Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 23, 1879, Image 1
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"VOL. 35. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUAEY 33, 1879. i NO. 4.
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THE MILLER OF THE DEE.
There dwelt a miller hale and bold
Beside the river Dee;
He worked and sang from morn to night,
No lark more blithe than he ;
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be:
"I envy nobody, no, not I; And
nobody envies me!"
"Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said old King Hal ;
"Thou art wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine,
0 "I'd gladly change with thee ;
And tell me now what makes thee sing
With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I'm the King,
Beside the river Dee."
The miller smiled and doffed his cap,
"I can earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friends,
I love my children three ;
I owe no penny I cannot pay,
i thank the river Dee
That turns the mill and grinds the corn,
To feed my babes and me."
"Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while,
"Farewell! and happy be;
Butsav no more, if thou'dst be true
That no one envies thee.
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
Thy mill my kingdom's fee;
Content like thine few men can boast,
O, miller of the Dee !"
* I
?n #tigiual jBotg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
MISS CAREY'S BOX.
BY AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR.
CHAPTER VII.
Dr. Joshua Carey had left Sir Roxwell's
affairs in such a condition as to require constant
communication between that gentleman
and himself; for he had no iutention of relinquishing
the hold he had so cleverly managed
to obtain upon him, or allow absence in
any way to weaken his own influence, or cloud
his prospects of a brilliant future. He,
therefore, wrote regularly twice a week, receiving
such short replies as the baronet
(whose health had improved) felt equal to
composing; and thus kept a vigilant eye on
affairs in England as well as those in his new
quarters.
The intelligent reader may consider it singular
that this crafty personage should have,
in any way, voluntarily, added to his despised
sister's knowledge of the secret he possessed,
and of his own schemes concerning
the same. But he considered it expedient to
do so, with the view of making her his tool,
should occasion require it; no difficult undertaking,
according to his judgment, in consideration
of the awe in which that poor little
personage stood of his displeasure. It was
for this reason that he informed her of his
encounter with Mildred ; and she, as we have
seen, was greatly agitated by the news, feel
ing that the time was probably at hand when
she might be called upon to use all the force
or ingenuity at her command, to combat his
superior will and power.
That she was mortally afraid of her brothA
er, could not be denied ; but there were certain
underlying traits in her character of j
which he was ignorant, which formed a
groundwork for more decisive action than he
deemed her capable of. As she meditated, in
her solitude, upon the facts of the case laid
before her, and other facts connected with it,
unknown except to herself, she braced herself
to a mighty resolve to suffer anything sooner
than become accessory to any villainy in regard
to poor Mildred, which Joshua might be
contemplating. Could she have found a
chance to write, her way out of her difficulties
would have been easy enough, for a few
lines to Sir Roxwell could make all straight;
but she was much too strictly watched to permit
of this. She had neither pen or paper at
her command, nor any method of mailing a
letter, even could she have managed to write
one. Joshua never left the house without
locking up everything, and of late had taken
to fastening the street door also, to prevent
the possibility of her transgressing his orders
to admit no one, so that she had no way whatever
of communicating with the outside
world. She was as strictly a prisoner as if
she had been within the walls of a jail, instead
of an ordinary dwelling house; while
Joshua warded off* the occasional inquiries
propounded to him concerning her, by saying
, that she was in delicate health, and too nervous
to take pleasure in seeing strangers.
Joshua did not rest until he had found out
the Croftons' residence, which was not diffi
cult to do ; but it was some time before he
obtained another sight of Mildred, though he
persistently endeavored to do so. I have already
stated that the idea of presenting himself
as her suitor had vaguely occurred to him;
but since the conversation with Sir Roxwell,
which had led him to hope that in the event
of Mildred's non appearance he would stand
a better chance of inheriting a handsome
share of the property, he had come to the
conclusion that his greatest security lay in
her being kept out of the way. Even should
he marry her, he saw that Sir Roxwell would
probably leave the estate at her disposal rather
than his, and the notion did not suit him
so well as that of having unlimited control.
The scene which, therefore, presented itself to
his mind, at first indefinitely, but quickly assuming
a tangible shape, was that of falling
upon a plan to conceal her (even from her
present friends and protectors, so as to lead
to the supposition of her death) until Sir
Roxwell should give up the ghost, and the
disposition of his property be irrevocably settled;
and then, if it pleased him, either to
compel her to marry him (without any reference
to her own inclinations) or release her,
under such conditions as would ensure him
against punishment for his conduct toward
her.
Little did Mildred guess, as she serenely
pursued the daily round of her accustomed
duties and tranquil recreations, that a plot
was being woven against her liberty, perhaps
I;A? ;f00ic
UV/1 11JV> IVCVlAi
i A large ball was to be given at one of the
palatial residences in the most aristocratic
quarter of the city, and Mr. Crofton's family
received cards for the same. Alice and Ethel
were wild to go. And though the latter
was not actually "out," yet a feeling of reluctance
to deprive her of any pleasure which
her sister could enjoy, induced her parents to
give their consent on this, as on many other
occasions, to her having her own way. For a
week before the appointed evening, the pair
could do nothing but chatter of who they were
to meet and what they were to wear. And
like Cinderella, Mildred was perpetually called
into consultation over their toilets, though,
unlike that famous personage, she was not
debarred from the privilege of having her
share of enjoyment on the occasion. To her,
however, the enjoyment was a doubtful one,
and up to the last moment she was really
undecided whether to go or not.
