Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 22, 1883, Image 1
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VOL. 29. , YOSKYILLE, S. C., THUBSDAY, MARCH 22, 1883. NO. 12.
?^?
Elected fartrj).
VANISHED HOURS.
Where are thfe? gorife, those dear dead days,
Those sweet past days of long ago,
. Whose ghosts go floating to and fro
When evening leads us through her maze?
Where are they gone ? Ah! who can tell ?
Who weave once more that long-passed spell?
They did exist when we were young,
We met our life with strength and trust,
We deemed all things were pure and just,
Nor It new life had a double tongue,
We' lightly sang a happy song, .
Nor dreamed our way could e'er be wrong.
And then all dhanged ; as life went by,
The friend deceived, or bitter death
Smiled as he drank our dear one's breath,
And would not let us also die,
Day followed day ; as on they went
Each took some gift that life*had sent.
Yet it was ours, that perfect past!
We did have days that knew no pain,
We once had friends death had not taken,
And flowers and songs that could not last
Were ours in that most oiessea nine,
When earth seemed Heaven's enchfcntfld clime.
And so I think, when lights burn low
And all the house is fast asleep,
From out a silence vast and deep
Those dear dead days we worshiped so,
Breathe on us from their"hidden store
Their long-lost peace, their faith once more.
God keep those dear old times; and me
Beyond our vision they may rest
Till on some perfect day and blest
Once more those dear dead days will be,
For death, who took all, may restore
The past we loved, to us once more.
ihe j^torp feller.
THE REAL HEIR.
, CHAPTER I.
PLOTTING.
"My dear, Sir John, I am very sorry if I
hurt your feelings, but I don't like the
girl."
"So you have told me before, my dear."
"And you are as far from agreeing with
me as ever."
"Well, yes ; I confess I can see nothing so
very objectionable in poor Julia."
"Poor Julia! She will be rich Julia one
of these days, or I am much mistaken !"
Sir John broke ipto a good natured laugh.
"Well, let us hope she may be."
"Yes, I could say that, too; but when
I consider that it is your money she looks to
spending?"
Sir John Temple's blue eyes opened.
"Mine! My dear wife, you must be dreainiug."
** " 1 ? AVJ-, rtiiVxiA/il T fnol
"Un tne contrary, uu una suujcv.i x i?i
particularly wide awake?almost as much
so as Julia, and her little ladyship put her
hand laughingly through her husband's
arm. "You have an heir, although"?and
here sweet faced Ladv Temple signed?"no
son. Have you really seen nothing? Do
you really not know that Miss Slingsby proposes
to share that heirship ?"
Staid elderly Sir John actually whistled
like a schoolboy?a whistle expressive of
surprise and dismay.
"Ah, you are not much more enamored
with the idea than I."
"I agree with you she is not the woman I
should have chosen ; but what can we do ?
It is he who chooses."
"Nay, it is she. That is what I object
to."
"But my love, a man does not marry a
girl unless he wants to."
_ "Doesn't iie, my deaf?. If you were a
woman yoir^voula know better. Is there
really no such thing as flattering your sex
vnii think vou want?eh, Sir
John? It is like tickling trout, my dearvery
pleasant, I daresay, but you are caught,
and tnen?"
"And then, if the woman isagood woman
she will make a good wife."
"Ah, but it isn't exactly the 'good woman'
I am talking about. In plain English,
Sir John, though she is your ward ana the
daughter of your poor old friend, Julia
Slingsby is not half good enough for our
Morton! She is ambitious, unscrupulous,
and as for heart, she has none?not a shred.
In short, she does not love him, and she
shall not have him."
"Very good, but how do you propose preventing
her ?"
"Oh, I am not contemplating any very
desperate measures. Julia shall have nothing
to complain of. I shall merely try
counter attractions. She and Morton will
both be here at the end of the month. -I
must get some of my pet girls down for the
vacation, and if that does not succeed, and
knowing?excuse me my dear?the stupidity
of your sex, I am not very hopeful?"
"Well, and what then ?"
Lady Temple looked into her husband's
face with a wicked smile.
"Why, then -you must take to racing,
gambling j announce yourself a ruined man,
with nothing to leave behind you but mortgaged
acres and an empty title. I think
that would settle affairs very effectually."
"A very pretty plot, upon my life. I
think I prefer the nrst snggestion. Let us
have down the counter charms, by all means.
Who shall they be ? Better have down half
a dozen or so, and make it safer."
"I ha've arranged all that. I intend hav-'
ing a household. Every one is leaving London
now, and ready for fresh air and the
country. We can find plenty of amusement?boating,
tennis, picnics. All we want
is fair weather. And now if you will be
off?I see your horse outside?T will get to
my writing."
CHAPTER II.
DOUBTFUL.
Sir John and Lady Temple, of Temple's
Court, were no longer young. But at sixty
a man should be hale and hearty still, and
lit for saddle or stubble for many a day to
eome. And sturdy blue eyed John was all
this. At fifty what should a woman be ? I
cannot say. I only know that Lady Temple
was active aud light heaxted as many a
girl in her twenties. She was a little creature,
barely reaching to big Sir John's broad
shoulders, and ruled him with a fairy rod of
love and witchery yet. Her soft brown hair
was silvering fast, and gave a strange tender
grace to a face that bore its look still of
youthful espieglerie.
Morton Temple, Sir John's heir and orphan
nephew, was almost, though not all,
that a son of their own could have been to
the warm hearted baronet and his wife; so
their anxiety in so important a matter as
that under discussion is not to be wondered
at, and my lady's little plots and plans in
the young man's behalf may, I think, be excused.
The Court, of course, was Morton Temple's
home; but as he held an appointment under
the Government supposed to entail a daily
attendance in the neighborhood of Downing
street, the greater part of his time was naturally
spent in town.
However, as a couple of hours' run by rail
would take him to the Court, many a summer
day's close found him there.
Julia Slingsby had now been a ward ol
Sir John's for nearly twelve months, but
she formed no part of the Court household,
She and her invalid mother occupied a small
house in a semi-tashionable London square;
and the fair Julia, when oppressed by heal
or^nnui, was also often to be found flying
Temple Courtward, in quest of fresh aii
and?she would scarcely have troubled her
self to conceal it, so why should I?Mortor
Temple.
