Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor, ^it fnlicpcnbent Jumilij ftctospaper: <$or tjjr locomotion of t|e political, Social, Agricultural ani> Commercial Interests of tjre Soutjr. {terms?$3.00 a year, in advance.-*' "VOL. 31. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1875. 3STO. 4=2. Jin ?riginal Jdsrg. 1 Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. Sleepy Hollow, CHAPTER VI. AN UNEXPECTED ENGAGEMENT. For a moment, surprise kept me still. Then as quickly as I had come, I turned and lef the place before either of the pair had tim< to perceive me. A suspicion of something underhanded ir Ellen's conduct now intruded itself for th< first time into ray mind. Why had she cho sen such a time as this for a rendezvous wit! Stephen Holcorabe? The early hour, the re tired spot, seemed to indicate a desire for concealment; and I was the more astonished, ai she had never appeared to have any faucy foi his society, nor had he been in the habit ol paying any special attention to her in com pany. I could not resist the thought that she waf desirous of keeping her intimacy with him, il intimacv there was. a secret from her step _ J mother and myself. Several circumstancei poiuted to this conclusion. I now recallec her evident reluctance to have me accompany her to the spring when I had first proposer doing so ; and her prolonged absence on thi morning that I had gone in Bearch of her which she accounted for by saying she hat been to gather wild-flowers. It was singular too, that on that occasion no one had seen he) in company with Stephen Holcombe. She must, therefore, have met him privately aftei leaving the spring. Her fluttered manner or his first arrival seemed to point at some prioi understanding existing between them ; ant yet, I well knew, not theslightest idea of sue! an understanding had auy place in my god mother's mind. I resolved to say not a word on the subjec to Ellen, until she should volunteer to taki me into her confidence. She made no sucl offer, however; nor did she allude in any wa] to her meeting with Mr. Holcombe that morn ing. This reticence, of course, confirmed rnj suspicions, and I could not repress an anx ious, troubled feeling at the discovery of hei uucaudid conduct; nor a little natural indig nation at finding her mother and myself s< entirely kept in the dark. This feeling infused a slight coolness int< my manner toward her, which she could no fail to observe. At first she made no com meut on it; but would occasionally cast a pen etratiug glance at me, as if to discover thi meaning of this change on my part. At last one day, she said to me in a half-careless half-anxious tone. "What iu the world has got into you late ly, Rosamond? You scarcely talk to me a all, now-a-days. Is anything wrong?" ?. Now of all things iu the world, 1 have al wavs desnised anything like concealment o ^ * V/ deceit; and there never was a person less ca pable of hiding a sentiment than I was a that time. So after a momeut I burst forth impetuously, "You ought to know best, Nelly, whethe there is auything wrong; it does not rest wit! me to decide." She changed color, and looked earnestly ai me. "What do you mean ?" she asked. "I mean," I auswered, waxing warmer as 1 proceeded, "that you are keeping a secre * from auut Mabel and from me, which I havi only by chance found out; and I can't fee satisfied that you are acting right in doiuj so." "A secret!" she repeated. "Explain tha accusation, if you please, my dear." "I can easily explain it I allude to you meetings with Stephen Holcoinbe?privat meetings, which I know auut Mabel woul< not approve of?" "Have you been playing the spy upon me?1 she interrupted with flashing eyes, and i voice quivering with anger. "Not intentionally ; I found it out quite b; accideut." "Found it out! After all, Rosamond what have you found out? Goon, nowyou have made a charge against me, and yoi must substantiate it." She spoke with forced calmness, but ther was an uneasy look on her face. I was no willing to quarrel with her, nor did I wish t ? accuse her unjustly; so I went on in a gen tier tone. "Don't be angry with me, Nelly; but yo know it was impossible not to feel hurt a vour want of confidence. I had no idea tha there was anything like friendship betwee Stephen Holcombe and yourself, uutil I sai you walkiug with him, away from everybod else, in the dell. I went to look for you, no knowing he was there. You seemed to b talking very confidentially ; and you kno* that is not your usual manner towards eac ** other ; and it seemed to me as if you mm have some motive for not betraying all this. "You are the most absurd child!" crie Ellen, impatiently, as if she were quite vexe at my folly. "I don't see bow you naanag to get such ideas into your head." "Facts?not ideas," I reminded her. "Facts, indeed! Do tell me, Rosamouc where is the harm of walking with a friendor even a mere acquaintance?without nit king a fuss aud telling every one that I hav .doneso? Betraying! What have I to b( tray? Why should I proclaim every triflin B thing I do?" "But Nelly?that is not the questior Would aunt Mabel approve of it?" "Why should she not?" "You know why she should not. She'is s very particular about our behaviour; and sh especially dislikes Stephen Holcombe." "I can't help it if mamma is prejudiced." All this was mere evasiou, not explanatioi and I could uot help telling her so. She g( very angry with me, of course; but after while she changed her tone aud tried to laug it off. Finding me still unsatisfied, she the adopted another course. "I'll tell you what, Rosamond," she sail dropping her voice, confidentially, "thoug there is really no such great mystery going c as you seeui to suppose ; yet I must own yc are partly right in your ideas. I don't mea about ray concealing the thing, and all thai you are very unjust to me there. Of cours if there was anything really to tell mamm I'd tell it. But Stephen really does like m I believe?and?and it may possibly come I something, don't you see ? But then I am a most afraid to speak about it, because, as said just now, mamma certainly is prejudice I don't mind talking to you, now that the i< is broken; because girls can uuderstat: each other better than old people can unde stand them. And I know I can trust you i keep this to yourself, just for the preseu there's no harm in it, because I am not ei gaged." I listened in silence, with a mixture of fee ings. Predominant among these was anmz meut at the rapid transfer of Stephen He combe's