Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | An |nbe|pbeitt Jfamilg ftetospapcr: Jor % ^romaticrn of t|e political, Social, Agricultural aub Commercial Interests of % $out|). |TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 24. " YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 3, 1878. NO. 1. fflffteil ftfftrg. FIND A WAY OR MAKE IT. To get the cocoanut's rich meat, The shell is hard?so break it; The fragrant leaf its odor holds Until you bruise or shake it. A mountain, far too steep to climb? Well, then, don't try and do it; You may be able to go around, Or patiently dig through it. A fence, you say, but ne'er a gate? What can you do? yon wonder, Just scale the wall: mount, if you can, And, if you can't, crawl under! Your way is muddy ? Wait awhile, Let winds and sunshine dry it; Still, wait not for another rain To see some comrade try it. A river deep, you cannot swim ? No steamer there, you know it ? Well, if there is no other way, Build your own boat and row it. Go down, and you'll have many a kick ; Go up, and some will push you, But win your way, and praise will come From those who tried to crush you. wAnr folonf fVirnncrh n. /aap. But bravely go and stake it. Wear out?don't rust?to reach your goal, Lad, find a way or make it. j&u Jtog. * Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARIPOSA; OR, THE HEART OF A BALLET GIRL. CHAPTER I. It was on a lonely morning of May, I860, that the good ship "Constitution" sailed slowly into the Bay of San Francisco, its white sails swelling before a fresh yet soft wind, just touched by the golden light of the rising sun. The sky was absolutely without a cloud. The blue waves broke with a joyous ripple against the vessel's prow; then hurrying, tumbling, chasing each other like children at play, dissolved themselves into snowy wreaths of foam as it cleft its way through their midst. Fair was the scenery around. The broad bosom of the bay, already dotted with the tiny craft of industrious fishermen plying their wonted occupation, spreading itself out in magnificent proportions, between its sentinel chain of mountaius on the north and its tamer southern boundary of level beach; westward through the Golden-Gate to kiss the " waters of the grand Pacific as they came rolling in; eastward in its crescent sweep around the city of hills, broken by many a picturesque rock aud island mound ; while on mountaintop, and dimpling water, and city-spire, and yellow sand, lay the exquisite light of early morn, flushing ever with deeper tints of mingled rose and gold, as the sun, id all its splendor, arose upon the scene. Among the passengers on board the "Constitution," was one party whose glad and hopeful hearts responded, with a joyous thrill, to the harmoniously-blended influences of Nature, that seemed to smile a welcome to them as they approached their long-looked for haven. Mr. Forester, his wife and three children, a Southern family, voyaging chiefly in quest of pleasure, though partly, also for the benefit of the health of the eldest child, a boy of nine, contemplated making the Queen City of the West, for a time, their home, and bailed with pleasure the close of a long aud somewhat tedious trip. Albert, the son, leaned over the ship's side,delightedly watch iug the gambols of the waves and the motions of the sea-gulls as they flew around. His parents noted, with admiration, the charming effects of light and shadow on the hills, and the various features of the scenery through which they were passing; and the two younger chil*r dren, lovely little girls of two and four years, played at their mother's knee, enjoying the novelty of their position without being able to appreciate the natural beauties which attracted the attention of their seniors. "How slowly we are sailing now," exclaimed Albert, impatient to reach their destination. "I wish, papa, you would ask the Captain to hurry up a little, so that we can get to the hotel by breakfast time." "Why, ray boy, this is the pleasantest part of our voyage," rejoined his father. "I, for one, am in no haste to exchange this beautiful bay for the close rooms of the hotel. Did you ever breathe," he continued, turning to his wife, "a more delicious atmosphere ? So soft, yet so exhilarating. If this is a specimen of the climate we are to enjoy out here, we must admit that it contrasts favorably with all others of which we have had any experience." "It is indeed perfect," she replied. "But, then.it is a perfect morning. We cannot expect the weather to continue always so favorable. You remember we were warned of the fogs and summer winds, as quite an important feature in the climate of San Francisco." "Well, we won't be annoyed by those in anticipation, at all events. When the windy season arrives, we will take refuge in some inland retreat, as I bear it is the fashion to do. Ha! Albert, there comes a brisker breeze, as if in answer to your wish. We are beginning to go faster already." aWl * ^ wo livof nnrvAaito yV lltit ISIHUU 19 UlOI>| juov vppvu*W to us ?" asked the boy. "I don't know the name of it, Albert; you forget the coast is as new to me as it is to you," was Mr. Forester's reply. A gentleroan who stood near, overhearing the lad's question, volunteered to give the desired information. "That is Angel Island, ray little man. A pretty name, isn't it ? That one beyond is Alcatraz; you seethe fortress on it?one of the sentinels of our harbor. Look backward at that tall mountain, the highest of the range we have just left behind us; that is Taraalpais, and a fine old fellow he is." The gentleman spoke in a frank, pleasant manner, and finding him so willing to be communicative, Albert, who was never shy at making new friends, was encouraged tc ask more questions in regard to their surroundings, to all of which he received prompt and satisfactory replies. "Do you belong to San Francisco, sir?' he inquired at length. His father, hall + - laughing, turned to check hira. "You will be taken for a Yankee, my son if you are so inquisitive," he said, in a reprov ing tone. "Oh 1 let him ask as many questions as h( likes," said the stranger, good-humoredly "I never pet tired of children's talk or re sent their curiosity. My business lies, at pres eut, in San Francisco, my lad. I have livec in California a good many years, but I can'i say I have any settled home. I'm what they call a mining expert." "What is that, sir?" asked the boy. "One who is employed to decide on th< value of mines, newly-located claims and sc on. Sometimes a