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"UP THE LAUREL." When, after much deliberation, Louise Chalmers and her brother decided to take a holiday, it became an important secondary question where that holiday should be spent. Though they lived in a quiet boarding-house on a quiet street in Baltimore, these young people were Carolinians; and, as soon as the word holiday was mentioned, they looked at each other and uttered with one accord another word?home! "Do you remember," said Louise, "the mountains where we always spent the summer when we were children ? 0, Paul! should you not like to go there?" Paul's pale cheek flushed. "I remember very well," he answered, in a low voice, and his clear eyes looked wistfully out of the window, as if he Would fain wander away in search of that lost, happy childhood which seemed like another existence to the young crip? ple on his couch of pain. "To think that I should ever have climbed moun? tains, waded streams and robbed birds' nests," he said, with a faint, sad smile. "It would certainly be pleasant te go back and look at the Arcadia where such things were possible?but the question is, Bonnibei, can we afford it?" "Oh, I think so," said Louise, with all her heart in her voice. "It will cost a good deal* to get there, but, when once we are there, living is ideally cheap." So it.was decided they would go, and a golden August day found them at the end of their loug railroad journey, stand? ing .before the door of the stage-coach which plies-between 01d:I?ort, at the foot of the Bkie'Ridge, and 'Ashevilte beyond it. Paul having been established with air-cushions and pillows in a corner of the back seat, Louise went into the hotel for a missing satchel. When she returned the landlord had stepped away, aud there was no ooe to assist her into the coach. Now, there are few things more difficult, from a feminine point of view, than an ascent into a stage-coach; and so she hesitated, uncertain whether to spring desperately or call for a chair. While she hesitated a voice behind her said, "Will you allow me to assist you ?" She turned quickly. The speaker was a tall, dark gentleman, who seemed slightly amused by her embarrassment. There had been something kind and frank in the voice which the face secon? ded very well. It was not a handsome face?rather a plain, strong one, but its very piainess and strength were reassur? ing. Louisa, who would have dr'awu back, and uttered a cool "No, thank }rou," to ahandsome butterfly of fashion, ooked up with her soft eyes, and, smiling, said, "If you will be so kind," to this man. He assisted her into the high swung vehicle with a skill which is very dif? ferent from mere strength, handed her basket and satchel after her, then asked Paul if he could do anything to render him more comfortable. "I am going on top," he added, after the young man had replied in the negative, "but, if I can be of service to you in any way, pray do not hesitate to call upon me." "What a considerate persou!" said Louise, as he drew back to allow a stout woman and two peevish children to be hoisted in. "Who is he, Paul?do you know?" Paul tossed a card in her lap. "He gave me that in the hotel," he said "after speaking to me in the kindest possible manner. It will tell you all that I know about him." George Dunwardin was the name on the card?one altogether unknowu to Louise. She had a theory with regard to the fitness of things, however, and the name seemed to fit the suit, in a subtile fashion, the person who bore it. She thought this, with a smile, as the coach set forth on its jolting way, but the many discomforts of her position soon banished Mr. Dunwardin from her mind. It is a beautiful road, that which for six miles leads directly to the summit of the Blue Ridge through Swannanoa Gap, but it is also a very rough road?so rough that one is tempted to doubt whether one will arrive whole or in pieces at the end of it. To see Paul's face distorted with pain as the heavy coach jolted and swung to and fro over the stones of all sizes and shapes which covered the road, seemed to Louise almost more than she could bear. With tender hands she drew his head do w-n on her shoulder, and heaped shawls and cushions around him, but with little effect. After a while his very lips turned white, and she knew that he had fain? ted. It was no uncommon thing in the par? oxysms of great anguish which some? times came to him, but just now she was unstrung, and for a moment lost her self control. She put her head out of the window and called, asking the driver to stop. "My brother has fainted," she said; "I must have water." There was a tense chord in her voice that even before the driver drew up his horses made George Dunwardin spring to the ground. He hurried round to the window, and leaning in, felt Paul's pulse. Then he looked .Louise. ? * ' , "There is no danger," he said. "Don't be -alarmed. Have you .anything in which; to get wate'r ?" One of the other passengers anticipated her handing a cup, which Mr. Dunwar ?din filled from a clear stream running quickly along by the side of the road. With this he bathed Paul's face, and gave him a liberal dose of the medicine which Louise produced. Before long the .young man revived, and opened his eyes languidly. "Dear, have I frightend you," he said. "I am so sorry !" "He