affection?certainly not flattering i mc. Then again, if he really was fond Ellen, I wondered what should hinder hi from coming forward openly and saying s As to my aunt's prejudice, that would hai to be overcome eventually, or at any rate pi aside, in case of the marriage taking pJac< w though I could not fancy that she would evi sanction it willingly. She had always, ho' ever, been a most indulgent parent, and I d Dot8uppo.se that Ellen would have toencou ter any violent opposition to her wishes; so could not help thinking that the latter mu ! have some motive, outside of tl^e mere dread |j of displeasing Iter, to make her so anxious to i : keep my auut from discovering the state of { affairs. i i j "You'll be discreet, like a good girl, won't! < I you ?" said Ellen, coaxingly, at length, as I j < i kept silent. It was quite a new tone for her i i to adopt toward me, and I read in it the in- i dication of a special auxiety. . I "Oh ! I don't want to talk, about your af-! ? fairs, Nelly, of course," I rejoined. "You i must settle them your own way ; only it seems j 1 a; a pity that aunt Mabel should not know." j ' i "I'll put that all right afterwards; never : i fear. And now don't let us talk any more j ? ohrmt tKia oill v hllsillPSS for it sillv. I OWO. ( 3 , j ? - - . _. for more reasons than one; and please to lay \ 1 aside your stiff manner to me, and be your t ; own self again." j i There the matter dropped for the present; ] | but I observed thenceforth a desire on Ellen's i . [ part te propitate me in various ways, as though ! j P! auxious to secure my favor. Of course, hav- i _ I ing agreed to say nothing on the subject, I ! 1 carefully refrained from letting even a hint j to aunt Mabel escape me ; but I disliked the \ P j position in which I was placed, and heartily ; 1 j wished that my own suspicions had never ; 1 3 been aroused. I now saw less of Stephen 1 I Holcombe than ever; and in the round of f gayety which thickened as the season pro-: < j gressed, I had enough to engross my miud to banish by degrees all uncomfortable thoughts, i I had my fill of dancing, of beaux, and of JI flirting?for in spite of papa's warning, I could j i not see that there was anything reprehensible 11 ' in partaking modestly of the latter amuse-1 ment, in a purely innocent way. It was my ; 1 [ first real taste of society, and I enjoyed it ! ] J thoroughly, and felt no anxiety for the ap- i r j proach of the time when we should be obliged j to return home. That tiule, however, was rapidly drawing I near; it was now the third week iu August, j and aunt Mabel had made arrangements to j I ,L. ..e 1 leave uu me uisi ui tuc cusuiug uiuuvu. 1 i One eveuing, after I had been a short time 0 i in the dancing room, a headache came on, 1 ! and finding it impossible to amuse myself any f | longer, I whispered a word in ray aunt's ear, * ! aud slipped away from the noise and glare to to the refreshing quiet and solitude of ray i own room. I undressed and got into bed, but r the recumbent position seemed to make my head worse, and after courting sleep for some 3 time iu vain, I rose, and, throwing a light shawl around me, sat down uear the open 5 window. It was a sultry night, aud I was 1 glad of the soft breeze that stole in and | < breathed upon my forehead, like the touch of | a cool hand. 0 Presently the sound of voices fell on my i ? ear, and in the uncertain, half-veiled light of ; '? the moon, I saw two figures slowly approach- i ing, along a path in the rear of the house. "There's a flirtatiou," I soliloquized. "Who 1 cau they be, I wonder?" "Keeping myself behind the screen of the window-curtain, I looked out, idly curious to r discover the identity of the romantic pair, j The gentleman was dressed in black and the ! i 1 lady in white, and the latter had a scarf over j ' her head aud shoulders, the color of which | was quite undistinguishable in the faint i r moonlight. After watching them for a rain-! 1 ute or two, I gave up the idea of fiuding out j j who they were, and drew back, thinking that i it was growing cooler and that I would pres- ! ently have to put down the sash. As I was . about to do so. however, the voices coming directly below, grew qoite distinct, and I im- | 1 mediately recognized them a9 belonging to ! ? Stephen Holcombe and Ellen. The latter, spoke the first audible words. ? "I should hate to have you go, Stephen, j without telling her." 1 "My dear Nelly, haven't I given you ray j reasons for keeping silence just for a short r time longer? Were they not satisfactory e ones ?" ^ "Perhaps so?but still?" "But still they do not satisfy you. What! a persistent young woman you are!" a Persistent young woman ! What an epithet | to bestow upon one's lady-love! It was cer- j Y tainly more familiar than polite. Ellen, how- i ever, did not appear to resent it. > "You see," she responded, "I have my rea" so us for urging ray request, which I think are ! J quite as weighty as yours. In the first place, j, Rosamond suspects?" e At the sound of my own name I started, in 1 the guilty consciousness that I was playiug 0 eavesdropper. I had no right to listen to i '* their private conversation ; and quickly and noiselessly closing the window, I again sought, u my bed, and before long was sound asleep. | t Thank heaven, was my last distinct waking j t thought, I have no secrets on my mind, n The next day I noticed that Ellen looked f thoughtful and a little disturbed, and had no ! y difficulty in tracing the cause of these symp- | >t toms to the interview of the previous night, e Soon after we had finished luncheon, she i * # * : came to me and asked me to go with her into < h my godmother's room. "The truth is, I want j !t you to support me," she said with a little ! " laugh ; "I have a confession to make to mam- ; d ma, and I don't know exactly how she will d receive it." ;e "Is it about Stephen Holcombe?" I asked, j "About Stephen Holcombe, my dear." "Are you engaged to him, Nelly?" 1, "Yes, I am engaged to him." I said no more, but picked up a book and i- followed her at once into my aunt's aparte ment. To my surprise, Ellen calmly com-! )- menced talking on some indifferent subject, g as if there were no such person as her affi-1 anced lover in existence. By degrees, how i. ever, she dexterously brought the conversa- j tion to bear upon him, in the following munner. "How many people are leaving the Springs o already, mamma. 1 suppose by the time we j : !