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?? ?? I ?fc????' ??ggg lewis m. gkist, proprietor.J ^nirtptniinrt Jfamilg ftefospjjer: Jfcrr tjie ^ramnticm of % political, Social, ^gricaltaral anli Commercial Interests of tjje Sontjt. | TEEMS?$3.00 A YEAR. IN ADVANCE. VOL. 22. YOEKYILEE, S. P., THURSDAY, APRIL 2Q, 1876. INTO. 16. i jto original ^torg. the monchesf! BY AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR. CHAPTER IX. I will pass over the next two years, during which I continued my collegiate course, re turning home for the vacations, and finding everything there going on as usual. I per suaded my friend Seiwyn to accompany m( on the last of these occasions, and pay us t visit of a few days. He could not remair longer on account of other engagements. H( made himself very agreeable, and quite woe my mother's favor, but I fancied that neithei Olivia or Rudolph were particularly impress ed with him, though they did not express themselves to this effect. My last term was nearly expired, and I wai anticipating all the glories of graduating witi distinction, and retiring, crowned with honor from the field of competition, when I was suddenly summoned home to attend my mother's last hours, she having been seized with a violent illness, from which there was no hope oi her recovery. I cast all other thoughts U. the winds, and full of melancholy expectation set out immediately on my journey, undei very different auspices from those which I hac hoped would attend it. I reached home to find this beloved parenl still alive, and in full possession of her senses but rapidly sinking under the fatal pressure of disease. She was free from pain, and wel corned me with a smile angelically sweet. " 1 ? T>k;ii;n? "1D&DK uoa you are vuuic, wj x uiui^, she said, as I embraced ber. "It was my one fervent wish, that I might see you again, and now it is gratified. Do not shed those tean for me," she added, seeing that I wept; "J am quite happy and content, and we must re member that our parting is but for a time.' Alas 1 it was for Eternity, but she knew il not. Three mournful days passed away, and or the evening of the third she called me to hei side, desiring to. speak to me alone. "Philip, dearest child," she said, in weals tones, as I clasped her dyiDg hand, "I have a very earnest wish in my heart, that I would impart to you before I am called away. You know you have ever been my favorite son though your good brother has also been 8 dear and dutiful child. Your future welfare concerns me much, and I have long secretlj cherished a plan for your happiness, which il would console me, in parting from you, tc hope might be fulfilled. It concerns also the happiness of another." "Tell me what it is, dearest mother," i replied. She was silent for a moment, then said? "You love Olive, Phillip, do you not?" "Yes," I answered. "I am very fond ol her." "Philip, I would have you make her your wife" Ijtarted; I had never contemplated such ajpo&FMttty, though the idea was not entirely new one to me. I did not dream that Olive L ...1J T 1. <^r would cooaeat to marry me, even auuuiu x her to do so. "Dear mother," said I, "Olive does no! care for me, except as a sister might." "You do not know," she rejoined, earnestly "you can not tell. She would not confess hei feelings unasked. Promise me, Phillip?pro mise that you will try to win her love. Sht would make you a dear and good wife. Sh? is truly lovely and amiable, and were she my own daughter I could not love her more thar I do." "I could not wish a happier lot, mother than to marry her," I slowly replied ; "but 1 think she cares more for Rudolph than foi me. "No?no ! Indeed, you are mistaken. She has been more with Rudolph, and is more unreserved with him, but that is all. She on ly loves him as a brother." She spoke with some excitement, and fear ful of agitating her, I offered no farther ob jection, but immediately gave her the prom ise she had asked for. I confess that in making it, my heart was stirred with a new and exquisite hope; for it dawned on me then, more clearly than ever befjre, how blest I should be could her wish be carried out. Young at I was?a mere boy?still I had already the faolincm nf & man. and was conscious of the awakening of hopes and desires within me at fervent as those of riper years. My mother now appeared satisfied, and said no more on the subject It had entered however, deeply into my mind, and the iro preesion thus made could never again b( eradicated. A few hours later my dearest parent had passed away, and only what was mortal oi her remained for our sad eyes to gaze upon That mortal part, the beauteous, but senselest clay, now invested with a loveliness not o) earth, lay before us for three more days, thee was borne away and laid to rest, in our fami ly burial place in a neighboring churchyard Our little circle was now broken up. Ii had been arranged for Olive to go and finish her education?that is, the higher branchei rnd accomplishments?under the roof of t maiden lady of the name of Storr, who livec at Bath. She was a sort of relative of mj mother's, a most estimable person, aud wai to bave charge of Olive until the lattei should attain her majority, of whioh she stil lacked four years. I decided to travel. ] had no definite object in remaining at home and longed to see something of the world and also to improve my knowledge on manj important points. Rudolph would remain it charge of the old family mansion. It was i lonely prospect for him, hut he was attachec to his present mode of life, and felt it his dutj also to loot after the estate. "I shall miss you, Phil, when you an gone," he said to me, with a sigh, on the ev< of my departure for the Continent, "but ] know you'll be happier away than here, anc I would be selfish to wish