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;-c- - " ? y , lewis m. grist, proprietor. { %\ |nbc)pkiif Jfaniifii Uetospper: Jw % promotion of l|t political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tlje gouty. Jterms--$2.50 a year, ln advance. VOL. 32. YQRKYILLE, S. C.. "WEDNESDAY. AIJGIJST 18, 1886. 33. Atrial ,fto(g. THE BANK OF CALIFORNIA BY PRENTICE MULFORD. fOOrriUGHTED BT THE AUTHOR- ALI. RIGHTS RESERVED. I CHAPTER L MYSELF. \*\ zv-^/^EjY name is ? V^kKv^jr/J WiC Joan Holder^e^TKTlf^' ?\vV 1* /// I 1 was k?rn XW{ on?Tof great va I'm -\ L: !sk rpmite in the kitln r. when I was eighteen, failed first * in business, next in W'"J II; health, and finally f idied- m ?1 h e r >Xr-X.j.i then ''kept boarders" >? /*" ill to supjy>rt the family, and I kept her in a nick of anxiety until I was twenty-one, since she saw lue growing up without trade or profession, and idling away my time with no apparent anxiety to be anything but a boy. In some respects this was true. I did wish that boyhood and youth could remain for? ever, since all the manhood, or rather maturity. about me seemed a humdrum affair, full of care and vexation, and the older people grew the less "fun"' the}' had in the world. I wished, and even for a time thought, that things would always remain as they were, that the "old men" of my youth would always remain about so old and no older, and when I heard that William Loper, the first playmate of my infancy, was engaged to be married to Fannie Lugar, it seemed to me a piece of audacity as well as a serious innova I-Vi;?L.J J nun on uii: eisuiuiisiieu oi ui-i ui imugA Gradually it dawned upon me that I must cut loose from tops, marbles, kites and quail traps, march out into the world and do something for a living. I did so grudgingly. Indeed, I held on to my boyish ways and sports years after my companions had laid them aside forever, donned frock coats, high standing collars, gaudy neckties, tight boots, and deemed themselves proper little men?as they were.' I commenced "doing for myself with a series of resolves to be something great, if not good. I was one week a general, the next an actor, the third an orator, finally a sea captain. I awoke from these dreams to find myself still in status quo, eating the bread of idleness, parent and sundry relatives meantime broadly hinting that it was high time I should do something. I applied to certain solid men of the village as to the choice of a profession. I thought it might raise me in their estimation so to eon?1* *1. win-U* rtof T it'fic in DUX W lUCUi. XUCJ Illiguv otv vuuv A ?* earnest to set seriously to work about life's business. I knew that my reputation already was none of the best, beca'ise I was one of a set, perhaps the leader, whose pranks at night had gained with the staid villagers an unfavorable notoriety. We rang door bells, ? changed store signs, 'impounded stray horses in impromptu stables, built in the middle of the street at night of empty dry goods boxes, raised false alarms of fire, and did many other things (in cases amounting to outrages on property) which'boys at a certain period consider it remarkably clever to do, and !? which may be the only means of venting their surplus energy. In so applying to the influential men of the village I had also a fond hope they might help me to a situation. My father had been their peer in business. I was not a stranger. My family and theirs had long dwelt in the same town The hope was natural. But there was no? proffer of the help I craved. They talked well and wisely, gave me much gtxxl advice in a general way, and seemed to think that any occupation or calling I might adopt would be well for me if I "stuck to it." I had then such a profound respect for the judgment of these men that I deemed they had, in telling me nothing, told me something valuable, and that I had done a good thing in consulting them. But, practically, I found myself exactly where I was before my interviews, to wit: nowhere. In the midst of my tribulations as to the choice of a profession, the California gold fever of 1849 broke out. The problem was solved. I would go to California and become a gold digger. There was something fascinating in the idea of digging for gold, much more so than digging potatoes, though the difference between the two is not worth mentioning. The fever seized most of the village youth of my own age. A ship was fitted out, a wlinlintr vxwcol Tt Tint-, OA niiir?h of an undertaking for our people to make the long, dreary voyage around Cape Horn to California. Two-thirds of the crew and passengers of the Ann Mary Ann had made the trip before. Seventy, all told, were to sail in that ship. Matured men, young men and boys, taken all together, constituting the flower of the village. The Sunday before sailing the pastor of the Presbyterian church preached us a farewell sermon. The church was crowded. The seventy about to sail felt themselves the attractions of the hour, as they were. The younger men and boys came in a body and occupied pews by themselves. We went full of excitement and anticipation. We were the uo\"Ities of the hour.- We could give but a moment's flitting thought to the sadness of the grieving mothers we were to leave behind. We neither realized nor appreciated their many little daily cares for us. We bustled about with all the importance of jieuguugs, pi uuu ui uui pin icuiuers, uuu re- | gardiug them quite as good as matured plumage. It was an impressive occasion?not so much to me then, but as I see it now?sadly, solemnly impressive, since it was*for so many * the final dejjarture, not merely from homes, relatives, friends and associations, but alsc in so many cases from our interest in them and their interest in us?a hard saying, but true. Gone a week, and memory is fresh with those who leave and those who are left; a month, and the raw, bleeding wounds of separation and tearing asunder barely commence to heal; six mouths, and new events, situations, associations, circumstances commence the process of deadening grief; a year, and we wonder where is the heart hunger of a twelvemonth past; two years, and our friend is a memory; five years, a dream, with possibly half a dozen new personalities standing l>etween us and her or him. r Boys sat in those pews who were to return gray headed, battered and worn from a j rough encounter with the world of the j farthest west?who at their next attendance in that church would look in vain for the deacons or prominent church mehibers now standing erect during prayer time, after the fashion which still lingered in the rural 1 Presbyterian churches of that day. Other boys of that gathering, and of these the majority, were never to return. Their letters home, at first voluminous, were to les . sen iu size, while the lapses of time between each would increase. Searching for time ever receding further iu the distance, they were to wander and bts-ome entirely lost to home and friends in the remoter regions of the west. Then unknown, unnamed, un thought of, discouraged, reckless, weary their pride and spirit broken, they were to fill nameless graves on lone hillsides thousands of miles away, or else hurriedly buried in the crowded city, their bones would be j as hurriedly turned up a few years after as the population extended its limits and dug and plowed its way through waste land anil cemetery. I, in company with several of my associates, were grouped that