>/>?? trill Kii onnpnulv onv nnp lpff. " "Oh ! I don't know about that, dear," said , aunt Mabel. "Others will still be dropping j i> in for a little wlrile longer, on their way from , >t the other places around here. Is any one a that we know going off today?" h "Yes, the Mortons are going, and to-mor- ! n row the Eldridge tribe follow suit. And Mr. j Holcombe is going too." I, "Is he?" said my aunt indifferently. ;h "Yes. And he wanted to see you, mamma,: n before he left, but there was no time; he has j iu to join one of his friends this afteruoou, at m ' some place a few miles from here, and so 11 l; J told him it would do as well when we got home; e, I he is coming then to pay a short visit to his , a, ; brother's family." e, j "To see me!" said aunt Mabel. "What to j can he possibly wish to see me about ?" She ! ,1- looked at me a little suspiciously as she spoke, j I | "Tell her, Rosamond," said Ellen, with a d. , sudden accession of diffidence. ;e | "Rosamond !" said my god-mother gravely, j id ! "I caunot think it possible that you should I r- , have changed your mind, aud given that1 to young man encouragement to renew his ad-! t; ! dresses." n-! "You are quite right in not thinking so,! i aunt," I rejoined. "I should not give him | tl- j any encouragement, even if he desired it,' e-1 which he has now quite ceased to do." >1- j "Then what are you both airaiug at? I to ' dislike any tiling like mystery." of; "There need be no mystery," said I, finding tn ; that Ellen kept silence; "though I don't see ( o. why I should be made your informant. Ellen re ; is engaged to Stephen Holcombe, that's all." j ut i Ellen seemed to breathe more freely, now j ?; that the announcement was made. She looked \ er J up with a little smile. n- "Yes, mamma," she said, gently, in answer j id i to her stepmother's startled glance. "It is : n- j quite true, aud I hope you will approve." I I My aunt was silent; and feeling that my st presence might now be a restraint on her, I umped up and made an excuse to go back to my room, notwithstanding Ellen's persuasive ! t jlance. What took place in the subsequent 11 nterview, I never exactly knew ; but, at all! I ivents, Ellen caine off triumphant, and her ; r jngageruent became an undisputed fact. My h lunt, I believe, was seriously annoyed, and t jawilling to give her consent. But her au- 1 s .hority over Ellen would virtually cease as loon as the latter came of age; and though she e night disapprove, she could not restrain her ! 1 "rom doing as she pleased. ; t I did not kuow until long afterward that I I w&a represented to Stephen Holcombe as my t lunt's sole informant, in regard to the en-1 jageraent. Ellen, aware of his anxiety to: r seep it a secret for the present; but herself, e mxious, notwithstanding his objection, to g make it known, had fallen upon the ingenious 1 plan of circumventing his wishes by making : r me her mouth-piece?declaring that I had t juessed their secret, and revealed it to her 11 mother, thus adhering to the letter but not I ;he spirit of the facts in question. j fl This unexpected event cast quite a damper t jpon my aunt's usual cheerfulness, and made j f :he conclusion of our visit less agreeable than 1' the former part of it had been. I was there- j fore the less reluctant to bid adieu to those ; H jcenes of gayety, wheu the day appointed for a 3ur departure arrived. 1 We had expected ray father to come on for t us ; but, to my disappointment, I received a s letter from him sayiug that he found himself * unexpectedly detained at home, aud would s therefore be obliged to break his engagement, i I felt quite happy in the prospect of seeing H him again, and relating all my pleasant ex- * periences. It seemed to me that I had been 1 absent from home an age, though it was in ] reality but seven weeks. J I thought surely papa would have been at ? the station to meet us on our return ; but to 1 my surprise the carriage was empty. -j "Is papa well, Scipio?" I asked of the coach- j man, after returning his hearty greeting. t "Quite well, Missy, bless de Lord." "Then why didn't he come?" 1 "Dunno, ma'am?spec he was busy to-day." * "I shall scold him well," said I, as petu- j lantly as a spoiled child, as I sprang into the ( carriage, where my aunt and Ellen were al- i I ready established, 4ud in a few minutes more ! J we were bowling along rapidly in the direct- j j ion of the village. I stopped at aunt Mabel's 11 house for a short time to collect a few of ray j possessions which were in her keeping. Then j bidding Ellen and herself goodbye, I proceeded homeward. J As we drew up in front of the door, papa \ t came down the steps. I alighted and ran joy- j i fully into his arms. j( "Papa, you darling! Are you glad to get ] me back ?" * "Yes, very glad. I hope, Rosy, you are j equally pleased to return.' "Of course I am ! Don't you know I am ] fonder of being with you than anything else iu the world ?" I looked up into his face, and suddenly dis- ( covered that it was unusually pale aud care- 1 worn-looking. 1 "Is anything the matter?" I asked anx- ' iously. "Gome into the house, child," said papa gently ; and without another word he led me in and shut the door. I CHAPTER VII. , THE LETTER. 1 I felt sure that something was wrong; yet I an indefinable dread of arousing my father's i displeasure (a' most unusual apprehension on my part) restrained me from making farther 1 inquiries. Tea was ready on the table, and I took my customary place as soon as I had removed my hat and shawl, feeling glad to be < amid the familiar surroundings again. Joy- i ous as my trip had been, it seemed strangely 1 pleasant to be at home. - t t _l MJ J) "Youlypk might ana nappy, my cnua, ; said papa. "You are wonderfully improved ! in your appearance since you went away." i I thought his tone was unusuully mild and j tender, though tinged with melancholy. J Anxious to remove his depression, whatever i the cause of it might he, I commenced to give I au account of our jaunt, painting iu lively I polors the diversions of which I had partaken, j the places I had visited, and the acquaintances I had made. He listened with interest, i occasionally making a remark or askiug a question, and often smiling at the nonsense I j purposely talked ; and I was beginning to j think that 1 had quite succeeded in obtaining the object I had in view, when one portion of j my narrative seemed, in some unaccountable j way, to revive the gloom I wished to dispel. "I have a wonderful piece of news for you, which I had nearly forgotten. Guess who's engaged to be married !" "Any friend of ours ?" "Oh ! yes, a very