to detain you. ] shall be solitary enough, though." "Perhaps in a year or two you'll be taking a wife, and bringing her home to cheer yot up," I replied. "You will not find it solitary then." A blush crossed his frank face. "Perhap I may," he answered, "but still that is only i chance. We can not tell what the future hai in store for any of us." I looked at him narrowly. I wanted, i possible, to divine his thoughts, but .1 coult not make out if he had any especial intentioi in his mind. Since my conversation with raj mother, recorded above, I had watched bin in his intercourse with Olivia, to see if I W could detect any signs of more than fraternal A1 : interest in his manner, or any responsive' an< warmth in hers, but had failed in doing so. rel ' It was true, this time was scarcely a propi- tat 1 tious one for settling the question, for the old 1 cloud of grief which had encompassed us, tra J naturally put aside all selfish feelings. Still, ] > I thought, had the love I feared really e$ist- hoi * ed, I must have perceived some symptoms of poi > its existence, unless most carefully concealed, ula My parting with Olivia bad been natural- goi 3 ly sad, but very quiet and undemonstrative. exi 1 She allowed me to kiss her pale cheek, and in hai 1 a gentle voice had expressed her hope that I it i 3 might have a prosperous journey, and find cas ' gratification in my foreign tour. Rudolph, Oli r as the head of the house, accompanied her the " part of the way to her new residence; the re- ' 3 mainder of her journey being accomplished see under the care of an elderly gentleman, a I : 3 friend of Miss Storr's, who had come to meet vei ' her. A couple of weeks had elapsed since her ch< 5 4 ?? T IvIA AiMAinall fn T ,?n? lflp departure, wutui x, tuu, um ui?neu w ' don Park; and thus, in a short time, our III 1 household was scattered, and the whole course jo; ' of our lives, at least for the present, material- Ph ^ ly changed. I went abroad, and in the ex- hes > citement of travel, and the interest of research, ide > almost ceased for awhile to dwell on the ob- cai ' jects which had so engrossed me at home. Ba ' I was strolling one day through a picture- soc gallery in Florence, when I was accosted by ; a familiar voice, and turning, saw at my el- the > bow my old college friend, Selwyn, from whom ren 5 I had parted more than two years before, wo ' We shook hands heartily, and I expressed my ref delight at meeting him thus unexpectedly. ant "It is equally surprising to me to find you skt * here," he rejoined. "I thought you were ter ' quietly settled in your Devonshire home." me ' "No?I have been abroad six months. My am ^ brothel looks after the place." loc "You came off, then, juBt on leaving the coi Alma Mater ? How could they Bpare you from egc ^ home so soon ?" "Did you not hear of our misfortune ?" I vei 1 asked, and I briefly informed him of my moth- ' er's death, and the subsequent breaking up of y?' our little circle. He had heard nothing of these events, and listened with interest, expressing his sympathy, when I had finished, rea in just the kind and ready manner in which I lik had felt sure he would. He was not a whit yoi changed, save that he looked older and hand- the somer; but he paid me the compliment of saying that be found me greatly improved. "I looked twice, Phil, before I would speak iyjj to you, though I thought I could hardly be an: mistaken in your identity. Why, you have me grown at least a foot since I saw you last." wh I had, in fact, grown considerably, and had gained in flesh besides; but 1 still felt puny and'plain in contrast to him, with his well-developed, though not muscular figure fr0 and singularly attractive face. rai ^ "And what are you doing with yourself do( now?roaming about for pleasure?" da; "Partly for pleasure, and partly with a \ ~ view to increase my knowledge-of things in ^ 1 general," I replied. "I found myself, on rec leaving college, still so ignorant?" ' "Now Phil, I must nip that speech in the bud?I'll have no mock modesty," he inter- Wr: rupted, laughingly. "I know well enough, &1] 1 and you know that I know, that you were off about the cleverest chap in college, and knew ' more than half your seniors put together." "Thanks for your good opinion, Selwyn ; " but really, without any mock modesty, as you J call it, I did discover myself to be lamentably a I ' deficient on many subjects, and thought I Prc might add profitably to my stock of learning, twi 1 I and give myself recreation besides, by a few bes I uMf'o nf oirrhf-aAoincr Rnrl at.nrlv nnmhined." tur J v"" s> J > "A few years! Then you intend to remain tw< 1 abroad so long ?" af^ r "Until my majority, I expect." wa "And when will that be ?" da' 5 "In rather more than three years' time." 5 "Dear me 1 I forgot how much your senior an< " I was. Well, I envy you, Phil; I've got to me go back home and shoulder the burden of tbs ' life in a couple of months from now." rec "Tell me about your prospects," said I. aD( "My prospects! They are wonderfully bril- 8tr' ' liant. They consist of a dingy back-office in my ' the Temple, with Coke and Blackstone, aod 8a^ 5 similar worthies, for diversion, and an in- bis ' come?at present?of nothing a year," he re- Jec ' joined. "Not dazzling, are they ?" em 5 "You are a barrister, then ?" be' 5 "I call myself one," he answered, fj^ily. "I ne) ' passed a tolerably satisfactory examination we before I came over here; and have been try- t0 ' ing ever since to make up my mind to start gal > regularly in my profession?but I am lazy, cot ' and hang fire somehow. I find the dolce far He 5 niente infinitely preferable to active work? gai don't you ? But no, I forgot; you were never dai I indolently disposed." be F "I looked at him, and for the first time de- rae tected something in