Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, February 10, 1876, Image 1

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. ;|n Jnittptntaf Jfamilg Itttosppcr: Jfor fjjt promotion of t|t ^political, jsorial, ^griraltaral anb dotnnurria! $ntetsfs of % j$ont|. TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 22. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBEUABY IP, 1876. HO. 6. JU Original jldtfrg. <$? &ib^L/Jfe^Lir JbM?w*> A THRILLING STORY OF WESTERN LIFE. BY MRS. HENRY DEA8. CHAPTER XI. Picciola bethought herself of the old, ruinous settlement where she had formerly lived, as a temporary place of refuge for her mistress, who was again revolving a plan of escape from her enemy, and yet desired to remain sufficiently near home to be able to obtain tidings from tfore when she wished to do so. In the old Spanish town, Picciola thought they would be comparatively safe. They could at least find better shelter than they could obtain in the woods, and there was no one living there who would have any interest in betraying their whereabouts, even should an opportunity occur?which was most unlikely?for them to do so. She was not quite sure of being able to find nnn k.<? aV.A tknnnllt tKat hv flint rtf ft ffiW I biro WOJ, UUt OtJV buvuguv VUMV I inquiries, cautiously made, she might succeed F in doing so. "If it were not that I dislike leaving you alone, Sefiora,"she said, "It would be best for me to go first, aod I could make some arrangement for your accommodation there; for I know every house in the place, and there are one or two where I think I could get a lodging, and be safe from discovery, too." "I would be afraid to let you go alone," said Esther, "on your own account. With two of us together, the journey would be less dangerous." "As to that, Seiiora, the journey is but a short one?only a few miles?and I have often gone on errands at much greater distances, in former times. It is only that I dread to leave you, even for a day." "I am not afraid for myself," replied her mistress. "In a case like mine some risk must be run?and after all, poor child, how could you protest me by remaining?" "I would defend you from harm with ray iia. ?? ?:j r?:?:_i_ :.U ??VM Rofi. Jilt?, saiu r luuiuia, mm x w, ora, with my very heart's blood ! Ah! you do oot know how fierce 1 cau be, aud how brave! I shot an Indian robber once?when I was but eleven years old ! I did not kill him, but I wounded him and drove him away. Do you not suppose I could shoot again, if the occasion came ?" "The enemy whom we fear is too subtle and cunning to allow himself to be attacked," said Esther. "When be comes upon us it will be secretly, and in a way that will admit of no defence from us." "At any rate, if we are to move, it had best be at once," said Picciola. "And if you say so, Senora, I will go on my errand this very day, aud be with you again before dusk." JThere seemed to be no alternative but to consent to this arrangement; ATjcTIMs "being-" settled, Picciola started off at once on her selfimposed journey. "Nothing of importance transpired during her absence, and about sunset she returned home, looking a little tired, but with a satisfied expression which showed that her errand had been accomplished. "It is all arranged, Seiiora," she said, in answer to Esther's inquiry. I have got a room fn* no tun ?nd wfi will he safe, ouite safe, from pursuit. Now that I know my way, it does not seem so far as it did ; and the road is not a bad one. I was able to find the place myself. I remembered the road I had come, for a good long distance from here, aud then from the top of a hill I saw the town, and took a short path directly to it. Ah ! but it looks dreary after this pretty, pleasaut place! I fear you will not like it when you come there." "Like it! I shall never like any place again," said Esther, wearily. "I care not where I bide myself, so I but escape dishonor worse than death?it is the sole thing that is left to me to strive for now." "Senora,"said Picciola, taking her hand and kissing it, "when you are once safe, I mean never to rest until I find the dear little angel and bring him back to you again." "That you canuot do, Picciola?I feel that he is lost to me for ever." "No," earnestly replied the girl, "I do not think that he is. Something fills me with the hope of recovering him ; he is but lost for a time. Dear mistress, you will be happy yet one day; your misfortunes will not last always." "You are trying to cheer me up," said Es ther, drearily; "but I 8ee no hope anywhere. You are a kind, good girl, Picciola, and always do your best to comfort me. If ever I have the means, you may be sure that I shall reward you for all you have done." "Ah! Sefiora," said Picciola, in a voice of emotion, "I want no reward but your love. If I can but have that, I desire nothing else." "That you may be sure of having, always," replied her mistress. "I could not help loving any one so faithful and affectionate as you have been, ever since you first came to me." Picciola again kissed her hand, while the tears trembled in her eyes. Her heart was full, and she longed to pour out the tide ot her affection in eloquent words, but she felt that her mistress was in too sorrowful aud pre-occupied a state of mind to respond to it just then. Aud she quietly stole away to make some preparations for their move, which was again fixed for the following day. They rose at dawn, and after a hurried breakfast, set out on their pilgrimage. - ? % OM _ it was a fresh and lovely morning, ine dew-drops trembled on the tender grass, and sparkled on every hangiug branch and leaf with diamond-like lustre in the rays of the rising sun. A few fleecy