fellow thinks he has struct magniBcent ore, and an experienced hand like myself, is called in to judge, and find: out, maybe, that there is only a little scat tei ing of the genuine stuff near the surface, anc the rest of the claim isn't worth a picayunethen whew! goes all the poor fellow's grant anticipations to the winds. That isn't ven pleasant, is it? Sometimes again we fint ? that the ground was even richer than was sup posed ; and when we give a favorable opin ion, we are paid lots of money for it, pretty often." "Don't you get paid all the same wher you give a bad opinion, sir?" The gentleman laughed. "Sometimes," hi rejoined. "A good deal depends upon which way the wind blows. Some folks are anxious ; for one verdict, some for another?it's all in the way of speculation. A fine institution, these mines, sir," he added, addressing Mr. Forester. "I know very little about them, except from hearsay," replied the latter. "They open, of course, an immense field of industry to the working population." Some talk about mines and mining operations ensued, to which Albert listened at first with interest, but as it presently drifted into acbannel beyond his depth, he ceased to attend to it, and returned to his former employment of gazing at surrounding objects on land and water. They were now approaching the wharves, and he amused himself with readiug the names on the different vessels as they came sufficiently near to enable him to distinguish the letters. "Look! Helen ; look, Ada, at the big tall masts," he said to his little sisters, directing their attention to the shipping clustered in the harbor. "And see that man all the way up yonder?look mamma, be climbs like a moukey. Only think now if he was to go splashing down into the watei*, what a fall he would have ! I shouldn't like to be a sailor, should you, mamma?" "I cannot say that I should," answered his mother, smiling. "I'd like to be a captain, and have a ship like this, though. I would go sailing all around the world, and have lots of fun, finding out new countries, and bringing home all sorts of curiosities, to make a museum with. Oh! look, mamma, we are g< ing into this wharfl Now we'll laud?how glad I am. Look, papa; here we are going to stop. ' Mustn't we see after our baggage now, quick ?" "Plenty of time," said the gentleman with 1 whom Mr. Forester was conversing, and who ; had introduced himself in the meanwhile as Mr. Charles Seymour. "It will be a considerable time before we land yet." The children were delighted with the hurry and the bustle which ensued. Even little Ada, a black eyed sprite, full of mirth and mischief, clapped her tiny hands and dauced up and down, in enjoyment of the unusual sights and sounds. In another quarter of an hour they stepped on shore, and entering a coach, arrived, after a few minutes' drive, at the hotel which they had been advised to stop at, just as the bell, as if in accordance with Albert's wish, was ringing for breakfast. It is not ray purpose to relate the history of the Foresters' sojourn in San Francisco. We have lingered with them thus far, simply in order tn hecome acauainted with the family, and to form-ail idea of their object io seeking this far western shore. Suffice it to say that, after a stay of a few weeks in the city, fiuding the July wind and dust rather trying, they determined to carry out their plan of visiting some of the country-places in the interior, which form, at this season, a favorite resort. There was not such a choice of summer retreats in these days as there is now, when al. most every county in the State offers some agreeable nook, comfortably arranged, for the reception of visitors. After some inquiry and deliberation, they fixed upon a spot known as Cobb's Springs, (from the name of the proprietor) where, they were informed, they would find an excellent climate, pure water and an abundance of fruit, besides a wholesome variety of good country fare, well served. To this desirable location they accordingly repaired ; and if they were somewhat disappointed iu the surperlative excellence of the hotel-arrangements, asset forth in the advertisements, they found sufficient attractions in the scenery and climate, and in the opportunities afforded them of enjoying out door exercise, to satisfy them with the selection they had made. It was a warm August afternoon. Mrs. Forester, who had been troubled all day with a headache, was lying on a sofa in her own apartment, from the open windows of which she could watch the movements of the little children, who were playing in the piazza just outside. Presently, Helen came running in, with a petition that they might be allowed to go into the woods near by to get some wild flowers and ferns. "Mamma, Juanita says there's such lovely flowers, and I want to get some for the big vases in your room. Please do let us go." "But Helen, dear, you know you are taking care of little sister for mamma, and if you 11 leave ber she will come in nere ana mane a noise. Can't you wait for another time?" "Ada wants to go, too," replied Helen, and at the same moment a bright, dark-eyed face appeared at the open window. "I'll take charge of Ada, Mrs. Forester," said the owner of this face, a girl of about sixteen. "If she gets tired I'll carry her, and it isn't far." "You?are you going, Juanita? But Ada . is heavy, and you will soon get tired, carrying ber," said Mrs. Forester. "Better let Helen stay and raiud her here." "Now, mamma ! I want to go," and Helen's pretty coral lips assumed a decided pout. "Ada can walk well enough ; you said yourself, yesterday, she wasn't a baby any more!" "Let her go, please," chimed in Juanita. "I'll see after them both, and we won't be gone long." Juanita was a young Spanish girl, staying at the same house as the Foresters. She was an orphan, under the charge of the wife of the proprietor, and filled the position partly of adopted daughter, partly of household drudge. She was a merrv-tempered, quick-witted girl, and when her daily tasks were done, often claimed the privilege of playing with the children, with whom she had become a favorite from her lovely ways and good-nature, and j ( j her aptitude at inventing new games. She had j .j proved herself such an efficient nurse, that I Mrs. Forester was always willing to entrust the little girls to her care ; and she now, after | a moment's deliberation, agreed to her request to be allowed to take them to the woods, her . hesitation only arising from the fear that the [ walk might be too long for