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? ; MM?^???b lewis m. grist, proprietor. | |niit|jtnl>cnl jfamilu gfttosfraptr: Jfor % ^rontotion of tjje Holitical, Social, ^gricnltnral anir Commercial Interests of % Soufjb. TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 26. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 188Q. Jt HUmautt ELLEN Gi 0 KING'S M BY MRS. MAR CHAPTER XIII?Continued. "My mother, an Italian lady of birth and j .l- : j._ ..r connection, couceiveu me iuea ui wiuiug w this country. It was a wild scheme, and violently opposed by all who possessed any influence over her. But her will was as stubborn as it was impatient; and bearing down all obstacles, she made arrangements for leaving the home of her fathers, in the company of an only sister. Just on the eve of her departure, the friend who was to protect her, an American by birth, and who had endeared himself by the suavity of his manners, and the gentleness of his demeauor, died, leaving y my mother almost frantic at the disappointment and the loss. To amuse her, as well as to relieve the monomania that possessed her, she was taken to England, and circumstances being favorable, and my mother's health much improved, it has ever since been my home." "And you left her there?your mother; t does she live?" asked Mr. Willoughby, in tremulous sympathy for the young man, so far , removed from a mother's care ; a stranger in a strange land. "I left my'mother's grave in England, sir," said Graham, his voice sinking to a deeper tone. I "And your father, boy ?" questioned Mr. Willoughby, bending forward, in violent excitement. "1 never saw a father's face, sir. He died J before I was born." A groan from Mr. Willqughhy testified his interest in one thus doubly bereft. "He was an ?" "Englishman, sir," said Graham, in reply not say. cut you can imagine ine passiuu ui her love, and of her grief, and the firmness of her indomitable will, when I tell you she branded his iuitials on nfy arm when I lay an infant in her arms ; and that burning memory is all I know of a father." "And was Graham not your father's name ?" said Ellen. "No ; but it is the name of my more than 1 father.,, My mother was not only wealthy, but very lovely, and Edward Graham, at that time a young officer, wooed her for his wife. But nothing could change her nllegiance to the one memory. 8he would not bury her grief in new ties. His love spent itself on her child. I became to him as his own; and, if I am worth anything in the world, it is his love and care that bles-ed me with it. And yet, I am alon| in the world ? fatliCT, mother, brother, sister, I have none." "Say not so, young man," said Mr. Willoughby. "Let us be to you what you have lost. Learn to call Ellen, sister, and find in me all?. Ellen, I am weak again ; give me water." And the excitement of stroug feeling started the drops on his brow. "Dear uncle, you are suffering yet; you ?^ should have kept your room to-day." And she bathed the throbbing head. "I am belter agaiu," said Mr. Willoughby, faintly. "It was imprudent in me to rise? my nerves are yet weak. Call Jerry, and 1 will retire." Jerry was quite easily found, considering the want of success of the last call, and bore his master to his chamber. "Your uncle is extremely feeble today," said Graham, as Mr. Willoughby left the room. "Yes ; he has n?ver been quite well since poor Audrew Crag's death," replied Ellen. "We seldom see such tenderness in our rougher sex," said Graham. I noticed, while I was speaking of my early life, his sympathy could scarcely be controlled." "Yes, I remarked it. Many years ago he was subject to a nervous excitement which some strauge freak connected with England. We were at one time alarmed for his reason. I do not think he ever quite recovered from the effects of that. There is, at times, a trep idation in his manner, which, to a stranger, would be alurming; but we can generally trace it to some excitement preceding." "Well, 1 will not forget he told me to call you sister. Sister! how sweet the word. It will be an easy task. And you have no brother. Might I hope you will give me the kindly name?' "If you should merit it, perhaps so," she replied, lightly vexed with herself for crimsoning under his words. But the tone spoke more than the simple words, and the few hours of their unreserved intercourse had made i them more familiar than days of ordinary companionship would have done. The memory, too, of that guarded miniature, made Ellen feel more at ease than she otherwise would. Who could it be but some loved English maiden, and she felt sure that the generous heart she was daily reading, could never prove untrue to either affection or honor. Yet, day after day, Graham gave himself up to the fascination that was biuding him, perfectly satisfied his dream of bliss would have no end. And Ellen?could it be possible she was not woman enough to see his danger and feel for him ? She did, and hesitated, and trusted, , and strove against it; but it was impossible to resist the frankness and impetuosity of his character. If she appeared cold he would know the reason ; if she would withdraw her 1 self, he would follow ; when her frown woflld ft check some hasty word of tenderness, he would ^ petition forgiveness, and ascribe the displeasure to the modesty that would have more ^ time for thought. They rode together, walked together, sang together, sketched together; and Mr. Willoughby watched the familiar intercourse, and gradually returned io the customary serenity of his temper, and gave himself up to the fascinations of his young guest. As Graham was with Ellen, so Mr. Willoughby was with Graham. He was unhappy if he absented himself a single hour, unless he knew he was with Ellen. Then in dreaming reverie he would patiently await his return. So sped the time?to Graham, a dream of love ; to Ellen, a memory of regret; to Mr. Willoughby, a calm serenity he had long been a stranger to. CHAPTER XIV. Trilles, light as air, Are as proof of holy writ. [SlIAKSPKARK'S OT1IKI.LO. Day succeeded day, and still no word from