Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 13, 1879, Image 1
lewis >i. grist, i'ropi-ietoi-. J" ;|it! Jnbcpmbraf Jfamilg Itetospaptr: Jbr fjje |roinatii)n of l|jt |jali(iral, Social, ^gricnltaral anb Commercial interests of % Sontjj. |terms--$3.00 a tear, in advance.
vot, 25. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 13, 1879. NO. 11.
$Mr4 foctrg.
WHAT DOES IT MATTER?
It matters little where I was bom,
Or if my parents were rich or poor;
Whether they shrank at the cold world's scorn,
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure ;
Bnt whether I live an honest man,
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch,
I tell you, brother, plain as 1 can,
It iriatters much. !
It matters little how long I stay
In a world of sorrow, sin and care;
Whether in youth I am called awav,
Or live till my bones and pate are bare;
But whether I do the best I can
To soften the-weight of adversity's touch
On the faded cheek of my fellow-man,
_ It matters much !
It matters little where be my grave,
Or on the land or on the sea;
By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave, J
It matters little or naught to me;
But whether the angel Death comes down,
And marks my brow with his loving touch, i
As one that shall wear the victor's crown.
It matters much!
jlu (Original -i-totu.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
THE BARSTOWS.
BY VICTOR VERBTON.
CHAPTER V.
LUCY*8 NARRATIVE CONTINUED?CLOUDS IN
THE BLUE.
April 9th. We are having the loveliest
- * * n _
weather now! Spring has set in unusuaiiy
early, and in the nooks and hollows of the
mountains which have been sheltered from
the snow, the little wild flowers are already
* springing. I gather; them with joy, for they
remind me of my dear native land. Although
different in kind from those to which I have
been accustomed, yet flowers, after all, belong
to the same kindred everywhere, and like all
other offspring of beneficent Nature, speak to
the heart with softening memories, and seem
to form a connecting link between the far
distant corners of the globe.
When, I wonder, shall we revisit our former
home? Ralph never speaks of it. I
suppose we shall at least spend this whole
suminer here.
Yesterday, I was walking out alone, and
could not resist the temptation of going into
Franz Birkoff's, to see the Holcombes. It
may have been wrong, but common civility
certainly required that I should return Mrs.
Holcombe's call. She is old enough for my
mother, and after taking the trouble to walk
all the way to our house, she would have considered
me a perfect bear, not to acknowledge
her politeness. I had a delightful visit, and
was even more charmed with Miss Holcombe
(Margaret, her name is) than with her mother.
They are refined, cultivated people, and
I am sure, if I was only allowed to be friendly
with them, they would prove most congenial
companions. Mrs. Holcombe reproached
me, in a pleasant way, for not having been
there before. I pleaded, as an excuse, that I
went, out verv little, and looked after all the
household affairs, which occupied a good deal
of my time.
"But your household is a very small one,"
she rejoined, smiling. "Only your husband
and yourself," I believe.
"That is true," I admitted. "But my husband
likes me to be with him, and?and?"
"And so you are always together," supplied
Miss Holcombe. "You ought to be devoted
to each other, to get on comfortably in this
secluded life?otherwise you would be pretty
sure to get to quarreling!"
"Quarreling!" I echoed ; and then launched
out into praises of Ralph, which was foolish
of me no doubt, but I wanted to change
the subject, and my hearers listened very indulgently.
At last Mrs. Holcombe said?
"You must bring this husband of yours to
ses us. I am sure he must be worth know
^ 99
ing.
"I will tell him," I replied; "but notwithstanding
his many perfections he has one
fault, which is an aversion to paying visits."
"Not an uncommon one with gentlemen,"
remarked Mrs. Holcombe. "However, considering
that we are strangers in a strange
land, I hope he will make an exception in
our case."
I left as soon as I could, and on the way
home was overtaken by Ralph, who ran down
the mountain to join me. He had been out
hunting as usual, but this time without success."
"Where have you been, little one?" he
asked, drawing my haud through his arm.
"Oh, I got tired of staying home alone, so
I went out for a walk," I replied. My cheeks
burned at the subterfuge I was practicing,
but I was not sufficiently courageous to own
that I had disobeyed his commands.
After all, it is Ralph's own fault that I am
driven to this concealment. He has made
me, for the first time, afraid of him, or at
least of his displeasure, which I find too terrible
a thing to encounter voluntarily. But1
I am unhappy in thinking of what I have
done. I heartily wish the Holcombes had
never come to this place !
April 14th. I knew it would come at last.
Well, the truth is out, and that is one comfort
; but such a storm as we have had !
Day before yesterday there came a note to
me from Mrs. Holcombe, which ran on this
- _ wise:
"Dear Mrs. Barstow?Since your charming
visit, my daughter has done nothing but
think and speak of you, and to gratify her
(aud, I need scarcely add, myself also), J
have thought of a plan for bringing us all
together for a whole day, to the promotion
of the acquaintance thus pleasantly begun.
