Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, June 01, 1876, Image 1
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VOL. 22. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JTJ^E 1. 1876. . . NO. 22.
SftUtbti facttg.
THE GOLDEN SIDE.
There is many a rose in the road of life,
^ If we would but stop to take it;
And many a tone from the better land,
If the querulous heart would make it.
To the sunny soul that is full of hope,
And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth,
The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Though the winter storm prevaileth.
Better to hope, though clouds hang low,
And to keep the eve still lifted,
For the sweet blue sky will still peep through,
When the ominous clouds are rifted.
There never was a night without a day,
Or an evening without a morning;
And the darkest hour, so the proverb goes,
Is the hour before tne dawning.
There is many a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
That is richer far than the jeweled crown
Or the miser's hoarded treasure ;
It may be the love of a little child
Or a mother's prayer to heaven,
Or only a beggar s grateful thanks
For a cup or water given.
Better to weave in the web of life
A bright and golden Ailing;
And do God's work with a ready heart,
And hands that are prompt and willing,
Than to snap the delicate minute threads
Of our curious lives asunder,
And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends,
And sit and grieve and wonder.
JU Anginal ftotg.
_ a
Written for the Yorkvllle Enquirer.
LAYING A. GHOST.
THE STORY OP A YOUNG PHYSICIAN.
By Col. Juan Lewi*, of 8outh Carolina, Author of "Trust Her
Not," "The Lady Helolse," etc., etc.
It was about two years after I bad received
my diploma, when I was just getting into practice,
that the remarkable incident I shall
herein narrate, took place.
I had been out all day, and bad returned
to my office?which was the front apartment
of the suite of rooms I occupied for a residence?with
a feeling of more than ordinary
weariness superinduced by the unusual labor
of filling the appointments of a medical friend,
aiiJ.lanlv ailmmnnod nnf. nf tnwn. and had
OUUUVUXJ QUWUUVUWt VM? v* ? .. -| ?
just finished a bowl of chocolate, sitting in my
"* easy chair, with my slippered feet on the fender,
consciously thankful at the prospect of a
night of rest and absolute quite?for my own
practice had thus far proved most exasperat
tingly inactive?when there came a sudden
peal at the bell.
"Scipio Africanus," I commanded, to the
sable and un-Roman youth, whose business it
was to officiate as door-tender and errand-boy
in the purveyor's department, "Scip., if it's a
messenger from any of Dr. Jones' patients, I
am here; but if it is from any of mine?ha!?
well, I am here also," I added, hesitatingly,
fortified by the chocolate against previous
weakness, and feeling, on reflection, secure in
the latter promise.
Closing the door I had opened, while speaking,
I re-seated myself in listening attitude.
An excited messenger, and a breathless one, i
r ?Wfe doflfluent, after a few hur-'
ried words had passed, and my heart beat a
trifle quicker at the prospect of employment,
notwithstanding my weariness; for I was
y young and jealous in the profession I loved.
The messenger Droved to be a woman?a
? o A
small, diminutive one, but a woman neverthe*
%
lew?as the brilliant eyes, large and dark,
looking at me from overshadowing brows, and
the wavy hair, sufficiently attested.
She was veiled and hooded with various
wraps?for the evening had set in dark and
stormy?to the extent of concealing most of
her form and features, and did not seem anxious,
even after she had stood under the gaslight,
to reveal her identity.
I thought nothing of this at the moment,
however, for seeing at once that she was unknown
to me, I waited with an assumption of
professional indifference, which effectually
concealed the eagerness I felt for her to make
known to me her errand.
She did so with a brevity and conciseness
quite marvelous in my experience then or
now. She evidently respected me, for she re<
snontcul mT7 timft
? OJIWWU '?J
I was sent for professionally to attend Miss
Girard, of Walnut street; a young lady of
whom I had often heard in connection with
charitable institutions, and societies for ameliorating
the condition of the poor; a young lady
wealthy, liberal and accomplished, and
famed equally for good looks and good sense.
Her father I remembered quite well, as a man
eminent in his profession, that of a lawyer,
and had met him, during his life time, once
or thrice.
He had been dead, perhaps, a year and ahalf.
I am not a man of many words, when action
is requisite, and I hastily donned my cloak
and walking-shoes?gums, as the Philadelphia
ana term them?and placing a miniature surgical
and medicine case in my pocket, on the
chance of its being required?for inquiry failed
to elicit from the messenger the character
or scope of Miss Girard's ailment?I announced
myself in readiness, and we started.
I knew the house very well?a large brown
stone mansion, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth
streets, with side yard and a high wall
cornering on a broad alley?and leading the
way thither by the most direct route, we were
not long in reaching it.
A street lamp stood directly in front of the
mansion, and another further along on the
nnrner. But for these, the house would have
been shrouded in darkness.
There was no light visible within.
Thus far I had preceded the messenger;
the only words passing between us having
reference to the condition of the streets, the
. storm and the night, and confined to monosylables.
She now darted ahead of me, ran lightly
up the steps, and turning a key which she produced
from her pocket, gave us both admittance.
Cautioning me to remain motionless a moment,
until she could produce a light, the
messenger ignited the gas in the hall with a
celerity and quietude that pleased me as
much as her conciseness and brevity had
done. A model maid, surely.
