Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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THE TKUE SOUTHKON, EstabU*?w*? Jane,. lSjB*, ?|t iEafr [mian w? Sont jpn Publfctiied ?wry Tuotday, Br N. GK OSTEEN, SUMTER, S. C. TERMS: T?o-Dollars j>er annum-in advance. jBae ^qnaye, first insertion.......-$1 00 ?^^'Xvify suteeqaeotinsertion................... 50 Contracts foe-three months, or longer will be nude at reduced rates. - AH communications which subserve private 'ia terests wHl be charged for as a d ver tisera en ts. Obituaries and tribales of respect will be Charged foe. BROWN'S WILL CURE HEADACHE IN?HG?SnON Bftl?USNESS DYSPEPSIA NERVOUS PROSTRATION * CHB?LS AK? FEVERS TIRED FEELING GENERAL DEBILITY >: -;PA?N iK THE BACK & SIDES '^IMPURE BLOOD ; CONSTIPATION FEMALE1NFIRMITIES RHEUMATISM 0 NEURALGIA " KIDNEY AND LIVER TROUBLES r: :j??JZ S?LE BY ALL DRUGGIST" The Gemme 1m Trade Mark and crossed Red lines oo wi jip per. TAKE NO OTHER. Ml if ITMI iTfcj-Ml niTiii Tl ?fiietmn?dndare origin . ?HJ nisssdhj ? dtodewdcouditiuaof tho LIVER. For aS oompiainta of this kind, sc ch aa Torridity of ttolivar, B?toosoesa. Karroos Dyspepsia, moses* tfenjusguh?fr rf thsBosals, Coostipatian. Blata I-cy. Bractatkns ?sd Buming af tho Stomach {nsttni called Ha?rtbnrn), HTM??. Malaria, Bloody BP; Chitts and Fever. Breakbooe Fever, BahSMStiOB bsfOBS or fifter Ferers, Chronic Diar chasvLass ci Appetite, Tfcsdncho, Foal Breath, bragolaritaes mod an ta) to Feaia?es, Be* ring-down aaa STIDIGER'S IUBINTII is tnvaJuabfe. Itisnc**P*n*c? foralldiaeaees, /MIDE? an dtaoaaasofth* LIVER, - yVViW -STOMACH and BOWELS. BV chantes tba eomptexfam from a waxy, yellow t?o??, to a raddy, heathy ccicr. It entirely remores ^ W.gbxwspintS. It is on? af the BEST AL* TERAT1VES and PURIFIERS OF THE BLOOD, antf la A VALUABLE TONIC. STADICER'S AU RANT II fbrasJsbysflDraggfata. Prfc? tl .00 per bottle. ?MMBMMa C. F.8TADICER, Proprietor, " ito BO? FROHT ?T" PftOadalphta, Pa. All Sorts of harts and many sorts of ails of man and beast need a cooling lotion. Mustang liniment. * .- # A?"T?J a Ay Ililli Aa DEALER IN ' Drugs, Medicines and O liemloals FIKB TOILET SOAPS, HAIR AND TOOTH BRUSHES. PERFUMERY AJS'D FANCY TOILET ARTICLES, Ac, Ac PAINTS, OILS, VARNISHES AND DTE STUFFS, GLASS, PUTTY, #c. I Fu? supply of Fresh (?farden Seeds. April 9 PAJICT YOUR BUGGY FOR ^xx? Dollar. One coat gives an old baggy the blackest black jon ever saw and a handsome gloss withoot varnishing. It dries hard in a few boars. No robbing ! No varnishing ! No extra trouble. Each can contains more than , ?nough to paint a carriage. Retailed at Om Dollar per Can. .. For Sate by DR. A. J. CHINA. FOR SALE? MILK COWS ALWAYS ON HAND ~-H.,B. THOMAS, - Wedgefield, S. C. FOB SALE, v&eap for Cash, or Approved Papers * * Payable on Jan. 2, 1887. One TEN HORSE TOZER & DIAL POR? TABLE ENGINE. . One 60 SAW BROWN COTTON GIN. - Ooe Steam BOSS COTTON PRESS, and About 30 feet of SHAFTING with all nec? essary Polleys and Belting to ron the same. Apply to or address A. D. RICKER, * April 6 Sumter, S. C. THE TEMPERANCE WORKER, Removed from Columbia, S. C. A Live, Temperance Paper, Poblished Semi-monthly ia SUMTER, S. C. Under the Editerial management of Rsv. H. F. CHREITZBEKG, G.W.C.T. or I.O.G.T. or s. c. - Assisted by aa able corps of Editors. . . TWpatronage and Influence of all friends of Temperance is solicited. Terms only 60 I ants a year. To advertisers desiring a wide ' circulation, it offers an excellent medium. Oa business, address N. G. OSTEEN, PubHsbsr. j BE??TTS SECRET By AL?TE MUIR. Author of ?Vanity Hardwar?? "Golden Girl*,? Etc BOOK TWO. LADY BEAUTYS SISTERS. CHAPTER I THE PICTURE. [In the course of tho narrative by "which my old friend pat me in a position to relate this story, I more, than once ventured to re? mark that he had a surprising acquaintance with a number of facts and conversations which might be supposed to be beyond the earshot of an ordinary friend. He smiled in a very peculiar way, and I saw a faint streak of red coming ont upon his cheek. Then, with a sigh, be answered that I might he satisfied that his story was a truthful one. How ha came to know it so fully I need not inquire. The sadness with which this was said set' me thinking; but for that time" I understood no moral little Mr. Brent returned home that day heartily and thoroughly ashamed of himself. His bitterest enemy could not have wished him a more humbling falL Being a great Tnan for letter-writing, and firmly impressed with the fatal belief that the large number ot human complications can be adjusted by cor? respondence, he sat down after his dinner to write an explanation and apology to Mrs. Templa The number of sheets he tore up, the