"Don't be hura-dum and poky, Mildred,"
; said Ethel. "Do, for once, exert yourself
and try to have a good time. Don't you
: know you will be sure to create a sensation ?"
"No, my dear, I am quite sure of doing
' nothing of the sort," replied Mildred. "I am
not dashing enough to create a sensation in
this fast place, nor would I like to do so if I
could."
"Sensible and proper as usual," said Alice.
"But truly, I think it's your duty to go, if
only to look after us. You never shirk your
duty, you know."
"I am not supposed to be your chaperone,"
said Mildred, smiling. "I leave that office
to your mamma, and am only glad she is
well enough to accompany you."
"Poor mamma! I am afraid she doesn't
enjoy the prospect much ; but it will do her
good, "said Ethel, who thought there was
nothing like a frolic for curing any sort of
indisposition. Mrs. Crofton had wound herself
up, by a great effort, to the exertion of
acting as her daughter's chaperone. She
could have found acquantances who would
have been happy to'take charge of them, but
she had her English notions of propriety, and
did not put much faith in the American code 1
of manners in general.
Chance favored Mildred's lingering desire
to excape from the ordeal of the fashionable
evening. On the day of the ball, she had a
severe headache, and was obliged to declare
herself incapable of accompanying the rest
of the family. The two girls avowed that
they were sure she got up the headache
through malice prepense; but as it was too
reasonable an excuse to be gainsayed, they
could only vainly lament over it, and at the
appointed hour set off, leaving her at home
with a new book for company.
The book did not prove especially amusing,
and she soon put it aside, finding more entertainment
in her own thoughts. It was rather
a luxury to her to have a solitary evening
like this, and to be able to indulge, without
interruption, in memories and reflections in
which no one else had any part. So she lay
on a comfortable sofa in a dreamy, abstracted
sort of state, feeling the quiet and silence of
the hour an especial relief after the bustle of
preparation which had been going on around
her all day. By and by, the door was very
softly opened, and one of the maids looked in.
"Miss Mildred, is your head very bad now,
ma'am ?" she inquired.
"No, Juliet, thank you, I feel a good deal
better," was Mildred's response.
"I'm very glad, ma'amThen, after a
little hesitation, "I don't like to ask leave to
go out, and you here all alone, but I've got
news from my sister who is sick, and wants to
see me right away. Would you mind it very
j much, ma'am, if I was to step round there
for an hour or two ? I'll be home long before
the family returns from the ball."
"Certainly not. You may go, Juliet?I am
quite willing," answered Mildred, glad to
oblige one who was always particularly obliging
in serving her. "But isn't it very late for
you to be going out?"
"Oh, Thomas will fetch me there and
back," was the reply. (Thomas was the
! waiting-man, an ardent admirer of Juliet's.)
j "It isn't far, ma'am, and he won't be gone a
quarter of an hour; I'll make him hurry
home."
"Susan is out too, isn't she?" asked Mildred.
"Yes ma'am ; you know this is her evening
out?I'm sorry for it, too. Miss Mildred, I
won't take Thomas if you mind having him
go ; I ain't afraid to trust myself alone, just
a couple of blocks.''
"Oh, I don't mind; there will be nothing
to trouble me, you know. Thomas would be
greatly disappointed if you did not allow him
to act as your escort."
Juliet giggled, and looked down. "As to
that, I'm sure it would make no difference in
the world," she replied. "However, if you
really don't care, I'll take him along, just to
carry a bundle my sister wants taken to her.
He'll be back as quick as anything. Thank
you, ma'am, and good night I guess you
won't be sitting up late ?"
"No, I shall not sit up very late. Goodnight,"
said Mildred, and the door closed upon
the smiling Juliet, leaving her again to
her own meditations. In these, as it would
be useless to deny, one figure played a prominent
part?the figure of Frank Coventry.
She had heard news, in a casual way, of the
Coventrys that very afternoon, and it had
brought the memory of Frank, with unusual
vividness, to her mind.
"I got a letter from my friend Harding,
this morning," Mr. Crofton had said at the
dinner table, "and he tells me, among other
! things, that there is some trouble about the
Coveutrys' property, across the river. Sir
Francis has got himself into money difficulties,
it seems, and there's a prospect of part
of the place having to be sold."
"That fine estate! what a pity!" exclaimed
Mrs. Crofton. "What a misfortune for young
Frank Coventry; he seems to be such a talented,
gifted young man."
"I thought the Coventrys were so rich,"
said Alice.
"They have always been well off," rejoined
her father, "though not one of the richest
county families. The property has always
been remarkably well managed. I can't imagine
why it should come to grief."