The heavy, carved walnut door stood open
on its silver hinges, and the light from the
hall-chandelier fell softly and invitingly upon
^ the many-colored carpet, luxurious furnishing
j and tasteful adornments of the spacious par,
lore, otherwise unlighted, and at a gesture
from the messenger, I entered.
I As I did so, there was a rustle of silk, as
1 of some one moving away from the window,
and, a moment more, a lady came forward
and took my hand with a cheerful greeting.
It was Miss Girard, as I instantly became
aware?for her form and figure were not un
known to me?but with no evidence, so far
as I could see in the uncertain light, in either
voice or manner, of one requiring the services
of a physician. On the contrary, there was
a repose?a calmness?a self-poise?that is
never seen, save in persons in good health.
There was a slight flush upon her cheek and
lip, indicative of possible excitement; but excitement
wholly and entirely under control.
It added, I could not help observing, to her
usually rather stately style of beauty a girl
1- * ?L. ? "J ? nlnnannf (aflfllK&Q Aid
lenuess WU1CU ujauc uei pcaoaui icaiuico 1UI
more expressive than I could have believed
possible.
She must have noticed the astonishment
with which I regarded her; for the surprise
I felt had thus far found no expression in
words.
"I see you wonder why I have sent for you,
Dr. Pangborne?" she said, after the first
greeting was over and her maid had lighted
the gas. "You expected to find me ill, and
on the contrary, you see me in robust health.
I was never sick in my life that I can remember?so
far as the word can apply to the physical,
but in a spiritual sense I need a physician?a
counselor, an advisor?for in that
sense my illness is serious and alarming!"
I was about to ask her why she did not
send for a clergyman whose duties would ap- j
pear to be of the nature she required ; when,
as if divining my thoughts, she continued?
"No mere clergyman, however devout and
disinterested he might be, could solve the difficulty
; or finding the solution, could apply
the remedy. A man of nerve?of decision?
of sense?one whose pursuits and love of
science have led hira into these fields, comparatively
unexplored?where the hidden laws
of Nature, and the marvelous working of the
occult forces have given him a belief in things
beyond the scope of his present vision?things
attainable and to be grasped hereafter, as he
progresses toward the ultimate and the true ;
a man who has been, and is both student and j
observer?such, in short, Dr. Pangborne, as I
believe you to be. With which preamble, if
I have not already frightened you," she went
on with a half smile of seriousness, "I will
make known to you certain facts?astounding
in themselves by the light of old superstitions ;
but, save for results, absolutely as unimportant,
and as much under control of divine law,
as the moving of one's finger by the force of
| will."
I was interested at once, for my readings
had been to some extent in the direction indicated,
and I had long been satisfied that there
v>ere more things in heaven and earth than
were drearapt of in philosophy.
I expressed, therefore, my willingness to
do Miss Girard a service, if possible, in this,
as in any other direction, to the very best of
my professional or private capacity.
"I expected as much," was her simple response,
"for although we have never met, my
father had seen you, and had occasion to
speak of you in terms which I need not re-V
'caTTTsince tliis* is not an hour for bandying
compliments between us.
"Let me explain as nearly as I can, and
as briefly as I must, the nature of the facts
of which I have spoken.
"My father, as you, perhaps, are aware, has
been dead a year and a half. I use the word
io its convenient sense, for to me he was never
more alive than now. He died in that
room, the door of which you see yonder, and
since he was carried out, it has been opened
| to the light of day but once. That once was
I when I sought to account for the singular
phenomena I am about to describe.
"My father's last illness, as you may
not know, resulted from accident. He was
thrown from the carriage while riding in the
park at Fairmount, and brought home insensible.
He never spoke consciously but once
afterward, and then iucoherently, with some
apparent weight upon his mind, which I construed
to be the unexpressed wish for some desired
explanation.
"After his death, the house was shut up for
a few weeks, and I went on a prolonged visiting
tour; but go where I would, or do what
| I would, the thought of that unexpressed wish
| of my father haunted me, and I felt a continually
increasing desire to return. Finally,
without excuse or warning, I came suddenly
back, sent for our old visitors and attempted i
to live here again as I had done in my fath-1
er's life time. But in vain.
"It was not alone the absence of my pa- j
rent. I had become accustomed to loneliness i
and self-reliance, from the death of my mother,
occurring some years before, and my fath-1
er had been a taciturn man, spending very
little of bis time at home ; but it was something
deeper. Looking back to it now, after
the lapse of so long a period, I wonder that
it has affected me so little. But my mind,
like my body, I fear, has never given me a
reputation for anything but strength."
I made a gesture of entering a protest'
here; but with her habitual Siren's smile, she
gave me no opportunity, and continued her
narrative.
"The third night after my return home I
had retired to rest; had fallen slowly asleep,'
until past twelve, when I suddenly awoke and j
set upright, with the sensation one experiences j
on finding some person long absent uuexpect-!
edly near.
"It was a moonlight night outside, and
some rays stole through the half-drawn cur- i
tains, weaving strange, grotesque images upon '
the floor. There was light enough for me to
see, had there been any human form present j
beside myself; but there was none.
