Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis ivi. grist, proprietor.! |^n $itbcpritlmtl Jamils ^titttspapfr: Jor f|c |jr<mrotiim of f|t political, Social, ^griculinral anb Commercial interests of % jSonlJ). | TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IS ADVANCE. "VOL. 33. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, A.TJOTJST 30, 1877. NO. 35. i i . ^ ; ? JU Original J?t0r|. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE FROZEN HEART. i-i BY CLARA BARGAN MCLEAN. i " .* H i* let?I loved you once. Of he li a?Indeed, my lord, you made mc believe bo. Hamlet?You should not have believed me: I loved you not. Ophelia?I was the more deceived. CHAPTER I. It was towards the close of a lovely day id June, 1863. Delicious "evening sounds" filled the fragrant air? "The mingling notes came softened from below"? and where the sun had just disappeared, clouds of gorgeous hues lay piled up like the cushions of a royal couch. A soft roseate glow pervaded the atmosphere, and tinged the delicate face of a young girl, who with her companion, stood on the brow of a hill overlooking the valley of the Eno. The prospect beneath was unheeded. Sara looked upward?her eyes fixed upon the shifting tints of the western sky. A shade of sad onnn ?ho Hriorhf orirlish face a IJtSK] ICOtCU U pun DMV half happy melancholy which pervades all sensitive, imaginative natures, and lends a peculiar interest to the character. The young soldier by her side seemed absorbed in other reflections. He looked upon the river, rolling its waves of liquid silver in the soft evening light, between high bluffs crowned with verdure; he looked upon the little village at his feet, nestled in groves of oak and chesnut; he looked at the far-off mountains rising in solemn majesty?those "everlasting hills"?silent, yet immutable witnesses of Him who changeth not; be gazed upon them all as if to stamp the scene indelibly upon his memory. "How it fades!" was the 6rst low ejaculation that broke the silence which preceded: " 'All?all is change.' " The words roused the young man from his reverie, and he turned quickly. "Say not so, dear Sara," he exclaimed, taking her hand tenderly in his; "you wrong me by the words." 1 "Ah ! Rupert, it is the conviction that all else changes which makes me cling so to you. I know you will never alter." There was such pathos?such unutterable 1 love and truth in the words?that they thrilled the heart of the soldier. In after years they haunted him with strange persistency, and Tuna a wan in rr whinh was never to return. I'll 19 U UUV Vf VUiwg It ? , rose up to torture and condemn. He passed bis arm around the slender figure, and drew ber closer to bis side. "My darling, how ^could I do otherwise 1 than love you 1 May my tongue cleave to the 1 roof of my mouth if I ever utter a false vow. I am going to brave many dangers, Sara, and there may be much sorrow in store for both of us before that happy day when I can at once rejoice in my country's freedom, and claim you as my bride. But you must trust rae through all?love me and trust me. See that beautiful star just above the edge of the wood I Whenever you see it hereafter, remember this evening and my last words." ss He put back the clustering curls and kissed her cheek. Then drawing her arm in his, they turned slowly homewards. Twilight was deepening when the suburbs of the village were reached, and they paused at the gate of Sara's home._ It was a large, old-fashioned n mansion, surrounded by a grove of ancient oaks, and half hidden by the ivy which clambered over the pillared entrance, and even wreathed the windows of the second story. The air was rich with the perfume of roses and Arabian jasmine borne from a garden on the south side. Sara's hand closed convulsively over the arm of her lover as he opened the "Oh ! you are coming in, Rupert. Let rae sing one more song for you, and then you may tell aunt Agues and papa good-bye." He smiled, and walked on with her to the house. "Did you really think I was going to pass by ?" he asked, taking her face between his hands as they sat down on the stone steps, * - ? o ana lootciug into ner eyes. oar? umoucn half laughed, in au embarrassed way. "I thought you might?you would?that perhaps?oh ! you know, Rupert." "That I might not he anxious to meet papa after such a decisive denial yesterday, eh, Sara ?" The blush deepened as she met his laughing eyes. "But he didn't say no, positively, Rupert? only that he could uot consent to my leaving him till the war was over." "Yes, only that," he said, a gloom falling upon his ever-varying face as he spoke, "and it is devilish hard too ! I beg your pardon, Sara; but when I think how many years it may be, aud our best years too?I get almost desperate. Why can't we be married like Charlie Manning and Ada? He has left her with auut Taylor, and it is therefore no loss to the family ; only he, poor fellow ! has the consolation of knowing that somebody will ^ grieve for him if he is killed." r "That is poor consolation to him if he really loves her, Rupert, for it would be a dreadful blow to Ada." "Aud so to spare her feelings, she ought not; to have married him, I suppose. Oh! Sara," | he exclaimed, reproachfully, "I thought any ; woman would be glad of the right to mourn | for the man she loved." "Rupert, Rupert, you know I don't mean I that! Ob ! please don't talk so !" Sara's voice trembled, and she seemed ready | to burst into tears. She covered her face j with her hands ; but Rupert removed them,! and holding both in one of his, he gently smoothed her hair with the other. "There, dearest, don't mind it! I am a heartless wretch to speak so; but it is only my love for you which makes me rebel against your father's decision. When I am calmer, I believe he is right. He spoke very kindly indeed, and said there was no one on whom he would bestow you more cberfully ; but the times were so unsettled and partings so iuevi- I table, that he thought it better to spare his little girl the hardest of all trials, the sepr.tution of husband and wife. He went on to say that he would not object to an understanding between us, and on the very day v.his 'cruel war' ended, would welcome me as his ? son-in-law." The young lover?he was scarcely twenty- i five?bent his handsome head, aud kissed the j little hand nestled in his. A step was heard in the hall; and exclaiming?"There's papa now !" Sara rose to meet him. A tall dignified gentleman stood in the door-way, his dark hair slightly silvered at the temples, but with a mien as erect and step | as firm as if but half his three-score years had passed. He smiled affectionately as his daughter met him, and then greeted Rupert, who had risen also. "Ah! my dear boy. Is it true that you leave us to-morrow?" "Too true, sir. The order came but a few hours since,shortening my leave by ten days; but you know? 