white clouds floated languidly in the sky, birds sang loud and clear, and the perfume of flowers filled the balmy air. Esther turned when they reached the end of the valley, and looked longingly back upon the home she was quitting, perhaps for ever. "Farewell!" she murmured in an agitated voice, as ber eyes rested upon the beauteous scene. "If ever I return to you, it shall be under happier circumstances than these in which I leave you! Blest hours I have spent here?hours I can never forget?and you have witnessed the keenest anguish of my heart. Never again can you be ray home unless God in his mercy restores to me some of my lost joy. You are surrounded by memories too bitter for me to endure." "Butyou will return," softly said Picciola, ready now, as ever, with a word of cheer, "and the happy days will also return. See, dearSefiora, how the sunlight breaks yonder J through the mist at the foot of the mountain? j it is a good sign, is it not, just as we are look| ing upon it?" | "Estheronly pressed her hand in reply, for I she could frame no words. And after lingering a moment or two longer they once more i set their faces forward, and entering a narrow I defile which wound between two rocky walls, : the valley was lost to their view. I To one as unaccustomed as Esther was to long and fatiguing walks, the journey was a ' very trying one, epecially as the heat of the j day came on ; but her young companion supported her with her slender arm, apd also , tried to divert her attention by every means ; in her power from the discomfort she endured, j and thus encouraged, she managed to get on. When half way, they rested in the shade and refreshed themselves with a draught from a clear stream close by, and some lunch out of a j basket of provisions they had brought, and in ; about an hour's time were able to resume the i o ?i ? L -I:J n,oib i rnarcn. oo siuwi^, uune?ci, uiu uoiuci j that the afternoon shadows were already I lenthening on the ground when they came in sight of their destination. The new home Picciola had selected was in an old adobe building, tenanted by an aged settler and his one child, a commonplace but kindly-looking young woman, who received the strangers with a word of welcome, not unaccompanied by several inquisitive glances at the face of the beatiful, sad-eyed lady whose superior air was apparent even under the j coarse attire she had taken care to assume. The room assigned to them was the least dilapidated in the house; and here, when left alone, Picciola busied herself in arranging the little comforts they bad contrived to bring, in order to give it a less forlorn look, while her mistress, utterly worn out, sought repose on the hard bed they were to share together. Picciola had informed the people (who were Spanish) that the Sefiora was a lady reduced to great poverty, and who had suffered A -a! ? ? ??? nnrl moo Q n V1AI1Q tA I roil] Oilier III 13IUI IUUCO, auu nua uua.wuu ?, live in retirement for awhile, having no relatives in this part of the world to whom she could go; that she desired to see no one but themselves, and would do any work she could (in which, of course, Picciola herself would assist) to aid the young woman about the house, and to help in paying their board. Besides this, they bad stipulated to pay a regular sura by the week, which, as it was exceedingly moderate, Esther had means of doing for some time to come. She gave the Sefiora's name as Mrs. Johnson, and announced herself to be her adopted daughter, her mistress not choosing that they should maintain their former relative positions in their new situation. "She will be secluded enough here," said the woman with a shrug of her broad shoulders. "We see no strangers, and the people of the place, like ourselves, don't concern themselves about their neighbors' business. The board will be a help to the old man, and as 1 long as she pays it, you are both welcome to stay." Certainly no place of retreat could have j been selected where they would be less exposed to the risk of discovery than here. Shut up in her little chamber, from which she seldom emerged, Esther felt herself a3 completely cut off from the outer world as though she had been immured in a convent; and i though this feeling of isolation was a rener to her mind, inasmuch as it seemed to guarantee her safety from her enemy's pursuit, yet the unbroken seclusion and enforced idleness of her life were bad for her spirits, giving her I , too much opportunity for the indulgence of morbid and distressing thoughts. Picciolahad thoughtfully brought one or two books as a ' slight means of diversion, and from these she sometimes read a few pages; but her absent 1 air and wandering glances often betrayed that the sense of what she read was complete: ly lost to her. The woman of the house, Mai riana by name, seemed intuitively to guess that her lodger was a person of rank, and 1 would never suffer her to assist in any work, though she often asked to be allowed to do so. : Picciola, however, often helped her in the . garden and about the household, and a sort ! of intimacy soon sprang up between them, 1 the woman being of a kindly disposition, and ' glad to have the society of a young and cheerful companion ; for Picciola, though deeply i sympathizing in her mistress'misfortunes, was not of an age to brood over sorrow, and moreover, possessed a buoyant nature, dis! posed always to look on the brightest side of ' everything. "How sad the Senora always seems," re: marked Mariana one day, when they were thus working together. "She must have suffered very deeply, to judge from her appearance." "Yes, she has Buffered much," replied Picciola. "And yet she is so good and