The end of the month had arrived, anc
Lady Temple had gathered her guest:
around her. All bade fair for the carrying
out of her little ladyship's programme. Tin
weather even left nothing for a Briton t<
grumble at. Days of unclouded sunshin*
succeeded one another, and if showers fel
they selected the hours of early morning t<
do so, and the world woke cool and refresh
r* ed as though new born.
On the terraces and among the flower bed
below, girlish forms in dainty summer cos
tumes flitted, followed, at no great distance
you may be sure, by light and loosely clad
figures of the other sex.
Lady Temple, in company with a matronly
companion or two, looked on in smiling
satisfaction. Her young people were having
a "good time" of it, and her little ladyship
was happy. There was the crumpled
rose leaf, it is true, and it was a very crumpled
one indeed, not a bit smoothed out as
yet; but her ladyship was of a sunny hearted
nature, and tried to be hopeful and content?tried,
but it must be confessed, at
times found it beyond her "Morton'sstupidity,"
she would confide to Sir John, "being
something too incredible."
No, affairs were not altogether promising.
The counter charms were all there?dark,
fair, quiet, dashing?but they might almost
as well have been elsewhere. Almost, and
there lay Lady Temple's one rav of hope,
and she made the most of it. There was
one exception?one fair and quiet presence
there, whom, as her ladyship first discovered,
Morton Temple, spite his "stupidity"
could not quite ignore or forsake, even at
the bidding of his Julia.
Mary Holme was only the Rector's daughter,
and 110 fitter mate, in a wordly point of
view, for the heir of Temple Court than Julia
Slingsby. Indeed, there Julia had rather
the advantage, for whereas Mary was
?- * 1 zr
penniless, sue was pussesseu ui <t muuu, u
modest, income of her own. But had the
hundreds been thousands, they would have
influenced her ladyship not one whit.
Mary Holme had always been a favorite
at the Court. She and Morton Temple had
played together as children, and together
roamed the woods and fished the river later
on.
Fair and quiet, with all her heart long
since given to her old companion, the Rector's
pretty daughter was, in fact, a far
more dangerous rival than the dark, dashing
Julia would have condescended to believe,
or her anxious ladyship have dared
to permit herself to hope.
But the days were slipping by. Tennis,
boating, picnics, all had their turn, and still
the success of my lady's scheme remained
as doubtful as ever.
Among the guests was one James Trenton,
a heavy foolish looking young man,
with certainly?as the phrase goes?more
| money than brains. But the lad?for he
was but little more?having but the other
day come of age and into his some thousands
per annum?was good hearted and
generous minded enough to have made
| himself many friends.
Poor James had lost bis too susceptible
heart the very first night of his arrival,
anri fmm that moment. there was nothing
to be clone with him.
Need I say Miss Slingsby was the enslaver?
She, on her part, did not certainly
refuse his worship. Julia was a young
woman too wise in her generation for anything
so foolish, but she led him a sad life
of it for all that. She smiled on and made
i much of him when it suited her to do so.
She ignored his very existence when that
chanced to be more convenient. And all
the time the poor foolish fellow was her
slave?hers to make use of to fetch, to carry,
to be smiled or frowned on as she saw fit.
Of course Lady Temple saw all that was
going on, as who could help doing? Indeed,
the faithful James?as the girls had come
to call him?would go to her ladyship with
his troubles. Slid, was all kindness to him,
and you may be sure, would have helped
him if she could.
"He is a world too good for her," Lady
Temple confided to her husband; "but then
he will never find it out, and that is everything."
No doubt there were other little flirtations
and even, it may be, courtships, going
on, but there were other and lawful authorities
at hand, if need be, so with these her
ladyship did not trouble herself. It seemed
to her, as the days went oil, and Morton
Temple fluttered from Julia Slingsby to
his old friend and companion, and James
Trenton clung pertinaciously to his Chloe's
skirts, that she had something too much
of that sort to think of as it was. "Never
again," Lady Temple told herself. "No,
if this fails they may go their own way.
Morton may make himself miserable for
life if he will, and poor Mary must break
her heart; 1 cannot help it."
CHAPTER III.
MR. HIXCKES' "POKK-MANKKIj."
It was the last day but two for the Court
guests. The gentlemen were all off to a
cricket match some ten miles away.
I daresay more thftn one of them would
have as soon remained behind. But Sir
John himself was to drive them over in the
break, so they could not very well get out
of it.
The girls had got a little picnic of their
own down by the river. Luncheon had
been sent to' meet them at a chosen spot
some mile and a half from the house, and
they were to wait on themselves. This
they had managed to do very satisfactorily.
They had made a goodly onslaught on all
the dainties provided, and were now resting
in happy laziness after their labors.
"Well, I think we have done very well
without the gentlemen, and so I shall tell
them," said little Kate l)olby, stretching
herself in the sun like a luxurious kitten.
"And of course they will believe you,
my dear," said Julia Slingsby. "Forme,
now, I shall tell their serene mightiness
that it has been unbearable?the abomination
of desolation, and that I all but drowned
myself."
"They will never believe that," laughed
Kate.
"Won't they, Miss Innocence ? That and
more. Wait and see."
"Well, I am sure both Morton Temple
and James Trenton would rather have been
here than at that stupid cricket," said Nelly
Dolby, Kate's elder sister.
"I think we can very well spare the
'faithful James,'" said ^ulia. "For Morton
Temple. What do you say, Mary ?"
"I sav," answered Mary, laughing, "that
J 1-5? ? K
1 tUIVP TO spurt; mill su muui uo n is, mat,
so far as 1 am personally concerned, perhaps
he may as well be where he is."
Julia laughed too. The admission was
flattering to her vanity. Beside, little as
it was in her nature to care for one of her
own sex, Mary Holme had contrived to
win from her a spark of something very
near akin to affection.
A pretty flush had come to Mary's cheek.
"Why, Mary," Julia cried, "I do believe
you care for him !"
"Perhaps 1 do."
"Why, she has known and loved him
ever since she cut her first tooth. Haven't
you, Mary?"