Margaret feels so much stronger and better
than she did, that she is quite equal to a little
picnic in the woods, and we have fixed
upon Wednesday next, should the weather
be propitious, to visit the old ruined castle we
were speaking of, aud dine there, goiug and
returning on mule-back, which will be easier
for her than one of these rough carts. Now
won't you and your husband lend your cooperation
to our scheme? I think we can
manage to spend our time very pleasantly,
and the distance is not far. Please let us
have an answer by return of the little messenger.
Very truly yours,
"Emily Holcombe.
"P. S.?If Wednesday does not suit you,
?ii? ...:n ?.oli "
UliUUi^i uaj >>111 uu no nvii?
Now I felt myself in a dilemma! Ralph
was out, but of course would have to know
all about it wheu he came home. I had one
alternative, which was to refuse decidedly at
once?but what decent excuse could I give
for doing so ? If it had not been for that
unlucky postscript, I might have invented an
engagement for Wednesday, and kept to it;
but leaving it to me to substitute another day
if I chose, rendered it impossible to decline
| the invitation without positive rudeness. After
thinking it over for five minutes, I went
to the door and told little Haus Birkhof,
! who had brought the note, that I would send
i an answer that afternoon. That would give
rae an opportunity to decide upon what I
j should do.
Just as the boy had gone, Rosel came to,
I me tb ask for assistance in her cooking. She J
had got herself into a dilemma, and could not
get out of it without my help. Into the
kitchen I went, and stayed there about half
an hour, forgetting entirely that I had left
Mrs. Holcorabe's note?open, too?on the
parlor table. When I went back, there was
Ralph walking about?and as I saw his face,
it flashed over me in a second that he knew
all. I turned hot and then cold, and felt
stricken dumb.
| "Lucy," he said, stopping in his walk and
j looking at me?such a look ! "Lucy, I want
to speak to you. What does this mean ?"
1 And he pointed at the note.
"You can see what it means," I managed
to get out, in a stifled sort of voice. "I suppose
you have read it."
"Yes, I have read it," he answered. "It
was lying open on the table, and I took it
up, not even knowing what it was. I did
not suppose you had any secrets from me.
Come here and let us talk about it," and
taking my hand he led me to the sofa, and
sat down beside me. His manner was so
quiet, so self contained, yet so stern, that it
hurt ine more deeply than a burst of anger
would have done, and I could not keep back
my tears.
"When did jou visit Mrs. Holcombe?" he
asked, fixing his eyes on my face. I barely
managed to answer, "Last Tuesday afternoon."
"Was not that the afternoon I joined you,
coming home ?"
"Yes."
"And you told me you had gone out for a
walk. Oh, Lucy I"
"It was not an untruth," I sobbed out. "I
did go for a walk, and when I was near the
cottage I went in. I had no intention of
going, when I left this house. But I felt
that I ought to return Mrs. Holcombe's visit,
and I went."
"Mrs. Holcombe's visit!" he repeated.
"You never told me that she had been here."'
"She was here two weeks ago," I answered.
"And I never told you, because you had
made me afraid. Once I was not afraid of
you, but now?"
"But now you are," he finished, bitterly.
"Not afraid of you, exactly," I replied.
"But it frightens me to have you angry; you
can be so very, very stern."
"You talk childishly," he answered, impa- |
tiently. "I have never said one word to
frighten you, as you express it. If I spoke
strongly, it was because I felt strongly on the
subject, and because I wished to impress upon
you the necessity for complying with my expressed
desire. You have wilfully disobeyed
me ; this I can forgive. But you have also
wilfully deceived me, and this it is not easy
for me to forgive. Oh ! Lucy, why, why have
you let this barrier come between us ?"
"I couldn't help it," said I. "You put me
in a most awkward, disagreeable situation,
and when I was taken unawares I did not
know how to act."
"How were you taken unawares?" he
asked.
"Why, by Mrs. Holcorabe coming to 6ee
me, so unexpectedly. You know I did not
carry the jelly myself, that day ; I promised
not to go, and I did not. Of course I never
dreamed that she would come here first.
But when she took the trouble to walk this
distance, just to thank me, and then begged
me to visit her, how could I refuse ?"
"You valued her opinion of you?the opinion
of a perfect stranger?more than my approbation.
I thought I was asking a small
sacrifice of you, in the case, compared with
the much greater sacrifices you have voluntarily
made for my sake. But women have
a wonderful way of looking at things," said
my husband bitterly. "It is hard, indeed,
to fathom their minds. One would suppose
that the love which was true and deep enough
to induce you to abandon your native land,
and all its associates, without a murmur, to
make your home with me amid these Alpine
wilds, would certainly be sufficiently powerful
to enable you to avoid a temporary ac
quaintanceship, which can profit you nothing,
when you kuow I am particularly opposed to
it."
"It can profit me nothing, perhaps," said
I, "but it can give me great pleasure, and
seems a most innocent resource. As to my
love for you that has nothing to do with the
matter. It is a too well-established fact to be
brought into the question at all. I might
say, and with greater justice, that the love
you feel for me?and which eveu your harshness
to me can not make me doubt?ought
to be strong enough to allow me so small an
indulgence as to allow me the friendship of
two refined, agreeable and cultivated ladies,
th9 very first people with whom I
have come in contact, since we came to live
in this place, who are in any way congenial
to me."