his face different from 8m > what I formerly read there. It was in the 4 F expression alone, but it spoke, though vaguely, 8ee 1 of a change. There was a restlessness, a dissat- bai isfaction in his glance, and I fancied, too, that ag< he looked less healthy than of old. He had t? t never been robust; but now I thought there i I was a slichtlv haecrard aDDearance about him. 810 j ? * ?o * * } aDd the idea occurred to me that he might g'a 1 not be careful in his mode of life. He did get I not notice my inquiring glance, and of course abl r I made no remark. ing } "I get just a trifle down-hearted sometimes," up p he pursued. "My people, you know, are not I j rich, and I have nothing to look to but my do^ 1 ! own cleverness, to help me along in the world. P01 ? I'm a younger son, too, more's the pity? the i though my elder brother won't have much to en< ? boast of when he comes into his inheritance." ter i I felt embarrassed, and longed to make him sa? i some offer of assistance, while at the same life I time I was fearful of offending his pride. My tea ' own means were abundant enough, and I ter could not bear to think of his being deprived hai 3 of any pleasure or advantage which I could voi 3 afford to enjoy. Later, when we had strolled loo 1 off together and were in private, I did manage thi I to let him know my wish, but he put it light- me 1 ly aside. fel "Thanks, my dear Phil. You are very good to ' and generous, but I have not the slightest pei l idea of poaching on anybody's possessions ; art t even yours. I have quite enough for my own ch< personal needs, so don't worry yourself on to s that score. All the same, I appreciate your ha< i kindness of heart, so you mustn't think me inf s ungrateful." And he changed the subject am with such a quietly resolute air that I did not thi f venture to refer to it again. hei i We spent a few delightful weeks together? yei i delightful, because I had lost none of my old pri 7 admiration and affection for my former class- me i mate,and took heart-feltpleasurein his society, coi e traveled along the Rhine, crossed the ps, visited Dresden, Leipsic and Munich, i parted at the latter place; he to return, uctantly enough, to our native land ; I to ;e up ray abode, temporarily, in that rare 1 city, which possessed for me a quaint atction and charm. In the meantime I heard frequently from me. Rudolph, though not a fluent corresadent, was kind enough to write to me regirly, and keep me informed of all that was ng on. He always treated me as if I had ictly the same interest in the estate as he 1, and spoke of everything appertaining to n the first person plural of the possessive a Tn Kin lotfpra Ha. nrpRsinnn.ilv mentioned *--W-w?w-w ? J ive, from whom, he said, he heard now and id. 'She is quite well," he once wrote, "and ms to have a tolerably cheerful time, though should imagine her present existence the y perfection of dullness. I fancy her own jerful temper supplies what she otherwise ks. She asked me, in her last letter, when iad heard from you, and how you were ening yourself. Why don't you write to her, il ? I have no doubt she would like to ir from you, odco in a while. I have an a of running up to see her, as soon as I 1 manage it. I think I will take rooms at th, for a fortnight, and get a glimpse of the iety there." Write to her! I wondered that I had not >ught of that before. It would freshen her uembrance of me, and then, besides, I uld have the pleasure of getting a letter iD ? . t 1? . 1 _ i 1 i! >ly. l acted immediately on me suggesuuu, i wrote ber a long, glowing epistle, full of itches of travel, which I thought would inest her; and accounts of various amusents and entertainments that were going on, d of my own mode of life in my present ality, dwelling but little on my personal icerns, however, lest she might think me itistical. A.nd this was all the answer I got?not y satisfactory, as it appeared to me. 'Dear Phillip :?I am so much obliged to j for your kind letter, which reached me a i days ago. It was very good of you to nk of writing. I found your description of ir travels very entertaining, and enjoyed iding about the pictures. How I would e to re-visit some of those fine old galleries u speak of; but I suppose it is not likely it I ever shall. You ask me to describe to a my life here. There is nothing to tell you jut, for everything is excessively quiet, and to not go out much, or see many people, ss Storr is very kind and amiable, and is rious to make me happy. She has made .. a present UI a very pretty iittic opouitj, ich hag become a great pet. I spend a )d deal of time in reading aloud, as Miss >rr's eyesight is not good, and she is fond of :euing to me. I also play a good deal on r harp, and am now taking singing-lessons m a professor here. We have bad so much n lately that I have been a great deal in>r8, but when it is fine I usually walk every 7Please excuse this uninteresting letter. I ml utup mm, aa thu iliuuui bull ij liugitig. iping you will continue to enjoy yourself. I aain as ever, sincerely your friend, Olivia Marchmont." I wonder, said I, mentally, whether she ites Rudolph such letters as that ? And I 1 into a fit of the blues, which did not wear for a week. CHAPTER X. [ remained three years in Munich, pursuing )hilosophical course under one of the first )fessors in Bavaria, who came to my rooms __ i_ i. ice a weea 10 give iue private luatruvnuu, tides allowing me to profit by his class leces; and at the expiration of that time, my anty-first birthday being at hand, I bade ieu to Germany and turned my steps homerd, anxious to be in England before that f should arrive. [n all that time I had not seen my brother, i looked forward with some anxiety to our eting. It was with a mixture of feelings it I approached our fine old country seat, lewing as I went along the recollections I impressions weakened, though not deoyed, by nearly four years' absence from native land. My heart quickened with isfaction which every Englishman feels on return from foreign shores, as familiar obts met ray gaze, and swelled with happy otion when ray own home-woods and homeds came in view. The noble trees, centui old, seemed to wave their giant arms in Icome, and Nature wore her brightest face smile upon my path. I passed the park ;es, and the next moment saw Rudolph uing toward me, his gun upon his shoulder. ' 1 ~i ? n S naa oeeo OUl snoouug, as a wen-otuneu ne bag, carried by a little lad in attenice, testified ; and hearing my approach as was going toward the house, turned to et me, his face beaming with welcoming iles. 