Ada, and thus en' tail upon Juanita the fatigue of carrying her. , The little party accordingly set off, and Mrs. Forester, enjoyiug the quiet which en-1 . sued upon their departure, prepared to ira- | ! prove the opportunity by taking a refreshing ; > | nap. She closed her eyes and a book she had J pi been trying to read, simultaneously, and was i ! soon oblivious of everything around her. The afternoon wore on, and she did not j | awaken until her husband and Albert, who ' had been fishing in a neighboring lake, came 1 , I home and entered her room. ! j "I thought it was the children," she ex- j I claimed, starting up. "How late it is 1 Did i . I you meet them ?" I i "Thechildren?are they out?" asked Mr. ' t Forester. "They went with Juanita to the woods, i But that wa? two hours ago. They must i have come in, of course. I dare say they are t somewhere in the yard." j "Go, Albert, and see," said his father. : The boy obeyed, but returned directly, with ! the information that neither the little girls nor | 5 Juanita, were anywhere about the premises, j "And Mrs. Cobb is angry with Juanita, and j 1 says she shan't go out any more, if she can'ti - come home in time to milk the cows. Mam] ina, shall I run to the woods and hunt them ' up?" . 1 "I will go with you," said his father. Mrs. Forester looked auxiously in her hus. band's face. r "Don't you think it very strange?" she asked. i "It is very careless in Juanita," was Mr. Forester's reply. He did not care to alarm 3 his wife by betraying the uueasiness he felt. He set out at ooce, with Albert, in quest of the truants; and Mrs. Forester, after walking about the piazza for a little while, and watching, in vain, for their return, grew too restless to wait longer; and putting a scarf over her head, sallied forth in the same direction, in order to putan end, the more quickly, to her suspense. It was now quite late, and she was terrified to think of her little ones being astray amid the dusky shadows of the wood. She ventured in as far as she could trace the path, then stopped and called aloud. There was an answering call, and Albert came running up. "Have you found them ?" was the question asked by each of them in the same breath, and the same answer, "No," was returned by each. "Papa and I have looked everywhere, mamma, and called and whooped just as loud as we could, but nobody has answered. They must have gone awfully far, don't you think so ? Papa sent me back to tell you that he has gone on towards Bellevue, thinking they might have taken that path by mistake. He wouldn't let me go with him." Bellevue was a small settlement some two miles distant. "Oh! they could never have gone in that direction! Juanita Knows ner way through the wood too well," exclaimed Mrs. Forester, clasping her hands. "Oh! my children, what can have become of them ? Oh ! that I had never let them go." "Don't fret, mamma dear," said the boy, consolingly, as be put his arm around his mother's waist. "They will soon be found, I expect. There's nothing to hurt them, you know." Mrs". Forester was too much troubled to reply. A hundred vague anxieties and possibilities floated through her mind. She felt quite sure that some accident must have happened, and reproached herself bitterly for having consented to Juanita's request, though such self-reproach was unavailing now. She walked back with Albert toward the hotel, but lingered outside, pacing restlessly up and down before the door. Mrs. Cobb, the landlady, came out and added to her fears, by her lamentations and excited suggestions. "I know something dreadful's bappeued. May be some prowling Indians has met them, 'ama fiarnn AO f tin fmltl Dp? iSo'fl Ul OUIUC 111 tuat CI C UC1CC WUbVIV *?WM ranch?he's none too particular about his fences. If it's Indians, they'd as likely carry them all off as not. Juanita had on that silver chain of hern, and your children always has on lots of pretty things. Whatever it is, they must have gone an awful long distance from home, or they'd have been back an hour and a half ago. My husband, he's agoing after them too ; he says he'll search the country with lanterns, and bring 'em home dead or alive." "Ob I don't speak so." Mrs. Forester wrung her hands in agony. "They cannot have met with any such dreadful fate as you suppose. Surely, they must only have missed their way." "Juanita knows every inch of that wood," replied Mrs. Cobb, with a portentous shake of the head. "It would be mighty strange for her to lose herself in it; and she would never?" "There they come now 1" shouted Albert, and with ajoyful halloo he bounded forward to meet a party, dimly visible in the distance, coming from the direction of the wood. Mrs. Forester, with a glad cry of thankfulness, followed him at a rapid pace, impatient to clasp her restored darlings to her heart. But that fond heart almost stood still with renewed terror, as she came sufficiently near to discern the figures of the group. She eaw but her husband, Helen, and the Spanish girl. Where was Ada? CHAPTER II. Before Mrs. Forester could find voice to utter the question which trembled on her Hps, it was asked and answered for her. "Why, where's Birdie?" cried Albert. This was his pet name for his baby sister, and the one by which she generally called herself. Little Helen, rushing forward, threw herself, breathless and sobbing, into her mother's arms. "Oh! mamma, Ada's gone. We looked everywhere, and she's lost; papa looked, too." With a blanched face and quivering lips, Mrs. Forester turned toward her husband for a confirmation of this statement. She read in the expression of his countenance that the little crirl's words were only too true. - o * "My dearest Emily," he hurriedly exclaimed, clasping her cold hands in his; "trust me, every effort shall be made to recover our child. She must have strayed off while the others were not attending to her,and lost herself in some nook or hollow which we have not yet been able to find. I only returned to see these others safely home, and am going back immediately to renew the search; but first I must procure assistance from the hotel." Juanita, who was crying bitterly, stole to Mrs. Forester's side. "I turned my back but for a moment," she faltered through her tears, "but for one single moment, while I went to gather some ferns. They were such large ones, and Helen asked me to get them for her to bring to you ; and we left the little one sitting on a stone, not a dozen yards off. When I looked again, she was gone." The landlady had come up