, when a marvelous chance sends him back again 1 to us? And, if indeed, he is forever taken from ... us. Knw oat* uia hotter honor His memory, tKait e by leaving forever unfilled the void which hie . death has made in our circle? Let us lay all d our hopes upon his grave as a sacrifice, and e all that was his, let us leave untouched as a e holy thing. 3 But all the reasons which brotherly love j and tenderness raised, availed nothing with e the old Marquis. He eould not bear the idea j of seeing a stock perish which had flourished . for nine hundred years. All that Lorenzo could obtain from him, 3 was a terra of two years, before he should lead ] the promised bride of his brother to the altar. During this period the search should be still e zealously pressed. t Lorenzo, himself, made several voyages by e sea, and ransomed many out of bondage. No labor, no cost, was spared in searching for the y missing one ; but these two years were as fruitf less as those that had gone before. Antonie's condition was a fearful strife bet tween duty and feeling, hatred and admiration. The unselfish generosity of the brothB erly love touched her. She was torn with contending emotions?compelled to reverence , and honor the man she could never love. g Harrassed with these contending feelings, her j ; very heart bled; but still the dislike against the ; chevalier appeared to increase,justashis claims , upou her esteem were enhanced. With deep j grief he watched the coutinual sadness which ? was wasting away her youth. A tender com ' I passion came, almost unobserved, in place of I the disinclination with which she had hitherto B! regarded him. But this treacherous feeling . J baffled and perplexed him, and a strong past' j sion began to make irksome to him the exercise of his virtuous self-denial, which had thus far resisted all temptathn. j Still, even at the expense of his own heart, ' \ he resisted every suggestion of abandoning the '; generous part he had taken. He, alone, stood j out against the unhappy sacrifice to be made for the benefit of the family. But all his endeavors to this end miscarried. Every victory , i which he had hitherto gained over his pas" ! sion showed him to her eyes only the more j worthy, and the compassion which he had I shown in his manner toward her, only served ^ I to stregthen her feelings in this respect and to I rob her opposition of every excuse. a1 Thus stood the affair at the time the chev^ ! alier persuaded me to visit him at his estate. . The warm commendation of my patron pro} ' cured for me there a reception, surpassing even my expectations. _ | I must be permitted to state that, owing to some of my performances in my wonderful art, I had gained some celebrity amoug the " people of the place, which might induce the i old Marquis to confide in me and to ruise his ' expectations to the highest pitch. How far I | had succeeded with him, and in what mauner I brought it about, pardon me for not inform ing you. I From the narration which I have already 3 given you, you cau readily conceive some" ' thing of thetn. When I had made myself fa3 miliar with the contents of the mystical books r which I found in the large library of the 3 Marquis, I begau to speak with him of their ; conteuts, and my system of the kuowledge of 1 the unseen world to briug into uuisou and ac! cord with his own. He very soon began to believe all that I 3 wished, and had eveu as great faith iu the 1 marriage of Salamder and Sycpt, as taught in ? : the books, as he had in the canons of Scripe ; ture. As he was very religious, and his dis[ ; position to believe in this school of philosphy e had been cultivated to tbe extreme, my inventions found easy access to his credulity ; and finally I had him so encircled and bound with mysticism, that nothing had any longer 3 credit with him which was merely natural. 1 Iu a short time I became the worshipped 1 apostle of the house. The usual tenor of my r ! lectures was the exaltation of human nature, ' * : ~ Hxn J\^ ft iiuu iwc liiieiuuuioe wiui a uciu^ ui a HI^U^I '* order?my warranter, the infallible Count de 8 , Cabalis. The young Countess Autonie, who, e i since the loss of her beloved one, lived more ? in the spiritjjftjiLd than the real, and who was naturally aMjpelancholy temperament, be" gan to casj^Hooks upon me with a shudder. 1 The servq|^B the house endeavored to fiud 11 somethingro^do in the room, ^foenever I 8 spoke, in order to catch a ?There and 8 i there, which fragments they retoMi after their ! own manner, to one another, jv Y About two months had thus n spent at ? ; the residence of the Marquis, when one morne ! ing the chevalier Lorenzo entered my room. e. Deep grief was painted on his countenance. 1 All his lineameuts were perturbed. He cast ' himself on a chair, with a gesture of despair. Y i "Captain," said he, "it is all over with me. I must leave. I cau remain here no longer." rj "What has happened, Chevalier? What y I distresses you so ?" 8 1 "This fearful passion." (Here he raised y himself hastily from the chair, and cast hirar self in my arms.) "I have striven like a man ; d but now I can strive no longer." d j "On whom does it depend, my dear friend," ! T : J til . ic o n .i ] a saiu, uui yoursen r Hiveryming is in your y behalf?father?family?" 