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lewis m. grist, proprietor, |niiepeniient Jfamilg Itetospaper: Jor tjit promotion of t|e political, Social, ^grienltoral anir Commercial Interests of % Sontji. terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. VOL. 24. YORKVILLE, S. c., THURSDAY, APRIL 11, 1878. NO. 15. An Anginal Jtarg. , Writteu for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARY EUSTACE? 1 OR, J TRUST BETRAYED. |! * ' 8 CHAPTER VI. j Colonel Dacre now looked back, with a j mixture of amusement and wonder, upon the , time when he had fretted over the prospect of having the routine of his solitary life j disturbed, by tbe invasion of a new comer into his quiet home. So brightened was the j old mansion by the presence of the young girl whose coming he had almost dreaded, ( that it seemed to him as though all the sun- ( shine that beamed upon it had come there t with her. And yet, a quieter, stiller presence than hers could scarcely have been found, t Her soft movements, her gentle tones?her 1 t_ - Anf Kitf rinnlinry JHUgii utsver i iijgiug ?ictiunj uuw, . .rr,...b ^ low like the murmur of a brook?her placid ] languor of look and air, reminded you of c some sleepy summer legend, over which a spell of indolence and repose was cast. Yet 8 something in the very softnesss and passive calm appealed to the fervent, energetic na- j ture of her guardian, as such contrasting na- , tures sometimes do, with peculiar and ever- t strengthening power. That Mary was beau- j ful?picturesquely, charmingly beautiful? there was no doubt, and few men are insensi- ( ble to this attraction. Still, it was not this ] which operated most strongly upon him, for j a mere surface charm could never have won his heart. He read, beneath her languid ex- v terior, something that had not yet been s brought into play, and believed that a judi- < cious hand might waken her dormant ener- j ?I? I-'.. IIP.. on/1 >)analnn a KiirrKor anrl I giw llJ(*(f J11C| QUU Ud^4Vp u iiigiivt wuva | | nobler phase of character than she had bith- v erto displayed. But even as she was, she a grew very rapidly into his affection, and he c scarcely desired to see her changed. y Mary accepted his tenderness and protect- v ingcare asshe had done everything all her life; c as perfectly natural, reasonable, and her due. c It seemed right for her to sit down and have t kiudness and indulgence lavished upon her, y because she had done this all her life; yet 8 she was grateful, in an undemonstrative way, c for the pains the Colonel took to make her happy, and rewarded him by showing him v that she was quite happy and content. f How it came about that he first began to , discover that she was dearer to him than a v daughter could ever have been, I caonot say; i but this knowledge did davn upon him after a a while. He bad been deluding himself with the belief that he had but been filling her r father's place?the place, rather, that her ^ father should have filled, but never had ; but v the delusion crumbled away one day, and his fa eyes were opened to the truth. His heart j, had grown-young again, and from the ashes g of a long buried love, a new love had sprung i into life. t He was perplexed?he was dismayed! He knew not how to act. It would be folly to q ask this child to marry him. To say to her, p ' My dear, I am twenty six years older than j, you, but I have been absurd enough to al t low myself to fall in love with you, aud even c wish to commit the greater absurdity of ask- J k ing you to become my wife." How she v A would open those lovely eyes upon him in ( calm amazement, and smile with pity, perhaps j, wg| disdain, upon his unlooked-for plea! And ( W such a confession on his part would mar all v W the happiness of their present iutercourse, j] and cast a cloud of embarrassment and re- l, 8traint over it, which could probably never p be dispelled. For, of course, the Colonel said to himself, it was sheer uonsense to sup- 0 pose, for an instant, that his feeling toward sj her could ever be reciprocated. She might 8l pardon his weakness, but farther than this, r her kindness could cot go. n "She shall never know it," he said to him- tl Belf. "It would destroy her confidence in me, a and, perhaps, even lower me in her regard ; p and if I cannot win her love, I must, at least, j preserve her esteem. She would consider me v an old fool, indeed, if she knew that I entertained such a preposterous idea. So the best t] thing I can do is to get rid of it as quickly ? as possible." d But it was not so easy to get rid of; and b instead of being driven away, by force of the ti Colonel's will, it stayed just where it was, and h not only stayed, but increased daily and hour- p ly in strength. Little did Mary guess the h conflict that was gong on in her guardiau's t heart. Outwardly he was the same as ever? $ frank and affectionate, with perhaps an occa- E sional shade of seriousness in his manner that c was not habitual to i t; but this she did not ob- n serve. Only when he was alone?of an eveu ? 1J 1 .