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ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY.
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ESTABLISHED 1855. " YORKVILLE, 8. C., TUESDAY, JANUARY U3, 1906. 1STO. 7.
' ' - - . - - - l- -S T~ iuu,s u A.
WORSE SI
A Tale of the Revoli
Upper C
By JOHN P.
CHAPTER IX.
An Intrigue.
T m not nnnr Int nnH ti mv PdaH^P trt
the library described in the last chapter,
where, beside a small table covered
with papers, and lighted by two tall
candles, sat Philip Lindsay, with a
perplexed and thoughtful brow. Opposite
to him, in an easy chair, reclined
his guest, Mr. Tyrrel; a man
whose appearance might entitle him to
claim something like thirty-five years;
and whose shrewd and intellectual expression
of countenance, to which an
air of decision was given by what
might be called an intense eye, denoted
a person conversant with the
business of life; whilst an easy and
flexible address no less distinctly announced
him one habituated to the
most polished society. The time of
this meeting corresponded with that of
the interview of Arthur and Mildred,
beneath the Fawn's Tower.
"It Is necessary only to premise that
these two had frequently conferred together,
within the last two or three
days, upon the subject with which they
were now engaged."
"Sir Henry Clinton does me too
much honor by this confidence," said
Lindsay. "He overrates my Influence
amongst the gentlemen of the province.
Truly. Mr. Tyrrel, I am well persuaded
that neither my precept nor my exam^
pie would weigh a feather 'in the
scales against the heady course of this
rebellion."
"We are seldom competent to judge
of the weight of our own influence,"
said Tyrrel. "I might scarce expect
you to speak otnerwise tnan as you ao.
But I, who have the opportunity to
?. know, take upon myself to say that
many gentlemen of note In this province,
who are at present constrained
by the fear of the new government,
look with anxiety to you. They repose
faith In your discretion and would
follow your lead. If an excuse be necessary.
you might afford them some
pretext of pastime to visit the Dove
Cote. Here you might concert your
plan to co-operate with our friends In
V the south."
" 'Tls a rash thought." replied Lindsay.
"this little nook of woodland quiet
has never yet been disturbed with the
dahates of men .who meditated the
spilling of blood. Go<} forbid that these
peaceful walls should hereafter echo
back the words that speak of such a
x purpose."
w "It Is to spare the shedding of blood.
Mr. Lindsay, and to bring speedy peace
to a cnsiraciea country, mai we invoke
you and other friends to counsel.
A single battle may decide the question
of mastery over the province. We are
well assured that the moment Lord
Cornwallls reaches the Roanoke?"
"Cbrnwallls has yet to win the
ground he stands upon." Interrupted
Lindsay: "there may be many a deadly
blow struck before he slakes his thirst
In the waters of that river: many a
proud head may be low before that
day."
"Think you. sir." said Tyrrel, rising
as he spoke, "that this patched and
ragged levy?this ague-stricken army
that Is now creeping through the pines
of North Carolina, under the command
of that pompous pretender. Gates, are
the men to dispute with his majesty's
forces their right to any Inch of soil
^ they choose to occupy? It will be a
merry day when we meet them. Mr.
Lindsay. We have hitherto delayed
our campaign until the harvest was
gathered: that Is now done and we
shall speedily bring this hero of Saratoga
to his reckoning. Then, following
at the heels of the runagates, his
lordship, you may be prepared to hear,
? within two months from this day. wid
be within friendly hail of the Dove
Cote."
"You speak like a boastful soldier,
Mr. Tyrrel. It Is not unlikely that his
lordship may foil Gates and turn him
back: such I learn to be the apprehension
of the more sagacious amongst
the Continental officers themselves;
but whether that mischance Is to favor
your Incursion Into this province may
be worth a soberer study than, I
doubt, you have given the question.
The path of invasion Is ever a difficult
road when It leads against a united
people. You mistake both the disposition
and the means of these republicans.
They have bold partisans In the
field, and eloquent leaders in their senates.
The nature of the strife sorts
well their quick and earnest tempers:
and by this man's play of war we breed
up soldiers who delight in the game.
Rebellion has long since marched beyond
the middle ground, and" has no
thought of retreat. What was at first
the mere overflow of popular passion
has been hardened into principle, like
a fiery stream of lava which first rolls
in a flood, and then turns into stone.
w The delusion of republicanism, like all
delusions, is embraced with more enthusiasm
than men ever embrace
truth. We deem too lightly of these
men and their cause, and we have already.
more than once, suffered for the
error. When they expelled Dunmore
they committed treason against the
British crown: and they are wise
enough to know that that cup. once
tasted, must be drained to the bottom;
> they have, therefore, imbrued their
hands the deeper in rebellion. They
have raised their idol of democracy
high, and have fenced It about with
the penalties of confiscation and death
to those who refuse to bow before it;
and now they stand pledged to the prosecution
of their unnatural war, by
such a bond of fate as unites mariners
wno nave raaniy vrmuiru iui m ujn>?|
l a racing sea. In a bark of doubtful
strength; their minds braced up, by
the thought of Instant perdition, to
the daring effort necessary to reach
their haven."
"That haven shall they never reach," J
cried Tyrrel Impatiently. "Let them
Invoke the aid of their patron devils!
We have a spell shall conjure them
JOE
mmm
utionary Struggle In
arolina.
KENNEDY.
back again to their own hell, else there
is no virtue in the forged steel which
these rebels have felt before."
"The battle is not always to the
strong," said Lindsay, "nor is the craft
of soldiership without its chances."
"If we had listened, my friend." said
Tyrrel, "to musty proverbs, Charleston
would have this day been in the secure
and peaceful possession of the enemy.
