Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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CHRISTMAS SUPPLEMENT TO THE DAILY NEWS. CHARLESTON? S, WEDNESDAY MORNING, DECEMBER SQ, 1866. ~~ fig flails |m$. TUESDAY MOHNTNG, PBCBMKBB 25, 1886. CHRISTMAS. WAH POETBT OF THE SOUTH. Y. J have already drawn attention fco the beautiful volume of the "War Poetry of the South," which .. vfe owe to the editorial care of Mr. STWTCB,; bat we ' hare scarcely done,: justice ito' the volume--to the superior character ol ita contents-whether as ex? hibiting poetry, per se. the beautiful play of fancy and imagination, its utterances of patriotism, or its jost and sometimes profound philosophy. The editor has evidently exercised a certain degree of method and design in the arrangement of his ma? terials. His preface states his objects simply, and justifies them forcibly. He opens with a poem of Mr. TEBBOD, a vary happy and graceful performance, which exults in the birth of a new nation-a na? tion based upon justice and right principie, pure in its conception, sending abroad, doctrines pf peace and purity, esohewing strife, war, and all ideas of the aggrandisement of the one nation over any other. The doctrine is simply that each shall work ont its own deliverance, in its own fashion; not making any vain pretence pf such superior vir iljka as to assume a; despotism of guidance or i ole over other nations. In this poem Mr. Trsmon is at euee just in thought, and felicitous in ita ex? pression. ' A "Prayer for the South" follows it, from the pen of an accomplished Marylander. A spirited anti quite original poem succeeds to this, from the pen of a lady of Mississippi. The j. "Southern Croas," by another writer, illustrates the * flag adopted by the new nation. 'The Act of SecesK sion by South Carolina is tho subject of ?ulogism by Professor DICKSON. Promptly following this are poems which refer to the necessity of seces? sion. We then. haye ?. wall of lament over th e nsual f ate of all the Confederacies which have ever existed; all destroyed. -by cupidity .and lost-all overthrown by: vanity and; the greed of conquest - in brief, by tho "insane passions" and appetites of men and states. After these preliminary poems, the collection proceeds to illustrate th6 events of the war which followed,-from the attempts, pf the North to coerce . the South', into a voluntary Union-a war which repudiated every American principle-^which denied to the governed the right of making their own -government, and butchered -| brothers, in order to. make amore perfect brother?, hood. Our condition now happily 'illnstratea the false pretences under which our country waa in? vaded, our property destroyed, our people slain, our liberties usurped. j .',.7 This volume of .war poetry illustrates this whole history. It is valuable, accordingly, aa history. .It indicates leading events, and sometimes ?lustrates them, in bursts of passionate feeling, grief or ex ultation, the sense bf pridej or the mortificationof W defeat. There is, perhaps, not a single phase or change of popular feeling, hope or fear, in the whole progress of the war, which has riot its ap? propriate illustration In' Verse-verse being, like - music, one of the most natural of emotional modes of-ntterance. You may, ia these pages, follow all the fluctuations of the popular mind in the Southe through all the caprices of her fortunes during the war.. '. . ';,;:: v . [' .) " ' '; ?'] [.. But our purpose in this notice is not a critical review of the volume, but simply to borrow from i its pages those pieces which seem to us suited to the season. In publisTrmg these we" alu^ per I;. haps, ,do as much,i? ehow?iow w?H thJa/csoUeetion illustrates the war, by the se'veraYs?leoU?ns which -we make from it of the season, of Christmas. ? Christmas in the South,- in former days, had a grand reputation of ife owm : All parties were gladdened by it; and even the negro exulted in its blessings and . its privileges. Ita usual mode of , celebration on Southern plantations ia now des I tined to sink: into a.-'tradition, .'