evening about the Seftons1 frout door. There were three of the Sefton sisters?Blanche, the eldest; Mary and Phoebe. The Seftons1 was a favorite resort for our "set" of young folk. The parents were plain, "easy-going" people, and allowed us more privileges at their house than we could find elsewhere. The sisters were always "at home" for company, and the old people allowed them pretty much their own way. Other parents were not so accommodating. Socially their houses were colder, and if we called "Ma" generally came and sat in the parlor while we were present, and "Ma," in ? the estimation of at least one person, if not two, at such times was very much out of place. The Sefton girls' parlor in winter and their front door "stoop" in summer were favorite resorts for all the girls of our "set," who, if they could not see their youthful admirers at home, were pretty sure of doing so at the Seftons'. There was a bit of front yard, shaded by tall sycamores, and fronting the door was a big unhewn stone, serving as its single step and worn smooth by the tread of generations of Seftons. The little hallway and that stone often held large audiences on summer evenings?protracted meetingseven unto the going down of the full or bed moon at eleven, twelve, aye, one o'clock in the morning, or until Mother Sefton's nightcapped head was seen aud her good-humored voice from an upper window heard, saying, "You young folks; it's time for you all to be home and abed." Said Mary Sef ton to me: "Now don't you lie away five years, like Jerry Black." Jerry Black had sought fortune in China, nf fKa ovmrotinn nf O flm VOfiPC1 Cm'nimi auu av wo avivu vi u m> v j .. had returned without it. Our people were always drifting to the ends of the earth seeking wealth. A sea port is an open door to foreign lands, and so influences the young to venture out earlier and oftener than from places more inland. Three years was the longest most of our company expected to remain in California. The current idea then regarding the country ran thus: "Some of us will dig gold; some will go into trade. The profits will go into one common purse. At the end of a year or two there will be a dividend. We shall receive some thousands each. With this we may return home, marry and settle down." I do not say this was my dream. On the whole, I do not think I had then any plans for the future. I was going away because it seemed to me everybody who cared for me at all cared most that I should go away. This being an opportunity, I embraced it. The current had come to me and sucked me in. I had not gone to it. The world would bustle me about with it. I wished it would let me alone. CHAPTER II. BLANCHE. Blanche and I strolled about the door yard. The gate was half open?its normal condition ?and a proper one as indicative of the easy, happy-go-lucky disposition of the parent Seftons. Capt. Tommy, the father, ran a sloop to New York. His real home was on that craft, and it was a saying among the villagers that he could pilot her through Long Island sound and the East river with his eyes shut. His daughtere made frequent trips with him to the city. The "old man" was most at home when it blew, and blew hard, to the consternation of Mary and Phcebe, who would implore him at such times to put in at some of the sound harbors on the north shore of Long Island. But no wind blew too hard for Blanche, though so far as outward seeming went, her's was an equal placidity in storm or calm. As a boy, I had looked upon Blanche as one of the "older girls"?girls already treading the shore of womanhood, and girls soon to consummate the great aim and end of life?as life was regarded in our village?matrimony. Recently, I had timidly ventured Blanche some attentions, and was pleased and surprised to find that she had accepted them with apparent pleasure. She had a queenly way with her. In my own private colloquies, which I never talked to any one, I called her the "Empress;" and often, as I saw her walking the street, did I lament that such a face and form should ever become worn and wasted with the laboi-s and cares of the every-day commonplace life about us. "Blanche is the muni of our family." was Mother Sef ton's frequent remark. She seemed to stand in some awe of this daughter. Blanche was not imperious or arrogant; yet something about her kept every one at the distance she desired to keep them. It was not so much what she said or did, but something she made you feel; and rebel against it as much as you might, you could not break through the barriers she chase to put up at any distance she pleased. For this reason Blanche was not a general favorite. People said she was "stuck up" and "put on airs." Her real off ease lay in her keeping her own counsel. She did not tell all she knew regularly every day to half a dozen friends, leaving with each one the idea that they were honored with her special confidence. I had admired this girl all my life. "When I say "all my life," I mean the life of a boy who worships a queen at a distance?the boy of fifteen, who sees that queen surrounded by older courtiers. This I had seen?felt is the better word?when I was navigating mud puddles barefooted and barelegged. Her world seemed as one never to be reached by me. Yet within the last year an unpremeditated acquaintance and friendship had grown up between myself and Blanche Sefton. How it commenced I could hardly tell. I found myself talking with her on subjects which seemed of little interest to my other companions. I was surprised to find that I could talk with her at all. I had imagined that the thought and conversation of these "grown-up young women" lay on topics I could not comprehend. All women over a certain age seemed as possessors of some secret not yet revealed to me. We walked for some time in silence through the main street of the village, its sidewalks shaded by the great sycamores, reached the outskirts, crossed the bridge leading over Pond creek, and reached a wooded promontory jutting into the Cove. The moon shed a glittering, tremulous mark far over the beautiful expanse of water, and the katydids were filling the warm Augast night with their calls. It was one of the enchanted nights of our North American summer. "Well, John," said Blanche, "you are going away with the rest. What are you going for;" "I don't know," I replied, "and I don't care." "Do you really want to go?" she asked. "I do and I don't. There's no home for me here. That's why I leave it." "But you will come home rich and take care of your mother, and marry " "Marry, marry, marry!" I exclaimed impatiently. "It seems to me that's all people think of in this world." She laughed in her own pleasant way and said, "Why, John, you take a gloomy view of things to-night. You need cheering up. What a pity I'm not going to California with vou." "What a pit)' you are not," I ventured at last to say, and I said it very seriously; I had little idea of badinage or saying during things in a sportive way. Finally I added, "Would you go if you could f "I would," she replied decisively. Her manner and bearing seemed suddenly to change. "What! all by yourself in the Ann Mary Ann, with seventy men ou board ?" "I'd go all by myself in the Ann Mary Ann with 500 men on board." "Why, what do you want to go for?" "To see the world," she replied. "Wasn't it made for women as well as men?" "I suppose so." was my rather doubtful reply. "But what would you do in