Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. gbist, Proprietor.j ^it Inbejpknt Jfamilg ftefospaper: Jfor % promotion of t|e political, jjotial, ^gritnltoral anil Commercial Interests of t|e Sontjj. jTERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 23. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, ATJGHJST 16. 1877. ]STO. 33. Jin ?rigi?al Jtorg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. A PRINCESS ASTRAY. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. The ruddy firelight ehed its pleasant glow over the walls of the cozy little parlor, in which, on a bleak winter's evening, Roger Laselle and his young wife were sitting?she engaged with her needle, he reading aloud the much-prized newspaper, lately brought by the mail-carrier, which conveyed tidings from the outer world, every item whereof was precious to those dwelling in that semi-civilized spot of creation, a California mining town, in "early days." A tempting-looking magazine lay on the table, waiting for Esther Laselle to investigate its contents; but she was too polite to take more than a peep between its uncut * ** 1 ? * ' -L Uara /IjflrvAcn/] leaves, until ner nusoauusuuuiu UAVU UIO^JVOVvi I of the political and other news, which he could never thoroughly enjoy unless he shared it with her. "Here's a fashion-letter, my dear," he said, as he turned to the third page. "Latest modes from Paris?loves of bonnets, and so on. I dare say you'll like to read that, presently. It doesn't specially interest me, so I'll skip to something else." "Much good will it do me to read of loves of bonnets, indeed," rejoined Esther, turning, in her pretty hands, the useful-looking, homely garment she was manufacturing for Roger's wear, and regarding it, at the same time, with a somewhat doubtful air. "I should be better satisGed if I could gain a little enlightenment in regard to cutting out clothes in a decent shape. However, I am beginning to learn. I don't think Paris modes would help me very much, in this case. Hark! wasn't that a knock I beard ?" "Only the wind, I fancy," said her husband, whose attention was just then too fully absorbed by a list of prices current, under the interesting heading of "Commercial In. J "T\ | telligence," to be easily diverted. x/ear me: i what surprising fluctuations in the grain mar- j ket. Listen here, Esther; from January 4th to January 6th, the decline in wheat?" "I beg your pardon," said Esther, throwing down her work as she rose from her seat, "but that certainly is some one knocking?I knew I was right. Wait; I'll open the door." She did so, and the tall figure of an Indian, wrapped in a blanket, stepped across the threshold. In answer to the cordial greetings of Roger and his wife, to whom he appeared to be well known, he gravely inclined his head, and marching up, without a word, to the fire-place, he unceremoniously took possession of the chair Esther had just vacated. "Old Tom" was a privileged character in these parts, and no one ever considered it a liberty in him to look after his own comfort; and Mrs. Laselle good humoredly drew forward another seat, saying as she did so? ' "What have you got under your blanket, Tom ? You seem to have something wrapped ? - a ? 9" up tbere. is it a present iur uo ? "Good present," replied the Indian, as he gently opened the folds of the blanket, and displayed to her astonished eyes a little white baby, rolled in an old shawl, lying comfortably asleep on his arm ! Bending forward, he deposited it very carefully on a corner of the rug. Then resuming his upright position, slowly nodded his head twice or thrice, glancing from one to the other of his hosts, and breathing, at the same time, a long, relieved sigh, as if a heavy responsibility had just been lifted from his mind. "Why, where in the world," said Roger, staring at the unexpected apparition as if it had dropped from the clouds, "where iQ the world, Tom, did you pick up that?thing ?" "I find," was the laconic reply. "Thing, indeed! The dear, pretty little creature," cried Esther, all her warm, womanly compassion beaming in her eyes as she tenderly lifted the babe from its improvised couch, which was, indeed, somewhat too close to the fire to be a desirable one. "Oh! Roger, look, it is waking up. Oh ! what a beauty ! Where did you find it, Tom ?" "By the hill, down yonder. I walk along, hear cry, look around, and find this?all alone, almost froze up. I pick it up and make it warm." "Oh ! what cruelty to desert it. And on u ? Pnnr Violnlpa* fnrsftltpn little i euuii a uij^uh a. uui| uv>{..v?., .... babe!" "I say to myself?you kind people ; plenty room, plenty room in your house; white child no good in Injun house ; I bring it to you, you take it. May be your Good Spirit send it to you. You don't keep it, it will die. I no carry it away again." "Well, that is cool," began Roger, perplexed, and uncertain whether to laugh or be angry at the air of decision with which the last sentence was uttered; but Esther interrupted him. "What he says is quite true, Roger. The . little thing will perish if we send it away?he i can't take care of it. May I?shall we keep ; it ? Please, say yes?won't you, Roger ?" "Esther? Do you consider?" "Yes, yes. I consider everything?how i lonesome it is here sometimes, and how ofteu you have wished for young faces to brighten our hearth?and now perhaps this little one is sent in answer to the wish," said Esther, with a quiyer in her voice. "Don't let us refuse j the gift. We cannot tell how much comfort it may bring us." ' "It comes in rather an unexpected form," said her husband, drily. "So it does ; but that does not lessen its value. Look, how it turns its pretty bright eyes toward you, as if it wanted to plead its own cause ! Roger, you cannot refuse." Mr. Laselle was a man deliberate in action and slow in speech. He bestowed a critical, not wholly uninterested, glance upon the small face presented to his view, and replied, after a pause? "It is not well to decide rashly. We