sweet that she deserves to be happy." "I would so gladly aid her in some way, if I could," continued Mariana. "But she never seems to like me to converse with her, and I always fear to question her, lest she might ; think me intrusive." "I fear you could not help her," replied Pic' ciola. "She feels too sorrowful to care to ; converse much with any oue, but it is not dislike to you, which causes her reserve. I have heard her more than once say that you were | very thoughtful and kind." "I have never seen any one whom I liked i more," said Mariaua ; "although she allows j me to know so little of her. My father said I to me, but yesterday, that she had the face of oue of the saints, he thinks her so beautiful." Although Esther shrank from admitting I these people to anything like familiar inter! course?not from pride, but from the desire to maintain as complete a reserve as possible in regard to her own situation?they managed j to show their sympathy for her in many little ways. Poor and ignorant as they were, and evidently belonging to a very inferior class, j they were not without innate delicacy of feeling, though their speech and manners were ; often coarse, and their outward appearance, and especially their dwelling, anything but ; neat or prepossessing. Mariana would select for the Sefiora, the choicest of any fruit or j vegetables she could obtain, and always serve up her meals with especial care. And more than once, the old man, hobbling round his I poor little half-cultivated domain, gathered a | nosegay of the choicest flowers that grew there at will, (some of them right in till very paths, I some clinging about the tumble down fence as j if to hide its dilapidated state from view) and gave them to Picciola to carry to the Sefiora, charging ber to say, with his profound respects, that he hoped she was very well. Esther ap ' preciated these little attentions, less for their l own value than as being proofs of the friendi ly feeling of those whom she now regarded, in a measure, as being her protectors; and in | her forlorn condition, no evidence of kindness | or friendship, no matter bow humble the j source from whence it sprang, could be otherwise than grateful to her heart. CHAPTER XII. Picciola had not forgotten the determinaI tion she had expressed to Esther, before leavj ing home, to go in search of little Paul, and ; to spare no effort to discover the place of his | concealment; and she only waited to see her mistress in Borne degree settled in her present habitation, before carrying this resolution into effect. About a week, therefore, after their removal, she broached the subject, and asked Esther's permission to leave her for a short time, 1 as she waB anxious to take some steps, withj out farther delay, to carry out her plan. "But," said Esther, regarding in surprise ' - ' ? ? O* 3 the tearless young creature, wno pronereu this request as simply and coolly as if there was no danger involved in the proposed undertaking, "how in the world, Picciola, can a child like you go on such a difficult search ? There is no hope of your succeeding; and even if there were, how could I consent to allow you to expose yourself to such perils as it involves?" "Senora, I am not afraid," quietly answered Picciola. "Nothing will harm me." "But how will you set about it ?" asked her mistress. "Heaven knows, if there were any chance of success, I would walk through the world barefoot to find my child again ! But you cannot suppose that Alasquez, having had the cruelty to rob me of him, will guard him so negligently as to allow of his being found by either of us?even admitting that he still lives, which, my heart misgives me, is more doubtful 1" "But why, dear Sennra ? The baby was strong and healthy, and was quite well when he was taken from us; and he is old enough now not to suffer much in being away from you." "Ah! Picciola, he was too tenderly-nurtured a blossom to bear rough or unkind handling! He could not survive the change to such a different atmosphere. Besides?I sometimes think?that fiend?to wreak his vengeance on me?" She stopped, shuddered, and hid her face. "Oh ! Sefiora, don't cherish such dreadful thoughts," said Picciola, in an imploring tone. "Wicked as the Senor Alasquez may be, he would never have the cruelty to harm an innocent like that! He has only taken him away to frighten you?to make you do what he wishes you to, and then bring him back." "And, therefore, he is forever lost to me," said Esther, "since I can never consent to his 1 I. It t , W19N. . "But I shall find him, and bring him back, nevertheless," said Picciola, "if you will only let me go." "And if I lose ^ou, Picciola?my last, only support?the one friend I have left!" "The good God protect me," said the young girl, solemnly. "Even if I do not succeed in my attempt?though I think I will?I will return to you safely. Oh, my dearest mistress, do not refuse my prayer!" And kneeling at Esther's feet, she wound her arms about her, and Jixed her pleading and eloquent eyes upon her face. Esther, deeply moved, bent her head upon the girl's shoulder, and for some moments remained silent, eugaged in mingled thought and prayer, while the tears flowed from her eyes, and her heart was agitated by conflicting impulses, too varied to describe. On the one hand, her yearning to discover her lost treasure prompted her to accept any means ooomoH tr? oflT/irri hpr ptpn thfi slightest I hope of doing 80; while on the other, she shrank from exposing to danger, through her consent, the noble-hearted girl who had become so dear to her, and whose welfare she felt was entrusted to her keeping. Again Picciola's soft voice whispered, as she gently tried to