19 i "Father?family?what are they to me? e Will I have a forced hand, or a free inclinae ! tion? Have I not a rival?" "At, aud whom ? A rival, perhaps, among 1 the dead." h "Oh, let me go! Let me go! I will search l" j eveu to the end of the world but I will find my brother 1 I must find him !" s> ' "How, after so many failures, can you yet ' hope?" )- "Hope! Hope has long since perished in e my heart; but what of that? Of what cond sequeuce is it, whether I hope or not ? Can r. I be happy so long as a glimmer of hope is glows in the heart of Antonie? Two words, y i my friend, can put an eud to my torture; but :e j it is vaiu to talk. My destiny is to be miserable till eternity breaks the silence and the r-1 grave bears witness for me." ir j "Is it this certainty alone that can render d you happy ?" 5t "Happy ! Oh, I fear I never can again be happy! But uncertainty is the most horrible r- torment." (After an interval of silence, he s- composed himself and spoke sadly.) "Oh, n that he could look upon my suffering! Can 1- ; it make him happy ??this faithfulness, which l- renders his brother miserable? Shall the livie ing starve on account of the dead, who can :r never eujoy? Did he know my suffering, i, (here he began to weep bitterly, and pressed le his face upon my breast) perhaps?yes, per>e haps?he himself would lead her to my arms." h "What if this wish is not altogether imposl sible of fulfillment?" "Friend! what mean you ?" looking at me ' j with terror in his countenance. "Far less causes," I continued, "have brought the departed to interfere in the wel! fare of the living. Should the whole earthly i happiness of a man?of a brother?" j "The whole earthly happiness! Oh I feel i |it! How truly you have said it; my whole earthly peace! And would the tranquility! : of an afflicted family be no worthy consider- | ation ?" ! "Certainly, if ever a pure earthly affair j could entitle the disturbance of the blessed, i i to make use of a power." j "For God's sake, friend," he broke in, j "say nothing further! I have, sometimes?I I ' confess it?harbored such a thought. It ! seemed to me, that there could?but I have j ! long since cast it aside as impious and sacre- J ! ligious." You see clearly, the Sicilian went on, I .nViornt/i kid lor} T trtnlr I in i Tin tfl rpmOVe ! TTIIUItlW bll IO iV-Ui a l?vw? . the conscientious scruples of the chevalier, iu j | which I after a while succeeded, and it was | determined to invoke the spiritual appearance j j of the dead brother, for which I required only | fnnrtAAn ,1a VO of stalay, no I gore oat woro ; j necessary to me, to be properly prepared for ; ! the event. After this period had elapsed, and i my apparatus was suitably arranged, I took advantage of a gloomy evening, when a cold, drizzling rain was falling, and the family?in the now customary manner?were gathered i arouud me, to gaiD their assent to the trial, or rather to lead them, without perceivj ing it, that they should solicit it from me. The greatest difficulty was with the young countess Antonie, whose presence would be so essential. But here came, very unexpectedly to our aid, the visionary character of her passion, and perhaps, also, a weak glimmer of hope that the believed dead one might still be living, and would consequently not appear at the invocation. Mistrust in the thing itself?doubt of my power?were the only difficulties which I had not to contend with. So soon as the consent of the family I had been obtained, the third day after was I appointed for the trial. Prayers, which for two nights in succession I werecontiuued till long after midnight; watch. ing, fasting in solitude, and mystical instruc' tions were the preparations, together with the employment of some, as yet, unknown musical instruments, which in other cases I had found very effective. In the solemn celebration of these mystical rites, which had succeeded beyond ray ] expectations, the fanatical credulity of my \ t auditors had excited and heated my own I j phantasy, and the illusion no little increased i by the means I had to employ upon the oc- | casion to strengthen it. Finally, the anxiously awaited hour had come. I made use of all thejugglery of which I was master. It filled j all the ends I had expected from it. The old Marquis, the young Count s?, with j her mother by her side, the Chevalier, and several of their kinsmen were present. You can easily imagine that in the long time I had passed in the house, uo opportunity was let pass of learning every thing possible, even to the minutest, in regard to the deceased. Various portraits of him which I found there, enabled me to give a most accurate resemblance to the apparition, and I would only permit the answer to be given to their questions by gestures and signs, lest doubts might | be awakened by the sound of the voice. The apparition was seen clothed in the garments of a slave, with a deep wound upon his i I 1. -v :11 7 #i,A stAriiaiil 1 UfC K. 1 IIU Will WII.-CI V c \.