must take some time to consider the matter. For the present, I suppose it must remain. We can't turn it adrift in the snow." And having given this verdict, he again took up the paper, and would open his lips no more. "You can leave the baby, Tom," said Esther, turning a bright face toward the old Indian, who had been an atteutive listener to - the colloquy between them; "we will take care ot it." Tom gave an approving grunt in acknowledgement of the assurance; and having recruited the inner man with a glass of ardent spirits which Esther poured out for him, "to | keep out the cold," took leave as unceremoniously as he had entered, well satisfied with the success of bis mission. The baby was kept. Esther had known well enough from the first that she would not be thwarted in her wish, and Roger Laselle was the last man in the world to do an unkind deed. The little creature grew and throve under her motherly care. "Theodora," he named it, "a gift of God," and no more acceptable a gift, except a babe of their very own, could have been sent to brighten the loneliness of their happy but too quiet home. Mr. Laselle came, in time, to regard the waif with almost as much tenderness as did bis wife, though he was slow in showing it. Little rr*1 U-J Wawrnlf a tx7orm norYlflr in xueu. UttU Luauo l\Jk UCI9GI1 ? nH..M v??? his heart long before even Esther suspected such to be the case. She was a child of rare beauty and promise, and as the fleeting months developed her intelligence, and brought, each day, some new and attractive quality to light, it was no wonder that to her adopted parents she became an object of the tenderest interest, and, by degrees, of the most unbounded love. And the hands that guided her were not only loving, but wise. No pains were spared to train and cultivate each budding virtue into fairest growth ; to bring each precious germ of her nature into perfection of promise; aud well did she repay their care, and reciprocate, with all the warmth of a most ardent temperament, the devotion so freely lavished upon her. So the years went by, and the orphan girl, who never suspected that she came of other parentage than that which alone she knew, passed from infancy into childhood, and from childhood into a maidenhood of rare and winning loveliness; throwing around the home which had sheltered her from the desolate charity of the outer world, a halo of sunshine and happiness which, without her presence, it would never have known. But clouds were darkening the horizon of this peaceful home, though for a season the eyes of its inmates were wilfully blind to their approach. Disease laid its hand on Roger Laselle's sturdy frame, which for so many years had endured the hardships of toil and braved the inclemency of the roughest weather, shrinking from no effort in the accomplishment of the grand object which had brought him to this western region?the building up of a fortune which would repay him for all the sacrifices he had made. The fortune was already won, but he was not destined to reap the enjoyment of it, or to fulfill his dream of returning, in triumph, to the home he had left in his youth, penniless but hopeful, against the wishes and advice of prudent relatives and friends, who bad predicted only disappointment and failure in his rash enterprise. It was a comfort to him to know that those so dear to him were guarded against want, that the wealth he had amassed ~ ~ ~ ?'? nM/vmtnl/\f> ?rva* tUoir was au BUipiJf SULUUlCUk piuvioivsu 1U1 uiui future; but tbia was small compensation to fui tin grfrf wLuuu ulmduu wuuuluwlj but surely stealing over them. Life without her husband was a possibility which Esther had never even dared to contemplate. She had so leaned upon him, so trusted in his strength, so wrapped herself in his sheltering care, from the hour he had taken her from her lonely post of under-teacher in a rude Western school, and brought her to be the mistress of his log-cottage and the darling of his affections, that it seemed to her as if, with this support withdrawn, she must perish too. And now Theodora came to her aid, uplifting her sinking spirit with the tender courage and warm love of her own brave young heart, unselfishly quelling her own deep sorrow that she might minister comfort where comfort was so sorely needed. Upon her, the ] pair, so closely linked together by eighteen years of mingled adversity aud sweetuess, both unconsciously leaned. Roger Laselle felt that when he was gone, Esther would not be wholly desolate, having with her a companion so tender and true; and when the dread hour of parting came, it was Theodora's arm that sustained Esther's drooping form; Theodora's breast upon which she wept out the bitter tears wrung from her anguished heart. | Three years later, and we find Mr. Laselle's widow and adopted daughter established in a handsome residence in his native city, whither in accordance with his urgently expressed wish, tbey had removed shortly after his death, bearing with them his remains to be deposited in the family burial-place, where his I kindred lay iuterred. None of his near relatives were now living, and the lonely pair j would have found few in this strange city to take an interest in them, but for two strong points of attraction which they possessed? Mrs. Laselle's large fortune, and Theodora's rare gifts of person and disposition, which won for her, as soon as she became known, universal admiration. Esther, though still crushed by the sorrow whose weight could never be quite lifted from her heart, had, in due time, unselfishly urged I the young girl's entrance into the world and j participation in its amusements ; and Theodo- j ra already found herself a reigning belle ou i the stage of society, though never suffering its | pleasures to interfere with her devotion to her mother, or her attention to any of her carefully-fulfilled home duties and interests. It was a brilliaut night of May, and Theodora stood on the moonlit balcony of an elegant mansion, within the