And then some question concerning the allabsorbing
topic of the ball had arisen, and
that of the Coventrys and their difficulties
been put aside ; but it was one of painful interest
to, at least, one of Mr. Crofton's hear*? ?
onJ k?r woo nnt en pneilv fnrontt.P.n.
dOj auu ijy iivi j uuw ?ivv wv
The idea that Frank was unhappy, was in
trouble, had never occurred to her. She had
always connected his memory with everything
bright and careless and joyful, as he had always
seemed to her to be. But this new idea, I
so unexpectedly presented to her, not only I
awoke her anxiety in his behalf, but suggested
an explanation to some things in his behavior, I
j which had puzzled her before. She longed to
! be able to help him, to be of some use to him. |
' It was so natural to her to help any one in
I trouble, even those in whom she felt no parj
ticular interest. But, alas ! how could she,
j so far away, and with no means at her com|
mand, be to him what she desired ? And
then, besides?and the thought gave her a
pang?what right had she to help him, even
if she had not been without the power ? What
; was she, as far as she knew, to him?except,
indeed, in her own heart ?
I '
Mildred was but a girl, and not strongminded,
except in a womanly and limited
sense of the term. And these thoughts,
added, perhaps, to a touch of physical weakl
ness unusual to her, were not without a depressing
effect. Some quiet tears found their
way to her eyes, and she had just brushed
them for the second or third time away,
when a ring at the street bell startled her.
"That surely cannot be a visitor, so late,"
she said to herself, as she arose from her recumbent
position, and walked across the room
to survey herself in a glass, which hung over
the mantel-piece. "I hope not, at any rate,
for I'm not fit to see anybody."
Thomas, who had by this time returned,
entered directly after, looking rather mystified.
"There's a gentleman to see you, Miss
Rathbone," he announced, "but he wouldn't
send in no card, nor give me his name. Shall
I ask him in ?"
"Are you sure it is a gentleman, Thomas ?"
asked Mildred, doubtiully. , ,f ;
"Looks like one, ma'am, though not exactly
very high-toned, as I should say," rejoined
the aristocratic valet. "I don't recall to mind
| ever seeing him here before."
"Well, I suppose I must see him?but you
may tell him, Thomas, that I am not feeling
well, and then he won't stay long, I hope,
whoever he is. He can come in here, as the
drawing-room lamps are not lit"
Thomas departed, but again came back
alone.
"He says, Miss Rathbone, that he won't detain
you but a minute; that his shoes are
muddy and he don't like to come in, but
would you be kiud enough just to step to the
hall door."
"Oh ! it must be some person on business,"
said Mildred, and without farther deliberation,
she walked out to the door.
A tall man in a great-coat, with a hat partially
shaded, stood outside.
"You will excuse me, I hope, Miss Rsithbone,"
he said in a respectful manner, as he
touched his hat, "for disturbing you at this
late hour, especially as you are, I hear, not
feeling well; but I was so anxious to see you,
or one of the family, that I ventured to intrude."
"Every one is out but myself," replied
Mildred. Her unknown visitor kept himeelf
well in the shade as he addressed her, so that
she could not see his face, but something
6truck her as familiar in the tone of his voice,
? i-- ? L ? x" 1 * i ?> kr.
inaaiug uer lauujr BUC uiubi> amc iuti mu ur
fore.
"I have heard of your kind and charitable
disposition," he continued in the same quiet,
earnest, gentlemanly manner (for he really
seemed to be a gentleman) "and for that
reason am anxious to lay before you a particularly
urgent case of distress which I feel
sure you will be willing to relieve. There is
a poor young woman just arrived here from
England, who knows you well, and appealed
to me to find you for her ; a former dependant,
I believe, of your family. She is ill and
suffering, and quite destitute. Her name is
Susan?Susan?dear me, what is the last
name ? Something peculiar, I think, but it
has really escaped me. I have the most
treacherous memory in the world for names.
Will you see her ? she is waiting out there
now."
"Waiting?here?" asked Mildred, glancing
around.
"In a carriage, just at your gate. She
seemed hopeful that you would receive her,
but I would not bring her out until you spoke
to her first."
Mildred was puzzled. She could not recall
to mind any person of the name of Susan
who had formerly been a dependent of her
guardian's family. Neither could she imagine
how this man, who was now pleading in her
behalf, could know anything of such a case.
But her natural kindness of heart, and readiness
to be of assistance to others, put all
nnoctirminrr nairlo onH without, hpsif.Jlt.inn shft
^UV?..VU.M6
wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and
started down the garden walk towards the
gate, through which she could now see the
dusky outlines of a vehicle standing.
Her unknown visitor, after pausing for a
moment to say something to the listening
Thomas (who immediately retired towards
the rear of the house) followed her quickly,
and came up with her just as she reached the
gate.