'Their'snot the reason why, Their's not to make reply,"' he added cheerfully, "and I hope I am too good a soldier to hesitate in ray duty, even though in this case it is so peculiarly painful." i He glanced at Sara, aud she moved a little nearer to him. r "Yes, yes, painful indeed," Mr. Howard repeated. "I fear my little girl will find it very hard. But there are better times com-! ing, and before another Christmas all will be well?no more parting of lovers, but old Com- j fort making wedding cake, eh, my dear ?" He smiled hopefully and patted his daugh ter's fair cheek. "Rupert says they may go into Maryland papa ; and if Lee is successful in this cam paign, we may have peace before winter." "God grant it!" Mr. Howard exclaimed fervently. "Our cause is holy and just; w< must prevail." He sat down in one of the wicker chain which always stood in the porch and wen on? "If I could for one moment doubt that vie tory would be ours in the end, I would b< willing to give up raj life at once, and I dc sincerely pray in my heart that Infinite Mer cy will spare me the agony of another houi of existence if?if?we fail." The fiue features of the old patriot quiver ed with emotion as he pronounced the lasi words in a tone of mingled defiance and des peration; then instantly commanding him self, he turned to the young man at his side "You leave in the morning, Rupert?" "At day-break. There seems to be hoi work ahead, but with our confidence in th< cause, we can only welcome it as a prelude tt the happy end." The supper-bell ringing merrily, broke ic upon his words. Rupert declined to stop sayinghe wished to pass the evening with his aunt and cousins, Ada being especially desi rous of sending a car-load of messages, letters and boxes, to Colonel Manning. "Then she remains with her mother. Ah well, poor girl, it is better than the inconve nience of camp, but it must be a great sacri fice for them both. "Agnes, my dear," he added, as a ladj crossed the hall, "here is Rupert, wishing tc bid you good-bye.'* An elderly lady, greatly resembling Mrs. Howard, but with a countenance of singular sweetness and serenity, came out upon the porch. The young man was evidently a favorite with her, for she greeted him with un usual warmth. "Aunt Agnes is so fond of you, Rupert, thai you may expect many jars of rare sweetmeats and bottles of good old wine, when you re turn from your Maryland campaign," Sara said, twining her arm in her aunt's. "She had better be teaching you her accoraplishment8 in that line," Rupert responded, laughingly; "you know, Miss Agnes Sara is to be ray housekeeper when?" "When the war is overl Ah, yes; but that seems a long way off yet." "Come, Agnes, don't sadden these last few moments," Mr. Howard exclaimed. "Let us bid our soldier good-bye and God-speed, and leave the children to themselves." He gave his hand to Rupert as he spoke ; And with a hearty clasp and murmured prayer for his safe return, turned and went in His sister lingered awhile, making inquiries as to Ruperts intended route; then kissing him as a mother would her son, with a whispered "God bless you !" also left them. "Now, Sara, dear, sing my song once more, and then I must go." She brought the guitar, and sat down on the steps at his side. After striking a few chords, which echoed sweetly on the still summer night, she began singing that exquis ite little German air, so popular among us when partings were harder than they art now?"How can I leave thee /" At the conclusion of the 6rst verse, the trembling voice utterly failed; and bending over the Jnstrumeut, Sara burst___into_ tears The young soldier was hfmserf too miTcTT af fected to speak. He could only stroke tin soft curls, and press the icy little hands to hi; lips. The moon had risen, and was shining calm ly down upon the knarled old oaks, and th< rifh .Tune maps unou the ivv-wreathed man sion, and upon the young lovers. When Sart looked up, the passionate burst of tears hav ing relieved her for the moment, the moon light illumined the face beside her wit! strange beauty. That face, with the expres sion it wore then, was henceforward stamper upon her faithful heart never to be erased All the emotions which beautify and ennobh the human countenance lingered upon tlx handsome, spirited features?love, truth aiu infiuite teuderness. When he had bidden he farewell, and his step was echoing down tlx quiet street, Sara clasped her hands, and fel upon her knees. A dreadful conviction flash ed over her that she had broken "the firs and great commandment." Her absorbiuj love trembled before the charge. "God will take it from me," she murmur ed. "He will not bless what has caused mi to forget him." "Thy will be done" she had prayed fron the earliest period her infaut lips could lis] the words ; and His will was done! So we all pray, unconscious that daily am nightly we strengthen, if it were possible, Hi eternal decrees; that daily and nightly we in voke the destiny which we make for ourselves yet which He knoweth from the beginning o time! CHAPTER II. Winter had set in with unusual gayety a the capital of the Confederacy. Hotels, hospi tals, soldier's homes, private houses, all wen filled with occupants from every part of th< country. Refugees from North, South, Ens and West; soldiers going to and returning from home; members of Congress, office seek era and speculators; gay young ladies ii search of amusement, and sad-faced women seeking lost sons and husbands?all made uj a motley crowd, which will never be forgot ten by any who formed part of it. It was a cold, clear afternoon, and tw< ladies were strolling leisurely down the mail street of Richmond?Sara Howard, and he aunt Agnes. The elder lady, dressed witl Quaker like simplicity, afforded a strikinj contrast, in her quiet face and serene manner to the rich color aud sparkling eyes of he young