spacious walls of which was assembled a gay company, moving ; */ ? ?J omul tlio narfnnipQ nf PYnfiffl nnrl I tu auu II V OU1IU VIIV V* v..wv.vw ? . the soft strains of ravishing music. Weary 1 of dancing, she had stolen out, as she thought, j unobserved, to this quiet spot, but only a few ' minutes elapsed before she heard an approaching footstep, and a manly form stood at her i side. "A lover," you will say, reader. Well, there is no harm in admitting the fact at | once. Claude Stanley was a lover, and a devoted one, and on this evening he had resolved ! to acquaint himself with his fate. His watch-1 ful eyes had perceived her exit from the room,, and he lost no time in seizing so favorable an opportunity for carrying out his plan. Theodora seemed to know by instinct who ! it was that stood near her, though she did not! turn her head, for a warmer blush crimsoned her already glowing cheek, and a slight, dim-; pling smile played for an instant around the j corners of her lovely mouth. "Theodora," whispered Claude Stanley's' soft voice. It had always been "Miss Laselle," I or "Miss Theodora," before this; but time was ' precious, and he had come out prepared to rush boldly into his confession, not knowing howsoon it might meet with some unwelcome interruption. "I saw you come out here, and I followed you. Can you guess what for?" "To remind me, perhaps, that I am engaged to you for the next Lancers," was the demure reply. "I have it on ray card; so you need not have been afraid of my forgetting." "I was not thinking of the Lanoers, then. I have something more important at stake than an engagement for a. dance?something involving the happiness or the misery of my whole life," said the young man, with emotion. He took her unresisting hand in his strong, fervent clasp. "Theodora, you are too noble for coquetry. I know you will not trifle with me," he went on, in a voice that shook a little iu spite of his effort to be calm. "You must know, well enough, that I love you?that I have loved you almost from the first hour that we knew each other. I dare say you think me a very blunt fellow, to come down upon you in this sudden sort of way?but I can't help coming to the point at once. I feel as if suspense now would kill me. Tell me if you can return my love?" Blunt! She did not think him blunt Every word he uttered, fell with the charm of music on her ear. In her eyes, this manlyblundering, straightforward young Englishman, was as near perfection as any mortal TI?? kanvf flimKtuu) film 111 tllOIIfl] V. UUU1U UC. X1CI UVMI H vuivwifvw J J as she listened to bis agitated appeal. She had no idea of coquetting with him, yet a strange reluctance to utter the-decisive word, kept her lips sealed. Of course she did not mean to refuse him, but how could he tell that, looking at her face, which she kept so steadily calm in the moonlight, and never suspecting how swiftly flew her pulses, or bow strong a tide of mingled emotions was surging through her soul! "Do speak," he urged, in dread, lest some intruder might break upon their retreat. "Only one little work, Theodora?Yes or No?" Aod then she flashed a glance at bim. I am not sure whether she spoke any word or not, but somehow, he read her answer in her eyea, and felt that it was all that he deemed it to be. What more would have been said or done remains a matter of doubt, for at that moment voices were heard, a silvery laugh floated out through an open window near by, and their conference was at an end, for the present, at any rate. "I hear the band striking up the Lancers? this is our dance, Miss Laselle," said Claude, with a serious face, hut with the most delight ful triumph in his heart, as he ceremoniously offered her his arm. They stepped in through the French window, exchanging a passing remark with the gay flirt, Ropalie Harcourt, and her companion, who had just established themselves on a low ottoman, within its embrasure, and took their places in the set that was being formed. The dance might have been a cloud-dance in an enchanted land, the music, Rtrains struck from fairy harps, so airily did they move through the figures in a blissful absorption of their own, quite lifted beyond the bounds of all things earthly and commonplace. To them the crowning happiiioss uf life had curat. The piuuuut mm uil 1 golden, and no thought of the future as yet mingled with their perfect content. It was a future that seemed bright enough, too, had they paused to contemplate it. Claude Stanley was the second son of a wealthy and aristocratic English family, with good looks, a good temper, the best heart in *1 U - -J fr\ ononca Kim Clie worm, aim taicut cuuugu w ...... fair success in his chosen profession?that of the bar. He was, moreover, a distant cousin of the Laselles', who had originally come from the same county in which his paternal estate was situated. Theodora was beautiful, amiable and gifted. Add to these facts the still more important one that they were both deeply in love, and what remained to cast a shadow of doubt over the brilliancy of their prospects? They feared no opposition from parent or friend on either side. Mrs. Laselle had frequently expressed her cordial liking for the young man, who was always a welcome guest at her house. And Claude felt sure that the most exacting father and mother in the world could fiud no cause to cavil at his choice. When Theodora reached home that night, she found her mother, as usual, sitting up for her. There was a brilliancy in the girl's eyes, and an unwonted excitement in her manner. which did not escape Esther's observa tion, and half anxiously she inquired the cause. Theodora had no desire to make any secret of her new-found happiness, which was, indeed, scarcely complete until shared with one who had, from her infancy, sympathized with every changing emotion of her heart; and in faltering tones the confession was made, while she hid her crimsoned cheek on her mother's breast. To her surprise, when she had finished, Esther made