California?" "I'd find something to do. See here, John," said she. with an access of energy; "here's thousands of men and boys going there from all parts of the country. Don't you think you'll need women? Who is to do your cooking and washing and mending? Its just the mistake you're all making not hiking women along with you. Why, women will lie worth their weight in gold out there. Do you think you can live without them? If I was able I'd send out two or three on shares myself, just as Judge Gardner is sending that thick-headed Bill Roper, with the idea that Roper will ever send a cent back. Now, ; if I had mv wav I'd lit out Louisa Bird aud Mary Talinadge ami Sophronia Stebbins, bright, lively girls, who have hands to work with and wits in their heads, and I'd go my| self along with them." "Well," said I. after a pause, "I think, Blanche, that you and I ought to change j places. You to go, I to stay behind." "John, I certainly think we ought. Anyway, I wish I had your chance. I've got the j fever as bad as any of you?much worse j than you. I plan it all out in my mind, sometimes, bow I'll disguise myself as a man ?a boy, rather?and serve as cabin l?oy 011 some ship bound out there. But there are other ways of getting there," added she, reflectively. Then, resuming her former tone, she added: "I'd go to take "ure of you, too," accompanying the remark with one of her smiles, which left one in complete doubt as to the sentiment which prompted it. "You think, then, 1 need some one to hike care of nie'f" I asked. "Yes; I do, indeed. You're fit now only for a victim. You trust everybody who smiles on you, believe everybody who speaks fair, and would give your head away, if you could, to any one who asked for it." "Well," I said, showing possibly in my tone some annoyance, "you're frank enough, anyway. Why don't you call me a goose and be done with itf' "Forgive me, John," said the girl, her manner suddenly shading to tenderness. "I know it's not pleasant for you to hear this. I don't want to pain you. But you're going away? going out in the world among men, hard, cold, merciless men?yes, and women, too? wolves who'll devour you alive." She advanced and laid her hand on my shoulder. The movement seemed almost unconsciously done, nor bad I ever before seen her show such feeling. For a moment her reserve and habitual control vanished. She continued: "John, the real reason I said this is because it was forced out of me. It is because you are going away from me, jierhaps forever, and I " Then she did what none had ever before seen grown-up Blanche Sefton do. She turned aside. I knew she was weeping. Here was a pretty go. Why, the girl loved me! And, of course, I loved her?had loved her for years, had looked on her as among the impossibles, unconquerables, 1*1attainables. Here was the " Empress," jthe majestic iceberg, melted into tears. Here was the heaven I had never dared aspire come to earth?m}- earth. Here was the last drop in the cup of bliss to make Eastport more desirable than ever to me?and the Ann Mary Ann to sail to-morrow morning, my traps all on board, mv chest stowed with clothes, and the interstices filled with tracts and devotional books, gifts from my numerous aunts?I was wealthy in aunts then?all of whom were glad I was going away. " Von are going away from me, perhaps forever." I did wot act in the conventional lover style. There was no kissing nor clasping. I was astonished?more, I had sense enough to respect the girl's emotion. I felt intuitively that she had herself never dreamed of being betrayed into such an avowal. There seem times, conditions, circumstances occasionally coming into combination to more human natures in deeper and lower depths than I those who are moved ever dream exist in them. . Blanche's hand had dropped from my shoulder. We stood a little apart. I felt I mast say something, and so I made that stupid and commonplace remark: "Why, Blanche!'' The tears were being forced back, and I could feel the Blanche of old also coming again and resuming der former seir, ana sway over self. "John, let's go home,'1 said she. She took my arm. We walked back through the now; quiet and deserted street in silence, and passed through the ever half-o|K>ued gate. We halted on the old door stone but for a moment. Her eyes and mine met, but in a half-averted glance. I took her hand, and, venturing a timid pressure, said: "Good night. Blanche." "Good night, John." I jKissed out of the gate, and in the thick foliage aliove rung the incessant affirmation and contradiction: "Katy did! Katy didn't!" CHAPTER III. SEPARATION. All Eastport was astir next morning to see the Ann Mary Ann off. Eastport's single long wharf was crowded with relatives and friends of those departing?relatives is the most proper term, for this was a long settled community, dating its first planting but twenty years after the landing at Plymouth. The names of the first settlers were still the predominant ones, both in our village and the "towns," as we called the exclusively agricultural villages a few miles back in the country. Eastport was the harbor for three. their commercial city on a very small scale.' Every old family could trace some degree of consanguinity more or less remote with every other family through marriage, perhaps, in this century or the one preceding. It was no idle throng upou that wharf, atr tracted by mere curiosity. There were fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, first, second and third cousins, grandfathers and grandmothers, sweethearts and wives. The sailing of a whaler with a score of townspeople on board was no new thing, but the mission of those leaving in this case was different, and the seventy on board represented, as to life and enterprise, the very elite of the place, myself excepted. I had shipped before the mast, and coming on board about uine in the morning, dressed in my best, had been immediately pounced upon by Mr. Pell, our second mate, and ordered to "take off them duds and turn to in my working toggery." So I buried my broad- j cloth suit in my chest, bode it adieu, ami. j making my appearance on deck in white duck j trousers and a flaming red flunnel shirt, was j ordered bv Mr. Pell to catch the ship's pig, roaming then at will about ducks, and "clap him in his pen." Mr. Pell was a tall, gaunt, tough, hardened man, with one eye, and a hand and arm tanned by exposure to tropic suns to the color of mahogany. He seemed all bonesworking bones, and the one impossible thing 1 for Mr. Pell to do, while awake, was to sit still, and the next impossibility with him was to allow others to sit still, if it was in his power to prevent them. Mr. Pell belonged to one of our secondclass families. There were first and second- I class families in and about Kastport, and a certain unnamed, uutalked distinction always existed between them, and had so done j for generations. More than one of the older 1 families could produce well attested evidences j of lineage with the aristocracy of the mother- | j laud, and 110 change of fortune or station could ever rid them of a certain bearing savoring of blood and pedigree. They might go { before the mast, serve as boat steerers, learn I the trade of cooj>er, the principal mechanical j calling of the place, but the manner ever ! ! clung to them. Now Mr. Pell was not one of these. He i prided himself on being a common man?a J very common man. Anything in the least ; | degree