-J L. L.J ing wnen sne nau goue 10 ueu, anu ne iittu ^ but the fire for company?would he sit and brood very gravely over this Dew phase into which he had entered, and try and devise some means by which to cure himself of his folly, as he called it, but iu vain. Perhaps it was not such folly, after all; but he was not sparing iu his self-condemnation. His mind was diverted, after a time, from these thoughts?at least, partially diverted? by other considerations of a very weighty sort. War was threatening the land, and the Colonel, an ardent States'-rights man, watched, with intense interest, the approach of the crisis which was to decide the fate of the contending parties. He was ready, as soon as I occasion required, to rush iuto the fray. And I it soon became appareut that the services of all patriots would be needed to check the threatened iovasioD, and do battle for the homes they loved. This subject, which of course now began to j engross everybody's thoughts, was frequently j made the theme of conversation at Mosslands, j as it was by every other fireside in the land, j Mary, who cared nothing for politics, and hated trouble of auy sort, was very plaintive over it, and could not share the Colonel's en- I thusiasm. She thought fighting was dread- J ful. She hoped and prayed there would be i t none of it where they were. "My dear," said ? the Colonel, "we will feel it whether it comes | t near us or not. I hope for your sake, how- t ever, that there will be no raids on this quiet j ? neighborhood." I t "You will not go into the army, will you ?" asked Mary. > j "Assuredly I shall," he replied. "There is nothing to prevent my doing so. I am strong j 1 and well, and still young enough, I hope, to ' i do my duty." i t Mary opened her eyes in reproachful sur- i i prise. "And what is to become of met" was her next question. I j "That is just what I have not decide* ipon?cannot decide upon, yet," said he guardian. "In truth, it is a somewhat pre nature question. Ihe necessity for actioi las not yet arrived, aud may not arrive fo lome time to come. 1 shall not leave horn n rash haste, or go farther off from it than jan help; but if the attack is brought near, ihall certainly not shrink from meeting it VIosslands, I fancy, will be a safe enougl dace to stay at. It is so retired, the enem; vill scarcely seek it out.' "But I could not stay here alone, yoi enow," said Mary. "Of course not. I should make suitabl jrovision for that." "And Oh ! if you went into the army, yoi night be shot?only think of it 1" cried Marj> ftr Kan/la tclth ft rlifl ;i05plUg UCl pi ci/lj n in vv iimuuw .?* - ? ?? xessed look. "It may be tbe fate of many a better mat ban I," said tbe Colonel. "How horrible," said Mary, shuddering Ind then a silence fell upon them both Presently, the Colonel said gently, and with >ut looking in her face? "Would you shed a few tears, Mary, if . hould be shot?" "Plecue don't talk about such a thing," crie< ilary, more piteously than ever. "Yoi von't have to fight at all, I hope. All thi alk about war may blow over, and every hing be nice and peaceful again." "Too late to expect that now," said thi Colonel. "The storm has been brewing for i ong time, and it will soon burst over ou: leads." He was right.- In a few weeks more, troop vere being organized, and active preparation) et on foot in every quarter, as one by one thi 'rebel" States dropped out. The Colone oined a militia company in the neighborhood n the hope of being drafted into action befori 'ery long. For the present, as everything .round them was still tranquil, be made n< hange in his domestic arrangements. H< lad made up his mind, however, that if hi rere summoned away, he would send for i ertain widowed matron?a connection of hii ,wn?whn resided in Savannah, to come au< ake up her abode at Mosslands, where, hi relieved, with faithful negroes around them he and Mary might remain without any ause for alarm. Meantime, Mr. Maurice Cleveland, fire< vith military ardor, joined a regiment bourn or Virginia, and having paid a brief farewel isit to Mosslands, set off in high spirit vith his regiment for the shores of the 01< dominion. To him, this general upturninj ,nd commotion was not unwelcome. I irought a complete change into hie somewha nonotonous life, and released him from sun iry difficulties, pecuniary and otherwise, ii rhich he was disagreeably entangled. He wa irave enough to make a good soldier, and re Diced, as many others did, especially in th< irst ardent flush of enterprise, in the oppor unities openiug to him of winning laurels 01 he field of glory. Mosslands and its vicinity remained tran [uil and undisturbed, and but for the news taper accounts which daily reached them, it nmates would have found it hard to realizi hat dangers were rife in other quarters. I ame home to them, however, in this way a ast. Maurice Cleveland was dangerously rounded, and a telegram was dispatched ti /olonel Dacre to expect him shortly at Moss ands, whither he had desired to be sent. Thi /olonel was full of anxiety and alarm. Hi rould gladly have gone on himself to briuj he sufferer, but it was impossible for him t< save Mary, ou such short notice, without i irotector, and he had been informed, besides hat Maurice would, in company with severa thers who had been injured, have every pos ible care taken of him on the journey, bj orne ladies traveling southward on the sanx oute, who had kindly constituted themselvei urees to the party. Nothing was to be done herefore, but to prepare for his reception nd in due time be arrived, looking des erately ill and weak, but with the actua anger past, though it would be long ere h< rould be fit for service again. Mary did kindle into a little glow of en husiasm, as she obtained her first sight of t wounded soldier,"?an actual, tangible evi ence of the mingled glories and perils of tlx attle-field. She thrilled with womanly pity oo, at the sight of his white, woru face, and o lis utter helplessness, and forgot her formei irejudice against him, in her sympathy foi lis sufferings. She saw but little of him foi he first few days after his arrival, for in ad iition to bis wound, the fatigue of the jour ley had quite knocked him up, and he wai on fined entirely to his bed, and forced to re aain in absolute seclusion and quiet. Afte hat, he could be wheeled ou a couch fron lis chamber into the sitting-room, or out 01 he porch, and would lie there looking verj uterestiug, with his large eyes, quite hollov rora illness, watching the movements of oth rs in the room or about him. By degree le began to recover appetite and strength ,ud though his wounded side threatened t< rouble him for many a long day to come, hi lealth otherwise visibly improved. He had been uoder his cousin's roof fo ibout six weeks, when one evening Colone Dacre came into the library, where he wa ying, with a flushed and excited face. "I am going to have niy share of the garni -? ? ?