Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 15, 1877, Image 1
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VOL.' 23. YORKVILLE, 6. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 1877. ISTO. 11.
. JU ?tigrnal ^torg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
JULIAN MORYHLE'S BRIDE ;
OK,
THE POWER OF LOVE.
CHAPTER L
THE STAGE KOBBERS.
It was?on a dark, stormy night of March,
that a certain lumbering old stage-coach, carrying
the mail and other valuables, from a
town on the borders of California to another
town in Nevada, some twenty miles distant,
(I am not particular about names, because
tbey are of no importance at this juncture)
stood, with the usual complement of passengers
inside, at the door of ?he inn which constituted
its starting-point; while the driver,
buttoning up his rough great-coat with much
, deliberation, exchanged a few parting sallies
* with a knot of his cronies who were hanging
around.
"You'll have squally weather afore you
gets to Lone Pine, I reckon," observed one
of these worthies, with a glance upward. "If
you ain't precious careful driving along that
there precipice by Rocky Run, you'll hare
that old machine of yours over into the water,
sore as my name's Bill Jones."
"You'd have it over, I don't doubt, if you
was in my seat," retorted the driver. " You
couldn't drive this team along side a horsepond,
let alone Rocky Run, without capsizing1
the whole carrywan, in the night-time or the
day-time either. But I've driven over this
road many a worse night than this; sometimes
when I couldn't see my hand afore my face, {
and never came to grief yet. I'm too old a
hand at the job to miss my way."
"Lucky for you the horses knot# it so
well," laughed Mr. Jones. "There's salvation
for your passengers in that."
""You'd better npt try to influence my passengers'
minds by any more of your smart
talk," was the reply, given in rather a gruff
tone. "If I was such a blasted fool as not to
be able to sit on a coach-box, like some folks
I knows of, it would be well enough to talk.
But as it is, I'd advise you to hold your
tongue."
"Come, don't be getting personal, Jim,"
said the firstjspeaker, in a conciliatory manner.
"No offence meant, you know. I was
only wishing, for the sake of all concerned,
that the state of the atmosphere was a leetle
more favorable to the success of your undertakinc."
. 0"Hear,
hear!" cried another. "Bill's been J
studying a dictionary lately."
"Favorable or not, I don't care," quoth the I
driver. "Anybody who says I'm likely to
get on a wrong track, or to upset this vehicle
of mine by bad driving, in the bl tckest and
stormiest nifcht that ever could be seen, is a'
liar, and I'll stick to that."
Aad with a defiant glance around, Jehn
mounted the box, and gathered up the reins
in hishaDd.
"Wait till you come back, old chap," said
Bill Jones, significantly. "I'll settle with
you then, never fear."
"Come, thiB won't do," said the landlord, I
alarmed at these hostile demonstrations. "A j
joke's a joke, Jim, and you shouldn't be so j
touchy about it. Everybody knows you're
the smartest haud at a whip on the Pacific
slope. And Bill, you're just a trifie too fond
of puttiug in your oar at the wrong minute.
Can't you see," he added, lowering his tone,
as he pulled Mr. Jones' sleeve, "that he's uncommon
crusty to night, and had better be
lot a Inn a ?"
"All right," said Jones. "I know what
I'm about."
This conversation was not without its effect
on the spirits of some of the passengers, by
whom it bad been plainly overheard.
"Papa," said a delicate-looking girl, closely
muffled in warm wraps, who nestled at the
side of an elderly gentleman of burly figure,
her traveling companion and protector, "do
you really suppose there can be any danger?"
"No, my dear, I don't suppose there can,"
replied her father, not without a shade of
uneasiness in his tone. "If I had thought
there was, I am sure I would not have come
by this route; but I understood it was quite a
safe one."
' "It's a perfectly safe one, sir," said a man
who sat opposite. "The young lady need
have no fears. Jim Morris understands his
business about as thoroughly as any man in
these parts. The other fellow only wanted his
joke, you know."
"Which seemed, however, not to be appreciated,"
remarked the gentleman.
"Old Morris, is in a bad humor, I guess.
It isn't always that he'll put up with that
sort of talk, though I've heard him stand
much worse without getting riled by it. He'll
be all right by the time he's over this trip, I
expect."
"I hope he doesn't drink," said the gentleman.
"I feared, from his mauner, he might
bwslightly intoxicated."
"Oh! he never takes a drop too much," re^
joined the other. "He'd be a pretty rare
chap if he didn't drink some. But I'd venture
to bet he never was drunk in his life?at
least, while he was on duty."
"Oh, dear!" murmured the young lady.
"I wish we were at our journey's end."
"You'll get there all safe, Miss, never fear,"
said their new acquaintance, re-assuringly ;
while her father, drawing her coverings closer
around her, said anxiously?
"You are shivering, Annie. I hope you
are not cold, my dear.
"No, sir, I am comfortable enough ; only
my'jfcirves are rather shaken. I'll get over
it presently, I dare say."
"My daughter, sir., is unhappily an invalid,"
said the gentleman, addressing his oppo
site neighbor; "and quite unaccustomed, too,
to the rough ways of this part of the world."
"Sorry to hear it, sir. You are just from
the East, I presume?"