bespcakiug "puttin' on airs," as Mr. j j Pell expressed it, was very repugnant to him. I j The Pells had always lived 111 an unpumteu : j frame house on the "back street," and in j j their sandy back yard "pi;; weed" seemed to j i grow more luxuriantly than elsewhere. The j j shore Pells fished and dug clams for a living. I ! The sea PelLs would rise to the position of j j second mate, seldom any higher. As boys | j the Pells learned almost in their infancy to j j chew tobacco. At the district school they j j received the hardest whippings with the ; most unconcern. This was Sam Pell, second mate of the Ann j Mary Ann, and I was one of the ancient house of Holders, scampering under his j orders after an obstinate pig, and all this in full view of various meml>ers of the proud Holder family?and not only the Holders, j but the Talmudgcs, the Osbornes, the Wester- | bees, the Hillyers, the Carys, the Wick ham* and the Rysams! I caught the brute at last [ J by the hind legs, which he worked to and fro ! with the vigor and regularity of u piston ml, ; setting up at the same time a squealing that j j rose far above the rest of the clamor and directed every eye ujm>u myself. Mr. Pell, I ; think, enjoyed this, and to prolong it took 110 ; j notice of me and sent no one to my assist- [ ! auce, though a short time previous he had [ found time and opportunity every few minj utes to give additional directions regarding i this marine boar chase. In the midst of this ridiculous situation my eye fell 011 Blanche Sefton, standing by a wharf post, a little apart from the crowd. Her face woro an expression of sadness. There was some luughiug and gulfuwiug among tne crowd, and occasionally niocK directions were cried out to me in nautigal phraseology regarding the proper navigation of the unruly animal. One ancient salt advised me to "luff," another "to put her helm hard down," while a third told me to "haul aft the spanker, wear ship and run for the caboose." The climax was reached when a jovial mariner raised the whaleman's heartstirring cry, "There she blows!" I caught the brute at lasL The boys bred in Eastjiort were in a sense half sailors, without having ever been to sea. The atmosphere and sentiment of a sea me penetrated every family and permeated every life. None of us were in the strictest sense "greenhorns." We came to "know the ropes" sometimes earlier than Ave could read. Our principal sport was that of going aloft on the ships as they lay at the wharf. We knew also of the strictness of the sea discipline, and that from the moment the foremast hand went over the vessel's side he was the slave of the officers. I kneAv this full well. Indeed, I was afraid of Sam Pell. I had heard stories of his hardness and cruelty to sailors. He was one of your "knock down and drag out" mates, and he reveled in this reputation. I felt in his present treatment of me a foretaste of Avhat was in store during the voyage. He might not heat me. but an officer Avho is "down on" a sailor can make his life uncoin- | fortable in a hundred ways; and I felt that Pell Avas "doAvu on me." Mr. Pell on this occasion had, it seemed to me, heaped the cup of indignity upon me to overflowing. That is, from my jmint of vieAA'. From that of a sailor and an officer j the case AA*as entirely different. As to maritime law, custom, usage, all the right la}* on his side. It Avas his place to order, mine to obey. I Avas in a temper?not the temper of cool bravery, which, having counted all costs, determines Avhat to do and adheres to such determination. Mine Avas the temj)er j of a lunatic. I let go the pig's legs and Avalked toAvard the gang plank. "Gc back to your duty!" roared Pell. All Eastport Avas looking at me. In theatrical parlance," I had the Avhole stago to myself. I said nothing and stepj>ed upon the gang plaint. ' Go back to your duty,'1 again roared Pell. He stepped between me and the gangwuy and laid liis hand on my shoulder. I brushed it off contemptuously. He grabbed my hair and swung me half round. I struck him in the face. Mr. Pell knocked me down. At that moment Capt. Lauriug came out of the cabin. "What's all this about?1 he demanded, as his eyes fell on the situation then presenting itself. Mr. Pell had been struck a pretty hard blow, It was new to his experience to be struck by a foremast hand. Ho was as much astonished as angered. "That whelp there," said he, "refuses fluty and has struck me." "What! Refuse duty and strike an officer before the ship's clear of the dock <" crio l the captain. "Holder, take your chest and traps ashore. You can't go on this ship." "I don't want to," was my reply. "No words back, young man, so long as you're on this deck," replied the captain. "Mr. Pell, see that this man's things are put on the wharf directly." I walked ashore and my luggage soon fol So I left the Ann Mary Ann, in full view of my towusjjeople. I did not remain upon the wharf. I walked anil kept on walking. I knew not, eared not, whither. I left the village and went into the forest, with which Eastport is thickly surrounded. I found myself going past the two lieautiful lakes? our skating j Kinds in winter?then over a salt water creek crossed l?y a hit of bridge. Mile after mile so I traveled on. reckless, angry, ashamed, discouraged, despairing, flitting from mood to mood, from resolution to resolution. Oh, if I could lmt live in these woods?live on walnuts, bar':, leaves, anything?sleep under the trees without discomfort, that I were not fettered and a slave to a house, a table, three meals a day and the thousand necessities with which man has burdened himself. That I were us independent of these people about me as were the ducks I startled from the salt water jionds near the beach. I found myself ui>on a high poiut of land at the harbor's entrance?full six miles from the wharf (in my unnoted wanderings anil turning, I must have traveled twelve.) I looked up. The Ann Mary Ann was lief ore me, about half a mile distant in the main channel, with every sail set that would draw, and as the watch "bowsed uway" on the main tack I heard coming over the water the strains of the old sea sous with which I was familiar: "Oh, the bully boat's a cninin', Don't you hear her sails a hummin'." The Ann Mary Ann was u pretty sight in her cloud of white canvas, and the life, animation and joyousuess apparent on board might have mocked me, but for a thought which suddenly flashed ujiou me. I said aloud to the departing vessel: "I'll be there before you, my tine fellows," and I knew I should. Hut liowi CHAPTER IV. 8UKI>:tISE. "Well, what are you going to do now?" asked my mother with that expression which to me said so forcibly: "Oh, this impractical, inefficient son of mine.'' "I am going to Mew York, bag and baggage, to-morrow," I said. "Don't lie alarmed, I shan't hang about home, and I shan't trouble you for many a year to come." I intended going to Mew York with the general purjiose of escaping Eastport. which now was for me unendurable. What, definitely, I should do when there, I knew not?save that in some way I should get to California. Of moii"y my store was very slender. I was casting myself on the broad uncertain sea of chance. A boy came to the house with a note lor me. It read: "Meet me to-night after dark where we last talked. Blanche Nekton." All day I kept aloof from the village. At night I went thither. The girl was there now, all herself, calm and