intimate friend." "I suppose it must he your cousin Ellen." j "Why, papa! How could you make such a clever guess ?" ?? A o Vllon K.io lidiin imnr r>nmnnninn ever i ilO iJI i\jkt (IUO WVU JVM. ? | since you left home, it is not singular that I j should first think of her. Did she make a cou quest while at the Springs?" "I don't know exactly whether it ooramenced there or not; I fancy the foundation of it must have beeu laid before. But tell me, now, who her fiance is." "That I can't imagine." "Of course you can't! That's the singular part of it. Stepheu Holcombe is the happy man." "What is there so very singular in that!" I suddenly remembered that papa kuew : nothing of what had passed between Stephen j Holcombe and myself on theday of my fete. I ! laughed, colored, and I suppose looked somewhat embarrassed, for he regarded me attentively, and asked almost directly? "Were you aware of any prior attachment on his part?" "A fancied attachment?or a pretended one," I answered promptly. But at any rate ; he has quite got over that." "Have you been keeping any secrets from ', me, Rosy ?" asked papa gravely. "None worth telling you, papa." Either he was satisfied with the inference j ' I- .. .i ! he arew irora my repiy, or uiu uui i?ic iu | pursue the subject farther. He asked no more | questions, but pushing his plate from him ' mused with a serious and abstracted look. Finding that my chatter ceased to amuse him, I too became silent; and feeling a little weary from my journey, I soon betook myself to bed. I slept late on the following morning, aud found when I went down stairs that my father had already finished breakfast and gone out. He came in, however, before I had risen from the table. "When you have got through," he said, after bidding me good-morning, "Come to the li-1 brary for a little while. I wish to see you 1 about something particular." This of course was sufficient to excite my I curiosity ; and I was prompt to obey the sum- ] mops. I found him walking up and down I with his hands clasped behind his back, his customary attitude when in a reflective mood. He stopped when I entered, and drew a chair ( forward. "Sit down," said he motioning me-lo it. I j obeyed, feeling as if there were something quite solemn aud mysterious in this prelimi-1 nary. He then drew from his pocket a letter, the seal of which had been broken, and laid it on the table before me. "I wish you," said he, in a slightly tremlous tone, "to read that. Read it carefully, aud make no comment until you have thoroughly understood its contents." I took it up, arid saw that it was addressed oray father, io Dr. Wardlaw's handwriting, nvoluntarily I changed color, and my heart tegan to beat faster. The sight of it instantly evived the feelings and associations which iad held such powerful sway over me before ; hey had been distracted by a change of cene. I drew the letter from the envelope, and an nclosure, with the seal unbroken, fell out. To my surprise, I saw that this was addressed o me. I was about to open it, when ray father inerfered. "Read mine 6rst," he said. Trembling, without knowing why, I comnenced at the top of the page, and ran my ye hastily over the contents. But that brief ;lance almost took away by breath. Papa, who had been steadfastly watching ! ne, now rose abruptly and moved away to he window, as if to give me an opportunity o collect my thoughts. Mastering, with an effort, the confusion and igitation which overpowered me, I commenced he letter again, and slowly re-read it, word Tf a,OQ ?D M\n WR 'Slkepy Hollow, Union Dist., Aug. 20, 18?. "Ohas. Lambkrt, Esq.?My Dear <9/r:+-It is lot without serious reflection, and a careful conideration of the possible results of the step I am ibout to take, that I venture to address you these ines. The character in which I now present myself o you, is one which will doubtless excite your urprise; it is that of a suitor for your daughter's land. I owe it to you to lay my heart open on this ubjeet to yon, before seeking more direct comnu'nication with her. I know not whether my iuit will meet with your approbation; and I ihould ill requite your kindness if I did not allow ?ou an opportunity of expressing your sentiment n regard to it, by which, for the present at least, ! shall feel l>ound to abide. You can therefore ise your own discretion in giving her the enilosed. I am quite aware that there are several ipparent obstacles in the way of toy success ; not he least weighty of which is the discrepancy of rears between your daughter and myself. I am itill youthful enough, however, to cherish for her m affection as ardent and as true as even you :ould think worthy of her pure and innocent heart. >hould that heart be given into niv keeping, it iha.ll be guarded as the dearest treasure of my ife. Another objection which may naturally preient itself to your mind, is the' comparatively jrief period of our acquaintanceship, which has ;iven you, I fear, too insufficient an opportunity >f forming an estimate of my character. To this [ can only reply, that I will cheerfully submit to mv probation, oftimeor circumstance, which you nay see tit to impose upon me; for, difficult asJ t would be to me to endure long suspense or de ay, I would consider no sacrifice or my own m lhiations too great, wliich could lead to the atainment of my desires, and procure for me so nestimable a boon. "If I were to write volumes, I do not know that [ could better my cause, or more clearly impress ipon you the state of my feelings. Do not, I enreat you, rashly decide against me, bvit give my jroposal at least the advantage of a careful delibjration, before you crush me by a refusal. Let no place my fate in your daughter's hands, and earn from her whether I am doomed to an inmpportable disappointment and grief, or accountsi worthy of a blessing which it shall be my lifeong endeavor to deserve. "Awaiting your reply with the utmost anxiety, [ remain, dear sir, faithfully yours, "Arthur Wardi.aw." As I finished the letter, I looked up, my :heeks glowing and ray bosom heaving, to neet papa's eye. He was not looking toward ne, however; but kept his gaze imraoveably lirected out of the window. "Papa," I whispered, tremulously. He turned round. "Mav I read the enclosure?" "You may," he replied, in a low tone. I took it up?looked at it?lingered tremblingly over the seal?aud finally mustered courage to break it. But I felt that I could not read it in the presence of another. I rose 10 go, pressing it to my breast, as if to keep it safe from any touch