"Yes, we are quite recently arrived."
"Ah! Expect to settle out here?"
The interrogator was a Yankee, and therefore
prolific in questions.
"That is my inteution, if I find the state
of the country such us I have been led to expect.
I have lately purchased, through an
agent, a good deal of the neighborhood of?
Bless me, what a jerk 1"
This ejaculation was called forth by the
sudden and unexpected starting of the vehicle
; for Jim Morris, not having yet recovered
bis equanimity, had flourished his long whip
so energetically about the ears of bis team,
4
that the astooished leaders, who had been indulging
in tender reminiscences of the suug
stable and good supper from which they had
been brought forth into the cold, came out of
their reverie with a violent plunge or two,
and dashed off*at a gallop. Jim's experienced
hand, however, steadied them down in short
order; and now the coach was rolling along,
as fast as four mettlesome steeds could' carry
it over a smooth sandy road, through the
gloom and darkness of the windy night.
Besides the gentleman and his daughter,
and their Yankee friend, already presented to
the notice of the reader, there were three more
occupants of the inside seats. Two roughlooking
individuals of the miner class, and a
buxom Irish woman, carrying a basket and
various bundles and packages which were
somewhat detrimental to the comfort and
convenience of her fellow-travelers, particularly
when a sudden lurch of the coach from
side to side flung them against the knees or
elbows of those nearest to her. She very
obligingly tried to remedy this evil, by offering
the basket to one of the ipen as a footstool,
assuring him that he needn't be afraid of using
it, as it contained mothing that could be
hurt; while to another she proffered the softant
nfbftr hundlefl as a Dillow. These DrODO
sals being de :lined, however, she made a pyramid
in her capacious lap of as many of the
obnoxious articles as her arms could enfold,
and presently fell asleep with her chin resting
on the topmost one, and the basket between
her knees. *
The young invalid, who fortunately occupied
the corner of the coach farthest removed
from that in which the portly form of the
daughter of Erin was padfced, leaned her bead
on her father's shoulder, and appeared, after
a while, also to yield to the pressure of fatigue.
Her eyes were closed, though an occasional
weary sigh, or sudden start, indicated
that her slumber was not very profound. The
old gentleman was too fully engaged with
anxious thoughts, and also in caring for her
comfort, to follow her example, and gazed
fixedly out into the darkness of the night,
where moving shapes, like phantoms, seemed
to glide past the windows as they sped along.
Every one but himself was nodding, while
vArimiR unmusical sounds. Droceeding from
the open mouths arouud him, mingled with
the rattling of the wheels and the creaking
of the rusty joints and hinges of the "old machine,"
as Mr. Jones had termed it, when
suddenly ? loud exclamation was heard from
the driver, followed by the sharp crack of a
pistol, and the stage stopped.
"What's up now ?" cried one of the men,
rousing himself from his nap. And a general
thrill of consternation ran through the
party, as the light of a lantern, flashing past
them, revealed several dark forms grouping
about the horses, though nothing could be
distinctly discerned.
"It's no use for you to Bhow fight, Jim
Morris," said a clear, cool voice, denoting unmistakable
resolution on the part of the
speaker, whoever he might be. ^iTust hand
over that box of yours, that you've got inside,
and we'll let you go."
"Not if I knows it," was Jim's sturdy reply.
By this time all was excitement and confusion.
The men, with thl exception of the elderly
gentleman, to whom his daughter clung
in terror, all sprang out of the coach, and the
Irishwoman lifted up her voice in loud cries
of dismay.
"Och 1 it's murthered we shall all be. Oh 1
holy saints, preserve us. Oh 1 it's thieves
and robbers, that's attacking us, and we'll
niver escape alive oat of their hands.
Ochone! Ochone!"
Loud oaths and execrations, mingled with
more firing, seemed to offer a confirmation of
her fears. The driver, aided by his passengers,
made a valiant resistance to his assailants,
but the latter, (who were all shrouded
in heavy cloaks, and effectually masked) had
greatly the advantage in numbers. They
were, besides, evident desperadoes, who, in
their thirst for booty, would suffer no obstacle
to baffle their bold scheme. Suddenly, as one
of their band discharged his pistol, there was
a heavy groan and a man fell dead?it was
one of the two miners, who were traveling in
company, and bound on the same errand.
At the same instant, the mask fell from the
face of the robber who had discharged the
fatal shot, and for a moment, as the light
played on his features, they were distinctly
visible. The face was that of a mere boy,
pale as death, and greatly agitated by emotion
and excitement; his large, glittering dark
eyes seemed to rest with terror on the prostrate
form of his victim, and his weapon fell
from his hand. All this flashed like a vision
before the frightened gaze of the sick girl,
which was directed toward the scene. But,
in an instant, one of the other robbers, with
an muttered oath, dragged his youthful companion
aside, and hastily re-adjusted his disguise.
A very brief space decided the issue
of the unequal conflict. Morris and his assistants
were bound and gagged, the box of
valuables dragged from its hiding-place, and
the robbers made off with their prize, leaving
the unfortunate travelers to extricate themselves,
as well as they could, from the plight
into which they had fallen.