'My dear, dear Phil! how glad I am to you again!" he exclaimed, heartily, as our ads met in a fraternal clasp. "It seems is since you went awaj^ I'm right joyful have you at home once more." rhe warmth of his greeting testified to the cerity of his words, and awoke responsive .dness in my heart. We walked up to,her to the bouse, whose door stood hospitly open; the old house-dog,Tray, lay bask; in the sunshine in the porch, and sprang in glad recognition to greet me; even the ily portraits in the hall seemed to look tvn on me with pleased faces. My mother's rtrait wa8 not among these. That hung in ! sitting-room, where her own loved pres><> mAot nfton In ahino nnH on T pn. /C uotu luuaw u*WU ww WM?WW f ?- ? w-? ed the well-remembered apartment, and 7 the dear, soft eyea beaming upon me with i-like tenderness in their glance, unbidden ,rs rose to mine, and it seemed but yesterday that I had felt the clasp of her loving d, and listened to the tones of her gentle ice. A.8 I threw myself in a chair and >ked around, memories of the past crowded ck and fast upon me, and it was some monts before I could master the emotion I t sufficiently to speak. My brother seemed appreciate my feelings, and without apiring to notice them, busied himBelf with anging some books on the table, talking jerfully himself in the meantime, in order let me recover my wonted equanimity. I d an opportunity, while he did so, of study; his appearance. He had grown stouter d more florid than I remembered him, and 8, combined with the growth of a pair of ?vy whiskers, seemed to have added many irs to bis age. He was, on the whole, ira)ved, and looked, as he was, a fine spedm of a healthy, handsome, sport-loving jntry squire; keeper of the hounds, and ? master of ooe of the finest estates in England. I felt him to be quite worthy of the plaee he held, and could not but regard him with involuntary pride, a sentiment at that time quite unmixed with any less worthy feeling ; but I did not yet know how high was the estimation in which he was held, by every being in the country around. "I'm glad you have come home in time for your birth-day, Phil," he said, presently. "We'll have a rousing celebration on that day.' And by the way, do you know who I've arranged to have, among other guests?" "Who ?" I asked. "Olive?Olive Marchmont, you know. The old lady, her protectress, has agreed, after much coaxing, to bring her and stay three davs?a grand tribute to mv Dowers of per suasion, for she is frightfully averse to leaving home, and has not stirred out of Bath for six years. But she is so fond of Olive she would do almost anything for her." "Did Olive want to come ?" "Oh 1 yes, she seemed to like the idea amazingly. She has never been back here, you know, since she left" "Do you see much of her ?" was my next question, somewhat hesitatingly asked. "I run up to see her once in a while. I have paid her a good many visits. You'd hardly know her, she is so improved?wonderfully improved, I may Bay." "In her looks ?" I rejoined. "Not so much as to actual prettiness. She was always pretty, you know; but in her general style and accomplishments, and so forth. Not that she's one of your fine, fashionable young ladies, for that I should detest, but she has such graceful dignity, such perfect selfcommand. Altogether, she's uncommonly attractive, I think. I'm not a very good hand at giving a description, I am aware; but you will soon see her and judge for yourself. Here's a picture of her, by the way," and he took a daguerreotype from the mantel-piece and handed it to me. Photographs had not come into fashion, in those days. I took it without manifesting any of the eagerness I felt, and scrutinized it carefully. To my eyes the face was greatly changed, but that was, no doubt, owing in some degree to the style in which the hair was dressed, for instead of flowing in natural curls, it was now braided in womanly fashion, high up on her head. The whole air was more dignified and composed than of old, but a bright, sweet archness of expression beamed in the dark eyes and about the small mouth; not an actual smile, but just sufficient to give life to the picture. It was very beautiful, I thought, or rather gave one the idea of the original being so. To my mind, there can be no real beauty in those dull, unsatisfactory representatives of nature. "Is it a good likeness ?" I asked. "Doesn't do her justice, but pretty good on the whole. That was a capital likeness of yourself, Phil, you sent me from Dresden. I have it up there, too. You see I've given it the post ot iaonor next. to', uuvns. . i ou can t think what company those pictures have been to me, many a time when I've sat here alone, with only the dogs for company. I've looked at them, and kept thinking about you both, until I could almost fancy you were actually with me." "You must have found it rather dull, sometimes." "Dull 1 I believe you 1 Not but what I have some amusement, of course. There's the hunting, and the archeiy club, and all