enormous variety of openings which he adopted and cast aside at the fifth line, the sheets beginning "Dear Madam," then "My Dear Madam," then "Dear Mrs. Temple," then "My Dear Mrs. Temple," falling subse? quently into "Mr. Brent vontnres to present his respectful compliments ? and besides these the "I am overwhelmed with confusion;" "It is, I assure you, with the most poignant sen? sations of sorrow;" "What can I say3" "What can I urge in extenuation, of my behavior F so many of these were begun, cast aside, and torn up very small, lest any one should find ont what he had been doing, that as the night wore on the rector gradually began to look like a man who is being snowed up. When, at twenty-five minutes past four a. m., after nearly ni"A hours of unintermitting head work, the apology was finished, there was not left enough clean, stationery in the house for a washing bill ; butin place of it th ere were fragments of paper lying on the floor sufficient for the manufacture of six full-sized paper pillows. With aching head, yet a little consoled withal, the rector stum oiedup stairs to bis weary pillow. If he used a thousand sheets for his letter it maybe safely computed that one thousand and one was all that -was required for the en? tire correspondence. Small was the paper and few the lines of Mrs. Barbara Temple's answer. "Dear Mr. Brent"-thus it ran-**I lave received your letter of apology, and I cannot say that it is at all more than the occasion re? quired. At the same time, as you are sensible of the impropriety of your behavior, I hope you wSl now forget it, as I shall. One stipu? lation only I make. The subject of marriage -or, indeed, any allusion to what passed be? tween us yesterday-must never bc made. On these terms you are free to resume your intercourse with my daughters and myself. Truly yours, BARBARA TEMPLE." "A very handsome letter," Mr. Brent said "I shall take her at her word," and after lunch he drove over to the house with a splendid present of fruit and flowers, and be? ing received in the usual friendly way by mother and daughters, and his character be? ing a slight ono, not permanently impressi? ble, he half forgot the misery of his exit from the place yesterday. Only when he first spoke to Mrs. Temple there was a trepidation in his voice and manner; but she was so ob? viously determined to keep ber promise that he gradually grew composed Once only his courage quite failed him. Caroline, the student, was reading history, and with that slight affectation of intellectual pursuits, from which not even her mother's lectures could guard her, she tried to call the rector's atten? tion to her lofty employment. The question she asked him was an unfortunate one. She -was an ardent liberal, and inquired, in a pause in the conversation, if he did not thinV that great good had arisen from the French revolution. The rector was so confounded by this inapposite interrogation that he nearly tumbled o?C his chair. The next day his thoughts were driven into * another channel. At breakfast he got a letter from his son announcing his arrival in Lon? don, and saying that be would be in Kettle weH at half-past four that afternoon. Amidst tiie vexation of the last two days, this was a prospect full of relief, and the young fellow was received with more than a paternal wel? come Before dinner was over, between the influence of meat and wine and the society of his son, all acting on a trivial nature, easily moved, the rector was quite comforted. Now he could have faced Mrs. Barbara Temple with a jest and a look of pleasantry. At least, so he fancied Brent junior was a good-looking young fel? low of three and twenty, with a frank, sim? ple manner well suited to his years. Men? tally he was much superior to Ins father, and every sentence showed it; but he behaved with a filial deference -which was pleasant to see. All through the dinner there was a touch of preoccupation and even sadness about him. and upon this his father remarked as soon as they were alone. "I hope you nave not left any oneJ?hind?" the father asked humorously. * "No," the so? answered, with a blush and a laugh. "You don't think me quite a simple? ton in this matter, do you?" ""Well, Percy, you are young." the sago father replied "At my time of Ufe if a man fell h: love with a picture, I think he would be a blt of an ass. But then I am f orty-nine. I have ago and experience, and knowledge of the world * "You are v%ry kind to take it in that way," the son answered "I really don't want to be laughed at" "ls this wonderful picture in your posses? sion?" Brent senior inquired next. "Yes," the young feUow answered eagerly, and he was darting up stairs to fetch. it. Pausing on bis vray, he