Mrs. Malloy, the Irishwoman, who was
somewhat consoled by the discovery that she
had escaped with her life, and her precious
packages untouched, now rendered valuable
assistance in loosening her male companions
from their bonds, while uttering many lamentations
over the untimely fate of the murdered
man. The comrade of the latter loudly
swore to avenge his death, if ever chance
should throw the murderer in his way. But
strangely enough, in that brief moment when
bis disguise had fallen aside, not one of the
party had become cognizant of the fact except
the young lady, who had so plainly distinguished
his face. The driver believed that
! he knew the voice of the leader of the band,
; but was not perfectly sure. As to the ideui
tity of the others he had no clue. Altogethj
er, it seemed more than doubtful whether
| justice could overtake the ruffians, and give
them their aeseris.
"Papa," murmured the half-fainting Annie,
"I should know him again, I am sure I
should, anywhere that ever I met him ! Oh,
i I pray heaven I never may see his face
again!"
Her father scarcely noticed the remark ;
1 but it fell upon another ear for which it had
i not been intended, and was carefully noted
; and remembered.
j There was a small hamlet not far off, to
! which it was proposed that the remains of
1 the dead miner sbQuld be carried; "for/' as
his friend observed, "though he didn't know
as he could give him any burial to boast of,
yet he couldn't leave him like a dog by the
roadside for the wild beasts and birds to pick
the flesh off his bones." Accordingly, a rude
litter of saplings was constructed, on which
the body was laid, and borne off by the driver
and the comrade "bf the unfortunate man,
the other passengers remaining in the stage
to await Morris' return. Some damage had
been done to the harness, which caused a still
greater delay; and it was broad daylight
when, having accomplishing all repairs possible
under the circumstances, the unlucky
party proceeded on their way.
This affair, when it became known, excited
a great stir all throughout the surrounding
country. Active measures were taken to discover
the orimioalB, who had, by their assault
on the Btage-coach, become the possessors of a
large sum of money in gold and bank-notes,
as well as of some important papers, the loss
of which caused Berious injury to several parties
concerned. But in vain were experts
detailed to pursue and convict them ; no traces
of them could be found. An attack of a
similar nature had once before been made on
this very conveyance, but without success,
the robbers, though escaping unharmed, failing
to secure the booty they sought, and inflicting
no injury on either the driver or the
passengers. By some it was conjectured that
this second attack had been instituted by the
same parties, reinforced by additional numbers,
but this could not, with any certainty,
be affirmed. Whatever the facts of the case
might be, nothing occurred to throw any light
on the subject, and after some weeks spent in
fruitless search', all farther investigation was
abandoned as hopeless.
"Morris* staee." as it was called, seemed
after this to fall into disrepute.. Not that any
reproach was attached to his conduct on the
oight of the robbery, but people grew shy of
taking a route fraught with such danger, and
a safer, though longer one, came into popular
favor. Old Morris grumbled at the change,
swore that all mankind were fools and cowards,
and predicted that a day would come
when they would be glad to avail themselves
of his short route again ; but finally becoming
disgusted with his loss of patronage, he
gave up the business altogether, and "Morris'
stage" faded into a memory of the past
CHAPTER II.
EVIL SEED AND ITS FRUIT.
In a lonely but luxurious home, the childhood
of a noble and beautiful boy, Leonard
Manvers by name, had been spent, amid influences
more fatal to his moral growth, more
encouraging to the advance of every evil tendency
in his nature, thau happily, often fall
to the lot of one so young.
Early bereft by death of his mother's care,
it became the office of hirelings to minister to
all bis needs, to spoil or neglect bim as caprice
dictated, and to offer him the unwholesome
tuition furnished by ignorant minds;
but this evil, though a lamentable one, might
have been mitigated, if not wholly counteracted
by a father's affection for him and interest
in hiB welfare. Unfortunately for the
poor boy, both affection and interest on the
part of bis remaining parent were entirely
wauting.
Mr. Manvere, though a man of excellent
birth and social standing, was cold, selfish and
worldly. He had broken the heart of his
wife, a timid, clinging, girlish creature, who,
repulsed in all her efforts to win his love,
would have hailed death, but for her babyboy,
as a welcome release, since life offered
her so much bitterness and so little joy. During
the infancy of his son, he rarely saw him,
never asking for him or visiting his nursery,
so that if by chance they met, the child shrank
from him as from a stranger, and felt nothing
of the tie between them?a tie, one of Nature's
closest, yet virtually rendered null in this
case by conduct so far opposed to Nature's
dictates.
When Leonard was four years old, a circumstance
occurred which changed the aspect
of affairs. Some friends of Mr. Manvere,
coming up unexpectedly to the front entrance
of his elegant country mansion, there discoved
the little boy playing on the lawn under
the supervision of his nurse, a high-flown
French dame, who lounged on the steps with
a novel, while her charge amused himself at
will. Struck by his exceeding beauty, they
called him to them and engaged him in conversation,
the boy fearlessly meeting their
andvances, and looking boldly into their
faces with his great dark eyes as he answered
their questions.
"Whose son was he? He was Mr. Manvers'
son, the man that lived in this house.