no reply; and quickly looking up into her face, she saw that it wore a sad and disturbed look. "Mamma!" she exclaimed, appealingly, "are you not glad ? Have I done wrong?" "We will speak of this to-morrow, Theodora," said Mrs. Laselle, with an effort to appear calm. "I cannot think, to-night?I feel weary and confused. You see, love, it is so sudden," she added, forcing a smile in answer to her daughter's alarmed glance; "I was unprepared, and therefore cannot answer you at once." .. Plon/lo mamma ?T nlroflUQ "DUL ysjU Virvo vuiuub) uiwuiium ? m. ? %~j w thought you did," said Theodora, piteously. She had fancied that her news would be so differently received. "I do like him?he is good and noble and generous," said Esther, warmly. "But indeed, dear child, we must not discuss the subject any farther now. See, it is already two o'clock." "Claude is coming here to-morrow," said the girl, in a low voice, as she submitted to, rather than returned, her mother's good-night caress. She felt wounded, disappointed, perplexed. Esther's manner seemed so strange, so differ- j ent from what it usually was. She went to her room and to bed with a heavy heart, un certain what the morrow would bring forth, j As to Mrs. Laselle, she did not close her i eyes that night, but spent its remaining hours | in mingled thought and prayer. What was she to do ? How was she to act ? Until this j *1 ' - ' ?? liAti o matlan ! time, It nau never bucujcu lu uci a uidhci ui necessity that Theodora should he made acquainted with the true nature of the relation between them. Indeed, she had felt that it: would be almost cruel to open her eyes to the real facts of the case. But now the affair stood in a new light. Would she be justified in al- \ lowing her to marry, under a name to which she had virtually no right ? Would it not be a wilful deception for which she would have no excuse ? The Stanleys came of a proud and !1 ancient stock, and on it she dared not engraft, unconfessed, this alien branch. On the other hand, should Bhe make known the truth, the probable consequence would be the breaking off* of the engagement just formed between the young people, and this result, so fatal to Theodora's happiness, she could not bear to contemplate. Oh! if her husband were but living to help and advise her in this emergency. How often since his death had she missed the steady, practical good sense, the clear judgment, that had never seemed to err in guiding him to a right decision in any difficulty. She pondered and perplexed herself over the question until morning dawned, then sought her pillow for a brief interval of rest, without having yet arrived at any satisfactory C!L. a 1 m/vaf MAAltiA/1 r\nf fka otlk. UCUlOIUUf UUO AlUiUOii icouitou i>v |/uv huv duitject, if possible, out of her mind until Claude should come, trusting to some inspiration guiding her then how to act It was still early when the young lover sought the interview which was, to him, of too important a nature to brook unnecessary delay. ' Mrs. Laselle and Theodora, as if by mutual consent, had tacitly avoided all reference to his expected visit or its object Indeed, they bad scarcely met that morning, except at a late breakfast, when Esther bad secretly noted, with concern, her daughter's paleness and troubled looks. She went into the parlor with a fluttering heart, wondering what the result of tbe interview would be? and lo 1 a few words from Claude, eager, confident, affectionate, seemed to settle it all at once without dispute. She sank half breathless into a chair, feeling as if the matter were taken out of her hands, as the young man poured out his ardent hopes, his joy and exultation at the prize he bad won, never seeming to doubt for an instant her sympathy or her approval. She could not refuse him, either. To save her life Bhe could not then have revealed to him the secret that lay so heavy at her heart. She bad a sort of vague feeling that Providence would bring the matter right in the end without any interposition of hers. And the end of it was that Theodora was sent for, and the engagement between them recognized, quite formally enough to satisfy all doubts on her part; on hia, apnoponflr nnnfl hud aviated, as far. at least. a8 r? j ? her mother's consent was concerned. Of course, they were both perfectly happy, and a halcyon period ensued, during which the course of true love ran treacherously smooth. In those days Esther did not pause to investigate her own feelings, or analyze her conduct by any rules of wisdom or conscience. She lived in a sort of hurry of excitement that precluded sober thought. One day, Claude brought a letter from his mother, which he displayed with great triumph and delight. It enclosed a little note for Theodora also, overflowing with kindness and cordiality, and warm expressions of anxiety for the arrival of the time when dear Claude's parents should become personally acquainted with the object of his affections. "Il had Uuau tU?ir_ Ca&rhwtsb,' Mrs. Stanley wrote, "to see him settled in life, and nothing could have afforded them more satisfaction than to know how suitable, in every way, was the choice he had made. Apart fcom her own personal attractions, of which he had drawn so vivid a picture, the fact of her being a descendant of the Laselle's, whose name, at home, stood illustriously bright in the annals of their country, would, in itself, have proved a strong recommendation to their regard." "And here's something more to the same effect," laughed Claude, who had often jestingly alluded to his mother's excessive pride of birth, and horror at the idea of any of her children marrying beneath them. And from his own letter he read a passage running in this style : "I am indescribably thankful, my dearest son, that in that republican land, whither my thoughts have so anxiously followed you, you have been led into no error of taste or fancy, which might have proved fatal to your peace, and to our domestic comfort. Your chosen bride is your equal in birth