Davie. Had he not been in the vicinity, Elleu would not have felt so deeply the neglect ; or had their parting been under less peculiar circumstances, she would have been better able to overcome her disappointment. the |ieeoI?tion. R, OUNTAIN. Y A. EWART. I ? ] Through young Sevier, who, in his hurried trips from point to point, would occasionally stop with them, she heard of Davie being with Sumter, on Broad river, where he defeated Major Wemyss and made him prisoner ; and again at Backstocks, where Tarleton fled, leaving two hundred men upon the field of battle. Winter had now fairly set in ; and about this time Greene took command of the South[ em army. He found it rather "a shadow than a substance," consisting nominally 01 less than two thousand men. The first measures of Greeue were to provide arms and clothing for his destitute army. This was not so easy ; for there was no money in the treasury, and the paper currency that was in circulatiou, was no less a je^t with the Americans, than a mockery with the British. But with a manly determination to suffer the hardships of the service, and never to despair of its final fortunes, he entered upon his duties. Settling down on the Pee Dee till he could recruit and exercise his little force, he sent his emmissaries to explore the country. In order to restrain and keep down the passions of the loyalists in the western extremity of the State, he detached Col. Morgan, with a strong force, to occupy that region. Davie was under Morgan's command, and | as the necessities of the times made a much I more strict military discipline necessary, it I was impossible for him to act with the freedom which had hitherto characterized his movements. The unceasing vigilance of Morgan, too, kept every one employed ; and so frequent were his successes, that Cornwallis, alarmed for his post at Ninety-Six, ordered Tarleton to throw himself across his path. It was in returning from one of these success ful feats of daring, that Davie met young Sevier, who had just returned with dispatches from Greene. "Well met, Davie. I had begun to des pair of ever finding you in camp again." "Whv hr>w nn ?" asked Davie. "Why you are always off when I come, j and a fellow never gets a sight of you. * Why can't you follow the arts of peace, like me. I ride like a gentleman, from morning till night, and the only evolution I am now cognizant of in the military line is?making a circuit; the only art I practice?dodging.' "And to judge from your appearance, you are as successful in your line as I am in mine," said Davie, laughiug. ? "My appearance! Come, no reproach, as you love me. I have ridden hard to-day. I stopped too long at the Mansion House, and had to take a neck or nothing ride to catch time." "You stopped at the Mansion House last night?" said Davie. "And how are they all there?'' ? "Well and happy," said Sevier. "Ami our invalid ?" asked Lane. "Invalid! who? oh! Graham. Invalid no longer, but the gayest gallant ever you met." "Did bespeak ??f exchange?" "If you want the wound to break out in a fresh place, just say exchange to him. I don't believe you could hurt him more." "What do you mean ? Does he not weary of his life of inaction ?" "You forget; Miss Ellen cheers his loneliness," replied Sevier, drily. Davie gave him a quick glance of his eagle eye. "Well !" said he. "Well, those who run might read the sequel," replied Sevier. "Which means that she accepts his gallantry, I presume," said Davie, compressiug his lips. "I take it, any one can Feject what they don't want. He enjoys privileges she could refuse. He calls her sister, mighty pat; and I know the old gentleman will not object to his calliug him father." ^ "And Ellen?Miss Campbell; does she reciprocate the affection and call him brother ?" said Davie, with bitterness. "JSo. Although she bore his chiding on the subject very well, she calls him liranam. "And the old man looks on and smiles, does he ?" "Oh, he is perfectly delighted about it. Indeed, he told nr.e it was all settled, save an obstacle that Miss Ellen's punctilious principle would not allow her to overcome, just yet. I did not understand him, but, said the old man, when the heart is willing, these little excrescences are apt to be smoothed away." "Sevier," said Davie, abruptly, will "you do me a favor ? I am not one to make great professions, but grant me this, and you'll lay me under obligations for a life time." "I would do anything in the world for you, Major. Speak out." "You are not on duty now. Ride to the Mansion House with letters for me, which I will furnish you immediately." "Prepare them, and I will deliver them and return before they miss me. Selim travels like an arrow." "Come to my tent in half an hour?they j will be ready." "Stop!" said Sevier, a sudden thought strikim? him. as Davie rode off. "Nothing I -- - o ? to vex that sweet girl, is it? If it is, I'll be hanged if I take them. I fancied her cheek looked paler than was wont, at any rate." "On my honor, no," said Davie, wringing his hand ; "but what may bring the rose again to its pure surface." "Then, I'll go," replied Sevier. "But, where shall I find Boweu ? I have a kind message from Miss Ellen for him." "Yonder he stauds under the two elms. Poor fellow, he is uever with any of the boys now. They still go to him in trouble, but his merry voice is never heard around the camp fire. But Miss I^lleu has other friends here. Is Bowen the only one honored with a message ?" "The only one. But, surely, that old looking man is not Boweu. Why his hair is almost silver." "It is Bowen, nevertheless ; and yet, I feel it strange he should so grieve. His love only died, and died loving him. To love and be deceived?ah! that is death to the heart." And, turning quickly, ere Sevier could reply, he hastened to his tent. Ere an hour had elapsed, Sevier was in the saddle, and his bounding steed soon brought him to the Mansion House. Surprised at the rapid retilrn, they questioned him of its cause; but his equivocal answer of "bearer of dispatches," satisfied their inquiry. "By the way, I have a letter for