"Excuse me," he said, as he stepped in front
of her and opened the carriage door. "Here's
the young lady," he announced as if speaking
to some one inside. Indeed, Mildred
could plainly discern a muffled-up figure on
the back seat. "Poor thing! she seems to
have fainted, or something?just see, Miss
Rathborn?let me assist you?"
He clasped Mildred's arm with a lirm pressure,
and pushed, rather than lifted her, into
the carriage. At this instant, a suspicion of
some trick rushed into her mind. She turned
huriedly as if to alight, but the stranger,
following her in, slammed the door of the
carriage, which was instantly driven off at
at furious pace. She would have shrieked
aloud for help, but a handkerchief pressed
into her mouth precluded the possibility of
her being heard. She struggled violently, but
soon finding that her strength was weakness
in the hands of her captor, ceased to resist
after a short time, and submitted passively
to the evil fate which, for the present at least,
qVio r?rmlrJ nnl. psnnnp from. Manv dark and
terrifying forebodings chased each other
through her mind as she was thus borne
helplessly along. But she tried to keep as
calm and collected as she could, in order to
be able to take advantage of the slightest
chance which might occur in her favor.
All this time the figure, muffled up on the
back seat, never spoke or stirred, but sat
crouching in the corner, as passively as
though it bad been a stuffed doll.
CHAPTER VIII.
Great was the distress of the Croftons, on
reaching home, to find Mildred gone, and no
clue by which they could track her to her
destination. Thomas gave a succinct account
| of what had occurred, as far as his knowledge
of the matter went; but as he could on:
ly relate what had transpired up to the moment
of Mildred's exit from the front door,
his information was not of much avail. The
gentleman, he said, had begged him to fetch
some wine for the sick person; and he had
gone to the sideboard in the dining-room to
j get a glass of port wine, not suspecting anything
wrong, and when he had returned to
| the front part of the house everybody had
disappeared. He had not heard the noise of
the carriage driving off, and though he had
looked up and down the street, had seen nothing
of it."
"Of course, sir, as Miss Rathbone seemed
so ready and so unsuspecting-like, I didn't
dream of foul play," he said in self-extenuation,
to Mr. Crofton ; "though I'd have kept
her in sight when she went down to the gate,
if I hadn't been sent on an fsrrand."
The man was really not to blame, under the
circumstances. Besides, he seemed as much
troubled almost as were the family them
selves, and offered to do all in his power to
assist in the search which ensued. Mr. Crofton
went at once to report the case at the police
office, and was assured that detectives
should be put instantlyjon the track of the
young lady and her abductora. He returned
home partly consoled by the assurances he
received from the officials, that they would
surely succeed in their quest; but the whole
household continued in a state of anxiety and
uneasiness impossible to describe, and tired
as they were, none of-them closed their eyes
in sleep for many hours after.
The case was reported in the papers, and
soon became a subject of general wonderment
and speculation ; but, singular to say, all ithe
efforts of the detectives to ferret it out proved
of no avail. Mildred's disappearance seemed
as total as it had been sudden and mysterious;
and when days and weeks hac! been consumed
in fruitless search, and still not the faintest
light had been thrown upon the mystery, her
friends began to despair of her recovery, and
to mourn her as forever lost to them. Mrs.
Crofton's nerves were bo shattered by the affliction,
that she fell into a state of mental
prostration, more trying to those around her
than bodily illness. She had truly loved
Mildred as a daughter, and the catastrophe
of losing her, painful enough as it would have
beeu in any case, was, of course, rendered
doubly severe by the strange circumstances
attendant upon the loss.
Mr. Crofton, at length, became convinced
that his ward, supposing her to be still alive,
(thoueh on this noint he felt more than doubt
ful) had been taken out of the country, or at
least, to some far distant point, perhaps New
York, or one of the other large eastern cities.
At all events, it seemed to him hopeless to
look for her recovery in San Francisco, and
as he had finished the business which had
brought him there, he determined to take his
family home, believing such a course would
prove most beneficial to his wife's health.
The strictest search had been instituted in every
part of the United States, and handsome
rewards offered for any authentic information
concerning the lost girl. And as her guardian's
farther presence in America could, in
no way, be instrumental to the success of the
search, he set out for his native country with
his wife and daughters, just a year from the
time that he had bidden it farewell, wishing
most heartily that his business had never
called him abroad. Sad, indeed, it was to be
obliged to return to their peaceful country
home, without the loved-and valued presence
+ 1-...4- V.o.1 on /-.Vioororl nnrt nrlnrnpr? it. I NnhnHv
had known, until Mildred was gone, how important
she had been to them all, or how sadly
she would be missed. In order to remove
the cloud which had settled upon his wife's
spirit, Mr. Crofton finding, aftersome months,
that nothing appeared to relieve her melancholy,
determined upon another move, judging
that new scenes and the exertion of travel
would be the best remedies he could employ
for her. So they set off again, this time for
a continental tour, which was to last indefinitely.