with the party in time to hear this account. She now commenced to heap reproaches and abuse on the poor girl, who was the picture of remorse and grief, and without suffering her to reply, hurried her off towards the house. The others followed?a melancholy procession ; Mrs. Forester, scarcely able to walk, supported by her husband's arm. The latter only paused to see her within doors, and charging Albert to r.emain with her and attend to her wants, 1 * '? _ A t_ 4 hastened on to enter upon a iresn ijuesi, ac* corupanied by Mr. Cobb and several more who had volunteered their services. Everybody about the place knew and admired the winning, dark-eyed child, and sympathized in the parents' anxiety and distress. Wearily the hours of that wretched night dragged themselves along. Mrs. Forester^ far too miserable to seek even an instant's repose, watched by the bedside of Helen, who, missing her darling companion and bedfellow, had cried herself to sleep ; while Albert, who had insisted oi> sharing his vigil, nodded uueasily in a chair, and finally, overcome by the weariness which he strove in vain to resist, slumbered as profoundly as though he were ou a couch of down. Daylight came, but brought with it no relief to the suffering of suspense. A little before breakfast time the exploring party returned, tired and disheartened. They had found no traces of the lost child, but one?a little shoe, stained with damp, which Mr. Forester had picked up in the dewy grass on the outskirts of the wood. This discovery gave them no clue, for they sought in vain for the print of footsteps around. The grass was thick, and the ground beneath it too hard to retain the impression of any hut a heavy weight. The search had been extended for miles iu every direction? even to the bank9 of a rough, wild stream that, brawling over a rocky bed, fell foaming into a deep, still pool below; a spot so far distant from the little one's starting-point, that it was hardly within the bounds of possibility for her to have reached it, yet the father's heart had stood still with a dreadful fear as he looked over into the water's gloomy ! depths. This fear he did not breathe to his wife, and she never knew that it had entered his mind ; yet it was scarcely more agonizing than her own doubts and dread. She, poor lady, was well-nigh distracted with grief. She sat with the poor little discolored shoe in her hand, gazing at this relic of her lost darling with eyes stony and tearless in their despairing gaze. Mr. Forester, vain as the quest had proved, did not suffer it to end here. During that day, and many succeeding days, it was prosecuted with renewed vigor, until not a corner or hiding place within reach had been left unexplored. Advertisements were Bent to the various newspapers throughout the State, and even those in the neighboring territories, in the faint hope of discovering some clue ; but all was in vain. The child bad totally, mysteriously disappeared ; and it was almost imn/ioaikla fr> nnniephire hnw at. her tender flCB. she could have lost herself so quickly and completely from view ; or how, if she had been abducted, the person or persons, guilty of her capture, could so effectually have managed to elude pursuit. The anhappy family, so suddenly and unexpectedly bereaved of the very source and centre of their household joy, lingered at the scene of their catastrophe sufficiently long to assure themselves that nt chance remained of their obtaining, through their presence there, any light upon the mystery of their loss, then returned to San Francisco, where Mrs. Forester, who had only been sustained so far by a feeble remaining spark of hope, succumbed to the pressure of her sorrow, and fell dangerously ill of a nervous fever, thus adding to the distress of her husband and children. The friends they had made since their first arrival in the city were unremitting in kindness and attention, and the services of an excellent physician were procured; but though she rallied somewhat from the first violent attack of the disease, it soon became evident tbat it had a deeper seat than medicinal art could reach. Around her lost babv her tenderest affections bad been twined, and with the uprooting of these tendrils, the very fibres of her heart seemed to have been plucked out and their vital force destroyed. It was true, she had dear ones still left to her, but to none of them did she seem to cling with the absorbing love that she bad accorded to this treasure, this tender lamb, this idolized pet and plaything, whose lisping accents had been sweeter to her ear than sweetest music, and on whose laughing lips the name "mamma" had been a ceaseless echo, night and morn. As soon as she could bear removal, Mr. Forester was advised to take her back to their own home, New Orleans, in the hope that a restoration to familiar surroundings might prove beneficial to her; and they accordingly bade adieu to California, with far different emotions, and under far different auspices, from those which had signalized their arrival on its shores. For a short period after their return she seemed to improve, and her husband flattered himself that, as time wore on, and blunted the keen edge of her grief, she would regain I her former strength ; but he was mistaken in this belief, as, unfortunately, he was forced too soon to realize. The brief signs of improvement quickly gave way to renewed languor and weakness. She had neither the energy nor the will to battle against the inroads of encroaching disease, and in six mouths from the day of their return to their own home, she was released from earthly sorrow and suffering forever. Misfortunes now followed each other in quick succession. Soon after his mother's death, Albert, whose health had never been very strong, took a severe cold, which settled upou his chest, and resulted in an illness which hurried him into a premature decline. Upon his death, the nearly heart-broken father took his sole remaining child to Europe, thinking to find in some genial spot in the south of France, a climate where there would he less chance than elsewhere of any possible inherent delicacy developing itself in her constitution. He selected a lovely retreat on the banks of the Garone, not far from Toulouse. An ancient chateau, picturesquely surrounded by wood and water, fields and vineyards, and most convenient and comfortable in all its appointments, while the climate was everything (hat be desired. It is not difficult for a child of six years to take root in a foreign