companion. Sara's light step was a free and elastic as upon the hill sides of he native county ; her countenance glowing witl animation and renewed health, was even mor beautiful?the personation of bright, confi ding, pure-hearted girlhood. "We will get through our shopping at oncf aunty," she said, as they passed through th crowd of hurrying pedestrians, "and thei nana will ioin us at the Capitol Square, 01 our way to the House. He said he would b disengaged by three, and it must be near tha now." At that moment, a troop of cavalry ap peared, dashing up the street, their sabre clashing against, heavy spurs, their war-wor steeds urged on by some unusual excitemeni Sara stopped, suddenly, as her eye fell upo an officer somewhat in advance. His fac was overshadowed by a long black plume but there was no mistaking that erect an graceful figure?that inimitable horseman ship. "It is! It is !" she exclaimed, regardless c the wondering looks of passers by. The cavalier raised his hat; a flash of jo lit up his face ; he bowed to the saddle-bov Iu another moment the whole troop had ga loped past. Trembling with excitement, Sara caugl her aunt's hand and urged her forward. "Let us go !" she exclaimed, breathlesslj "He will be at home before we reach there. "And what will papa say when he finds u missing at Capitol Square?" inquired he aunt, with a demure smile. "Oh ! sure enough. We must hasten ther at once and tell him Rupert has come. Ho' glad he will be !" With quickened steps they soon reache the Square, and found Mr Howard waiting - He smiled as he caught sight of his daughter* beaming face. , : "Surely somebody has had a glimpse o - General Lee," he said, with an expressive ; glance. , | "Better than that even, papa," Sara re 3; turned, unable to repress her delight. I "You little tory ! What could be better a i But I can guess?" tapping her blushinj t cheek. "I saw a Major of cavalry just now.' "Oh, then you saw him, papa ! What di( - he say ?" 3 "Not a word, the circumstances not being ) conducive to social conversation. He wai - tearing by at the head of his battalion. Bu r as the little maid will scarcely enjoy G 'i eloquence, Agues," turning to Miss Howard - "we had probably better take her home, ant t give her a glass of wine." With a pretty gesture of defiance, Sara pu her arm through her father's, and the thret walked briskly towards their hired house it Franklin street. They had scarcely entered t and Sara was warming her hands by th< * drawing-room fire, when the door bell rang > violently and Rupert Carington was usheret in. No curious eye witnessed the meeting o i the lovers?a joyful and unexpected reuniot , after six mouths' separation. Id those tiraei ? of danger and death, such meetings were in deed glimpses of blessed sunshine, "few anc i far between" in the pauses of a dark ant dreadful storm. That storm is over now ! God be thanked! Only a few clouds well nigh exhausted of their death-bolts, still lin ger above the horizon?only a few distani mutterings of thunder strike terror to trem r bling souls, who, having suffered so long > can scarcely dare to hope for a calm onc( more. But though it be passed, who is there not cold and dead to the holiest emotions, thai ' can forget those fleetiug, yet all too blissfu! s moments in the intervals of separation, when t hurried clasp of hands?a passionate kiss?? "choking sigh which ne'er might be repeat ed"?a word?a glance?was all that sterr ; Fate could grant; and then the "mountingir i hot haste"?"the mustering squadron"?tb< battle field?death in some hideous form i Yes, it is all over now! But may He whos< armies are the hosts of Heaven, and wh( holdeth the scales of everlasting justice it His right hand?may He strike swift ven , geance upon those craven souls who for theii own ambition and self aggrandizement urgec t on this war, and heightened its horrors wit! satanic ruthlessness! The wan, agonized facei r of widows and orphans, the avenging ghosti ) of murdered men, the ashes of desolatec I homes, the groans of a people bowed beneatl the most galling yoke; 'ill these shall rist ; with appalling vividness to torture and con deran. Justice will be meted at last to th< . traitor and murderer! God and Truth anc ) Right will be avenged ! Sara and Rupert were sitting side by sid< " upon the sofa when Mr. Howard and his sistei entered the drawine-room a half hour after > They welcomed the gallant dragoon warmly "How fortunate that we should be here, raj 1 dear boy," Mr. Howard said, shaking his banc ' again and again. "And how fortunate that I chanced to re ceive Sara's letter informing me of your arri ! val here, just a few hours before orders .cam* ! for the regiment's removal to the trans-Missis sippi department. I am sure Sara aud I an ! under the greatest obligations to your constit I uents for sending you here to represent them,' Rupert rnntmnoH, i?')ghinrly. "Nothing else I am sure could have inducer 5 you to leave 'sweet Auburn, loveliest village, * Ac., as Sara always styles it in her letters." "Nothing but duty, aud inability to serv< " my country in a more active manner, coulr } have prevailed upon me to accept the position " I assure you," responded Mr. Howard. "Ai 1 it is, the sooner the session closes and the hilli " of Oconeechee rise in view, the better I shal ' be satisfied." 1 "And how does Richmond suit you, aun ' Agnes ?" Rupert inquired, with a mischievoui glance at Sara, as he claimed the new rela tionship. 