and in name, and will, I doubt not, assist in up holding the honor and dignity of our family, of which we have, for generations, been justly proud." "See what a task you have ahead of you, Theodora," said her lover, gaily. "I am afraid those slender arms of yours will scarcely prove equal to bearing their share of so overpowering a burden." "I will do my best," answered Theodora, in the same tone; "and I trust to you to help cover my deficiencies." Esther said nothing, but stole out of the room wilh a guilty feeling at her heart. They were so happy?these children?so unconscious of any possible shadow clouding their golden dream of love! Must hers be the hand to darken their joy, and dash the cup of nectar from their lips ? She Draved then for guidance as she had ? I u never prayed before. Her heart was wrung to the core by the intensity of its inward strife; but she seemed to realize clearly for the first time the depth and magnitude of the deception of which she was permitting herself to be guilty. It might never be known to those whom it could most offend on earth; but was it not already known and censured in heaven ? There was still time for her to make reparation. The truth must be told, and at once, before it was too late. With feverish haste she sat down and wrote a letter to Theodora, confessing all, and imploring her forgivness for having delayed this confession until a time when, she feared, it would prove most fatal to her welfare. She dared not even read it over, or pause to consider the expediency of what she had done. She hurried with it to her daughter, who was now alone in her room, and placed it in her hand. "Read this," she said, in a voice stifled by emotion; "and Ob, my child, when you have read it, try not to curse the one who would give her life to make you happy, and who has erred only out of the depth of her love." She pressed the young girl, as she spoke, in a convulsive embrace, and left the room as abruptly as she had entered it. Startled and terriBed, Theodora tore open the fatal paper. Her emotions on reading it can better be imagined than described. She was then, nobody?an alien, an outcast, a creature without a name, brought up on charity, without right or title to any of the possessions she had deemed her own! How those proud Stanleys would have recoiled in dismay, instead of congratulating their son on his choice, could they have known whose hand it was he had so exulted in having won! Even in her misery, a feeling of tenderness, of pity, for Esther rose in her heart. "Poor mamma," she murmured, "poor mamit ma! She must suffer too. Yes, I must go to 1 her, aDd tell her that I love her still." But though she said so, she did not go, but sat in a kind of blank, dreary stupor, striving to realize the blow that had fallen so suddenly upon her. As yet she could not grasp the truth in all its force. She seemed to be moving and thinking in a dream. Mrs. Laselle, looking old and worn, came back after a 1 while, restless in her wretchedness, longing, yet dreading, to know how the girl had borne , the shock of her disclosure. Theodora was strangely quiet and passive. She yielded her- i self unresistingly to her mother's remorseful, ' passionate caresses, only saying in a low tone, J as if but one thought were uppermost in her mind, "Claude must know at once." "Shall I tell him for you, my darling?" asked Esther, with a secret feeling that if she ' were made the medium of communication, ' she might in some way still bring the matter 1 to a satisfactory conclusion. "No, mamma. I will write to him myself," ( ?!<! Tkon^nM FMnlnfalv "And nhfln mv letter is written you must help me to go off somewhere?anywhere?out of the way. I cannot see him again." , "My child, why do that? Stay where you ] are; place the matter in Claude's hands, and let him act as he thinks fit." "And throw myself on his generosity! No, ' never. The bond between us must be cancell- , ed completely, and it can only be done in one way. If I see him?I?may?be too weak?" i And here, for the first time, the poor girl < broke down, as the realization of the destruc- : tion of her hopes swept over her with sudden force. She did not for an instant falter in j her determination, however; and her moth- , er?for so she must still be called?found that i it was useless to oppose her farther. < There was a quiet spot some miles distant, 1 but little resorted to at this season of the ! year, where they had been once before; and Esther yielded to her daughter's proposal that ( they should go there without delay. In a , few hours their packing was accomplished. ] The surprised servants were informed of their i intended absence, and placed in charge of the 1 house until they should return ; and without 1 leaving any word by which they might be traced to their destination, they set off by an afternoon train, and reached their new abode ; just as Claude, all unconscious of the blow 1 which awaited him?for the fatal letter bad been left in the hands of Mrs. Laseile's housekeeper, to be delivered to him that evening? ] rang their door-bell, and learned that they * were gone. ] A fortnight passed away, and Theodora j was sitting alone, one evening, in the garden , of the little cottage, where they had tempora- I rily established themselves. The Bilence of i the failing twilight was around her, broken 1 only by the soft murmuring of the pines near } by. June had opened gloriously with a wealth ( of roses, and their fragrant breath scented all | the tranquil air, as the lovely blossoms, white ( and crimson and pink, reared themselves in < glowing clusters In every nook- ami corner of -i the trim domain. A sense of beauty and re- ! pose stole into the girl's desolate heart, sooth- j ing it for the time into a semblance of peace. ] She leaned her weary head upon her hand, ? and tried to banish the torture of thought from her brain. Presently the garden gate opened, and a i step came along the path. She did not move < J or look around, supposing it to be