At any other time, the two girls
would have been perfectly enchanted with the
prospect of roaming over Europe, and particularly
with the idea of lingering in Paris and
partaking of the gayeties there. But under
the circumstances which impelled the move,
it seemed to lose all its charm. Naturally,
neither Mr. nor Mrs. Crofton desired that two
young creatures, like Alice and Ethel, should
be permanently saddened by a sorrow, no
matter how deep, which they themselves found
it impossible to shake off, and for this reason
they were willing to have them reap all the
enjoyment offered them by the places and
scenes through which they passed. But without
Mildred, even the pleasure of novelty
' i 1 1- - J
seemed nat. rue gay, untninmng nearis nau
been touched too painfully to easily recover,
their wonted lightness and buoyancy. With
every fresh experience came the wish, sometimes
expressed, butoftenest secretly felt, "Oh!
if we but had Mildred to share it with us!"
But months passed by, and still no tidings
came. And by aud by the hope, lingering
and faint, which had refused to be entirely
banished from their hearts died out, and the
conviction that Mildred was irrevocably lost
settled finally upon them.
And what had become of Frank Coventry
all this time? He too had heard the strange
story of Mildred's disappearance, and bitterly,
bitterly had he felt the blow, and mourned
over the thought that he had let fate separate
her from him thus, "without ever having
spoken to her of his love; but not like her
guardian's family did he yield to the belief
that she was dead. Unaccountable as it appeared
that so complete a mystery surrounded
her fate, as to render the most strenuous
and persistent efforts at discovery of no avail,
still he did not, could not, abandon hope.
It was impossible to conceal from his family
the trouble which oppressed him, and now for
the first time his secret, hitherto shared by
Lena alone, became known; first to his mother,
then his sisters, finally to his father himself,
to whom it proved no welcome news.
"I have trouble and annoyance enough in
other quarters," Sir Francis said, complainingly
to his wife, "without the additional
burden of a hopeless love-affair to bear. It
would be folly, absolute folly in any case, for
Frank to persist in such an idea. He couldn't
afford to marry a girl like that, if she was
ready and waiting for him ; and the idea of
casting aside his prospects of a reasonable,
rational settlement in life to run after a shadow,
a chimera, is unbearable. Of course the
girl is dead. She nas been made away with
by some villain, or she would have been
heard of long ago ; but were she as alive as
I am, it would be equally impossible for her
to marry Frank.5'
Lady Coventry, to whom by this time her
husband's difficulties were well known, scarcely
knew what reply to It seemed to
her, of course, desirable that Frank should
marry well, in order to relieve the weight of
anxiety and responsibility which his father's
imprudence had entailed upon him ; but,
mother-like, her sympathies were warmly en
listed od his side, and she longed to see the
wish of his heart carried out, if this were
practicable; and she did not specially yearn
toward Emily Houghton as a daughter-in-law.
That young lady still remained unwed, and,
aB far as anybody knew, unlikely to enter
the matrimonial estate; and the Coventrys
(though perhaps this was excusable prejudice
on their part) really believed that it lay
quite within the bounds of Frank's persuasive
powers to win her hand and her fortune,
if he pleased to make the attempt. I do not
mean that Frank shared this belief, for there
was no man living freer from vanity than
t- l/? A - 1 t 1
nimseii. iina ne always grew sugouy impatient
when efforts were made to impress
the fact upon him that he had but to try to
succeed. In a quiet way, such efforts were
continually brought to bear upon him. Both
Eleanor and Grace shared their father's anxiety
to make the match, and were more persistent
than judicious in their attempts to
bring it about. Frank's chief comfort was in
Lena, to whom he could talk without restraint
; and next to ber, his mother, though
with the latter he was more guarded, feeling
that she was bound, in a measure, not to oppose
his father's will, and could, therefore, not
be so complete a recipient of his confidence.
Lady Coventry, moreover, shared the general
belief that all idea of recovering Mildred
was hopeless, and for this reason, while unwilling
to persuade him into marrying against
his will, she thought it only right to discourage
the thought of his ever carrying out the
long cherished plan of making the lost girl
his wife. Lena believed with Frank that
she would yet be found ; and many was the
long and earnest talk these two would have
together, sometimes with the result of sheading
a cheerful ray into poor Frank's burdened
soul, even though the lightening of his
sorrow was but transient.
"If my hands were not so tied, I'd start
off this very hour, and roam the world over
but what I'd find her," he would say sometimes.
"But how can I leave ? My father
won't have me out of his sight, hardly; and
I suppose it's my duty to stick by him in
trouble, and not go running after a shadow,
as he calls it."
Frank's hands were indeed tied, just now.
In addition to mental anxiety, Sir Francis
had suffered much in bodily health of late,
and depended upon his son to "look after his
affairs when he was unable to attend to them
himself. Sometimes the family thought that
the day was not far distant when the estate,
with all its encumbrances, would descend
wholly into the management of the young
heir, and its present master's responsibilities
and anxieties and remorse, be forever laid
aside in the silence and quiet of the grave.