will do now," said Mr. Dunwar? din, cheerfully. "But, if you will let me take your place Miss Chalmers, I think he may do better. I am stronger and better able to sustain him. One ot these gentlemen (looking at two insiders) will, uo doubt, give you his place and take mine on top." "I cannot think of troubling you, said Louise eagerly, as one of the insiders in question immediately rose. "My broth? er is accustomed to me, and I am quite able-" "If you will excuse me," said Mr. Dun? wardin, looking at her, "you are not able at all. Pardon rac if I press my services. Mr. Chalmers, I am sure will accept them." Mr. Chalmers indicated an assent. "He is right Louise," he said. "You are tired, and the motion of a coach always makes you sick." So Louise was reluctantly forced to re sign her place, and Mr. Dunwardin tool it. lie proved so good a nurse?at once strong and gentle?that Paul was able to bear much better the remainder of the terrible six miles. When they reached the top of the gap, and horses and pas? sengers together drew a long breach of re? lief be declared himself so much better that he urged Mr. Dunwardin to return to his place on top. "I wish you could take poor Louise with you," he said. "A little fresh air would do her good." "Paul, you know I would not leave you" said Louise, quickly. "But you can do nothing for me," said Paul, "and the worst of the road is over now. If Mr. Dunwardin will arrange my cushions, I shall do very well, and perhaps go to sleep." "Don't you think you had better come on top for a little "while?" asked Mr. Dunwardin, looking at the pale, gentle face with a great deal of kindness in his glance. "It will make you feel better." "Go, Louise?pray go I" said Paul ear? nestly. So, again with reluctance, Louise con? sented. She did feel very much better when she was elevated on a deck-seat of the coach, breathing the air which was a very elysium of softuess and freshness, and feasting her eyes on the outspread glory of the fair mountain landscape. Her companion was pleased to see the an? imation that came into her face. "Thank you for bringing me," she said to him. "How lovely everything is! How I wish Paul could be here 1 It would make him think so much of the dear old times." "You know this country then ?" asked Mr. Dunwardin. "My home?at least, one of my homes ?used to be here; but I have not seen the mountains before in years." "Your brother tells me that you live in Baltimore." "Yes, but we are Carolinians. I am an artist," she went on, looking up at him with a certain graceful diguity ; "at least I try to be. Therefore, 1 hope to unite business with pleasure in coming here this summer." "It is a beautiful and almost an un? known country," said Mr. Dunwardin. "The very place for an artist, I should think." He said nothing more than this, but Louise whose perceptions were very quick, felt that she had not suffered in his estimation by the statement just made. His manner lost none of its kindly cour? tesy?indeed, she perceived that it gained a shade of added interest?and when he turned the conversation to art in general, and the writings of Ruskin, and Hamer ton, she found that she had a cultivated .as well as pleasant companion. It followed that she was soon thorough? ly at ease with him. More than once he descended from the coach to sec if Paul needed any thing, but he insisted that she should remain aloft, and since Paul joined in the request, she was glad enough to obey. In this way they journeyed on until they reached those green and softly-swell? ing hills which Ashville crowns. The next morning Mr. Dunwardin greeted the two young people like an old fricud, and as they sat together after breakfast on an upper piazza of the hotel he ventured to ask what their plans were. These were briefly told. They intended to take lodging at some farm-house in the neighborhood of Ashville?perhaps at that ideal hostelry known to all trav? elers in Western Carolina as "Alexan? der's on the French Broad." "I should like to go there," said Louise. "I must write aud ask if we can obtain rooms." "You need not take that trouble if you will allow me the pleasure of rendering you a slight service," said Mr. Dunward? in. "I shall go down the French Broad to-morrow, and probably stop for a day or two at Alexander's. I can therefore, make arrangements for you." This offer was accepted with thanks, and it soon transpired that Mr. Dun? wardin was engaged in mining affairs, and had been drawn to Western Carolina by accounts of the great min? eral wealth of the region. He was now on his way to verify some of these ac? counts. Paul looked a little grave when he heard where he was going, "To Lau? rel ?" he said. "Do you know that the settlement along that river bears a black name for the lawless, desperate character of its inhabitants ? I hope you do not mean to go alone." "Yes alone," answered Dunwardin, carelessly. "One or two gentlemen inter? ested in the matter as well as myself, were to have met me here, but they have failed to do so, and I cannot afford to lose the object of my journey because they have failed. I shall go alone there? fore." "There may not be absolute danger," said Paul; "but people here will tell you how the name of the Laurel settlement sounds in civilized ears." "Why do you endeavor to frighten Mr. Dunwardin by telling him