* ? "i 1-: J ii I'PL. o..:. it last, Maurice, ne exciuuueu. i ue aij iifles' are to be taken into regular service md we expect to be off for Virginia befor _ ft ong. "Is that so ?" rejoined Maurice, with inter st. "I congratulate you, sir?and envy you t's frightfully tiresome, stayiug here idle ii his way." "Well, you have done your part already mu know," said the Colonel. "But now nust arrange about Mary. I cannot leav ler, of course, under your sole charge. Bu f I can get Mrs. Blandiug here?of which iave very little doubt?I can depeud upoi rou, I know, to look after them both, and se hat everything goes on properly while I an iway. Your presence here will be a protec iou to thera, and au incentive to the negroe o behave themselves in a proper manner md you can keep me constantly advised o he condition of affairs." "And what if I recover sufficiently to re >ort ugaiu for duty ?" asked Maurice. "Then you must go, of course ; but it wil )e long, I fear, ere that will be the case. A ill events, while you are forced to remain ii ictive, it will be a satisfaction to me to kuoi ;hat you are filling my post at home." "That, of course, I canuot entirely do," re olied Maurice ; "but you may be quite sure 3 shall discharge my trust to the best of my r ability." f- "I have no doubt of it," rejoined the Coloa nel. "And now, I wonder where Mary is ? r I must go at once and tell her the news." e I I CHAPTER VII. The Colonel, after hunting about a little a while for his ward, presently found her in the y garden, where she had gone to gather some fresh flowers for the library, which she usua ally kept adorned in this way. "Come with me, Mary," he said, taking her e hand, "and let us take a little ramble together. I have something to say to you." a "You are at home early, are you not, sir?" t {she asked i- "Yes; I have news to tell you, my dear. I expect very shortly to leave home." i "Not for the array, sir ?" "Yes, for the army. We are going into . active eervice in Virginia, and will proba jly i. receive marching orders in a fortnight's time." Mary was silent. In her heart she felt dismayed at the intelligence ; but though it [ came upon her with a shock, she did not know whether it would be best to betray the ] feeling or not, and so she had nothing to say. ] "You will not experience any personal inB convenience from my absence," her guardian . continued, "since, for the present, at least, you wi'l remain quietly where you are. I shall e write, to night, to Mrs. Blanding, and request i her to come immediately to Mosslands. She r is in very reduced circumstances, and lives with a married 6on, whose wife, I believe, is s not very congenial to her; and I make no s doubt that she will be quite willing to take b up her abode here for as long a period as 1 I may desire. She is under some oniigations , to me, and will be glad to return them in b this way. I do not think you will find her r presence otherwise than agreeable. She is a i very quiet, amiable person, and always wil3 ling to make herself useful." b "I dare say she is very nice," murmured i Mary, absently. b "Then, Maurice Cleveland, as you know, 1 is not likely to be fit for military duty again. 3 He thinks he will, poor fellow, but I fear he ( is mistaken; and he will remain here in the f capacity of your protector. I shall go off with a much easier mind, knowing that every] thing here is under his charge. The servants } are all fond of him, and will look upon bim 1 as a sort of safe guard in the absence of their s master. This arrangement, I hope, meets with 1 your approval?" 5 "My approval, sir ?" repeated Mary, t "Yes?you like Maurice tolerably, do you t not, and will not object to his remaining in - the house ?" i "I do not object at all, sir?we are pretty 8 good friends." i- "So I thought. Well, then, in that case, e and supposing that Mrs. Blanding agrees to - come, everything will be satisfactorily settled ; i and I hope you will all be quite happy and oomfortable here together." "I dare say we shall be comfortable enough, - sir," said Mary, slowly; "but?your being s away will prevent me, at least, from being e very happy." t "Well, I should like to think that you t would miss me, just a little," said the Colonel, f cheerfully, but, with a swelling heart. "War, 3 however, entails many disagreeable things upon people, partings among the rest. We 3 shall meet under happier auspices, I hope, 3 before long." t "How I hate war," said Mary, with a little ) burst of energy quite unusual in her. Had any i one else propounded the sentiment, the Colo , nel would probably have rushed into an argu1 ment to prove how much more desirable is a - righteous war, thau a cowardly submission to j injury and oppression. But, somehow, just at /if im nan/linrr Qonafahnn 3 [Jl COCUt, tuc ouauun ui tui|>vuM(ug MH.VU i weighed upon him and prevented his enter, ing on a political discussion of the subject. ; At that moment, he, too, was inclined to wish that there was no such thing as war. 1 They had now gone far beyond the lawn i and flower-beds, and had come within the limits of a little shrubbery which bounded the lawn on the west of the house. Here was an i arbor, and a bench or two scattered about; - and on one of these the