that, and an occasional dinner and ball, and I have some fellows here usually in September for a couple of weeks. Then I run over to town occasionally and refresh ^vself with a little sight-seeing, and pay a *lsit once or twice a year to Bath, as I told you before. But all that doesn't make up for the absence of the home-faces, and the lonesome every day life. However, I am happy to think that I shall have no more to complain of on that score," he added, brightly. "You have no idea of leaving me again, I hope?" I replied no, that I supposed I would be a fixture for the future; and dinner being just then announced, we left all farther discussion of our plans for some other time. It was now May, and my birthday comes in June. I felt very impatient to see Olive, and formed the project of going to pay her a little visit. I mentioned this idea to Rudolph, and found that be approved of it, and encouraged *_:Ai * my puuiDg 11 idio execution wiuuui uemy. "It will be decidedly the right thing for you to do, Phil. Go right to the bouse when you get there, and Miss Storr will no doubt ask you to spend the night, which you will find more agreeable than stopping at a hotel." "But you forget that I am a stranger to her," I objected. "Never mind; she's a hospitable old bouI, and will be glad to have you, I know." I did not follow Rudolph's counsel in this matter, but on arriving in Bath, whither I wended my way a day or two after our conversation on the subject, sought a hotel, and having secured a room, prepared myself in private for my visit, to which I looked forward with an unusual degree of trepidation. I was conscious of a solicitude respecting my personal appearance which I rarely felt, and all my old discontent, which in these later years had seemed to be laid at rest, revived now as I gazed at my reflection in the glass before which my toilette was being performed. What would Olive think of me, I wondered. Would she find me altered, and if so, for the better? Or would she comment unfavorably on my pale face and bony frame, which had seemed well-placed among my fellow-students abroadj but looked ugly and uninteresting enough now that I was in the midst of my own healthy, sturdy countrymen again ? Asking myself this question, however, would not add to my beauty; and after making such alterations to my dress as were necessary after my journey, before I could cousider myself presentable for visiting, I set out for Miss Storr's house, the location of which had been described to me by Rudolph, who bad written the number on a card. I found it easily enough. It was a pretty cottage, in a quiet street, shadowed by two long lines of green trees, whose interlacing branches formed an arch over my head. A neat maid-servant answered my knock. Bell there was none to ring, but the brass knocker was polished so that it shone like gold, and she invited me into the parlor, where there were flowers in pots, and gold-Ash, and a canary hopping about in a cage, and some good engravings hanging on the walls. It seemed a pleasant, tranquil little retreat, cheerful though somewhat primitive. I could imagine Olive with her gentle womanly ways, leading a contented life here, secluded from all the bustle and jar of the out-door world. While I was trying to picture her to myself moving about this cosy parlor, perhaps tending the flowers, or ministering to the bird, the door opened and she came in. The same Olive, and yet not the same ! I saw that at a glance. Added years, added grace, sat upon her brow, and spoke in her movements, in the tone of her silvery voice, as she uttered a friendly greeting. But that was not all the change?there was a certain reserve, a withholding of the frank confidence which she had formerly given, and withal a sort of timidity in her manner, as though she did not feel at ease in my presence. It pained me ; yet I supposed it must be attributed to the length of time which had elapsed since we had seen each other last She called me cousin Phillip. It seemed half-formal, yet I liked it, too; for it was the reminder of a tie in some sort between us. Her color came and went when she spoke, and she glanced at me with a curious wistfulness once or twice. I could not make out from her manner whether she was pleased to see me or not. "Rudolph tells me," I said, "that we are to have the great pleasure of welcoming you to Lyndon Park next month." "Yes," she answered; "Miss Storr has been kind enough to promise to go." "It will seem like old times to have you there again." She smiled a little, and then sighed. "It will be different from what it was in the old time," she answered, in a low tone. "I used to have very happy days at Lyndon." "And will have many more^ I trust," I rejoined. A sudden impulse prompted me to say the words, but I was not prepared for the burning blush which overspread her face as I ....?j .1? ? OL. i .:i_ j j it uiiereu menj. out) aruae uaauiy, nuu nam u I would excuse ber for au instant, she would let Miss Storr know that I was there. She thought, perhaps, she might not have understood the servant who carried in ray name. I wondered at her agitation, so involuqtarily betrayed, and my thoughts instantly reverted to the possibility of some secret understanding existing between my brother and herself. I say secret, because of such an understanding he had said no word to me yet. A fierce, jealous feeling arose within me, at the idea. I was resolved that he should not wiu her if I could, by any means, prevent it My mind was still in a tumult when she reappeared, bringing with her an elderly lady, to whom she presented me with her wonted composure I of manner, all traces of her brief embarrassment having vanished. During the remainder of my visit she was quite self-possessed, and, I fancied a little