-?m IMC \J ibiiiHu; j that in this I had made him different from ; the general conjecture, which was that he had : perished in the waves. I had reason to hope ! that the unexpectedness of this turn would I strengthen no little the belief in the truthful; ness of the vision itself, as it seemed to me j there was less risk of discovery, the nearer I i could make it conform to a natural appeari ance. I permitted them to ask the question of the apparition, whether he claimed as his own, anything which, while he lived upon earth, had been held dear to him. He shook his ' head thrice and raised one hand toward [ heaveu. Before vanishing from sight, he drew a ring i j from his finger, which after his disappearance ! was found on the floor of the room. When J the young Countess examined it, she discovered it was her bridal ring. Every one was now convinced that Heronyrao was no longer among the living. The family, from this day, openly spoke of his death and weut into i mourning for him. ] The circumstance of the ring permitted ; Antonie no longer to doubt, and induced her j to look much more favorably on Lorenzo. ! But the greatest hindrance which this appaj rition had caused them, was a fearful illness j | upon her part, which threatened to put for| ever an end to the desires of her friends. | When she became convalescent, she ex- j I pressed a desire to take the veil, which she ! was only persuaded to forego through the ; ; earnest remonstrance of her father-coufessor, ! | in whom she placed unbounded trust. At j ! last, through the united endeavors of this man and the family, consent was extorted J ! from her. The last day of mourning was to | j be the day of the nuptials, which the old Marquis was determined to make certain by the legal cession of all his estates to his son. ; The day came, and Lorenzo received his ; bride at the altar. Evening came on. A | sumptous feast awaited the joyful guests in j ! the splendidly illuminated bridal hall, while j a full band of musicians enlivened the scene, j ! The well pleased old man asked all the world j ! to partake in his joy. All the avenues to the i palace were thrown open, and every one j j was welcomed who partook in his gladness, j I Among this crowd? i The Sicilian here restrained himself and we j held our breath in shuddering expectation. | Among this crowd, he weut on, I observed j a Franciscan monk near to where I was sit-; | ting, who stood as immovable as one of the ; j columns of the hall; of tall, meagre stature j J and ashen pale countenance, his eyes fixed in | j an earnest and mournful look upon the bridal j : pair, the joy which shone in every counte-! nance around, appeared to be absent alone i I f?>r?r-?-\ l-iio Tnnn T-Tio othtniln tin. i | ilWlil II10 1 UV.V. 11IO ttbl/ll.uuu IVIUUI Iivu Mil j j chaugeably the same?as a statue among liv- ; I ing figures. The strangeness of his Jook, j which in the midst of the joy around, astonishi ed me; yet it seemed, in spite of all the sur- i roundings, to overwhelm me with a sudden fear, J and caused me a most indelible impression, | ! that on the countenance of this monk I recog-' nized the lineaments of Ruffen (for you com-: ; prehend already that he and the Armenian j were one and the same person) whom I had, j , from former experience, many reasons to fear. : I tried to turn ray eyes away from this j fearful form ; but in spite of my efforts, they i would fall upon him again to find him in the j same unchanged attitude, and wearing the ! 6ame earnest, mournful expression of face. I' | touched ray neighbor and nodded toward the : j monk; he touched his and soon curiosity aud surprise seized the whole assemblage, j The conversation stopped?a sudden si-j lence fell. It did not affect the monk. He stood immovably the same?the same sad look fixed upon the bridal pair. Every one was startled and somewhat frightened at this unexpected and strange appearance and behavior. The young countess alone seemed j to find some response to her own grief iu the i countenance of this stranger, and appeared to j cling with silent enjoyment to his look, as the only one in the crowd who appeared to 1 understand and partake of her sorrow. By degrees the crowd grew less. Midnight was past; the music began to grow lower aud 'sadder in tone; the lights to grow dimmer; and, finally, only one continued to buru ; the | conversation to flow slower and slower; and | more and more deserted became the bridal-! hall. The monk continued to stand ever im- | movably the same?a silent and mournful \ look fixed upou the bridal pair. The tables were removed ; the few remain-! ing guests wandered here and there ; the fam- j ily drew together in a small circle. The monk : removed, uninvited, into this narrow circle. I know not how it happened that no one accosted him, but no one had addressed a word to him. The female relations pressed around the trembling bride, who cast a beseeching and seeking look upon the venerable stranger. The stranger answered it not by any returning look. The men assembled themselves, in like manner, around the groom. There fell upon the company an oppressive, expectant silence. "Oh ! how is it?" broke out the Marquis, who alone of the company seemed not to have observed the unknown ; or, at least, to express no concern or surpriee at his presence. "How is it that we are all so happy, and my son, Hcronjr iuo, failo op r(M "Hast thou biddenfiim and he has failed to come ?" asked the monk. It was the first word he had spoken. We all gazed at him in amazement. "Alas! he is gone, from whence there is no return." said the old man. "Worthy sir, you j misunderstood me; my son Heronymo is dead." "Perhaps he fears to show himself in such company," the monk added. "Who knows how he may look ; thy son Heronymo? Let him hear the sound of the voice, which was the last he heard. Let thy son Lorenzo call him." "What does this mean ?" they all murmured. Lorenzo changed color. I do not deny that my hair began to rise. The monk, in the meanwhile, had stepped to the side-board, where he took a glass of wine and raised it to his lips. "The memory of our dear Heronymo," said he, "who loved the dead drink with me." "Whoever you may be, most kind sir," cried finally the old man, "you have mentioned a very dear name, and I give you welcome. Come, my friends," while he turned himself toward us, "let the glass go round ; let a stranger not shame us." "To the memory of my son Heronymo." Never, I believe, was a toast drank with 60 little spirit. One glass still remained un-j touched. "Why does my son, Lorenzo, refuse to drink this friendly pledge?" Trembling all over,Lorenzo took the glass from the Franciscan's hand ; trembling he ! 