Why didn't he ever come into the parlor with
papa ? Oh ! papa never wanted him; he
didn't like babies, C16mence said. But he was
not a baby now; he would soon be a man,
and then should come into the parlor when
he pleased. This house and everything in it
would belong to him one of these days; and
if ever he should have a little boy, he'd let
him come in to dessert every day; yes, he
would. Stevens, the butler, said that people
always did, except papa. Did he have any
boys and girls to play with ? Only Stevens'
nephew, who hoed in the garden?he was a
big boy, but he made a wind-mill for him
once. He could ride on a pony, though, and
wasn't a bit afraid; and Stevens said he was
'most old enough to handle a gun. When he
was six years old he meant to run away, because
he didn't like living in this house. It
was a nasty old big house, and he wanted a
pretty little cottage like the gardener's; but
he didn't mean ever to let papa come there,
because he didn't like him ; he liked Stevens
better."
Here Madame Cl6raence, who had come
forward to hear what he was saying, lifted
her hands and eyes deprecatingly to Heaven,
with an ejaculation of dismay. "Mon Dieu I
what are you prating of, mauvais enfant t
Do not heed him, gentlemen, he talks fool|
ishness. He adores his papa, the handsome,
j fine gentleman that he is, and Monsieur, his
papa, adores him equally in return. How say I
j you, Leonard, nhtce-pas que tu aimes ton cher J
papa f"
''No, I don't! Get out, C16mence, you old |
thing!?get away!" shouted master Leonard, :
making a dart at his bonne, who, luckily for j
him, was fond of him in her way, and sorry j
for him, and seldom resented any indignity j
he chose to offer.
"Naughty bebe I" she exclaimed, catching (
in both hands his upraised fists, adding, apol- j
ogetically, to the interested and amused vis-1
itors, "He has so much spirits and is so fond :
of play! You will pardon him, gentlemen,
be means no harm."
"He is a fine fellow, I am sure. I shall
ask his papa to let me see something of him
in future." And Mr. Orville, a kind-hearted
simple country squire, whose sympathy was
aroused by the child's unconscious revelation
of his lonely position in his father's home,
lifted Leonard in his arms, and perched him
upon one shoulder. "How do you like that,
eh! my little man? Is that too high? Are
you afraid ?"
"Afraid!" I'm not afraid of nothing!"
cried Leonard, whose grammar was not superlatively
good, owing to the nature of the society
he frequented. He shouted with glee,
as his new friend marched around the lawn,
still bearing him aloft, his cheeks aglow and
his eyes bright with pleasure, and bis curly
hair, from which his velvet cap had fallen,
blown by the wind, in picturesque disorder,
about his high white brow. The other gen- .
tlemen were watching him, and C16mence was
showing her white iteeth in a smile of unequivocal
satisfaction at her protege's sudden
rise in the world, when Mr. Manvers appeared
abruptly upon the scene. He greeted his
visitors courteously, but in a more hurried
manner than usual; then, turning to.the nurse,
exclaimed in no pleasant tone?
"What is the meaning of this? Are you
not aware that I reserve this portion of the
grounds for my own use, and that of my
friends ?"
? ? ?f *nViisvVk \fnnatnnr
XJll I lb JTOO UUl a LI liUUl Ob nuiwu n^uuuiuui
generally receives guests," began C16mence
in a half defiant, half apologetic tone; "the
child wanted to play npon the lawn, and I
thought?"
. "No matter what you thought," interrupted
Mr. Manvers, impatiently, and he was about
to add a command, that the little boy should
be immediately taken away, when Mr.Orville
exclaimed?
"Really, Manvers, I cannot see why you ,
should object to this splendid fellow's company.
If he were my boy, I should be display-,
ing him on all occasions. You ought to be
excessively proud of such an heir and representative
of your name."
Mr. Manvers looked at Leonard as this
speech was made. The boy's noisy mirth had
ceased, and his beautiful, questioning*eyes were
fixed seriously on bis face. For the first time i
a feelin^of admiration, mixed with something i
akin to pride, arose in the father's heart. It
was not affection, but an involuntary tribute
to the noble and winning countenance and
graceful, high-bred air of the little being, who
sat looking down upon him, as a small prince
might have done, from his elevated position,
and calmly awaiting his verdict.
"Well, sir I" he said, half smiling, though
without approaching any nearer to him, "you
seem to be enjoying yourself tolerably well.
Don't you know you are a pretty heavy weight
for that gentleman to carry ?"
"He put me here," said Leonard, promptly.
"I didn't ask him to."
? "Ofoouroo-you dido^r^-etmilBd lu Ills new* '
friend. "Tell papa to try you some time himself,
and see how light you are."
mcpq far+ltar
JL opcfc ?0 II UUIIlllUg fl WIW IMI HKVft
from his thoughts than to make the experiment.
"Were you tired of the nursery and
the back-garden, Leonard, that you took a
fancy to come round in front of the house this
morning?" he continued.
"Yes," replied the boy. "I made Cl?mence
bring me. She said you wouldn't like it, and
she didn't want to come, so you had no ri *ht
to scold her."