Colonel sat down, 3 drawing his ward to his Bide. , "We won't have many more chances for a f quiet chat," he said. "I shall often think of r this pleasant home-picture when I am far r away. The old house yonder amid the trees, r the shadows lying on the grass, and the blue - river in the distance, gliding so peacefully -1 along. It has come to my mind many a time s; before in the days when I was roaming about - in foreign countries, and always brought a r yearning with it to see it again." l "Even when you were enjoying yourself?" i asked Mary. j "Yes, even then?though I don't reraem? ber, on the whole, that I did enjoy that rov ing life so very much. Home is best, when s one is happy there." , "And were you not happy there always, a sir?" s "No, ray dear, I was not," said the Colonel, frankly, and then he sighed. "I am very r happy here now," he continued, preseutly, 1 "for I have everything to make me so?and, s ! therefore, my thoughts will turn to home with a special regret." 3 "It is a lovely old place," said Mary. I "Are you fond of it, Mary ?" i, "Yes, sir; very foud." e j "I hoped you would learn to like it, when I brought you here; though I feared it would -1 not offer many attractions to one so young, i. | You have had but a dull time since you have a been living with me, I am afraid." j "No, indeed, sir." r, j "What, not dull, with only a tiresome old I fogy like me for company ?" e i "I don't care for gay company, sir." * vnti hp hrnxiv harp always. dn von v | ...... j ? ? ?rr j ? ?j -> ? j ? I think?" i : A sudden impulse prompted the Colonel e to ask this question. It had not entered his II mind to do so a moment before. "I suppose I could, sir. As happy as anys where else." ; j "And never grow tired of it?" >f "I don't think I would grow tired of it. I am not fond of changing about," said Mary, i- "And you would not grow tired of me, J either?" I t "Why, no, indeed, sir. I should be very II ungrateful if I did." i-| "Ungrateful! My child, you have nothV ! ing to be grateful to me for." "I think I have, sir; for you have been !- very kind to me always." I The Colonel paused a moment. A great struggle was going on in bis breast. After all, why should he not tell this young girl, frankly, all that he felt ? It could not make much difference, now that he was going away ; except that, if she rejected his suit?as, of course, she would?he would carry with him a heavier heart than he otherwise would. But then he would have time and opportunity to cure himself of his wound, unobserved, and almost anything was better than suspense. It was not his nature to conceal his feelings. It was a wonder he had been able to conceal them so long. "Mary," he said, presently, speaking in a very quiet tone?more than ordinarily quiet, though his heart was beating as fast as a love!??? fa fiMoiitr T om nnin rv M m a If A a 1U1 U UUJ O X'Xttl J j A WU4 W UJMBV u confession which will surprise you very much." She looked at him questioningly. He could see in her face that she had not the faintest idea of what was coming. Indeed, what could be farther from her thooghts ? "It's the confession of a secret which I have cherished a long time," he went on, "and which I would not make before, because I did not want to disturb your tranquil thoughts, or give your gentle heart a pang by forcing you to give me pain; but we shall not be together much longer now, and no matter what answer you ms.y give me, we shall be better able, when apart, to go back to our old relation with each other, if it roust be that we shall so go back. Mary, your guardian loves you so dearly that he cannot bear the idea of relinquishing his office of trust, even when you come of age. He wants to extend it through his lifetime. Shall you be willing for that ?" Still she looked at him, not comprehending; yet something io his look and voice?something that he could not quite control?sent a little tremor through her, and a faint flush stole into her cheek. "My dear," said the Colonel, taking her hand, "I see that you are very far from un* * J? J T ?i : j .1 . aeretanaing rae, anu i siu uoi Burpriueu at it \ but I will speak plainly at once. I love you with the best love that a man can give a woman. Though you are but a child to me id years, yet I would fain have you for my wife, if such a thing were possible. Can you forgive uiy presumption ? I hardly dare ask, Can you return my love?" The flush deepened to crimson on Mary's cheek, and her face drooped. She was very much startled, and at first it seemed us though she could not frame a reply. The Colonel, in his agitation, rose from his seat and walked quickly to and fro in the path just in front of her. At last, as she still neither moved or spoke, he stopped again, and laying his hand on her shoulder, said, in a tremulous tone? "Don't mind answering me, Mary ; I shall not be hurt or angered by auything you say. No word of yours can change my love; but I would not constrain you, from any consideration for me, to answer me otherwise than J as your heart dictates. If it must be no, I will try and bear it like a man." "Bat, perhaps," said Mary, faintly, "it may not be no." The Colonel bent over her, his face flushed .1 1 1 . P I I and eager, tne ngni or a new ooro nopt kindling in his eyes; but before he could say any thing more, Mary rose from her seat, half turning from him as she did so. "Please, let me go in now," she said plaintively. "I want to think it over?it seems so strange." "Go, my darling?and God bless you," said the'Colonel. He kissed her hand with the chivalric tenderness of an old knight-errant ; then stood and watched her slim figure as she moved away. Not for worlds would he have detained her an instant against ber will, or striven to hasten