wipe away her tears? "Sefiora, dear Sefiora, let me go 1" Esther raised her head, and regarded, almost with reverence, the earnest and beautiful face upturned to hers, illuminated as it was i with the light of supreme faith and resolve, and a touching devotion rarely felt or seen. "Go, then, dear child," she replied, in broken tones, unable longer to refuse the request, seconded, so forcibly as it was, by the pleadings of her own heart. "I cannot keep you back. Yet, oh 1 Picciola, for my sake, avoid all rash I exposure of yourself. Be prudent and cautious, and make every inquiry you canto help you, and to assist in warding off danger. I shall be in sore trouble and suspense until I see you back." "I may not go far to day," said Picciola, j overjoyed at having obtained the desired per- ! mission. "I thought of going first to your j own house, and finding out there if anything had been seen of Sefior Alasquezp since we left. And then, perhaps, I might put myself in the way of following him, or, at least, discovering where he has gone. But I cannot decide upon anything yet; only be sure, Sefiora, that I will take great care, and not do anything foolish or useless, for that would be a poor way of helping you. And pray, pray j do not be troubled about me while I am gone; j and Sefiora, you will let Mariana care for you j will you not? She is good and kind and; longs to be useful to you ; and it will comfort i rae to think that you will not be neglected j while I am away." Esther promised that she would call upon ; Mariana, in case of wanting anything, as Pic- j ciola had already signified to the latter the : possibility of her leaving her mother, as she ; called her, for a short time, and obtained from her the assurance that she would do what she could to supply her place during her absence, j and then, with a heavy heart, she watched the I young girl prepare for departure. These pre* j parations were few and simple enough, as they | consisted merely in assuming her out-door; garb, and in putting up a paper of bread and : dried fruit for her lunch. These being speedily completed, she bid her mistress farewell, repeating, at the same time, her injunction to her to keep a cheerful heart, and not indulge j in anxious feeliugs while she was absent. "God bless you, and go with you, Picciola! j and may He reward you as you deserve," said j Esther, as she returned her embrace. All difference of station between them seemed to be broken down and swept away now. Misfortune had drawn them so closely together, that Esther had almost come to regard her young companion as an adopted child, in truth, and Picciola's passionate affection for her could not but awaken in her heart a warm return. Very dreary, very forlorn did she feel, when she found herself alone in the barren little room, and heard the last echo of Picciola's footsteps die away on the rocky path below. She cherished but little hope of the success of her mission, and yet the girl's bright confidence had, in a slight degree, re-animated her heart. At all events, to know that some effort was being made was better than total inactivity on the part of them both. She could not help, however, feeling much anxiety regarding the dangers attending Picciola's mission. Above all, she dreaded the pos--L 1:. r l r. li:?_ .k? A loo. aiuimy ui uor iniiiug iuiu wc pv>noi ui uhh quez, whose cruelty aod malice, she felt sure, would 8top short of do revenge. Picciola, in the mean time, proceeded rapidly toward the valley, and in an hour's time had crossed the belt of mountains which encircled it, and came once more in sight of the peaceful-looking, white-walled dwelling Deal ling in its green depths. To her surprise, as she approached it, she perceived a horseman advancing towards it from the opposite direction For a moment her heart beat rapidly, as the supposition that it was Alasquez crossed her mind; but a second earnest gaze convinced her that it was a stranger, and she now discovered that he wore an officer's uniform. Quickening her pace, she arrived at the enclosure almost as soon as the horseman, who had alighted and secured his steed, and was in the act of knocking at the front door as she came up to him. He was a white-haired gentleman, with a noble and earnest countenance, very erect and military in his bearing, and with a commanding air and expression that indicated him tn h? nn? hicrh in authoritv and rank. ? O v Turning toward Picciola, he lifted his hat, and addressed her in a courteous tone. "Can you tell me, my child, whether the family of Mr. Raymond still resides here? I was directed to come here, but it appears to me that there can be no one at home." "There is no one here, now, Sefior," rejoined Picciola; and not knowing who her interlocutor might be, or how far she might venture to explain the cause of her mistress' absence, she waited for him to question her farther before saying anything more. "Can you tell me whether Mr. Raymond is soon expected back? I am especially anxious to see him, on a matter of great importance," continued the officer. Picciola's large eyes opened in astonishment "The Sefior Has not been heard of for many months," she replied ; "and we have all given him up as lost!" Then, with a sudden hope flashing into her mind, she added, "Do you know anything of him? Oh! if you could only tell us something, my dear mistress would be so grateful 1" _ "Tdo noTunderetaiid yon?