2 "It seems rather strange to me," was the re 1 ply. "I have never been accustomed to citj ' life, and all here is so bustling, so noisy?s< r confused, it appears to me. But Sara enjoyi ? it I think ; and her pleasure, you know is ours.' ' "Yes, I am sure of it," he rejoined, earnest ly. A moment after, he turned to Sura will * ? l-l uT _ I v a gay laugn aua sa.ni: "jl aiways suspend = there was a latent proclivity for dissipation it your nature, which only required a suitabh occasion to develop itself. Now, confess Rich 3 mond has either proved I ara right, or is in ? fair way to do so." 1 Sara replied, merrily, that she had no idei 1 what effect city life might have on her in fu ture; but thus far, she had had little incliua lion and no opportunity for testing the saic s proclivity. "But," she added, archly, "there will be t ' chauce shortly?a ball at the Spottswood? actually a ball, Rupert, which papa hasgivei me permission to attend ; and better still, t( ; which he has promised to escort me himself.' "Sara at a ball!" Rupert exclaimed in mocl t horror?"the mountain nymph mingling ir : the common haunts of mortals ! I can't be BI lieve it!" | "Well, I appeal to aunt Agnes and papa t( j' prove that Madame L? has my dress in haud y and that when you met us this morning, w< ' 1 were in hopeless search of a pair of gloves 1 ! for that identical occasion." Rupert's countenance changfed. ^ "I suppose it is natural," he said, in a con strained voice, "but I cannot comprehend hov at Vi<?ni?? nai\ Inilcrli qnrt rlqjlPP wllPT lliwog Uif ilUllib VUU M..V. 3 such fearful sceues are being enacted within i 1 few miles of them. It seems heartless." r "You mistake, my dear boy!" Mr. Ho wart exclaimed, with feeling; "it is natural tha r young people should seek amusement, auc ? | that they should fail to realize the awful sit r i uation of our beloved country. But neithei 8 ! is heartless. You know the peasant upon tlx r! vine-wreathed sides of Vesuvius, does no [j i comprehend the imminent danger in which hi e ! lives daily. Even when he culls the luscioui j. | fruit of a soil enriched by volcanic showers ; he heeds not the destruction which has beei and will be. So it is everywhere, and Got e | has, in his mercy, so ordained it. We fail ti n realize the danger which only threatens at i [i | distance. Ah! Rupert, you are wrong, ti e condemn the innocent pleasures of those who ,t: iu a few short days, perhaps hours, may b 1 stricken with a grief which could not hav >. been rendered less poignant by watching ant 8 waiting for it. It comes to us all but to* n soon, God knows, and there is no use iu goiiij t,# i out to meet it, my boy, and no harm in laugh n ing while we may," e j "I am wrong, sir, and you are right," Ru ,j pert cried, iu his impetuous way. "Yet sol d diers caunot but feel thus when they hear, a it were, the echo of music and dancing ii ! inntr otfAnioc " I men Ii;iu6 ,f Sara's expressive face grew more seriousl i thoughtful than ever at these words; but i y 1 was dissipated by Rupert's saying to her i 1 his peculiarly winning manner, "Sara deai |. | to prove your forgiveness of ray selfishuesi ; allow rae to accompany you to that ver ,t ball?which I heard of before I left ou camp. I have a whole week yet iu which t ^ | bemoan ray inconsistency." " j "I am sure, Rupert?" Sara began, but he is eyes were suspiciously bright as she raise* ;r them to her lover's. As if to cover grace ! fully his retreat from the argument, Rupet e | went to the piano, and threw up the lie w "Now this is charming, I declare! Come Saru ! Not my song: that would not be af d propriate, thank Heaven and General Lee!j. but something of Moore's, tender and sweel s yet with a flavor of rare old wine and?a fig for the future!" f This last sentiment was half whispered, but b Sara caught the words ; they jarred upon her. She looked reproachfully at him, but was - met by a glance of comic repentance. "I'm always putting my foot into it," he ?1 murmured, folding bands, and arching r: his brows. "I won't do so any more. Sing, ' Sara!" 1 "How can I sing if you go on so ?" she exclaimed, laughing. r "Then I will take your place until you res cover your equanimity." t He took his seat upon the stool, threw back 3 his thick, dark hair, and, striking a few , chords, began: 1 " 'TIS SWOet to inillK mat wnerevwr wo ruvo We're sure to find something blissful and dear, And when we're far from the lips that wo love t We've but to make love to the lips that are near." i A brilliant picture he made in the dark old i drawing-room, only lit by the feint flicker of i a decaying wood-fire. 8ara leant upon the 3 rosewood panelling, and gazed upon it. Well ? might she, for here was the ideal of a dream1 ing girl. The perfect outline of his features, f his eloquent eyes now brilliant with a light 1 she could not underhand?-the very attitude, 3 so carelessly graceful?all combined to con stitute Rupert Carington a man of singular 1 fascination. When the voice suddenly i ceased?itself rich and intoxicating as the ? melody of his song?Rupert caught sight of - the gentle eyes fixed with such tenderness and * admiration upon bis face, and a thrill swept t over his wayward heart; a feeling to which - he was utterly unaccustomed except in the > presence of this innocent girl?a kind of self* mistrust, mingled with a vague desire to be a > better and a nobler man. For one brief, unt counted moment it swayed him?so volatile, I so fickle, so weak?and then he laughed merrily and asked her what she thought of the song. "I did not hear it?I mean, the words," Sara replied, half-confused. "I wasn't thinking of them." "And of what were you thinking, Miss | Howard, that you paid no attention whatever 2 to my song 7" > "I was thinking of?of?you," she said, > shyly, and blushing a livid crimson. Rupert leaned forward and took her hand, r "Were you, darling ?" he murmured, pressI ing it to his lips. "Then as poor as the subject was, it was bet3 ter than the song. I wish I hadn't sung it." 3 Placing Sara on the stool, he stood by her, 1 and they sang several duetts, greatly to Mr. ? Howard's delight. Then aunt Agnes asked 2 for her favorite?"Ye banks and braes of bon nie Doon." 2 "Oh I that's dreadfully melancholy," exI claimed Rupert, "it sounds like a dirge; but sing it, Sara." i She complied, warbling the quaint, sad litr tie ballad with an expression which struck her . auditors. "Why, little daughter, you sing as if you r too were 'weary, full of care,' her father I said, when she rose from the stool, and came towards them, gathered around the fire. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he drew his child closely to him, and added? i "I hope the time is far distant when this sweet voice will bewail 'departed days' in i those sad words." "There is no danger, papa, dear," Sara re' plied, returning his caress, "as long as you all _ are left to love and npt. me? 1 . y CHAPTER III. 2 The short winter afternoon was closing, and 1 homeward-bound footsteps echoed sharply on the still, frosty air; but no sound disturbed 3 the profound reverie in which Sara Howard 3 was buried. She was half-reclining among 1 the cushions of a divan drawn before the fire; one hand supported her head?in the other t she held a book, a slender finger between the /-? -i i !? iL. _i : a pHges. one gazea areamuy uuu me giuwiug bed of coals where grotesque figures flitted to aud fro. The opening of the door did not disturb her, nor the light step upon the velvet carpet. "My pensive Sara," as Wordsworth hath it, "wherefore thus ?" Sara looked up at the merry, handsome face bending over her, and smiled. But there lingered a shadow of sadness, and Rupert was yet too much in love not to note every change in her expressive countenance. "What is it, dearest? I am sure something must worry you." He sat down by her and began stroking her hair in that old familiar way. "No, not worried?only sad. I don't know why it is," she continued, "but though I have read this book a half dozen times, it always excites in me the most painful emotions. The incidents seem so real?indeed, I almost feel as if it were ray own experience, so intense is the interest." Rupert took the volume from her hand. "Ah," he said, half-laughing, "that highlyimaginary romance of Madame De Stnel's, the most absurd thing ever penned. Why, Sara, I thought you had too much commonsense?in short, were too far superior to the generality of your sentimental sex, to allow ) such a story as this to have any effect upon , j vou. I am positively amazed at the discov-1 ? ii_. ? - | ery. iiuw j uai usieu at uuo ocuicu^c ?lujui ing the leaves at random?"and see what a bundle of French affectations and strained antitheses: 'Men err from selfishness; women - because they are weak.' Such stuff!" ' He threw the book down impatiently; and ) then with a sudden change in his voice and i manner, resumed his toying with Sara's curls. "Don't mind what I say, darling," he beI gan, gently. "I'm a bundle of affectations II and contradictions myself. I like the book 1 i too?it has a strange fascination for me; but - I feel, when J api reading it, a natural masr culine indignation that a woman should read 2 us so well. It's like seeing one's self in a t concave mirror, when one is not very hand2 some at best. But I don't want you to read 3 it. Promise me you won't." , "Why? You know there are no new books, J and one must read something." 1 Rupert put back the clustering brown ringa lets, and lifted the sweet face to his. i "Why? Because I won't have my violets 3; watered by such showers as I know drenched i, | them this evening. Now you know, why? e | and there's the vow of obedience you must e j subscribe to before many months." I j She laughed now, and shook the curls down o I to hide her blushes. Z j "Well, I promise not to read it till this day -1 year?till the J8th of Pecember, 1865. Isn't ; that fajr?" with a mischievous glaqce. i* | "Yes, I'll agree to that, for the war will be I- over by that time, and I will superintend your s 1 literature iuy6elf. Bythe-bye, isn't it time o I you were dressing for the ball ?" He took out his watoh. y "Yes, here it is quite seven, and we must it1 not he later than nine." u 1 Oli ! you needn't imagine it will take me r, two hours to make a toilet," Sara cried, 3, | laughing ; "but I'll be waiting a half-hour y ; before you are prepared, I know." r ! "We will seel But whom do you think I o met at the door of the hotel as I came out? j Why, Charlie Manning and Ada. He has r 1 been promoted to the Lieutenant Colonelcy d i of our regiment, and having leave for thirty )-! days, wrote Ada to meet him here, as two or t i three days might be lost in going to Auburn. I. i I declare they are a devoted couple. Aunt ;, Taylor and Fannie are here, too, and will >- probably remain, as they prefer gayety to - monotony, und Fan says Auburn is duller t, I than ever?quiet as a grave-yard." "That sou nds like Fannie. Are they all at the hotel ?" "Yes, and we will see them at the ball tonight ; but they will probably take a house when Ada leaves. Charlie says he will not be separated from her again, and I think, he is right. You shouldn't stay behind, little woman, if I had the right to take you with _ . II me. Sara smiled thoughtfully as she gazed at the fire, but made no reply. She was thinking how happy Ada Manning must be. Rupert rose to get his hat, And struck his foot against the prohibited volume of "Corinne." He picked it up with a half-sarcastic smile. "Here you are again I" he said, apostrophizing the book?"again in my way. I like you and I don't like you." Sara turned as she heard his altered tone. "Why, Rupert, I really will begin to think you are inconsistent" "I am," he said, laughing, "there's no doubt of it A second edition revised and enlarged of Israel's hopeful son : 'Unstable as water.'" Light and careless as the words were, they fell like a sudden chill upon ine trusting neari of his betrothed. But ever quick as he was to note the changes of her face, Rupert now perceived he had gone too far. He put bis arm around her, and drew her head down upon his shoulder. "No, Sara, I am not quite so bad as that, upon my word. I know I am a rattling, goodfor-nothing fellow, but in two cases I am staunch and faithful?to my country and to my sweetheart I'll fight as long as life lasts for the one, and both live and die for the other. Don't you believe me, darling ?" He knew she did ; not for the briefest moment had she ever doubted his love or bis honor. "If you will let me reply to you in the words ofCorinne/'she replied in a tone he had never heard her use before?resonant with suppressed emotion?" 'it would cost me more to lose my admiration than my love.' Love cannot survive the loss of faith." Rupert seemed strangely affected by these words. He caught her hand to his lips with a passionate gesture. Then without speaking, hurried from the room. Sara made her toilet in a mechanical way, as if her mind had little to do with the operation. Some influence, occult or atmospheric, seemed to weigh upon her spirits. "Unstable as water." Again and again the words rose to her lips; they haunted her persistently. Presently she uttered them as if to break the spell?and then the echo seemed to linger wierdly through the lofty apartment. Was he indeed fickle and faithless? Was his affection only a deluding ignis fatuus, or the Bteady, brilliant planet round which her thoughts revolved like unchanging moons? The question scarcely formed itself in her mind, before it was indignantly dismissed. ""Ma nn " alio OT/ilaimoH "Via in faithful to me?I know he