1 !a a. ? LI? ? - .... * L. (I Vf ? mol I knl Airorl raised ll IU HIS UJUUU1. iu.J' ncn uu>?tu brother, Herouymo," stammered he, and shuddering, he set the glass down. "That is my murderer's voice," cried a fearful shape, which suddenly stood in our midst, clothed in blood-stained garments and disfigured with ghastly wounds. "Let no man ask me further questions," said the Sicilian, with signs of great fear in his countenance. My senses had left me from the moment that I cast my eyes on the shape, as had those of every one present. When we came again to ourselves, Lorenzo was wrestling with death. Monk and apparition had vanished. The chevalier, in terrible convulsions, was carried to his bed. No j one except the priest was at his death-hed, and tt.e giay otrt -rnarquls-ftritowert htm a ffew weeks after. His confessions were buried in the bosom of the priest who heard them, and no living man beside knows aught of them. Not long after these events had transpired, in clearing a well, in rear of the country house, which was concealed by some wild growth, and which had been disused for many years, the skeleton of a man was found. The house, where these things took place, stands no longer. The family of M?lite has perished, and in a convent outside of Salerno, Antonie's grave is pointed out. ^psrtHg of ^iitoliua. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OK THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY REV. ROBERT LATHAN. (continued from last week.) The manifest intention of the inhabitants of South Carolina, during the period at which we have arrived, was to throw off the yoke of the proprietary government and place themselves under the government of England. They were, in a certain sense, English subjects; I not directly, but through the proprietors. They enjoyed some peculiar privileges; but, on the other hand, they were deprived of many advantages. The proprietary govern mop natlnnnr Knf a of fpnant.rv IliCUl* TV a J UVbtllUg UUb U aiuu v* vvti mm *> j ? , Under it the people never could have accotn-1 plished anything, either for themselves or for j the world, so far as advancing the arts of civilization is concerned. Still, had the proprietors been wise and prudeut, they might have ; retained their government over South Carolina for a long time. The people had no dis-1 position to rebel. They were goaded to it. \ Nicholas Trott contributed more than any j other inau to bring about the Revolution of 1719. The proprietors were extremely loud of: Trott, and he possessed the power of deludiug the proprietors. They granted him an amount j of power, in managing the affairs of South j Carolina, which it was said, at the time, no : other man in the world possessed ; and Trott J was disposed to exercise all the authority i granted him. The time when the South Carolinians be- 1 gau to think of throwing off the proprietary yoke, was very favorable for such an under-1 taking. The English people, generally, were anxious that all the proprietary governments j be abolished. The merchants of the kingdom I were desirous that the change be made, and < George the First was a stranger to the indi-1 viduals who at first obtained the charter for j ' ? /" l* f.'ll .1 ? settling Soutli uaronua. oim, mere was uu i disposition on the part of the Crown of Eng- j land to act hastily in this matter. The parliament of England at this time, was the most scrupulously honest legislative body in the world. It determined to act in this matter only when dire necessity required it. Clearly had it been proven to the parliament, that j through the influence of their secretary and a few others, the proprietors had forfeited their charter; but since some of their number did not approve of their unconstitutional acts, the charter was not taken from them. As sa^hefore, Governor Johnson, on re-; ceiving?m instructions from the proprietors,' which were conveyed to him from the proprietors bf Francis Yonge, who had taken ' over the memorial of the colqnists to England, j he prepared to carry them otit to the very I letter. The newly appointed Council, consist- i ing of Nicholas Trott, Ralph Izard, William ; Bull, Samuel Wragg, Charles Hart, Benja-, min de la Consilliere, Beter St. Julien, William Gibbon, Hugh Butler, Jacob Satur, j Francis Yonge and Jonathan Skrine, were 1 called together and as many of them as would, j were qualified. The old Assembly was dis-! solved and a new one elected. As might have ; been expected, it was even less favorable to, the proprietors than the one dissolved. In the interval between the regular time for the assembling of theColonial Legislature and the election, Governor Johnson received intimation that the Spaniards were planning v an attack upon the colony. He called his s council and as many of the newly elected c members of the Assembly as were convenient, \ ( together, and made known to them the condi-1 t tiou in which the province was situated. The o fortifications around Charles Town were in t 110 condition to resist an invading foe. Hav- d iug been hastily erected, and constructed out b of improper materials, the winds and rains s had greatly injured them. The Governor in- b timated that since there were no funds on t hand for accomplishing the work of repairs, t and as the time for the convening of the As- c sembly had not arrived, it would be necessary a to raise, by private subscription, a sum suffi- f cient to put the province in a defensible con- t dition. Generously, he headed the list with c a subscription of about two thousand five t hundred dollars. This was generous, manly and patriotic; but the die was cast. The d members of the Assembly who were present, r affirmed that the revenue arising from certain t imports were sufficient to meet the expense of v repairing the forts. The Governor told them v .? * - * ?- t--J J-J 1??, Tl.o r me proprietors uuu repeuieu tuc inn. ihci jiiicuibers of the Assembly ropliod tb?t tb?ro ; I was an order requiring every roan who re- t fused to pay these imposts to be sued, and as I for the repeal of the proprietors, it was their o intention to pay no attention to it. Chief t Justice Trott, a member of the council, de- r clared that if an action was brought into his v courts against any individual for the purpose ii of forcing him to pay the duty, he would give t judgment in favor of the defendant. No subscription was raised. The Council, and what f few members of the Assembly were present, 1 stood face to face, in determined opposition to a each others' views. The consultation effected ( nothing but to widen the breach between the F people and the proprietary party. Rather t than succumb to the Governor and his Coun- t cil, the Assemblymen preferred to leave the v province in an unprotected state, to be invaded a by their old and uncompromising enemies. g Governor Johnson, moved no doubt by c praise-worthy motives, and having the pros- 0 perity of the colony at heart, since be could 1 effect nothing through his Council and the 1 members of the Assembly, ordered the milita- v ry officers of the colony to call out their men a and appoint a place of general rendezvous. r This order the military captains and men J willingly obeyed, but with far different inten- * tions from those contemplated by the Gover- * nor. On assembling, articles of confedera- ' tion. drawn un bv the leading spirits of the 1 popular party, were presented to the men and j signed by nearly every man in the province, * except council men. 1 The leading spirit of this confederation, was Alexander Skrine, one of the rejected mem- 1 bers of the Council. Indignant on account r of the treatment which he had received at the ^ hands of the proprietors, he was determined [ to push the opposition to the proprietors to J the utmost limit. He was eminently quali- ' fied, besides, for heading a democratic party. * He had, for many years, been secretary of the 8 Island of Barbadoes, and understood the * manner in which to conduct popular asseni- j blies. * The Governor knew nothing of what was j goingon. His plantation was four miles from Charles Town. Here he was all this time, no ( doubt fretting about the past and planing for the future. On the night of the 27th of , November, 1719, a committee was appoiuted ^ to wait upon him and inform him of the pres- ^ eut condition of things and make certain t propositions to him. ^ On the next day, November 28th, a letter, ^ signed by A. Skrine, George Logan and Wil- j liam Slakewav. was nrenared and sent to the - - j ? ^ ! i ^ ^ j Governor. In this letter, the signers, in be- v half of the inhabitants, expressed their love ^ and esteem for the Governor, and asked him to assume the office of Governor of the colony J in the name of George the First, until they t would hear from his majesty. The letter was conveyed to the Governor at his plantation, but the committee left Charles Town before ' the Governor arrived. It seems that the ^ committee, on due reflection, hesitated about < holding an interview with the Governor. : Why they hesitated we are left to conjecture. This fact was almost the only circumstance which gave the Governor any hopes of regaining his authority over the people. j, Trott now counseled mild measures. He ^ saw that there was no place for force. Governor Johnson, aware of Trott's influence with j. the proprietors, readily fell in with the views a of the Chief Justice, and let things .drift. Meetings were common amongst the people, e and various consultations were held and infiaramatory speeches made,until the meeting of the newly elected Assembly, about the 10th t of December. The movement had, by this j, time, became emphatically democratic. The \ Assembly could act boldly, for the people u were ready to sustain them in their acts. The Governor, as usual, sent them his message in- j( forming them that he and his Council, which formed the upper house, were ready to join ^ with them in their transaction of business. c The Assembly replied to this message by go- \ ing in a body to the Governor, and through Arthur Middletou as spokesman, declaring to f the Governor that they recognized him as their Governor since he had been acknowl- c priced hv the Kinc: but as for the newly ap- ? O " / -o ? pointed Council, they regarded them as an illegally appointed