such things?" asked Louise. "I dare say the Laurel people are slandered." "You do not think that our beloved mountains can harbor anything wrong," said Paul smiling. "By-the-by, you have not been out yet to look at them. Put on your hat and go at once. Nd?re? bellion ! I insist upon it?and perhaps Mr. Dunwardin may like to go with you." "Should you?" said Louise, turning to Mr. Dunwardin. That gentleman answered that nothing would give him greater pleasure; so they went out together, climbing the rolling hills over which the town is scattered, and saw the blue mountains spreading afar, range upon range, like azure bil? lows. The childlike de light of Louise pleased her companion even more than the bright beauty of the scenes to which she directed his attention with an air of pride and proprietorship that was amu? sing. Now and then tears rose into her eyes, and her voice stopped short with something suspiciously like a sob, but these April moods did not moro than checker the sunlight of her pleasure. "If only Paul could come" she said more than once, "how happy I should be! I could forget every other trouhlo under such a sky as this, and among such scenes as these." "He might be driven out, said Mr. Dunwardiu. "Let us bring him here this afternoon" (they were ou the sum? mit ofthat beautiful hill which is absurd? ly called Reaueatcher). "He could come in an easy-carriage." "I fear he has not suflicicntly recover? ed from the journey over the Gap," said Louise, hesitating. "To-morrow, then" "But I thought you were going down the French Broad to-morrow?" "A day more qr less will not matter," answered her companion, carelessly. An hour or two later Louise came in and stood by Paul's couch?her checks flushed her eyes shining. "Look what lovely flowers 1" she said, "I gathered them in our dell, and to-mor? row you shall gather some yourself. That kind Mr. Dunwardin has gone to see if he cannot find a very easy carriage in which you could be driven out to Beau catcher and see?on, think of it, dear !? all (he blue mountains that you love so well." That kind Mr. Dunwardin found what he wanted in the way of a carriage, and the expedition on the following day was altogether a success. When the brother and sister came down to breakfast next morning, however it was to find their pleasant acquaintance arrayed in travel? ling-costume, ready to bid them good by. "The coach for the Warm Springs leaves in a few minutes," he said, "and I shall go in itas far as Alexander's. Miss Chalmers, when do you wish to go down to-morrow ?" "Whenever we are sure of finding rooms," Louise answered. "If there are any to be had, and it would not trouble you too much to seud a line to that effect by the coach up from the Warm Springs this evening, we might go down to-mor? row." "I think I can undertake the responsi? bility," said Mr. Dunwardin. Then he shook hands, waved all thauks, and de? parted. Instead of "a line" from Mr. Dunwar that gentleman himself arrived on the evening coach. He smiled at the look of surprise with which Louise greeted him. "Don't yon know," he said, "that Al? exander's is only ten miles below Ash? ville? I reached there before eleven o'clock, and left after five. That gave rne a day in which to discover that is a delightful place, to arrange my plans, and to engage your rooms." "You have engaged them, then ?" said Louise. "How good of vou !" I "Good of me ? Not at" all. I did not make them." "But what has brought you back," an? swered Paul, i thought you only ment to take Alexander's en rout to Laurel." "Oh?several things brought me back," answered Mr. Dunwardin, nonchalantly. "I thought, for one thing, that Miss Chal? mers might need somebody to take care of her on top of the coach to-mor? row. Miss Chalmer's eyes opened wide. "Do you mean that you are going down the river again to-morrow ?" she asked. "Why should I not?" demanded Mr. Dunwardin, with the air of one put on his defense, "I thought it rather clever of me to come up, in order to tell you about the rooms, and have the pleasure of your society down to Alexnder's." "We think it something more than clever," said Louise. "You are very kind." Paul echoed this opinion, but Paul also drew his own conclusions from the kind? ness. Just before Louise left hiin in his own room that night he took her hand and said, smiling yet wistfully: "Bonnibel, what do you think brought Mr. Dunwardin back? "To go down with us! Don't you think he might be more accurate to say to go down with you f " "Paul I" Louise was so amazed that for a moment she could utter nothing more than that. Then a title of bright color rushed to her face and she looked at her reproachfully. "Paul, I am astonished and ashamed of you !" she said. "Such a suggestion docs not sound like you. Mr. Dunwardin is a kind-hearted, sensi? ble man, with no nonsense about him, in? deed, it would not be possible for any man to connect such nonsense as that with nie. Don't say anything of the kind again, dear, or you will make me constrained with him?and that would be a pity. Good night." "Yes, it would be a pity," Paul thought "so I'll not say anything more?but there's no harm in having an opinion, all the same." This opinion became.strengthened after they were settled at Alexander's and Mr. Dunwardin still lingered with them?de? ferring his search after the