"And yet with that sensation of a personal
presence near me, which I strove to negative
by glancing about me, I felt a hand laid in j
soothing tenderness upon my forehead, aud
then transferred to ray arm, while at the same
I instant, a strong desire took possession of me
to rise and go down stairs.
"I can no more explain this desire or impression
now than then ; hut the touch upon
my forehead and arm was clearly defined?
soft, clinging, elastic, and reminding me at
once so strongly and irresistibly of my father,
that all of my mother came to my eyes and
gave me up to tears.
"There was no feeling of dread suggested
by\hat touch?no thought of danger, should
I obey that impulse to go down stairs.
"I threw around rae a warm wrapper, and
opening my door, softly glided out upon the
landing. The city clocks were striking, and
I paused to listen.
"One! Past midnight, then, as I had
thought on arising from my deep sleep. I
paused a moment longer, but no sound came
up from below, The servants were all in bed
hours ago, and only from afar came the inter
mittent sounds of occasional cars and horses'
hoofs.
"Had my mind been of a less practical
turn, and had I been inclined to think this
awakening and rising but a dream, those
sounds would have convinced me to the contrary.
That warm, light touch was upon my
arm, that impression to go down still strong '
in my brain, and lead where it would, I did j
not hesitate nor falter.
"Under that guidance, I descended, crossed
the hall, passed through the parlors and went
direct to the door of my father's room yonder.
Then an unaccountable hesitation?an
absolute terror?siezed me. Not fear of possible
or probable danger to myself. Not fal
tering from any weakness attributable to myself,
but a fear, a faltering, a hesitation, a
terror for the result that may ensue to my father's
good name.
"Thrice, I strove to lift the latch?to turn
the key?to enter. I could not do it. I,
whose natural and calm self-control had been,
since childhood, equally condemned and commended
by my friends and acquaintances?
I shrank at last before the feeling, unknown
and incomprehensible around within me.
"That electric touch was still upon my arm ;
but now as powerful as if it had been the living
fleshly hand of my father, it seemed to drag
me backward, while the impulse to proceed
was succeeded by a desire for flight.
"I obeyed that impulse.
"As suddenly as it had come upon me, I
turned and fled?fled to my room, went to bed
and was soon in sound and dreamless slumber,
from which I awakened a little past the usual
hour in the morning, somewhat unrefreshed,
like a person disturbed from any cause during
sleep, but with a very vivid impression of
what had transpired in the night.
"And was this the last of the adventure?"
I asked, on finding that she paused.
"The last for that time, Doctor," was her '
response; but it was only au example of sev- ]
eral'others recurring at regular intervals, all j
of which were exact reproduction, in time, circumstance
and detail of the first; and I have I
I
been thus particular in relating it?even at
the risk of wearying you?that you might all
the easier comprehend what I am about to propose.
It is this:
"Once in three months, promptly to the
hour, this phenomena has regularly taken
place as described. To-night it will recur 1
again. I shall be brought to yonder door, I 1
am confideut, in the same manner as heretofore,
and shall then be seized with the same
uncontrollable desire for flight. I wish that '
flight to be prevented. I wish you, Doctor, 1
to prevent it. This phenomena has ceased to 1
be interesting merely as phenomena. What- (
ever results are to be reached through or by 1
it, I am anxious to discern forthwith. I be- ^
lieve there is some act of my father's life for *
which he wishes reparation made, yet dreads *
my making it. This is, perhaps, a singular
conviction, and certainly not a pleasant one
since that first adventure, and has gone on un- til
it has become bearable no longer." 1
"You have never had the room examined, '
I infer, Miss Girard?" I inquired, as she
paused.
"Never thoroughly; neither the bed-room I
nor the library which it adjoins, have been
opened since his death, but once, and then ]
? xi_. j 1:? c_?? i
ODiy nis room, on uie uay BuuueeuijLig tuc uigt
phenomenon. The library door was locked
and bolted, and the key, on inquiry and search,
could not be found.
"I would have sent for a locksmith, and had
a full and complete examination of everything
in the rooms," I said, decisively.
"You are a man, Doctor, and can face destiny
in any form. I own I often thought of
doing what you suggest; but social considerations,
I confess, have weight with me. I
shrink from making known, in any degree, to
the unthinking, my interior life. The metaphor
of casting pearls to swine arises in my
mind. What if some discovery, dishonorable
to my father, whose reputation is now spotless,
should be made ? How could I risk the possibility??or
take counsel with the ignorant
and unsympathizing, even though they were
of my own kin or household ? No. This
thought?suspicion, if you will?is rainealone.
It has been forced upon me by more than human
agency. I have sought neither sympathy
nor advice, in. the course of its development,
until now. I offer no apology for asking
both, Doctor Pangborne, from you."
I expressed very briefly, as was natural,
my sense of the honor conferred by the con- "
fidence thus shown ; and asked her a question 1
or two, which had arisen in my mind during
- - i
her narrative: Whether she had ever known
of a case of somnambulism in her family?
If she herself had ever been & l 'icted to
walking in her sleep?
Never, she responded, promptly. There
was not the faintest resemblance to somnambulism
in the regularly recurring phenomena
she had described. Of that she was satisfied.
I said no more on this bead, but stated my
readiness to adopt whatever course she might
suggest for the furtherance of the end she had
in view.