set of officers and would a have nothing whatever to do with them, j. Governor Johnson was now placed in a fear- <] ful dilemma. If he acted in concert with the 8 Council, the Assembly would have nothing to do with him ; and if he acted in concert with ^ the Assembly, he would virtually discard the a proprietors. The Assembly soon discovered that they i occupied an awkward position. They had f been elected by writs issued by individuals, n whom they publicly declared exercised no t legal authority in the colony. To relieve themselves from this inconsistency, they c changed their name and declared that they were not a legislative body, in the usual sense of that word, but a Convention of the people, t They proceeded to undo what the proprietors r had done, and even to declare that no one t who had held office under the proprietors j| should be recognized any longer as an officer in the colouy. The illegality of the council y was argued because there were more than one deputy for each proprietor, and one of these p was a foreigner, having never become a natu- ? ralized citizen of England. It was also claimed, that even in accordance with the late b instructions of the proprietors, the Assembly t was not dissolved. The instructions required a six of the twelve deputies to act in order to g form a quorum. In this case, a less number n had signed the order, and one of these was a h foreigner. These conclusions served as a stimulus to the hesitating amongst the people, and a support to those who were in doubt re- ii specting the course adopted by the popular leaders. t! A resolution was passed, in which it was, in no ambiguous language, declared that the J nk a An fl proprietors ijvu luiiencu iuch umuvi, uu ? address was prepared, asking Governor John- o son to take the government of the colony into his hands in the name of the king. Johnson a hesitated, but sent a message to the Assembly, in which be said that he and his council desired a conference with the Convention. The e Convention (for this was the name by which " the Assembly called itself) refused to receive any message, or to transact any business what- e ever, with the Governor in conjunction with his council. Governor Johnson then, in his d own name, invited the Convention to hold a b conference with him. To this the Convention assented. On presenting themselves to the s< xoveruur, uia cauciicuuj uvutu.w. ~ b peech, in which he used a variety of arguaenta to arrest the revolutionary spirit of the Convention and people. He demanded that he Convention should say expressly, whether r not they designed freeing themselves from he government of the proprietors. He also lemanded, since they said that the proprietors lad violated the colonial charter, that they pecify in what particulars and when it had .cop pining The Governor argued that in he event it was discovered that the proprieors had forfeited their charter, and it was delared by the British authorities to be null ,nd void, that all the previous acts of the ?roprietors would be abrogated. That the itles which they had made the settlers of the olony to the land which had been sold by he proprietors, would be rendered worthless. To the long, and we may say learned, adIress of Governor Johnson, the Convention eplied that he was honored, loved and eseemed by both the Convention and by the rhole people of the colony, and that no man ?as "fitter to govern so loyal and obedient a >eople to his sacred majesty, King George." fh? rauaona for their present course of action, hev declare, is well known to the world. T ^ ' Nothing, say they, but the absolute necessity f self-preservation, could have induced them o adopt their present course of action. This eply of the Convention to Governor Johnson ?as closed with an earnest repetition of the ovitation to him to become their Governor in he name of King George the First. The Governor again replied; but still reused to accept the offer of the Convention. Phe conference between Governor Johnson nd the Convention now ceased. Still, the jovernordid not cease to struggle for his lost ?ower and lost honor. He, with the ostensiile purpose of putting the forces in a condiion to meet an attack of the Spaniards, vhich might take place at any time, ordered ,11 the military companies to get ready for a eneral review on Monday, the 21st of Deember. Capt. Paris was instructed to carry ut this order. This, no doubt, was a trick of he Governor's, for previously he had ordered he Convention to be dissolved; but the order pas wrested from the hands of the Marshal ,ud torn to pieces. The Governor thought, io doubt, that through the aid of the militia, le could awe the Convention into submission, n this he was mistaken, for before the day or the review arrived, he learned to his asonishment that the people had chosen that lay as the most fit on which to proclaim a ioyal Governor. He, on receiving this inurmation, countermanded the order for the nuster ; but the people were not to be thwartid in their undertaking. Captain Paris and he Governor, on Saturday, talked over the natter, and Paris promised not to have a Irum beat in Charles Town on the following tfonday. When Monday came, Governor lohnson come from his plantation to town. )n entering the town, his ears were greeted vith martial music and the beating of drums, md flags were seen flying from the forts and rora the masts of the ships lying in the har>or. The people were drawn up in the market, and every preparation was making to iroclaim a Governor in the name of the ?ing. Governor Johnson raged. Hethreatined, he entreated, he begged. He demanded if Captain Paris why all this parade was gong on contrary to his order. Paris replied 'In obedience to the Convention." Deserted >y Trott and Rhett, the Governor, attended >y one member of his Council and a man by tie name of?