or glance but mine. "I will come back, directly," I faltered, below my breath ; and like an arrow from a' bow I fled to my own room. What that letter said, I will not here transcribe. Enough, that it breathed a devotion sufficiently earnest to satisfy even the demands of my young, untried, romantic heart; that filled me with a joy purer and more complete than I had ever known ; and that on finishing its perusal, I bowed my heedless head, in the silent uttering of a thanksgiving too deep for words. ? But my father was awaiting me, and I felt j that I must at once return to him. I put my letter in a safe place, and making an effort to compose my agitated face, again sought the library. He had left the window, and was now sitting in a deep chair, supporting his forehead on his hand. I ran to him, and kneeling on the floor, clasped my arms about his neck, and hid my face on his shoulder. He sat motionless in my embrace, and I could feel his breast heaving, as if with strongly suppressed emotion. At last, iu a scarcely audible tone, he uttered a single word of inquiry. "Well?" "Papa! dear papa! I am so happy!" My father abruptly detached my hold from his neck, and putting me a little way from him. crave me a searching. prolonged glance. Never shall I forget the intensity of that look, seeming as it did to pierce my very soul. "Rosamond ! do you love him ?" "Yes!" The answer came warmly, unhesitatingly from the depths of ray heart. My father dropped my arm, which he had clasped; and turning from me, covered his eyes again with his hand, while a tremor seemed to run through his frame. I was frightened at his strenge manner, and felt as if I hardly dared break the silence his example seemed to impose on me. But the suspense soon became unendurable, aud I felt that I must get him to speak, at any cost. "Papa," I faltered ; "won't you say something to me?" "What shall I say, child ?" he replied in a hard, changed voice. "You have made your choice ; it would avail little for rae to oppose it now." "To oppose it!" I echoed, alarmed. "Oh, papa! do you mean?do you not approve?" "Listen to me," he rejoined, meeting my imploring gaze. "Since you desire it, I will speak to you?it is best that there should be 110 misunderstanding between us on this subject. It is one which, God knows, I would gladly have averted, fof many years to come. I wish you to feel that you are free to act as you choose?I do not bias your inclinations in any way. But you must not expect any rejoicing on my part, at a blow which falls so heavily upon me as this." "A blow, papa ?" "I said a blow. Does it seem such a strange thing to you, Rosamond, that it comes hard to me to find myself supplanted in ray child's affection by a stranger ?" "You can never be supplanted," I cried eagerly. "I love ycu as much, almost more even now thaB I did before. Do you not think my heart is large enough to contain more than one kind of affection ?" "Child! you cannot understand. You have been the sole object of my love and solicitude almost from your cradle. Can you pot imagine that it would seein -like rending soul and body asunder to be parted from you ?" "But we need not be parted !" I urged. "I would stay with you always, and devote myself to making you happy." He smiled bitterly. "Poor foolish baby!" he said. "What would your husband say to that?" "If he cared for me," I answered, "he would do what I asked him. I am not afraid of his refusing." "And what would become of Jiis own home, and his home-interests and cares ?" "He could put all that in somebody else's hands. Oh ! we would arrange it somehow." "And you would have him come and live here?with vxet" "Yea?why not-? Would it not be the best |j way, papa? Would you mind?" ? "You are talking the greatest folly that a _ person could conceive. I did not think you capable of such," said my father, harshly and ; angrily ; and springing up from his chair he strode away froiu me to a distant part of the room. I watched him with a perplexed, mis- r erable feeling, longing for oue word of sym- i *pathy, of tenderness from his lips. Never be-! fore had he looked or spoken in ray presence as he had done just now; much less to me. The sudden crushing of my new-born joy overpowered me, and bowing my face upon ray ! hands, I suffered ray tears to flow silently and ^ g fast. Everything had seemed so bright a mo- ji ment or two before ; and now darkness en- J tl veloped me like a pall. | k After I know not how long an interval, my ; tl father approached me, and laid his hand upon j t| my shoulder. w "It grieves me to distress you, Rosy," he ! '? said, in a tone which, though inexpressibly j 0 sad, was more like his own. "But I cannot j n suffer you to remain in error. It is necessary j tj that you should know my real feelings ; any ; j concealment, any reserve between us could 0 only result in unhappiness." I caught his hand between my own and ^ held it fast, covering it with my tears. 31y ! t] heart was too full for speech. r) "You believe that I love you, do you not ?" j, he continued, presently, lightly touching ray w head. n I nodded, in reply. g( "You believe it, but you do not realize it w enough. You think me cruel and unjust." |j "$ot cruel," I managed to utter. b "But unjust. Confess, Rosy, that that is 0 the uppermost thought in your mind." I made no reply. What could I say? He j, had guessed the truth. t) "I cannot explain myself," he went on. "My w defense would be no justification in your eyes. 8j But I do not feel that I am unjust to you. I t] know that no one can love you as well as I do. g I do not think that any one else could make ^ you as happy. You have had a happy life, g child, have you not ?" n "Yes," I sobbed. r ? "And yet you wish ruthlessly to break up j. all old ussociatious, to sever all familiar ties, t to leave your home?the home that has cher- ? ished and guarded jou ; to leave your father w who would give his heart's blood for you, to 0 enter a new, unknown sphere of existence. ^ What guarantee have you that you would j, find such happiness there !" ' "Papa, he loves me." "What proof have you of that, even ? Is he not a stranger ?" I could have said?there are some things which do not need proof; there are convic- ^ tiona which imDress themselves with the clear- t ness of sunlight upon the heart; there are ^ emotions too mighty to be held within the cold, narrow boundaries of reason and of fact; there is a god-like radiance which glorifies our being and our perceptions, showing us Faith in all its unquestioning simplicity, as . our guide and sway; and thut radiance is the Q light of Love. But I could not answer thus. I listened, silently, to what seemed to me the utterance of blind, wilful prejudice. Gradually a hard, < rebellious feeling took possession of me, quell- t ing softer emotions. I felt that a sacrifice . was expected of me which I had not strength to make. My tears ceased to flow; I let papa's hand slide from my clasp, and sat mood- | ily looking upon the floor. ^ n "I see that I do not convince you," said my father after another pause. "I did not sup- j pose I should. Well, Rosy, you are free, as & 1 said before, to act fls you like. I lay no command upon you. I do not exercise my . lawful authority, which virtually binds you fnr fnnr mnrfl vpars to come. If vou desire to g?