. There is np longer a Christmas, such as "Ms fathers' knew, to the I planters of the South. ' p The brutal and bloody war waged upon us, in ' spired by a savage lust, and an equally : savage vanity, has killed Off the anoient Christanas i of Carolina. There is a mournful prescience," as well as a painful experience, in. the poems which we ? select from this volume devoted to tho season. T?iey were written by different hands during the several years of the war, and each belongs toa i different year. 1 < * /; : 3 ' The lust of these is from the pen of one of the most brilliant of the yoong men whom South Caro-' tina baa given to the country during the last twenty years-Professor JNO. IfrcxsorT BBTJOT. It is to the . great loss of our city that he has been taken from B* by New Orleans. ? man of fine natural parts, end of large and varied acquisition he has seed only to concentrate his gifts on any one pursuit to achieve the most triumphant BuccesB. : Helias oar prayer that he wilt do BO, ' The reader w21 readily ) note for himself the fine force ?nd fullness of ike strain which follows : \~?\--??"*??, \?V,''.uo<? '.!'."': ET-WP monson- neons, jg. E., or cBusiasrax, a> e. G??fi wCl and peace I peace asid good wnti i. Th* burdenof the Adve^iong, Tb* wonJilrmg^ehe^n^ ? Who .watched br night thc slumbering doe ea. (. Y?edeep sMes echooStheMUT?B. "Peace and good wnil good w?l and peaoel" t Anfi wise mea baaed the premised sig?, t.'.'? And brought their^birt&feiftt&oma?s Mast, '"' I ?sar to that mothar as the wins That hallowed Gena's bridaliteast;- ^ ..c . But what to these ara myer os gold, ' : And what Arabl 's costliest gem, ' : "Whose eyes the Child divina beheld, The blessed Babe?-of Bethlehem. "?eace and good wfiil good wJQl and passe !" Thoy sing, the bright ene? overhead ; And scarce the jubilant anthems cease Ere Judah walls her ftrst-born dead ; ' * ?a And Bama'* wild despairing cry ;. Filia with groat dread the shuddering coast, And Rachel bath bat one reply, . "Bring back, bring back my loved1 and lost." ? rV?. down two thousand years of doom v^?1** crj 'T* bamt> 011 mailing winda. Bot pew ito toe?te throagfi ttw-eloogn, Wo cradled peace the watcher finds ; AndPtiU the Hercdian steal is driven, - , . And breaking hearts make ceaseless moa?, f And still the mute appeal td heaven --^3 j jr .Man answers back with groan for groan. , How shall wa keep our Christmas tide ? With that dread past Its wounds agsp^ r Forever wslktag by opx aide. ?Jt.i , . A fearful shade, an awful shape ; Can any promis? ot th? a ring " -."?--'"?'.! Make green tho fadod entama Jes!? : Or who shall say that Urne ^ bring" i "'-'- ? ?*?r?n?ttoWm wfcoBowsbuig?cft w IFild betta! that eha?so tho midaight air >?'"" '?* With those dear tones tfcat ctoAom lovsa, \ Ton wake SW sounds of laughter ty**- . .> ?' ' ; ; HOT mirth in all our silent groves : ?v -ft < ' . ir;,. ? > '? On en? broad waaia, by hQl or flood. Of ravaged landa your muslo falls, And where the happy homestead stood The stars look, dows on roonees halls. At everv board a vacant chair FUI? with quick tears some tender eye, And at our maddest sports appear Those well-loved forma that will not die. "Wo lift the glass, our hand ls stayed "We Jost, a spectre rises up And weeping, thong ?1 no. word is said. Wu kiss and pass -Ula silent .cup. And pledge'the gallant friend who keeps His Christmas-eve on Malvern'? height. And him, our fair-haired boy, who sleeps . Beneath Virginian snows to-night. 'While, by the; fire, she, masing, broods On all that was and might have been, . If Shiloh's a?ulr and oozing woods ' Bad never drunk that crimson stain, O happy TuleB of buried years I Could ye but come in wonted guise; Sweet as love's earliest kiss appears. When looking back, through -wistful eyes, Would seam those chimes whose voices tefl His birth-night -with melodious burst. Who, sitting by Samaria's wen. Quenched the lorn widow's life-long thirst. Ahl yet I trust that all who weep. Somewhere, at last, -will surely And ' His rent, if through dark ways they keep The child-like faith, the prayerful mind ; And seme far Christmas morn shall briny From human ills a sweet release '. To loving hearts, while angela Bing "Pesos and good will i good will and peace I" Oar next selection, though, in & different strain and temper, is no less exquisite in grace, senti? ment and general beauty. It ia from another of j our nativo poets, HENKT TEKBOD, Esq., and is worthy of our ancient city ia ita palmiest days: - CHRISTMAS. ' nv Hsmvr TIMBO?, OF SOUTH cmoixHA. How grace thia hallo wed day? Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire. Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire Round which the children play ? Alas! for many a moo a. That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air, Mute as an obelisk of ice aglare . Beneath an Arctic noon. Shame to tho fots that drown Our psalms of worship with their impious drum. The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumb In some far rustic town. There, let ns think, they keep, - Of tho dead Tulsa which here beside tba sei They've ushered in with Old World, Kngliun ??es, - Some echoes in their sleep.. . How shall we grace the day) > With feast, and song, and danc?, and an tiqua sports, And shout of happy children in tb? coarta, And tales of ghost and fay? Is there indeed rf doer .. -'.iv-; :.: r< Where the old pastimes, -willi their lawful noise, And all the merry round of Christmas joys, Could enter ?a of yore ? . Would not somo pallid face .' IiOOk in:upon the banquet, calling up'T. . Bread shapes bf battle in tho wassail ?ap, And trouble all th? place? How could wa bear tho mirth. While soma loved reveller of a year ag? Keeps his mute Christmas now ben&ath th? anew, In cold Virginian earth ? How shall we grace the day ? Ahl let tho thought that on this holy morn ! Tba Prince of Peac&-th? Prince of Peace was bean. Employ ns, while we pray I . : Pray for the peace which-long Hath left this- tortured -tahtt, and haply now 1 < . ? . v Holds its white court on some far mountain'* brow, There hardly oafo from wrong. r". ! ?et eyery sacred fan? ' Call its sad votaries to the shrine of ?od, . . ?And, with.ihe>?loister and tb? tented sod. Join in on? solemn strain! "". . '? . With pomp of Roman form. With the grave ritual brought from Bngland*s anora. And with th? simple faith which asks- no mora Than that th? heart be warm. He, who tDl ame' shall cease, ' Shall watch that earth,' where once, not all in vain, He- died to give us peace, will not disdain A prayer whose theme is-peace. . Perhaps, ere yet the spring !"' "~ ' - Hath died into the summer, over all The land, the peace of Bis vast lore shall fall lake some protecting wing. Oh, ponder what it means I : - Ob? tarn ma .rapturous thought in. ovary way I Oh, give the vision.and the fancy play, . ' And shape the coming scenes I - >'?. 'Peace in the quiet dales, ' : Hada rankly fertile by the blood of. men,: .,.??.. i'*ace in th? woodland, and the lonely ghm, - ' Peace in the peopled vales! Peace m tho crowded town, . Peace in a thousand fields of waving grata* Peace in the highway and the flowery lane. Peace on the wind-swept down! Peace catho furthest seia, >-"'< " Peace in our aheUered bays and ample streams, Peace wheresoever our starry garland gleams. And peace in ?vary brease! '''? Peace ra the whirring marts, :il Pease where the scholar thinks, tba hunter roams, I Peace; Oed bf Peace! peace, peaae in aU onr komea,. , And paaiie in ali our hearts 1 ,;.'->-..: r:'.OAl^OKSa^^OBTBir-.-. ! i '.' ;''' Very universal is the gift of Poetry-suoh as it is-to the people of the United States. All New England rhymes and all ? other s sections: bf, the ampire ara rapidly seeking to follow hex pernidons example. It is estimated : that there are no lesa than thirteen thousand female poets alone, in New. England, who spin yarns and poems on the same fingers, and continue tb do sp, with the most patient and persevering . industry, in spit* of men, magazines ?ed?olanms, unt? they marry -in which event, {hey ara, apt to address them selves to ether sorts of manufactures.- . : I We, in the South, are not'- without ?rar share, both of male and female- maser agers, and a fair" '?r?tioism will Justify ns in- bein?1 quite: aa proud and boastful of them as the Yankees eva of their mentanamusga,ii:.!-. ;<?. uo7 \o ..?'.?} j I Bat we were;not prepared to belieye that the passion and the inspiration had so spread aa toi each Oalifornift?. sor in that region.to peoaliarLy the province of Mammon, did we expect io ssa eo soon established, a templa dedicated to Apollo and the Hine. Yet, shea ia I the "?&s?V already : California hath its proph?tie minstrels, bsd}gbt ia finest slaging robes, who"do not shrink from a oemparison' wKb (he best and boldest of the; braye' singers of Yankee land and Gotham, f : A j c" I . From one ot these. Mr. CHAKLSS WABSSH 8TOJ> DASD, who hails from the great city of the Pacific, San Francisco, wp have received a collection, from which, aa he ia a young fellow of. fine promise, we propose ir? malee ?few selections -for the benefit of our reade-3. We shall epare all unnecessary comment, ia order lo afford pair public: the (great? er number of these specimens ofthe'Papiflcjmose,. andi??W,it mostly to- the' reader toi do his own CTifciciera. ' R will be' enough, however,:'p?tr po ran?tese to say, that, like too many of oar! Ame* rieati/ver?e^makera, Mr. STODOASD haft had hie eye Soo ambitiously fixed on Tsssxs?s. W^y will nofc ovas young poets underefcand this to be a post,' implies emphatically the neceeeUy^f' being your? self-alono-fresh, original, according tothefall sUtarwfrfytmr owu-^wbvidtfality. Tho vej? fact that we already have ono crasnine TSSH?SOH, is .ufite^t^ re^n'for a&! to ei|i?ei ' te- a' . thfasand imitation ?fSCTsb^/^atjto par samples. j ... . 