self-possessed. "John," said she. "I am going to ask of you a favor?a great favor. Will you grant it?" "Anything you ask." I said, impulsively. "Anything is a big word. AVliut 1 a-k of you may not be so easy to grant as you imagine. I want to put something in your hands. What, you are not to know until you have left this village, for I le 1 that you will leave, and that very soon. What you receive from nit* I want you to use us I direct. That is all. Can you promise me that;" I was eager enough to promise. Tlie thought of Blanche Sefton's asking of me a favor?something apparently of more than ordinary iniportanee, the reflection that she deemed me worthy of a serious trust?compensated for all I had recently sulfered. She put in my hands a sealed packet, "liemember," said she. "not to be opened until you are in New York, and when ojiened its directions to be implicitly obeyed." "I promise," was my reply. "That's a good boy." she said. "Now, let me kiss you." And she did so. Kissing among the young people was in Eastport a regular business. At their parties all the plays had kissing as their grund aim and end. Indeed, the play seemed merely us a pretence for the kissing. I hail never looked with much favor upon these indiscriminate osculatory melees, and when forced by circumstances, I had taken part in them, it was always with a feeling of indifference?almost disgust. Still, I supposed that it was the thing to do, since it was a part of the life around me. 1 had noticed that Blanche Seftou never participated in these "plays." Bluuchu was not a kissablo girl. I shall not attempt by any of the numerous hackneyed phrases to describe my sensations at that moment. They would go astray of my meaning. The time, the place, the circumstances, the withdrawal from tho immediate range of Eastport's petty gossipping, meddlesome sphere, seemed to place nie in another world, whose standard of life, action, motive and impulse were entirely different from this. In that kiss I seemed to feel Blanche's purity of soul and depth of affection?a nature luxuriant in every department of l>eing, capable of a tempestuous abandonment, yet capable also of perfect control at any moment of ecstacy. Externally it was but the pressure of a rich pair of lips, but if there be witRin lis other and finer senses than .our material ones, these seemed in that momentary contact to absorb and retain a portion of the intellectual? and spiritual richness and nobility of that girl's being. Nor did her act make me bold or presuming. On the contrary it seemed to bring me a realization of respect almost amounting to reverence for Blanche Sefton, which I hail never felt before. It oeemed to me as an inspiration to become more manly, more courageous, more energetic; not the inspiration of a moment, but kv/ " That's a good boy," she said. one to remain by me many a year after. Her caress, too, had in it something of motherhood, something I longed for, but found not at home, something which every man needs as a protection?protection against degradation. "Perhaps you think I'm very bold."1 said ahe. "I think I understand you," I replied. "I believe you do. Otherwise, I could not do as I have done. You must feel yourself very much complimented, too," she added, in a lighter tone, "for you are the lirst of your sex I ever kissed in my life." Here I wanted much to say something very polite and gallant. But all the words coming into my mind for such expression seemed to savor so much of the mawkish no.vel that I felt it a profanation. I said, quite without nrrtmo/lifntinn tlT thnilL- vnil " Oil the whole. I think I said about the l>est thing I could. 51 y tongue was not so tied afterward. Hand in hand we walked to and fro on a level, grassy space lying along the edge of the bluff overlooking the Cove's waters. We talked?well, of thiugs belonging to our own world?as if we were navigating together rivers, creeks and inlets, barred to the majority. I know now she led the conversation on these subjects to divert my attention and ease my mind of the strain to which it had been recently subjected. The village clock struck two. "These are unseemly hours for Eastport," said Blanche. "We must go home." We walked again to the half-opened gate, and again parted, not without another kiss? this one mutual. Between us passed neither pledge nor bond, spoken or inferred. We parted as if but for a day. Blanche's last words were, "Remember, now, your promise!" CHAPTER V. ut'uu rvnvT) My chest, which had lteen carted hack to my mother's house. I had removed that very night to the ferry l>oat which communicated with the terminus of the railroad leading to New York. I went on tho boat in the morning, l>efore any other passengers came down, and kept myself out of sight. My leave taking with my mother was a brief affair. We had eaten a silent, comfortless breakfast. At its conclusion, taking my hat, I said, "Well, mother, I'm off for good now." Perhaps it was a presentiment that my words were true that made the change in her manner. With a softness unusual to her she said: "But, my son, what are you going to do? Where are you going?" "Never mind now," I said. "I've talked enough before of my plans. Now I'll keep sileut. I've an idea that talking things out leads to bad luck. I'm going away, that's all. So good-by." She said nothing, took my hand and kissed me. I never recollected having been kissed by her before. She may have done so when i was un mi ant. ravors ot mat sort arc not appreciated or rememliered during that tender period. This was not from lack of feeling or affection. It came of that reserve and repression of all external signs of emotion bred in the bone way back through I know not how many generations of Puritan and Roundhead ancestry, until not only had outward sign of emotion been considered as bordering on an impropriety, but the very ability to manifest it bad been destroyed. It was a turning of the softer side of human nature inward anil the harder outward, and the fruitage was harshness and austerity: not intentional, but the natural growth of unnatural lives. I left the house, wondering if it was in tha natural order of events that proofs of affection, parental and otherwise, must come at the last moment, like the best dish at dinner being placed la-fore one for a second and then snatched away. In a few hours I was in New York. Taking a room at a hotel I shut myself therein, ami opened the packet received from Blanche. It contained Irills to the amount of and the following note: "I desire you to accept this money from mo as a loan, with interest at 7 per cent., for three years. This is business, you know. I'm glad for your sake you did not go on the Ann Mary Ann. You will go now to California as a gentleman should. Mind you take a cabin passage. Don't go in the steerage to save dollars. It doesn't save them at all. There was a Providence in that pig, and Pell, too? pigs both?to take you out of the ship. Shut up 011 board of her for live or six mouths, eating their coarse food anil leading their coarse life, would have put you back as many years. When you got to California you would probably have done us five-sixths of them will do?strike for the hardest and coarsest way of making a fortune, by digging and grubbing?the very way not to make it. If there is gold there, mind you, it's not for those who dig for it. unless they dig with their brains, and you eau't dig with your brains and