you, Graham," 9aid Sevier, "and a billet doux of fairylike proportions, for you, Miss Ellen," he continued, delivering the epistle. Graiiarn opened his letter and read many extracts of camp life, and affected condolences over its stern duties. Davie's epistle seemed to have been written in the highest possible spirits?humor sparkling in merriment and pleasantry in every line. to Mr. NVilloughby's hesitating enquiry: "lou will think it strange, sir; but I not only never saw njy father's face, but I never heard his name from my mother's lips. She was so passiouately attached to my father, that the least allusion to her loss, at once brought it so vividly before her strong imagination, as to over ? whelm her in reuewed agony. Consequently, ? the name was forbidden to he ever mentioned, and she never spoke of him to me. I know ...no <1 Hnii.anl otifl n;iK o hilt, hOW CIIUL lie r> C^O lb connected with that illustrious family, I can "Here is a postscript you must share with rae, sister," said Graham, in high good humor. But what is the matter?are you sick ?" as Ellen was sitting pale and motionless. She murmured some unintelligible words; and taking the letter from Graham's hands, read: "Truly yours, DAVIE. P. S.?Appropos to that truly, I would speak to you of exchange, did I not believe it would partake more of the character of offenco than kindness. Well, the brave deserve the fair. Accept a brother soldier's congratulations. May you be as happy as her love can make you." With astonishing calmness she again read the lines addressed to herself: "Let no thought of me disturb your happiness for the future. You are free. God bless you, Ellen. DAVIE." Sevier only waited for a hurried reply from Graham, when, again mounting, he sped back to camp. "Nothing else," said Davie, as he opened Graham's letter. "That is all," said Sevier. There was a dangerous fire in Davie's eyes as he read of lover's hopes ; of almost assurance of a future that had not a single doubt; and of a gratitude pervading, all to the friend that had so blessed hira. t he congratulations were warmly accepted ; and Davie's lips betrayed the starting blood as he read the merry badinage of the TOming wedding fes tivity. Sevier switched his boots impatiently, till Davie, crushing the epistle, in suffering no longer to be restrained, looked up with an impatient, "Well, sir!" "No, sir. It's anything else but well. You told me your letters were uot to offend that sweet girl at the Mansion." "Well," said Davie, laughing hoarsely, "did I not tell you true ?" "By Heaven, no," said Sevier ; "and if you make me the bearer of such dispatches again, I swear I'll find other work for this rod than ray brave Selim's back." "You forget yourself, Sevier; and before you leave this place, those words must be retracted." "Must!"8aid Sevier, with darkened brow. "I repeat it?must," replied Davie, in the low, firm tone, which he always used in deep wrath. "And to prove I am in earnest, see here aud grasping the young man's arm with vice-like force, he took the whip, aud breakiug it iu twenty pieces, hurled it from him. * * In uncontrollable passion, Sevisr grasped his sword, and crying, "defend yourself!" would at once have entered into deadly fray. Davie folded his arras proudly, and fixing his flashing eyes on Sevier in glittering mag netism, said: "Attack an unarmed man, Ned ? Never! He smiled as he spoke, and Sevier, dropping his sword and his rage together, said in calmer tones : "You should not provoke me, Davie ; you know my hot temper." "Ah ! there speaks my friend, again," said Davie, grasping his hand ; "and now, Sevier, what is ray fault ?" "You nledped me vour honor vour letters were not to offend ; but I suppose honor is a holiday garment that can be donned at pleas ure, like other virtues," said Sevier, lightly. "Honor, sir, is too sacred a thing to jest with," replied Davie, gravely. "I hold life worthless in comparison with my own. *You will understand me when I say I will not permit a second allusion to it." Sevier's ready hand again sought his sword, stung by Davie's significant toue; but suddenly his volatile nature caught a new idea. "Davie, for Heaven's sake, tell me what we are quarreling about ? Somebody says, answer a fool not according to his folly, lest you be like him; and it would be well for you to study the lesson." "It is not the only lesson of wisdom Solomon teaches," replied Davie ; "and now that Richard is himself again, tell me why this storm of indignation ?" "You don't deserve it of me," replied Se| vier, not yet recovered from his passion. Then coloring at Davie's reproachful looks, said : "The truth of the matter is this?you hurt Miss Ellen most sensitively by that note, or whatever it was, you sent. Her face was as white as my handkerchief; and if she did not faint, it was because woman cau put ofi such things to a more convenient season, as the preachers say." "Sevier, is this true ?" said Davie. "By Heaven, man, you'll drive me mad. I j tell you if you had not spoiled as pretty a | whip as ever was made, you would feel it now," replied Sevier, laughing. "Forgive me, Ned, I would not willingly wound you ; but are you quite sure of this ?' "No; I am sure of nothing," said Sevier, petulantly. "I used to be sure Major Davie was a gentleman; but I am having rapid cause to alter my decision." "Don't be a boy, Ned ; but tell me, like a good fellow, why you thought my notes gave offence ?" "Humph, a sop for Cerebus. Well, I'll I j tell you, straight up and down, you have not! | put me in a very obliging humor; but, for Miss Ellen's sake, I'll tell you what I think, i Miss Ellen loves somebody. I am not versed I enough in woman's caprice to say who; ! though I swear it ain't Graham. It requires | no wisdom to discover Graham's preferences, j If ever I'm such a fool as to fall in love, I j hope I'll be shot or married, before the day ! is out. It keeps him busy all the time fixing j up nice little plots, which Miss Ellen blows j up for him as soon as they are completed. | She is no party to his conspiracy, that's evi! dent; and then