All that you say against our present
scheme was heretofore urged, though
not with such authority, perhaps,
against the invasion of Carolina. And
yet how prettily have we gainsaid the
prophets! Look at their principal
town surroundered?all the country
strongholds delivered up?the people
flocking to our standard for protection
?and the whole province lifting up a
voice of gratitude for the deliverance
we have wrought them. They are
even now arming themselves in our
behalf, whilst the shattered fragments
of the rebel force are flying to the
swamps and their mountain fastnesses.
Why should not the same game be as
well played in Virginia? Trust me.
Mr. Lindsay, your caution somewhat
overleaps that wholesome moderation,
which I do not deny is necessary to
check a too sanguine reckoning. Come,
good sir, lend us a more auspicious
counsel. Sir Henry relies much upon
your wisdom, and will not with good
heart, forego your service."
"Sir Henry has sadly disturbed my
repose," returned Lindsay. "To tell the
truth. I have no stomach for this business.
Here, I am native to the province;
I have found old friends separated
from me; early associations torn
up by the roots; and the elements
which fed my strongest personal attachments
poisoned, by this accursed
spirit of revolution. I would hide my
head from the storm and die in these
shades in peace."
"It is not for Mr. Philip Lindsay, nor
such as he," replied Tyrrel, "to desert
his sovereign in his hour of need."
'God forgave me for the thought,
Mr. Tyrrel, but it remains yet to be
proved who most faithfully serve their
sovereign; they who counsel peace, or
they who push war to its fatal extremes.
There lives not a man within
the realm of England, to whom I would
yield in devotion to the glory of our
country. Once make it clear to my
Judgment that "we may hope to regain
the lost allegiance of this province by
the sacrifice of life and fortune, and,
dearly as I cherish the welfare of
those around me, I will obey the first
summons to the field, and peril this
worthless existence of mine in bloody
fight. Yea. if need be. I will, with
my own hand, apply the torch to this
peaceful abode, and give it over a
smoking ruin to the cause."
"I know you too well," replied Tyrrel,
"to doubt the sincerity of your
words. But is it not obvious that the
war must inevitably tend to this field?
Having gained the Carollnas, should we
turn our backs as soon as we have
reached the confines of Virginia? On
tne contrary, does not every oDiigation
of honor Impel us to maintain and protect
our friends here? The conquest
of Virginia is an easier enterprise than
you deem it. If the Continentals can
muster ten thousand men. we, assuredly
may double that number, counting
our provincials levied in the south. We
have money and all the means of war,
whilst this crippled congress has drained
from the people their last groat;
their wretched troops will disband from
mere want of supplies. They may expect
no aid from the north! for there
Sir Henry will furnish them sufficient
motive to stay at home! We come animated
by victories, full of mettle and
vigor, they meet us broken by defeats,
dejected and torn to pieces by mutiny.
Never did treason or rebellion array itself
with more certainty of punishment
than this."
"I have read," said Lindsay, "how
John Hampden resisted the exaction of
twenty shillings of ship money, and for
that pittance dared the displeasure of
Charles and his Star Chamber; how he
voted the impeachment of the judges
who were supple enough to warrant
the imposition; how, in this cause, he
drew the sword and threw away the
scabbard; how he brought Strafford to
the block for levying war against the
commons of England: and through all
that disastrous time, have I read that
r"h:irl<i<s rirnmiaprt th*? rnvnliprs snlen
did victories, and derided the feeble
means of those who were in arms
against him; yet Hampden shrunk not
from the struggle. To me it seems
there is a strange resemblance between
the congress now sitting at Philadelphia
and the parliament of 1640; and
this George Washington might claim
kindred with John Hampden. I will
not seek for further likenesses."
"If I read that history right," replied
Tyrrel, "Hampden met his reward at
Chalgrove and Cromwell turned his
crop-eared parliament out of doors.
We may, perhaps, find a Chalgrove on
this continent?and Sir Henry Clinton
will most probably save the wiseacres
at Philadelphia from the intrusion of
an upstart Cromwell."
"It would be too bold in us to count
on that, Mr. Tyrrel. I am the enemy
of these men and their purpose, but I
cannot deem otherwise of them than
as misguided subjects of the king,
frenzied by the imagination of grievances.
They are men of good intelleets
anil honest hearts, mislead by
passion. I would that we could give
their tempers time to cool. I would,
even now. preach moderation and compromise
to his majesty's ministers."
"The die is long since cast," said
Tyrrel, "and all that remains now is
to take the hazard of the throw. At
this moment, whilst we debate, friend
and foe are whetting their swords for
a deadly encounter on the fields of
Carolina. It is too late to talk of other
arbitrement. Assuredly, my good
friend, our destiny directs us to this
province; and the time has come when
you must decide what course you will
take. It has been our earnest wish?
Sir Henry's letters, there upon the
table, anxiously unfold it?to have you
up and active in the cause. Why will
you disappoint so fair a hope?" i
"Alas! Mr. Tyrrel?it is a thorny path
you would have me tread. Think you
I am the man to win my way through
these intricacies? I that live in the
shelter of these woods by sufferance
merely?an unmolested outlaw, to ;
speak soberly, whom these fanatics of
liberty have forborne for the sake of
past acquaintance and present peaceful
habits? Am I not girded round I
about with the hot champions of lnI
dependence? Look amongst these <
I hills?there is not a cabin, not a wood- I ]
man s nut, no, nor stately aweinng,
whose roof defends one friend to the
royal cause, but my own. My lips are
sealed; my very thoughts are guarded,
lest I give room to think I mean to
fly from my neutrality. These papers
that lie upon that table might cost me
my life; your presence here, were your
purpose known, might consign me to
captivity or exile?one random word
spoken might give me over to the censures
of the power that holds its
usurped domination in the province.