only the I lanaiaay, or me servant, returning jiuuj au errand; but suddenly a voice near her called her name, and starting as if thrilled by an electric shock, she turned to find herself in Claude Stanley's arras. "Oh ! Theodora, how could you serve me so ?" was his reproachful exclamation. "I have only just found out where you were. What a fortnight of misery you have made me spend!" "And you ought not to be here now," she replied, faintly striving to unclasp his hold. 1 "Did you not get my letter ?" j "Yes, and I thought you must be insane, to j write me such a letter as that. What did you ( mean by it? Did you think that anything t could change my feelings, or alter the relation i between us?" t "Oh I Claude, don't speak in that way?you I know it must all be at an end," said poor ? ? - - * . ^ ? j J?I*. * Tbeodora, doc oaring 10 accept bo suuueuv c the new, ecstatic revelation dawning upon her. But his strong, tender clasp showed her how sincere were his words. ^ "Ifyou have left off loving me, Theodora, c then I will admit that everything is at an end. a But as long as your heart is mine, and I don't i believe you can be so fickle as to have taken 3 it from me so soon after giving it, I'll swear v to you that nothing on earth can ever come l between us, or make me give up my rights." v And no later than a month afterward, the s words were spoken which made Theodora his <3 wife. Best of all, the old people at home, to c whom Claude wrote the whole story, offered ^ no opposition to the match; and when they a came to know their new daughter, they could c not but acknowledge that whatever her true n origin might be, no fitter bride could have f been found for their son among the proudest c daughters of their land ; while old Mrs. Stan- P ley always declared, with an emphasis which 1 placed the matter beyond dispute, that she e knew full well that the little lost babe, picked up by the old Indian in the snow, must have been, at the very least, a "Princess Astray." s _ k Borrowing Books.?-Nobody would think ^ of going into your parlor and picking up a 0 mantel ornament or a tidy, and saying, "Can ? I take this for a few days ? I will bring it back again." But they frequently do so with your books. Now, books are as much " the furniture of a room as anything else, par ticularly when they are in the parlor. They r are put there to be looked over and promote n conversation, and if they are carried off their a purpose is defeated. Besides, borrowers feel much less obligation to return books than P anything else. Very few people keep more c. than ten or fifteen volumes on a parlor table, ?' and though one might not be missed for a J? - l-j- ?i : ,.u time, yet 11 everyoouy wuu oawc m nuuiu ay- , propriate one, the owner would soon be des- 12 titute. * Two Sides.?Remember that all questions P have two sides ; one is the right side, the other P the wrong side ; one is the side of justice, the ' other injustice. If you take the right side, the just side, ultimately men, however much a' they may oppose and revile you, will come to ?. your support. Earth, with all its powers, will 8 work with you and for you, and heaven is C( pledged to conduct you to complete success. ei If you take the other side, there is no power rt on earth or heaven that can lead you through &! successfully, because it is appointed in the &1 counsels of heaven that justice, and truth, alone can prevail. IptttHatwnui grading. Correspondence of News and Courier. "THERE'S MILLIONS IN IT!" peache8 and blackberries the royal road to fortune. Columbia, S. C., August 4.?In the absence of both investigating committees, Columbia has suddenly relapsed into its wonted condition of summer dullness. A round of the State-House offices this morning otterly failed to secure a single item of interest other than an invitation to help myself to the contents of a basket of peaches in the Secretary ofState's office. Your correspondent was as hungry for "items," however, as for peaches, * i ? - / - * iL. r ana managea 10 secure a iew 01 toe lurmer at the same time that he refreshed himself with the latter. Col. SimB supplied both. The fact is, I interviewed my host, the Secretary of State, unawares, and obtained much interesting information from him, of more real value to the readers of the New and Courier, if they would only act upon it, than all the arrests that have been made in the State for the past one hundred years. ABOUT PEACHE8. The basket of peaches was the subject of conversation. About half a peck of ripe, delicious fruit was stored away therein, and the whole had just been purchased for the sum of five cents. The supply hereabouts this year is largely in excess of the demand, and the producer is only too glad, in&is ignorance, to obtain for a peck the price of a pint, if the pint were only properly handled and sent to the right market. Only think of it! Thousands of bushels raised in this section are to-day being fed to swine, or worse yet, are suffered to rot on the trees and on the ground, despite the fact that every bushel is worth to-day seven dollars in New York and other markets of the North. Scrub varieties are of course not taken into consideration, but it is a fact that Col. Sims is himself now busily engaged in shipping to New York large and small crates of this fruit raised in York county, every bushel of which brings him the handsome return of seven dollars. Deduct from this amount three cents per pound, or one dollar and a half per bushel for freight, and you bave, or he has, a net profit of five dollars and a half per bushel remaining as the reward of the trifling amount of labor expended in setting out and protecting his trees. "And this, mark you," he said, "is the first of August when the fruit farms of Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York and elsewhere at the North are also pouring in their supplies by the car-load." THE SELLING PRICE. How do you account for the good price Four peaches command ? I naturally inquired. To