soil. Helen soon forgot her old home, or thought of it only with a passing regret. She grew and throve in health and beauty, made friends with everybody in the neighborhood, learned to chatter French as fluently as English, and was as happy as the days were long. Her " ?J e - < 1 L:? ratner, woo liven now iur ner aiuue, muuu mo own happiness in ber content, and was reconciled to the severance of all familiar ties aud associations, by the assurance that bis move had resulted to ber advantage, as he had hoped and expected. For two years this peaceful life continued without a break ; then it came to a sudden end. Mr. Forester, returning on horseback from Toulouse, whither he had gone on a necessary errand, was overtaken by a violent storm. While crossing a narrow bridge his horse became frightened at the lightning, and reared and plunged so furiously as to throw him from bis saddle, precipitating him over the edge of the bridge into a chasm below, a distance of several feet. His head struck against a stone, and his right arm was broken. He was found shortly afterwards, in an insensible condition, by a passerby, who conveyed him to his residence, where, after some hours of alternate suffering and unconsciousness, he died from the effect of his injuries. Thus Helen, at the early age of eight, was left alone and unprotected, an orphan in a foreign land, without a soul near her upon whom she had any claim, beyond that of the friendly interest naturally aroused by her forlorn state. Their nearest neighbor, an old lady of the name of Preville, took her to live with her until she could hear trom her relatives at home, to whom a letter had been written, informing them of her loss. Her nearest relation was a half-uncle on her father's side, Mr. Edmond Dashwood, a gentleman whom she had seen but seldom, and only imperfectly remembered; but she was familiar with his name from hearing it frequently mentioned by her father, and "uncle Edmund" seemed the proper person for her to apply to in her distress. Her childish epistle, written in somewhatungraramatical English, and stained by many tears, found its way duly to its destination; but the answer, which did not arrive as speedily as it might have done, was very different from what she had expected. It i seemed that her uncle had lately married, the lady of his choice being a widow with one son ; and this event appeared, in some mysterious manner, to huve placed him in a totally new position, so much so, that, as be wrote, he "found it quite incompatible with his present . circumstances to receive her, as he should | otherwise have been pleased to do, in his j home." He suggested that some judicious I frieud should select a good boarding-school, ! either in Paria or elsewhere, where she might pass the next six or eight years of her life, no doubt greatly to her advantage ; and when she arrived at the age of youngladyhood it would be time enough to decide I upon a permanent home. Poor little Helen showed this communica| tiou to old Madame Preville, who raised her | brow in mingled wonder and contempt. I "Mon Dieu! is this the way let Americaint show their family love?" she exclaimed, j "But see, mon enfant, I think it is not the ! uncle who has written this, but the new aunt, j who likes not to have a stranger intrude upon | her domestic affairs. Never mind, we will i nnt. o.rv ahnnt it. Something will be arrang ed, the careful aunt need not fear; but there will be no question of boarding school just yet." "Can I stay with you, Madame ?" asked the child, taking her old friend's wrinkled hand. "I like you better than any one else. I do not want to go back home." "And no wonder, if the relations are all like these," murmured Madam Preville aoiio voce. "We will see whether you can stay here, my child," she continued, aloud. "I will myself write to your uncle Monsieur Dashwode and make an arrangement. Until then we can positively settle nothing." "Monsieur Dashwode" was written to accordingly, in the following quaint style. "Le Bocage, Country seat near Toulouse, France, August 20th, 1864. "To Monsieur E. Dashwood, New Orleans: "Monsieur: Madame Therese Preville, widow of Alphonse Preville, Notary, late of Toulouse, I has the honor of addressing herself to you on a subject of importance, being no less than the welfare and disposition of your orphan neice, Helen Forester. This charming little one is in a state of desolation, greatly to be deplored. Her heart is rent with despair for the loss of her ver^ good and mucn lamented latner. 1 am toucneu whu her grief, and desire to assauge it by tendering her all the aid in my power. Will you, Monsieur, (since you find it impossible to accord to her your protection) grant me the privilege of assuming, for the present, the office of her protectrice ? She is of age too tender, as I think, to be cast among the rough elements of a pension, or boarding school as you term it. Suffer me, I request you, to retain her under my roof, until she is old enough to have more care of herself than now. At a future time, we will, at your pleasure, communicate between ourselves again in regard of the subject. The child herself is desirous to remain with me. It is in accordance with her request that I write. 'In the hope of soon receiving an answer favorable to my petition, I remain, Monsieur, with ; much respect, Therese Preville." To this epistle was added a postscript, in Helen's round, childish hand. "Please, dear Uncle, let me stay with Madame. She is very good to me, and I love her much. I do not want to go to a pension yet. "Your affectionate Niece, "Helen." This time the answer came more promptly than on the first occasion. It was brief and to the purpose. "New Orleans, Sept. 12th, 1864. "Mr. K. Dashwood has the honor to inform Madame Therese Preville that her communication is received. Mr. Dashwood thanks Madame Preville for her kind interest in the welfare of his little niece, Helen Forester, and gladly avails himself of her offer to assume the post of his niece's protrectress, on condition that she will agree to receive a certain sum, payable quarterly or yearly for the support and education of the child, and also as compensation for the trouble undertaken by Madame Preville in her behalf. If Madame Preville will suggest the amount which she deems suitable, ana place the affair in the hands of a man of business, Mr. Dashwood will be happy to communite with the latter on the subject." Madame Preville was her own man of bus* iness, and never consulted anybody