/toyd,paced""the streets: Almost rautic with rage, he ordered Captain Paris, in he name of the King, to disperse the men. 3aris ordered his men to level their muskets ipon the Governor and told him if he advanced it would be at the risk of his life. Governor Johnson, notwithstanding his great >opu!arity, was powerless. James ivioore, was nth great solemnity proclaimed Governor in he name of George the First of England. [to be continued next week.] fading. A STINGING SUBJECT. My wife is very proud of our garden, and vhile gushing over it, the other morning, a lappy thought worked its way under her >ack hair. What a delightful thing it would be to lave a hive of bees and raise our own honey, is well as everything else. I have always thought that woman inspired iver since she convinced me that I couldn't lo better than to marry her. This was an original, bold idea; happy bought; glorious idea. I promised her a live of bees, and went to business with a ighter heart and a firmer belief in the genlineness of home comfort and amusements. I bought a hive of honey-bees and brought t home with me that very night. It was one of those patent, hydrostatic, >ack-action hives, in which the bees have peuliar accommodations and all the modern mproveraents. It was a nice little hive; none of your oldashioned twists or barn-size affairs. It even had windows in it, so that the bees ould look out and see what was going on, ,nd enjoy themselves. Both myself and Mrs. B. were delighted, md before dark I arranged a stand for the live in the garden, and opened the bay winlows so the bees could take an early start, ind get to business by sunrise next morning. Mrs. B. called me "Honey" several times luring the evening, and such sweet dreams a we had. We intended to be up early the next mornng to see how our little birds took to our lowers, but a good half hour before we probtbly should have done so, we were awakened >y the unearthly yells of a cat. Mrs. B. leaped from her downy couch, exlaiming: "What can be the matter with Billy?" The howls of anguish convinced us both hat something more than ordinary was the natter with him, and so we hurried into our oiletes without waiting to do much button?g We rushed out into the garden, and oh ! rhat a sight met our astouished gaze! The sight consisted of a yellow cat that ap.aot.n/4 tn ho rlmnnr lta hont t.n make a Din >bUl VU VV WV viv*wg -ww WW. .v ? ? J ?heel of itself. It was rolling over and over in the grass, ounding up and down, anon darting through he bushes and foliage, standing on its head, nd then trying to drive its tail into the round, and all the while keeping up the lost confounded howling that was ever eard. "The cat is mad," said Mrs. B., affrighted. "Why shouldn't it be? The bees are stingag it," said I, comprehending the trouble. Mrs. B. flew to the rescue of her cat, and j he cat flew at her. So did the bees. j One of them drove his drill into her nose, nother vaccinated her on the chin, while anther began to lay his work near her eye. Then she howled and began to act almost s bad as the cat. It was quite an animated scene. She cried murder, and the neighbors lookd out from their back windows and cried out Police!" and asked where the fire was. This being a trifle too much, I threw a tow1 over my head, and rushed to her rescue. In doing so, I ran over and knocked her own, trod upon the cat and made matters no etter. Mrs. B. is no child in a wrestle, and she oou had me under her, and was tenderly -J O O 0 head, using my ears for handles. Then I yelled and some more bees came to her assistance and stung me all over the face. She was still giving me darby, under the impression that I was the cause of all her pain. It was love among the roses, or something of that nature. In the meantime, the neighbors were shouting and getting awfully excited over the show, while our servant, supposing us fighting, opened the street door and admitted a policeman, who at once proceeded to go between man and wife. The bees hadn't got to Mrs. B.'s tongue yet, and she proceeded to show the policeman that I had abused her in the most shameful manner, and that I had bought a hive of bees on purpose to torment her into the grave. I tried to explain, but just then a bee stung the officer on the nose, and he understood it all in less than a minute. He got mad; actually lost his temper. He rubbed his nose and did some official swearing. But as this didn't help matters, he drew his staff and proceeded to demolish the I patent bee-hive. The bees failed to notice his badge of office, and swarmed on hips. They stung hirn wherever he had no clothing, and some places where he did have it Then he howled and commenced acting after the manner of the cat and its mistress. He rolled on the ground for a moment, and then got up and made a straight line for the street, shouting fire. Then the beea tum?d to the people who had climbed upon the fence to see the fun. The excitement increased. Windows went down, and some of the neighbors acted as though they thought a twenty-inch shell was about to