this the answer was simply that our leasons are far in advance of that further aorth, and we have the advantage of offering fruit in its greatest perfection as ripened beaeath the hot suns of July and August against :he smaller and inferior fruit of the section lamed. We commence the season by shipping good first fruit as early as first of June, vhile the Northern peaches are yet green and learly a month behindhand, and by the time .he earliest Northern peaches are got to market those of this section, which are better manured, have begun to arrive, and they so far jxcel their "early" arrivals in respect of qual ;he best prices always. Our fruit steadily mproves, in flavor, size and appearance as :he summer advances, and the fruit grown in ligher latitudes is always behind time by leveral weeks in all these particulars. a neighbor's example. Despite these signal advantages, however, t is perhaps not too much to say that one :ould count off* on his ten fingers, with a margin to spare, the number of our farmers who ivail themselves of this golden opening for mterprise and consequent prosperity. They nanage the matter better in Georgia. It was itated in the New and Courier that Colonel Sims has just returned from a visit to the last innual meeting of the Georgia Horticultural society. There, he informs me, he saw specinens of fifty-six varieties of peaches grown ipon one place, and the exhibitor had on the grounds upwards of one hundred and fifty ipecimens of other fruits. The Georgia plant;rs have had this matter under attention for teveral years, and the number of those who jrofit by it increases yearly. Car-loads of jeaches and other fruit grown in middle jreorgia, and as far south as Thomasville, alnost on the Florida line, are shipped North svery summer, and every bushel of it passes hrough the entire length of South Carolina n its route to market The difference is from wo hundred to five hundred miles of translocation in favor of the planters of this State, inrl if fKo fionrcriana ran nhin with nrofit. ...v. .. ^?ti r t t i ? nucb more can their leas energetic neighbors >n this side the Savannah. CANNED FRUIT. A great deal of the fruit rejected for pur>oses of shipment can be dried with but little :are and less expense, and this, too, commands i good price?a better price, my cotton-plantng friend, than the canned peaches for which rou pay such a round price throughout the winter. You do pay fifty cents for every so:alled quart can you purchase for your winter ise, do you not? Well, it may add somewhat to your enjoyment of these leathery, weetish-sourish, unwholesome northern raised lelicacies to know that they are canned at a ost of less than $1.50 per dozen, and that here is not a quart in any can in the whole lozen! Of the latter fact you can readily ssure yourself by experiment, and as to the ost of canning, Col. Sims was informed by a aanufacturer, to whom he applied for the inormation, that he could only sell his fruit in anned form, at wholesale, at the rate of $1.50 ler dozen. The inference is a fair one that be manufacturer makes some profit, and that ach dozen costs less than that sum for the xpense of the cans and the canning. A PUNNING CONCLUSION. To fix the thing in your mind, it may be tated briefly in the form of a pun. The Y an;ees can, and the Dixies can't, and thereby angs the whole secret of their wealth and ur poverty. But, besides our sin in the matsr of peaches, there is also the sin against lackberries. To explain: I suppose no quarsr of the globe has been more favored in the latter of blackberries than has this the latey prostrate State. The old fields and the oad-sides, and the ditches and the fence-corers, the cotton and turnip patch, the garden nd the horse lot, the cowpen and the pigpen, lie chicken coop and the dog kennei, the ark and the playground, the camp and the hurchyard, the railroad and the river, all ing the song of the blackberry, whatever it i. The birds plant 'em, the winds scatter im, the sun ripens 'em, the rain alone fertilses them, and they grow and abound everyhere in weed-like profusion, and the tramp lone gathers them. Richland county alone roduces enough of these wild grapes to sup ly the world, and yet as a matter of fact lere are not enough gathered to supply the emand of Richland county, <fHave you ay blackberry pies?" asked a hungry party f travelers of the mistress of a tumble-down rnnty on the roadside in one of our upper )unties, after they bad asked in vain for oth edibles. "Thank you," was the indignant iply; "thank you, if we is poor, and ain't Jt no bread nor buttermilk, nor nuthin, we n't come down to blackberry pies yit!" BLACKBERRY PIES. The Gait House at Louisville, however, and the Grand Hotel at Cincinnati, have come down to blackberry pies and blackberries, as each day's menu will show, and everybody calls for them and eats them, and the proprietors pay from 12} to 15 cents a quart for them for months together. The fact is mentioned merely to suggest a market for what nature has so liberally bestowed upon us. Other people and other planters are not so blind to the merits and profits of the humble blackberry as we are. Instance the statement made to me by Mr. Silas St John, the chief of the Express Company's office at Louisville. This gentleman informed me a week or two ago that 50,000 pounds of strawberries are shipped daily over one road from a few counties ef East Tennessee and North Georgia, and moreover that at this season 15,000 pounds of blaokberrics are shipped northward daily over the same route. These berries are not cultivated, but are gathered in the old fields by the farmers' wives and chil dren, who receive an average from 12* to 15 cents per pound for this frnit the season through. Omitting all reference to the strawberries, let us figure up the blackberries statistics a little. Fifteen thousand pounds, at 12ic., is l,v876 per day?$10,250 per week?