J I suppose I spoke in a very excited way,
and looked no doubt, wrought up, as I felt.
Ralph made no answer directly. At last, with
a great sigh, he broke forth?
"Yes, what you say seems true enough :
! poor child, poor child! No doubt I appear
| tyrannical and harsh. Oh, if you could but
j read my heart!"
| "Oh, Ralph!" I cried throwing my arms
: around him, "if you would but let me know i
J your real, true reason for acting in this way?
if you would but explain this mystery, for I
1 know there is a mystery, I should be so much
I better satisfied, so much happier; I could
! obey you gladly if it did not seem that you
1 were acting from mere caprice. But are you
| doing it to try my love, or what?"
"vr-i " Kq niicu-prpfl with an
JL^IUl UIUI UUt liV M1W..W.VV.J
emphasis which I could uot doubt was sincere.
"Believe me, if I had not a reason for
what I do, I would not deny you any gratification
which might fall in your way. Tell
j me," he suddenly added, fixing his eyes upon
| me, while he pressed my arm in a grasp which
j was painful, "tell me honestly, from your soul,
j do you value my welfare, my happiness, be|
yond every earthly thing ? Is your life bound
; up in mine, as that of a true wife should be?"
I was so startled by his almost terrible ear;
nestness, that at first I could not reply. At
! last I managed to say, "You know that it is;
how can you ask me such a question ?"
"Then," he rejoined, "perhaps you will be
I more willing to yield to my wishes, when I
tell you that I ask no self-denial, require no
! submission on your part, which is not absolutely
essential to my peace of mind, and
yours?aye, perhaps, even to?"
He checked himself abruptly. "Lucy," he
continued, in a softer tone, releasing my arm
and drawing me to him as he spoke, "let us
forget that this altercation has ever arisen
between us. Let us drop the whole subject of
it, and be as we were before. I am willing to
forget that you have done anything contrary
to my wishes. Do you also put aside the rej
membrance of the harsh words I have spoken,
and let there be nothing but harmony be|
tween us. Do you consent to this ?"
j "Ah!" I replied, "if you always spoke to
me in this way, it would not be hard for me
to give up to you."
"I was not cross to you at first, was I ? I
pleaded with you, in the beginning, as gently
as I knew how. But do you give up to me
in earnest now? Are you satisfied?"
What could I say ? I was certainly not
satisfied. I could Bot be while his confidence
was still withheld. He had given me no explanation,
and it seemed vain for me to hope
for one. But I was weary of the contest, and
his love and favor promised peace?the restored
peace for which I longed. After all,
putting duty aside, there can be no happiness
for me outside of his affection; no misery
equal to knowing that my conduct has forfeited
it So I yielded?yielded unconditionally,
and for a while forgot the justice of my
cause, in the joy of knowing that this, our
first, and I hope our last quarrel, was at an
end.
So resolved am I to give him no farther
cause for displeasure?to avoid even the shadow
of another difference between us?that I
have, at his dictation, written an excuse to
Mrs. Holcombe, without giving her the least
explanation of a refusal, which must make
me appear to her either intentionally rude, or
totally ignorant of the laws of good breeding.
Perhaps she will place a more charitable construction
on my conduct, and suppose me to
be crazy. Well, let it be so. Ralph is satisfied,
and that, henceforth, shall be my standard
of behavior.
April 27th. As might have been expected,
I have neither seen or heard anything of
the Holcombes since my note was sent. Of
course they will never seek me out again. I
am so ashamed, so mortified, that I think
Ralph would pity me if he could penetrate
my feelings. But never, by word or sign, will
I betray them to him.
May 19th. My journal has been interrupted
by a delightful little tour through the
mountains, which Ralph has made as enjoyable
for me as possible. He has been absolutely
lover like in his attentions; and this,
be it understood, is a different sort of devotion
from that which even the fondest of
husbands is apt to manifest. He has watched
my every look, anticipating my slightest
j ?i :.? u:? j..
nioii, a Liu Diiumug mo ouiiuuuuu iui mj uum*
fort and happiness in every way. Whether
he has meant it as an atonement, I do not
know, but I do know that he is dearer to me,
if possible, than ever, and that never, never,
never again shall a cloud arise between us
that I can prevent. No, his tenderness is too
precious to me to be ever again forfeited by
any act of mine. I feel that I am indeed
the centre of his joy, his life; and knowing
this, what more can I desire ?
To my relief, I found, on our return, that
the Holcorubes had left this place, not to return.
Now I cau breathe freely once more.
May 27th. Since writing that, Ralph has
been ill. Not very dangerously ill, but sufficiently
so to excite my keenest anxiety, to
make me feel, with a pang passing description,
how fearful a thing it would be for me
to lose him ! Oh ! in the hours of the night
on which I most trembled for his safety, how,
in the solemn silence of my vigil, did my
heart rise up and condemn me for every unkind
word I had ever uttered, every wilful
act which had ever caused him pain ! How
hauntinglv came to ray ears the dread warning
of the time when we two, so closely
J x l\ inA ~.,A T
UUUUU lUgeiuei, must uc pai iuu, auu nun x
bowed beneath the fear that that hour might
be at hand! And oh, when my terror was
lightened, 'and all danger, if danger there
was, was past, with what a burst of thankfulness
did I fall on my knees and praise my
Creator for his mercy!