It was her conviction that if the door, to
which she was impelled, and then restrained
from opening, on these occasions, could once
be passed, she would be led on to whatever
discovery, or purpose, these strange influences
designed. And it was at that precise moment,
when doubt and hesitation had heretofore
seized her, that she wished me to come to !
her aid and be governed by circumstances as '
to what should follow.
Thus much uuderstood, and the hour by
this time having grown late, Miss Girard re- 1
tired, leaving me to watch for her reappear-; i
ing in charge of her invisible guide.
I looked at my watch. * I
Past eleven ; two hours or more to wait. j
I drew a broad, well-cushioned sofa in front |
; of the fire; replenished the coals ; helped my-!
! self to refreshments on the table ; selected j
| half a dozen books from some ornamental
shelves in a corner, and settled comfortably
down for the campaign.
I had no fear of being unable to keep awake.
All desire for sleep, and all thought of weariness,
which had been strong upon me in the
j early evening, had vanished away with my
; first advent here. I never felt better able to
cope with life or death. I could have removed
an eye, or amputated a limb for toy
dearest friend with the utmost cheerfulness.
As my thoughts again gradually turned to
what I had heard from Miss Oirard, and the
haunting influences which came so regularly,
I wondered less at the conviction that had fcaj
ken such strong hold upon her.
I Was it, indeed, a spirit? And did some
unmistakable law of its being compel its return
again and again? And I*thought of
Shakspeare's matchless creations, and wondered
whence the inspiration that he drew of
Hamlet's Father and Duncan's Ghost
Taking up one of the elegant little volumes
I had placed beside me, I found it to be Murray's
pocket edition of Byron's dramas, and
opening it, my eye fell upon the following:
"When the moon is on the wave,
And the meteor on the grave;
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.
Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet tny spirit shall not sleep;
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone.
Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye,
As a thing that though unseen,
Must be near thee and hath been.
And when in that secret dread,
Thou hast turned around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot."
"Enough of that for once," I muttered,
rather lugubriously, closing the diminutive
volume. "These utterances of the 'Spirit of
the Alps' are not particularly inspiriting, to
say the least, however confirmatory of our
view of Miss Girard's belief. Let me turn
for relief to a page of the immortal Dickens."
I took up another book?a work of the
great novelist?and read a brief but vividly
drawn picture of travel, wreck and suffering,
concluding as follows:
"As I recall the dispersal and disappearance of
nearly all the participators in this once famous
shipwreck, thoughts of another kind of
travel come to my mind. Thoughts of a voyager
unexpectedly summoned from home; thoughts of
this unhappy wayfarerin the depths of hissorrow,
in the bitterness of his anguish, in the helplessness
of his self-reproach, in the desperation of his
desire to set right what he had left wrong, and do
what he had left undone. For there were many
things he had neglected. Little matters while he
was at home and surrounded by them, but things
of mighty moment when he was at an immeasurable
distance. There were many, many blessings
that he had inadequately felt; there were
many trivial injuries that he had not forgiven ;
there was love that he had but poorly returned;
there was friendship that he had too lightly prized;
there were a million kind words that he might
have spoken; a million kind looks that he might
have given ; uncountable slight, easy deeds in
which ne might have been most truly great and
good. O 'foraday (he would exclaim) for but one
day to make amends! But the sun never shone
upon that happy day. Why does this traveler's
Fate obscure the other histories of travelers......and
aist a solemn shadow over me ? Must I, one day,
make his journey ? Even so. Who shall say that
[ may not then be tortured by such late regrets;
i-Urt* T frAW TY\ XT OTllp HT1 ITlV
HJttb X 1IIOJ JlUb I.11CU Jwun. 1IUUI w.. J
srnpty place and undone work ? I stand upon a
*hore whose waves are years. They break and
fall, and I may little heed them ; but with every
svave the sea is rising, and I know that it will
float me on this traveler's voyage at last."
I laid down the book in thoughtful silence.
If these mighty men, whose genius had
been of such incalculable benefit to the hu nan
race?whose spiritual insight into the
profoundest depths of our common nature
3an only be fully appreciated by the centuries
;hat succeed them?if these and kindred souls
leld such faith, might there not be in Miss
airard's theory truth and reason beyond
inything I bad yet conceived ?
Without a doubt?Yes!
Under the impulse of my thoughts, I arose
x> nay feet ?ddugm pnaiog up and down.
[ had taken a half-dozen turns, more or less,
yhen a gliding foot-step on the stairs caused
ne to pause abruptly.
Was the looked-for hour at hand ?
I glanced eagerly at the ormolu clock on
;he mantel for an answer.
It was in the act of striking, as the whirring
wheels denoted, and the hands pointed to
;he hour of one.
Simultaneous with the stroke of the clock,
ind while the air was yet vibrating with the
resonant ringing, the door was pushed open
ind Miss Girard entered.
Her dress was the same as that wherein she
lad left me. She had evidently only lain
lown. If there was any difference in her appearance,
it was unobservable, save in, periaps,
a greater firmness of carriage and
ilight rigidity of limb and muscle. Her eyes
were wide open, but not staring; the long,
graceful lashes raised inquiringly, but not
ipprehensively.