the decision upon which his happiness depended. He did not see her again until late in the evening, when lights were in the sitting room, and the tea-things on the table. The servants were moving about, and Maurice, on his couch, was discoursing of his last campaign. By t.nd by, when all was quiet, and only they two were left in the room, Mary came to him, of her own accord, and gently slid her hand into his. "Is it to be yes, Mary?" he whispered. And she softly echoed, "Yes." The Colonel put his arm around her, and gave her his first kiss. The moment was, for him, one too full of sacred happiness for speech. Mary's first agitation had quite passed away. She was as tranquil now as ever, and scarcely blushed when that seal was set upon their compact. After a while they talked a little about their future prospects and the separation that was now so near at hand ; but on this last theme the Colonel could scarcely bear to dwell. The next two weeks passed rapidly by. Mrs. Blanding was written to, accepted the I~t I -II- ? 1 4 J l e i_:? uoionei 8 proposition, auu iyyu uajrs ueiure uia departure, was installed in her post at Mosslauds. On the eve of Btarting, Colonel Dacre said a few wo:rds apart to Maurice Cleveland, solemnly imposing on him the trust which was now one of especial import. "Remember, Maurice," he said, "I leave under your protection my promised wife. Be a brother to her; guard her happiness, her welfare, as you would your own. She is very young, very inexperienced, as innocent as a child, as pure as an angel. I confide her to your keeping as a priceless jewel?as my greatest earthly treasure. I know you are worthy of the trust." "I shall strive to prove myself so," said Maurice, gravely, as he pressed his cousin's hand. "Rely on me to carry out your wishes in every particular." And then the last, tendersst parting words were said by the Colonel to his betrothed, and he rode away to the wars; while she turned back to her quiet, daily life, and serenely pursued her accustomed avocations, showing no sign of any in ward commotion that disturbed her heart. CHAPTER VIII. D/\^i??aan M nil rino fllouoloil/] onrl M Q fV TTllO. JJCinccil maunvv v<v*vim|jv? uuu *'Amj juuu tace, a sort of intimacy had naturally sprung up, resulting from constant association, and the familiarity of intercourse nearly always brought about among persons long staying in the same house. She was inclined, too, on nearer acquaintance, to think more favorably of him than she had done at nrstjand this was not surprising, inasmuch as he always wore his very best aspect in her presence, and spared no paius to win her regard and esteem. Although young, he was a man of the world, and well versed in the art of pleasing ; and it must be confessed, that in the present case, his desire to make a good impression was unusually strong. Perhaps Colouel Dacre would not so freely I have confided Mary to his care, had he known ! accurately, the sort of admiration he felt fo her. Maurice bad met many fashionabl girls in society, and, like a butterfly, had rovei from one gay blossom to another, enjoying th | sweetness of each in turn. Private love-affair he had had too in any number, but from hi I easy transition from each one to the next, i might be readily inferred that none of then had very deeply involved his heart. In fac , it had been a matter of speculation to hie 11 whether he did actually have a heart. He bai ! often bean assured of the contrary, by the in dignant ones whom he had deserted for som temporary rival; but he was now incline* to believe that his idea was an erroneous one Certainly he bad never felt exactly towar* any other girl, as he did towards Mary ; and i occurred to him that the engagement betweei her and his cousin was, in all respects, a mos unsuitable one, and that their relation o guardian and ward was infiuitely more rea sonable and proper, in consideration of thei | respective ages. What on earth had poe sessed Colonel Dacre to tbink of marryin| agaiu ? From all tb&t was known of his firs essay in the matrimonial line, one might sup pose that he would not care to venture upoi a second. And, above all, that he shouh choose a girl young enough to be his daugh ter, instead of some one near his own ageMrs. Blanding, for instance; who would maki bim such a good, useful wife. It was realb preposterous. Maurice, looking at thesubjec in this light, felt himself quite aggrieved bj the whole affair. When the Colonel had ridden away, am Maurice found himself at the head of tbi house, his first feeling was one of self-congrat ulation that now he had the field of action al to himself. What sort of action it was to be he bad not precisely settled in his own mind Probably he had no definite idea, except tba it would be very pleasant to have the chief o Mary's attention directed toward himself, in stead of its being engrossed by some one else aod that he meant to make full use of thi opportunity. For the first few days, how ever, he had less of her company than he ha( expected, and was rather dismayed to fine that Mrs. Blanding appeared to have install ed herself as his nurse. That worthy ladi would bring her knitting into the library, an< settling herself in a comfortable chair nea him, would chatter amiably on a dozen sub jects?none of which possessed an atom of in terest for him?all the while thinking tha she was enlivening his solitude in the mos 1 acceptable manner. "Is Miss Eustace unwell ?" he asked he i one day, when he had been driven almost t desperation, by her long unbroken stream o talk. "Unwell ? No, not that I know of?wh; ; do you ask ?" was her natural rejoinder. "Because she so seldom comes down stain I rarely see her except at meal-times," be dig contentedly