I feel that I have been very wicked. I
have thought too much of ray earthly estate,
of earthly joys and cares. But henceforth it
shall not be so. I will go back to my former
habit of serving and praising God, from
whose hand I have received such abundant
tokens of goodness and mercy. And oh, that
my darling Ralph may be led also to thick
more of these things. I fear I have not sufficiently
tried to direct his attention to them.
May 30th. Ralph's convalescence has been
a tranquil, happy time. I read aloud to him
every day, and then we have such charming
talks. We have arranged a regular plan of
reading for the summer; and every now and
then we will recreate ourselves by a little
jaunt like the one we lately took. Only I
shall not let Ralph fatigue himself again as
he did then, for I feel almost sure it had
something to do with his illness; and he did
it just to save me from fatigue. To-day he
is so much better that he has gone out, for
the first time, for a walk.
I am as happy now as I can be, and go
singing over the house all day long.
June 2d. This morning I asked Ra'ph,
casually, how long he supposed we would remain
here.
"Don't you like the place, dear?" he asked
in return.
"Oh, yes, very much," I replied.
"Then, would you not be satisfied to make
it our home?"
I had not contemplated this idea before.
But he went on to speak of the advantages
of the climate, and of the suitability of the
surroundings to his desire for seclusion and
solitude; and dwelt so much on the delight
it affords him to have me, as he says, all to
himself, that I could not let him even catch a
glimpse of the momentary dismay I felt.
For we are certainly far removed from the
world here, and from most things which once
upon a time seemed indispensable to the enjoyment
of life. But after all, society does
not constitute happiness ; and in his pleasure
I will be content.
CHAPTER VI.
lucy's narrative continued?a son and
heir.
May 3d, 18?. I have let my journal lie
for a long time unopened in my desk. First,
I left off writing because there was so little
to write about. Every day seemed pretty
much the same as the others. Then I got
; languid and sick, and did not fed like wrii
ting; and then I had a good deal to do, and
; so I just waited.
But I think, now that my baby is nearly
| eight weeks old, it will be an unpardonable
: slight upon him if I don't make him the subject
of at least a page in this record.
Everybody's baby is, I suppose, the sweetest
and dearest and loveliest pet in the world.
At least, so they think; but I know mine is.
He has dark eyes exactly like Ralph's and is
going to be the image of him altogether.
But Ralph does not consider it a compliment,
when I tell him so.
If I had leisure, I believe I would do nothing
but hold baby and play with him, I love
him so. But of course, I must do other
things some times. As it is, Ralph thinks I
have him forever in my arms. Yesterday he
said to me?
"You waste a greatruany hours on that
child."
"Waste, indeed !" said I. "Precious angel;
whose time and care has he a better right to
than his own mamma's?"
"I thought you said Rosel was such a good
nurse; you had better let him get accustomed
to her," said Ralph.
"I don't want to have him get too much
accustomed to anybody but me," I replied.
"He might not love me the best if he did."
"What nonsense," said Ralph. "You are
his mother, and of course he'll love you the
best. As to me, you never have a minute to
spare for one of our good old-fashioned talks;
and I believe that you have forgotten that
there are such things as books in the house."
"I tell you what I believe," said I, "and
that is, that you are jealous of the darling.
That is why you don't like to see me pet him
too much."
Ralph laughed, and went away. I said it
in jest, but I almost think that I spoke the
real truth. Fancy it, my baby! your own
papa jealous of you ! Was there ever such a
ridiculous idea?
"May 12th. Baby has not been christened
yet. There is no Episcopal clergyman within
reach, and I don't like to have it done by any
other ; though of course, if he got very sick,
or anything of that sort, I would let the old
Lutheran pastor across the mountain baptize
him, rather than nobody. I have always determined
to call him after Ralph, and so regarded
it as a fixed fact, that I never said
much about it, until yesterday, when the subject
some how came up under discussion.
"We'll have to call him Ralph Junior, to
distinguish him from you," I remarked.
"No, indeed ; I don't intend him to have my
name," answered Ralph. "Find another, and
a prettier one for him."
"Prettier! I think it beautiful," I exclaim"
"T * * * I - I*
ea. "11 nas always oeen a lavurue immc ui
mine; and of course he must have it, Ralph !
I particularly wish it."
"And I particularly don't wish it," said
Ralph, very good-humoredly, but I could see
he was quite in earnest. "Pray oblige me,
darling, by yielding to my wish on this occasion."
"As 1 do on every other," I retorted, half
laughing, half vexed. "Please give me your
reasons, Mr. Autocrat."
"I have given you my one reason already;
I dislike the name. If he were christened
by it, I should never call him any thing but
Tom or Jack. So be warned in time."
"You are really the most provoking person
I ever knew," said I. "The idea of you disappointing
me in this way!"
"It's a trifle to be disappointed about," he
rejoined.