She passed me so close that I involuntarily
itepped aside to avoid collision; and though
ier eyes rested for a single instant full upon
ny face, yet she gave no indications of seeing
ue.
She went on till she reached the door of
what led from her father's room, with a seemng
directness of purpose which showed no
ligns of wavering.
There?with oue hand upon the knob, and
;he other outstretched to grasp the key?she
ecoiled; while form and features becanite
convulsed with agitation.
I had turned when she passed me and softy
followed, keeping some pace with her.
I now stepped briskly to her side, as doubt,
lesitation and rising terror appeared fast
* ? " 5 1 1 I l_
gaining the mastery?turnea Key ana kiiou,
ihot the bolt, and threw open the door.
A faint, mu9ty odor?inseparable from
lisused rooms long closed to the outside atmosphere?came
pouriDg out.
I had placed a hand in restraining readiaess
to intercept any flight on the part of
MissGirard, should she attempt one; but it
proved wholly unnecessary.
As the door flew back on its hinges, all
loubt and hesitation vanished away?like a
step once taken that can never be retraced.
She seemed to recognize it as such, for a
jlow of joy instantly illumined her features,
merging her stately beauty for the moment
in the angelic.
Without pausing to glance about her, she
passed through the room to a door at the opposite
end that evidently opened into the private
library of which she had told me.
The door was fast.
Remembering she had said the key was
lost, I hastily looked about me for some instrument
to aid in forcing an entrance.
An old sabre, evidently of Revolutionary
origin, hung on a nail against the wall, and
leizinp this, after trying the lock, I drove the
point slanting in opposite the holt and taking
a backward pry, had the satisfaction of hearing
the bolt move. Another, and I was able
to throw back the door.
Miss Girard had as yet spoken no word,
and restraining her further advance by a negative
gesture, I secured a match from my
pocket-case and ignited the gas. It flamed
up, throwing a brilliant light over all within ;
but what neglect and discoloration it revealed
1
The dust of years lay thick upon carpet
and curtains until figures and hue were alike
obliterated 1
Near a window that was down t. little at
the top, a statuette had fallen or been blown
riown, and shattered into many fragments; the
cords of two or three heavy pictures had given
way, and what were subsequently proven
to be rare gems of art, lay prostrate. A
banging shelf, loaded with books, had also
fallen, and volumes of various sizes were
strewn upon the floor.
Dust and desolation in the midst of luxury 1
But what immediately attracted my attention
was a large, ornamental book-case with a
wing on each side, the centre door of which
was standing open, showing a suspended
sheet of foolscap containing a few lines of
writing.
I hastily approached to examine it, followed
by MiBs Girard, and as I detached it from its
place and took it in my hand, her voice for
the first time broke silence.
"It is my father's writing, Doctor," she
said, in her usual tone, "read it, please."
I would have declined and placed it in her
hand, but a glance at her face, which, though
firm, had lost the rigidity I had noticed, and
resumed its individualized and characteristic
expression, induced me to yield.
There were stains and blotches upon the
paper, like rust or blood ; but they might have
been ink. Evidently the document bad been
hastily written. The date it bore was that of
some years back.
It contained a revelation thus:
"Whoever reads this will And in the large drawer
beneath, the indication of a purpose that should
have been fulfilled during my life-time. But I
have lacked nerve to complete it. Often and over
again hav " sought to nerve myself to the task of
reparation; but how could I, after all thessyears,
make the explanations that would result in the
alienation of my daughter's love from me ? I
could not do it. Anything but that; and I have
gone on, enjoying the wealth that was rightfully
another's, unable to take the step that justice and
conscience daily pleaded ought to be taken, until
it Is probably too late to make amends. For this
sin and folly of concealment and avarice have
borne legitimate fruits, and I dare not face the
sure disgrace which would inevitably follow.
For after twenty years of silence, who would believe
me to be, as I am, innocent of intentional
wrong? The papers beneath will show all, and
more, than I could utter. Make such use of them
as may be deemed fitting. I shall be beyond the
reach of mortals and the world's opinion, whatever
it may think, when this is read ; and of my
darling daughter alone! ask forgiveness for this
legacy of disgrace. I have secured the property
to her beyond the action of law, even should the
original heirs be found to be living. With her I
leave the iesult. If she burns those papers?as I
have often tried to do, but as often failed in doing?
the secret dies, and no one is the wiser. For her
the consideration.
"I have done. May the grave hide my weakness,
and my darling forgive and pardon what I
know she cannot forget. Wilkes Giuard."
As I finished the reading, I looked at Miss
Girard. She was deadly pale, and for a moment
her strength seemed leaving her. She
gasped and would have fallen, had I not
caught her in my arms. I bore her to the
parlor?laid her on the sofa in front of the still
smouldering fire?hastily administered restoratives,
and leaving her to recover, retarned
and secured all the papers referred to, bolted
the doors as I bad found them, and returned to
Miss Girard.
She was already sitting up, awaiting me,
with something like her ordinary composure.
I placed the papers in her hands with a suggestive
glance from them to the fire?a suggestion
instantly repelled by a look that was
stern and absolute in its desire and demand
for duty and for right.
?amsrsollcilour request, 1 sat down with"
her to an examination of the documents,
which lasted for two hours, and arose with the
conviction that the idea of fraudulent possession,
more than hinted at in the paper I had
read, was not?as I hoped?a myth resulting
from failing health ; but a miserable fact.