$41,000 ? per month. Now add, say $82,000 per month for strawberries, and you have $128,000 per month as the income derived by two or three oounties from this single source alone 1 MILLIONS IN IT! Go to! my cotton planting friends. Why stand ye idle, with clasped hands, weeping and bewailing your poverty, and praying Sprague and others to come over and help you to build yoor cotton factories? The gods only help those who help themselves. See, the market is free! The months of the bloated capitalists of "the North" are hungrily gaping for blackberries. Fall to, next season, and each county can pick and sell enough black* berries to build at least one cotton factory within its borders! So shall we become a great people, and so shall I attain to be called the Father of my Country! C. McK. ? # AIN'T FEELING WELL. A serious phase of disease is that which attacks a boy on a day when he particularly objects to going to school. He tells his mother, with the confiding frankness peculiar to youth, that he does not feel well this morning. He doesen't know what it is, but he is lame in the join to, his head aches, and he doesn't feel a bit good. He moves about slowly, openly refuses food, looks dejected, negligent, unhappy. Quite frequently he can be heard to sigh, fiut in all his pain he never forgets the clock. As the time advances to the hoar which marks school time, his symptoms in ? TT-% "AH H Ik SMI + CAllAAl CnjBOOt JLLU UUCOU b OCkJ ? TTUiu auvub ovuwt to his mother. He feels too dreadful, perhaps, to talk of such things. He is certainly in a bad way. His signs increase as the dreaded time approaches, and the physical symptoms of decay become more and more manifest. Bat the greatest suffering he endures mentally. Fifteen minutes to nine is the time he should start. It lacks but ten minutes of that time, and nothing has been said to him about getting ready. He wants to believe he is all right, because that is the prompting of hope which is strong in the youthful breast; but yet he refuses to believe he is, because he fears the reaction of disappointment. Every time he hears his mothers' voice be is eU?Ued, and overy- time-he detects her looking towards him he feels his heart sink within him. It is a hard thing, indeed, to appear outwardly languid, listless and drooping, when inwardly one is a roaring furnace of agony. But he does it, and does it admirably. It now lacks five minutes of the quarter. Still he says nothing. His nervousness is almost maddening. Four minutes, three minutes, two minutes. One minute. Still she makes no sign. Will his reason forsake him ? It is the quarter. Now he should start, according to custom. One would think he had every encouragement now, but he knows that even at five minutes later he can make school by hurrying. The agony of the suspense becomes exquisite. He trembles all over, and he can not help it. His hair is moist with perspiration. It seems as if he could give up everything and sink into the grave if he could but know the result. How slowly the clock moves! It stares at him with exasperating stoniness. The ten minutes are reached. He breathes easier. Not a word has been said to him about school. His mother sees that he is too ill to go, and she sympathizes with him. Heaven bless ber. uia ever a Doy nave sucn a good, noble mother as this ? Visions of sunny fields and shady woods and running streams unfold before him, stirring the very depths of his soul and filling his eyes with tears of gladness. "John." Like a great shock the beautiful pictures fall away, and he is shot from the pinnacle of hope into the abyss of despair. There is no mistaking the voice. "Meroy sakes! here you are not ready for school. Come, start your boots." "I don't feel well enough to go to school," he whines, hardly realizing the dreadful change that has come upon him with such blighting force and swiftness. "I guess you ain't dying, quite," is the heartless reply. "And if you ain't at school you will be galloping over the neighborhood. Hurry, I tell you." "But it is almost nine o'clock, and I'll be late," he protests in desp> ation. "Late r' she repeats, looking at the clock. "You have plenty of time. That clock is nearly a quarter of an hour fast." Merciful heavens! He goes down before the terrific blow in a flash. A quarter of an hour fast! Bleeding at every pore of bis 1. j i 1 l:A 4A.J Dean, siunueu oy a buuuh. wuiuu woa aa wmble as unexpected, be crawls inside of bis jacket and under his bat and sta.ts on his way in a dazed manner that is pitiful to behold.?Danbury New. The Physical Benefits of Sunday.? Sunday is God's special present to the working-man, and one of his chief objects is to prolong his life and preserve efficient working tone. In the vital system it works like a compensation pound; it replenishes the spirit, the elasticy and vigor, which the last six days have drained away, and supplies the force which is to fill the six days succeeding; and in the economy of existence it answers the same purpose as the economy of income is answered by a savings bank. The frugal man who puts away a pound to-day, and another pound next month, and who, in a quiet way, is putting by his stated pound from time to time, when he grows old and frail gets not only the same pound back again, but a good many pounds besides. And the concientious man husbands one dav in his existence every week?who, instead of allowing Sunday to be trampled and torn in the hurry and scramble of life, tjreasuers it up?the Lord of Sunday keeps it for him, and in length of days the hail of age gives it back with usury. The savings bank of human existence is the weekly Sunday.?The Sanitarian. Wanted Rain.?The colored people^ held a meeting, says the Lenoir (N. C.) Topic a few days ago, in Caldwell county, to pray for rain. One brother was called on, who prayed after this manner: "0, Lord God 1 us poor niggers is periahin' dis year, an' ef you don't gib us a rain, we will perish next year, too. So, good Lord, gib us rein. Don't gib us one ob dese slippy-slappies, but do, gib us one ob dem gully-washers and trashmovers,"