"Indeed, it is not!" I cried, warmly. "It
is quite a serious thing, and I had set my
heart upon it. I never dreamed but that you
would be willing."
"I suppose he saw how much I felt about
it, for he came over to where I sat, and petted
and coaxed me until I had to smile. Then
(just as if I had given up) he said?
"You are a dear, good little girl, to give up
to me, and I'll reward you by letting you bestow
on the little shaver any other name in
\vnrl/1 vnn oVmoac Whv not call him
after your father ?"
"No, indeed!" Papa disliked his own
name as much as you do yours, and with much
more reason. 'Andrew' is as ugly as can be,
and I won't impose on baby by disfiguring
him with it. I am quite sure papa would not
have wished it, if he had lived."
"Well, then, pick out some fancy name. I
am sure there are hundreds always on hand."
But the "hundreds," when counted up, reduced
themselves to a very few that I would
even think about. Nothing seemed as desirable
as the one I had first fixed upon. At last
I thought of 'Wilfred,' which has something
noble and chivalrous in the sound of it.
Something like what I hope my boy's character
will be. So I chose that. Ralph said it
was high-flown and romantic. But he was
well pleased that I had conformed so easily to
his will.
Wilfred Barstow ; how prettily it sounds !
Between ourselves, Master Wilfred, this
papa of yours is pretty resolute always, in
having his own way. And what is more, he
won't give a reason for anything he does unless
he pleases to. I wonder if you will be
as dear, charming, splendid and tyrannical a
darling, to your wife, when you have one?you
poor little mite!
May 20th. We have heard quite unexpectedly
of a chance of getting baby christened,
which Ralph has agreed to profit by.
An old English clergyman is stopping for a
few days at the little village of Pateau, fifteen
miles from here, and Ralph has ridden
over there to ask him to come to us. Of
course we can't carry baby so far, over a
rough road, and in this damp weather ; for it
has been very misty and cool for a week past.
I only hope he won't refuse to come. At all
events, I have got the spare room ready ; for
I suppose he will stop here for a night, or
perhaps two.
May 22d. Ralph and the clergyman arrived
last evening. He is a delightful old
man, with silver hair, and a benign, fatherly
expression ; just the sort of one that I should
have chosen to christen our dear little babe.
I did not see much of him after he came, for
he was tired with his ride, and went early to
bed. I am sure it is very kind of him to
come so far. I
May 30th. A strange thing has happened.
I don't know whether I am right in connecting
our change of plans with something
Mr. Trevor, the clergyman, said; but I can
not help believing that I am. As usual,
Ralph won't give me any satisfactory reasons
for what he does. At any rate, we are to
leave this place in a few days, and go to some
other, we don't know exactly where.
It came about in this way. The evening
before Mr. Trevor left (he stayed two days)
we were all sitting talking in the parlor, and
the conversation turned upon the different
Americans he had met abroad. A few
months ago, he said, he met, at some German
watering-place, a very pleasant party of our
countrymen, mostly from the Southern States.
With this party was an odd couple, a lady,
also from the 8outb, and a queer German
doctor whom she had married just after her
arrival there. She had been twice a widow,
he had been told, and her last husband was
dead somewhere about two years. His name
had been Tracy, and his widow had traveled
1 - ? i i*. j_ _
about, first in America aoa auerwarus iu
England, almost ever since bis death. "He
had met her in England last Spring, when
she was staying with some acquaintances in
the country, near London, and been rather
struck by her dashing, flighty manner, contrasting
as it did with her weeds.
I saw my husband's face change, and in a
hurried, constrained sort of way he asked various
questions about the former Mrs. Tracy;
which of the States she was from; whether
she intended to return to America, or would
remain abroad; where her present husband's
home was, and whether they were traveling
for the summer, and so on. Mr. Trevor could
not answer very accurately. He believed she
intended to make her abode in Germany.
They were traveling about for the present,
and perhaps were not far off, for they had
spoken of making the tour of the Alps. After
we were alone, I asked Ralph why he had
been so inquisitive, and who this Mrs. Tracy
was.
"Don't you know ?" he asked, looking at
me as if surprised.
"Why, no?I don't remember anybody at
home of that name," I said.
"1 forgot; you didn't know her, but I
thought you knew the name. She is a person
whom I don't like, and don't care to meet
again. That is, if it's the same one, which
I think likely. But it is possible I may be
mistaken."
I was going to ask him something more
about her, but he checked me rather abruptly,
said he was tired, and went to bed.
The next morning, after the clergyman had
left, Ralph said to me in a careless sort of
way, "I believe you are not particularly fond
of this place, Lucy, are you ?"
"Why, I don't know but that I am fond of
it, now," I replied. "Since baby came, it has
seemed to make our little home a hallowed
spot."
"You romantic child !" said Ralph. "At
all events, I suppose you would not object to
a change."
"Are you going home?" I cried.
"No, dear; not to what you call home?but
I thought that word, in our case, meant any
spot where you and I could live together,"
said Ralph. "At all events, I am thinking of
trying a change of base. We might find
some prettier, pleasanter spot than this, somewhere
on the other side of the Alps."