In such moments as these, Frank's personal
trouble?that is, his chief, nearest trouble,
generally overshadowing all the rest?would
be merged into his solicitude for his father,
and his desire to do all he could to soothe and
comfort him. Those were melancholy days
at Beechwold, the saddest the old place had
ever seen. Frank began to feel very old, and
a worn look settled upon his face that his
mother grieved to see. But it was no wonder
that he should have this look, with so heavy
a pressure upon his mind.
At this juncture of affairs, Eleanor received
an offer of marriage from a gentleman of very
good family and fortune, who proposed going
abroad to live. The English climate did not
suit his health, and he desired to make his
home in Italy, where he had already passed
some years, if he could win Eleanor's consent
to spend her life so far from home, with occa
sional visits to her family and friends. Sir
Francis demurred. He liked Mr. Churchill
well enough, but he did not like the notion of
Eleanor going away permanently, though she
confessed herself not averse to the plan, since
her lover's health was concerned. At last, a
compromise was effected. Nine months of the
year were to be spent in Italy, and the remaining
three at Dutton, which was to be put
into a habitable condition. A day was fixed
for the wedding, and the pair were to set off
immediately on a bridal tour, and Dutton was
to be ready for them on their return.
Soon after this arrangement was made, Eleanor
came, one day, to her father's study,
with a request to be allowed to speak to him
on a little matter of business. Business was
so far out of Eleanor's line, that Sir Francis
was a good deal surprised by the request.
However, of course, he was ready to listen to
all she had to say, which will not take long to
repeat. She had merely come to tell him
that she was willing and anxious to give up
Dutton, which had so long been destined for
her marriage dowry. She could not see the
use of keeping it as a home, when it would
have to be shut up nine months in every year,
doing no good to her or to anybody else.
Sir Francis felt a thrill of satisfaction at
the proposal. Still he demurred about acceding
to it. "You know, my dear, the place
has always been intended for you, on your
marriage," he said. "Even if you don't live
there altogether, it would be well for you to
have it for a home."
"If I don't live in England but three
months out of the year, papa, it would be
no home to me. Mr. Churchill thinks, with
me, that it would be much better to give it
up."
"You have spoken to him about it, then?"
"Yes, we were speaking of it last evening.
I thought you would not object While we
were in England we could easily take a furnished
house, or live in lodgings; or we might
stay here in Beechwold, part of the time at
any rite."
"You should stay here and welcome, my
dear, all the time, if it pleased you. Your
mother and I would be only too happy to
have you."
"Then it is settled," said Eleanor. "It was
very wrong and careless of me not to speak
of this long ago, papa; but somehow it did
not occur to me before, that it would be any
help to you to have Dutton at your own disposal.
I don't know how I could have been
so stupid."
"My dear," said the baronet, "are you
quite sure that you are not making this proposition
now, solely out of consideration for
me, and that you would not rather keep to
the old arrangement ? If both you and Mr.
Churchill are not perfectly satisfied?"
"But we are both perfectly satisfied, papa.
I assure you we would infinitely rather not
have the responsibility of the place, being
absent from it nearly all the time, as we must
be. I should feel no pleasure in having a
place that we could not take care of} and I
should never stay there enough to get fond of
it. Besides, I should be much happier with
you all, in the dear old home, whenever I am
not abroad; and I don't think Mr. Churchill
would be in your way."
Mr. Churchill being one of the quietest
and most inoffensive of men, Sir Francis had
no apprehension of finding him in the way;
and as he was more relieved and gratified by
his daughter's offer than he cared to show, he
made no farther hesitation in accepting it.
1 So he kissed and thanked her affectionately,
1 said she was a dutiful child, and, as soon as
she had left him, wrote at once to Mr. Conly,
to come over and draw up the necessary papers
to place him in control of the property,
which was to be offered immediately for sale.
Frank, too, was overjoyed when he heard
of the arrangement. He knew that if Dutton
brought a good price, half the burden , would
be lifted from his father's shoulders and hie
own. So the household was brightened by
the prospect of less anxious days, and the
preparations for the wedding were carried on
more cheerfully than they could otherwise
! UnvtA 11 /?Vt t Ar> i Ap tVlO TXAAIl.
uavc uucu, oiugv buc vi tuv ja^^niary
pressure compensated, in some degree,
for the anticipated trouble of losing Eleanor,
who had always been her mother's stay and
right hand.
"Frank," said Lena, as soon as she could
find an opportunity for a confidential chat,
"now will you set off at once on your search,
as you wanted to do before ? Papa can spare
you, he seems so much stronger and better
than he has been."
Frank shook his head and sighed. "I
don't know, yet, what to do, or how to set
about it," he replied. "I had an idea of first
hunting up the Croftons, and talking to Mr.
Crofton. He might be able to make it easier
for me. And yet?sometimes I think, Lena,
that the undertaking would be folly ; that it
has been folly in me to hope." . "Oh
! Frank," cried Lena.
"Yes, I do. Still, I suppose it would be a
satisfaction to hear what Mr. Crofton has to
say. But I begin to fear that he is no wiser
than I am, and that the treasure lost can never
more be regained."