'r> Th? trowing aitUrds .. na ?MI*. Torjfi pretty fan-' wett-t?fced iiaes, . with ?-nkf fetfritoos aloses. The slight qoaiatreas of expression which ?cops oat in every verse, seasons it very happily, with a certain delicate saltness, giving it a mental savour that is independent of the idea which ia tte groand work: * THE SECSn WELSt. _ ' I know a well se deep and cool - And hid, the crystal-hearted pool . Hath never thrilled a swallow's throat . Or sweetened a lark's note. Ko tainting etag, though perishing, Hatti ventured to disturb this spring: Ko leopard with its Henry breast : ahis fountain dares molest. . Ko cunning sllver-casea trout The sheltered source can o'er search emt ' . Ho tongue but lnine moy ever tell '.' The seorst of this welL - . .: : j I build about its guarded rim With added stones; I know the dim . . Still twilight of ita mossy cell, Where the street waters dwell. ! . For spirits go between us two With flasks; they brisa with softest dew. ."' I drink and am refreshed and seem AB living ia a dream. This well, that ia alone for me, IS all a fount of memory : And every year that I have known Is SB an added stone. My willing thoughts, as spirits, haste . To draw the draught I love to taste. ... There is an ever full supply ... . . '. Tot who may drink kat I ? In the three little pieces which follow, the read? er of English poetry will be reminded of RBKBIOK, and his Hesp?ridos. ..- The first of these pieces es? pecially, is very HsBBiOK-like, as well in senti? ment as in manner and expression. The little fancies in the comparisons suggested in the sec? ond of these pieces, aomekow remind yea of that song of SOLOMON, where he makes his Egyptian damsel, while confessing to the darkness of her cheeks, insist npon their loveliness. It:is very clear that Mr. BTODDABD, of the Pacific, does not folly share the tastes and passions. of our Yankee brethren for beauty cut in ebony; and we fear that Mr. GSEELEY will be apt to chasten pur Paoifio ; Poet for his want of the proper taste for. scents rad flowers.. : A BHYXB O? 1XFB. If life be as a flame that death doth kill; Boxs little candle lit for mo, ... With apure spark, tttat I may rightly see I To w?rd my ions; and utterly J God's plan/fulfill.. ;.: .?,!;..;* ?>.- . If life be aa a flower that blooms and dies; Forbid th? cunning frost that slays- '. With Judas-kiM, and trusting love betrays; Forever may jetfy song of praise Untainted rise. If life be as a voyage, or foul, or fair ; ' . Oh 1 bid me not my banners 'furl ' ' . For adverse gate, or wave ia angry whfca, ' Till 1 have found tho gates of pearl And aaohored there, , . . BimiiTMim 'eeAwe. Not tho cherries'nerveless flesh, r< However fair, however freak, May over hope my love te win For Kthloye btood?ad satin skins : - Their lustre rich, and deep their dye, >JC ; ? Tet under all th?ir splendors lie To what I cannot tribute grant Their hateful hearts of adamant. . I love the amber globes that-hold ? That dread delicious wine bf gold ; V ' A thousand tOrrTcl suns distill Such lujaors as those flagons nih .. -.. j.. Yet tropic gales with souls of musk Should steep'my grapes in steams of doak: il JW An orient Eden nothing lacks . , To spice their purple silken sacks. HADBXGAIM J- ?J : - .-;' Amald is sitting by a brook, The sweetest of sweet creatures ; s? I pass that way with my good book Yat cannot read,' nor cease to look Upon her; wineome "features. - 'Amongstthe blushes on her ?beek Her small, shiio handrepoass: . ...,,< I nm a fchephera. for I soak That wilful lamb, with fleaca so sleek. Feeding among the rosea 1. Herc is something in a religious view also, bu pf .a bolder thought, and more sustained, toongi somewhat monotonous verse. ' _ "j ... arr BRI KN?, r ? I have * friend who is so true to me, ; W? may not parted ba. ? U"-J . Though I strayed, on to the uttermost^ ii:?!,\ Xetis his voice notJoe&;; c.-,i>.b?".: -1.3n If iemrcedly deaf for having erred, ? a. Still may I hear hts word. ? . If sin hath alain mine horror, straight appears, "/ Tho river of his tears. ? ; . hierein I ind redemption'; tenderly i;:r-H?woos myMerswngt/..'.. ' ..?->!.'. ;?l - And searches out same star of hope, sfeove, . So boundless in his love. ... .( .. - When from the loathed crave I shall raise* - '. - , ' He'll hs? rae ?rom the skies, " Who else would seek me in ecrrup?cn'E drees . ar.ii With a so kind caress? ??