The rightful heir, it appeared, had been a
sailor, supposed lost at sea, and thought to
have Been a bachelor; but some years afterwards
a wife and children had come to the
surface on one of the lowest currents of Liverpool
life?wretchedly poor and debased. A
sum of money sufficient to place them above
want for the future had been settled on them;
but they had been kept in total ignorance of
the source whence it came, until deaths and
removals to other countries had left no trace
of the survivors.
What, then, was to be done? It might
take every dollar of which Miss Girard was
nncaPMfid tn renav nrincioal and interest of
the original inheritance during all these years.
Was it expedient to evoke from the oblivion
where it was rested a case so full of doubt?
If the lost sailor had died unmarried, then
the estate was properly descended, and the
years of ignorance on that point would certainly
suggest a strong doubt.
I was going on with these and other objections
to the-re-opening of the case, when Miss
Girard laid her hand upon my arm and stopped
me.
There was no mistaking the expression of
her calm and resolute face. Truth, love and
duty shone in every lineament, and gave something
of the angelic to the glance of her eyes
as she softly spoke of her father.
Her determination was irrevocable. At
whatever coat or personal sacrifice, she would |
right the wrong. The surviving cbildreh of
the dead sailor, or grand-children, if there
were any, should be sought out. Could I?
Doctor Pangborne?aid her in this ?
What answer could I make but yes ; and
making an appointment for the next day, we
parted for the night.
Two days thereafter, with such memoranda
and data as I could obtain, I sailed for Liverpool,
leaving my ex-isperatingly few patients
in charge of my friend for whom I had done
similar service.
I was absent a year, during which time I
pursued the search unwearyingly, and returned
at last with the sole surviving relative of
the lost sailor?a little golden-haired, neglected
orphan?half English, half Frenoh?a
grand-daughter, whom I found playing on the
Quai de Porte at Marseilles.
She was received by Miss Girard with a
' ** ? Ulif /vnAA in A lt^AflVMA
WtSlUULLit;, cuuli as wuujco uubuuuo iu m tucwuio,
She found a place immediately in her heart
and home for the motherless child.
Legal steps were promptly taken for restoring
the estate to the original channel whence
it had diverged. But no immediate ehange
was rendered necessary thereby?Miss Girard
being appointed by the Court trustee and
guardian of the little girl during minority.
And thus the business was happily concluded.
There was never but one allusion to the
phenomena of that night's adventure between
MissGirard and myself, and that was shortly
thereafter, when she had promised to become
my wife. Then she said :
"My belief was true, dear; but the Ghost
was Laid that night. It has never returned,
thank Heaven I"
In which declaration of thankfulness the
reader will, no doubt, concur.
Do not kill the toads. In Paris, they
are sold at fifty cents a dozen, in order to protect
vineyards and gardens from insects. A
toad will swallow the biggest kind of tomato
worm.
pstiNg flf JL (tartiiw.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES
OF THE
Early Settlement of South Carolina.
BY REV. ROBERT LATHAR.
THE BATTLE OF WAXHAW.
-- frtll infa fko kon/)a
OU OUUU VU3 VUllliCOlUU lOIi tuw UUO uhuuu
of the British, the commander-in-chief of
his majesty's forces in America, determined
to push his conquest until all the territory
south of the Potomac would be prostrate jtf
the feet of the British lion. Never since the
beginning of the war, had the prospects for
the British been so bright and the affairs of
the colonies in so discouraging a condition.
The first object of Sir Henry Clinton was to
send a strong fflrce into different sections of
the State of South Carolina, and gather up
recruits for his regiments from the tories and
loyalists of the interior of the State, and protect
the State against "cruelty and oppression,"
as he called the rule of the Whigs.
This accomplished, the troops were to march
into North Carolina, subdue it, and then into
Virginia, when the rebellion of the colonies
would be'crushed out So soon as the civil
government of South Carolina was put into
working condition, Clinton contemplated returning
to the North and leaving Lord Cornwallis
in command of the Southern division
of the British forces. This was a wise arnni
1 r ru:_. n
rangemeut. me piuua ui vxiuiuu woio ncn
conceived, but be greatly mistook the character
of the people he had to deal with. There
was no better officer in the British army than
Lord Cornwallis.
Whilst Clinton was busily engaged in tbe
work of reconstructing the city of Charleston,
that portion of the British army designed
for the interior of the State moved off in three
divisions under Lord Cornwallis. At Dorchester,
one division, under the command of Lieutenant
Colonel Brown, set out for Augusta,
Georgia; another, under the command of
Lieutenant Colonel Balfour, moved off for
Ninety Six; and the third division, under
Lord Cornwallis himself,marched for Camden.
When it was learned that Charleston had
fallen into the hands of the British, Colonel
Buford, with a force of about four hundred
continental soldiers, some cavalry, and two
field pieces, retired to Camden. This really
was the only armed force of any importance ,
in the State of South Carolina at that time.