said: "I had bette* tell you the story of it first." He made no bad picture himself, leaning carelessly against the sideboard, his foce and eyes kmdling as he spoke with the delight ol the subject. Little Mr. Brent regarded him with no small pride; and the young fellow, with a light bashfulness which made tho little narrative the more interesting, told bk story. "I met an artist out there, and he and I be? came great friend?. He fell ill, and I nursed bim, and when he was getting better, one day, to pass the time, he asked me to look over his portfolio. There w-as a great deal in it for which I cared nothing; but just at the end he drew out a little sketch of a giri head and shoulders-with a border of simple white dress, and, as I thought, the loveliest face I ever saw. I was quite dumb as I looked at it, and there and then, father, I fell in love; and I declare to you I felt that even if this woman were only a painter's ideal, still, so had she captivated me, that I could never give my heart to any living woman. The memory of this picture would possess me, and would hang, as it were, above the living face, and rebuke its hhper fections. You are not laughing?" "I am forty-nine. Percy," tho father said, with the calmness of wisdom. "You aie twenty-four." "Well, I shall not trouble you with a long story," the young fellow continued. ''LIT Idly for nie. my friend was lying on a couch, and did not perceive my agitation, or he might have laughed me out of the dream. I found the sketch represented a real living girl-a real living girl, father.'-unmarried, English, and, best of all, living not far from here. I asked for the picture, which ho gave me readily. Curiously enough, he did not seem to see in it the superlative beauty which I saw. Oh, how I hung over that picture! How I idolized it ! It was near me night and day, and at every glance my love for the original increased. Father, that is the woman I shall i marry, if I ever marry at all?" "You must see what her character fe, Percy," the rathe r said "And we must make a few taquiries about family-and property." "Her origin must "be refined!* the 1< cried. "Her character could be nothing the noblest! As for property-propert give. me that girl, and 1 shall work I enough to earn a world f So saying, he ran up stan's, and in a ment returned, bearing the precious pict wrapped up in folds of silver paper. Vt trembling haste, but with more than wom? care, he put back one smooth sheet after other until the cardboard lay on the U face down; then, drawing a long breath turned the picture up before his father. "There," he murmured, "let her plead own cause." At the same instant' his father uttered exclamation of surprise. "Why, Percy," he said,' 'this girl-is a fri of mine." "A friend I" the lover cried rapturously. "An old friend," the rector ans wea "HOT mother is-ahem!-ac old friend mine-a very old friend, I may say. We quite on intimate terms. The name of 1 young lady is Miss Sophia Templel" CHAPTER IL FACE TO FACS. And so it was. Young Brew had fallen Ipve with the daughter of the woman v had just rejected his father so angrily. 1 Brent thought at first that this alone wo make an end of the thing; Mrs. Barbi Temple would not give her consent, so r soned this parson, who knew the world well He kept silence on the point, howev and soon his son's ardor, carrying everyth: before it, made his small doubts and scruj of no effect at alL "This picture is good-very good," 1 father said, gazing at it, "but I must tell 3 that it does not do the girl justice. When fails I cannot say; indeed, I can scarcely s what it is that makes Sophia Temple so hai some." Of course the son listened to all thi3 w greedy ears; and the conversation turned ii a discussion of the prospects of the aff? which for the present the father would 1 admit to be hopefiuVstill remembering '. own" late repulse. When, however, you Brent ascertained that his father was visiting terms with the family he would hi no more of doubt or difficulty. With su an opening the fault must be his if he did z make the girl his own. "You are sure she is not engaged?" asked. "Oh, yes, quite sure," the rector answer* "None of the girls are engaged; indeed, t only one of the family who has been talk about in that respect is the-" Mr. Brent stopped, and turned as red as turkey cock. He never did guard his h well, and this disclosure came out before '. remembered how awkward the subject mig be. So ho repeated the sentence stammt ingly. "The only one of the family that was talk' about in that respect was-" "Yon don't mean her mother," cried td young fellow. He was quito interested in I beauty's mother, and was ready to be inte ested in her grandmother if necessary. "Yes, the