distant. Altogether I did not feel happy in her presence, and yet I was most reluctant to leave. Miss Storr, bearing that I proposed remaining a couple -J ? ? ? - ? mmaoaa/] m ft o a nft xf ki?nf ^ or UI UtxyO 111 UlltU} picoocu uiOj ao Uij Uivvuw had foretold she would, to take up my abode uuder her roof, and I immediately accepted h?r invitation. As I did so, I glanced at Olive, but could not discover, from the expression of her countenance, whether she was pleased at my compliance or not. What days those were that I spent in her society! Days of unrest, of uncertainty, of flashes of joy and hope alternated by fits of despondency, of eager longing and bashful fear. I was infinitely perplexed to know in what light she regarded me. I tried in vain to fathom her feelings, but they were to me as a sealed book. Courteous and kind as ever, there was still an evident constraint in her manner. Was it from bashfulness or disdain ? I did not remember her as being shy. Proud she ever was; but why should her pride manifest itself in coldness to me? Could it be, that she disliked me?that my company was unwelcome to her? If so, I vowed inwardly, I would conquer that dislike. In those two days my resolution became fixed?I would win Olive for my bride, or else leave England again, never to return. On the third day I took leave of her and of Miss Storr, and returned home thoughtful and uneasy, but filled with anxious anticipations of their promised visit in the following month. [To be Continued.] The Next Cotton Crop.?The published reports from the South-east Atlantic ports indicate that the movement of commercial fertilizers to the interior, this year, is considerably larger than last year. This fact is already the basis of considerable speculation, inasmuch as the inference is drawn that an effort will be made to make an unusually large crop of cotton. This is not warranted by the information in our possession. We find that Northern manufacturers of fertilizers have made large shipments to South em porta. l'bese Have generally passed into the interior and, in somennstances, were offered at unusually low rates. But the greater part of the ahipmenta are believed to be in the hands of agents awaiting buyers, and it is reasonable to suppose that a considerable quantity will lie over until next season and will not be taken up for consumption. In the standard Charleston Phosphates, of various kinds, no larger business than usual has been done. In some cases there is a marked decrease in the amount sold. The planters are very poor. In this State there is less money to-day than there was ten years ago. There is not the means or the credit to admit of an extraordinary outlay for fertilizers, nor is there any disposition to force , the production of cotton. On the contrary, the tendency, year by year, is to rely more and more on small grain, and to make the cotton an incident and not the main object of the year's work. This is very generally the case, we presume, on the South Atlantic, and our conclusion is that they who count on a ' l*'" ??"? > kananaa nf iha ahinmont nf fertilizers this season, will surely be disappointed,? Charleston News and Courier. How to be Miserable.?Think about yourself; about what you want, what you like, what respect people ought to pay you, what people think of you; and then to you nothing will be pure. You will spoil everything you touch; you will make sin and misery for yourself out of everything which God sends you. You will be as wretched as you choose, on earth or in heaven either. The proud, greedy, selfish, self-seeking spirit would turn heaven into hell. It did turn heaven into hell, for the great devil himself. It was by pride, by seeking his own glory? (so, at least, wise men say)?that he fell from heaven to hell.?Kingsley's Sermons. Out in the Blaok Hills gold region, when you buy a bowl of bean soap, you take off your coat, dive for a bean, and when you get it the proprietor of the saloon takes it from you saying you only paid for soup. The total area covered by the Centennial buildings will be about seventy-five acres, which is nearly double the space covered by the buildings at the Vienna exposition. pstotg of $atoHtta. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BT BEY. BOBEBT LATHAH. SURPRISE OF CAPT. MATTHEWS. In our last, we left Prevoet, on the morning of the 14th of May, 1779, retreating from Charleston, on his way back to Savan ^ IT* 1_ it !? r ^ nan. uenerai juincom, wnn toe maiu iursw of the Americans, had arrived at Dorchester, about the time that Frevost had precipitately raised the seige of the city. In order that Prevost might avoid an attack by Lincoln in front, and by the forces under Moultrie in the rear, he filed to the left on crossing the Ashley river, and passed over to James Island. Here he remained, undisturbed, for a few days and then crossed over the Stono River, or Inlet, to John's Island, and waited for supplies which he was expecting to be sent him from New York. General Lincoln, having given his troops a few days' rest at Dorchester, and having collected all his forces, moved down towards the position of the British on John's Island. ,The two armies were now about thirty miles from the capital of the State, watching each other's movements. So soon as the British left their lines before the city, Peter Timothy ascended the steeple of St Michael's church and watched all their motions. Prevost's intention was to return to Savannah, not b^ main land, but by passing successively from one island to another, and thus evade an attack. General Lincoln's object was to throw every obstacle in his power in the way of Prevost, on/1 if nnuikla nrpwpnt him from rftachinCT Savannah. The coast of South Carolina, especially in this region which stretches between Charleston