about her affairs. She deemed it quite proper to accept this proposal of Helen's uncle, for though generous, she was also prudent. Had the offer not been made, she would have provided for the child, as long as she remained under her care, without a murmur, although quite aware that Mr. Forester's property must have been considerable, and that Helen would doubtless inherit the bulk of it on coming of age; but it was certainly much more convenient to have a specified amount furnished her, regularly, for the purpose. She deliberated briefly, then fixed upon a sum, by no means exorbitant, which she considered sufficient to cover all expeuses; wrote to Mr. Dashwood, received a satisfactory answer, and the affair was settled. Helen was delighted. She had dreaded the notion of a boarding school, and as she had many companions in the neighborhood, had no fear of finding life lonely at Le Bocage, under her old friend's care. Madame Preville had no idea of permitting her little charge to waste her time in idleness. She engaged a tutor?a solemn-faced cure from a village close by?to come three times a week aud instruct her in all necessary branches, including English, which the cure, like herself, understood sufficiently well. Helen found these lessons a little irksome, for she had not been accustomed to study, and her tutor was strict; but the restraint was wholesome for her, and when she became more used to it, she did not find it so disagreeable, after all. She was a bright child, though not fond of application. Her anxiety to get back to her amusements, made her take nains. and she generally learned quickly in order to escape from her lessons the sooner. The cure praised her, and Madame Preville was delighted with he? progress. Everything went smoothly, and the union between the child and her guardian grew closer and warmer as time progressed Each became gradually more indispensable to the other, and Helen was soon as contented as though she had never known any other home than Le Bocage. Thus her life glided on, very peaceably and quietly, unbroken by any startling events; but in the mean time Madame Preville was gettiog old aDd rather infirm, and at length discovered that she had no longer the ability to manage her own affairs as hitherto. She accordingly sent for a nephew of hers, a clever young notary of the name of Victor Duclos, and offered him a salary larger than his business gained for him in Paris, to come and settle down at Le Bocage and look after her property for her. Helen was now fourteen, and a charmingly pretty and attractive girl. Whether Madame was prompted by any secret schemes or desires in regard to her, in making this new arrangement, cannot be determined. At all events, young Duclos agreed to the proposition made him, and came to his aunt's to live. Shortly after, Madame Preville, having strict notions of propriety, notified Helen that the time had arrived when she considered it advisable to follow her uncle Dashwood's original plan, and let her go to a boarding school. Helen could not but agree, though reluctantly enough. Her uncle was written to on the subject, expressed his approbation, and a suitable pension was selected, whither the old lady herself conducted her charge. Fortunately, it was not at a great distance off, and Helen was accorded the privilege of spending so many days in each month at Le Bocage. Thus the intercourse between herself and her protectress was not broken off, while at the same time the latter's conventional scruples were satisfied by the fact that the young girl and her nephew were not under the same roof, though seeing enough of each other to arrive at a tolerably close degree of intimacy. [to be continued.] Small Feet.?For the sake of having small feet, many an otherwise sensible woman will martyrize herself by pinching those unlucky members of the body into boots a size too small. As a natural and necessary result of such pinching confinement, the foot becomes deformed, and larger than it would naturally grow, with enlarged joints, and toes turned from a line parallel with the foot, to say nothing of the troublesome corns, so annoying and crippling to a large class of young women. The worst results of this crippling custom of wearing small and narrow boots is felt by children, when allowed to outgrow their boots. It is poor economy to allow the r,? Iimo i> Knnto tukpn fko fpAt. haufi hfi. JTVSUIJg IV TIVWI WVVIM ftuvu .WW. ..w, w ? ? corae too large for them, since deformity of the feet is easily produced at this time. When the boot is too short and the heel too high, the ingrowing of the nails is a perfectly natural result. Children will have sufficient ills to contend with without this crippling from deformed feet, the most prominent cause of which is small and badly-fitting boots and shoes. 4-4^4 A Relic.?"Jim," inquired a schoolboy of bis mate, "what is the meaning of relics?" "Don't you know?" Well, I can tell you. You know the master licked me in school yesterday." "Yes." "Well, he wasn't satisfied with that, but kept me in and licked me again. That's what I call a re-lick." HJiscdlMMus fUadtoij. SHEPHERDS IN JUDEA. Shortly after leaving the oity we met sev- 1 eral flocks of sheep, preceded by their shep- , herds, walking slowly toward Jerusalem, and ! at once the full force of all the beautiful imagery, and the many touching similes derived from such scenes and associations, and so oft- 1 en alluded to in Scripture, came vividly be- 1 fore me. These Arab shepherds, clad in the > --J 1- i iL_:_ 1 luroans auu Birapie upptteo wuru uy men class, and carrying a wooden crook in their hands, walked in front. The sheep, which are a peculiar and very handsome breed, are mostly low sized ; the fore parts of their bodies of a fawn color, the hinder parts white ; they have long, pendent, silken ears and sweeping tails; their faces more oval and longer than the species in these countries, and they have altogether a more pleasing, docile and mild expression of countenance. Not one of them ventured before the shepherd, but stopped or quickened their pace as he did; or if a young and froward creature lagged behind, er strayed to either side, a single word from their leader, often a very look, brought it back and cheered its wanderings. A few favorite lambs frisked about their mas- ' ter, rubbing themselves against his legs and [ garments. After the sheep came some young goats . and lambs, and the whole procession olosed J with about two dozen of old patriarchal-look- ( ing goats, which brought up the rear. These , goats have long horns and pendent ears, that j hang almost to the ground, and their hair is glossy back and of the finest grain ; the sheep ( and goats were perfectly distinct. These , shepherds are often to be seen abont sunset , slowly approaching the city from all sides, to . seek shelter for their flocks during the night, j in some of the deep valleys by which it is sur- , rounded, carrying the lambs in their bosoms. , It is almost incredible, the influence that the shepherds of Palestine possess over their ] flocks; many of them have no dogs, bnt a ( word is often sufficient to make them under- < .1 .u- _:ii .r iL?:. 