precious metals which he had como to seek. A week passed. On the leaf-shaded upper piazza of the house Paul would lie for hours quite con? tent, listening to the ceaseless refrain of the river, and watching the shifting lights and shadows on the splendid heights. Louise was often with him, but often, again, she went on sketching or botaniz? ing excursions, accompanied by Dun? wardin. Paul watched ner with delight during these days. She seemed to grow "more like herself," he said?"prettier," otlmr people said?with every hour. Louise was the only person not concious of this. It did not occur to her for the simple reason that she was preoccupied with other things, and personal vanity had long seemed to her something in which she had no share. It was a sudden blow to her childlike enjoyment when Mr. Dunwardin said one day, with a calmness which in itself was ama/.ing: "I have grown to love you very much, Miss Chalmers, so much that I can ask nothing better in life than that you should put your hand in mine, and prom? ise to marry me. You do not know a great deal of me, but perhaps you know enough to tell whether or not there is any hope for me." They had been on a long excursion among the hills, and at the time of this declaration they were sitting together on a bold, picturesque bufl'which overlooked the impetuous river and the long, grecu island it encircled. Louise glanced up, startled, half doubling if she had heard aright. She had just emptied the ferns which she had been gathering into her lap, and they lay there, a green, feathery mass on her cambric dress. "1?do not think I understand you," she said, blushing a vivid crimson. "1 am sure you do," Dunwardin an? swered. "I cannot well put it plainer. I love you with all my heart, and ask you to marry me. Is that clear enough ?" "Too clear," said Louise, with the color forsaking her face as quickly as it had rushed to it. "I am very, very sorry that you should care for me. I did not think such a thing possible, or I should not have seemed to encourage you, as very likely I have done." "Encourage me !" repeated Dunwardin. "No, you have done nothing of that kind. You have simply been frank and natural, I for which 1 am very grateful. The pleasant intimacy you have allowed me (luring the past ten days has been more to me than I can tell you. And you need not blame yourself for any thiug. No prevention would have availed in this case. I fell in love with you that first day on top of the stage-coach. One can? not reason or understand these things. I don't count it foliy, and I am not sorry for it. Even if I cannot win you, I shall never forget that I have known you ; but ?0 Louise, is there no hope ?" He leaned forward, the dark face flushed, the dark eyes passioned eager. But there was scant ground for hope in Louise's sad face and eyes, full of regret. "I am so sorry?so sorry !" she repeated, again. "But there is no hope, my friend, not any. I am not worth your regard, I j am not suitable for you in any way, and above all I have no heart to give you." "Ah I"?he drew a sharp breath?"you have some one else, then ? I did not think of that." "No," she answered, quietly. "J did love some one else, long ago; but it is all over now. He, the man to whom I was en? gaged, acted very unworthily. When we lost our fortune; he showed me that he desired his freedom, and I gave it to him. I did not regret him?how could I after that ? but my heart seemed to lose the power of ever loving again." "It is impossible," S3id Dunwardin. "A heart so gentle and tender cannot have lost the power to love. You may fancy that it is so, you may let the memory of that man blast your life un? til?until it is too late; but I am sure that you can love." "You know very little of me," she said, with a certain dignity. "I am no longer very young, and then my life is bound up in Paul's. But don't think me un? grateful," she went on, quickly. "I thank you with all my heart?" Vo, don't thank me," he interrupted, "why should you ? Even in loving you, am I not unselfish ? Do I not want to se? cure your presence for myself, your ?sweet face to light my life? But, since this is not to be, we will say no more about it." They did not. He began at once to speak of the ferus, and, as they presently walked back to the house together, Louis caught herself wondering once or twice if that brief conversation had not been at all a fancy. A day or two after this Mr. Dunwar? din announced that he must make his long-deferred journey to Laurel. He Shook hands with Louise at part? ing, and bade her be sure and finish by his return a sketch of the place which she bad promised him. The allotted week of his absence passed uneventfully. Louise walked and read, and talked to Paul. In Asheville she had frankly said that she missed Dun? wardin. Now she did not say so, and Paul, with a shrewdness beyond his years, decided that this was a good sign At the end of ten days the adventurous traveler had not returned, and another week passed without any sign of him. l'aul was inclined to be uneasy, but the proprietor of the house pooh-poohed the idea of any harm having befallen him. "When those mining fellows set out they never know where to stop," be said. "I'v seen too many of them with their pockets full of ores. Depend upon it, -Mr. Dunwardin will turn up all right." Louise