work like a hod carrier and live on hod carrier's fure. So. my dear boy, live like a gentleman and you will have a gentleman's luck. Blanche." So this was the promise I had made?to accept a pecuniary favor of a woman. The unwritten code of the time held this as hardly the correct thing, unless you married the woman, when everything she had lie came yours, mm me iiivui, u ?m.u, i-r,nu< almost to bo one. Blunche had a few years previous been left a few thousand dollars by nil eccentric uncle, who, possibly recognizing something of her independent spirit, said, when closely questioned by some over-anxious relatives as to his reason for so doing, that lie believed Blanche was n girl who could use her own money for herself, and he wanted to give her a chance. lie didn't think, ho added, it was the fair thing that a girl's capital should lie salted down until some lazy loafer of a husband came along to use it, and generally lose it. He didn't care what she did with her money, so that she used it for her own pleasure in any and every possible way except that of hauding it over to a husband. "I give it to you," he remarked, "not to the man who, not content with robbing you of your name, wants your money along with it. Lend it, spend it, scatter it, do anything with it, except bring it, like a good little girl, to the chuckle-liead who wants to marry you for it." Uncle John Sefton was a nondescript in opinion, and seemed to take pleasure in holding none that were popular. He had been a privateersman?some said also a slaver, and Others a pirate?carried a bullet in one leg, the mark of which he was fond of showiug without much regard to time, place or fitness. 1 resolved to use the money. She had been diplomatic in not offering it as a gift, and in putting the transaction on a business footing. To refuse it under the present circumstances would result, I felt, in putting a great barrier between myself and Blanche. It seemed as if she said to me: "I am in this giving you the opportunity you need. You are no man if you quarrel with the instrument put in your hands because it does not come exactly in the manner you would have it." I could see in imagination, as clearly as though she stood before me, the way i:i which Blanche would have takeu back from me her gift. I saw her calmly listening to my statement and as calmly receiving from me the notes, and then continuing conversation on general topics as if the whole affair had not a feather's weight in her mind. But under all that seeming indifference I knew there would lie indiiniation. disannointmeut and wor^e?the delilierate laying aside of a feeling for me, something which I hoped to be more than interest?more than mere regard. I have said farther back that Blanche Seftou loved me. But I felt that her love, if once gained, could not be laid on the shelf, to be taken on and ofr at pleasure, with the certainty of always finding it there. No. It was a love only to be held by constant effort. I bought, the next day, my cabin ticket for San Francisco via the Isthmus. CHAPTER VI. WILLIAM BROENER. A month afterward I was in San Francisco. The Ann Mary Ann was creeping on the Atlantic somewhere uear the equator, with four or five weary months still between her and the Land of Promise. San Francisco was then simply a mercantile camp. Buildings were run up as are honths n conntrv fair. There was little idea of permanency. Everything was of the "makeshift"' order. I had on landing $125. I resolved to take one clear week, with no other purpose save to look about, amuse myself, and watch for whatever might turn up. I put up at the best hotel I could find and paid $50 in advance for a week's board, which granted to me the then almost unheard of luxury of a niche, called a room, to myself, a cot bed, a tin washbasin, a coarse towel and brown soap. True, the walls were but of cloth?cotton drilling. They did not shut out the sound of voices all around me, and at night the shadows of my adjacent fellow lodgers were sometimes prominently and clearh' thrown on my canvas from the light of the candles behind them, displaying them in the many unstudied attitudes peculiar to man on disrobing for bed. My right hand lodger had nightly great difficulty in getting off his boots. His figure, of heroic size, was so thrown on my canvas in the many irritating and uncomfortable positions into which a man is compelled ere he can make his heel budge from the position it ha? maintained all day. One night while so engaged I received an unexpected visit from him. In the midst of a harder tug than usual be lost his balance, fell over backward against the cloth wall, which gave way under pressure, and through the rent he rolled, boot still in hand, into my room. "Good eveniug," he said; without changing his position. "Hope I don't intrude!" " llope I don't intrudeln He was a stout, cojnpact, well-built man. apparent!}' of thirty, black eyed, black bearded, a clear, singularly white complexion, and an expression of more than ordinary refinement. In a tone very different from that of the reckless humor he had at first assumed, he said: "I Ix'g your pardon, but I lost my balance in trying to get this confounded boot off, and, as you see, the wall between as proved flimsy; and, as they say in the play, 'Here I am!'" "No offense under the circumstances, I'm sure," was my repjy. "I bought these boots iu the miues," said lie; paid two ounces for them, and they've given me no end of trouble. They object seriously to going on in the morning, and when once on object as strongly to going oil at night." This was Mr. William Broener. He was from the mines, and mining was his business. We drifted into sociability that night. The rent in the wall was not repaired next day, and remaining open soon developed a certain companionship between us. He seemed to like my company; certainly ho was attractive to me. We went about much together, and within the week our intercourse had grown to something beyond that of a mere "passing acquaintance." There was much in Broener attractive to men and women. Physically he was as tinea specimen of manhood as ever I laid eyes on. He was generous, and had an easy manner of dashing into people's companionship and confidence, which to me was both a source of admiration and irritation, since I lacked it entirely. Broener seemed at home everywhere, and on relatively familiar terms in any circle to which five minutes previous he.had been a total stranger, while I writhed in the bonds and fetters of a certain awkwardness and reserve which at times seemed to conqtel me to do and say the very things most calculated tn km.i) mo outside that utmosi>horo of socia I bility which I desired to enter uud breathe. Yet this to an extent constituted the bond between myself and Broeuer. He, knowing his power and keenly alive to its recognition and appreciation by others, liked to have about him an admirer like myself, whom in a sense he could take under his wing and protection. "Come with me to the mines," he said, a few days after our acquaintance had commenced. "I've a bit of a claim left and we'll work partners." I assented. To go to the diggings, directed and befriended by an experienced and lucky miner, was an opportunity seldom found in those days. I lay more than usual stress on the phrase "lucky miner." Gold diggers were compelled to believe in luck. Lucky men struck it rich wherever they went. These were sometimes in