- Vi I S1? i Though I aaa weak.ther? ia a hope of pow??; -;' - He is soy mighty tower; : finS-w; . <r I4kessan^B?o^righttheglcomBways '"' j He is my perfect day. - . X am de homely bulb that tops thc reed- ". . He.Uthe-preeteiwsecc^'-v.v''-' - :'--'. . '.*. rar. Tani"the rudest shell tba vixt-wavoo whirl- j " .?elsthe.pricsl?rt pearV : ;. tilt ' .]:>' -. Thatart iwUtd ny friend ??M?e ages veil,.. s?;> . -. OJ'.l&tm Wjf deathlen scWy '? * j And the following k equally tappy ia its fanmc and ita phrases. A fault may be. indicated ia tl occurrence of the' name rhymes, twice, in the tn first verses. ' " u'v / j '!-'?. .OUI .:U vi.'_. A"g AMOHOB. * "r-i j A sailor by foe gr*s? home-sabre,' :--,-y" '? 7>-i ? While se&a are ebbing from his view, DothaU his earthly joys renew. ~ ;. Se stags taeaong he. -.seng :efTcrc rr. v fi si) ' H* spies ids lit?? COA. no. iraib? ' . 'j . . -With s fall Joy-ne'er felt befor? Eehol?* that ono b.re prospect naoec , Thc quiet heme, ii feiff; the trece ' ; ../ . ; Sprang from the seods his ?randeiras laid. Among tb? moa'd; ?ithlQ tto? gla?? f Tbe myrtlcs YUBUS in the ,broao... rr .. j Above a troasmred HUI? gr&ve,r ... -| . His earthly lost, his first deep woe! -." .J Kotany land that Se may know ?'ff.r. Beyond the purple o? the wave . :jJ. ,f : jHa?isuchaJew?lin lte breast., ! . Helovsaeaah ro^k and etr?im ftnd dell; ' :')? : O?fTisVo??y here ho cures to dwell, i 'Hs ever hera he longs to rest,, . ? ,. \\ : Xbisis hisJaome of joy sod ease: ?, * ", And better is the myrtie fomb - -u di Than aB tho heavy dock? that ?loom -- -,'.> i., . .,. Thp grove* of spico beyond,the seas. . o iJ|a* ?iw^*BftpMr erjror, .flnatoaf'a.aet j?st?? for a poem, which, if tr,n?.a? a poem, always ca rj^?^t? moral., within itself, even as the flew? carries thc fruit, ia its own bosom,1 ta the vei odor which it aenda out-bat for thoeit tnorak i tCWetaB^bjr ?ie following poem, it would be ye nearly p?rfeet; 'and' the moral Unhappily; ie but cottimon pTace,1 - Why should not the j?lm aa chining waler snake Appear upon the scene, sr* where God bail appointed him to Mt1 Without * Winding pi af the, subtle reptil? in, the Garden .rr',''-T tknew aenm^ro?srbtltV -''??'? ' Prom wbece grs?^**?** did datatUydtsSJ? ^ Thia la the artery, f Aaa'farther on ti.? crystal heart must he. Though* said to me. All ethsr I forsook, TO follow every twist and eurlowi crook Of thia wild brook. Among deep aa oases sot, I mund the glimmering fount that did beget . The rivulet. Ko other eye had kmown. ? Bs seeret, nor ear heard, for'it made nw? in Always a?ne. I quaffed ita wa)ors clear; Ita limped mule babbled to mine ear * "With voi?e sincere; Then such a silence fell Upoifme. mantling me, as where a spell Is wont to dwell. - Yet fled I from the place Ata rade rustling: and fear gave me chase In my disgrace. 'Twas a slim water snake Shpt like an arrow through the shivering brake, And left no wake. Bat clift the placid spring And waved1 ito naming sword, its forked sting, In a charmed ring. - So was the fountain spoiled' ' Within its lucid walls a devil coiled My trust was foiled. Contenting ourselves with these examples, for the benefit of our public, we bid our Paoiflc poet God speed, with a singl? word of cheer and en? couragement. We will not spoil his literary land? scape by'any obtrusion upon it of that serpent, criticism, which Braal! wits so delight to enjoy, and which is so apt to make innocent young Poets .tremble. . .....! ANGELICA'S BETROTHAL : ? CHBISTlL?S STOBT OF THE "QLD COUET." CHAPTER I. A CHRISTMAS SCENE AT THE OLD COURT. "Remember our conversation, my dear !" The young girl to whom these words were addressed by her " mother, stood cloak? ed, softly and warm, lathe hall of her rec? tory home, waiting For the carriage which was to convey the family party, consisting of herself and her father and mother, to the aeene of Christmas festirity at the "Old Court*'the baronial residence of Lord and Lady Hautain, who held their Christmas rereis in the fashion of the good aid times. ;VThey;were a childless couple; and, this fact %ad been '. the only cross which their tranquil; lires had known'.1 * ': The poor relations, h?werer, who sprang with rapid offshoot growth from the origin? al parent treej,and . who/ if not coming ex? actly under the head bf '? "the blind, j the halt, and th? lam?,v might .still hate been summed up under -the expressive modern Ejective- of ftaeedj/' pronted considerably bythe absence of nearer and dearer ties, and more legitimate objects of affection, in ?th? ca?e?f the' repres?ntatir^oi -he house of Hautain, in Tfhose breast hospitality was a rampant rirtuej delighting in an ?xeuse for excess. ; r "We?aeM?k? looked ill at home, in their creased dress-coats, and thin,; bird-nke old maids, Borne of them, will honorable" attached to. their names; a make: T?p' for the: - miserable pittance, the poirti?n1 of the. younger scions of1 "inanja noble house,'g?riiig the mysterious privilege of i{'positi?n/,-defW :jt?r. ffi?"