And Kate Dolby, who was Mary's champion
and adorer, and at whose feet she lay
. stretched, gave her friend's toes an affection!
ate squeeze.
"I am really sure you don't care for him.
Confess it, Julia," said Nellie.
"Why can't you let him go and be satis;
fled with your James?" growled Kate.
[ "My James! I am sure you are all of you
.! welcome to him."
"But you don't care for Morton Temple
[ either," cried half a dozen voices.
"I aire very much for Temple Court."
"Oh, I daresay James Trenton's place if
i just as fine," said Nellie.
urn., XZof/i G+arfin<* nn intf
| At 5> J viiwu xvutv* otuA v<*j^ ?4^/ ? w
t a sitting position. "He told me so. He
r said iCs like a great barraek. without the
company in it. Oh, do take it, Julia
!. We'll all come and fill it?we will indeed.'
i | Julia laughed good-naturedly.
"I am sure it's very kind of of you, Kate
11 and if ever 1 inhabit the barraek I shall b<
^ glad to see you all?thankful, no doubt
r j But you see, if I married James Trenton J
11 could never be Lady Temple. Besides?
> j fear there is no doubt about it?the faithfu
a ' James' grandpa sold cheese !"
1 i "But his grandfather is dead, and hi
3 cheese all eaten long enough ago," sai<
. j Kate.
"I can't help it. I should never see !
s ; mouse-trap even without thinking of him.'
:- j "But if you couldn't be Lady Temple am
', mistress of the Court, you would overlool
the cheese aud be reconciled to the mousetraps?eh
!" inquired Kate.
"Possibly. 1 might do worse. There's
plenty of money, and, as for James, I could
j twist him round my nngers."
"But that is just the sort of husband I
| shouldn't care for," said Mary.
"Ah ! you would prefer being twisted ; I
shouldn't."
"Well, all I know is," said Kate Dolby,
rising, "I wish you would take your James?
and twist him."
"And make Mary a present of Morton !
No, my dear, I am afraid I can't afford to
be so generous."
"He isn't yours yet!" cried Kate, flashing
up.
"Come," said Mary, "we are talking great
nonsense, and if we want any tea it is time
to be starting."
Up at the house meanwhile Lady Temple
and her more sober guests were indulging
in their share of gossip over their cup of
aternoon tea.
Tf iroi! lii^t an "Yforv TTnlmp nnrl hpr (!om
panions were nearing the house on their
return fronrthe river side that a great peal
came at the hall hell, followed after some
moments' dela?hy-the reappearance of the
gray-headed butler in the tea room with a
card, which lie presented to her ladyship
with a somewhat doubtful air.
"Josiah P. Hinches." There was no
doubt about the name. The characters were
of such dimensions that short-sighted Lady
Temple could read them as the card lay
before her.
"Must see Sir John," he says, "my lady.
Pertieklar business, so 1 have had him
showed to Sir John's orfice to wait."
"A gentleman, Bowers?"
"Well, I should say not exactually, my
lady. A ot what we are accustomed to, that
is, your ladyship."
And Mr. Bowers, who was an old and confidential
retainer, looked round with a gaze
of such awful solemnity and importance
that little Kate Dolby, who was just entering
and upon whom it fell, cried :
"Good gracious, Bowers, is any one
dead ?"
Bowers condescended to smile. Kate was
an old favorite and might take liberties.
"A gentleman?leastways, an individooal,
Miss, to see Sir John."
Kate seized the card.
"Josiah P. Hinckes! Why. the individooal
is a?must be a Yankee, Bowers.
Hasn't he got an eagle or the star-spangled
banner with him?eh, Bowers?"
"He have got nothing but a very small
porkmankel, Miss, and an 'ook nose through
which he certainly do speak most remarkable)
''
"Ah !" cried Kate delightedly. "I know
the gentleman. Patent sausage-machine inventor?log
of wood at one end, best pork
sausages out at other; hatch-your-own-eggs
machine, eggs in at one end, fowl ready
trussed for dinner at the other. They are
all in the small porkmankel. Do let me
see him, Lady Temple."
"Don't be so absurd, Kate," said her ladyship.
"Bowers, there is Sir John."
Bowers hurried from the room, and then
the gentleman entering (minus their host)
there ensued such a Babel of voices that I
shall not attempt to transcribe anything
that was said.
When half an hour later, a message was
brought by Bowers from Sir John, begging
my lady to go to him in his office, her absence
was for a time altogether unnoticed?
that is, by the young people.
CHAPTER IV.
AFTER ALL.
' When Lady Temple answered Iter liasband's
summons she found him pacing the
small room set apart for his business transactions,
with a perplexed look 011 his kindly
face, and witli an excitement of manner
strangely at variance with his usual quiet
air of happy self possession. She turned
from Sir Jon 11 to his companion, but there
was nothing to alarm her ; only a cool
looking dried up lath of a man, who greet
ed her with a little nod like how, hut aid
not open his lips.
Perhaps there are few homes to which
bad news can scarcely come, but Temple
Court was one of these. There were no
daughters to elope or make bad matches,
no sons to bring disaster or dishonor, equally
there were none for death to touch. So
although there might be a tinge of anxiety,
there was 110 real alarm in Lady Temple's
tone as she inquired of her husband what
had happened.
Sir John stopped in his walk and passed
his hand across his brow as if to clear away
some trouble there.
"Something very strange, my dear, so
strange that 1 seem scarcely to know if I
have really heard it or have only gone to
sleep and dreamed it."
"You are wide-awake, Sir John Temple.
There ain't 110 dreaming about this. Perhaps
her ladyship woulcl like to see thepapers?
though they are only copies. The
originals can ue seen ai my piwee ever m
Ottawa, any day you like to come over and
ask for 'em. Sir John, and that is what lie
had better clo at once, ma'am."
"What does he mean? What is it all
about ? Tell me, Sir John."
"Sit down, my love," and Sir John Temple
drew up a chair for his wife, and took
one close beside her so that he could put
one of his big brown hands on her small
white ones as he talked. "You see, my
dear, we have always looked upon Morton
as the one to come after me here when I
am gone, and now from what this gentleman
tells me?and I see 110 reason to doubt
his statement?that can never be. It is a
shock, my dear, for both of us, and for poor
Morton. How shall I tell him ?"