old Mr. Willoughby?he's , like a hen 011 a hot griddle, jumping first this ] side and then that?all bows aud smirks ? i petting Graham until there's nothing in the j house too good for him. Between these two, | Miss Ellen grows sadder and paler every time I I see her. Aud your precious note yesterday, | I tell you, made her look much more like j the angel she is, than the woman I would ! wish her to be." "Sevier, If what you say be true," said Davie, with sparkling eyes, j "Why, confound you, man, what do you 1 mean?" said Sevier, in ludicrous surprise. "Pooh, man, don't be captious. You know j what I mean." "Yee, by Jupiter, you make that very plain ' to me, if?if?mind?if I am not a most unmitigated liar, you are?well, Heaven knows ! what," said he, shrugging his shoulders in . true French style. "Call Bowen, for me, Sevier," said Davie, | "I must get leave of absence for a day or two. Col. Washington has had nothing for , us to do since he scattered Cunningham's militia. They can spare me." CHAPTFR XV. Oil! blame her not! when zephyrs wake, The aspen's trembling leaves must shake; When beams the sun through April's showers, ! It needs must bloom, the violet llowcr ; And love howe'er the maiden strive, Must with reviving hope revive. Scott's Lord ok thk Isles. I It will be necessary for us to take a step ' ; backward in order to gather up the threads j of our tale. We have seen how Graham's j J situation at once domesticated him, not only I in the home, but the hearts of the inmates of i i -i . m tt_ I me mansion nuuse. jmmu? nuumu uiuution was not long in perceiving that the gallantries of their guest, which she first as i cribecl to the chivalric knight-errantry of his I character, had a more tender and deeper source. Withdraw herself as she would from him, still, owing to the office of surgeon which ! Jerry had forced upon her, she was unavoid ! ably thrown into an intimacy she dreaded1 But any shrinking from this duty, led to such reproaches from Mr. Willoughby, such evident mental as well as bodily suffering on the part of Graham, as made her fain to take it up again, and wait with what patience she might his convalescence. One day Graham said to her, "Miss Ellen, j I think I can now relieve you from a duty thai I fear has been odious to you. See, Mr. Willoughby, how her care has cured the ugly wound," as he bared his arm high in playful pride. "You are looking at tny mark," said he, noticing Mr. Willoughby's eyes fixed on a broad black H on his arm. "That I call my coat of arms. It was an unfortunate circumstance, for it left but a painful memory of a father. It seems to be an unfortunate arm. Let me hope your care has blessed it, and that the arm your kindness has restored may be your support through life," he whispered, n<5 Ellpn Rrrnnfred the bandape. Ellen's usual reply to these daily gallantries was to color and be silent, but lately, feeling there was more meaniug attached to them than she had hitherto supposed, answered in the same tone: "My duty has been i;upleasant in so far as it has led to you to repeat trifling nothings, that I would fain believe are as meaningless as they are idle." He looked up in startled surprise. "Good heavens, Miss Ellen, you cannot Relieve I wocfld so insult you. Idle and trifling they may be to you, but believe me, they but poorly express the emotions of uiy heart." "The knowledge of that but adds to my concern," she replied, frowning coldly, "and I trust that the future will relieve me from such evidences." She arose as she spoke, for she had been kneeling beside him and left the room. He covered his face with his hand and for some time remained silent. Suddenly starling up, he discovered Mr. Willoughby gazing upon him .n anxious surprise.. "Are you ia pain, Graham ?" said he tenderly. "No?yes; I am wounded?but this iron has eutered my soul,'' replied he, bitterly. "What is it, Graham? What is wrong," said Mr. Wil lough by, frightened at his impetuous step. "Why did you encourage me to love Ellen ? Why did you not tell me she could not return my fervent passion? Why expose me to such misery ? Better have died and he flung himself upon the sofa and buried his face in his hands. "What is this? What do you mean, Graham ?" said Mr. Willoughby, approaching him. "I mean that my life is a curse without Ellen," said he, passionately. "Every emotion of my soul is merged in her, and death alone can root out the love." "My boy, my boy, be calm," said Mr. Willoughby, tenderly. "How do you know she does not love you ? You distress yourself needlessly." "Needlessly ! Me thinks she is not one to say one thing and mean another?and you encouraged me; you told me I could win her," said he, almost beside himself in disappointment. "And if you will but be calm, I tell you, you will yet win her, foolish boy. Ellen's mature is calmer than yours. Give her time? your impetuosity frightens her." "Tell me this : Does she love another?" "Another? Whom, has she to love? It cannot be," said Mr. Willougby, slightly equivocating, for he had suspected it since the night of Davie's capture. "Davie," said Graham, half whispering the name, even in suspicion, stung by a sense of ingratitude. "Pooh ! a childhood's friend. She has scarcely seen him siuce the war broke out," replied Mr. Willoughby, coloring slightly. "Leave the matter with me, Graham; rest assured I will use all my influence for you." Graham wrung his hand. "My lasting gratitude will be yours, sir, if you can give me this dearest wish of my heart. If I could but think it was a maiden's modesty." 