-! heart'of honor? able womeri!?f ? certain ?ge; : and : young married couples struggling with the -gauri wolf of porerty, and the annual addition oi another little Hautain to the family circle; ff?e?'w???the^bt^ of jgu?sts . which ithe wor?by ola coupl? .d?K?nied;, to see assem? bled at t??J"01d 00^?' on each reining celebration of our highest and holiest feast. r-\ lur. Temple, 't?te rector of' ^h ? parish, ^?&'?j^Hgoi^ of the old Behool; and his wife was a bustling, world ly-minded woman, the daughter of a neigh : b?lrlng'bajone)^ who^; had just'.made the crowning success of hei.* life, by introduc? ing into society ihe. rasSy ; beautiful ?girl, whom, by a maater-Stroke .of diplomacy, not often practiced by mothers now-a-days, she had kept strictly ihnnured vin the school room; until ihe chrysalis was ready to be casi, andthe butterfly wings' to spread in all their glory to ihe gaae 'of * an admiring ? VorVfc ;. 'VT" ? ,. ' ' ri '!. r, 1 r ' Angelica, or * Anj?fel Temple,. : aa she had been christened ott her first appearance in the county, was no common character; jbtoiwithi^ noble, ?he h'a?-1 in^iMa.-^'a%ep airain of Worldliness from fche^education ehe' hau' received from her mother; and the remark, of ?he latter with Which this chapter opened, was the result of a conversation, which I will quote herb for th?'ben?nt'of ' the? r?auer, n?nd;to explain the. footing on which mother and daughter siood. p .: ' , ' i j , /'FwmKyou'5 would not be: so reserved with me, .Angel,*' .began' Mrs. Tempi?, Who liad adopted the popular abbreviation o? h?^'daughlfcer^? nakiej ^bu1 'mil meei '"Bip. Hanlin ! again rio-night, and it 'il quite ; tt?e^rjr^that' FslMd l^inform?d;wheth eViMa ;gjTOvrrn|j -intimacy between you -la li?eJy tol?ad tb anything or npii''7-; "I think1! am able t?' take, care'Of iny a?^'in^KSrj n'i?tST' W^ eiacUy; iktfow ''W^JoSj- mean, Vjv .^??uing ^-affly^ing.' Of cc)^r8e)ey?ul fcr?ow} that Tcould marry 'Regin?Td to-morrow if I ..l?wdj as far aa he '; ^Wnccrned? in the matter, there would be ; &6,.&te(Mi$ i? "bringing it to anything at <i:-?ifl?r sh?e "s^aci ,th,?3e worlds : with? a? air ol fe&ap22, Mi& Temple looked quiok?y np\in her daughter's face. "Angel," she said, in ; the sharp, peremptory tones natural to her, "you vrill not be such a fool as to throw away such a chance as this. Why did you not tell me before ?" "Perhaps, because I do intend to be the fool you take me for. Perhaps, because, loving another man, a penniless man, as I do, I do not intend to sell myself to that untamed cub, Reginald Hautain, as the highest bidder in the marriage market as yet. Perhaps, because I am so well suited to live on a hundred a year, that I am not likely to throw away such a chance as that. What say you, mother ? you shall decide for me in this difficult matter. I promise to abide by your decision. Shall I marry Reginald, or Stephen Hautain? Either ot them would have me to-morrow."; Angel's countenance, tn tell the truth, belied her name as she uttered these words, standing Opposite to her mother, with a lurid light in her fine eyes, and the demon spirit of scorn sitting on her short curled lip; Mrs. Temple, who did not understand her daughter's temper in the least, or see how fiercely the two opposite currents of worldliness and nobility were struggling for the mastery in her breast, only recognized the fact that, in leaving the matter to be decided by her -mother, she was reaching out her hand to grasp thexproffered coronet, which had so many charms for the matron? ly heart; and she answered rather coldly, for she despised the imputed motive "It is a mere farce your asking me to decide, Angel, between Reginald and Stephen. You know that I would f ather see you in your grave than mated with pov? erty and disgrace.''