1 sianu auu ouej iuu win ui iucu ou?|iuviu< j He sleeps among them at night, and in the morning leads them forth to pasture, always walking before them, guiding them to those places where they can enjoy the best food, and resting when he thinks they have obtained a sufficiency, or during the heat of the day, in some cool, shady place, where they all immediately lie down around him. He has generally two or three favorite lambs which do not mix with the flock, but follow close at bis side, frisking and fondling about him like dogs; indeed the degree of intelligence and understanding that exists between the Arab and his flock is truly astonishing. "They know his voice, and follow himand "he careth for the sheep." It was, probably, to such shepherds as these that the angel announced the glad tidings of the Saviour's birth.? Wilkes' Narrative. ? A BAD FIRE. "Jones, have you heard of that fire that burned up that man's house and lot ?" "No, Smith, where was it ?" "Here in the city." "What a misfortune to him I Was it a good house ?" "Yes?a nice house and lot?a good one for any family." "What a pity. How did the fire take V' "The man played with the fire and thoughtlessly set it himself." . "How silly! Did you not say the lot burned too?" " Yes, lot and all, all gone, slick and clean." < "That's singular, it must have been a terri- i ble hot fire; and then I don't see how it could < have burned up the lot?" "No, it was not a very hot fire; indeed, it was so small that it attracted but little atten- 1 tion, and did not harm anybody else." ] linn? nnn M biipK n lifflft firn hum tin ft I ' bouse and lot ? You have not told me." | \ "It burned a long time?more than twenty 1 years?and though it seemed to consume very 1 slowly, yet it wore away about a hundred and J fifty dollars a year, till it was all gone." 1 "I can't understand yon yet. Tell me where { the fire was kindled and all about it." 1 "Well, then, the fire was kindled, in the ] end of a cigar. The cigar cost him, he told ' me, $2.50 per month, or $150 a year; that in ] twenty-one years would amount to $3,150, ' besides all the interest. Now, the money was j worth at least ten per cent, and at that rate ' it would double about once in seven years. 1 So that the whole sum amounted to more than f $20,000. That would buy a fine house in any city. It would pay for a large farm in the T country. Don't you pity the family of this man, who has slowly burned up their home?" "Whew! I guess you mean me, for I have smoked for more than twenty years. But it 1 didn't cost me so much as that, and I havn't j any house of my own?have always rented, thought I was too poor to own a house. And all because I have been burning it up! What -< a fool I have been." ' Boys bad better never set a fire which costs so much, and which, though easily put out, is yet so likely, if once kindled, to keep burning all their lives. ? ? The Lemon.?Few people know the value of lemon juice. A piece of lemon bound upon a corn will cure it in a few days; it should be renewed night and morning. A free use of lemon juice and sugar will always relieve a cough. Most people feel poorly in the spring, and take medicine for relief; but if tbey would eat a lemon before breakfast every day for a week?with or without sugar as they like, they would find it better than medicine. Lemon juice, used according to this receipt, will cure consumption, even after the doctors have given it up as not to be benefitted : Put a dozen lemons in cold water, and boil slowly until the juice is extracted; add sugar to your taste and drink. In this way use one dozen lemons a day. If they cause pain or loosen the bowels too much, lessen the quantity and use only five or six a day until you are better, and then begin with a dozen again. After using five or six dozen, the patient will begin to gain flesh and enjoy food. Hold on to*the lemons, and still use them sev? * .? e i _ I eral weeks more. Anomer use 01 lemous is \ for a refreshing drink in summer, or in sick- t nessat any time. Prepare as directed above, ] and add water and sugar. But in order to < have this keep well after boiling the lemons, ] squeeze them and strain carefully; then, to ( every half pint of juice add one pound of t loaf or crushed sugar, boil and stir a few ] minutes more until the sugar is dissolved ; 1 skim and carefully bottle. You will get t more juice from the lemons by boiling them, and the preparation keeps better.?L.mdon Lancet. < , A Man and Wife Parted.?A reverend j gentleman horrified a small company a few ] evenings since by telling them that be and j his wife had separated. "Not parted ?" inquiringly exclaimed three or four in a breath. "Yes," said the gentleman with a sigh. "We had some words and parted." A shudder went round the room, when some one inquired, "For good ?" "Ob, no," said the divine. "She has only gone to the country, and will be back in a day or two." "But," said one of the bolder ones, after awhile, "did you really ha7e any words with her?" "Oh, yes. She said 'Good-by, dear/ and so did I."