1 "Of course it is. What else can it be?" replied Mr. Willoughby ; and unwilling to prolong the interview, he said he would at once see Ellen, aqd have the matter determined. Tn bpr favorite chair, at the bttV window. Ellen sat in pensive meditation. Hesitating but a moment to consider how he should address her, Mr. Willoughby advauced. "And of what is my Ellen thinking?" said he, as he stroked her hair, and pressed a kiss ou her brow. "Fie! uncle, to ask a maiden her thoughts; maybe, regretting the fitting of my last new bodice, or mourning over ray pet bird, or meditating a new trick for Zoe, here," said she, pointing to the spaniel at her feet. "Ellen Campbell's head is not wont to busy itself with such reveries; my little lady must think again." "Well, perhaps I was wondering when those blue heavens would smile on a peaceful land, or if it would ever be till the troubled hearts now beating, were laid at rest," she said, mournfully. "Too sad by half, Ellen. I will not accept it," replied Mr. Willoughby, sitting by her and gazing earnestly in her face. "Then it was a reverie that will admit of no interpreter," said she, annoyed at the scrutiny ; "and my heart will not unveil her sacred temple." "Maidens dreampt of lovers when I was young." "And experience taught them their dreams were vapory castles, I suppose," said she, pettishly. "My Ellen does not think that all love is a passing breath, surely ?" said Mr. Willoughby. "My uncle did not come to my window to talk to me of love, surely," replied Ellen, mischievously. "No, Ellen, I did not," said he, throwing aside the bantering manner he had hitherto assumed. "But I come to speak of a lover." She turned one quick, rosy, sparkling glance upon him. Then looking from the window, waited for more. "I cannot think my Ellen has arrived at years of discretion without ever feeling the natural passion. Tell me, is it so?" There was no answer, unless the eloquent blood that was dying her very finger tips were answer. "Aud who so worthy as the one of all others my heart so fondly rests upon?brave, manly and captivating. Tell me, Ellen, is it so ?" and he drew her towards him. The blushing face was hid upon his shoulder as he said, "and he is even now waiting the tidings that will make his Ellen his own. May I bid him hope?" "He was not wont to require a spokesman in such matters," said Ellen, fondly, raising her head. "But he says you will not listen. He says you reject his love." "Who says?" cried Ellen. Of whom do you speak ?" "Of Graham, of course. Of whom else could I speak ?" replied Mr. Willoughby. Ellen turned again, aud her clasped hands fell 011 her lap. The rose died out from her cheek as she silently sat. "Speak, Ellen, may I bid him hope? What does you heart say ?" "My heart is mute; my heart is mute," cried Ellen, while tears of disappointment fell upon the clasped hands. "What do you mean, Ellen?" said Mr. I Willoughby, almost sternly. "I mean that I have told him his addresses were unpleasant to me, and now I repeat it," said she, impatiently. "I will not carry that message, Ellen. Think of it, and as you fear ray eternal displeasure, I command you to look upon him in the light of a lover." . Ellen looked up in surprise at her uncle, who had risen in strong displeasure, and her naturally high spirit revolting at the tone of command, she said: "Your displeasure, sir, I would not willingly incur; but I would hold it as light, compared to the pain of my owu conscience, were I to act the unworthy part of pretending to what I cannot feel." "And why can you not feel it? What stands between you and him? Tell me,"and he caught her arm as if to wrest it from her. "What stands between him and me? A memory stronger than life, more lasting than death," said the maiden, now fully roused. "Is this my Ellen ?" said Mr. Willoughby, renrnaehfnllv. who from ex nerienee knew this I was not the way to manage her. "Forgive me, uncle," said she, throwiug herself into his arms, "but I am very wretched.'; "Tell me, dearest, what is it? How can I make you happy? Ah, Elleu, if you would but see the happiness that is within your reach." "Hush, uncle, I cannot bear it ?" she replied, shuddering. "EUen, tell me candidly," said Mr. Willoughby, after a pause, "are you pledged." She shook her head and still wept on his breast. "Do you love another ?" he whispered. She did not answer, but nestled closer to him and wept more bitterly. "I will not ask you to accept Graham ; at least not now," he said, as she pressed his hand in thankfulness, "if you will promise me by word or deed, not to betray another preference." Ah ! how easy was that promised. "You will treat him kindly, Ellen ?" "I will not listen to love," said she, proudly. "I will not ask it; only be patient." [to be continued.] I 1 -k Jt Jk. 1 If V* -A JLlik A* Jki V WJUIUS U5> jgH'illUUlJ IS IT BETTER THAN BTUTTER ? CONGRESSMAN AIKEN TELLS US ALL ABOUT OLEOMARGARINE. To the Editor of the News and Courier: Your editorial of the 26th just provokes an article, not with a disposition to strike back, but to edify upon the manufacture of oleomargarine. The question of the adulteration of food is perhaps a legitimate one for Congressional legislation, and through that channel this article of oleomargarine has been brought before two of the Congressional committees? manufactures, and agriculture. Wherever manufactured each State requires that every kit* containing it shall be plainly marked "Oleomargarine," before being exposed for sale. But no State can by law require the manufacturer thus to mark it when he ships and offers it for sale in another State, and hence Congressional interference is asked to prevent its shipment across State lines unless plainly branded. But to its manufacture. Every one who has seen inside of a beef knows that in the region of ..the heart of a fat beef there is a considerable quantity of fat, and that the "paunch" is enveloped in a thin film which is Jinown as the "caul" fat. From these two sources come the material from which oleo margarine is made, the simple process of which is as follows: This fat is washed, first in lukewarm water and then in icy cold water to harden it. Then being cut into small pieces it is thrown into a hopper resting over a mammoth sausage cutter, which receives it rapidly, masticates it thoroughly and discharges it into a large caldron, or series of caldrons, that are kept at a uniform temperature of 112? Fahrenheit. This degree of heat melts the fat and tallow; separates them from each other and from the fibrine or other solid matter contained in the caul. The fat is. the lightest ad floats