* "You know, mother, ' hovr widely our no? tions differ on this point; if you wish me to obey you, you must not shirk the point. If you wish me to sell myself to Reginald Hautain, for the prospect of a coronet and ten thousand a year, -you must say so in so many words. lam not of age-it is not my own doing. Youmust say distinctly, 'Angel, it is my wish, that, without enter? taining a spark of affection for him, and loving another man from the depths of your, soul, that you marry Reginald Hautain for the sake of the rank and the wealth that will one day be his." Why should we not all say exactly what we mean ? I have said my say,: but nothing will alter my de? termination. Th? choice-remains with you, mother. (The last word was said with a dash of that bittern?ss which ByTon has thrown into it,' when on the lips of 'the de? formed boy; 'I was born so mother.') The crooked and; distorted body, or the crooked and distorted mind, should be the last in? firmities " with which ' a mother should re? proach her child; and, in Angel's case, the stress she laid upon the word'seemed to say 'If I am base, it is to ? mother's influence that that baseness is to be attributed; lei her-be the ?last to condemn." / "Angel," said Mrs. Temple, looking bei i young daughter straight in her face asshi i 'spoke th? words, <ryou have placed the, re i spbnsSnlitycn my shoulders in this mat ? ter; and I have no objection to take it. ; 3 lay my commands upon you to accept .Re I ginalcV Hautaih's offer if he proposes to yoi t to-night, or at any subsequent time; and ir t saying so/ I know that I am eohoeing youl ? papa's wishes; He has spoken ta me On th< ; subject more than once?' ? j -"Very: well." : :: " ; .. ' ' . > This .was all that Angel Temple; said . Her mind had of course been made up be ' fore, to reject the man who loved her, a ; she had herself affirmed,. as his own . spul 5" ?nd ito take for her husband one, agains ; whose coarse and brutal nature hier' own. je ? volt?dj^?f?ly beca?ae he was an elder son - and heir to the barony of Hautain. Ange f was natnrally ambitions, and she had beei . .brunght up "by? a: worldly mother; "but tba , "very w??f' cost her the anguish of a hear [ too noble to reconcile itself at once to th ? disgraceful role assigned to it to play. ? have said that her mind had been distorte< ?' by the faults of her education, and she ha< . .c?j ol?d herself into the miserable belie , that she had now placed her future con > duct, with regard both to Stephen and Re i ginald, on the score of duty to her parent . and to herself. Miserable sophistry ? tha r had not balm. enough to heal the slightei I wound amongst the many that fallowed uj ; On those simple wordsi l Poor Angel i leas ' angelic, when/josi sacrificed yourself on th i altar that was hoi the . altar of duty, an : bound yourself with cords to the horns c ; the shrine of Mammon-despicable in th > sight of Xxo?, and of yourself in all, savin i iy/burbea&ty, ."you werV lifctl? of an ange '' It was on tniristniaa Eve, that the Ten: ? p??s were about to join the large party ? ? guests assembled to keep Christmas at th i "(Md Court/' The. two'brothers who hav . been mentioned above, Reginald and Steph? Hautain, were the nephews of the old lort ; and the elder of. the .two was heir to th ' barony and.the estates of Hautain. H . was rough"and uncouth, a^ man "of ?bot thirty-five years of age; selfish, and egotisti ' beyond the usnanimifcs bf selfishness an egotism common to elder,sons and the heit > tc ancient titles and1 estates. He had falle (for hxmy ^pspQ^tely in love with Ang< Temple on the occasion of his meeting he: . for the first time since she had sprang u 1 into womanhood;at the "Old Court" on tb ' Christmas preceding the one of which i; writ?^ fcnd.wi'^ had been 'ri newed when he came down for partridgt ; shooting to the same , place in Septembe Stephen' or "S&eriicj'' as hewa?5 called h ' his au nt;'LadyHautain, of whom he wi i p>ime favorite; was: a very different obi: acter, and it was lie who Angel Temple a?re firmed to lier jnother loved her with, hi? whole soul and strength. The acquaintance between those two was not the acquaintance of a day, and the attachment, which existed on both sides, had grown with their growth and strengthened with their strength, for they had known and loved each other as boy and girl. He was in a cavalry regi? ment, his commission haring heen bought, at his own request, by the modest patri? mony left him by his father. Reginald and Stephen were orphaned of both parents, enough being reserved to purchase his cap? taincy, a negotiation which had just been effected, and he had come down to the "Old Court" that Christmas for the first time as Captain Hautain-a penniless captain, for his last shilling had been swallowed up in the purchase, and he would hare to per? form the almost unprecedented feat in a cavalry regiment of living upon his pay. No wonder that a