"Tell him what, my dear?" Nay, Mr.
Hinckes will tell me?what is it that has
happened Mr. Hinckes ?"
"Well, you see, my lady, we have got
what you call "the rightful heir" over yonder,
my own nephew and Sir John's here."
"It's just this, my love," put in Sir John,
who had recovered his composure. "My
poor brother Robert. our ' apegrace, you
know,-whom we all belie v ed to have been
lost 011 his way to America years ago, was
not lost at all, it seems, but saved to live for
many years. He has only died lately in
fact."
"April the 13th, at twenty minutes after
nine P. M.," said Mr. Hinckes.
"He had married Mr. Hinckes' sister, who
died "
"September the 4th, 1877," again interrupted
Mr. Hinckes.
"And leaves behind a son, my nephew,
and consequently my heir ; Robert as you
know, coming before Morton's father."
Lady Temple's tears were nuiing iasi.
"Poor Morton! it is hard?cruelly hard.
He has so loved the place ! There is not a
tree?nay, not a blade of grass that was not
dear to him."
"It is, it is; heaven knows I feel it. Well,
well, we can only do our best for him under
the changed circumstances, and try," said
Sir John with a gulp, "to love my nephew?
i my heir."
Mr. ilinckes rose.
' "Waal now. Sir John, I'll leave you and
your lady to talk it over. There's the hag
with the documents, etc. You jest look 'em
s over before I come agen to-morrow. I'm
sorry for you, Sir John Temple. You, too,
> my lady; also for the young man. 'Tain't
' pleasant to think a place like this is a-goin
> to be yours, and then all of a sudden find
it's a goin to be some one else's. It chaws
? JJ- 11-. T1 ?_A?1 U..+
a man up nuiunuiy. i m nnuim ?uxi^, uut
right's right, as I know you feel yourself,
, Sir John;" and Mr. Hinekes held out his
i hand in farewell.
"You will take some dinner, Mr.
[ Hinekes?"
1 "No, I thank you, ma'am; the Temple
1 Arms, where I am at present located, is
more in my way than Temple Court, so efl
s yew'll excuse me I'll say acloo."
I Long after Mr. Hinekes had taken hi.*
departure, Sir John and Lady Temple sal
a. hand-in-hand in the little room silent and
' sorrowful.
1 The dressing and dinner gongs sounded,
ic hut they did not stir.
A little note was senj into the drawing
room to one of Lady j Temple's matror
guests, who forthwith ordered dinner to b(
! served. In the dining ropm at first a strange
silence reigned. All knew something had
happened, but what? J
Bowers assisted with the face of a sphinx,
lie, of course, knew popping, but his whole
air and bearing conveyed the belief that he
knew all.
After dinner, which bi^came a little brighter
as it proceeded, Mortjpi Temple was summoned
to Sir John's rpoin, and the other
f uests saw 110 more of him for the evening,
JaturaJly these others were all excitement,
They scattered themselves on the terraces,
they strolled down by the river?their talk,
of course, the mystery of the evening. The
"faithful James" was the only one who
really did not care in the least what it was
all about?what had happened, or what was
going to happen. Ana yet if he had only
known, there was no one whom it more
concerned. He had got his Julia to himself,
1 l-~ ? -
UI111 JltJ WiW uuiiivuu .
His Julia was more than gracious. Her
keen wit had divined something very
near?she knew not how near?the truth.
"Bir liodger was cchmrhome," she said to
Marv Holme, "and Bir John must turn
out."
"Poor Sir John ! how can you even imagine
anything so terrible ?"
"You will see I am right, and, Mary."
"Yes," said Mary.
"Morton Temple, will be a poor nobody
all his life."
"What then?" said Mary fiercely.
"Why then, my dear, in that ease I shall
ignore the cheese and reconcile myself to
the mouse-traps."
That night before she slept. Mary Holme
knew all. Ijady Temple came to her room
and the two talked until daybreak.
The next morning after Mr. Hinckes'
Eromised visit the whole house knew who
e was and what he wanted.
Nothing could be considered final until
Bir John's return from America, but as the
dismayed Baronet told his guests, he saw
no reason fo suspect the truth of Mr.
Hinckes' statements.
Morton Temple looked crushed and worn,
and it seemed about the best thing that
could happen to him that he should get leave
from his office and accompany his uncle.
Mary Holme was to remain with Lady
Temple during their absence. Her poor little
ladyship was heart-broken. Therewould
be no more need to plot and plan. Poor
rPntv>r\lA e urtfn ff/iTYl fWci Wilde f\f
iTLUI IVIl IfJUj/IC ? CIO OCHVy UUlll vuv it *<vw v..
Julia Slingsby forever.
The fair Julia, attended by the "faithfhl
James," left for London before the day was
over, and by the evening of the next day
the great house was empty of its guests.
But Morton Temple had a few last words
with Sir John's ward before his somewhat
hurried departure. He knew where she
was likely to be found, and made his way to
the hotrhouse and conservatories beyond the
flower garden.
As he entered the orchid-house, Julia,
who having seen Ross, the head gardener,
safely out of the way, was laying a devastating
hand on all around, turned her head
with a start.
"Ah ! you thought it was the retributive
Ross," said Morton, advancing.
"I may have some?" said Julia, in a tone
of innocent inquiry.
"Oh ! they are none of mine, and never
will be," Morton answered, a little bitterly.
"But I need not tell you that. You know
that I am ousted, a mere nobody?eh! Miss
Slingsby?"
"I know that you are possibly no longer
heir to Temple Court," said Julia, still calmly
snipping.
"And have you nofhinjfto say to me, no
word of sympathy or encouragement in my
changed prospects ?"
Poor Morton ! he felt that a word of kindness
from this cold, calm beauty, would
have reconciled him to it all.
"Of course, I am sorry, if that is what you
mean. 1 should be sorry enough if it was
myself, I know."
"You couldn't live then without wealth
ancl position ?"
"I wouldn't try to."
"But if it was the man you loved who had
lost it all ?"