replied. "Oh ! bless you, she isn't up-stairs all day She's around - and about, in the garden am elsewhere ; only I fancy she likes being alone She misses the Colonel sadly, poor dear, Sh > often sits in the little shrubbery out there with a book or a bit of work, all by herseli , thinking of him, I suppose, and wishing bin , at home again." "She can't miss him so very much, as far a that goes," said Maurice, "because he wa ' generally out a good deal during the day." "Well, but she knew he was near by ; aD( now it's so sad for her to reflect that it ma; be months and months before she will see bin again. My opinion is, Mr. Cleveland, tha it's very imprudent and very wrong for peopli to get engaged during war time. Nobody ever can tell what may happen. There wa ray husband's brother, who went to the Mexi can war ; he got engaged to a lovely younj lady just before he left home, notwitbstand iug the arguments of her family, who wen not willing to have her bind herself by an en gagement in time3 of such uncertainty am danger. What was the consequence? Hi was dreadfully wounded, lost his right lej and his left arm, and bad a piece of his skul fractured, and the engagement was brokei off." "Why?" asked Maurice. "Because, sir, her family wouldn't hnvi her marry such a wreck. Neither did he ex ?. L:?ir u:~ i?wu ? ?.... peci U niuitsejj. AiIB ucauu nao cnmcjjr iu ined in every respect by the hardships he hat gone through. He lingered for two year after his return home, then died, leaving be almost heart-broken. Now, if there bad beei , no engagement, she would not have felt i near so deeply. Luckily, she married verr well afterwards?very well, indeed ; whicl i was a great consolation to her family." "It must have been," said Maurice. "He heart was not broken, at any rate." i "No; but she was deeply melancholy fo a long time," said Mrs. Blanding, unconsciou of his irony. "I often think, if anythinj should happen to Colonel Dacre, how dread ! ful it would be for poor, dear Mary." "Perhaps," said Maurice, satirically, "shi would follow the example of your brother-in law's fiancee." "I can't tell, I'm sure," said the widow sighing. "It doesn't seem reasonable to ex pect a young girl to mourn all her life be cause she's had a loss like that?does it now Mr. Cleveland ?" "Of course not." "And there's such a disparity of years be tween the Colonel and Mary, isn't there ? . was really quite surprised when I found ou the state of affairs." "June and December," said Maurice. "Yes, exactly ; and yet the Colonel isn' old either?not by any means, when you com to think of it. Why, a man of foriy-thr? or four is only in the prime of life; but j suppose he seems old in contrast to Mary, shi ' being so young. But 1 admire them both, ex tremely. I think they suit each other ad rairably, and in every respect but years." So the good lady prattled on, unaware tha she was putting Maurice in more of a fid get than ever, while he cast longing glance J at the door, wishing that either she would g< out or Mary come in. But Mary, thinkinj he was in good hands, did not consider it in curabent upon her to exert herself for his enter tainment until she felt inclined. She was no pining for her lover, but she felt a little un settled and melancholy, and as though thing I could not go on right without him. At th< I same time, it must be owned, she was no ' very deeply or romantically in love ; but shi ! was fond of the Colonel, as no one could hel] being who knew him well, and could not bea to contemplate the possibility of any evil be falling him. i, I After a week or two a very rainy spell set r in, and forced her to stay within doors, e Maurice was now secretly delighted to had 1 i that she once more resorted, with her differe ent occupations, to the library, where she s ! spent the greater portion of the day as of yore, s | Still she was silent, aod worked or read pert severingly, as though she had no interest beq beyond; or still worse, would fall into fits of it musing, from which she would not be roused, a But at last Mrs. Blanding caught a cold? d how Maurice blessed that cold !?and thought i-1 it necessary to shut herself up in her bede I room until it was better; and now common d politeness rendered it Mary s duty to pay >. more attention to the invalid, who would i otherwise have been left quite to himself. An t invalid he still was, and likely to remain, a though so far convalescent as to be able to t sit up most of the time in a comfortable chair, f The physician who visited him, forbade any present attempt at exertion, though he enr couraged the hope of his being able to move - about in a few weeks' time. As to his going ; again into active service, there was small t chance of that being practicable, for a twelve month or more to come. i "I was afraid, Miss Eustace, that you had 1 intended to desert me altogether," he said plaintively, when he found himself alone with - heron the 6 ret day of Mrs. Blanding's ree tirement. f Mary raised her pretty brows. "Were t you ?" she languidly rejoined. j "Yes. It was rather unkind of you, I think, to leave me so much alone." 