What aid may be expected from one so
guarded, fettered, watched and powerless
?"
"And can you patiently," exclaimed
Tyrrel, "bow to this oppression? You,
a native born freeman of the province
?a Briton nursed in the sunny light
of liberty! Shall your freedom of
speech be circumscribed, your footsteps
be followed by spies and traitors, your
very inmost thoughts be read and
brought up to the censure of the judgment
seat? Shall these things be, and
the blood still continue to run coolly
and temperately through your veins?
There are Ills, Mr. Lindsay, which even
your calm philosophy may not master.
But, perhaps, I have mistaken your
temper; these evidences, at least, shall
not put you in peril," he said, as he
took up the letters from the table and (
held them over the candle, and tnen
threw the flaming mass upon the
hearth. "That fear, I hope, is removed;
and as for my presence here, one
word briefly spoken, and it shall not
not longer jeopard your safety."
Lindsay looked fixedly at his companion
as he destroyed the papers, and
then said with a stern emphasis?
"Your duty, sir, is in the field. You
have been bred to a profession that
teaches you blind obedience to orders.
It is not your part to weigh the right
of the cause, nor to falter in the execution
of any foul purpose of blood, so
that it come under the name of honorable
warfare. Therefore I excuse this
unbecoming warmth; but do not presume
upon the hazardous nature of
your calling, and fancy that It implies
more fidelity to the king than the allegiance
of his more peaceful subjects.
It Is a thought unworthy of you that
fear of disaster to myself?be it tenfold
more imminent than It has yet been?
should arrest my step in that path
where my country's honor, or my sovereign's
command, bids me advance."
"Worthy .and excellent friend," said
Tyrrel, taking Lindsay's hand, "I have
done you wrong. I am rash and headlong
in my temper, and my tongue often
speaks what my heart disavows.
I am little better than a boy, Mr. Lindsay,
and a foolish one; I humbly crave
your pardon."
"Speak on," said Lindsay.
"Then briefly this. Your situation is
all that you have described it. Sir
Henry is aware of the trial he imposes
upon you. He would have you act with
the caution which your wisdom dictatoa
anH If It ?hmil?i hwnma nPCPS
sary to speak that word which Is to
bring the wrath of the rebels upon
your head remember there is sanctuary
and defence under the broad banner
of England. Who so welcome there
as Philip Lindsay? Even at this moment
our councils should be tempered
by your presence, and it becomes almost
a patriotic duty to pluck you
from the seclusion of Dove Cote, and
give you a share in the stirring events
of the day. Sir, the country has a
claim upon your services, scarce compatible
with the idle contemplation of
this momentous trial of strength."
Lindsay h.id advanced to the window,
where he remained looking over
the moonlit scene. His companion
stood close beside him, and after a
short interval took his arm, when they
stepped forth upon the porch, and
sauntered backward and forward, as
Tyrrel continued.
"The government would not be unmindful
of the benefits you might confer.
There are offices of trust and dignity
to be filled in this province when
it shall be restored to its allegiance.
The highest post would not be unfitly
bestowed, if it should be assigned to
you. Sir Henry Clinton bids me speak
of that, as of a subject that has already
occupied his thoughts. It would
give grace and dignity to our resumed
authority, to have it Illustrated by the
accomplished scholar and discreet
statesman, who has, before this, discharged
important and difficult trusts
with a fidelity that has won all men's
esteem. And then, my dear sir," he
added after a pause, "who may say
that it shall not be Sir Philip Lindsay,
or even something yet higher??
a coronet would not be an honor unsulted
even to the wilds of Virginia.
His majesty is not slow to discern
worth, nor backward to raise it to
its proper station. These are toys and
baubles to you. Mr. Lindsay, but they
are still worth the -seeking. You have
a son to follow you."
"Ah! there, Mr. Tyrrel, you touch
me more nearly than you imagine.
You remind me by this language
that I also have a daughter. At to
Henry, he has a temper and a capacity
to make his own way through
the world. I fear not for him?nor
would I seek for honors to add to his
name. Hut my Mildred! You know
not what emotions the thought of
hup in ihi-sp troubles, cost me. Who
shall guard and defend her, whilst I
pursue this waylaid road of ambition?
What sanctuary would she find under
a war encircled banner, should misfor- <
tune assail me, and adversity separate
us? Alas, alas!?that is the spell that j
like a net cast over my limbs, makes
me feeble and submissive." j
"I have not been without my solic- <
itude. Mr. Lindsay, on that subject," ,
said Tyrrel. "You yesterday did me
the honor to say that my proposal in
regard to Miss Lindsay was not dis- ]
tasteful to you. Could my ardent
wish but be accomplished, she would
be placed in safety, assured of ample :
and kind protection. If, haply, her ;
thoughts should incline to a favorable
reception of my offer, which I would
fain persuade myself her reverance
for you may render not altogether
Improbable, when she knows that you
deem well of my suit, we might re- i
move her to Charleston, where, secure
amidst assiduous friends, she would
pass the brief interval of alarm, and i
leave you free to act on this theatre <
as your honor and duty may impel
you." ?