"Love is so intangible," laughed Julia.
"I don't believe in it; do you?"
"No," said Morton ; "for the future I intend
only to believe in rank and riches?and
heartlessness."
"And very wise of you, too."
Poor Morton! he could not cast out all
faith in the woman who had enslaved him
even now. He came nearer to where she
stood and looked at the dark, handsome
face with wistful eyes.
"I shall not lie such a very poor man,
Julia, and I cart work harder and save."
"Look, there is Mary," said Julia, moving
from his side.
And Mary entered with kind, pitying
eyes, for she had seen enough, and a message
to Morton from my lady.
Some six years have passed since that
eventful afternoon when Mr. Hinckes and
1 il 1 ? '-"1" ? ?-l/\ n unoovonoc
illS "pOrKIIJilllKUI" Iimuc UlCll aw^caiauvv.
at Temple Court. The dried-up little man
proved to be no adventurer. Sir John and
Morton Temple returned with him tc
America, and found all as he had stated,
The old Baronet came home, sad but resigned,
bringing his young nephew with
him. But the lad's visit was only a shori
one. He never took kindly to his new
home or his new relatives. Sir John al
once settled on him a generous allowance
and continues it still. But the young man
is following in his father's footsteps. He it
a spendthrift and a scapegrace, added tc
which he has his mother's disease?consumption?and,
I believe, has no more
chance of living to be owner of Temple
Court than vou or I; nor, as he has, happily
an invincible horror of matrimony, is lie
likely to have an heir who can ever reigr
there.
Morton Temple and Mary Holme have
been man and wife now for the last foui
years. They have a charming little vilk
on the banks of the Thames, but are oftenei
at Temple Court, where a sturdy three
year-ohf, known as Jack, and a little roly
poly Molly, a year his junior, contrive tc
keep the old place alive. Not but that Sii
John and my lady have plenty of life ir
them yet. and can indulge in a baby romj
with the nest.
Julia Slingsby has been Julia Trenton fo:
longer still. Once having decided upon hei
line of action, she did not leave the faithfu
James to pine. They inhabit the big bar
rack, and though they have no children
contrive to keep it very full with guests
and if wife and home are not quite all tha
James Trenton looked for, he wisely keep
it to himself.
wmmmmmmmmmm?uamm
Respect for Parents.?If childrei
prmiil realize but a small portion of the anx
iety their parents feel on their account, the;
would pay better respect to the parenta
wishes. A good child, and one in whon
confidence can be placed, is the one wh
does not allow himself to disobey his parent
nor do anything when his parents are ab
sent, that he lias reason to believe that the;
would disapprove if they were present
The good advice of parents is often so eu
graven on the heart of a child, that aftei
vears of care and toil do not efface it; am
in the hour of temptation the thought of
parent has been the salvation of a chihi
though the parent may be sleeping in th
grave, and the ocean may roll between ths
sacred spot and the tempted child. A sma
token of parental affection, borne about th
person, especially a parent's likeness, woul
frequently prove a talisman for good, j
Polish prince was accustomed to carry a pi<
i ture of his father always in his bosom, an
i 011 any particular occasion he would loo
' upon it and say, "Let me do nothing unb<
coming so excellent a father." Such respei
> for a father or mother is one of the hesttrai'
; in the character of a son or daughter. "Hoi
[ or thy father and thy mother, that it ma
be well with thee, is the first commandmer
, with promise," says the sacred hook, an
happy is the child who acts accordingly.
; Uliscctlaucous ^eitdiug.
I REMINISCENCES OF STEPHENS.
During Mr. Stephens' Congressional ser.
vice and pending the campaign of 1848, he
! returned from "Washington toGeorgia. He
i was fresh from the great debates on the acquisition
of California and New Mexico as
United States territories, and for having
taken, against the wishes of a majority of
the Southern members, a most prominent
, part in opposition to such acquisition, he
, was met with much adverse criticism.
, Judge Cone, who was at the time one of the
, leading politicians of Georgia, was particularly
severe in his comments upon Mr. Stei
phens' action, and was reported as having
i publicly denounced him as a traitor to the
i South.
Hardly had Mr. Stephens reached his
I i 1 j.i 1 ?: I?_
i nome wnrn uiese anu munuu hjjjwiio
conveyed to him. At first he did not credit
them, but as one kind friend after anoth'
er informed him that Cone had called him
a traitor and advised, in the true Southern
spirit, that he owed it to himself todemand
i what is called "satisfaction," the fires of
pugnacity in his nature, which are always
smouldering, hissed up, and he declared
that if Judge Cone would admit having
called him a traitor to the South he would
"slap his face." Not long after this he met
the Judge at a numerously-attended Whig
gathering, and going up to him quietly said:
"Judge Cone, I have been told that you,
for reasons of your own, have denounced
me as a traitor to the South, and I take this
i opportunity of asking you if such reports
are true."
"No, sir," was Cone's reply, "they are not
true."
"I am very glad to hear you say so," said
Mr. Stephens, cordially ; and in the same
' friendly tone continued : "Of course, I do
not desire to be in any way offensive to you,
Judge Cone, but in order that we may have
no further misunderstanding through the
misrepresentation of others, I think it right
to tell you that I have said I would slap
your face if you admitted having used the
language attributed to you."
Upon this the Judge again disowned having
sunken disresnectfullv of Mr. Stephens,
and so for the time the affair ended. "It was
the subject of discussion all over the State,
however, and the general verdict was that
Judge Cone, a very powerful man, by the
way, had shown the white feather to "Little
Aleck Stephens." In such a community no
public man resting under such a charge
could hope either for political preferment or
popular respect. Cone, of course, knew this,
and, very much heated and annoyed by the
comments which were being made upon
him, wrote to Mr. Stephens demanding an
immediate and public retraction of the
threat. In reply Mr. Stephens wrote that
the threat of slapping the Judge's face had
been made contingent upon the truth of reports
regarding which he (Mr. Cone) had
pronounced to be untrue, and that such being
the case there could be no cause for offense
or angry feeling on either side. Unfortunately
this letter was never received
by Judge Cone. Three or four days after it
was written, however, he met Mr. Stephens
on the piazza of a hotel in Atlanta, and, disregarding
that gentleman's friendly greeting,
said in a very offensive tone :
"Mr. Stephens, I demand that you make
an immediate retraction of your threats regarding
me."