This captured aod the work of subjugating
the State was complete. At least so thought
the British.
i
Cornwallis' point of destination was North
Carolina. Brown and Balfour were ordered .
to fortify Augusta and Ninety-Six. On his
way to North Carolina, Cornwallis determined
to capture or cut off Buford's command. ,
When, however, Buford heard of Cornwallis' ,
approach, he moved off leisurely from Cam- (
den m tha direetion of Charlotte, North Co* olina.
Cornwallis hearing of this, detached (
Colonel Bannister Tarleton with about seven (
hundred men, consisting of cavalry and light {
infantry, for the purpose of overtaking Buford.
No man was better fitted for such an enterprise
than Tarleton?brave to a fault and
x>..ii -r : 4 ? * k..+ .
lull ui eueigj* , luoucvuyua as a wiuauu, uuu
at the same timejrwitb a mind cool and calcu- ]
lating. No man was ever more to be feared >
than Colonel Tarleton. He was charged with
cruelty, and no doubt he was cruel, but all |
war is cruel. Tarleton always made a victo- '
ry complete. To out-general him as Morgan f
did at Cowpens, was no small honor to any \
man ; to out-fight him or Patrick Ferguson !
was as much praise as could be bestowed upon (
any officer. x ,
Impatient of delay, Tarleton left bis light f
infantry behind and pushed on with one hun- 1
dred and seventy dragoons. On the twenty- |
ninth of May, he came up with Colonel |
Abraham Buford about nine miles north of (
Lancaster village, in Lancaster county. The |
American forces were encamped on Waxhaw I
creek, near Waxhaw Presbyterian Church. 1
Before Buford was aware of the approach of {
the enemy he was surrounded by Tarleton's J
cavalry.
Of this affair there are two versions. One
is that Buford offered to surrender on the i
terms granted to Lincoln's army in Charles- j
ton. This Tarleton rejected. The other and {
more probable venion is that Tarleton sum- j
moned Buford to surrender on the same terms ^
granted to the American army at Charleston, j
This Colonel Buford rejected in the following i
words: "Sir: I reject your proposal, and i
shall defend myself to the last extremity." J
Tarleton, during the time that flags were pass- 1
ing back and forth was, it is said, making ^
preparation for battle. This was contrary to {
the usages of war. j
So soon as Colonel Buford rejected Tarleton's
proposal, the cavalry of the latter dash*
ed in upon the Americans and cut them to
pieces in a moment Buford's men were in
no position. They had received no orders
and did not know what to do. Some commenced
to fire upon the enemy, whilst others
threw down their arms and begged for quarters.
Of the Americans, one hundred and
thirteen were killed on the ground ; one hun- '
dred and fifty were so mutilated with the sabres
of the British dragoons that they were
unable to be removed, and fifty-three were
made prisoners. The British loss was five
killed and fifteen wounded. Colonel Buford,
with his cavalry, and near one hundred of the
infantry escaped. Buford's whole command
was totally ruined.
There is something mysterious about the
whole affair. Colonel Buford must have acted
with no decision, and it would appear that
Tarleton acted with an amount of cruelty rarely
heard of. No doubt both commanders were
censurable. Colonel Buford was surprised,
and so acritated that he did not know what to
do, and Tarleton, for various reasons, was s
anxious to make his victory a complete one. 1
The simple fact that whilst some of the Amer- (
icans were calling for quarters, others were j
firing upon the enemy, was cause suffieieaft r
why no quarters should be granted. ^ j
Tarleton says that after the America*} had*' 1
surrendered, they continued to take lip their *
arms and continued to fire. Thers^ fa some j
mistake about this. The small i&s on the }
side of British shows that very little firing f
was done by the Americans. "!
It would seem that althougb^u was ac- i
knowledged at the time, B^^pg command ?
was well officered, the offic^^Pecame panic
stricken and could do notl^^F Every thing
Colonel Buford did was wr^H He did noth- ,
to defend himself, and he^H nothing to in- ]
jure the enemy. He prepared for 1
fight nor flight. He had more than twice as
many men as Tarleton, and Tarleton's light
infantry were so far behind and so much exhausted
by forced marches, that they could
not have reinforced him until Buford could
have reached Charlotte, North Carolina, wheie
he would have met Colonel Porterfield and
been safe.
No doubt there was a fearful amount of
eruelty in Tarleton's nature, but we must not
ceosure our enemies without a cause. After
the lapse of a century, we cafi look back
calmly at men and events, and we can say
that both Tarleton and Cornwallis were brave
men?nd skillful officers. Cornwallis was a
gentleman, and he lauded and extolled Tarleton
for his management of the affair at Waxhaw.
It reflects no dishonor upon the patriots
to tell toe nonest trutn aooai me men wuu
whom they had to contend. On the other
hand, no higher encomium can be passed upon
the Whigs of America than to say that they
won their liberty in spite of as brave men and
as skillful officers as England ever sent to the
field of battle.
Both Cornwallis and Tarleton were cruel,
and the latter was often barbarous; but as
we shall often meet these officers, we should
at least endeavor to discover the incentive to
this cruelty. Especially was their cruel acts
perpetrated in the upper section of South
Carolina and the lower and western sections of
North Carolina. Both these regions of country
were settled by the same kind of people.