mother was talked about," tl rector said, still red'With self-consciousnes but there was nothing in it, Percy-nothing "Is the mother handsome?" asked our love vivaciously. "Decidedly handsome," the father replied. "About what age?" "Her age, Percy," the rector replied, glooi ily, "has not been ascertained." Young Brent was a man of scientific taste and it was to his credit that, born as he w< to great expectations, he steadfastly pursut his studies, in which he was now no cos temptible authority. Geology was h favoxite, and he resolved to devoto h energies to that science, for he wj old-fashioned enough to believe that birt to good fortune imposes obligations c the inheritor. Young Brent resolved j make his mark in the world. Like all youn enthusiasts, he must be for ever talking ov? his subjects, and ho would try to interest h father in geology; but Brent senior had u patience with the insatiable demands of tbx science for time. uIn the name of goodness, he vould say, "is not six thousand yeai enough for you? Just think what could b done in six thousand years! Up to that tim you can do as you please, but I do object t your upsetting eveiything on the plea c wanting time to account for a dead fish tx ing found in ono of your strata. Is it an] great matter how it came there, or when? T be upsetting Bishop Usher simply becaus somebody has found a few bones in a roc! where he did not expect it, seems to me th most monstrous thing I ever heard of." < Por all that, when tue easy-humored rec tor heard his son praised in company for hi scientific attainments he was not ill pleased and contrasting his earnest end energcti youth with the idleness and frivolity of othe young fellows in the town, Le was willing t excuse the mild skepticism which contente* itself "with requiring a little chronologioa elasticity from Bishop Usher. Indeed, tb rector might fairly be proud of his son; in tellectual ardor is seldom exclusive, and th) young man's love of science gave him sym pathy with much beside which was not di rectly scientific He took an interest ii politics, but with Radical symptoms, whicl his father pounced upon with vigilance ant great beat, ending tho dispute generally with t laugh, and the hope that things would last hi time. Besides this young Brent was a gooc musician, and not without literary tastes, foi he dabbled in poetry. But partly througl studious shyness, and more from a certaii physical awkwardness, ho was not altogethef a drawing room man. Ho had too great respect for women to be altogether a favorite with them ; for these exalted Wings, knowing their celestial qualities, cannot see why thej should be approached with downcast eyes or addressed with faltering hps. So young Brent was net a lady's man, nor a company man, although there were stories of at leasl two pretty girls having been in love witt. him: and as to company, whenever %he talk grew serious, Erent, as by natural right, began to speak freely, and spoko often with great success. It was impossible to withstand the lover's entreaties, and so little Mr. Brent, divided between imeasiness and satisfaction, fearing a repulse, and yet not without hope of now wholly regaining his footing in the widow s livery house, introduced his son to tho ladies. All four were in the drawing room when tho gentlemen wpre announced, and young Brent was. sufficiently master of himself not to betray any preference for one daughter before another. Indeed, he rather avoided Sophia, talked more and more freely with Carolina and Sibyl; and so few and shj- were the glances he cast at her ho worshiped, that four pair of female eyes did not, in a quarter of an hour, detect, him as lover. Caroline rather liked his conversa? tion, which was a trifle tx^okish: but Sibyl pronounced him awkward and bashful. Sophia said nothing, from which one might have fended that she thought tho more; but it is certain that, as yet, she had not recog? nized a lovei*. Young Brent left the house enehnnted. He was ready to say, like the dazzled queen of the East, that tho half had not been told bim. Sophia Temple did, indeed, look very lovely that morning, and as her face was in a most particular sense a face of expression, no por? trait could do her justice. The young lover flew off in an ecstasy of praise. Was ever a true picture of womanhood seen lief ore? Was not Sophia the living presentation of that image of sense and sensibility which hovers around every man's fancy, as the likeness of the true woman, but which seldom takes form and feature-once or twice in a generation perhaps? I pardon the lad's raptures. And in ber face that afternoon there was a delight? ful harmony of expression, sweetness and seriousness, animation