"But do you know of any?" I asked.
"Not exactly; but I have the location pretty
well defined in my mind. It won't be a
long journey from here. The jaunt will do
you good, too, and even if we don't get settled
directly, that won't matter much."
"But all our things, Ralph ! Are we to
leave them here, just so, or carry them along,
or what ?"
"Qnmn fianT nra /ion travplina in a
?JUlUO IWn ?IV VMM wmmj , D ?
wagon. The rest can be left until I return,
or send for thera."
I felt rather dismayed at the prospect.
"If it were not for baby, I should not care,"
said I, "but I think he would be likely to get
sick, wandering about in that vagrant way.
In fact I should hardly dare to try it."
"I forgot all about the baby," said Ralph.
And I believe he actually had !
He was silent for a little while, then went
on to say that "perhaps he could cross the
mountains first, alone, and come back for us,
after finding a place. Of course, this is the
only sensible plan. If we are to move at all,
baby must be kept safe and comfortable, and
not exposed to the hardships of an indefinite
journey."
But what puzzles me is this sudden resolve
of Ralph's after his seeming so well satisfied
here. He says now that it is possible we
may return, some time hence; but as to his
reasons for leaving, they seem so contradictory
and vague that I don't believe he is quite
sincere in what he says. That is, I fancy he
does not choose to explain his real motives,
and expects me, as usual, to give up quietly
[ without knowing the reason why. I wish we
I could wait until later in the season; the
weather is too unsettled yet. But Ralph has
; gone off on his quest, and I suppose in a week
It 1 11 _ J ^ ? ^
I or so we win De caneu upuu iu muvo.
It is quite true, as I said, that I have be!
come attached to this place. Now that I am
I used to the loneliness, I do not mind it, and
I the climate and scenery are all that we can
I desire. And our little garden, planted and
cultivated by our own hands, makes the cottage
a cheerful home-like spot. Then my
good, faithful Rosel; I shall be truly grieved
| to part with her, and she says she cannot
leave her parents to accompany me so far. I
j must trust to getting another attendant where
II am going. I do believe Ralph is afraid of
' meeting this Mrs. Tracy, whoever she may
I be. Who is she, I wonder ?
July 1st. I have not written in my journal
for a month, we have been so busy moving
and getting to right. At last we are settled
in our new home. When I am asked
how I like it, I scarcely know how to reply.
As to its beauty?well, in this magnificent
niAiinUin rorrinn if is nnt flRSV to find a SDOt
'U^U"W'U -V y ^
devoid of outward charms. But it is very
lonely ; lonelier even than the place we have
left. And I miss Rosel very much, for I had
trained her into being quite a companion
when Ralph was away from home. My new
girl is a rough, though well-meaning creature,
naturally intelligent, but absolutely wild. I
am afraid it will be a long time before I
make anything out of such raw material.
However, the baby (whom she considers a
miracle of loveliness) seems to have taken a
fancy to her, which is consoling. As to
neighbors, we have none, even of the commonest
sort. The nearest, an old goatherd
and his wife, are half a mile away, and there
is 110 one else within walking distance. If
Ralph wants solitude, he certainly has it
now. He goes out very little, unless I can
go with him; and that is not often, for I am
afraid, as yet, to leave little Wilfred with
Tina. In the evenings he reads aloud to me 1
while I work. He is very good and kind,
doing all he can to make me cheerful and
satisfied ; and I must be so, if only for his [
sake.
It is a satisfaction to find that baby has I
thriven on this change. He has certainly
erown wonderfully in the past month, and is
as strong and rosy as possible. What a real
little mountaineer he will be.! We must try
and keep him civilized, in case we ever do
go back into the world. I suppose he will,
at all events,?not go hack, for he has never
been there, but go into it, some day.
Well, it is certainly fortunate that Ralph
and I are fond of one another. I don't know
how we should ever get on in such a remote
place as this if we were not. The only thing
that troubles me somewhat, is, that he doesn't
seem fond enough of baby. Perhaps he really
is, in his heart; but I suppose men do
not show their feelings, in such cases, as
strongly as we do. I told him, one day, that
he did not care as much for the little angel as
he ought.
"We were very happy before he gave us
the pleasure of his company," he answered,
somewhat evasively.
"And are we not twice as happy now ?"
I asked.
"I don't know about that," said the provoking
man. "You may be. I don't pretend
to answer for your taste. You may pre*
' ? i- - x?
ier oemg Kepi awaKe iwu uiirus ui cvoi j
night, to haviDg peaceful and unbroken
sleep. You may find it a wholesome recreation
to carry sixteen or eighteen pounds
avoirdupois about the house in your arms,
aud tire your throat with singing, and?"
"I don't do any of those things; at least,
not to the extent that you make out. He
is the best baby that ever was, and not at
all wakeful," I interrupted. "And if you
don't appreciate your blessings, I pity you,
that's all."
"Perhaps I pity myself," he rejoined, laugh-1
ing. "Never mind, dear; when he gets a little
bigger I will appreciate him more. In
the mean time, I miss your company somewhat
; but I suppose that is an evil I must accustom
myself to."