is"?and catching up her sbawl and gloves, hastily ran down stairs as if to escape some threatened danger. Rupert was already in the drawing-room. Not a trace of emotion lingered upon his animated features; and Sara, too, forgot the painful scene as she met his eyes fixed upon her with admiring fondness. "Why, Sara, you are a veritable mountainnymph. Come and let roe look at you." He drew her under the chandelier, and noted, with the eye of a connoisseur, every item 0f IKpf tnatpfii) wftiro The carriage was presently announced. Mr. Howard joined them, and Sara declared her happiness complete as they drew up before the brilliantly-lighted front of the Spottswood. A hoydenish damsel of sixteen, looking as if she had just escaped from the thralldom of a boarding-school, greeted them with noisy effusion at the door of the ball-room. She was leaning on the arm of an officer of distinguished appearance, evidently much bored. "Rupert! Sara! Oh, this is charming!" she exclaimed, holding out an eager hand to each. "I thought you never were coming. Though Charlie was just declaring Rupert wouldn't miss it for his commission. Oh! Mr. Howard, beg your pardon ! There's mamma and Ada up in that corner. Do go and rescue them. Ada don't want to lose the Light of her Eyes for a moment, but I must dance, so I dragged him out. I'll keep the next for you, Rupert; it's a waltz. Now you and Sara be our vis-a vis?that's a good boy 1" No one else had an opportunity for uttering a word during this rapidly-delivered tirade ; so with a dumb show of resignation, Rupert led Sara to her place, and the quadrille began. One dance followed another in rapid succession ; and after Sara had greeted her friends from Auburn, she found little leisure for conversation. Col. Manning scarcely left the side of his shy little bride, who presented a marked contrast to her prononce sister?Miss Fannie Taylor?a fair specimen of that rare genus which unites pure enjoyment and perfect unconsciousness of self. Rupert was not to be deprived of his due share of quadrilles and gallops with his affianced; but iu the mean time distributed a flattering, desultory sort of attention among the rival belles of the evening. He was evidently a general favorite, and bright eyes innumerable flashed with coquettish light when the fascinating young Major of Dragoons approached their respective shrines with that peculiar half-beseeching, half-defying air which masculine conquerors assume on such occasions. TUo oiionlnn aiaa far ndunnrpd. and Sara I having danced till she was weary, sat leaning her head against the embrasure of a window, wondering what had become of Rupert, whom she had missed from the gay throng for more than an hour, Her father had gone home at her request, for this scene was uncongenial to him ; its mirth and music oppressed a mind whose sole contemplation was now the interests of the land he so loved. Sara lingered tiuder the ostensible chaperonage of Mrs. Taylor, who with her daughters, Mrs. Manning and the irrepressible Miss Fannie, sat a few step3 off, engaged in spirited conversation with a group of friends. The music ceased, and Sara heard a dashing belle brune enquire, eagerly? "Is it Major Carrington's command ?" She was standing near, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, but heedless of all, she had seized a new-comer, and was questioning him with an air of unwonted interest. The gentleman replied, "he feared the report was true, for he had seen Major Carrington going, in haste, to the War-Qffice, in cow I pany with Gen. L. The "queen-lily aqd rose" drew a long, | I sighing breath, and opened her sandal-wood fan with an air of resignation, "What a pity ! I had promised myself a most interesting flirtation with him during the next week, and here he is cut off at a moment's warning. What eyes he has! He takes hearts as he takes citadels?by storm. Ma foi 1 it is lamentable that such superb creatures should be targets for Yankee bullets. It would not matter much if it were you now, Mr. Treasury Clerk," tapping a meek, black-coated individual on the arm, "nobody would miss you, you knqw^but Major Carrington!?J am convinced I shall not survive it! Come, Jack," as the music began again, "let us try this waltz and its soothing effects 1" And floating away like a water-nymph in her native element, Sara was again left alone, a thousand wild conjectures agitating her bewildered brain. Her color went and came, and she felt as if she could not endure it much longer. "Dear Sara," a voice whispered in her ear, j "get your shawl and come away at once. You look quite ill." Rupert stood by her, but a hurried glance sufficed to show that her fears were not groundless. His face was flushed and eager; but there was an accent in his tender voice ! that Sara interpreted but too well; they were about to part. Not a word was spoken till ! they were in the carriage on their way home. Then she knew all?he was ordered at once to the West. "But it is not our first parting, dearest," he said, clasping her icy hands closer in bis; "and you know, next summer at farthest, we will be udted never to be separated again. The war cannot last much longer; both sides are tired of it; and oh, my darling, what a happy day for us when the white banner of peace is unfurled I" Sara could not speak. She felt as if the breeziest mountain-top could not afford her one long breath ; she was choked and suffocated with a horrible oppression. Rupert continued to talk of their blissful future, unconscious of her torture. When they reached the bouse on Franklin street, he dismissed the carriage and supported Sara into the drawing-room. A few embers still glowed on the hearth ; and as Rupert stood on the rug, face to face with his betrothed, the scene so recently enacted there rushed over bis mind. "Sara, darling, forgive me for the pain I caused you this evening! It was mere thoughtlessness on my part, but I cannot bear to leave you without an assurance that you will forget. When I am gone, I don't want you to think of me as a foolish, feeble boy? but as a devoted, earnest man, whose heart, in spite of all his failings, is yours and yours alone. Will you promise me, Sara, that come what may, you will always believe in my love for you?" Sara bowed her head upon his arm, and her clay-cold fingers closed over his. That mute yet eloquent assurance