Sick and weak though he was, Alexander
H. Stephens could allow no one to speak
IU I11M1 111 WIU 11U71I1U11 UCTtllUlU. UUUf^b
Cone was a very giant in size and muscular
development, yet the frail man whom he
addressed, with aggravating politeness and
without hesitating a moment, replied:
"Pardon me, sir, I have already written
you on that subject. I must decline to discuss
it further."
"Am I to take this for your answer?"
asked Cone, excitedly.
"It is the only answer I have to give
you," was the calm reply.
"Then I denounce you as a miserable little
traitor," cried Cone, mad with excitement.
The last words had hardly left his
lips when a light cane, wielded by the quick
hand of the man he had insulted, left its red
scar across his cheek.
Wild with pain and passion, without .uttering
a word, he drew a keen pointed dirk
knife and made one furious thrust at his
weak little adversary's heart. Instantly as
he did so, however, Stephens, seizing a stout
umbrella which he had in his left hand, interposed
it as a defence and was able for a
moment to hold him at arm's length. The
knife fell short of its mark. Once more.it
was thrust at Stephens, cutting a deep gash
in his arm, but reaching no vital point;
eighteen times it cut deep into his breast,
arms and body, but still he did not fall.
Then he could hold out 110 longer. No
; courage, no spirit, however firm and unyielding,
coula long withstand sucli an attack.
Cone was determined to finish his
work. lie threw allhisgreatweightagainst
t the umbrella which held him away from
! the man he intended to kill. It broke.
1 Stephens, half fainting, fell upon his back.
I The giant Cone was at his throat in' a mo
mont; his head, by a grip of iron, was held
against the cruel floor ; the keen and blood
dripping Kniie was neia aion oeiore mm,
ready for the last fatal thrust; but still the
poor pale face of the little hero was set and
defiant?his black eyes still flashed undauntedly.
"Retract, or I'll cut your cursed throat!"
hissed Cone.
"Cut! I'll never retract!" gasped the almost
lifeless Stephens.
Like a flash the knife came down. With
an almost superhuman effort the prostrate
man caught it in in his right hand. Clean
through the muscles, tendons and bones of
the hand it cut, then stuck fast and reached
no vital part. With desperate strength,
Cone tried to wrench it free. With a grasp
almost of death the horribly mangled and
mutilated hand still held it fast. In the
; struggle Stephens was once more dragged
to his feet. The blood was rushing in
streams from his many wounds. His nold
upon the knife which sought his brave
heart began to relax. He was dying. But
even when he believed the next moment
would be his last, strong men came to his
relief. The madman Cone was secured and
held first. Then quickly the wounds which
' Mr. Stephens had received were examined.
It was found that one of them had penetra1
ted to within a sixteenth of an inch of his
heart. An intercostal artery had been cut.
' The doctors declared that he would surely
> die. Happily their predictions were not
1 verified. His life was saved by the unre8
mitting eare of a surgeon, his devoted
friend, who, as good fortune would have it,
happened to be in Atlanta at the time.
i When he recovered, with a magnanimity
. of which few men are capable even of understanding,
he refused to prosecute Cone,
Y, and that person, instead of getting his des1
erts in the dark cell of a State prison, was
I fined $1,000, and, with his "honor vindicao
ted," was allowed to go free. To the day
s of his death Mr. 'Stephens spoke of him
in terms of consideration ana forgiveness.
y Not long ago, referring to the terrible
;t struggle, T have attempted to describe and
[1 showing me the great nole in his mangled
.. hand, he said, with a quiet and far-away
[j look in his deep, dark eyes: "Poor Cone!
a I'm sure he'd be sorry if he knew what
[ trouble I have to write with these stiff fingg
ers of mine."
Lt THE ROMANCE OF MR. STEPHENS' LIFE.
II In one of the early years of the '40s Mr,
e Stephens, then a young man, paid a visit to
d the home of Mr. Harden, in Warren county.
There he met a flaxen haired, blue eyed
1 i ^l_.
> I girl of sixteen, oeautnui in race una iuveiv
cl I in character, piquant, witty and gifted with
k | a mind rarely cultivated. An attachment
3-! grew up, which for years did not pass the
3t: formal bounds of friendship, but which ww
ts i sacredly cherished by both. The boy lovei
l-1 was poor in this world's poods; fragile in
y frame, and harassed by sickness, he did
it' not dare to aspire to the hand of one whom
d j he had learned to love and yet forebore tc
1 claim. With womanly devotion the young
girl read the secret in the young man's
eyes, and true to her heart'she could only?
wait and love.
One evening in 1849 a party was given at
the residence of Mr. Little, in Crawfordville.
There the two met once more; there
they enjoyed that sweet communion born
of perfect trust; and there Mr. Stephens
found courage to speak the words which
for years had fought for expression, until at
last he could no longer contain them.
"Are you sure there lives none other
whom you prefer to me?" asked the maiden
timidly, half shrinkingly yet only too
happy to feel that she was favored in his
eyes.
"In the whole universe there exists not
another," said he passionately.
Thus their troth was plighted; the day
was set for their marriage ; and all seemed
auspicious for the lovers. But clouds lowered
o'er their hopes; matters of a private
nature which it is not within the demand
of the public to know, intervened and deferred
the fruition of tlieir hopes. The one
became immersed in politics, and racked
with physical ill hesitated to enter a state
where he feared the happiness of the other
might be marred. The lady found her duty
by the side of an invalid mother, who long
lingered with a confining disease. Thus
the years flew by; but the plighted troth
was kept. Mr. Stephens never addressed
another, and ever kept the image of the fair
young girl in his heart. The lady was the
recipient of admiration from many, but to
all sue turned a deaf ear.
They have often met since and while the
idea of marriage was abandoned, they felt
a sweet pleasure in each other's society.
But four weeks ago the lady was at the
Mansion, and on taking leave of her old
friend, one of the chairs tripped up, an unfavorable
sign, as the Governor remarked
at the time. The lady has for years been
a citizen of Atlanta, and no one is held in
more esteem for every quality which adorns
womanhood than Miss Caroline Wilkinson.