with a suspicion of humor, and ?L sort of tender sadness predomi? nating over all tho rest. Is not the highest beauty always touched with sadness? The worthy mother, who never lost a chance of instructing her daughters, rind eliciting their opinions for correction, asked them what they thought of their new ac? quaintance. "Dull," replied Sibyl, finishing him off with one word, imperially delivered. "What do you say, Caroline?" ? "Oh, not dull, certainly," answers Jliss Bookworm: "wc talked about astronomy." "Don't mistake the drawing room for tho ; library, Car," remarked her mother briskly, j "Learned talk is very affected. Be as well : educated as-you please, Lut don't seem so. Now. Sophia, what did you think of young Mr. Brent?" "I had hardly formed an opinion, marama." "Yon should havo done so, Sophia Never be list] ess. And now, girls, shall I tell you my opinion?" "Do, mamma!" tho three exclaimed. For mamma was always racy and pungent and instructive, especially in her professorial moods. "He is a little sheepish, and ho wants not only confidence, but manner as weih A few remarks from some observing lady friend, such es "Yourself, mamma!" Car cried. "Well, dear, let us say myself, then. It would do him a world of good. He Ls a d?? i igent young fellow, and would soon improve if he could be got to give his mind tait. Those quiet, retiring young men have often a great deal in thom, and remember, girls, that if they do not shine at the times or in the ways in which ordinary men of the world do, still they are sometimes brilliant and effective where men of more manner and accomplishments quite fail Don't be preju? diced, even' by sheepishness, Sibyl; all is not homeliness that seems so. And Caro? line, my love, do give up that bad habit of trying to talk what you call sense; you have plenty of attractions without that. And, Sophia, when shall I teach you not to bo so listless; appear so if you please, for I admit it gives you a charming look at times; but still, have your wits about you. I Sssuro you, dear, at your age, if a young fellow had been ten minutes in the room I could have told you everything about him, down to the color of his eyelashes, and no one ever called me a starer. It was observation, dear, noth? ing more. Now do observe. Girls," she said in conclusion, with an air of earnest appeal, "when shall I make you women of the world?" Vigilant, energetic, good-humored, there she stood with her delicate daughters around her, training for society and conquest and applause ' with as much patience and enthu? siasm as though she had been a religious superior making spiritual pupils ready for an eternal state. But shrewd little Mrs. Temple well knew how fleeting her world was. '.What a pity it lasts so short a time!" she would often say. "But that is not our doing. Let us make the most of it while we can." CHAPTER in. A PRETTY WOMAN AND A FOOL. Fate decreed that just at this time Caroline and Sybil should each get a lover. An el? derly couple of good family and fortune, Doo? little by name, lived in the neighborhood; and these having but one child, a son, who would inherit a large est ate, decided to give him a profession that ho might escape. the dangei-s of an unemployed youth. He was sent into the army, and was at present upon leave. Egerton Doolittle was a tall young man, slim, with light hair and a lisping speech. His attractions, if he had any, were neither of body nor of mind; for as to the body he was feeble in gait, wrtb^ long Ifgs of inade? quate thickness, and he was destitute of eye? brows. Thc utmost assiduity also failed to bring out a mustache, although he used car piUary fluids of appalling strength, rightly judging that for a man with a military career before him a certain amount of hair on the face is as essential as uniform or a sword. His mind was of a similar pattern-weak, re? clining and inane; in a word, he had drawn the line between sanity oncl imbecility with a most baffling nicety. He walked with his head a little on one side, dressed in the top of the fashion, wore cs many different suits as there are hours in tho day, lost money mildly at cards, and came to church regularly every Sunday morning, saying his prayers out of a book the size of a sixpence. He had a credit? able desire to rKid only such publications as were likely to improve his mind, and he al? ways inquired if a work was erroneous or not, saying that he was afraid lest he might be led into the perusal of something erroneous, and might never find it out. He admired women and adored cleverness, frankly con? fessing that he had none of his own, and thought it "such a useful thiug, you know." Indeed, he might have set for the immortal Mr. Toots, with