"Upon my word I" said hisfather, laughing
outright this time, for the boy's spirit amused
him. "You are inclined to be independent, I
find. If I let you come into the dining-room
sometimes, and sit at table at dessert, will you
behave like a gentlemau, aud not make yourself
a nuisance to ray compauy?"
"What company ?" asked Leonard.
"These gentlemen, or any others who may
be with me."
"I'll behave like a gentleman, because I
am a gentleman ; and I won't be a nuisance?
though I don't know what a nuisance is,"
said the boy. His precocious way of answering
did more toward gaining his father's favor
than anything else could have done. Had
be been cringing and timid, the chances are
ten to one that he would have looked upon
him with contempt as a baby, and peremptorily
ordered him back to the retirement of
that portion of the establishment appointed
for his use. His boldness, his cleverness, his
beauty, all combined to take Mr. Manvers'
fancy by storm. The child came upon him
as a new revelation, for he had really seen too
little of him hitherto to be able to judge in
the slightest degree of his .characteristics. The
admiration excited in his friends' minds by
Leonard's bearing, also went far toward increasing
his own. And thift it happened, by
a sudden freak of chance, that the relation between
the father and son suddenly assumed a
much more intimate form than it had ever
before exhibited. The latter was permitted
to become a frequent visitor to the parlors
and dining-room, and the more be displayed
his precocious cleverness, the more willing
was Mr. Manvers to draw it forth for his own
amusement and that of whoever else might be
present. As to Leonard, he found his new
liberty delightful, and considered the gentlemen
who sat around his father's table far better
company than the butler and the groom,
or even than Tom, the gardener's boy, who
had made him the wind-mill. He had learn
ed some funny little-J? rench songs Irom U16raence,
which he would sing in a clear childish
treble, with very good effect, while his audience
applauded and laughed. Then, as a reward,
he would be allowed to taste some wine
from everybody's glass in turn, and soon he
got fond of this part of the programme, though
at flrst he made a wry face when the glass
was put to hia lips. Not only wine, but spirits,
circulated freely after dinner, and, by degrees,he
learned to love the taste of the sweetened
brandy, or strong French cordials,
and to ask for more. The men laughed at
him and called him "little toper," when bis
baby face would flush with the unwonted excitement,
and his noisy laugh would ring out
in shrill glee amid the rattling of glasses and
the clapping of hands ; but it would have
1- ? ~-? + fnr o Kor'o ovoa tft
UCtJU a pilCUUO OI^UV IU? u uivnuui o VW -w
have seen, and any tender, loving heart would
have bled to think of the fatal influences
which were being woven around the young
life which had opened with such promise, and
might, with careful training, have borne such
fair fruit.
One of the guests, and one only, among
those who constantly partook of Mr. Manvers'
hospitality, looked with disfavor upon
-.-A ~-<S \
' psitorg at JL
HISTORICAL SKETCHES
I
r OF THE
i Early Settlement of South Carolina.
, *
, BY B?V. BOBEBT LATHAH,
1 THE RETREAT OF CORNWALLIS.
About the middle of the afternoon of the
these injudicious proceedings, and would
gladly have checked them if he dbuld. Mr
Orville, Leonard's first friend, and his best,
felt a sincere interest in the motherless child,
and longed to stretch forth a hand to draw
him out of the slough into which -his helplesf
feet were being led, but had no power to do
so. The few hints whjcb be ventured to drop
on the subject were pointedly ignored by hie
host, who was a man of determined and violent
temper, and was particularly jealous of
any interference in his domestic concerns ;
and he feared to do mischief, rather than
good, by any more direct efiorts to accomplish
the purpose he had at heart. He tried to
keep Leonard as much with him as possible,
i ^
10 amuse Dim who muoceub aiunw auu oiuuple
games, and thus draw him off from the
noisy mirth of the table. But though he did
sometimes succeed in his kind purpose, yet
the boy betrayed an unfortunate leaning toward
the very habit whose growth he was
most anxious to prevent, and seemed never so
completely in his element as when seated in
a high chair at his father's elbow, taking sips
of his wine, and listening, though with imperfect
comprehension, to the jokes and stories
which circulated around the board.
Years passed. The boy, as he grew older,
gave evidence of some noble qualities, and of
talents which, if cultivated, might have turned
his mind into loftier and more wholesome
channels, and led him to the contemplation of
the pure, the beautiful, the good. But the
best impulses, the highest aspirations of his
nature were suffered to run to waste. No
careful hand was there to train their growth
or prune away the withered branches, the
brambles and the weeds, of hurtful passions
and fatal weaknesses, with which, like a neglected
garden, his mind was overrun. And
as childhood passed into youth, the stronger
and ranker became this pernicious growth,
though beneath its noxious shade some pre"""no
low nnnmalMl nhinh micht vet.
WlUUO |OIUIO AWJ UVUWM*VM I .? w.v. g ? - J #
if Providence were kind, be brought to fruition
in a more propitious day.