1 "I did not suppose that you were alone." b ' Well?1 was not, exactly ; but that excel lent old lady, up-stairs, bored me dreadfully 1 sometimes. She is so prosy, she used to make i, my head buzz." Mary could not help smiling. "You are t very ungrateful, considering the trouble she f always takes to entertain you," she replied. "No, I am grateful enough. But it is not , much wonder that I longed for your society e instead. Have you been writing poetry, or . what?" 1 "I never write poetry," said Mary, with 1 calm scorn. "Now don't speak in that contemptuous tone, 7 Miss Eustace, or I shall be afraid to confess 1 my weakness in that line. Don't yon know r that I have a propensity for scribbling ?" "I was quite unaware of it, I assure you." "Well, it's true, notwithstanding. Now t look here, will you laugh at me if I show you t something that I dashed off yesterday to amuse myself ? Just a little impromptu, you r know. I told Mrs. Blanding I was calculao ting an account, and so she let me write unf disturbed." "I shall not laugh?if I can help it," said I WW y JMLary. "But you can help it, because it isn't funi. ny ; it's sentimental. There, I hardly know i whether you can make it out. It's f. horrid scrawl?my hand is so shaky yet." He held out a half sheet of paper, on which gome rtrymeswere- wrhien In pencil. Mary ' 5. took it and deciphered the lines easily enough, e They were quite legible, though unsteadily written. f "My heart oppressed, cried out in pain, ' And plead for pity, but in vain ; ^ Trodden beneath her foot it lay, And calmly passed she on her way. Poor heart, be still! 3 Thou can'Ht not melt her scornful mood, or s mould her to thy will. "Yet wait, and hope the years will go, And time, perchance, will heal thy woe; :1 Hope on, and never cease to love, For pity yet her breast may move. P Be patient still, a Till patience, love and constancy do mould her to thy will. "But if these three still useless prove, B And haply fail to win her love, j Thy constancy let nothing shake, Nor even in death thy fetters break. 3 Be faithful still, . Though all thy faithfulness should fail to mould her to thy will." ? "Well, what do you think of it?" asked Maurice, as she returned him the effusion e without any comment. "As you said, it's very sentimental," she * replied. B "And very stupid, no doubt, you add meny x-ii_ ?J 3 lany. "Well, I think the poetry is a little lame," 1 said Mary. "I fancy you could do better? no doubt have done better before." "But the sentiment, Miss Eustace?don't B criticise the rhymes too severely ; but tell me what you think of the sentiment expressed, j Does it meet with your approbation ?" "Not entirely," said Mary. "If I were a man and my love were rejected, I should r quietly overcome it." "How lightly you talk 1 Suppose it would not be overcome." ^ "It could be, by a strong will." "But if there were a chance of its winning a return some day ?" "I wouldn't wreck all ray peace of mind on a chance. I would hunt for happiness somewhere else." y y "So that's your advice to me, is it?" said 9 Maurice, as he folded up his verses and returned the paper to his pocket-book. "My advice??not at all. I thought we were merely discussing an abstract question." "Well, to tell the truth, Miss Eustace, that dopperel is Dartlv a vent for rav real feelinpg. DO ? I J ? J O ' That is what makes it so idiotic, I suppose." "If you had told me that at first," said Mary, "I should have been more cautious in ' expreasing my opinion." "But you see I wanted to find out exactly what you thought. You have a faint idea, j. now, of the predicament 1 am in." "All I can say is, I am sorry for you," said Mary, as she rose from her chair. "I hope the lady you are pining for, whoever she may be, will not try your constancy too far, but relent before death comes to finish e your pain. It's lunch time, Mr. Cleveland, e Shall I fetch you a cup of broth, or do you I prefer cold chicken instead?" e "I'll take cold chicken, if you please," said Maurice. "It's a capital antidote to romance." [to be continued.] ' V3F The Postmaster-General has issued an * order amending a regulation of the depart8 ment governing the transmission of printed a matter, which is very important in its bearj ingB, inasmuch as it overrules a long estab. lished practice in the department. Heretofore nothing but a business card was permitted upon a wrapper of printed matter. The ^ Postmaster-General now has given instructions " that any matter in print which may be transb mitted within an inclosure, may also be trans 0 mitted at the same rate, if priDted upon the 1 wrapper or envelope. This includes business B cards, directions for returning, and any printed matter on the outside of a wrapper or en5 velope. Postmasters, however, are instructed 1 r not to regard requests for the return of such * matter, unless stamps to pay the return postage are presented, Haws af the JFixte. AN ACT To provide for the Settlement of the Unfunded Debt of the State, Incurred before the 1st day of November, 1876. Section 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the State of South Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assembly, and by the authority of the same: That a Court of Claims is hereby established for ascertaining all legal and just claims which have not been fanded in bonds or stock, and which were in existence on the 1st day of November, A. D. 1876; the said court to be held by a commissioner, to be elected by joint ballot of the Legislature, to hold his office for one year, with a salary of $2,000. Sec. 2. The said court shall have jurisdiction to adjudicate upon all claims which may be made by any persons against the State, (other than for bonds, or stocks, or coupons, or interest thereon,) which were in existence on the said first day of November, A. D. 1876, including therein the bills of the Bank of the State, and so much of the funded debt as is known as the Little Bonanza, and the liability of the State by guarantee of the Spartanburg and Union Railroad bonds, the balance due thereon, by judgment of the court, after applying the proceeds of the sale of said road, amounting to four hundred and seventy-four thousand six hundred dollars, in the same manner as the Court of Common Pleas, except that no pleading shall be necessary to bring the said claims before the said court; but