*"said"the stranger, with apreplexed look. "I was not aware that anything had happened to Mr. Raymond?will you explain to me what you mean ?" "Come in, Sefior, and sit down," said Picciola, pushing open the door, for she instinctively felt that her questioner was a person in whom she might place confidence. His kind manner aud benevolent countenance seemed to do away at once with all fear or mistrust. The little parlor looked almost exactly as it had done when they left it a few days before. Evidently, nothing had been disturbed, and there were no signs that any visitor had intruded upon its privacy. Even Esther's low chair, drawn up to the side table, and a piece of unfinished work which had been tossed aside, remained untouched. The withered flowers on the mantel-piece, however, and the broken logs aud gray ashes in the fireplace, gave everything a desolate and forsaken look, and told of the absence of the careful hand that had been wont to preside over these arrangements, and keep everything in neatness and order. "We left here suddenly," said Picciola, as if in self-exculpation, as she glanced around, "and that is why the place looks so melancholly. My mistress had been ill, too, and I could attend to nothing." "You live here, usually, then ?" asked the visitor. "Yes, Senor. I am the Senora's maid; but she is like my mother, she is so generous, so kind. Ah, if I could but help her out of her trouble!" "She is in great trouble, then ?" "Oh, Sefior! her heart is nearly broke. First, my master went away, and never came home again ; and now her little child is stolen from her?a little angel but a few months old. I have left her only this morning, to try and find him, if I can." "You interest me deeply," said the officer, "pray give me a more distinct account of what has happened. I assure you that you need not be afraid to trust me. If I can help your mistress in any way, I shall gladly do 80. Encouraged by this assurance, Picciola, without farther hesitation, related her story. The officer listened attentively, and when she had finished, immediately asked? "I)o you know the name of the person whom Mr. Raymond went to visit, in company with this Alasquez T "It was General K?," answered the young girl. The officer sprang up in an excited manner. "The whole of that Spaniard's tale wa* a fabrication from beginning to end," he exclaimed. "My child, 1 am General K?, and I give you my word that I am acquainted with no such person, nor did he ever bring Mr. Raymond to my headquarters! There has been foul play somewhere?villainy of the deepest dye! And this creature?this wretch who calls himself Alasquez?I would wager a million of dollars that he is under an assumed name ! Can you describe his appearance to me ?" "He is tall, Sefior?almost a giant, with black eyeB, and a fierce look. He has a short beard, and a scar across one of his cheeks, from his eye to his chin. I shudder always at his lo ks, for they make me afraid," concluded Picciola, almost in a whisper. "Then lam right in my conjecture?there can be no doubt of it!" said the General, in an agitated voice. "Oh, that I may be successful, this time, in getting possession of the fox, before he hides himself again in his hole! He has, however, the cunniugof Lucifer, and has already escaped me twice. My one chance now lies in the possibility of his be lieving me to be still absent from the conntry." He meditated deeply for some minutes, with crossed arms and a frowning brow, as be paced up and down the room. Then turning suddenly again to Picciola, whose place it now was to feel surprised, not unmingled with a newly-awakened, though indefinite hope, as ; she listened to his words, he C3ntinued? "You tell me it was on the Wednesday of week before last that the child was taken. Have you proof that Alasquez was the robber?" "Sefior, it must have been he. Who else ; would have committed such a deed ?" "Most true. Every circumstance of the case points to this conclusion. You have, of course, no idea of his present locality ?" I?xt- ? r ?:?u t k.j ? -Liu, otriiur. x wiou x uau, "Well, he will be found?he must be found, if he is anywhere in this part of the world, within the next day or two. Let me but once succeed in capturiDg hira, and I shall soon bring his evil deeds to light. But for your master, I fear there is small chance of your ever seeing him again." Picciola's heart sank. "Oh ! SefiGr, you, too, believe him dead ?" "I cannot tell, my child. But if this Spaniard is the person I suspect him to be, he would not have hesitated in putting him out of the way, could he accomplish his end by so doing. And your master's unsuspecting confidence in him would have rendered such a task comparatively an easy one. However, his villainy might have stopped short of such a climax. Time will prove 1 Now, in the meanwhile, I must leave here at once, in order to take prompt measures for his discovery. You will return to your mistress, will you not?" Picciola hesitated. "I had not thought to do that, Sefior," she answered, presently, in a low tone, looking down as she spoke. "What, then, is your plan?" "I promised the Senora to find the child? or at least, to try and do so?and bring him back to her," said Picciola, still diffidently, but again lifting her eyes to meet the kind glance bent upon her. "I do not wish to go back from my word." "But now that I am going in pursuit of Alasquez, both objects will be gained at once," rejoined the General, "and if the child is found, you may rely upon his being restored, immediately, to bis mother." "But Sebor, perhaps I can help find him." "You 1" said the General, in an incredulous tone. "My child, how is that possible ?" "I do not knowf" simply replied the girl; "but I have prayed God to show me the way, and I think He will." "But I cannot take you with me," said General K?. "And how else can you go in search of him ?" "I did not think of going with you, Sefior. I would rather take my own way. If I fail, I cannot help it; but I said I would try, and "I wTll not break niy word.'