No one could look at Leonard without being
involuntarily attracted toward him. His
fair, pale face, with features as delicate as a
girl's ; his thoughtful brow, his deep dark
eyes, soft, yet brilliant, and expressive of all
that was tender and pathetic in his soul, his
sjender form, gentle manner and singularly
Bweet, musical tones, seemed to belong to one
of the purest and most refined of beings. His
childish brtuquerie and wilful, daring mode
of speech had quite disappeared; and though
the fearless spirit was still there, it was hidden
beneath an exterior so calm and so mild
that it was lost to notice. Yet there were intervals,
when like the smouldering fires of a
volcano, the deep passions of his nature would
leap forth, and appear ready to consume him
and all around him with their ardent heat.
His was a character which, properly moulded,
would have been an exceptionally fine
one; but which, unhappily, was all but ruined
by bad example, and the total absence oi
counteracting Influences.
When Leonard was about sixteen, a change
came over his father, which the lad at first
noticed without divining the cause. He had
never, in alt these years, seemed to acquire
any affection for his son, though he accepted
his companionship, and behaved courteously
toward him, as he might have done in regard
to any one of alien blood. But now this
coldly kind deportment gave place to a moody
irritability, to sudden outbreaks of apparent?
? i ? ? L-'-L ?a ?
ly causeless rage, wmuu aurpuecu ouu pcjplexed
Leonard, until at length it was revealed
to him that heavy pecuniary losse*
had placed bis father in a position of great
embarrassment, from which, it seemed, that
there was no outlet of escape. For the first
time, he took upon himself the office of coun'
sellor, and endeavored to persuade Mr. Manvers
into adopting the most honorable course
left open for him to pursue?that of selling
his entire property, clearing off all debt, and
starting anew in the world. But this was
laughed at as a piece of egregious folly. He
was an idiot, a milksop, to suggest such a
course. Why should he acknowledge to the
world that ruin was - impending over him,
when, by. a little judicious management, it
might be averted. ' "How t" asked Leonard.
His father significantly bade him wait and
see. Soon after that, a new order of thingj
was inaugurated in the household. A certain
room was set apart for some mysterious
purpose. Strange men were admitted at late
hours, shown into the said room, and there remained,
nobody knew how long?often until
the small hours were preparing to usher in
the dawn. Then old friends?men with whom
the household had always been familiar?be
. .1 . - _
gan to join tneae gamenngs, too, m wuiuu,
at first, they had taken no part. Silent meet*
ings they were, no loud laughter or noisy jests
were heard proceeding from their midst; and
Leonard, excluded from all sbare in them,,
by his own pride, which made him keep alool;
since no one sought him out, marvelled in
secriBt, at this curious new regime, but never
came near the truth in his guesses as to 'its
origin or its object.
[to be continued.]
Various projects have been proposed to
shorten the dreaded voyage between Europe
and America. One plan contemplates a railway
across Newfoundland, connecting with
swift steamers, which could make the trip
from that island to Valentia bay, Ireland, in
three days. Another project, which would
shorten the passage about one-half, is that of
building a railroad from New Glasgow, Nova
Scotia, to Whitehaven, the most easterly point
on the continent, and about 1,000 miles from
New York, by which the ocean voyage would
be shortened to five days.
<J6rBy an odd chance, two lovers of one wo
man met as convicts in the Alabama state
prison. One was to serve three years and the
other five; and the latter desired a compact
by which the former was not to take advantage
of his earlier freedom, but to refrain from
courting the woman until both were at liberty.
The three-years' man refused to make
any such agreement, and was in consequence
nearly murdered by the five-years' man. The
woman had already married somebody else.
S&- The news from India in regard to the famine
existing in Bombay and Madras is not
cheering. The number tff persons now on the
relief works in Bombay has increased to 337,000,
while in Madras it has risen to 1,015,000
besides those receiving gratuitous support.
Bengal and Burmah are exporting large
quantities of grain to the distressed districts.
tGT Frenchmen are eating more and more
horse flesh. The first horse butcher in Paris
opened his shop in 1866. Last year 9,000
horses, 643 asses and 35 mules were eaten in
France.
15th of March, 1781, General Greene drew
' off bis troops from the field at Guilford Court
House. Neither Greene nor Cornwallis had
a clear idea of the results of the battle.
Greene retreated to Speedwell's iron works,
' and made preparations for another conflict.
Cornwallis was too much crippled to pursue
1 him. For a period of two months, CSrnwallis
had been exerting all his energies and plying
every strategy his fertile mind could devise,
to bring on a general engagement with
Greene. At last, the long wished for moment
arrived and the conflict came. While
its management did honor to the military
talents of the British general, its results paralyzed
his arm and rendered the accomplishing
of his ultimate purpose hopeless. Since
leaving Turkey creek, in York county, on
, the 18th of January, he had lost one half of
bis army and nearly all his baggage. Instead
of making friends of the inhabitants of the
, country through which he passed, his operations
had converted many of the loyalists
into Whigs, or caused them or assume a passive
attitude. _
The night after the battle of Guilford Court'
Honse was cold and rainj. The dead and
wounded, both of the Americans and British,
lay scattered promiscuously all over the field
of conflict. The groans of the wounded rose
above the noise of the falling rain. More
than fifty of the wounded died during the
night The next morning was devoted to
burying the dead and caring for the wounded.
This duty devolved upon the British army.
To the honor of Cornwallis, he devoted as
much attention to the dead and wounded of
the American army, as he did to tho6e of the
British.