worldly-minded wo? man like Mrs. Temple looked upon her daughter's attachment to "Steenie Hau? tain" in the light of a madness and a dis? grace. Angel herself had, after . a fierce struggle with her own better self, decided in favor of the elder brother, who, a* she truly remarked to her mother, needed but the slightest encouragement on her part to throw himself and his prospects at her feet. She had not met Steenie since his elder brother had openly declared himself as her suiter, and the idea of the meeting on that memorable Christmas Eve was full of bit? terness to her bruised and aching heart. "Oh, Steenie ! Steenie ! why were not you the eldest ?" she had said fiercely, in the anguish of losing him after the cold "very well," which we have heard her pro? nounce, had sealed her destiny for life; for Angel was not one to look back when she had once put her hand to the plough, either for evil or for good. She had told herself repeatedly that their mutual attachment could never lead to happy results. If their union ever took place at all, it must, be a clandestine one, for both her father and mother were people violently opposed to the idea of their only daughter and heiress ally? ing herself to a young penniless adventurer, as they called him, with nothing but his handsome face and chivalric nature to re? commend him. She thought she had count? ed the cost before the , conversation with her mother which she had determined should decide her fate; ?nd she went u.p to the "Old Court" that evening, knowing that she would leave it the . affianced bride of a man whom she detested and loathed, but who . would have, it 'in his power to make her eventually a baroness, and the mistress bf that stately . old home. : She had never, perhaps, looked more beautiful than she did on that occasion as she entered the drawing-room of the - "Old Court," and Lady Hautain looked admir? ingly and even lovingly upon her, and thought what a handsome couple . she and her . adored nephew Steenie; would make. She had with a woman's penetration, long ago discovered their secret, and had made provisions in her will that her favorite should not always be a penniless captain, and, under certain provisoes, had generously remembered Angel herself. "Come and sit by me, my dear/' she said to our heroine, after having affectionate? ly kissed her oh the cheek. "You look like a white rog?. . StCeni? has" jua* arrived," she added in a whisper; "you know he is a captain now." "Yes, I know it Lady Hautain; Reginald told me so the other day." 1 Lady Hautain looked surprised. Stephen had always been "Steenie" on Angelfs lips, who had known him as a boy, but she had never heard Reginald, called anything but "Mr. Hautain" by her before. "I wish Reginald had only a tithe of his good looks," said the kind aunt, who . loved ! the younger and more worthy nephew with her whole heart. "I never saw two brothers sa totally unlike, both in person and mind." "They are a great contrast, certainly," was, thc young lady's reply; "but it has passed: into a proverb; you know,, the fasci? nations of younger sons. Reginald .would scarcely change places with his brother if he were twice as uncouth and ugly, and Steenie twice as handsome as he is." ?{I should? nbt like to be too sure of that. Steeni? possesses one advantage over his brother, for which I think Reginald would gi vie much. You know what I mean, An? gel, and none better than you." "Pu the contrary, I know! of none, deaf L?dy Hautain," replied the girl quickly, blushing over neck, face, and brow at the allusion to her own love): more than. 'hinted at in the kind woman's words. 'Steenie is poor; he cannot afford any advantage over phis elder brother. I do hot think that Re finald would give much for. any one that teenie possesses now/ ". ' * ' I . ' "You are too diffident, child.': 1T know better than that. I'aiu sorry for ?L?ginald sometimes, although it will be good for him to find out that he cannot carry' 'everything before hint.' He hasr been dreadfully spoilt.", '.t' - ' ? :nyf ~^'He is a selfish:; fopl^ ; though*.- Angel herself, although she did; Wt aHb^ this mental verdict 'on her' future husband's character to pass her lips; and she gave a - slight starty as-a,'; Well-k^o-wn " .yoi?c1 at her dide, mused' her to look' ,??ickly'up5 at one of the' handsomest faces that she had ever Reifeld1. ^?b^??:}w^-^^f'^px^el since stiehad s?en" him ,fca*? he! wai tei> veare younger1 than; his brother Reginald, ,? and only1 just arrived at thc r??ttttfty of his manly beauty. As he ^nt^?Ver AngePs h?md^hejnittj^ whick