OUR NEIGHBOR, THE SUN.
There is a little island, only ten miles in
circumference, lying almost in the middle
of the South Pacific Ocean, which will be
in May next, the chief centre of scientific
interest on the globe. This is because it is
the only available spot of land whence a
view of the total phase of the eclipse of
the sun which occurs on May G, can be obtained.
Astronomers from America. France
and England will meet there and set up
their instruments of observation. The. exact
latitude and longitude of that insignificant
little island will be calculated with a
scrupulous care which has never been bestowed
upon its larger sisters of the Pacific.
A great deal of money will be spent upon
Uiftun nvr?n/litirm? nnrl thp tnrwt ?;k'illflll fth
servers will make the long journey into the
southern hemisphere, consuming months of
time, for the sake of watching for a few
minutes the phenomena which make their
appearance when the blazing body of the
sun is hidden behind the opaque globe of
the moon. But astroaomers count the expense
and trouble incurred in the undertaking
as nothing in comparison with the
results to be obtained. This eclipse is of
uncommon importance because of the long
duration of the total phase. The sun will
remain totally eclipsed at Caroline Island
about five minutes and a half. This is the
longest totality of any eclipse since that of
18G8. which was observed in India. The
totality during the eclipse observed in
Egypt last year lasted only a little over
one minute.
In order to understand what the astronomers
hope to accomplish on this occasion,
it is best to recall what has been learned
within the past quarter of a century by
the observation of eclipses of the sun. The
astronomers have found by such observations
that we do not ordinarly see the sun
as it really is. We thnk of the sun only as
a dazzling white globe, much brighter and
incomparably larger than any electric light.
Observations during total eclipses, wnen
this brilliant globe is hidden Irom sight,
have shown tnis white sphere we see is
merely the core of the sun, and that around
it there are the most wonderful envelopes.
First, there is close around the shining
! globe a scarlet shell of flame, out of which
tremendous eruptions of fiery gases occur.
Sometimes these geysers of flame reach a
height of hundreds of thousands of miles in
an astonishingly short space of time, and
then the eruption of material spreads out
and falls back in clouds and streams of the
most fantastic shapes. All around the sun
these volcanic like outbursts are taking
place, but they are particularly numerous
in certain regions. They indicate that the
sun instead of being the quiet and peaceful
orb that it appears to the ordinary observer
on the summer's day, is in a state of enormous
activity?it is a huge globe of gasses
in which iron and other metals, calcium
and other rock-making materials, reduced
to fiery vapor, are engaged in the most
frightful war of elements that the human
mind can conceive. Milton's picture of the
battle of the angels is tameness itself beside
the tremendous struggle in which these
elements composing the sun are engaged.
Held in the centre of the whole solar system
by the resistless power of gravitation,
they are in a pit whence they can not
escape, yet, glowing with intensest heat,
they surge and swirl and burst forth in tremendous-eruptions,
only to fall back in
metallic showers, and renew the ceaseless
struggle.
Animal Doctors.?The Gazette des Hopitaux
publishes some facts about animals of
a most extraordinary kind. The writer,
Dr. Delauney, is one of the most remarkable
authors on physiology in Paris.
"Dogs," he says, "get rid of their parasites
by means of dust, mud or wet clay; the
swallow will throw one little one out of her
nest (if the fledgling be covered with vermin}
in order to save the rest from contamination.
"When animals have fever they invariably
diet themselves, take plenty of rest,
keep in the shade and cool places, drink water
and even olumre into it several times a
day, when they can.
"If a dog loses his appetite, he eats dandelions,
which serve him as an emetic. Cats
eat grass for the same reason. Sheep and
cows always look for certain herbs when
they feel sick. Dogs or horses swallow any
fatty substances they can get hold of, whenever
they need purgative medicine. If any
animal be afflicted with chronic rheumatism
it keeps the afflicted limb turned to the sun
as much as possible.
"In the treatment of wounds, the knowledge
of animals is equally wonderful.
"The soldier-ants have regular ambulance
corps, well organized. When Latreille cut
off the antenna? of a red ant, other ants came
to its assistance, and covered the wounds
with a transparent liquid secreted in their
mouths.
"A Chimpanzee, when wounded, first
checks the How of blood by preasing the
wound with his hand, and then dresses it
with leaves or roots of grass, If the limb
of a wounded animal be hanging by-a shred,
the creature completes the amputation with
its teeth.
"A dog struck with a viper kent plunging
his wounded nose, for many days, into a
running stream. He got well. A hunting
dog that had been crushed by a carriage,
dragged himself into the bed of a shallow
stream, and lay in the water during three
whole weeks?although it was winter. He
got completely well. They carried him his
food there.
"A terrier dog that had a lesion in his
right eye, hid away from the light, and for
two days kept licking the sole of his front
leg paw, and pressing his eye against the
cool wet surface. No occulist could have
; treated the eye better, and many would not
! have done so well,"
, *. +
How Some Men Started.?The Governi
or of Kansas told the young men of Chicago,
, that twenty-five years ago he drove oxen,
i and drove them well. An exchange says
t the present Governor of Texas started in life
; as a hostler at $8 per month, and did his
work well. The financial magnate, itutus
Hatch, began life as a chain carrier in surveying
a Wisconsin railroad, and afterward
was a locomotive engineer. There are multitudes
of idle young men because they can- .
not find "honorable work." They would
do well to remember that all honest labor is
honorable, and that idleneas is a vice.?Chicago
Inter-Ocean.
Easter Eggs.?Easter comes very early
indeed this year; upon the 2oth of March,
which is almost as early as it can ever be,
and soon now children will begin to think
about preparing what in good old times
used to be called paas eggs. It is a good
plan, too, for the egg colorers of a neighborhood
to hold a sort of "bee," and unite in
the production of the dyes, thus saving
time and money.