> g?- Marry and be happy your own way. You shall never look upon me as a . tyrant who forced you to act against your will. You have my full permission to do as you choose." o The permission sounded like a mockery. It was a hard strait in which I stood. On the one side, the love that seemed to me such a rich boon, to take or to refuse; on the other, the father whom I had always looked up to 1 with intense affection and reverence, bidding " me choose between it and him 1 I felt that in accepting it, I would be creating a barrier 0 between us which might never be removed, 0 and trembled to think of voluntarily com- v mitting such a deed. I chanced taf?raise ray T eyes, and they fell on my mother's portrait, L which hung above the mantel-piece. I had c never known my mother; and in the atmos- c phere of tenderness and care which had al- 1 ways surrounded me, had thought but little 8 of .the missing link in the home circle, feeling 8 it no loss to me. But now the thought rushed over me, that if she had been living, she e would have seen this- matter with different 0 eyes. Her woman-heart would have sympa- 8 thized with miue ; not sought to crush down its God-given impulse. I fancied how I * could have thrown myself upon the warm . mother-breast, and whispered there my happy 1 secret unchecked ; how those softly-smiling c lips would have pressed my brow ; those ten- 1 der brown eyes have looked lovingly into my 8 face, while in the remembrance of her own f youthful love she would have murmured a 8 blessing upon mine, and bid me, without one 1C-L J Un Unnntr in m TT nDU7 ] 1 ^ 96Jimn pailg, gu HUU UC iiappj HA uij uuf( c.av. Never before had the looging for maternal e sympathy so assailed rae; and in the intense v yearning for this boon, the inestimable value of which I now seemed to realize for the first ' time, and in pity for myself in my forlornness, I wept again, passionately, violent, as if ? ray heart would break. My father was distressed, and tried by eve- c ry means in his power to soothe rae. I yield- 1 ed passively to his caresses, and listened un- 1 respohsively to his affectionate words, which 8 seemed to fall meaningless upon my ear. My e agitation exhausted itself at length ; and see- 8 ing me more composed, ray father brought me a glass of wine, which he insisted I should ' drink, and then sent me to lie down in my ? i own room. ("to be continued next week.] . . F A Particular Man.?A few days since 1 a chap from Polk county, Oregon, went down 1 to Portland to see the sights. He is a sort of F natural philosopher, who takes the world as v it comes, detests chronic growlers, and boasts that he never finds fault fvith anything or any- t L J - i, uouy. He entered the dining-room of one of the c hotels, and the waiter placed his dinner be- t I fore him. After he had done amplejustice to f ] the meal, the empty dishes were cleared away c I and the after-pieces brought in. He then v ! went, for his dish of pudding with a zeal that c I was remarkable. He had takeo several spoonj fuIs, when there appeared something he did a j not exactly believe was legitimate, and upon t close examination it proved Jo be a yellow- 1 'jacket, which he quietly laid to one side, and r j resumed his work of putting away the pud- t j ding, when he ran foul of yellow-jacket No. d 2; he gently , took him by the left hind leg, a hauled him from his resting place and laid 1 him on the table just as if nothing had hap- t pened; but turniug his dish of pudding around s to prevent further accidents, he made a des- n perate dive at the dish with two spoons, when h the maugled form of yellow-jacket No. 3 t made his appearance. This was more than o the young man could stand, so he sadly c laid his spoon down and sang out, "Waiter !" c This summons was answered, and he was t. asked what he would have. Says he "This is a the third one of these infernal bugs that I s have found in this dish, aud if I find another dne I'll he blamed if I'll eat it." p iijstfltg 0f JT, Carolina. t Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. w h HISTORICAL SKETCHES tl of the h arly Settlement of South Carolina. g ? ai BY BEV. BOBERT LATHAN. T it (CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK.) ti It is thought that about one hundred and ^ fty persons constituted the colony, that in 870, made a settlement on the right bank of ie Ashley river. The exact number is not 8C uowq, but there are reasons for concluding " lat it was some place iu the neighborhood of ie number stated above. These were all 91 hite, and the majority of them Dissenters. ? hat is, they were individuals who were either e< pposed to the Church of England and were ^ lembersofsome other denomination of Chris- " ans, or they were members of the Church of 01 Ingland, but opposed to some of the practices f' f that church. 18 Slaves were brought in.the colony by John ~ reamansbut a very short time after its setement. By these, and the Indians who were . educed to bondage, most of the manual labor i the colony was performed. In 1701 the ' 1 I - 1* .1 _ ? L ? A ll _ t! mole population, including ine wnues, me egroes and the Indian slaves, amounted to V jven thousand. In 1724, the period at which re have airived, the whole number of inhabants was thirty-two thousand. Of this num- ^ er, eighteen thousand were slaves; the most ? f whom were negroes. 1? It was now fifty-four years since the land- ? ag of Sayle and his little band, and when we ,( ike all things into consideration, the increase ms certainly very great. On several occa- ^ ions, the number of the inhabitants had been ^ binned by the wars with the Indians and paniards ; and at other times disease, in its ? rorst form, had preyed upon the settlers. 