So soon as the dead were buried and the
wounded cared for, Cornwall^ set out for New
Garden meeting house! This was not the
course a conquering general would have taken.
Had Cornwallis really believed that
"his Majesty's arms had been crowned with
signal success," he would most certainly have
followed General Greene. Instead of doing
this, he led his depleted and dispirited army
back to New Garden meeting house. There
he was joined by the baggage wagons, which
had been sent off, before the battle, to a place
of safety. Notwithstanding his boastings of
victory, Cornwallis was now actually retreat?
ing from Gteene, and in accordance with the
principles of that philosophy which prompts
the little boy to whistle when passing a grave
yard, that he may frighten away the ghosts,
. the British General issued a proclamation in
-whioh ho annouaood that .n oomplai* Tietory
had been gained over the rebel forces on the
iulu, at vjuiuuru vuun uuuod.
On the 18tji* leaving, under a flag of truce,
seventy of hfci wounded, who wereuoable to
be moved, and a few wounded Americans at
New Garden, he set out for the Scotch settlement
on the Gape Fear river, at what was
then called Gross Greek?now Fayetteville.
On its way to Cross Greek, the royal army encamped
at Bell's mill, on Deep river. About
the middle of the afternoon, Gornwallis and
the van of the royal army reached the house
of* Mr. Bell. The British Earl dismounted
and entered the house. Having taken a general
survey of everything in the house, he
asked Mrs. Bell where her husband was.
"In Greene's camp," was the prompt reply.
"Well, madam," continued Gornwallis, "I
, must make your house my headquarters for a
. few days, and take your mill to grind corn
for my soldiers."
, "Sir, you have the power to do as you
please; but permit me ask, do you intend to
burn my house and mill when you leave ?"
( "Why do you ask that question ?"
"Answer me firsthand then I will tell you."
"No." said Cornwallis, "your house and
mill shall not be burned. I will make your
bouse my headquarters, and your person and
property shall be protected from insult and
injury."
, "Well, sir," said Mrs. Bell, "since you
were so kind as to answer my question, I will
answer yours. Had it been your intention to
burn my mill and house after using them, I
had determined to save you the trouble by
burning them myself before you used them."
At this bold and fearless declaration, Cornwallis
took no offence. As the different divisions
came in, he gave instructions to each,,
in a nervous manner, which attracted the attention
of Mrs. Bell. He would sit down
but remain for only a moment, and then ri
sing up excitedly, walk hastily across the
house for a few times, and then sit down,,
again, and. soon rise and walk across the
house as before.
During the time that he was exhibiting so
much nervousness, he told Mrs. Bell, in rather
a boasting tone, that he had completely
annihilated General Greene's army. "Never
again," he said," will Greene be able either to
assist his friends or injure his enemies."
The evening was cold, and Mrs. Bell bad
closed the door. Cornwallis went to the
back door, and having opened it, looked ex
eitedly up" the road for a few moments and
commenced his tramp across the housed Mrs.
Bell got up and quietly shut the door, which
the Earl had left open. Again Cornwallis
opened the door and gazed up the road, and
in a few moments began to walk across the
house, leaving the door open as before. Mrs.
Bell got up and shut the door. For a number
of times Cornwallis opened the door and*
Mrs. Bell closed it Finally, Cornwallis
opened it and said, in a commanding tone,
that the door must remain open. Mrs. Bell,
not daunted by the commanding tones of a
British general, remarked that it was cold
and she could see no good reason for keeping
the door open.
"Why," said Cornwallis, "f do not know
what moment Greene, with his rebels, may attack
me."
"I thought you said you had killed all the
rebels in Greene's army."
"Well, madam, I never saw such fighting
in my life, and to tell you the truth, the rebels
will not remain conquered."
. There was a vast amount of truth in the
last sentence. No sooner did Cornwallis leave
i Guilford Court House, than Lee, with his
Legion, and Campbell with his riflemen, were
sent to pursue him. Greene himself, with all
?
his forces, would hare given him chase at
once, had he not been compelled to wait at
Speed will's iron works for ammunition.
When Greene drew off his troops from the
battle-field at Guilford Court House, he did
not know how much injury he had done the
enemy; neither did Cornwallis know how
much he had suffered. In some communication
that passed between the tw^o Generals,
shortly after the battle, something was said
by Cornwallis about the four pieces of cannon ,
which had fallen into the hands of the British.
Greene replied that he had four more pieces
that he would be very glad to let his Majesty
have on the same terms he had obtained the
others.
At Bell's mill, Cornwallis remained two x
days, and then removed to Bamsey's mill, on
Deep river, neurits mouth, in Chatham county.
Lee and Campbell were close in his rear,
inflicting in jury upon him as opportunity was
afforded. Cornwallia "did not permit his
troops to straggle off in detachments. Even
the daring Tarieton acted with great caution.
Cornwallia was now as anxious to avoid an
engagement, as was Greene during his retreat
from the Catawba to the Dan. The rear
guard of the British, which was commanded
bj Tarieton, was constantly insulted by Lee
and Campbell, but never dared to hazard
even a skirmish. The &ct is, Cornwallia.did
not know but Greene, with bis whole forces,
might, at any moment, come down upon him
and ruin him before he could reach Cross
Creek.