above the melted tallow, and is drawn off by means of a syphon into large troughs in an adjacent room kept at a uniform temperature of about 80 degrees, in which temperature the liquid solidifies or becomes crystalized into a substance resembling granulated tallow. In this room is a large table covered with a frame of moulds about the length and width and half the thickness of the old-fashioned brick moulds. In each mould is laid a piece of clean, heavy cloth or duck, and the mould filled with the granulated substance. Wrapped in this cloth, making a block about the size of a thin brick, each mould is laid upon the follower of a press until nearly covered ; then a. sheet of galvanized tin is laid over these, and another layer of cloth-blocks, and then tin and so on, alternating until the pile is about as high as a bale of cotton, and twothirds as long.. Steam is applied, and the pile of blocks is subjected to a pressure ot from 1,500 to 1,700 pounds to the square inch. Each little block is pressed to about a halt inch in thickness, the residue being pure stearine, which is packed in hogsheads, and sold chiefly to candle manufacturers. The pure oil is caught in a gutter that encircles the press, and carried off* by pipes to another por. /* .i i ?i i* mi , 1__ Hon or tne Duiiaing. ine on is as iransiucent as the white of an egg, and perfectly tasteless, smacking neither of lard nor tallow. In the room to which the oil is taken stands a churn, capable of holding 625 pounds of the mixture?500 pounds of this oil and 125 pounds of fresh milk. The dasher is vertical with horizontal paddles, and is whirled by steam. In the churn is placed whatever of coloring matter is needed to improve the color of the mixture. The churn stands upon a pedestal about three feet high, and has, near its bottom, a faucet. After the mixture is churned for ten minutes, looking identically like a cask of egg custard, the faucet is then opened and a portion of the mixture is flooded iuto a large box lined with metal, and containing about two, perhaps three bushels ot crushed ice. As the churn empties its contents into the box, a couple of stalwart men keep the ice and mixture moving by stirring them together with strong flat-tined forks, and by the time the churn is empty the box is full of a congealed substance exactly like fresh yellow blitter, and the ice has been enfirolif ohonrhpH This box on small wheels is rolled off :Aid emptied into a horizontal trough, through | which runs an axle with flattened teeth projecting from it, and as the axle revolves these teeth press or work all the water out of the substance or mixture; and from this trough it is taken by hand (its first handling) and thrown upon a large table, backwards and fortb, upon which, by means of cog gearing, runs a heavy iron flanged roller, which works it that much more, and presses all the water out upon the table, which being slightly incl:ned allows the water to run off. At this working it is salted, and handled by turning it around and around so as to present every possible atom of it to the pressure of the roller, that it may be deprived of all its water. From thia table it is thrown by hand into a flue leading to a room below, where it is packed into kegs, marked and shipped. When it is sent to Charleston the euphouious name of Oleomargarine is left off; your green grocers and ripe grocers buy it and sell it as butter, and your citizens eat it and enjoy it as "gilt edge Goshen," I asked the president of the company where was his best market. He replied, "the Southern cities, especially New Orleans." After the committees had spent near two hours examining this manufactory and were talking of returning to Washington from Baltimore, where the factory described is located, the company insisted that we should dine with them. The invitation was accepted, and as wc sat down to dinner the host announced tlvithe had by order of the company procured a few pounds of the best butter from the best cqpamery in Delaware and as mauy pounds of the oleomargarine and placed them in cakes promiscuously upon the table. Within reaeh to my right upon the table was a round cake of beautiful butter. On my left sat a North-western friend who comes from a land better than Goshen, and within his reach to the left was a square cake of as beautiful, and, perhaps, somewhat darker colored butter. While dining we enjoyed butter from both plates and pronounced them both "gilt-edged." Presently my Alderney friend said, "Aiken, one of these cakes is oleomargarine, and I cau prove it to you." !? ??< ? 1? f 1 1 f 1\r\ vAiin/1 sio Irn on/1 ABIkllJ? a lll/ill tliu 1UUIJU VOBO auu spreading it upon his bread, he remarked: "Now, don't you see that this is butter? see how beautifully smooth it spreads?" Then taking as much from the square cake and spreading it, he said, "Don't you see how fatty and glubulous the surface looks? I am sure that is not butter." When we had dined the landlord was asked how he distinguished the cakes? Said he, "the square cakes are butter, and the round cakes are from the factory and are oleomargarine." The president of this company said he would defy the most delicate palate or most experienced eye to distinguish his 'butterine' from the best dairy butter, unless when subjected to melting heat, in which case butter would gradually qoften, but in hottest weather retain some consistency. Oleomargarine will melt if exposed to this heat and run into oil. But he averred that they had experimented" with it in every possible way in comparison with butter of the purest quality," both on land and on sea, and found that under ordinary temperature, subject to any exposure, the oleomargarine will keep sweet and fresh where butter will become rancid. The manufactory in Baltimore is the smallest in the United States, and its daily product tor eight months in the year averages thirtyfive hundred pounds. It is not manufactured during the hot summer months. There are many manufactories in Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Pittsburg, Chicago, Cincinnati, Louisville