11 mall pox and yellow fever had visited the P rovince. In fact, shortly after the settlement ms made, it seems to have been very sickly. D besides these things, during the latter part of w he proprietary government, the encourage- * lent to immigrants was not very great. When ^ te consider all these things, the increase from * ue hundred and fifty inhabitants, to thirtywo thousand in a period of fifty-four years, . 3, we think, very remarkable. The mode of life of the first settlers was ex- ^ eeding simple and frugal. The raajorfty of ? hem were English, but other nations of Eu- j ope were represented. Some of the settlers ? rere possessed of considerable fortunes, but ( iy far the greater portion of them were from w he humble walks of life." There is an abun- J] auce of evidence that the settlers generally /ere intelligent, high-minded and patriotic, nd a very respectable number of them were 1 aeu of culture and refinement. The enact- . aents made by the colonial Assembly, even ^ i the very infancy of the colony, are an honr to any nation. They give unmistakable ?| vidence of both moral and intellectual stam- ^ aa. .The early laws of South Carolina are g insurpassed by those of any of the colonies in Lmerica. Like the manners and customs of 8< - .it ,L.:. i j Q he people, mey are jiiugiisn iu tn men ^aung features. The people were frugal. They c odulged in but few luxuries. Each farm r produced an abundance of supplies to meet ^ he necessities of its owner and some to sell. j ["he rivers and bays were full of fish, and the orest abounded with game of great variety. w t was customary for the planters to hire, for c mere trifle, an Indian hunter. This Indian ? j&s able to keep the family of his employer u an abundance of animal food. The principal cereals cultivated, were maize, r Indian corn, peas and rice. The two for- " aer the settlers found to be the principal far- n naceous food of the Indians. Both of these e he first settlers discovered to be more healthy 0 ,nd better adapted to the wants of laboring w nen than rice, and hence their cultivation * vas at first more extensive than that of rice * ir any other crop. , For a long time after the first settling of f he State, the plow was but little used. This . rose from two circumstances. At first no " lomestic animals, such as horses, mules and xen, were possessed by the settlers ; and most . if the settlers coming from old countries from ^ vhich all stumps, roots and stones had been ^ emoved from the field, they entertained the lotion that the plow could not be used in this ? ountry until the soil was reduced to a similar oudition. The manner of cultivating the naize was learned from the Indians. Ridges ,bout five feet apart were made with the hoe, x ,nd the maize planted on the top of the ridge. During the growth of the maize it was worked a xclusively with the hoe. The grass was cut . mt and the soil drawn up in a kind of hill iround the root of the stalk. After the maize lad attained a considerable height, peas were >lauted at each stalk of maize. Spanish poatoes were also cultivated. Rice was sown n the wet places that were unsuited to the j lultivation of maize. The luxuries in which he people iudulgecPoccasionally, were coffee, ugar, tea and rum. Sayle, and his little , >arty who settled on the Ashley river, brought ^ . still, but there is no evidence, so far as we lave discovered, that it was used. Orchards j ,nd vineyards were planted, and at a very arly period, the inhabitants Jearned to con-1 'ert the fruit into alcoholic beverages. The commerce of the colony was, at this I ^ ime, as previously, carried on with the West ndies and the northern colonies. Lumber ^ ,ud naval stores were sent to the West Indies, or which molasses, sugar, coffee, rum and ' | otton were received in exchange. Nearly all I j he money that was in the colony came from i his quarter. Rice, tar, pitch and hides were j ent to the English colonies in the north and i n xchanged for flour, fruit, beer, cider and alt fish. As early as the year 1710, a considerable ! ariety of fruits had been introduced into the I ountry. Grapes had been? brought from I dadeira and other grape-growing countries, i j rigs, apples, pears, quinces, oranges and j, teaches, had been introduced, and many of v he trees were bearing. Of many of these, j c here were several varieties, especially of the ^ teach. At first, peach trees were planted j r vith a view to feeding hogs on the fruit. J ] Up to this period, no peach brandy seems ! h o have been made in the colony. The peach j t 9, we believe, generally regarded as a native I if Persia. This seems to be indicated by its i s totanical name, Persica. Yet, it would appear ii rom some old accounts of the first settlement; t if Carolina, that the peach was found here I g vhen the settlers first came, and that the In-1 3! lians made a delicious cordial out of the fruit.! p The woods of South Carolina, one hundred | * ind fifty years ago, were full of wild animals, ' a nany of which have entirely disappeared, & Seeides the few wild animals which still re-1 tl uain, there were then elks, buffaloes, bears, e igers and wild cats. Buffaloes were abun- q laut in some sections of the State. These a .nimals, like many others, had their particu- p ar territory which they frequented. This a erritory was almost always watered by some tream of water. From the fact that the aniaal was found in abundance in the neighbor- ii mod of that stream, it was given the name of1 0 he animal. Thus, we have in various sections e f the State, streams bearing the nameTurkey m reek. We have in York county, a Wolf si reek, and a Buffalo creek. In Chester couny, a Bull run ; in Fairfield, a Coon branch ; nd in tho State there are several small k trearas which once bore the name Wild cat. g Although when the government of the State li assed from under the control of the propri- si ;ors into the hands of the King of Jttngiand, le State had been settled for more than fifty ears, it was still almost a virgin forest, grand ith its native beauties. But little of the soil ad been cultivated. Only a small portion of ]e territory embraced in the original grant ad been seen by any European. Several causes prevented the early im mirants from extending their settlements to ay great distance beyond Charles Town, he Spanish on the South, and the Indians 1 all other directions, prevented this. Somemes the Spanish were at peace and someran at war with England; but at almost ?ery period previous to 1724, they were the itter enemies of the colony planted