"Mildred will not leave me," said 1
Lindsay; "my dear daughter would
suffer a thousand deaths in the anx- i
lety of such a separation." <
"Then why not accompany her to i
unariesion: asuea xyrrei. mur i
presence there would be equally effi- <
clent as at headquarters?perhaps 1
more so.' 1
"There are other obstacles, Mr. f
Tyrrel. You talk of Mildred as if her i
heart were to be disposed of at my 1
bidding. You do not know her. I v
have long struggled to subdue an at- i
tachment that has bound her to our
ivorst enemy, I fear with little sue- ]
:ess. I have trusted to time to wear i
jut what I deemed a mere girlish lik- 1
ng; but it seems to me the traces fade i
>ut slowly from her heart. 1
"I know of whom you speak," said i
ryrrel?"that hair-brained enthusiast I
Butler. It is a freakish and transient i
mssion, and cannot but fall into for- 1
?etfulness. Miss Lindsay, has from s
drcumstances been but little conversant
with the world, and, like an i
nexperienced girl, has fostered in sol- 1
tude a romantic affection. That alone
should be a motive to remove her into r
i busier scene. Besides, this Butler i
nrill be himself forced to give over r
lis hopeless aim?if he has not done 1
so before this; measures are already 1
:aken and I do not scruple to tell you,
it my Instance?to confiscate his
ands in Carolina to his majesty's use. ?
rhe close of this war will find him s
senniless, and not unlikely, my dear 1
sir, I myself may be the possessor -
if his irrheritance?I have some s
pledge of the pre-emption of these j
ands at a small fee." t
"It will win you no favor with Mil- 1
Ired," said Lindsay, "To tell her that f
rou succeed by such a little to this a
nan's wealth. She Is a wayward
jirl, and is not used to crosses. Her 1
levotion to her purpose, as It some- t
times excites my admiration, gives a
ne, In the present case, cause of pro- i
ound alarm." t
"You have spoken to her on this
mbject?"
"I have not" replied Lindsay, "and j
ilmost fear to broach it. I can, there- t
fore, give you no encouragement.
Some litle time hence?perhaps to- j
norrow?I may sound her feelings, f
But remember, as her father, I claim (
10 right beyond that of advice. I j
shall think myself fortunate if, by
jiving a new direction to the current
)f her affections, I can divert her
nlnd from the thoughts of an alliance
;o me the most hateful?to her full
>f future misery. A maiden's fancies
Lre scarcely Intelligible even to a
ather."
"These subjects require meditalon,"
said Tyrrel. "I will not press
hem further upon your thoughts tolight."
?
"Heaven guide us in the way of
safety and happiness!" said Lindsay,
ilmost in a whisper. "Good night
ny friend."
When Tyrrel was left alone he
strolled forward to the terrace and
jasslng round to that end which over?ung
the cliff, near the door that
>pened from the library he leanid
his breast upon the parapet and
ooked down upon the wild and beau- j
iful scenery of the valley. The night
vas calm and full of splendor. The 1
ops of the trees that grew In the ra- \
cine, almost perpendicularly beneath ^
lis eye, here and there caught the
might moonbeam where It glowed like
silver, and the shades, rendered deeper y
jy the contrast, seemed to brood over 1
l black and Impenetrable abyss. Occasional
glimpses were seen of the '
"Iver below, as It sparkled along such '
portions of Its channel as were not 1
ildden In darkness. The coolness of '
:he hour and the solitude of the spot 1
ivere not ungrateful to the mood of '
Tyrrel's mind, whilst the monotonous
music of the river fell pleasantly up- 1
in his ear. He was not unheedful of 1
these charms in the scene, though his
thoughts were busily employed with a 1
subject foreign to their contempla- 1
Lion.
"Have I advanced," was the tenor
sf his present self-communion, "the *
purpose I have so much at heart, by
this night's conference? Could I but
engage Lindsay in the issues of this *
ivar, so commit him in its purposes
and its plots as to render his future
residence at the Dove Cote Insecure, 1
then would I already have half compassed
my point. Where could he '
remove but to Charleston? And there
amidst the blandishments of friends 1
and the allurements of gay society, I '
might make sure of Mildred. There. 1
out off from all means of hearing of
this Butler, and swayed, a-s she must 1
necessarily be, by the current of loyal
feeling she would learn to detest his 3
foul rebellion, and soon lose her favor 1
for the rebel. Then, too, the confisca- '
tion of his lands?but I am not so 1
sure of that!?she is rich and would
make a merit of -sharing her fortune '
with a man whose brave resistance of
oppression?for so, doubtless, Butler *
persuades her it is?has cost him his !
wealth: the confiscation should not '
seem, at lea*st to be my doing. Well '
well, let her be brought to Charles- 1
ton. Any change were better than to
remain here, where anxiety and suspense
and solitude nurse and soften '
her woman's affections, and teach '
her to fancy her lover whatsoever '
her imagination delights to think 1
on. Then may not the chances s
of war assist me? This Butler, '
ill men say, is brave and ad- 1
venturous. He should be short-lived.
Whatever ill may befall him cannot J
but work good to me. Yet Lindsay ?
has such a sickly caution?such scru- *
pie against involving himself in the
scheme?I could almost find it in my ]
heart to have it told amongst his
neighbors that he is in correspondence
with the enemy. Ha, that would be '
a bright device!?inform against myself!
No. no, I will not abuse his 1
generous nature. Let them come 1
fairly Into the fold, and I will guard '
his gentle lambkin like a very shep- 1
herd. Then if we make him governor
of the province?that will work '
well. Mildred will thank me for my 1
zeal In that good purpose, at least. *
and I will marry her and possess her (
estate, if It be only to enable her to J
be grateful to me. 'Twill be a brave
reward, and bravely shall It be won."
As Tyrrel1 ruminated over these topics,
In the strain Indicated by this
sketch, the noise of footsteps ascending
the rugged stairway of the cliff, and
the opening of the iron wicket, but a
short distance from where he leaned
over the parapet, roused his attention,
and put an end to this insidious
and selfish communion with his own
heart.