Of course baby doa take up a good deal of
my time. It cannot be otherwise, while I have
the chief care of him. I hope Ralph does
not really feel neglected. I rather think that
he only talks that way to tease me.
He will be proud enough of his boy, one
of these days.
July 17th. Ralph does not seem well, lately.
I cannot make out what is the matter
with him ; but he has no appetite, is languid
and lies about a good deal, which is very
unusual with him ; and sometimes complains
of an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. I
pray heaven he may not be going to fall ill. I
feel very anxious, though he laughs at my
fears, and says he will soon be himself again.
July 20th. Ralph has had some alarming
symptoms, and I am half distracted about
him. I entreat him to go to the nearest town
to consult a physician, but he will not. He insists
that he can get well just as soon without
any one prescribing for him.
"What if you should die in this desolate
place, and all for want of proper advice ?" I
asked him this morning.
"I am not going to die," he answered, imt
Jnnflv "TVvn't WnrPU Vfllirflplf a fid me?
pablV/UUJt JL'VU w nviiJ J ?
by unnecessary anxiety. It only makes me
feel worse."
Now it is not his habit to speak sharply,
especially to me, and I know' that nothing
but an entire disorganization of his physical
and nervous system can make him so irritable.
It is at a time like this that the loneliness
of our situation weighs with a dreadful sense
of oppression upon my mind. We are so absolutely
cut off from all human aid! We are
at least twenty miles from the nearest physician,
and his skill, even, at the best, is doubtful.
Still, if he has studied, he must know
something of medicine, and it would be a relief
to have him give an opinion regarding
Ralph's case.
It seems to me now that' it was the act of
a madman, almost, to come and settle a family
in a spot like this. I dare not dwell upon
the possibility of such a catastrophe as
; and yet the idea haunts me with a
persistency that almost defies my efforts to
shake it off. Oh! my heart is down, down
under a leaden weight, that crushes all the
joy of life out of it. What lies before me ?
Who can tell ?
Even ray darling baby's innocent wiles
cannot ease rae of ray pain, or banish the
phantom that is casting its dread shadow
about my path. Perhaps, however, my fears
are groundless. God grant they may be so !
[to be continued.]
"You Promised Me First."?A special
from Vincennes, Ind., says that Johnson
township in that county, was the scene of a
funny attempt at a wedding recently, which
has just been developed. In that locality
lives Melissa Underwood, the fair daughter
of an honest and respectable old farmer.
Two young men, one P. H. Donovan, a farmer,
the other William Ayres, a miller, were
paying court to the fair Melissa. She could
not decide which one to favor, having promised
each one to marry him, but finally being
more ardently wooed by Ayres, she consented
to take him if it could be kept secret from
Donovan. Ayres came to this city, secured
a license and the necessary outfit, and one
day, in company with a Justice of the Peace,
proceeded to the Underwood farm. The
bridal party were on the floor ana tne ?quire
had nearly finished the job, when Donovan,
to the surprise of every one, rushed in and
declared that the ceremony should proceed no
further. Donovan grabbed the girl by the
waist and exclaimed, in piteous accents, "Oh,
Meliss, don't you consent, for you promised
me first." Ayres had her around the neck,
and yelled in stentorian tones, "Go on, 'Squire,
we are half-married now; finish up the job."
The Magistrate, under the circumstances, refused
to proceed, and Ayres, although halfmarried,
is no better off than before, and
Donovan i3 disconsolate.? Cincinnati Commercial.
Hear Both Sides.?Never condemn your
neighbor unheard, however many the accusations
which may be preferred against him ;
every story has two ways of being told, and
justice requires that you should hear the defence
as well as the accusation, and rememthat
the malignity of enemies may place you
in a similar situation.
+
Castor Oil.?Castor oil, besides being an
excellent dressing for leather, renders it vermin
proof. It should be mixed, say half and
half, with tallow or other oil. Neither rats,
or other vermin will attack leather so prepared.
IpMfUwtM fusing.
THE CHINESE INFLUX.
how John's attention was turned to the
united 8tate8.
San Francisco, February 21.?The Mongolian
octopus has fastened its tentacles upon
the Pacific Slope, and is fast destroying its
commercial and social life. The people of
this region cry aloud that they may be succored
in their extremity. There appears to
be but one echo to the recent act of Congress,
and that is "Sign the bill and free us from
- 1 li-: j j a:?
me uemuraiiziijg auu uc^iaumg wumvi mm
the present coolie system; limit the influx of
Celestials, and protect the industries and
health, and home-life of our people; lift the
burden that has borne us down, and give to
the progressive inhabitants of this section an
opportunity to develop its resources upon a
prosperous and compensating basis."
You have already learned by wire how
earnest and emphatic have been the protests
against vetoing the Chinese bill. Our people
were never more in earnest in their lives. As
this subject is being discussed, it may be interesting
to consider, for a moment, how and
when the Chinese began flocking to our shores.