* "You are a strange girl," said the officer, wonderingly, "to undertake such a mission. You had better be careful how you go wan dering about this wild neighborhood. You may meet with some accident, or lose your way, and never get back to your mistress again." "1 will take good care of myself, Sefior." "Well, if you are resolved, I have no more to say. Stop, let me give you this," and taking a card from his pocket he rapidly wrote his address upon it. "This place is five miles from here. If you obtain any information of Alasquez, can you manage to get it to me ?" "Yes, indeed, Sefior, I will bring it to you myself." The General once more charged her to be prudent, and not run herself into unnecessary danger. Then taking a hasty leave of her, he mounted his horse, and rode off at a rapid pace, intent on accomplishing the object he had before him. [To be Continued.] THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. The burning of Moscow, in 1812, is one of : the most noted conflagrations on record, not only on account of its magnitude, but for its historical importance. The French entered i the city September 14, Napoleon proposing i L - W mfAM ciiinwfoM An tkof VOW I IU UlUliC It U1S I! iuici ljuniitiij. vu mat tvij I day several fires broke out, but little attention ' was paid to them by the invading army until j the next two days, when they had acquired great headway. On the 17th a high wind arose, and the flames spread rapidly in every direction; by the 18th the whole city appeared a sea of flame, and by the evening of the 20th nine-tenths of it was reduced to ashes. The total number of buildings destroyed is stated at between 13,000 and 15,000. The Russians at the time, in order to cast odium on the French, attributed this conflagration to the orders of Napoleon. It is now, however, generally acknowledged that the fires were the work of the Russians themselves, and that they were kindled by the orders of the Governor, Rostoptchin, acting beyond all doubt under the sanction of the Emperor Alexander, without which it is hardly conceivable that the Governor would have ventured on such a step. The object was to deprive the French army of shelter from the Winter. Ample precautions had been taken to insure the entire destruction of the city. Inflamj raable materials were placed in deserted mansions in every quarter, and the torch was applied simultaneously all over the city. In burning the French out of their proposed Winter quarters, no provision had been made for the safety of the inhabitants, who were driven to seek shelter in the surrounding woods ; and it is affirmed that more than 20,. 000 sick and wounded perished in the flames. I The direct loss to the French is put down at j 40,000; and beyond this, it in the end involved the retreat in the dead of Winter, and the almost complete annihilation of the great ! French army. This act, which the Russians at. the time reDudiated. is now considered bv ! them as their highest glory, the greatest ex: ample in history of national self-sacrifice for the destruction of an invader.?Appleton's American Cyclopedia. + The Fire Fiend.?An Ipswich man is | determined to forestall the fire-fiend. "He j lives in a house with only one pair of stairs, j and every Thursday night at twelve he cries 'fire,' at which his wife and children quickly rise and dress. He then takes out a windowsash, puts a rope around his wife and lowers her to the ground, then throws into her arms one child Tat a time. He puts his furniture into the street, and removes it to a place of safety. The whole time occupied is less than fifteen minutes, and he hopes to do it in ten." I6T The Vicksburg Herald, with a rather grim humor, says: "We have long since forgiven the North for licking us, but the North has never forgiven us for being so infernally hard to lick." ?. IgyA man's credit must be bad, indeed, when he can't borrow trouble. pstsrg of jr. ^atoliaa. ? t\ HISTORICAL SKETCHES w OF THE w Early Settlement of South Carolina. c( BY REV. ROBERT LATHAI. J CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION. dl Whatever honor may be attached to those to infant colonies which deliberately threw off *1 the British yoke and declared themselves free F and independent, no small share of that hon- & or is due to South Carolina. In the prelimi- tl< nary events which culminated in an open P< rupture with the mother country, she led the. ft way. It was, as we will see in the sequel, the P' misfortune of her leading men often to be far "e ahead of the age in which they lived. Really, w the government of South Carolina never was D< anything but a republic. The Fundamental v< Constitutions drawn up by the philosopher th Locke, and adopted by the original proprie- to tore, never were put in force over the people m for whom they were designed as a form of w government The proprietors were forced to fr ohange and remodel those constitutions, as th much from the character of the people, as ta from the nature of the country. to South Carolina was, in 1670, an unbroken m forest; and those who came from Europe to re make their home in that unbroken forest, longed for freedom, and freedom they would P' have. From the very first,' they quarreled ? with the proprietors, and in a short time the ^ proprietors cast them off with the angry de- p claration that they did not intend to feed the 10 colonists when there was no longer any reasonable expectation of being compensated. w Thus they were turned out into the wilds of ^ the new world to work for themselves or starve. With an energy which put failure out of the in question, they went to work. They depended H upon themselves. Necessity forced them to think and plan for their physical existence n< and for their social and political equality with 18 the nations of the earth. Thus, whilst the "" ? ? .J .1 . w early settlers of soutn uaronna cut aown toe forests and drained the swamps and planted ^ and cultivated Indian corn, they sowed broad- ^ cast the seeds of genuine Republicanism. In 10 1729, by a bold effort they freed themselves from the yoke of the original proprietors and ?