The cause of this interruption was
joon apparent. Henry and Mildred
* J ?1_ IU. -a
siuereu miuugii me gaie, turn uuincu
along the path to that part of the terrace
where Tyrrel stood. The shade
pf the house concealed him from their
dew until they were within a few
paces. "Ha, Miss Lindsay! You are
i late rambler," he said, In a tone of
rallantry. "The dampness of the valley,
at thlfc. hour, Is not altogether
?afe, the ague is a sore enemy to romance;
beware of It."
"I am not afraid of the night," replied
Mildred, as she Increased the
apldity of her gait; then, turning
mmedlately upon the porch, she alnost
ran, leaving Henry and Tyrrel in
pursuit, until she reached the farthest
vindow which was heard descending
he moment she passed through It
nto the parlor. When Tyrrel and
ftenry entered the same apartment,
she had disappeared.
"My sister la not well this evenng,"
said Henry. "We strolled too
ate upon the river bank."
"It was still an over-hasty retreat,"
nuttered Tyrrel to himself. "It bodes
lot well for me. I will wager, Hen y,"
he said, raising his voice, "that
[ can guess what you and your sister
lave been talking about."
"Let me hear," said Henry.
"First," replied Tyrrel, "she repeat>d
some verses from Shakespeare
ibout the moonlight sleeping on the
lank?this Is just the night for poetry
?and then you both fell to talking
lentiment, and then, I'll be bound,
rou had a ghost story, and by that
lme, you found you had got too far
rom the house and were a little
rlghtened, and so came back as fast
is you could."
"You are wrong," said Henry. "I
lave been telling sister Mildred how
o bob for eels. Did you know that
tn eel will never pass a streak of
noonllght for fear of being found out
>y the watchers?'
"Indeed I did not."
"Well, sister Mildred is wiser than
,'ou are; and as I have taught you
hat, I will go to bed."
Tyrrel was again left to resume his
neditations, and to hatch his plots
or Invading the peace of the Dove
?ote, on his pillow. To that sleepless
illlow he now betook himself.
CHAPTER X.
Tyrrel Retreats.
The neat morning Tyrrel rose with
he . fup^J^Je had passed a restless
light, and now sought refreshment In
he early breeze. With this purpose
le descended to the river, and strayed
ilong the dewy pathway which crept
hrough the shrubbery on the right
iank in the direction of the Fawn's
rower. He had not wandered far beore
he perceived a horseman movng
along the road upon the opposite
ilde.
"Hallo, James Curry! which way?
iVhat news have you?"
"I seek you, sir, I was on my way
o the Dove Cote," replied the horsenan,
who at the same time turned his
torse's head to the river, and, spurring
the animal forward, plunged into
he stream which was here still and
leep enough to reach above his saddle
laps. After some floundering, the
lorse and rider gained the margin,
vhere Tyrrel awaited them! The vlg>r
of the animal, as well as the pracIsed
hand that held the rein, was
ihown in the boldness of the attempt
o climb the steep bank and break
hrough the briers and bushes that
lere guarded It. As soon as Curry
eached the level ground, he dlsnounted.
"In God's name. man. what is the
natter with your face?" asked Tyr el.
"It is of that, amongst other things,
hat I came to speak to you," was the
eply; "I have news for you."
"Speak, without prelude. Tell me."
"Major Butler slept last night at
drs. Dimock's."
"And is there still?"
"No, sir. He started at early dawn
his morning."
"To join Gates?"
"I think not. He talked of going
.0 Ninety-Six?perhaps to Georgia."
V?a? TKo Vtoti'lr hnvora rtvo r
hat field! Does he travel alone?"
"He has a giant In his company,
i great ploughman by the name of
tforse Shoe Robinson. A quarrelsome
ascal: he would needs pick a quarrel
ivlth me last night. And In the sklr nlsh
I got this face."
"Did I not command you to bear
yourself peaceably? fool! will you
isk our lives with your Infernal
iroils? Now, I would wager you told
he fellow your name."
"Little need of that, sir. He told
t to me; said he knew me before.
The fellow, for all his rough coat, is
i regular trained soldier in the rebel
service, and has met me somewhere?
Eieaven knows!?I don't remember
ilrn; yet he Isn't a man to see once
uid forget again."
"And me, did he speak of me?"
"He knew that I was in the employ
if an English gentleman who was
lere at the Dove Cote. I have nothing
especial to complain of in the
nan. He speaks soldierly enough; he
?Ud he would take no advantage of
ne for being here as long as our visit
tvas peaceable."
"Humph! And you believed him.
\nd you must fight with him, like
i brawling knave. When will you get
tn ounce of wit into that fool's head!
What time of day was it when this
tiutier arrived .'
"Long after nightfall."
"Did you understand anything of
he purpose of his visit?"
"He talked much with Mistress Dlnock.
and I think their conversation
related to the lady at the Dove Cote,
i could hear but a few scattered
vords."
"Away. Here (throwing his purse
:o the horseman), pay up your score
it the Inn, and at your greatest haste
ittend me on the river bank, Immellately
below Mr. Lindsay's house.
(\sk Mrs. Dlmock to have a breakfast
prepare'! for me. Away, I will expect F
you in half an hour." o
Curry mounted his horse, and E
choosing 'a more convenient ford than b
that which he had passed (for the
jutting rocks, on this side, prevented s
his reaching Mrs. Dlmock's without ti
redrosslng the river to the road), he 11
soon regained the track, and was S
seen, almost at high speed, sweeping tl
around the bsse of the Fawn's Tower, y
Tyrrel returned hastily to the Dove p
Cote, and, seeking his valet, gave or- I
ders to have his portmanteau packed, y
his horse saddled and to be in waiting
for him at the foot of the hill. These s;
commands were speedily obeyed, and s:
everything was in readiness for his h
journey before any of the family had P
made their appearance in the break- si
fast room. n
While Tyrrel meditated writing a o!
line to explain to Lindsay his present h
sudden movement, and had drawn
near a table for that purpose, he was k
saluted by the voice of Henry, who
had entered the apartment, and stolen "
unobserved almost Immediately be- d
hind his chair.