**It was the purpose of Cornwallia, on leaving
New Garden, to remain at eitber Bell's
or Ramsey's mill a considerable length of
time, in order that his wounded might recover.
This he was not allowed to do. Lee and ,
Campbell soon made their appearance, and he
was obliged to move.
To facilitate his retreat from Ramsey's
mill, Cornwallia commenced constructing, soon
-A? t.; :?i _ I? TU.? ???.
alter mu arrival, a uriugr ourusa r/coji mu,
(Greene, whose pursuit was greatly impeded
by the almost absolute destitute condition of
his commissary department, ordered Lee and
Campbell to prevent, if possible, the completion
of the bridge. In order to put this order
into execution, Lee and Campbell crossed
the river ten miles above Ramsey's mill, with
the intention of dislodging the guard on the
south side. This end of the bridge was guarded
by two hundred men under the command
of a Major. The night was dark and the way
difficult. Still, the Americans, under Lee
and Campbell, reaohed the spot in doe time.
Nothing, however, could be accomplished, for, /
during the night, Cornwallis, suspecting, no
doubt, that an'attempt would be made to destroy
his bridge, had reinforced the guard and
the American offioer desisted from making an
attack. On the same day, Cornwaliis crossed
over the bridge and hastened, as much as the
feeble condition of his army would permit,
his retreat to Cross Creek and then to Wilmington.
Multitudes of his wounded died on
tin may?At Elisahaihtawn, the gallant
Webster died, and there he was buried with
the honors of war.
On the twenty-eighth, Greene, at the head
of the American forces, reached Ramsey's
mill. Cornwallis had left two days before^
Unable as was Cornwallis to make a hasty
retreat, Greene was equally as Unable to hasten
the pursuit. He had accomplished his
object aBd defeated the plans of the British
opflnAral. and now ha determined to stoD the
pursuit and grant the weary troops time to
rest. More than rest he coald not give them.
The country had been stripped of provisions.
All the food that Greene's army could procure,
was corn meal and such beef as the country
furnished. The beef was inferior in qualify
and stinted in quantity. Strange as it
may seem, toth men and. officers were in high
spirits.
Viewing this whole affair from its commencement
at Cowpens, on the 17th of January,
to the 28th of March, when Greene
baited at Ramsey's mill, master of all North
Carolina except the single town of Wilmington,
it is one of the grandest achievements of
the Revolutionary war. From the Cowpens
to Irwin's ferry on the Dan, in a direct line,
is near two hundred miles. For more than
ten days, in the dead of winter, Without money,
without tents, without blankets, without
* ^ " 2A **nlJ UA An fliA
any ioots uniy w ii> uuuiu u? gausivu vu ??
march, General Greene retreated with an army
of undisciplined militia, hotly panned by
the veterans of Europe, led by as able and
skillful an officer as was in the British army,
aided by Tarleton and Webster, as brave
men as ever drew a sword. The battles of
King's Mountain, the Gowpens and Gnilford
Court House, inflicted a mortal wound npon
the cause of Great Britain in America. After
the battle of Guilford Court House, the
sun of Liberty rose and shed its refulgent
beams over the whole country. Seven months
afterward Cornwallis surrendered.
An Ancient Mason.?The following extract
from a Masonic obituary notice in the
Union (S. C.) Timet, brings out some striking
facts in the history of an humble life: "James
Orr, the subject of this obituary, died at his
Aaidence, near Jonesville, S. C., on tHk 6th of
December, 1876, in the 94th year of his age.
The deceased was born in the town Of Ayr,
Scotland* on the 1st of October, 1783. In
1803 he entered the militia of Scotland. In
1807 volunteered in Portsmouth, England.
In 1808 went to Portugal in Wellington's
army, and was in all tne principal names in
the Peninsylar war. He remained in the
army in Spain and Portugal until 1814* when
his regiment was sent home to recruit.. He
was ten years and ten months in the regular
army. In 1816 he enlisted again, but bought
his discharge in 1819. He was married to
Martha Shirley in 1817, and came to America,
and arrived at Union G. H., on the 9th of
November, 1819. His first child was born
at New Brunswick, 2nd of June, 1819. The
other ten at the homestead where the deceased
lived. He joined Ayr St. Paul's Lodge, A.
F. M., in 1801, and was demitted from the
same 2nd November, 1816. He joined the
fraternity at the age of 18, a privilege which
the Masons of Scotland allowed to those
about to join the army. Thus this worthy /
and venerable brother floated to the breeze
the standard of Masonry for seventy-five
years. His 'membership was in the same
Lodge that the celebrated poet, Robert Burns,
had belonged to."
19* A gentleman traveling in Ohio, some
years ago, turned in at a country tavern for
dinner. The bar-room was garnished with a
dirty wash-basin, & piece of soap the size of a
lozenga, and a square yard of crash dimly
visible'through epidermic deposits. Having
slightly washed, the traveler eyed the rag
doubtfully, and then asked the proprietor.
"Haven't you, sir, about the premises, a this
year's towel T
H