was enough. Tears filled his eyes, so long unused to weep; and for several moments he could not control bis voice. The tolling of the neighboring churchclock roused him. "That is one, and I must be off another hour." He raised the drooping head from his arm, and crazed with nassionate. glistening eves into q?? ? i 1 ? b ? the face which had aroused in his wayward heart the only true, unsullied affection it would ever know. He bent his head to imprint the last kiss upon those pure, and ever-faithful lips, when Sara made a desperate effort as if to speak. "Rupert, be true to me !" she murmured in a voice so faint that only the ear of love could have caught the fluttering accents. He folded her in his arms, and in tones broken by intense emotion, exclaimed, vehemently?"I will, so help me God 1" That oath was registered agaiost Rupert Carrington in the Volume of which it is so solemnly recorded, "and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books according to their works" [concluded next week.] ^tisccUancous fleadituj. THIEVES BY BIRTH. per80ns in whom the propensity to steal is natural and irre8i8tible. I was invited to a jail in Massachusetts by a juuug luwjci j filler liac otulc bc^uiiic tjulicil States Senator, to examine the head of a client of his whom he was to defend on the charge of stealing. No information was given as to his alleged crime, and we described the young man as being abnormally acquisitive, or selfish in respect to possession ; that he had very strong veneration, and would manifest much religious devotion, and would be sincere in it; while with his small cautiousness and consci j i enuousuess anu very imge aukjuigmvcucoa uc would be likely to trespass upon the rights of others in the way of stealing. At this point the lawyer told the young man he might tell what he had told him (the lawyer. He went on to relate that he had been in the habit of stealing everything, whether he wanted it or not; that he would go to prayer meeting and take the opportunity of prayer two or three times during the evening, and sometimes on the way home he would be inspired with a devotional feeling, and would kneel down in the corner of the fence alone, and have a season of prayer that was sweet and heavenly to him ; and strange as it may seem, if he saw a hoe hanging on a farmer's fence, or a whiffle-tree chain, or pin of a cart neap, or a beetle and wedges, or an old axe, half-worn, he would steal it, and afterward it would occur to him that he could not use the articles, nobody would buy them, and his only way was to conceal them; and he remarked that there was a hollow log lying in a small piece of wood in which he had secreted the articles which he had stolen be| cause he dare not carry them home nor offer them for sale. But it seemed to him that he could not help stealing them; the impulse came on, and though he was sincere in his religious devotions, and exceedingly happy in their performance, he seemed to himself to be left to the temptation of the devil when anything which might be stolen was left in his way. A man who was a minister called for an examination, and at the end of a long and sharp analysis of his character, in which acquisitiveness and secretiveness had been described as strongly developed and very active, and also conscientiousness and cautiousness bad been estimated as large, he seemed unwilling to go, but walked up and down the room for several raiuutes, as if he had some burdened question he wanted to ask and yet was afraist fn nqlr Tn rnina to him. I said : "Do I you wish to ask any questions?" "Yes," he said ; "there is one thing about me which you do not seem to haye described. If you will tell me that, I will believe in phrenology." I instantly replied : "You have an inclination to steal; but probably manage to refrain from it." He opened his eyes with terrified astonishment, and, giving me such a fierce gaze as never will be forgotten, remarked: "Sir, that is true. That is my trouble. I am ' a clergyman, sir, and hope that I am a true one; yet I have, all my life long, been tempted to steal, and in my parochial visits, often have an impulse come over me to take something ; and if left alone in a room I do take it; and sometimes it requires half an hour to find a convenient opportunity to get the article thus taken out of my pooket and back upon the shelf or table where it belongs. It may be a shell which every Sunday school child in the parish knows; it may be an old hymn book with a name written on it, and half worn out?things which I do not need, and could not use if I did need them, without the theft being detected." And be remarked, with tears tumbling down his face: "By the help of God, I have been able, hitherto, to refrain from carrying away anything which I bad thus, under the impulse, stolen," Twenty-five years ago'theye was a well-to-do farmer's wife in Connecticut who bad an imnnlsp tr? steal onlv one kind of an article, and that was blue stockings. If she were driving, in the middle of a bright afternoon, a mile from home, where she and the horse and wagon were well known, and she caught sight of a pair of blue stockings hanging on a line in the yard with other clothing, she would stop her team, get out of the wagon, go into the yard in front of the rooms where the family were working, and jerk those stocking* off the line, leaving a dozen pairs of other colors, return to her wagon, whip up the team and get out of the way. Jf she had been a stranger, whose peculiarity was unknown, she would have been followed and arrested and punished; but everybody knew that she had that queer monomania for blue stockings. I examined a man's head and described him as being very fond of money, happening, of course, to use that term, money, instead of property, and it made quite a sensation because it was known that he would steal money, and he did not hesitate to talk about it himself. But he would steal nothing else, no matter how valuable, though he knew he might be detected.?Phrenological Journal. JUDGE BRADLEY'S TEMPER, When Judge Joseph Bradley, the President-maker, resided and practiced in New* Jersey, his quick temper furnished his brothers of the bar constant amusement. His in clination towards piety, his grave and studious aspect and the eminent positions he filled rendered his childish humors astonishing to thoso who saw them for the first time, and amusing to his associates who were aware of the nervous temperament he possessed. Joel Parker and Robert Allen, ex-Governor and county Prosecutor, were once conversing in the library of the Capitol at Trenton and were startled by what seemed to be the sound of angry voices and of living furniture. Through the glazed book-cases they saw "Joe" Bradley, who was trying to write upon a table that wobbled under the pressure of bis arm. Bradley war muttering angrily. Suddenly he overturned the table and sawed at one of its legs with a pen-knife. The table wobbled still, and Bradley fumed with rage. Again he overturned the table, again he hacked at the leg, and then with reddening face and ferocious aspect he seized the table and hurled it, legs under, across the room, yelling? 