* placed themselves under the protection and ^ government of England, but with greater 1* privileges and more liberty .than British sub- W( jects >h England. nc From the first day that the colonists set ^ their feet on the banks of the Kiawab, they ^ were jealous of their rights, and every event in their history bad a direct tendency to make * them watch their chartered rights with sleep- a less vigilance. In 1762, Governor Thomas 1 Boone sent a message to the General Assembly, in which he stated certain objections to the election law of 1721, and recommended ar that the enactSTent of "a new law was absolufp)y ppcPHBary."?Boona acknowledged that -rp zeal to promote ''the prerogatives of the crown" had induced him to make this recommenda- ? tion. When the message of the Governor was . received it was immediately placed in the Ul hands of a committee. On the 23rd of March, 8f til juat four davs after the date of the message, . the committee made its report, and on the next day the report was considered, and the following reply sent to Governor Boone: 'May it please your Excellency, this House having fully considered the election act now 8e in force, and not knowing, or having heard, "( of any bad consequences from the method thereby directed, for issuing and executing se writs of election, are of opinion that it is not B uecessary, at this time, to alter that/law in ce any respect." , U In September of the same year, Christo* jj pher Gadsden was duly elected a member of 0j the Assembly from St. Paul's Parish. Gov- 8U ernor Boone not only refused to administer ai the oath of office in the case of Gadsden, w but also dissolved the Assembly. He was de- cc termined to force the representatives of the Uf people into measures; but he had men to deal with who could neither be wheedled nor bul- je lied into measures. Governor Boone's avowed g reason for not admitting Gadsden as a mem- gp. ber of the Assembly, was because the church cj wardens, who, under the law, were the managers of the elections, had not been sworn. It j, was proved that this was not the case, and the Assembly determined to admit Gadsden to his seat, in spite of Governor Boone's ob- q jection. This gave Boone a pretext for dis- pj solving the Assembly. Shortly afterward, another Assembly was chosen, and Christopher Gadsden was again elected. This great- tb ly irritated Boone, and the new Assembly was tb not slow in manifesting its disapprobation of the Governor's course with regard to the pre- ^ vious Assembly. A series of resolutions were passed, the purport of which was that ec the Assembly itself, and not the Governor, is ei the judge of the legality of the election of its own members ; that the course of the se Governor respecting Christopher Gadsden f.r was a violation of the privileges of the Assembly of the Province; that the previous g( conduct of Governor Boone was unconstitu- tu tional, and had a direct tendency to subvert and destroy the most essential and invaluable *l< rights of the people of the province, and reduce the power and authority of the Assembly to an abject dependency on the whims of the Governor. It was also resolved by this sh Assembly that siqce the Governor had re- 01 fused to apologize for his recent conduct, that the Assembly would have nothing more to do with him. This surely was a bold step and was indicative of what followed. The quarrel between Governor Boone and the assembly of South Carolina continued up tb to the time of the passage of the notorious e(^ Stamp act by the English Parliament. The ^ leading men were thoroughly aroused to oppose any thing that had the semblance of an j encroachment upon their liberties. The lead- bl ere in the movement in opposition to Gover- b{ nor Boone were Charles Pinckney, Henry J? T .a nronfl Peter Maniiyftult. Isaac Mazvck. I ^WU1VUW) * v?~- ? o ' * ' W< John Rutledge, James Moultrie, Christopher Gadsden, Thomas Lynch, William Roper, ah William Scott, E. Simmons, R. Lowndes, lo James Parsons, David Oliphant, Thomas Bee, m Benjamin Smith and Thomas Wright The *r controversy between the assembly and Gov- ^ ernor Boone was thoroughly discussed, both in public and private, by these men, and the t0 result was a hatred for oppression, and an in- w< tense love of liberty was disseminated through.- fo out the whole of the lower section of the province. When, in 1764, the British Parlia- jj? ment passed the stamp act, to take effect after the 1st of November, 1765, the people were,as j,i a whole, prepared to resist it Wl When the stamps arrived in Charleston, no p? le could be found who was willing to incur te odium and risk the danger of accepting le office of Receiver. Hence the stamps ere conveyed to Fort Johnson. The people ere divided in their opinion as to the proper rnrse to be pursued. Henry Laurens was jposed to violent measures; but public senment was against him. A party of one hunred and fifty men were armed and sent out i surprise the fort in which was stored away te stamps. It so happened that although ort Johnson was a strong fortification, the irrison was weak. The party found but lits difficulty insurprising the fort and getting issession of the stamps. The