said little, but as the days wore on there came an anxious look into her eyes, and in her walks she almost invari? ably followed the road down the river as if she hoped to meet the returning wanderer. She looked and hoped in vain, however. The days slipped by, and the third week of his absence found Septem? ber throned in golden beauty on the earth. Then the brother and sister said to each other that they began to fear some harm had befallen their friend. Since he left Alexander's nothing had been heard from or of him. It was certain that he had gone alone into one of the wildest and least accessible as well as one of the most dangerous parts of the mountains, and it was impossible to deny that there was ground for uneasiness. "If I were a man like other men, I would go in search of him," said Paul. "Woman as I am, I would go?and I had any right to do so," thought Louise. Three more days of increasing anxiety passed. Then a thunder-bolt fell. It occurred late in the afternoon when Paul and Louise were sitting on their favorite end of the upper piazza, while on the one below several of the guests were gathered. Immediately in front of the house ran the turnpike, along which two horsemen came riding briskly, and drew up before the gate. As they appeared in sight Louise looked at them eagerly, but, per? ceiving that neither was the person she wished to see, she sank back with a sigh into her seat behind the vines. When they stopped, one of them uttered the customary country salutation?"Hal? loa!" "No accommodation to-night," respon? ded a voice from the piazza; house full." "I reckon you will have to put us some? where," said-the first speaker. "We've come on a pcrtiklcr errand. Didn't you have a boarder what went up Laurel on min In business?" "Mr. Dunwardin boarded here and went up Laurel on mining business," re? plied the voice from the piazza. "What about hi in?" "Well a man's bin drowned, up#icrc and some of the folks think it's him? that's all." There was a quick volley of exclama? tions from the piazza below but neither of the two above uttered one word. Louise's hand closed on Paul's like a vice, but she made no sound. She only leaned breathlessly forward, peering down through the green net-work of vines. Two or three men went hurriedly dn\vn the short walk to the gate, and a conver? sation ensued of which every word was audible on the piazzas. The matter, it seemed stood briefly thus: the body of a drowned man that had been found in tho Laurel, lodged against some driftwood which had accumulated in the n?i:!dlc of the stream. He was a stranger, and there was nothing found on him by means of which he could be identified. Whether there had been foul play or not one con Id say; but there were no signs of violence, and the interference was that he Lad been drowned accidentally. "You see the-e's been a pretty eonsid' ablc frcs'iet in our part o' the country," said the naratnr, "and all the water has been monst'ous high." "But how do you know that the drown? ed man is Mr. Dunwardin?" asked a voice. "Wc don't know; we only s'pose so; and that's what we've come fur. Hasn't lie got no relations of friends here what could go and say whether it's him?" "There are some friends of his here," said some one, hesitatingly. And then there was a pause. Paul's voice broke it. He leaned forward and spoke clearly: "Bring the man here, if you please.? We are Air. Duuwardin's friends, and we want to hear all about the matter." The man was brought, and told his story again. The body he said was lying at his (the speaker's) house on the banks of the Laurel, not very far from where that river empties into the French Broad. All he wanted was that some one should come and identify it. "The kurroner's there," he said. "He'll tend to everything else. All you've got to say is whether or not it's him." Those around looked at each other.? What could be said? Who could go? It was clearly impossible for Paul to do so. The journey down the French Broad would be terrible, the journey up the Laurel much worse, to one like him. He felt this not less clearly than the others, and put his hand to his face with a low groan. "If I were but a man!" he said. "Don't trouble, Mr. Chalmers, over what can't be helped," said his host kindly. "I'll go. It's my duty to do so." Louise turned quickly and spoke for the first time. "I thought you would go," she said ; "and you'll take me with you?will you not?" "There's no need forthat?" he began, when she interrupted him. "Yes there is need. It is all we can do for him, and he?ah, he did so much for Paul and me! I must go! Don't say anything to dissuade me?only tell me when to be ready." "We'd best start as soon after daylight as we kin," said the man standing by. Very soon after daylight the next morning Louise bent over Paul and kiss? ed him a tender good-bye. He took both her hands aud held them together. "Keep heart" he said. "It may be all a mistake. It may not be what we fear. 1 don't think he is the kind of man to be accidentally drowned." "But he may have been robbed, and? murdered," said Louise. "Paul, I feel sure that it is he; and oh, my dear !"