?Boston Transcript. SOUTHERN CHIVALRY. The Rev. W. T. Capers, in an anniversary address to the Georgetown Rifle Guards, delivered recently, narrated the following anecdotes illustrative of Southern chivalry: A desperate charge opon our works had been repulsed. Many wounded and dying lay between the Confederate and Northern lines. Their groans and cries for water were distinctly heard. The enemy were firing upon us. A soldier begged his General to permit him to carry water to the suffering. His request was denied. A good brave man's life ought not to be sacrificed. He would be killed before he could reach the objects of hta nifv Aomin ho hpcromH nflrmisflinn to CO. f"J ?B OB? r o He could not stand the appeal to his heart. Live or die, he felt that he must go to their relief. Kershaw consented. He hung around his neck as many canteens as he could carry, 3prang over the breastworks, and advanced through shot and shell toward the wounded. He reached a sufferer. The enemy saw him supporting the head of his foe, and giving him drink.?"They ceased firing T?On both sides the men looked on in admiration, until tremendous cheering rose from the Northern lines. The South responded. The "touch of nature that makes the whole world kin," the sentiment of human brotherhood, triumphed over all other feelings, and for a time a real union prevailed. The sudden ceasing of iring so surprised General Lee that he sent a courier to ask the cause of it. After that, when the pickets approached each other the Northern riflemen would not pull trigger until assured, that the grey-jacketed "good Samaritan" was not before them. A similar deed of noble daring was performed by a private of Colonel Gary's regiment. William Thomas, private and Christian minister, seeing a wounded man suffering alone in a very exposed position, obtained permission to go to bim, passed through a galling fire, reached < the dying man, lined his head, gave bim water, and kneeling by his side, assisted his departing soul to ascend to heaven on the wing of fervent prayer, and then returned in safety to his post The next day Gary promoted \ bim to the chaplaincy for "gallantry on the field of battle." "No Use For 'Em."?At the meeting of the Sazerac Lying Club recently, the medical member, when it oame his turn to spout, delivered himself of the following, which, whether it be original or not, is worthy of publication: Once when I was practisin' over in Sierra county, Californy, a feller got; caved on by a bank, and got his skull fractured clean out of shape. They picked him up and brung him to me, and I made a diagnosis of his case, and found that his brain, which was exposed, was full of dirt and rock. There wasn't Qothin' to de but to take it out and olean it; the idea of a man goin' around with the action of his brain bein' interfered with by three or four pounds of clay and gravel was' clean out of question, and I set too mach store by my medical reputation to conseat to any such doins. I took out the brain and put it in a tin pan, and while I was washin' of it the patient seed a feller across the street what be had some bizness with, and went over to have a talk with him. He forgot to come back after bis brains, and I didn't see him again for two months, when one day, bein' in the jinin' county, I seed him. I hailed him and told him them tbar brains was up at my office, and if he wanted 'em he'd better come and git 'em. "Don't want 'em," said he. "Why not?"said I. "Wal, you see," said he, "I'm runnin' for office now, and I don't need 'em ; got no use in the world for 'era; fact is, they'd be an injumbrance under the circumstances." "The Man from Boston."?A few weeks ago, says the Virginia (Net.) Chronicle, a nan from Boston arrived on the Comstock to inspect its novelties. Whatever he saw, howaver, did not astonish him in the least Nothng could be shown him but that he would not gravely remark upon, saying, "Boston has one ust like it, only bigger." Last evening he vas passing the International Hotel, on B itreet, just at dusk, when a cap of the chimley was blown down by the wind. The cap vas a circular piece of sheet-iron, painted alack and slightly convex. The four supports vhich connected it with thechimney were like egs, which held it a few inches from the ground. As it fell it struck just in front of lim, rebounded a few times in the air, and ;hen, blown by the wind, went Bkimming ilong the walk like a living thing. What's that?" the Boston man asked,somevhat astonished. "A bed bug from the hotel," replied a wag, 'just coming down for a little exercise." /7iAAvno f" ovnlq 1 mn/l fKo afrancrAP JLJ J VIWI * VAV4WIU4W* vuv v*t MUgv | ?k lever saw anything like it in my life"?and hen recollecting his home in Boston, added? 'outside of Boston !" Married on the Spot.?The Orleans (N. if.) Record relates the following: "I'll mar y any girl in the room that will have me," taid a half-tipsy youn? fellow. "I'll take rou," said a fresh, clet -eyed young girl of leventeen. And in half an hour the two were narried and being congratulated by their riends. This aotually occurred only a few veeks ago in the near vicinity of Franklin* rille, in this county. The occasion was a lountry dance, the participants were a farner's son and a farmer's daughter, neither of phom had exchanged a word with the other mtil the above scene occurred. The young ellow had been drinking and thought he vould say something "smart," and astonish he girls with his audacity. The girl, howiver, had heard that he was a "good-fellow," ind being moved by that spirit which "will iot take a dare if death come," took him at lis word. They are now living with the roung fellow's parents, and are studying each itber's character at their leisure." I&* A beautiful young heiress in Moscow las married a beggar, eighty-six years old. [t has a queer look at first, but nothing could ie more natural. The young girl?she is inly twenty-two?could not enter into the jossession of her fortune until she was marked, and the young men whom her guardian ntroduced her to were empty-headed creatures, to whom she was unwilling to bind lerself for life; so she resolved to marry an ild beggar, and get the money without sac ificing her independence. The old man was ine of her pensioners, and readily consented ;o marry her and then keep out of her way, -etiriug on a comfortable allowance. All the Deggars in town feasted and made merry on ,he wedding night. Locality for Orchards.?In almost all lases, it is the universal experience, that orchards are more certain to do well where the ipot chosen is somewhat higher than the sur-ounding land. Often enough the fruit will * * ? i? ? ?1 _ it _ . i i je Killed 07 spring irost, wnen tnose on iana ifty feet higher will escape. The cold air always sinks, and if there is any low spot for it x> sink in, the higher of course escapes. Often trees on river banks escape when others are njured, and people think it is the contiguity to water, when it is really the elevation?the cooler air being drawn to the river bed. f&* The distance of Venus from the earth at the time of occultation was about 257 times that of the moon, the respective distances being 63,700,000 and 246,000 miles. This fact enables us to account for the apparently small ?ize of Venus, though her lineal diameter is to that of the moon as 326 to 100.