They were Whigs by every instinct of their
nature. The men were Whigs and the women
were Whigs. To be free was a part of
their religion. .Their history was known to
every well informed Englishman. They were
8cotch-Irish. When Colonel Tarleton entered
the Waxhaw country he saw signs of this
fact. The thrift of the people and the defiant
looks of the mother and children revealed the
TL. *1?1 ? ?:.u
ittUUS. XUC JJ1U1CB IU IUC1I UUUOOO niku bUO
Scotch versions of the Psalms, excited io his
mind strange and conflicting emotions. He
was afraid and he was enraged. He felt that
he must massacre or be massacred. He was
right Had his command fallen into the
hands of Colonel Buford, and then into the
hands of the Scotch-Irish of Waxhaw, he
would never have seen the face of King
George again. Even Tarleton's cruelty
aroused the spirits of the Scotch-Irish of the
up country and made "Tarleton's quarters" a
synonym for no quarters. No doubt Colonel
Tarleton thought, by bis cruelty, he would
crush the spirits of the Scoth-Irish; but he
only aroused them to vengeance. The surest
way to arouse a Scotch Irishman to put forth
all the energies of his soul, is to contrary him.
Torture only evolves the powers of his endurance.
Treat him kindly, and he is as gentle
as a lamb; impose upon him, and he will
nurse his wrath until it gains a momentum
which bids defiance to all obstacles. Tarleton's
cruelty at Waxhaw was the beginning
sf a death struggle for liberty. The Scotch- mammm
Irish never forgot the "massacre of JtJuford's
command and their great grand children to
this day feel their blood boil when Tarleton
and Waxhaw are mentioned.
GENERAL LEE'S WAR HORSE.
An ex-Confederate quartermaster named
Brown, living in West Virginia, gives the following
account of General Lee's war-horse,
Traveller: >
The horse was bred by Mr. Johnston, neav
the Blue 8ulphur Springs, Greenbrier county,
West Virginia. It was .of the "Grey Eagle"
stock, and, as a colt, took the first premium,
under the name of "Jeff Davis," at the Lewisburg
fairs for each of the years 18?9 and
1860. It was four years old in thesp|U\g or
summer of 1861. Captain James Wv Johnston,
son of Mr. Johnston above-mentioned, **
sold me the horse for $175, Confederate States
aotes, in the fell of 1861, when the Wise Legion,
with other troops under General Lee,
were encamped on Sewell Mountain, opposed
by General Rosecrans. While on Sewell
General Lee frequently admired the horse, 1
mnrfi than on eft ieatinclv remarked to me \ 1
w v?wv j? g rf j
to take good care of his colt, as he expected
to need it before the trouble was over. I, as .
quartermaster of the regiment (Third Wise, /
jr Sixtieth Virginia,) had full privilege of
the rear, and kept "Jeff" well stabled and
groomed, at least five miles from the enemy.
In December, 1861, the regiment to which I
was attached, then known as the Sixtieth Virginia,
Colonel Stark, was ordered to the South
Carolina coast, whither General Lee had already
preceeded us. Of course "Jeff" was
aken along. Upon meeting with General
Lee at Pocotaligo, South Carolina, he again
Inquired about his colt in his usual winning
way. I then offered him the horse as a gift,
which he promptly declined, in the friendliest
manner, however; at the same time reraarkng
that if I would not willingly sell him the
lorse, he would gladly use it for a week or two
jo learn its qualities, &c. I then left "Jeff
it General Lee's stables. In about a month
ifter, one of his staff officers returned the
loree to me, with a note from General Lee to
;he effect that the animal suited him, but that
le could no longer use so valuable a horse, in
inch troublous times, unless it were his own ;
;hat if I would not sell, please to keep the'
loree, with many thanks; that if I would sell,
;he officer would pay me my price and take
ny receipt for the amount, <fec. I took and
eceipted for $200 Confederate States notes,
ind "Jeff" became the property of General
Lee. This was February, 1862. In the
ipring of 1868 General Lee wrote me a note
itating that his horse had survived the war,
hat it was known as "Traveller" (I recollects
sd how he spelled the word, with two "l's",)
ind asking for the pedigree. I obtained the
jedigree from Captain J. A. Johnston and forvarded
it to General Lee. These details are
nentioned to recall the simple dignity and
lonesty of the man even in so trivial a matter
is a horse trade.
9 ^ *
A Word About Marriage.?A physi;ian
writes the following sensible advice: My
irofession has thrown me among women of
ill classes, and my experience teaches me
hat God never gave man a greater proof of
lis love than to place woman here with him.
tty advice is: Uo and propose to tne most
ensible girl you know. If she says yes, tell her
iow much your income is, from what source
lerived, and tell her you will divide the last
hilling with her, and love her with all your
leart in the bargain. And then keep your
iromise. ' My word for it she will live within
rour Income, and to your last hour you will
egret that you didn't marry sooner. Gen- lemen,
don't worry about feminine extravagance
and feminine untrutb>-.. Just you be
rue to her, love her sincerely, and show it to
ler frequently, and a more fond, faithful,
bolish slave: you will never meet anywhere,
ifou won't deserve her, I know, but she will
lever know it Now throw aside pride and
lelfishness, and see what will come of it
tGFA breeder of poultry Says: Every
ipring I procure a quantity, of cedar bough* .
ind scatter them in and around the
louse. The odor of the cedar keeps away the
ice. . . , ^