? and the great tears began to roll down? "I am so sorry that the only return I ever made for all his kindness" was?was to give him pain." "Never mind," said Paul, gently.? "You did what you thought right, and he knew it." "One often makes great mistakes about what is right," said Louise. Theu she drew down her veil and departed. They traveled rapidly, and at last they reached the the home of their guide?a substantial log farm-house situated in a valley, where the mountains receded a little from the banks of the river. As they came in sight they perceived that it was evidently the scene of commotion and excitement. Horses were fastened to the fence, and under the trees men were lounging here and there : a group of women stood gossiping at the door. Louise turned so faint?that deathly faintucss which comes only from the heart?that everything grew black before her. She clutched her companion's arm. "Please take me at once," she said.? "I caunot bear this suspense much long? er." So they went in at once?stopping to hear nothing, putting asido those who would fain hare spoken. "Only show us where the body is," said Louse's companion. "That is all we ask." Some one led the way, and pushed open the door of a lean-to room. They entered, and the sick horror seized Louise again as she saw the outlines of a rigid figure extended on a bed, covered witli a course sheet. But she was resolutely de? termined that she would not fail until all was over?until she knew. She held herself, therefore, in a powerful con? straint, and walked steadily forward. As she lifted the thick veil which she wore, a man who was standing by the bed turned quickly around. For one breath? less moment they faced each other.? What was this? Had the dead risen ? If so, the dead could speak, for this man cried: "Louise!?for Heaven's sake what has brought you here?" Poor Louise! The revulsion was too great. All her self-control gave way suddenly, and she fell forward fainting in George Dunwardin's arms. When she recoved it was to bau a story which can be more briefly related than it was told by Dunwardin of the banks of the Laurel. In his mining expeditions he had been led farther into the moun? tains than he had anticipated, but had been abundantly rewarded for hardships and delays by finding all?and more than all?of which he was in search. On his way back to Alexander's he had been stopped by news of the drowned body? supposed to be his own?lying within this farm-house. He identified it at once as that of a Methodist preacher whom he had met the week before among the mountains, and who had been, no doubt, accidentally drowned in attempt? ing to cross the swollen stream. "If I had traveled faster, if I had been a day earlier, I might have spared you all this," he said, remorsefully, in end? ing his story. But Louise laid her hand on his. "Don't regret your delay," she said, in her sweet voice. "No doubt it was best. I have suffered terribly, but if this suf? fering had not come, I might never have learned how much 1 love you." And so, to this day, Dunwardin says that he won his wife "up the Laurel."? Aj)j)fcion's Journal. ? It is not only the grasshoppers that infest the Western part of the country, but now the papers say a plague of rabbits has visited the ranches on Pish Creek, Nov., totally devastating the crops, having destroyed more than 10(1 acres of barley. The ranchers made an attack on thorn and destroyed '1W in a single night; hut it seemed to make no difference in their number, and they swarmed into the fields the next day. ? A father, fearing an earthquake in the region of his home, sent his two boys to a distant friend until the peril should be over. A few weeks after, the father received this letter from his friend: "Plea>e lake your boys home and send down the earthquake." ? (lo to si rangers for charity and ac? quaintances for advice. The Origin of the Names of tiie States There is much that is interesting in the study of the origin of the names of the States of the Union, as they arc derived from a variety of sources. To begin in geographical order we have: Maine, which takes its name from the province of Maine, in France and was so called in compliment to the Queen of Charles f., Henrietta its^owner. New Hampshire first called Laconia? from Hampshire, England. Vermont from the Green Mountains (in French, vcrd mont.) Massachusetts from the Indian lan? guage, signifying, "The country about the great hill.*" Rhode Island gets it name from the fancied resemblance of the Island to that of Rhodes, in the ancient Levant. Connecticut's name is Indian, spelled originally, "Qon-cli-ta-cut," sygnifying "A long river." 2s ew York was so named as a compli? ment to the Duke of York, whose broth? er, Charles II., ceded him that territory. New Jersey was named by one of its original proprietors, Sir George Cartret, after the Island of Jersey in the Rrittish channel, of which he was governor. Pennsylvania as is generally known takes its name from William renn the 'sylvan ia' meaning woods. Delaware derives its name from Thomas West Lord de la Ware governor of Vir? ginia. Maryland receives its name from the Queen of Charles I., Henrietta Maria. Virginia gets its name from Queen Elizabeth, the unmarried or Virgin Queen. The Carolinas were named in honor of Charles I. Georgia in honor of George Florida gets its name from Jacques do Flores, or '"Feast of the Flowers." Alabama comes from a Greek word sig? nifying "The land of rest." Louisiana?named in honor of Louis XIV. Mississippi derives its