'Now, you, you'll etay where you'r put 1" Important business in another part of the State called Bradley away one morning. He arose, dressed and ate, and yet had ample time in which to take the train, but as he reached the front gate his wife called his attention to the fact that the trousers he wore were dreadfully ragged where they were widest. Back went the judge to his room, and presently, with new trousers, strode towards the depot. But the train had gone, and in a terrible rage he returned to his bed-room, seized the hapless trousers he had first worn, and slitting them into a thousand strips, flung them from him, saying? "There, you'll never make me miss a train again." Once Judge Bradley lost a case in the Court of Chancery, and as he was leaving the court house in anger and was mattering to himself ?? 3 J-J L:_ as oe ueaceuueu me aiairs, buuio uua ooacu uiui if the court was closed. "No," be thundered, happily, though perhaps unconsciously paraphrasing, a celebrated bon mot, "Hell and the Court of Chancery are always open." Other stories there are of how at at a fashionable dinner Judge Bradley nade many ineffectual attempts to harpoon a lump of frozen butter lying on a piece of ice, and how finally he threw his knife at it and swept it off the table, and how he cuffed his pastor for preaching a sermon that displeased him ; but these stories are not authenticated. WANTED TO GET ON THE JURY. , P?nnnntly?iW ttiHaece of the WJU1 t-IUUIll was interrupted by the entrance of a roan who came in with a shuffling, uneasy step, and with his bat in his hand. He halted and leaned against the railing. Nobody took the slightest notice of him, however. At last he took courage and spoke: "Is the Judge in ?" The clerk immediately awoke his Honor. "Well, what do you want?" "I'm looking for a job, your Honor. I've been looking for work over a month." "There's nothing for you here." "I thought you occasionally gave jurymen a job. I don't read newspapers any, and being a stranger in town I haven't got any prejudices agin anybody. A pard of mine wrote down to me at Reno, last week, and said that the jury business up here was brisk and it would pay to come up. As I'm a stranger to you and a little hard up, I'll start in and serve for half price till you kin see what I kin do." "What are your main qualifications?" "My strong suit is in makin a jury agree. No juries ever get hung if I am on 'em. I just lay low till they take the first ballot, then jine the majority and argue the rest into it. I can discount any lawyer talking. I can show 'em up points they never tumbled to before. Sometimes I have to use force, but seldom. Once, down at Truckee, in a murder case, there were a eouple of fellers standin' out again hangin', and after arguing with 'em as smooth and gentlemanly as I could for over a quarter of an hour, I went for'em with chairs, and by the time I'd busted half a dozen pieces of furniture over 'em they was glad to come in with a verdict of 'Murder in the first degree,' and the feller was hung not long afterward. In these justice courts I can get on the jury, and if you'll just give a wink as to how you want the case to go, I'll guarantee to fetch in the verdict you want, or not take a cent." The man was told to drop round again in a day or so and they would try and make a vacancy for him. In order to do it, however, some regular juryman will probably have to be discharged,? Virginia CUy Chronicle. an r% I T> A-i ohut tjhis uairi i?-Doyo, anui me gate after you! You are going through, to be gone just a little while; you look around, and not seeing any thing likely to enter, you think you will save a little time by leaving it until you return. So you drive along, and get about half through with your job, when up come the colts, attracted by the sight of your team. Seeing the gate open, they dash in, and away they go, for a soamper through the garden, or field, as the case may be; you shout at them and call the dog. He comes rushing upon the scene, and takes after them with evident delight. If you are a very prudent boy you first hitch your team to the fence, and then run after the dog and colts. By this time the hungry old sow, that can smell an open gate a quarter of a mile away, do matter which way the wind blows, has come up, and in she goes, with her whole progeny. Now you get mad and call the dog away from the colts and set him after the pigs. The hired man hears the uproar, and comes to the rescue. He follows the colts and as they come tearing along past the horses, they pull at their halters and down come 'two or three rods of fence, You are extremely lucky if they do not run away and upset the wagon. By this time your mother comes into the melee. She has sense enough to drive the dog to the house; and by her intelligent help the field ia finally cleared, and order restored. Probably you cannot earn enough in a week to pay for the damage that is done, and it might all have been prevented by just one minute spent in shutting the gate after you. X will venture the opinion that if there had been an accurate account kept, since creation, of the amount saved or lost by not shutting the gate promptly after it was used, the loss would exceed the gain by enough to put up a new gate or every form in the United States. I have known boys, and even men, to have just about the experience which I have described, over and over again, and yet they never seem to learn the great economy and security which lies in promptly shutting the gate after them.? Young Folk's Monthly. . ~ ..