and Savannah, Georgia, is dotted with an almost countless number of islands. These are surrounded by inlets whicji are affected by the flow and ebb of the tide. Such were the circumstances by which General Lineoln were surrounded, that it was difficult for him to do any thing that would impede the movement of the enemy. Prevost was not well provided with boats to convey his men and military appendages over the inlets which surrounded the islands. Lincoln's condition was even worse than that of Prevost. He had no boats and no means of procuring any. The first encounter which occurred between the British and Americans, after Prevost left Charleston, occurred on the night of the 19th of May. When Prevost crossed over from the main land on James Island, the Americans had a small detachment of less than one hundred men on John's Island. The two islands are separated by Stono river, and the camps of the beligerents were nearly opposite each other, and so near as to be seen. The American forces consisted of two companl? ofmtiiila; one from Beaufort, commanded by Captain Robert Barnwell, and the other commanded by Captain John Raven Matthews of John's Island. Captain Matthews held the oldest commission and took command of the whole force. It is evident that Captain Matthews could not, with .his small force of about seventy-five men, withstand Prevost who had fully two thousand men under his command. Captain Matthews unfortunately was both imprudent and selfwilled. Contrary to the judgment and entreaties of those who understood the critical condition in which the small force on John's Island was placed, he persisted in drawing out his men in open day and mustering them in full view of the British. Their numbers were counted and a surprise planned. The personal friends of Captain Matthews entreated him not to expose his troops, and also begged him to double the number of his sentinels, that he might be prepared for a night attack. In his self-will, Captain Matthews pursued his own course. Thomas Legare was so much discouraged by the headstrong manner in which things were conducted, that he asked and obtained leave to join the guard stationed at Champlin's Point. Strange as it may seem, Captain Matthews had only two sentinels on duty, although he was in sight of the enemy. Possibly he thought the British contemplated making another attempt to capture the Capital of the State, and cared nothing about him and his small force; or it may be that he thought they could not oross the inlet which separates the two islands. Whatever may have been his conjectures as to the future movements of the British, he was in a critical condition and either did not know it, or knowing it did not care. The condition of things by which Captain Matthews was surrounded was very peculiar, and at least afford some palliation for the surprise with which he met. The British, in strong forcf, were on James Island, and an intriguing loyalist was on John's Island. Thomas Fenwick noted as a loyalist and friend of the British, and afterwards as the spy of General Green, came into the camp of Captain Matthews rn the evening of the 19th of May. He enjoyed the hospitality of the officers and engaged with them in conversation. Having learned all that he desired respecting the position of the forces under the command of Captain Matthews, he communicated the same to the British commander on James Island. At midnight a detachment of the British, in two divisions, crossed from James Island to John's. One division marched to Feuwick's house, the other to InniJmn Tkav OK nnw in nnfli l'lawuu TT a IttUUlUg* AHVJ nv?w Mwt> tion to surround the camp of the Americans. Every preparation being made, Fenwick gave the signal, and both divisions of the British commenced to march simultaneously on the American camp. Fenwick, althongh he had but a few hours before supped in the American camp with the officers, acted as guide in leading the British against his personal friends and neighbors. The first sentinel was taken by surprise, and the countersign extorted from him. Before the second and only remaining sentinel could give the alarm, he was bayonetted. The sentinels thus removed, the British were not long in surrounding the camp of Capt Matthews. Every man was made prisoner. ,l The camp of the Beaufort company, under the command of Captain Bc^^y^arnwell, was then surrounded and a demand made for its immediate surrender. "WlfOTtUt^eiJonditionsof surrender?" asked Captain Barnwell. "No quarters to rebels,'' was the answer. Barnwell then turned to his men and said, "Defend yourselves to the last" In a moment every gun was cooked and leveled on the enemy. The British fell back a few paces. A sergeant of the royal army then announced ^ to the Americans that if they would BorrcS% der they should have honorable quarters. "By what authority," inquired Captain Barnwell, "do you make this promise? What is your rank V' It was replied, "I am but a sergeant in his majesty's service, but my word is as good as that of any officer in the army." This assurance having been given of their safety, Captain Barnwell and his men surrendered. No sooner had they laid down their arms than they were set upon by the British, with bayonets, and nearly all either killed or severely wounded. Captain Barnwell received seventeen bayonet wounds, and was left on the ground supposed to be dead. He, however, afterwards recovered. Connected with this affair of Captain Mat thews with the British at John's Island, there are several little incidents which are not wholly without interest The name of the second sentinel with whom the British came in contact, in their approach to the camp of Captain Matthews, was James Black. He was a brave man and uM his .doty to his country faithfully? He was a ship