whom he had so much in com? mon that I fear readers may think Egerton Doolittle only a study of that great prince of noodles. But Egerton is a man by himself, in spite of a resemblance which fairly sug? gests that he is no more than a reflection. He met Car Temple at a ball and danced with her, and the young lady, true to herself, inquired, in one of the pauses of the dance, if he had read AUison'-s "History of Europi." Doolittle, whose weakness was not historical study, was able, with tolerable readiness, to assure her that he had not. He then sank into silence, that this part of the conversation might settle into his mind. Presently he in? quired: "Ls that work you spoke of just now a very bi^ work?" "Very big," she answered. "More than ono volumef he asked, re lolved not to let the talk flag. "One volume !" replied Caroline. "A d ozen, I daresay." "A dozen!" exclaimed Doolittle He was so overwhelmed by this statement that he did not alter a muscle of his face nor emit a syllable for full five minutes. Then he began again: "You haven't read it, havo you?' "Oh, dear, yes," Caroline replied, with tho confidence of a practised student. "The whole dozen volumes?" inquired Doolittle, who could scarcely believe his ears. "Thc whole dozen volumes," Caroline an? swered, repeating his words with a not un? graceful playfulness. "Then you must bo a tremendously clover girl," he said, gazing at her with profound admiration and awe. "Clever, because I have read twelve vol? umes!"' cried Caroline, who had a sprightly wit "I shall read twelve hundred, and see what you say then." '.No," Egerton said, gravely; "you will not read twelve hundnpd volumes. I am sure." Egerton meditated for another few minutes. Then he asked: "Is it an erroneous work?" "Thoroughly," Car replied, with decision. She was a Radical. "Don't yon think it dangerous to read erroneous works ?" "Don't know," Car answered. "Not very." She tossed her head with a mixture of laugh? ter and light scorn. "If I were to read twelve volumes of an erroneous work I should bc quite upset," Egerton said, as if he were talking of lobster salad "Upset for weeks. But you are tremen? dously strong and you know it-in mind, I mean." CAROLINE TEMPLE. Carolin'.- was not displ?*::se"l with DoolftV tie's frank admiration of In t- powers, nor did Rhedespise it, though its silliness >!ie ?ilninly saw. Somethin<r tol?1 uer IK- would ?iio flay be a lover, and si? did not turn from the prospect with aversion. I>?x>little was rich, but I do not moan to say that his riches alone made him tolerable in ber eyes. She is not the first clever girl who lins liked n man-as husband-because be was weak-minded. Car Temple, fond of clever men. preferred in the matrimonial relation a fool: but her actual or possible rea sous for this preference must K* discovered by more rviietratiiig dis? sectors of human nature than myself. Doolittle astonished his parents mightily when be informed them, with unusual blunt? ness and energy, that he had fallen in love. Astonishment with the old people quick? ly ran on into fear: for in a brain so Tfeak as his what might not love accom plish? They trembled lest they should hoar him say that some pretty milliner or shop girl had conquered him. for he affected little flirtations of that sort. When, therefore, the young simpleton gave the name of Car Temple, his parents could not altogether con? ceal their feelings of relief. It is tuc the'r acquaintance with the Temples was the sligl t est in the world; but still sh? wes a lady, ai d they accepted her as daughter-in-law prospc c tive without any hesitation. Equi ?ped with this permission. Doolittle flew off * o .rn street, not intending to call on bis beloved, or. in? deed, to do anything in particular, when, ? s the fates would have it, he tumbled into h s love-making in this fashion. Who should he see, swimming gracefully up the drowsy street, but Car herself, tall, elegant and alto gel her bewitching. Doolittle's heart flt-w into his mouth He slackened speed, lest he*hould come upon her before he had braced his nerves for the meeting, and "while he loitered, Car turned into a haberdasher's shop. He now drew near cautiously, and soon-spied l?r seated at the counter trying on gloves. Doo? little, never a wholly responsible teing, was so fluttered that his behavior for the next few seconds must have had something me? chanical in it He stole into the shop, and Car was surprised to hear a chair softly drawn across the floor toward her, and before she could look up it was placed at her side; and then she saw Doolittle sinking into it, his eyes fixed on her face all the time as if he had been magnetized. Car felt the absurdity of the situation, but with a