the evidence for and against the claim may be brought forward in the usual mode of auditing accounts, and under such roles as may be prescribed by the commissioner ; and the said court shall have power to enforce the attendance of witnesses and the production of papers, and shall be authorized to call to its aid the sheriff of the county in which it is sitting, and the said sheriff and his officers shall be bound to obey its orders. Sec. 3. That it shall be the duty of the commissioner to appoint a clerk of the said court, who shall receive three dollars per day for every day actually employed, whose duty it shall be to record its proceedings and make due entry of its judgments; and also, in cases of doubt or difficulty, the commissioner may call in the aid of the solicitor of the county. CLvsi A TUa AAirl AAmtMiaainnAM aliall oftoi? Uvv* i# JL Liu oaiu wuuiwiooiuuui ouaii) aitci due hearing of each claim, pronounce judgment thereon, in which shall be stated, in due form, the amount adjudged to the claimant, when the judgment shall be in his favor, which judgment shall be duly registered by the clerk, and a certificate thereof shall be given to the claimant, under the seal of the court; and whenever the sum recovered shall be one hundred dollars or more, the said claimant, on presenting the said certificate to the comptroller-general, shall be entitled to receive, in satisfaction thereof, bonds or stock for fifty per centum on the amount thereof, bearing interest at the rate of six per cent, per annum, with coupons payable semi-annually, the said bonds payable in ten years, to be called Deficiency bonds. And if the amount recovered be less than one hundred dollars, one-half the amount shall be paid from the public treasury from any moneys which may be appropriated for the same, in full satisfaction tVrflnf' Proiridnd hnnmiTnir that several judgments may, by the consent of the parties having the right, be added together, and receive bonds or stocks for the whole at the rate aforesaid. Sec. 5. The warrants drawn by the comptroller-general in pursuance of Act No. 14, of 1875, entitled "An Act to provide for the settlement and payment of certain claims against the State," approved December 24, 1875, shall be deemed to be sufficient evidence of the claims set forth therein, and the court of claims shall ascertain how much (if anything) has been paid since the date of the said act. and shall ffive iudement for the bal aoce remaining due, and such balances shall be liquidated by bonds or stock for the full amount thereof, the said bonds and stock to be of the same form as those hereinbefore mentioned. Sec. 6. The clerk of the said court shall daily certify to the comptroller-general the parties and amounts for which judgments have been rendered by said court. Sec. 7. Every claim against the State which existed on the 1st of November, 1878, other than bonds and stocks and coupons or interest thereon, which shall not be duly sued or presented to the said court of claims on or before the 1st day of November, 1878, shall forever be barred. Sec. 8. This act shall not apply to any claim which accrued before the 21st of December, 1860. Sec. 9. There shall be levied an annual tax sufficient to provide for the payment of the interest upon the bonds and stock authorized to be created by this act. Sec. 10. The bonds and stock hereinbefore mentioned shall be prepared under the direction of the comptroller-general, and shall be sigBed by the Governor and eountersigned by the comptroller-general, and sealed with the seal of the State, and the coupons shall be signed by the treasurer. See. 11. The advances made in money, supplies and labor foi the Lunatic Asylum, Deaf, Dumb and Blind Asylum and the State Penitentiary, shall be audited and proved before the said court, and after judgment had thereoD, the claimant shall be entitled to receive, from the treasurer, bonds for the full amount of said judgment, drawn in the form hereinbefore prescribed ; and where the judgment is for less than one hundred dollars, the same shall be paid in cash from any moneys in the treasury not otherwise appropriated. Sec. 12. In cases where fractions occur in any settlement of the amount adjudged by the said court, certificates of stock, payable at same time and with like interest as the bonds, shall be issued by the treasurer in satisfaction of such fractions. Sec. 13. The Court shall go into operation within one month from the date of the election of the commissioner, and sit from day to day until the claims brought before it are adjusted. Approved March 22, 1878. AN ACT To Restore the Remedy of Distress for Rent. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the State of South Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assembly, and by the authority of the same, That Section 15, Chapter LXXXIV, of the General Statutes, and so much of Chapter CXLYII as repeals an act for the better security of rents and to prevent frauds committed by tenants, made of force in this State on the twelfth day of December, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and twelve, be, and the same are hereby, repeal ed; and tbe said act entitled "An Act tor the better security of rents and to prevent frauds committed by tenants," is hereby re-enacted and made of force in this State: Provided, that no property shall be seized under a distress warrant for rent, except such as belongs to the tenant in his own right. Approved Marc|j 18,1878. I?* A remarkable case is reported from Iowa. Two years ago, a little child drank a quantity of coneentrated lye water, and has never since been able to digest a particle of solid food ; but it has lived and is now thriving on a diet of milk, tea and coffee.