[ "If she is anywhere, you will find her?
won't you, Frank ?"
"If she is anywhere but in her grave, 1
will?please God," was the reply. And he
meant what he said, for if ever there had
been a fixed purpose in his heart, that purpose
was there now. But, as he had told Lena,
he had no settled plan of action yet, for it was
hard to know what to do. And, moreover, it
was impossible rot him to leave home on this
vague expedition, just on the eve of Eleanor's
wedding, and while business affairs were in a
sort of transition state. So he laid in a fresh
stock of patience and endurance, and bent his
will to the duties of helping and counseling
and working for the good of everybody
around him, and found, as people always do,
a reward in the knowledge that he was useful,
and that his usefulness was appreciated.
vcaa flio firaf wprirlincr in the familv onrl
it was decided 1c make it rather a grand affair.
A godmother of Eleanor's came forward
and insisted on presenting her with her
wedding dress and entire outbt, which arrived
in due time from Paris. So the responsibility
of that important question, the trousseau,
being lifted from the feminine mind, there remained
only the minor arrangements concerning
the ceremony and reception, important,
no doubt, in their way, but less onerous than
the settlement of the respective merits of
silks, cashmeres and laces, and, still more,
the fashion in which the garments should be
made. Sir Francis presented his daughter
with a settlement as liberal as he could afford
under the circumstances, and, in addition,
gave her a valuable heir-loom of diamonds,
which, in his despondency, be had, at one
time contemplated disposing of, but which he
felt much greater satisfaction in putting to
its present use. Eleanor thought herself rich
in jewelry, for Mr. Churchill gave her two
elegant seta?one of sapphire and the other of
pearl?and with the trousseau, there had
come to her, from the godmother in Paris, a
diamond cross, so big and resplendent, that
Lena declared she would outshine the Princess
of Wales, when she had it on. And Eleanor,
whose tastes were quiet, almost felt as though
she would be afraid to wear it, even at the receptions
of the Princess di Conti, which Mr.
Churchill assured her were the most brilliant
ever given in Florence. Her sisters exercised
their ingenuity and skill in all sorts of devices
of use and beauty for her benefit, especially
Grace, who felt, very keenly, the coming parting
between her favorite companion and herself.
Lady Coventry gave her a family Bible
and a watch, and Frank a miniature likeness
of his mother sec in pearls. This last gift, in
view of the apr roaching separation, was perhaps
the most a jceptable of all. The family
had always been so bound together by home
interests, that the severance of this link in the
household circle was a matter of greater import
than it would have been, had they been accustomed
to find their pleasures abroad and
apart from one another. Eleanor stood it
very well, trying to give the rest a good example,
and perhaps, in the excitement of the
prospect of an entire change, really feeling
the breaking-up less than they did. She did
give way at the last, when everything was
over, and the moment came for the uttering of
those most melancholy of all words, "Goodbye;"
realizing, for the first time, that her
girlhood's life was at an end, with all its simple,
happy aims and associations, and all the
surroundings that had made it dear. When
the carriage had driven off, Grace fled to her
room and locked the door, and mourned there
like a dove robbed of its mate. Indeed, they
were all very doleful for a while, missing the
departed one sadly; but when letters began
to come from her, assuring them of her happiness,
and giving pleasant descriptions of
her journey and her new home, they brightened
up and began already to look forward to
the joys of a reunion in the following summer.
It was not long before Dutton found a
purchaser, in Emily Houghton's father, who
had long desired to become its owner, liking
both the aspect of the place and its neighborhood.
He paid a liberal price for it, and
with this so large a portion of the mortgage
on Beechwold was paid off, that Sir Francis
/ -K i? u ?:i? i
leu lie CUU1U UUW UI&.C tlliugs COOlljT tUiU
look forward hopefully to the future. At
any rate, there was no more fear of cutting
up the estate, which he had so dreaded the
idea of doing; and Frank, finding his presence
at home no longer indispensable to his
father's peace, began to lay a definite plan of
action, and finally fised upon a time for
leaving home.
[to be continued.]
flouting.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
, A SURPRISE"
AT TEE HOUSE OF THE PRESBYTERIAN MINISTER,
YORKVILLE, SATURDAY, JAN. I1TH, 1879.
It was a winter's evening.
The day was dark and drear;
And shadows fast were foiling,
While Sabbath it drew near.
I sat within my study,
All busy With my workWhen
all at onoe the door-bell rang
With quick and sudden jerk.;
Then followed soon another pull,
A perfect clangor bringing;
Until bewitched the door-bell seemed,
And kept on ringing, ringing.
I could not think what all this meant,
So novel was the sound;
'PWlnlrn T ?+ mnaf Kfl fKttf
Jiuiuao ay IV OUIOIJ Uiugv mv vu??
The town is coming round.
-> r :
To add to my amazement sore
I heard such voices loud?
And such a clatter, clatter still,
Of some assembling crowd.
What could it mean, this gathering crowd,
This gay and merry chatter?,
This bustling noise; this joyous mirth,
What now can be the matter ?