Ah Haw, who is with the Sam Yeoup Company,
on Dupont street, says the first Chinaman
who came to America was Chum Ming,
a native merchant of Nai Sang, a province of
Canton. He was an intelligent and enterprising
man, and came over here from his
borne id 104/. ijoing irom mis poiui. mj mic
mountains, he be^ao prospecting, and was
successful in finding gold. The discovery
caused him to convey the intelligence to a
friend, named Cheong Yum, in 1848, and this
latter individual at once prepared to join his
former companion in the new Eldorado. The
news was so good that Cheong Yum, before
setting sail from the flowery shores of his native
Empire,
BROKE THE INTELLIGENCE TO SEVERAL OP
HIS FRIENDS,
and the mining fever at once broke out in all
the virulence of an actual epidemic disease.
The present excitement East over the reputed
Leadville discoveries was nothing, compared
with the fever that prevailed away back in
1848, amongst the teaming population of Canton,
over the alleged "finds" of gold in the
mountains of California. Means of transportation
were not as perfect then as now; there
were no Pacific Mail steamers to bring them
over by thousands, and so they came out, like
Sir Joseph's "sisters and aunts and cousins"
in "Pinafore," "by the dozens," on sailing vessels.
When, in 1849, the Argonauts of the East
began flocking to this coast in quest of the
auriferous deposits of our streams, the Chinese
population had as yet amounted to but an insignificant
feature. Within four years following
arrivals were more frequent and in larger
proportions, so that by the close of 1852
there were perhaps 4,000 Celestials on the
coast, and of this number about 2,000 were
located in San Francisco.
THE FIRST CHINAMAN WHO SETTLED IN BAN
puiwrram
located on what is now Stockton street, near
Sacramento, and in that same region the Mongolians
have ever since lived, and finally covered
over what is now designated Chinatown.
When it became apparent that Chinese immigration
was a settled fact, steps were at once
taken, through the native shrewdness of the
Chinese themselves, to control it and take
care of their own interests. It was then that
the Yeong Wo and KongChow Companies?
the first of the present six companies?were
organized and began the business of aiding
Chinese immigration. The Sam Yeoup Company
was organized in 1857, and was joined
to the first-mentioned associations. Later,
when the influx of Mongolians had greatly
increased, came the formation of the Ning
Yeong, Hop Wo, and Yan Wo Companies,
and the whole number were consolidated as
the famous Six Companies, of which so much
of late has been said and written. The immigration
of the better class of Chinese, the merchants,
it may be said, is attributable to the
Sara Yeoup and the Yeong Wo Companies.
The servants and lower classes generally, who
have since formed the most disreputable element
of the Chinese population?now designated
as "high-binders"?were brought out
by the Ning Yeong Company.
80 NUMER0U8 DID THE CHINESE ELEMENT
BECOME
that it drove out, before 1864, the white population
from Sacramento to Commercial street
on the east side of Stockton street, east on
Commercial street to Dupont, and north on
Dupont to Jackson, and south on the same
street to Sacramento. During 1864 they increased
the territory from Jackson and Dupont
streets, east on Jackson to Kearney and
north on Dupont to Pacific, and thence east
on that street to Kearney. Since that time
they have gradually encroached upon the
white population, until they occupy an area
of eleven blocks, bounded by Pacific street on
the north, and Kearney and Stockton streets
on the east and west. The area within these
borders is about thirty-three acres, of which?
deducting for streets and alleys?twenty acres
are covered with buildings of all descriptions,
rickety one-story wooden shanties and fourstory
bricks. This once formed the best part
of the city, where were located most of the
high-toned hotels; but churches, hotels and
residences have been forced further out by the
! on-marching Asiatics.
STATISTICAL.
We find that the Chinese population of San
Francisco is about 32,000, and they follow the
subjoined occupations in the numbers designated,
as nearly as can be ascertained :
Merchants and professional men 1,000
Laundrymen, 1,500
Cigarmakers, 5,000
Boot and Shoemakers, 2,000
Servants, 7,000
Slippermakers, 8,000
Gamblers, 1,400
Clothing-makers, 3,000
Peddlers 2,500
Fishermen 1,000
Laborers 1,000
Other occupations, 3,800
Women, 2,000
Total, 32,000
Go where you will in San Francisco, you
find the Chinese, and from the bay to the foothills
and the boundary lines of San Mateo.
As to the
RAPID GROWTH OF THE CELESTIALS
here, Lee Kan, who is interpreter at the Bank
of California, furnishes some very interesting
statistics. He says: Chinamen began to do
business here in 1850, and their stores were
first opened on Dupont and Sacramento
streets. During 1853-54 the influx was very
great. In 1860 the total number of Chinese
in the United States was about 60,000. In
1870 there were fully 80,000. There are now
on this Continent about 150,000 Chinese,
120,000 of whom are here on the Pacific
coast. He believes the Chinese population of
San Francisco will reach 30,000, of whom
about 25,000 live in the territory of Chinatown.
?
t@T The policy pursued by some of our politicians?namely,
that of trying to be all thingo
to all men?reminds us of a story we once
heard. A man who scorned the name of'
trimmer said to the voters in his district:
"Gentlemen, them's my sentiments, and they
are the sentimonts of an honest man. Still, if
they don't *uit the majority of you, I would
have it understood they can be altered,"