The exchange of eggs between friends, as
a token of love or friendship, is a very ancient
custom, dating back almost to the
flood, for it is a symbol of the ark, as well
as the resurrection, which is the reason that
we present them at Easter. It is moreover
a very universal custom prevailing among
different nations and religions. The Jews
placed eggs on their Passover tables, the
Druids used them in their ceremonies, and
the Persians frequently given them as New
Year's gifts. If you should happen to be
in Russia this month, a Russian would
greet you on Easter morning with "Christ
is risen," and offer you an Easter egg, and
stranger still, if you were in the far East, a
Mohammedan would do the same. At
city confectioners', fancy sugar eggs?some
of them of enormous size, and containing
panoramas of landscape and figures, or else
filled with bon-bons?may be had' at all
prices; but appropriate home made ones
are worth twice as much.
To dye eggs, onion skins put in the water
in which they are boiled will make them a
bright yellow; or, if left longer in the solution,
a rich brown. Log wood or violet ink,
gives a royal purple. Cochineal, pink and
crimson; and many pieces of chintz or
bright ribbons that fade easily, if sewed
tightly round the eggs, will color them
nicely in figures, stripes or dots. Another
way is to dip the egg into hot water, and
then write a name or motto on the shell
with tallow. It is then boiled in the solution
of dye-wood, when the inscription will
appear in white, upon a colored ground.
Those who are skilful with pencil and
paint-brush can present their friends with
really exquisite souvenirs, by ornamenting
eggs with flowers and buttereflies or appropriate
texts of scripture. For these painted
eggs, it is better to puncture a tiny hole
with a pin in each side, and blow out the
inside, leaving a clear shell, than to boil
them ; and the apertures can be concealed
by stars of silver or gilt paper.?Agjteh
Carr, in American Agriculturist for March.
What Girls Should Learn.?By all
means let the girls learn to cook. What
right has agirl to marry and go into a house
of her own unlesss she knows how to superintend
every branch of housekeeping, and
she cannot properly superinted unless she
has some practical knowledge herself?
.Most men marry without thinking whether
the woman of his choice is capable of cooking
him a meal, and it is a pity he is so
short-sighted, as his health, his cheerfulness,
and, indeed, his success in life depend
in a very great degree upon the food
he eats, in fact the household is influenced
by their diet. Feed them on fried cakes,
fried meats, hot bread, day after day, and
they will need medicine to make them well.
A man will take alcohol to counteract the
effects of such food, and the wife and childern
must be physicked. Let all the girls
have a share in housekeeping before they marry
; let each superintend some department
in turn. It need not occupy half the
time to see that the hous has been properly
swept, dusted and put in order, or to
prepare puddings and make dishes, that
many young ladies spend in reading novels
that enervate both mind and body, and unfit
them for every-day life. Women do
not, as a general rule, get pale faces by
doing housework. There sedentary habits,
in overheated rooms, combined with illchosen
food, are to blame for bad health.
Our mothers used to pride themselves on
their housekeeping and fine needle work.
Why should not our daughters?
Man's Need of the Sabbath.?The
soul needs the Lord's day for growth in the
knowledge and grace of God, our Saviour.
We have six days to provide for the body
and this life, and one day in seven is just
what we need to cultivate the spiritual nature
and prepare for the life to come?eternity.
The liome needs this day. Many
working men have no time to caress, love
and enjoy the company of their dear wives
and children except on the Lord's day. Bob
tnem 01 tins time ana you roo mem 01 uie
chance for sweet home life. It is unutterable
cruelty to compel men to work on the
Sabbath, or menace them with poverty.
Alas that so many rob themselves ? The
Sabbath is the poor man's "little ewe lamb."
God claims for him this day. This is the
real reason we should keep it. There is no
argument so strong as "the mouth of the
Lord hath spoken it." The man that this
will not reacn is given over to the hardness ?
of heart. It is His to command and ours
to obey.?Exchange.
Housekeeping and Cooking.?The
science of housekeeping deserves to be classed
among the fine arts. It deserves to be
1 ?- - -A L- A 1
maae so mucn a siuuy umt pruresscs am*
methods are lost and only the effect remains.
We all remember Mrs. Btowe's blustering
housekeeper who saw good reason why every
one around her should be up and doing;
on Monday, because it was wash-day; on
Tuesday, because it was ironing day; on
Wednesday, because it was baking-day; on
Thursday, because it was sweeping aay,
and on Friday, because to-morrow would be
Saturday, and the same author's notable
contrast in Katy Scudder, in whose home no
one ever hurried, and where the work was
always "done up."
You consult only the dial plate of your
clock, but everything depends on the sets of
wheels out of sight. Bo in the model home.
A spectator would say the house kept itself,
everything seems so easy. But in housewifery,
as in literature, results that appear
simple are often produced at the greatest expenditure
of thought. Macaulay's closing
sentence on Byron is said to have cost him
two days' work ; and a tyro, deceived by
the smooth diction and appropriateness of
expression of sentiment, would think he
could do quite as well himself.
Nothing but faithful thought and care
keep the dining-room appointments from
coming to shame, from the linen to the
walls ; nothing else keeps grease out of the
soup and lead out of the bread; nothing else
gives peace day and night from insect pests
or keeps the dust of ages from windows,
floors and shelves; nothing else fills the
rooms with sweet air, tidy apparel, thrift
and comfort, and imparts the genial atmosphere
of a place where you would like to
stay. It is not too much to say that good
housekeeping is a compound of chemistry.
rtnl+i*-a+r./l natural nipntfll onH mniHI
philosophy, economy, and that most uncommon
article, common sense.
Sfcg- Jefferson Davis says that while he was
Secretary of War, Hiram Powers, in designing
the statue of the Goddess of Liberty
now on the Capitol at Washington, placed
on the head a "liberty cap." "To this cap,"
continues Mr. Davis, "I objected, because
it was among the Romans the badge of an
emancipated slave, and as the people of the
United States were horn freemen, it was
held to be inappropriate to us. Mr. Powers
yielded to the objection and designed a
head dress of feathers for the figure. This
was accepted.'' ^
BSTSouthey says, in one of his letters : "I
have told you of the Spaniard who always
puts on his spectacles when about to eat
cherries, that they might look bigger and
more tempting. In like manner I make
the most of my enjoyments, and pack away
most of my troubles in as small a compass,
as Jrcan."