and St. Louis, and the aggregated daily product reaches nearly half a million pounds. The greater portion of it is shipped abroad,-and chiefly to Berlin, Amsterdam and other German towns, and Liverpool, and the supply has not equalled the demand in any of those cities. On my return from Baltimore I bought a cake of oleomargarine and had it subjected to the microscope and analyzed at the Agricultural department. The microscopic examination made it appear very unlike butter, but the chemical analysis showed it contained 88 per cent, of fatty matter, 8 per cent, of wa- , ter, 2 per cent, of salt, and 2 per cent, of animal matter. Of the 88 per cent, of fatty matter 95 per cent, was butter. So it only , lacked 5 per cent, of being the genuine article at the worst. One of the committee expressed it when he facetiously remarked, "I understand it all; we are living in a progressive age, and the inventions of the day have enabled us in this i iustance to "go behind the returns," we have gone to the fountain head, and by a raechau- . ical operation produced from the same source in an hour the identical substance that nature would have consumed twenty-four hours in producing through the slow operations of lactification, if I can coin a word, milking and churning." So much for the manufacture and consumption of oleomargarine. _Very respectfully. D. Wyatt Aiken. STONEWALL JACKSON, THE PROFESSOR. My first recollection of Stonewall Jackson is when I was a college boy at Lexington, Va., in the Fall of 18G0. I am not able to say whether it was the peculiar carriage of the stiff, military-looking institute professor who daily passed the college grounds that was of chief interest to the students of Washington College, or whether the stories told of daring and reckless courage in his early military life invested him with a halo of romance, and made him an object of hero worship in their youthful minds. Whatever the cause, the i solid tramp of Major Jackson on the plank walk, would be the signal to stop all games ot mirth that may have been in progress on the college campus, until he had passed. The ! stiff, stolid looking man would pass on, turn- ' ing his head neither to the right nor left, but ( a single touch of his cap was the silent recognition given of the deferential respect shown by the boys. ( "Old Jack," as he was familiarly called by cadets and students, was so plain in manner and attire, there was so little effort at show, j his feet were so large, and his arms and hands < fastened to hie body in such an awkward ? shape, that the cadets didn't take much pride < in him as a professor. They feared him in < the lecture room, they paid the strictest deference to him on parade, but in showing a 1 stranger the sights about the institute, a cadet < was never known to point out "Old Jack" as j one of the ornaments of the institution. He < was more popular with the college students, f who did not have the same reasons for fear- j ing the austerity of his manner, but who knew ] him as the son-in-law of their colleere Presi dent, the Rev. George Junkin. I My first meeting with Gen. Jackson in the i social circle was one evening when he called i to see a friend at our boarding house. I < shall never forget the impression his manner i and appearance made upon me. Boy as I 1 was, I looked upon him with a reverential awe. I had heard the stories of his struggles . in early life; of how he had walked from his ] house iu Lewis county to Washington to re- ] ceive his appointment as a cadet to West j Point; of his being ill-prepared, and the dif- 1 ficulty he had in keeping up with his classes; J and then I had heard of his brilliant career ' in Mexico, of his mounting the walls of 1 Cherubusco with the American flag in his < hands; and here now was the hero of my j youthful enthusiasm before me. He was so different from what I thought a hero ought 1 to be! There was so little animation, no * grace, no enthusiasm?all was stiffness and f awkwardness. He sat perfectly erect, his back touching the back of the chair nowhere; the large hands were spread out, one j mi oonK Irnno ti-Viilo flip lnrrrp fppt-. st.rilcincr I out at an exact right angle to the leg (the angle seeming to have been determined with mathematical precision), occupied an unwarranted space. The figure recalled to my boyish mind what I bad once seen?a rude Egyptian-carved figure intended to represent one of the Pharoahs. But when the conversation commenced I lost sight of the awkward-looking figure. I even lost the reverential awe which had so deeply impressed me at first. I only saw the mild eyes emitting gentle beams, and only heard a soft, melodious voice?speaking, it is true, in short, crisp sentences?but withal as mild and winning as a woman's. I then understood how it was that Major Jackson could be a hero. Underlying that rough, uncomely exterior was a vein of the most exquisite sentiraeut, In the soul of the man was that s magnetism which attracted, and that power which controlled and made him the master of his fellow men. In after days, when I saw the uplifting of his dusty cap excite the wildest enthusiasm among his veteran legions, I knew whence the power emanated.? Wheeling Register. TO-MORROW. "I will plough my field to-morrow," said Jeannot; "I must not lose any time, as the season is advancing; and if I neglect to cultivate my field I will have no wheat, and as a consequence no bread." To-morrow arrived. Jeannot was up by daylight and was about going out to get his plough, when one of his friends came to invite him to a family festival. Jeannot hesitated at first; but on reflecting a little he said: "A day sooner or later makes no difference for my business, while a day of pleasure once lost is always lost." He went to the festival of his friend. The next day he was obliged to rest himself, because he had eaten a little fco much, and drank a little too much and had a headache. "To morrow I will make up for this," said he to himself. * Tomorrow came; it rained. Jean not, to his great grief, was unable to go out all day. The following day it