"Booted and spurred, Mr. Tyrrel!"
said Henry. "You are for a ride.
Will you take a fowling-piece? There tl
are pheasants over upon the hills." ai
"Oh, ho! Master Henry, you are up! w
I am glad of it. I was Just writing
a word to say that business calls me si
away this morning. Is your father 31
yet abed?" d<
"He is sound asleep," said Henry; B
"I will wake him.' a
"No, my lad. You must not do
that. Say I have received news this k
morning that has called me suddenly o:
to my friends. I will return before r'
long. Is your sister stirring?" H
"She was in the garden but a mo- eI
ment since," replied Henry: and the
young man left the room, to which he b
returned after a short space. "Sister bl
Mildred is engaged in her chamber, A
and beg* you will excuse her," said
he as he again entered the door. ^
"Tush, Henry, I didn't tell you to u
Interrupt your sister. Make her my
most respectful adieu. Don't forget C
it. I have all my way to win," he
said to himself, "and a rough road to n'
travel. I fear." hi
Tyrrel now left the house and de- H
scended to the river, accompanied by h:
Henry, who sought In vain to know hi
why he departed In such haste as not
to stay for breakfast. James Curry
waited below; and when Henry saw
his father's guest mount in his saddle
and cross the ford attended by his two ^
servants, he turned about and climbed
up the hill again, half singing and
half saying to himself?"I'm glad he's ^
gone, I'm glad he's gone," accompan- 2
led with a trolling chorus, expressive p
of the satisfaction of his feelings at E
the moment. "He'd a got a flea In his f)
ear. If he had stay'd. I should like to
know what Major Butler would say to ^
Mr. Tyrrel, If he was to meet him. )r
Zooks! maybe Butler will see him this {(
very morning at Mrs. Dlmock's. Now, t
I wonder! Shall I whisper that to sister
Mildred? She would be glad., for ^
one, I'll be bound! Maybe, they might t]
have a fight. And If they do let Mr.
Tyrrel look out! He never had his t|
bread so well buttered In his life, as w
it would be then."
a
In such a strain of cogitation and ^
conjecture, Henry reached the parlor, ^
where he found Mildred. The melan- j.
choly that hung upon her spirits, the j
evening before, seemed to have been ^
dispelled by the repose of the night, j
and was doubtless relieved, in part by
the intelligence that Tyrrel had quitted ,
a
the Dove Cote. ^
"Come, sister," said Henry, throwing
his arm round her waist, and almost ^
dancing, as he forced her through the
open window, "come, it will be a good
while before father Is ready for his ^
breakfast. Let us look at your flowers;
I have something to tell you."
"You are quite an important personage.
this morning," replied Mildred, ^
moving off towards the lawn with her
s<
KrntVior uVnnr fn Innlra oa u'Ihp qq
a book of proverbs."
It was some time before the brother b
and sister returned to the parlor, and e'
when they, did so, their father had not r'
yet appeared. The delay was unusual; n
for Lindsay generally rose at an early 31
hour, and frequently walked abroad "
before his morning meal. When he at b
last entered the room, there was an n
qj
expression of care and thought upon
his brow that made him haggard. Mildred,
as was her custom, approached w
him with a kiss, and taking both of 1
his hands, as she looked up in his face, e
she said, with some earnestness?
"You are not well, my dear father." n
Lindsay paused a moment, while he b
gazed affectionately upon her and then a
pressing her to his bosom, uttered In ^
a low voice, with a smile?
"God bless my dear child! How care- s'
fully does she read my looks! Come w
hither, Henry," he continued, as he
gave bis son one hand, and still held l'
Mildred with the other, and then turn- ^
ed his eyes alternately upon each. a
"Now, tell me which of you love me
best? Who has waited most patiently ^
for me this morning? I see by that
glance of your blue eye Master Henry.
that you have been chiding your lazy c
father for lying so long abed. Now, I S
ilnrr. onv If tho truth wprp known. VOU
have had your rifle ready to go out and v
shoot squirrels an hour ago. I beg '
your pardon, Mr. Sportsman,?not to 91
shoot the squirrel, but to shoot at him. P
Or perhaps you mean to bring us a H
deer today; you know you have promised
to do that every morning for a V
week." V
"You shall eat a slice from as fine a P
saddle of venison today, father, as you a
ever saw smoke over a chafing dish." ti
"In good truth, shall I. boy? You are tl
a brave promiser! You remember your k
own adage?Brag was a good dog, but d
Holdfast was better." p
"In right down earnest, father, you a
shall. You needn't laugh. Now, you're ft
thinking I have the deer to shoot; hi
there's your mistake. The saddle is p
this minute lying on the dresser in the g
kitchen. He was a running buck yesterday;
and I could tell where the pow- tl
der and ball came from (here Henry tl
made the motion of opening a hunting ni
pouch at his side) that put an end to n
his capers." m
"He Is a monstrous braggart; is he v
not, Mildred?" said Lindsay, directing h
a look of incredulity at his daughter. g
"What Henry tells you is true." re- pi
plied Mildred. "Stephen Foster was ti
here at sunrise with a part of a buck, tl
which he says was shot yesterday." b
"Indeed? Then it is to Stephen's rl- a
fie we are indebted. You kill your
bucks by proxy, master.' h
uaqdais 'xjuoh ..'m I? tl
'oster hasn't tne impudence to cnargi
ne penny for that venison. And why'
iecause by the laws of chase, one-hal:
elongs to me.' *
"Oh, I understand," interrupted Ltnd.
ay, with affected gravity; 'it is a mat?r
of great doubt which of you shoi
t. You both fired at once; or perhaps
Itephen first, and you afterwards; an<!
he poor animal dropped the momenJ
ou took your aim?even before youi
iece went off. You know your aim
lenry, is deadly?much worse than
our bullet.'