name from that of the great river, which is in the Natch? ez tongue, "The Father of the Waters." Arkansas is derived from the Indian word Kansas, "Smoky Water," with the French prefix of ark, "a bow." Tennessee is an Indian name, meaning "The river with the big bend." Kentucky?an j udian name, Kaintuck ce, signifying" At the bend of the river." Ohio?Shawnee name for "Beautiful river." Michigan's name was derived from the lake, the Indian name for a fish-wier or trap, which the shape of the lake sug? gested. Indiana's name is derived from that of the Indians. Illinois' name is derived from the In? dian word "Illino," men. and the French affix "eis," making it "Tribes of Men." Wisconsin's name is said to be the In? dian for a wild, rushing channel. Missouri is also an Indian name for muddy, having reference to the muddi ness of Missouri river. Kansas?the Indian name for smoky water. The derivation of the name of Nebras? ka is unknown. Nevada signifies snowy. iowa signifies, in the Indian language, "The drowsy ones," and Minnessola, "The Cloudy Waters." The meaning of the name of California is, the hot country. The Heights of Gettysburg. The death of General Pickett recalls the eventful catastrophe at Gettysburg. On the morning of the third day of the battle, Gen. Lee having been unsuccessful in his efforts to dislodge the Federal right and left wings from their commanding positions, resolved to make a determined rush with a strong column at Cemetery Hill, which formed the centre of the enemy's position. If this point were taken, their line would be pierced, the army would follow, Lee would be rooted on this commanding ground, directly between the two Federal wings, upon which their own guns might be turned,, and the defeat of Gen. Mcade must cer? tainly follow. The orders were given and the column prepared for the assault. Mr. John Esten Cookc thus describes the memorable action that followed: For the hard work at hand, Pickett's division of Virginia troops, which had just arrived and were fresh, was elected. These were to be supported by Heath's division of North Carolina troops, under Gen. Pettigrew, who was to move on Pickett's left, and a brigade of General Hill's, under Gen. Wilcox, who was to cover the right of the advancing column and protect it from all flank attacks. The advance of the charging column was preceded by a tremendous artillery fire directed from Seminary Ridge at the enemy's left and centre. This began about an hour past noon and the amount of thunder thus unloosed will be under? stood from the statement that Lee em? ployed one hundred and forty-live pieces, and the enemy replied with eighty?in all two hundred and twenty-five guns? all discharging at the same time. For nearly two hours this, frightful hurly burlv continued. * * * * Jr * # While this artillery duel was in pro? gress the charging column was being formed on the west of Seminary Ridge, opposite the Federal centre on Cemetery Hill. Pickett drew up his line with Kemper's and Garnctt's brigades in front and Armstead's brigade in the rear. The brigade under Wileox took position on the. right, and on the left was placed the division under Pettigrew which was to participate in the charge. The force numbered between twelve and fifteen thousand; but, its will be seen, nearly in the beginning of the action Pickett was left alone, and thus his force of about live thousand was all that went forward to pierce the centre of the Federal army. The opposing ridges at this point are about one mile asunder, and across this space Picket! moved at the word, his line advancing slowly, and perfectly "dressed," with its red battle-flags Hying and the sunshine darting from the gun barrels and bayonets. The two armies were silent, concentrating their whole atten? tion upon this slow and ominous advance of men who seemed in no haste and re? solved to allow nothing to arrest them. When the column had reached a point about midway between the opposing heights, the Federal artillery suddenly opened a furious lire upon them, which inflicted a considerable loss. This, how? ever, had no effect upon the troops who continued to advance slowly in the same excellent order, without exhibiting any desire to return the lire. It wa> impossible to witness this steady and well ordered march uuder heavy fire without feeling admiration for the sol? diership of the troops who made it? When shell tore gaps in the ranks the men quietly closed up, and the hostile front advanced in the same ominous si? lenced toward the slope where the real struggle, all felt, would soon begin. They were within a few hundred yards of the hill when suddenly a rapid cannon fire thundered on their right, and shell and canister from fifty pieces of artillery swept the Southern line, enfilading it, and, for an instant, throwing the right into some disorder. This disappeared at once, however. The column closed and continued to advance unmoved towards the height. At last the moment came. The steady "common time" step had become "quick time," this had changed to "double-qick;" then the column rushed headlong at the enemy's breastworks on the slope of the hill. As they did so the real thunder be? gan. A fearful musketry fire burst forth and struck them in the face, and this hurricane shattered the raw troops of Pettigrew as leaves are scattered by a wind. That whole portion ot the line gave way in disorder and tied from the field, which was-strewed with their dead; and, as Wilcox had not moved so as to keep up, the Virginians under Pickett were left alone to breast the tempest which had new burst upon them in all its fury. They returned the fire from the breast? works in their front with a heavy volley, and then, with loud cheers, dashed at the enemy's work, which they reached, stormed and took possession of at the point of the bayonet. The loss, however, was frightful. 