was fine, and Jeannot felt himself full of courage; but unfortunately, his horse was sick in his turn. Jeannot cursed the poor beast. The following day was a holiday, and he could not. of course, work. A new week com raenced, and in a week a great deal of work may be done. He began by going tjg a fair in the neighhood ; lie had never failed to attend; it was the finest fair held within ten miles: He went afterwards to the christening of a child of one of his nearest relations; and afterwards to a burial; in short, he had so many things to occupy him, that when he began to plough his field the season of sowing was past; thus he had nothing to reap. When you have anything to do, do if; at once; for if you are master of the present, you are not so of the future, and he who always puts of his business till to morrow runs a great risk of never being able to finish anything.?P. jllanchard. # ^ V) Mormon ism in the South.?Mormonism would seem to be gaining some foothold in the Q/MifK i P ? ^ mn t? if fko ? vl 1 AtuI r\ r? fv*/\ m vjvjulij| 11 y j luujf ucuib nig ivuuniug iivm the Chattaiooga (Tenn.) Timet: ' A reporter of the Timet has had an interview with Elder Morgan, president of the Southern Mission of the Mormon Church, and one of its most important and influential members. Mr. Morgan says that th& Mormon religion is daily gaining strength and favor in the Southern States. He says that the people at large are expressing more sympathy and friendship toward the Church. And as they become better acquainted with its working and details of its teachings, this feeling becomes the more manifest. They are now averaging about thirty baptisms tfach month in the Southern States alone, and the num"ber is continually increasing. The demand for more elders is constantly coming from the South, and it has at last become so persistent, that at the April conference . twenty mere elders will be ordained and distributed through the South to propagate! the doctrines of the Mormon creed. There are now about forty missionaries of that church in the South, and in addition a number of local preachers. Elder Morgan says the op- ~'vpositioc which was formerly manifested, and which last year culminated in the murder of an elder, is now rapidly dying out, and they are everywhere meeting with much fay or and encouragement. A Kissing Match.?At a party of young people in Paris, conversation happened to turn on the subject of kissing, and the question was propounded who of the young men present could boast of having g'ven "his girl" the most kisses. Various we. e the replies this question called out. Finally a young man and the girl to whom he was betrothed bet forty dollars that they could kiss 10,000 times in ten hours, providing they would be allowed to take an occasional glass of wine "between." Two persons were appointed a committee to count the number of kisses, and ^ the work began. During the first hour they counted 2,COO kisses. During the second hour the kisses were not nearly as numerous, for the committee only counted 1,000. After the third hour, during which they managed , to score but 750, further operations were brought to a sudden stand still. The lips of the young man were seized with a cramp and he was carried off in a fainting condition. The girl a few days later was stricken with brain fever which nearly carried her off. When the people who had won the bet demanded their money the parent of the girl refused to pay her share of it. The matter was then taken to the courts, and there it was decided that the bet must be paid. Curious Prayers.?"There used to be an old colored sister in the borough of Franklin, Pa.," the tall, thin passenger says, "who was ?ery unctious in 'pra'r,' and one time, during a revival season, she got down on "her knees, waved her hands in the air and shouted, 'Come down, U, sperrit of ttie Master; come iown, 0, good Lord, come right down thru le roof, an' I'll pay fur de shingles !'" "You remember," said the sad passenger, 'the good brother in Greensburg, Indiana, who was suddenly called on to lead in prayer at some meeting, and opened his petition by jaying: "Unaccustomed as we are to public speaking, 0 Lord, and being entirely unprepared, we will still endeavor to make a few rambling remarks.'" "And the Kansas preacher/' the man on the wood-box said, "that noble Prentiss tells about, who referred in his prayer to the political condition of the country during a very exciting canvass, and added : 'For the particjlars and details of which, 0, Lord, we refer :hee to the columns of the morning papers/ " ? ? 46T The terra "watered stock" originated, it 8 said, with Daniel Drew, who was a drover in his early days. T. Carpenter, a leading orokerin Wall Street, was a son of a farmer n Putnam County, N. Y., where Drew came from, and he went to Drew one day to sell liira some stock which had b<e.a put on the * iiarket at considerably above the actual cost * ^ nwAnAwfn "HrAin ooi/^ ^TKof ofAnlr * Ji tlic piupci oaiu X1IUU Obvvn makes me think of old farmer Brooks up in Put' who used to salt and water his stock to make his cattle weigh heavy when he sold ;hem!" The broker told the story in the itreet, and it became an adage. Foiled.-?A husband who had been very rnhappy in bis wedded life left a will giving lis widow thirty thousand a year as long as >he remained a widow, and aJl of his fortune f she married again, for he maliciously addid: "I want another man to know how wretched she made me, and he may find some lonsolation in my money." The widow was rot long in finding another husband, and out )f spite to her former spouse makes the presrnt husband supremely nappy, and the wealth >f the deceased is an immense factor to that md. "Women are contrary creatures* and men don't understand them. BGP "What is political science?" asks an exjhange. Political soience! Political science! D, yes, we see. When you can make the people believe that you can hold office better than ;he maa-jvho is in, and they have the confiience you in his place you have demonstrated about all there is in political1 !cieh^.??;