carpenter by trade and resided in Beaufort One of the many wounds which he received was a bayonet stab in the fleshy part of his back, the point of the bayonet going towards the' backbone. Tho-wound*-of were afterwards dressed and lie was sent to Chrjleston. In order to keep the wound open the surgeon, or whoever it was that dressed it, inserted a piece of gentian root, several inches long, in the cavity made by the bayonet This was not discovered for some time, and the gentian root becoming saturated with blood, increased in size and tore the wound asunder, caufing great inflammation and much pain. The gentian root was taken oot, but the inflammation had reached the spinal-marVow and James Black died. Robert Barnwell was, as we have already stated, stabbed with seventeen bayonet wounds and supposed to be dead. He Was taken up and removed to the house of Robert Gibbs and kindly nursed by Mrs. Gibbe. This suggests another noble deed that occurred in the Gibbe family. Duringthe stay of the British on John's Island, the family of Robert Gibbs were forced, one dark night, to leave the house and seek a place of refuge. In their hurry to depart, they forgot an inJant, I a distant relation of the family, in the house. No one would volunteer to go back for the child. The servants refused. Moved by a kind and pitying heart, Mary Ann Gibbe, a girl of only thirteen, faced the darkness of the night and went back, more than a mile after the child. After being several times refused by the occupants of the house, she succeeded, at last, in obtaining permission to enter the room in which the child had been left. There she found the little fellow sleeping soundly, unconsoious of the booming of - ' /? ni _ canoon and the clashing 01 arms, one hwk him up in her arms and hastened to join the other members of the family. This child, thus rescued by Mary Ann Gibbs, was the gallant Lieutenant-Colonel Fenwick, of the war of 1812. THE 8TATE DEMOCRATIC CONTENTION. The delegates from the several counties to the State Democratic Convention, which will* assemble in Columbia on May 4, will be elected during the month of April. Some counties have been tardy in organizing; but, upon the whole, the Democracy are in better condition to use their strength effectively than they were in any previous campaign. Their straitened circumstances admonish them that reform and retrenchment must be had. They know that there is no present hope of obtaining good government in South Carolina through the Republican party. And they have banded themselves together, as Democrats, in order that they might enjoy the econ ??J "" i'w "lil/ili Padimlinm omy, DCUUlltJ' Clliu JUOIiIVW nuivu , denies to the people. This is the object of Democratic organization. The State Convention will appoint delegates to the National Democratic Convention, to be held in St Louis on Jane 26, and will "take such further action as the Convention shall deem proper and necessary." It is desirable, therefore, that the Democracy generally should consider beforehand what "further action" can be taken. The object to be attained by the Democratic party, good government, must be sought in one of two ways?by the independent action of the Democratic party, nominating a full Democratic State ticket; or by the independent action of the Democratic party, nominating a partial Democratic ticket, and voting, under certain conditions, for Republicans for offices for which the Democrats make no nominations. In either case, the party organization and discipline will be maintained. In neither case will there be any fusion or amalgamation. The question is whether, for suffici&it reasons, the Democrats will abstain from making some particular nomination ; or will, under any and all circumstances, vote for Democrats only. There is a difference of opinion in the State. In some counties the feeling is evidently against any voting for Republicans, 1 L ? ? J i in nfKnii AAlin. However nouesi, auu wuauw, w uwvi w?? ties there is perfect willingness to support a Republican that will advance the cause the people have at heart. The object is to win, to secure good government, and the course that offers the greatest prospect of success is the proper one to take. But at this time who can say positively which is the course that offers the greatest of success ? We may have our preferences; but we have not the facts upon which to base final opinion and definite action. Nor can those ne had, it seems to us, until much later than May. These considerations are worthy of remembrance when the delegates to the State Convention are chosen; for those delegates will decide whether the Convention shall, in May, go beyond the election of delegates to the National convention, and the election of a State Executive Committee. It is not necessary to instruct the delegates. They can be left to their own good judgment; but as so much will depend on their combined firmness and prudence, we hope that they will be so selected that they shall not be the spokesmen of coteries or cliques, but the trusted and trustworthy representatives of the oounties whence they come.?Charleston JXevn and Courier. The Other Side.?While the newspapers are filled with the rascalities of men in high positions, and the details of crimes and acts of meanness in private life, many deeds of benevolence are bat briefly stated or go entirely unrecorded. It is the worst part of orr social life thntris, blazoned abroad. Acts Mae that of JotoaM&MP, of Salem, Mass., are little bera^uBror commented upon. He recently destroyed'130,000 of mortgages which he held agaifcetpoorpeOple.- He pat-them into the lie rather than distress the poor. 8uoh a deed shines brightly amid the venality and corruption which prevail in high places, and makes one think better of his kind, m? 'W