'General Garnett was kill? ed. General Armstead fell, mortally wounded, as he leaped on the breast? works, cheering and waving his hat; General Kemper was shot and disabled, and the ranks of the Virginians were thinned to a handful. The men did not, however, pause. The enemy had partly retreated from their first line of breastworks to a second and stronger one, about sixty yards be? yond, and near the crest; and here the Federal reserve, as Northern writers state was up "four deep." This line, bristling with bayonets and canuon, the Virginians now charged, in the desperate attempt to storm it with the bayonet and pierce, in a decisive manner, the centre of the Federal army. But the work was too great for their powers. As they made their brave rush they were met by a con? centrated fire full in their faces, and on both flanks at the same moment. This fire did not so much as cause them to lose heart, as literally to hurl them back. Before it the whole charging column seemed to melt and disappear. The bravest saw now that further fighting was useless?that the works in front could not be stormed?and, with the frightful fire of the enemy still tearing their lines to pieces, the poor remnants of the brave division retreated from the hill. As they fell brck, sullen, like bull-dogs from whom their prey had been snatched just as it was in their grasp, the enemy pur? sued them with a destructive fire both of cannon and musketry, which mowed down large numbers, if large numbers, indeed, can be said to have been left. The command had been nearly annihi? lated. Three Generals, fourteen field of? ficers, and three-fourths of the men were dead, wounded or prisoners. The Vir? ginians hod done all that could be done by soldiers. They had advanced undis? mayed into the focus of* a fire unsurpassed, perhaps in the annals of war; had fought bayonet to bayonet; had left the ground strewn with their dead; and the small remnant who survived were now sullenly retiring, unsubdued; and, if repulsed, not "whipped." Such was the last charge at Gettysburg. Lee had concentrated in it all his availa? ble strength it seemed. When it failed the battle and the campaign failed with it.?Mobile Register. A Wonderful Piece of Work.? A lady living in Troy N. Y., has in her possession a wonderful piece of handi? work wrought by her mother when only fifteen years of age. The piece repre? sents a scene in Grecian mythology?? Penelope taking down the bow of Ulysses, the circumstances being familiar to all students of ancient history. The picture is embroidered on white silk, and the colors, not withstanding their age. which is about S2 years, are now as bright as new. It is the owner's intention to send this relic of bygone times to the centen? nial at Philadelphia next year for exhibi? tion, provided she can find any one in the city who is authorised to receive articles for the great exhibition, which she has as yet been unable to do. The article in question is one of the finest specimens of needle work we have ever seen, and shows accurately every expres? sion of Penlope's face, her robe en train, and her maid holding the arrows which are to be shot through rings lying at Penelope's feet, by the contestants for her hand. Those who are versed in Gre? cian history will remember that just as Penelope had taken Ulysses' bow from its place the latter returned from the siege of Troy, and the glad smile which illu? minated Penelope's face as she saw in the distance her beloved Ulysses, is vividly represented in the picture. The work shows the skill and patience our grand? mothers must have had to undertake and carry out such arduous tasks in needle? work. ? Mr. Andrew Johnson, Jr., editor of the Grccneville (Tenn.) Intelligencer, denies the story that his father in early life met with a serious disappointment from unrequited love. He says that hia father fell in love with a young lady of good family and amiable character, who returned his affections. Her parent... however, objected to the marriage upon the grounds of Mr. Johnson's youth an i lack of means. Upon hearing this ho sought an interview with flic young lady, told her of the decision of her parents, and of the course he himself had resolve.! upon, adding that there was nothing 1? f for them but to part and forget what they had been to each other. The lady felt otherwise, ami frankly told him that she would go with him wherever he might lead, and that she would not hesitate to trust her life and its keeping into his hands. His pride would not permit this, and notwithstanding his love, he left the place, only returning long years after, when the lady was married and the moth? er of a family. ? A confectionery is out in Philadel? phia styled "Centennial kisses." Th ? ladies, however, prefer their kisses noi quite so old.