explode. By this time a fire engine had arrived, and a line of hose was taken through the house into the garden. One of the firemen asked where the fire was, but just then one of these honey mosquitoes bit him behind the ear and he knew directly. They turned a stream upon the half-ruined bee-hive and began to "play away" with one hand, while they fought the bees with the other. But the water had the desired effect, and those bees were soon among the things that were. A terrible crowd had gathered in the meantime in front of the house, but a large portion of it followed the flying policeman, who was rubbing his affected parts and making straight for the station house and a surgeon. The little adventure somehow dampened our enthusiasm regarding the felicity of raising our own honey. Durine the next week we wore bread and milk poultices pretty ardently, but not a word was said about honey, and now Mrs. B. has gone to stay a week with her mother, leaving me and the convalescent Tom cat, and the tickled neighbors, to enjoy our own felicity, but not with bees?oh, no ! < ? > Evil Speaking.?Speaking evil of others is one of the most unamiable habits that can be acquired, and one that leads to infinite mischief. It is not always easy to avoid it, for there are a great many people in the world who are not what they ought to be, who do many things that they ought not to do. It is hard for a blunt, generous mind to refrain from expressing itself about mean people and mean acts. There is something in meanness pad diahopoaty rouocc t-lye l^aury do nouncing them in bold and unsparing terms. But the practice, as a practice, is a troublesome and dangerous one. There are occasions when it is our duty to speak out in exposure of wrong. But in general it is best to abstain from evil speaking, even of evil persons. We are not made judges of others' ac tions. No one has the right to assume the character of arbiter and censor. Even the best of us have our faults, and if every one should presume to denounce the vices and misconduct of others, the world would be given up to defamation. We may see and hear much that we do not admire and cannot like; wo may become cognizant of the many evil deeds done by evil persons; but it is a part of wisdom and discretion to pass them by without notice, except when to speak of them cautiously may be necessary as a warn* ing to friends. We all have enough of enemies in this world, without provoking others by ill-tempered comments. The enmity of evil men is the thing to be avoided, for while it can do us no good, it may do us much barm. Besides, we may make mistakes in the haste of honest indignation, and speak evil of good men for acts we do not understand. Such a mistake is worse than the other, for while it is imprudent to promiscuously denounce evil men, it is a cruel wrong to defame a good one. An Eccentric Fellow.?The Duchess of Marlborough had a relative, commonly called^ Jack Spencer, who was a very eccentric chaSF acter. One of his whimsical freaks was to take a hackney coach with three friends in a dark evening, and order the man to set them down in a gloomy part of the Strand at the side of the new church. He had previously opened the door opposite to that where the coachman waited, and as Spencer and his friends quitted the coach on one side, they went round and entered on the other. The coachman was at first surprised that more issued from the carriage than he had taken in. As they continued to go round and mmfl nut. ho became dreadfully alarmed, and at length bis terror was so great that he ran from the coach, and rushed into the first public house, telling the people there he must have taken in a legion of devils; for, he added, with every sign of horror, that he had only taken four in, but had counted eighteen come out, and that more were coming when he left the coach. It is said that he once contrived to collect a party of hunchbacked men to dine with him, some of whom indignantly quitted the table. Another whimsical party which he assembled at his house consisted merely of a number of persons, all of whom stuttered; but this meeting at first threatened serious consequences, for each supposed he was mocked by the other, and it was with great difficulty that their host restored peace by acknowledging the ludicrouse purpose of his invitation. Newspapers.?Daniel Webster once said : "Small is the sum that is required to patronize a newspaper, and well rewarded is its patron, I care not how humble and unpretending the gazette which be takes. It is next to impossible to fill a sheet with printed matter without putting something into it that is worth the subscription price. Every parent whose son is away from home at school, should supply him with a newspaper. I well remember what a marked difference there was between those of my schoolmates who had and those who had not access to newspapers." A writer in Once a Week says: "I have been to almost every part of the world, and yet I have never been to any place of note in which I did not discover a Scotchman, an *" * f * A/-1.V *11 irishman, or a dew. a ocotcnman win thrive where an Irishman would starve; but a Jew would make an honest fortune, where both would be forced to take to the highway for a living." If you have talents, industry will improve them; if moderate ability, industry will supply the deficiences. Nothing is denied to well-directed labor; nothing is ever to be obtained without it.