character the extremes of recklessness and dissipation. No matter. Their steps seemed directed, and where they went they turned up gold?often to be speut within a few hours. But the spree over they went plodding, poking about bar, flat or crevice, turning up more of the yellow metal in dust or chispax 1 while regular habits and sobriety worked I hard uud could barely make both ends meet. So marked were these phenomena that the inquiry was not uncommon on the part of those who had ventures to make < regarding the leading prospector: "Is he a tulh> iiiau* [to hk ("ontinl'kd nkxt wkkic.] Siiokt Summer Sermons.?Sift ' down de talk of do world's greatest men, an' when yon cum to extract de j bigotry, egotism, prejudice an1 selfinterest, you will have to look for de : quotient wid a spy glass. i Luv am a beautiful sentiment, an' ] de game of three-keerd montq am a swindle, but fifty people are downed : by luv fur every one swindled by < the keerds. < De public nebber stop to queshun i de troof of a scandal, and de man ' who climbs above us am never quite 1 forgiven. De room which a man takes upon i de sidewalk am no criterion to judge : of de amount of brains in his head. Hits er short row dat ain' got no i weeds in it ?Brother Gardner. ' (i)vi|)in?l ffletnr. Written for the Yorkville Knijuirer. FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. 11Y IXOOMAK. Farewell to the Muse, whose sweet flowing numbers Were wont to steal o'er me like dreams in sweet slumbers. And soothe all life's cares with a charm as sweet As th' Vale of Avoca, where th' bright waters meet. Farewell to the Muse!?'tis in sadness T write it,-My heart has grown aged,?my harp it is blighteil ; It now thrills no more to my touch or my words, For mv voice and my hands now evoke but discords. Farewell to the Muse! tho' full oft she did charm The davs of mv manhood when vountrlife was warm, And lent as sweet glow to the pleasures of life As the touch and the kiss of a fond, loving wife. Ah ! once I could sing in glad numbers as sweet As the nightingale's song which the twilight doth greet; Rut age's infirmity has crept o'er my lyre. And with age has vanished Promethean lire. Farewell thou sweet Muse! thou wert dear to my heart When young life was joyous,?but now we must part; For I sigh for seclusion,?for heart's ease I crave. -You go seek a young mate, and let wic seek?a grave! Notk.?The many fugitive squibs under the nom de plume of "Inoomak," the untaught savage, which, for many years, have lloated through the daily and weekly press of the country, and sometimes found their way into magazines, are now broughttoaclo.se; and so I deem it but right to acknowledge the paternity of the hitherto est ray orphans. With all their imperfections I claim them as the offspring of my fancy ; disowningonly the many typographical errors with which many of them are marred, aim nuuiu iu? uiiauuiwi i/.vu uuvimviw.iu made by publishers. Toall his readers "Ingomar" says?Hail! and?farewell! W. S. Lynch. Miscellaneous Ifcadiui). SAMUEL J. TILUEN. Samuel Jones Tilden, whose death occurred on the morning of the 4th instant, was born in New Lebanon, Columbia county, New York, February !), 1814, where his grand father John Tilden, settled in 1700, and where his father, Elam Tilden, wasa farmerand merchant. Samuel entered Yale College in 1838, but soon left that institution and graduated at the University of New York. He was admitted to the bar in 1841, and began practice in New York city. In 1844 the Morning News, a daily paper was established in New York to advocate the election to the Presidency of James K. Polk. Mr. Tilden invested capital in this enterprise and became the editor of the journal, which position he held until after the election. In 184") he was elected to the New York Assembly, and in 184G was chosen a member of the Constitutional Convention,where he was made a member of the Committee on Finance and Canals. In 1855 he was defeated as the "Soft Shell" Democratic candidate for Attorney General of New York. Mr. Tilden now devoted himself to his profession. His practice was very extensive, and by it he amassed considerable wealth. Besides other important cases he was counsel in 1856 for Azariah C. Flag}? in his case growing out of the contested election for the C'ontrollership of New York city; in 1857 for the relatives of Dr. Durdell against the claims of Mrs. Cunningham, and for the Pennsylvania Coal Company in the suit brought by the Delaware and Hudson Coal Company. Mr. Tilden became Chairman ofthe Democratic State Committee in 1806, and was a leading member of the Constitutional Convention of 1867, serving with distinction on the Finance Committee. He became an indefatigable laborer in the cause of judicial and political reform in the city of New York, and in 1869-70 was active in the formation of the Bar Association. When the contest was waged against the members of the "Tammany Ring" holding city offices, who were charged with defrauding the city treasury of many millions of dollars, Mr. Tilden rendered invaluable services to the cause of reform by his famous analysis of the accounts of the Broadway Bank, showingconclusively how the alleged culprits had shared their spoils, and furnishing legal proof for their conviction. In 1872 he was again elected to the General Assembly, where he continued hisexertionsin thecauseof reform. In 1874 he was elected Governor of New York by a plurality of 50,817 votes over John A. Dix, Republican, and Myron II. Clark, Prohibitionist. He was inaugurated January 1, 1875, and soon after declared war* against the "Canal Ring," which resulted in the overthrow of that organization. When the National Democratic Convention assembled in St. Louis, in June, 1876, Governor Tilden was the leading candidate for the first place on the ticket. On the first ballot he received 4081 of the 718 votes cast. When the vote for the second ballot was announced, uovernor Tilden had f>.V> in a whole voteof 738. The nomination was made unanimous, and he was declared the Democratic candidate for the Presidency. Jfe accepted the nomination in a brief speech on July 11th. His formal letter of acceptance was dated July 31st. He was elected to the high position to which he aspired, but was fraudulently deprived of the privilege of occupying the President's chair, Rutherford 13. Hayes being seated in his stead. Since this important event in his life up to the time of his death he has been living in dignified retirement at his home in New York. " MYSTERY OF THE GROWTH OF TREES. Mr. John T. Campbell explains in the American JVatarafixt, his discovery of one of the causes of the phenomena of particular tracts of land being covered with a simultaneous, nearly exclusive, growth of trees of a particular species. Some have ascribed the phenomena to a peculiar fitness of the soil to particular kinds of vegetation, which he does not find to exist. His own explanation is very simple, and is to the effect that the matter lies wholy or mainly in the fact of the ground being in a tit condition to receive the seeds of the various species when they fall upon it. Seeds of different kinds fall at various seasons, and when the ground is in various conditions as to moisture, etc. Those that find the ground in good condition sprout and grow, if no accident occurs to remove the plants when very young. Mr. Campbell has tested this view in his surveys in the occasionally flooded bottom-lands