"There is no doubt who killed him,'
aid Henry; "for Stephen was on thai
Ide of the hill, and I was a little below
?? a .uu* a+A.
mi, turn me uuliv i cut 1151u iw ?v?hen,
who, of course, grave him the Aral
hot. But there was I, father, jus!
sady if Stephen had missed, to bring
Id Velvet-Horns to the ground, before
e could have leaped a rod."
"But, unluckily, Stephen's first shol
illed him?"
"I don't know that," replied Henry
\nother pel son's knife might have
one the business; for the deer Jump3
down the bank into the road, and
lere?"
Mildred cast a sidelong look of cauon
at her brother, to warn him
gainst alluding to a third person,
horn it was not discreet to mention,
"And there," said Henry, taking the
ign, "when I got up to him he was
tone dead. I would almost think a
eer couldn't be shot dead so suddenly,
>ut Stephen can pitch his lead, as he
ills it Just where he likes."
"Well, it isn't fair to inquire who
llled him," said Lindsay. 'One huntei
ften turns the game to the other's
fie. And, at all events, your dogs,
[enry, I dare say, did as much as eithr
of you."
"Hylas was Just at his heels when
e was shot," replied Henry; "and a
etter dog there isn't in Amherst, 01
lbemarle to boot."
"Well, well! let us to breakfast
/here Is our guest? Tyrrel is surely
p ere this.
"He has been gone from the Dove
ote more than an hour," said Henry,
He told me to say, that some sudden
' ? -?j- 1 a. A
ews iook mm on in music, x *u?m
ave waked you, but he forbade It
[is man. Curry, who was waiting for
1m at the ford, I dare say, brought
Im some dispatches."
TO BE CONTINUED.
KISSES FAM0U8 IN HISTORY.
low One Duchess Raised a Regiment
and Another Bought a Vote.
No more celebrated kiss was ever
Iven than that bestowed on November
2, 1581, In the gallery of Greenwich
alace, by Queen Elizabeth upon the
>uke d' Alencon, one of the suitors
>r her hand, whom, in the presence
f Walslngham and Leicester, she
lssed upon his coarse lips and, placlg
a ring upon his finger, presented
> her courtiers as their future mas;r.
With true sincerity did anothei
Jnglish Queen grant a like favor,
hough the kiss given was but thai
f friendship and esteem. It was al
he conclusion of the Crimean wai
hen, France and our country being
s at present on the best of terms,
jueen Victoria paid a visu 10 runs,
[er meeting with her ally, Napoleon
[, was of the most cordial descripon,
and the queen reached every
eart, when, throwing ceremonial to
tie winds, she touched with her Hps
fie emperor's cheek, with that kiss
olng more to cement the good will
etween the two countries than any
mount of formal courtesy would
ave effected.
Every one has heard of the famous
iss bestowed upon the butcher by
eorglana, Duchess of Devonshire. In
784 Fox was contesting Westmlnlsir
In the Whig Interest, among his
eenest supporters being the beautlll
duchess, who entered heart and
duI Into the spirit of the election,
alnlng many a vote for her protege
y her golden speech and sparkling
yes. One man, however, a butcher,
emained Impervious to her wiles;
either beseeching glance nor peril
asive word could move him. Bui
fie duchess was resolute on gaining
er end; she offered a kiss for the
lan's vote. Such a bribe was lrreIstlble.
The efficacy of a fair woman's kiss
as lncontestably proved when, In
794, the famous Gordon Highlandrs
were raised by the lovely Duchess
f Gordon, who was directly lnstrulental
in gaining a thousand recruits
y the donation of guinea and a kiss
piece. In a sense, many of these
Isses may be said to have been fatal,
sr In an encounter with the French
fiortly afterward more than 250
ere either killed or wounded.
Alain Carter, the French poet. Is
fie hero of a romantic legend. One
ay he sat down In a public place.
nd, being weary and exhausted Dy
tie heat of the day, fell Into a slumer.
As he slept, Margaret of Scotind,
the wife of the Dauphin, afjrward
known In history as Louis XI,
hanced to pass with her attendants
he glanced at the unconscious mar
nd recognized in him the poet whose
erses she so loved. Then, motionig
to her maids to be still, she gently
tepped forward, and, stooping, imrinted
a kiss on the sleeping poet's
ps.
Pretty, too, is the story of Ingeborg
'indlng and the poor student, Paul
'endelbo. The latter whose empty
urse was a sad trammel to his ardor
fter knowledge, was promised by
ivo noblemen a foreign tour condional
on his being able to obtain a
iss from the fair Ingeborg. Nothing
espairing, Vendelbo one morning aproached
the lady as she was seated
t a window and boldly made con-ssion
of his hard case. Ingeborg
eard in silence, then bent down her
roud head and in loving charity gave
ave him a kiss.
At times, however, a kiss has been
ie prelude of a tragic sequel, as was
lat bestwed in 1718 by Prince Ferdland
of Bavaria upon Princess Thyi,
the near relation of a ruler of a
eighboring state, where he was on a
Islt. This affectionate greeting, a
eedless whim of the moment, was
iven under the very eyes of the
rlncess's betrothed, who naturally
iking umDra^e, sounuiy raieu mc
loughtless prince. Words came to
lows, which resulted In a duel being
rranged, and diplomatic relations
etween the states were broken off.
1 the war that followed, although
ostilltles lastd but six weeks, over a
lousand lives were sacrificed.