on the >il that now bears the name of South Carona. The French were now making rapid enroachments upon the territorial grant of the tate. In 1712, Louis the Fourteenth grant1 Crozat a large tract of country at the louth of the Mississippi. This was a part of le territory granted by Charles the Second f England, to the original proprietors. From lis point the French colony planted, in what nnw t.Hfi State of Louisiana, eraduallv ex iuded toward the settlement at Charles own. By them, a fort, called "Alabama," as erected .on the Mobile river. Their obict in building this fort was to put them>lves in easy communication with the Indian ibes of the country. In this lay the danger > the colony of South Carolina. The Inians were incited to hostilities. In 1725, King George granted Governor ficholson permission to return to England, d the government devolved upon the Presient of the council, Arthur Middleton. Niclson had been generous, liberal and patriotj, and consequently very popular. The inoraes from his office had been freely expened in promoting the public good. Arthur liddleton had been active in bringing about be change from the proprietary to the royal overnment. He was firm and nnwavering i his attachments to the King, but not disosed to make great personal sacrifices for be good of the colony. His aspirations were ot for popularity, but rather for individual wealth. He does not seem to ha^ had much mbition for popular honors, but to have een anxious to secure the position of an English Lord with ample wealth. Soon after bis administration began, a difculty occurred between him and the Spanih authorities respecting the boundary line etween Florida and South Carolina. ine Carolinians bad built a fort on the Altaraaha >r tbe purpose of^preventing the negroes of be colony from escaping to Florida, and also >r tbe purpose of preventing tbe Indians, wbo 'ere allied to tbe Spanish, from making depsdations upon tbe property of the settlers. In lis fort a few soldiers were kept. The Spanish Governor, at St. Augustine, implained to tbe Spanish King of this enroacbment. Tbe complaint was brought by le Spanish embassador, at London, before le British government. It was agreed, in rder not to disturb the peaceable relations leu existing between England agd Spain, iat the Governor of South Carolina and the panish Governor of Florida should meet and jttle the dispute in a friendly manner. The leeting took place at Charles Town. Franiaco Menandez and Joseph de Rabiero, repesented the Spanish government. In the onference which took place, Governor Midleton showed the Spanish representatives bat the fort erected at the Altaraaha was 'ithin the territory originally granted to the olony, and that the claims of the Spanish rere without foundation. This was the case, 'he Spanish had no well-founded claim to the jrritory on which that fort was erected. The tort may nave oeen ereciea, in part, at | >ast, with a different intention from what was lentioned ; but the soil upon which it was rected was, beyond controversy, the property f South Carolina. No doubt, one object rhich was contemplated in erecting the fort, ras to decoy the Indians, who were friends to be Spanish, from their allegiance. The ipanish government asserted that such was lie case, and no doubt there was some truth a it. Middleton complained that the Spanih authorities at St. Augustine, enconreged he negroes of South Carolina to run away rom their masters. This was not denied, but astified on the ground tb^t it was in accordnce with the wishes and instructions of the Jourt of Madrid. It was declared that the bject which was designed to be accomplished iy decoying these slaves away from their nasten, was to convert them to the Catholic eligion. Middleton asserted that to act thus ras neither consistent, just nor honorable, ^or twenty years the practice of the Spanish uthorities at St. Augustine had been to deoy all the slaves they could from the colony a South Cat41ina. When these slaves were einanded, the Spanish government engaged o pay for them, but only in a few cases was his done. The conference broke up without effecting nything but bad feeling. The Yamassees, he friends of the Spanish and bitter enemies ? af Plionlna Tntun affftin 1 lilts XLUJgl IOU UUIUUJT ot vuoiivo Avnu} omraeuced to plunder the country and scalp he inhabitants. Incensed by the outrages, Jol. Palber determined to retaliate. He, ?itb a body of three hundred men, invaded Florida. Everything in his course was desroyed. The country was ruined. Nothing scaped except what was protected by the fort f St. Augustine. The crops were totally estroyed, and the domestic animals driven ?f. The houses burned. Some of the Inians were killed on the spot, whilst others 'ere taken captive and treated as captives at hat time were usually treated. This taught he Spaniards an important lesson. They ow learned that the colonists at Charles Town ot only could defend themselves, but utterly nnihilate the coloriv in Florida if they saw it. [to be continued next week.] A Shrewd Woman.?The Liverpool Steam 'acket Company, wishing to extend its premies, decided to purchase adjoining land, phich was owned by a maiden lady of unertain age. The lady sold the land cheap, iut caused to be inserted in the agreement an article to this effect, that during her ifetime she and a lady companion should iave the privilege of traveling free in any of he company's vessels. The day after the agreement was signed, she old her house and furniture, and, bavtig found a companion, went on board one of he company's steamers, just about to sail for iouth America ; and from that time to this he has lived at sea and at the company's excuse. She advertises for some lady who pishes to make the voyage as her companion, nd who pays her fare, and in this way, it is aid, has already accumulated about ten housand dollars. The compauy have offer* d her more than this to cancel the agreement. This she refused to do, and as the life t sea suits her health remarkably, there is no rospect that her voyaging will soon come to n end. ISf Boiling to death occurred in England i 1532. The victim was Rouse, the Bishop f Rochester's cook, who had poisoned sevnteen persona. Margaret Davie, a young oman, suffered in the same manner for a imilar crime, in 1541. - i i, . BQP* Mrs. Bloomer, the wemii*)flM> is chiefly nown to the world by thenaoffr she has iven to a certain style of woman's dress, still ves at Council Blufis, Iowa, is on the shady ide of fifty, and?wears long skirts 1