of the Wabash River, and illustrates it by following the futures of theseedsof three species of trees. The balls of the sycamore, or buttonwood begin falling early in the spring months, and if a flood is receding at the time, they stick to the soft moist banks wherever they touch them, and particularly along the highest parts of the sandbars. Were it not for the subsequent Hoods in the same spring no other trees L'ould grow, for these would occupy the ground. Rut they are easily killed during their infancy by overflows, and this is what happens to most of them. The cottonwood is the next in order of shedding seed, and jf another flood is receding while this is taking place it will have killed all the sycamores which it has covered, and sprout the cotton woods. These in turn may be killed by the next floods. It is the turn of the maples next to shed their seed and try for the ground. If either of these species succeeds in making wood without a Hood, it will .hold the ground, and its rivals will not be j able to get a place. Last spring the edges j of the successive plantations escaped the j floods after the seeds fell upon them, and : Mr. Campbell could see along the river ! banks three bolts of young trees, and distinguish by their general appearance. ! The upper belt was of sycamore, the secj ond (downward) of cottonwood, and the I third of soft maple. In June a bigger ! flood came than any that caused the seeds I to sprout, and killed all the young trees. E RN EST C ATEXIIU YSEX. The National Saengerfest which is now being celebrated in Milwaukee, is without doubt the grandest success yet achieved by the Xorth-western Saengerbund. For years it has been the custom of this association of societies to hold re-unions, and each succeeding festival has esclipsed its predecessor. Singing societies from all parts of the Union participate and the meeting usually winds up with a picnic and general jollification. The chorus in the present festival numbers from 2,000 to 3,000 voices and some of the most distinguished soloists have been engaged for the occasion. Ernest Catenhuysen, the general musical director of the Festival, has for years been associated with the musical affairs of the Northwestern Saengerbund. He took a prominent part in the Chicago and Buffalo re-unions. He is fifty-oue years of age and before coming to Ameri-v ca enjoyed the advantages of a thorough musical education ; studying in the musical centres of Germany, France and Italy; He was employed in the Iloyal Theatre of Berlin and just before his departure for America was engaged to play in the Royal Opera. Hard Workers.?There is one class of laborers who never strike and seldom complain. They get up at live o'clock in the morning and never go back to bed until ten or eleven o'clock at night; they work without ceasing the whole of that time, and receive no other emolument than food and the plainest clothing; they understand something of every branch of economy and labor, from finance to cooking; though harrassed by a hundred responsibilities, though driven and worried, though reproached and looked down upon, they never revolt, and they cannot organize for their own protection. Not even sickness releases them from their posts. No sacrifice is deemed too great for them to make, and no incompetency in any branch of their work is excused. No essays, or books, or poems are written in tribute to their steadfastness. They die in harness and are supplanted as quickly as may ho. These are the housekeeping wives of the laboring men. ? - ?? ?? Making Home Comfout anr.i:.?Men grow sated of beauty, tired of music, and often, too, wearied of conversation?however intellectual?but they can always appreciate a well swept hearth and smiling comfort. A woman may love her husband devotedly?may sacrifice fortune, friends, family, country for him. She may have the genius of a Sapho, the enchanted beauties of an Armida ; but, melancholy fact, if with these she fails to make his home comfortable his heart win inevitably escape her, and women live so entirely in the affections, that without love their existence is a void. Better submit, then, to household tasks, however repugnant they may be to your tastes, than doom yourself to a loveless home. Women of a higher order of mind will not run the risk ; they know that their feminine and domestic duties are their first duties. Blue, Gray .and Green Eves.?The New York Commercial Advertiser devotes an editorial to the relative merits of the blue eye, the gray eye and the green eye, citing well-known literary works as authorities. While it tries to be non-comI >v. nnr! uro i-ciw liot\rofin (mil' iind IlIllP iiiuuu aim >* cn vio m w ? as the desirable color, it does not hesitate to declare that "as a rule the green eye is not admired." Anthony Trollope does not appear among the authors cited, for if he did the green eye would have found a decided champion. In his novel. "The Eustace Diamonds," false, tricky and unprincipled Lizzie Eustace has eyes "blue and clear, bright as cerulean waters," while the author adds: "How few there are among women, few perhaps also among men, who know that the sweetest, softest, tenderest, truest eyes a woman can carry in her head are green in color." Tiie Boys Understood.?Some teachers know how to deal with boys. The members of a certain high school, after a long debate decided that the marking system was injurious and unfair, and petitioned the principal to abolish it. "We know," said the spokesman, "whether we have prepared our lessons or not; the record of an accidental miss may be quite misleading. There was a grand baseball I match impending in which the whole school was intensely interested. "Let us try it on the ball ground first," said the teacher. "In the coming match keep no score. You will know whether you play well or ill, and, as for errors, they are often pure accident; why record them ?" The boys smiled and withdrew. The reasoning was too much for them.?Xeic York Ledf/er. Floating Islands.?Three years after date the floating islands of pumice thrown up and into the sea by the stupendous volcanic eruption at Krakatoa, in the Java seas are found to have drifted along the Indian Ocean in the last twelve months, <57(1 miles in the direction west by south from where they were one year ago, or about live ifliles a day. This accidental help to hydrographers and all who study ocean currents and drift, is probably the ' 1 1 ' ? hAiimi.'A f L/l Al?l. ; U0SC lliev nave ever nuu, uruiuac mc ?rin of ihe pumice is well known, the j floating expanse of it is so large that it cannot escape notice, and the dates and other particulars about it are all matters ! of record. i IIe Could Kakx a Living Anywhere.?The following advertisement appeared in a German newspaper of the year A. I>. HMO: "Isaac Market, barber, wig-maker, school-teacher, shavesand cuts hair for two kreutzers; for which he also smears pomade on the hair. lie makes and patches boots and shoes, bleeds and applies leeches cheap. He teaches dancing at private houses, and sells perfumery of every kind, including axle grease, salt herrings, honey cakes, brushes, mousetraps, and other confectionery, including bitters for liver complaint, seed potatoes, sausages and other vegetables." 46T Life's harmony musr have its discords ; hut as in music pathos is tempered into pleasure by the pervading spirit of beauty, so are all lite's sounds tempered by love.