; ?u<sceuanou$ feaamg.
r ~
W0NDER8 WITH LARIAT.
Westerners Are Skilled In the Use of
t the Rope.
, A slim youngr fellow In picturesque
1 cowboy attire had been doing some
t difficult feats in horsemanship for the
* delectation of a small but critical
crowd in the sprightly cow town of
Gillette, Wyo.
"Now, show us a few stunts with
the rope," shouted a capable looking
cow puncher, who had not been slow
to express his admiration of the other's
skill.
The boy obligingly unfastened the
pleated rawhide that hung looped at
his saddle, and then began an exhibition
that delighted the assembled cowmen
and sheep herders, says the Denver
correspondent of the New Orleans
Times-Democrat.
First the lad, who was called Jim,
roped a dog that happened along at
an ill chosen moment. One deft twist
of the slippery snake-like leather, and
the dog was free. One of the boys obligingly
took his saddle off his horse
and started the animal down the street
past Jim, at a rattling pace. Almost
without perceptible effort Jim cast the
rawhide and the obedient noose settled
over the head of the bronco. Instead
of being pulled tight at the neck,
however, the noose was allowed to slip
down, over the horses's front feet.
Another instant and the bronco would
have leaped through the noose, but
just at the psychological moment Jim
Jerked the lariat, and the bronco was
caught by both hind feet. Quickly
and cleverly releasing the animal before
it fell, Jim coiled his rope and
swung off his bronco. Standing in the
' iiuuuic ui tut* sirtvi lit? iiuuio uic ruy?
describe the most astonishing gyrations.
It writhed and twisted like a
. live thing, always obedient to his hand
' and finally, making a shining circle of
the rope, Jim leaped In and out just
1 as a Juggler might leap In and out of
a great hoop,
i In spite of the fact that the cow1
boy's sphere of Influence is constant>
ly narrowing, and there Is less occa'
slon for using the rope than in the days
of the great herds, there are many
skillful ropers In the west They appear
at nearly all the bronco-busting
entertainments, which prove so popular
in the west, and their work Is alway's
one of the chief features of the
, day. There Is something about the
deft handling of the rope that fairly
fascinates the average audience, and
the cowboys themselves never tire of
watching their champions. And the
| boss roper of every roundup outfit always
has his earnest partisans when
he entets a contest.
One of the favorite tricks of the
; lariat experts is to make the lasso
' whirl about In a perfect circle and
then leap in and out of the noose.
Sometimes this Is done by two performers.
One will leap Into the centre
of the noose and will make the
; rope play about his waist. Then the
k other roper will stoop and crawl in:
side the circle. The second man will
reach up and take the rope from the
' first and the latter will then stoop and
' make his way out of the circle. All
the time the rope will be playing
1 about the bodies of the ropers In the
' form of a hoop, but not once will It
touch the clothing of either. This is
' a feat that calls for great strength of
1 wrist, as well as accuracy of move1
ment
1 Probably the most spectacular game
' Is a sort of battle royal, which sevL
eral skilled ropers enter. The cowboy
who gets his noose over the noose
1 of another contestant scores a point
' In the game. Each man whose lasso
' Is thus roped retires from the contest
until finally only one Is left. The
> men keep their nooses playing all the
time, and the game is one that calls
i for the greatest skill. This is a game
which the cowboy spectators enjoy as
> thoroughly as the men who take part,
' and each champion Is heavily backed
, to win.
The lariat Is Spanish, the name being
derived from "la reato," hence It
: la not surprising to find many of the
f best ropers in the southwest, where
i the Spanish-American element Is large.
These southwestern vaqueros almost
invariably cling to the rawhide lariat,
i while the cowpunchers of Wyoming
i and Montana usually go in for the less
expensive rope. A properly made
i rawhide lariat will run more smooth
ly and is less subject to kinks, howi
ever, and this may have something to
i do with the phenomenal skill shown
i by the southwestern ropers.
The average laflat Is about forty
i feet long. If It Is rawhide Its braidi
ing is a matter of extreme care and
delicacy. The work of some of the
i cowboys In this regard is something
wonderful. Tom Home, the noted
scout, who was hanged In Cheyenne
a few years ago for too free use of
firearms In ridding the range of ranchers
and sheepmen, was an expert at
making ropes of rawhide, and It is
said no man in the west has ever surpassed
him. After It Is braided and
thoroughly stretched the honda, or
small loop, Is formed and the lariat Is
ready for use. If It Is made of rope
It Is stretched out between two trees,
to free It from kinks. By the time it is
i coiled at the cowboy's saddle it is
flexible and strong, and In the hands
' of a master it is truly a wonderful
weapon.
It does not always follow that the
prettiest rope jugglers are the best
ropers for actual work on the roundup.
Some of the cow hands, who never
would think of posing as rope Jugglers,
do stunts with the lariat which would
be Impossible for the most tricky to
perform. In the northwest there are
some Indians who are without peers
as roundup hands. There are two on
? the Crow reservation, Red Star and
Mail Bearer, whose work at the semiannual
roundup cannot be beaten anywhere.
These men catch steers by
i horns or hoofs, as they wish, and it is
the exception to see them miss a,cast.
As these reservation animals have a
wide range and are consequently fleet
and wild the work of the Indian cowboys
becomes the more remarkable.
No doubt the art of roping and of
rope juggling will disappear with the
1 cowboy. In a few years branding will
be done by electricity, and there will
be no call for the roundup hand to
! drag the calves and steers one by one
to the branding Are. The animals will
1 simply be run through a chute and
; branded painlessly. Then the rope will
i disappear from the saddle, where it
now appears as part of the regular
i cowboy equipment and one of the dlst
tlnctive features of western life?the
life of romance?will have vanished.