So down the stairs I quickly flew
To see and learn the reason;
And ascertain what's going on
So joyflil and pleasing.
When lo, (how can I tell it all)
What scene there met my eyes!
'Twas what I'd call in strictest truth,
A genuine "surprise."
There grouped I saw a goodly crowd
Of ladies gathered in;
Not deaconesses all?but still
I think they should have been.
Ranged closely round and round they sat?
The room it was well packed;
While in their midst a table groaned
With many a good thing stacked.
What needful gifts! hew well-timed too,
(I wonderingly surveyed),
All round and round the table large
In tasteful order laid.
And still the door-bell pealed away?
And still the i&ir ones came;
Each, with her doubly welcome giftWould,
I could give their names t
But that I cannot, cannot now,
('Twonld make my song too long;)
For nearly all the households came,
That to my flock belong.
Nor need I here, (for 'twould be vain)
Recount what all they brought;
Suffice it?that each gift bestowed,
Displayed much kindly thought
Things such as every fair one knows
The Pastor's household needs;
Substantial, serviceable, goodAcceptable
indeed.
"Surprises" many, I have seen
In North, East, South and West;
And yet methinks, of all I've known
Thin itu.rel.il in the. bent.
A happy, happy greeting 'twaa,
Alfording much delight;
And happy, happy too it made
The Pastor's home that night.
The tho't that prompted, love that shone,
In such a glad "surprise"?
The hearts that blessed, andhands that bro't,
All made it doubly prized.
And as the shades of everting fell,
And rose the evening prayer?
The kind and loving hearts who sent,
Were not forgotten there.
'Twas thus upon a wintry day,
A day so dark and drear,
That loving hearts and footsteps came
Their Pastor's home to cheer.
The writer takes this mode of returning his sincere
and hearty thanks to the ladies of his congregation
who so kindly visited him last Saturday
afternoon, and gave him that "pounding" which
was both a surprise and a pleasure. And he
hopes that they may, each ana every one, receive
a suitable recompense from Him who rewardeth
even the cup of cold water, given in the name of
a disciple. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have
done it unto Me." L. H. W.
YorkviUe, January 13th, 1879.
THE NATIONAL BANKS.
.The National Banks are, according to
Comptroller Knox, ready to resume. Many
of them have reduced their circulation, apd
all of them have been gathering gold. The
amount of gold held by them aggregates $40,000,000.
This amount would seem to be all
that would be necessary to meet the demand
for the resumption of their notes. Their circulation
is so scattered around the whole country
that a run would be hardly possible. The
$40,000,000 is amply sufficient to allay the
gold fever and satisfy that class of people who
want to fill the traditional stocking with gold.
If it is not sufficient, the Banks can call on
the Government to redeem the legal-tender
reserve which they have on hand, and thus
get more gold. Each Bank is required to
keep in reserve a certain amount of U. 8. legal
tenders. This amount varies according to
the locality of the Bank. An amount equal
to twenty-five per cent, of its circulation is the
lowest legal tender reserve that any Bank has
on hand. From this it goes upwards.
As a matter of interest, we subjoin the resumption
act, passed January, 1875, which
provides in brief:
1. On and after January 1,1879, the Secretary
of the Treasury shall redeem in coin
the United States legal tender notes then outstanding.
2. This redemption shall take place on the
presentation of such legal tenders in sums of
not less than $50.
8. The place of redemption is at the office
of the Assistant Treasurers of the United
States in the city of New York.
a ti J a: :n l? u
ft. ?uv reueiiiuuuu win ug in cnaici guiu ui
silver, as the holder of the legal tenders desires,
subject to the option of the Government
to pay in either metal.
5. The amount of these legal tenders is
now $345,681,018.
6. The legal tender notes shall not be destroyed,
retired or cancelled, but shall be kept
in circulation.
7. The Act does not apply to the circulation
of the National Banks. Their notes are
still redeemed in United States notes at the
counters of the Banks issuing them.
What Makes the Man.?Many people
seem to forget that charaoter grows?that it
is not something to put on, ready-made, with
manhood; but day by day, here a little and
there a little, grows and strengthens with the
strength, until, good or bad, it becomes almost
a coat of mail. Look at a man of business?prompt,
reliable, conscientious, yet,
clearheaded and energetic. When do you
suppose he developed all these admirable
qualities? When he was a little boy.
Let us see the way in which a boy of ten
years gets up in the morning, works, plays,
studies, and we will tell you just what kind
of a man he will make. The boy who is late
at breakfast, and late at school, stands a poor
chance to be a prompt man. The boy who
neglects his duties, be they ever so small, and
then excuses himself by saying, "forgot! I
didn't think!" will never be a reliable man.
And the boy who finds pleasure in the suffering
of weaker things will never be a noble,
generous, kindly man.
"So," said a lady recently to a merchant,
"your pretty daughter has married a
rioh husband r' "Well, slowly replied the
father, "I believe she has married a rich man,
but I understand he U7* very poor husband "