heavy guns of te fort were loaded, a flag raised and every reparation made for a conflict with the ves1 which had brought over the stamps. It as, however, agreed that the stamps would >t be destroyed, provided the captain of the anal nfAiiM nnnooo ftiam am* And not land nVUlU VVU ( \*J Vuvui _ w w ?? iem elsewhere in America. This was agreed >. The captain took the stamps and the en returned to the city. Again the people ere triumphant. They had driven Boone om South Carolina, and now they had sent ie stamps from' America. Nothing was Iked of in the province but liberty. Chrispher Gadsden was accustomed to meet the ultitudes under a large live-oak near his sidence and discuss the great political quessns of the day. Gadsden saw a grand relblic?far grander than that of Greece or ome?springing into existence in South arolina. Under this live-oak, Christopher adsden, long before any of his compatriots any quarter of North America, spoke of merican Independence. American liberty as conceived in the brain of Christopher adsen. In 1769 the'peopleof Charlestown entered to what was called a "non-importation" jreement. In this it was determined not to iport any goods from England, and thus get d of the tax which was imposed upon cerin articles. In 1774, the Continental Congress adopted hat was called the American Association. his was complied with by the people of >utb Carolina generally. The tea brought to the colony was stored away in wareMinM and th?pfl it rotted : not a sin&le Dound ' it was ever sold. Oil the 11th of January, r75, a Provincial Congress, chosen by the sople, met at Charlestown. Charles Cotesorth Pinckney was chosen president. Things >w began to assume a warlike appearance, olunteer companies were formed and drillI, and everything indicated war. On the 1th of April, 1775?the very day that the ittle of Lexington was fought?the Swallow, packet ship, arrived in Charlestown. She id dispatches for the Governors of the )uthern colonies. Henry Middleton,. John utledge, Christopher Gadsden, Thos. Lynch id Edward Rutledge, by order of the council 1 safety, seized the mail. The private letrs were returned to the post-office, but tfae spatcbes to the Governors were opened, rora-these dispatches it was (earned that gland had determined to force her coloes into subjection. These dispatches were nt to the Continental Congress, and from iem that body first learned the real intenons of Great Britain. So soon as the people of South Carolina lard of the battle of Lexington, they regard1 every tie which bound them to England as vered, and began to make preparation for )th defensive and offensive war. AU the 'ras and ammunition within their reach were ized, and a vessel was sent out to capture the rig Betsy, which was known, from the interspted dispatches, to be on her way with a rge quantity of powder for John Stuart, the idian Agent The brig was found at anchor F the bar of St. Augustine, and completely irprised. Ninety-one barrels of powder, nounting to about ten thousand pounds, ere obtained and safely delivered to the >uncil of safely. Part of this powder was sed at the battle of Bunker Hill. We have thus hastily run over the events ading to the revolution in South Carolina, riefly as they have been treated, they still iow that South Carolina was one of the prinpal actors in the beginning of that wonderil undertaking, the American Revolution. 1 future we will confine ourselves to the parcular battles fought during that oventful peod, in South Carolina, North Carolina and eorgia, together with a brief sketch of the rincipal heroes in the variojis conflicts. Juvenile.?Children rarely comprehend le idea that Providence watches over all ley do, and seldom , appreciate the fact so 'ten taught them, in different ways, that hat seems to them impossible is possible with ie Great Disposer of.all events. An illustration of this came to our knowlIge the other day, which we think is good lough to go into print. A little boy, about five years of age, was nt to the grocery store at the corner, on some ifling errand, and while there his bright eyes ghted upon a barrel of pippins exposed mptingly to view just outside the door. In >incr out. it appears he took one, and re irned to his mother maoching it. "Where did you get that nice apple, Wil; ?" inquired his mother. "Dot it at the docery," replied Willie. "Did the man give it to you V' "No; I took it. "Why, Willie, that was naughty! You iould not take apples or anything else withit permission." "But nobody saw me." "0! yes, Willie?there was One who saw >u!" "Who ?" "Why, God saw you." "Willie stopped a moment to consider, and en, with a good deal of satisfaction expressI in his face, replied : "No, he didn't, ma. There was an arming er the store !" Wait, husband, before you wonder audi 1 J?-l ?.:?k y wuy yuui nnc uuu l gcu aiuug nun tuu lusebold affairs "as yout-mother did ?" She doing her best, and no woman can endure at best to be Blighted. Remember the long, eary nights that she sat up with the little ibe that died ; remember the love and care e bestowed upon you when you bad that ng spell of sickness. Do you tbiok she is ade of cast iron? Wait?wait in silence id forbearance, and the light will come Lck to her eyes?the old light of .the old iys. Wait, wife, before you speak reproachfully your husband, when he comes home late, eary and out of sorts. He has worked hard r you all day, perhaps far into the night; ) has wrestled hand in hand with care, selihness and greed, and all the demons that How in the train of money-making. Let >me be another atmosphere entirely. Let m feel that there is no other place in the . arid where he can find peace and quiet, an^^^ srfect love.