readiness which her mother would have praised, she resolved not to let the shop people see anything to laugh at. So she gave Doolittle a lively little ned, as if his conduct were thc most natural in the world, and holding up a pair of gloves, she asked her admirer if they were not a pretty color. ''Capital gloves, I should say," he replied. "Do let me pay for them!" "Pay for my gloves!" cried Car, breaking now into a hearty langh at his absurdity. "0, do let me pay for them," he went on, pleadingly. "The girl iu this shop is such a nice girl-such a tremendously nice girl. I often buy gloves for her; she is so nice. Do let me pay for j'our gloves." I "We never pay here," Car replied, hapjry In her excuse. "Everything goes down in mamma's bilk" "I am sorry for that," the lover answered. "I should have liked to pay for your gloves. 0, how are you? Are you very -weilThe asked, addressing the shop girl, who had re tihVied by this time. She blushed at his salutation till she was like ene of the beauties on her own glove boxes. ?Whether keen-witted Car did not quito ap? prove of this sort of encounter under her ve)*y eyes, or whether she was already suited, I cannot tell; but she remarked that she bad got all she wanted and left the shop, not for? bidding her admirer to follow her. Follow ber he did, though hi departing he manceuv ered to get right behind her back, that he might freely bow his adieus to the nymph at the counter; which done, he stepped into the street with a face of great satisfaction, and walked at Miss Temple's side. For many steps he said nothing; at last ho looked up. . "Miss Temple, I want to marry a tremen? dously clever giri. I am not clever myself; I am very well, but not tremendously clever. Now, I want to marry a girl that can advise me? and tell me what to talk about, and make up things for me to say-smart things, you know-that will look like my own. And I want a girl that will read works for me. and tell me if a work is erroneous; for I don't 3ike to read erroneous works, Miss Temple. Now, do marry me, Miss Temple; for you aro ex? actly that sort of girl, and you will take care of me-I mean I will take care of you. At least, I want you to many me. if yon dont very much object; I do, indeed. Miss Temple." It is a critical moment in a woman's hf' when she is asked if she will marry a man whom she does not altogether dislike, and no doubt Car felt something of the gravity of ber position. But sho felt its absurdity, too, and nothing could restrain her laughter. Doolittle seemed much discomfited. "Don't laugh," he said, dolefully. "People always arc laughing at me; and it is tre? mendously trying, you know." .T was rot laughing at you," Car replied, relieved now that tho outburst was over. "I was only thinking how vexed mamma will be with you for speaking to mc in this sudden way." "Vexed, will she?" said Doolittle, with an air of trepidation; for they were close to the gate of tho Beeches. "Perhaps I had better run home. Just advise me, for I feel tre? mor dously nervous." "No: mamma wont be very angry," Car answered, reassuringly. "She is -walking in the garden. Come in and soe her." Doolittle became confident again at these words, trusting in Car's superior knowledge; anti into the garden they came, where was a great parasol moving to and fro, and under its canopy there promenaded the stately little figure of Mrs. Barbara Temple. "There is mamma," Car cried, whether in jest or earnest he could not toll, and darting away she left him with her mother. Now Mrs. Barbara Temple, watching the couple from beneath ber parasol, had dis? cerned in the twinkling of an eye how mat? ters stood, and knowing the young man and perceiving bk conrusion, which returned when Car vanished, the little queen of women came forward with an air that would have reassured a greater dunce than Doolittle. "You have been attending on my daughter,*" she said, with her pleasantest smile. "Most kind of you." "Oh. }-ou think it really was kind, do your cried Doolittle, set on his feet at once. "I am glad of that I meant it kindly. I wanted to pay for her gloves, but she would not lot me, ais you have a bill at tho shop." "M?S*. Templo"-he cleared his throat des? perately, and sho know what was to come. "Yes?" "Your daughter-tho one I wanted to buy tho gloves for-Is a tremendously clever girl." "People arc generally pleased with her," re? marked the mother. "Tremendously pleased. I should think. Do you know, Mrs. Temple, I should like to marry your daughter, if you did not mind. I should be particular about your not mind? ing." Wiso Mrs. Temple accepted and treated his proposal as if it had been couched in the most formal style. "Such a desire is always complimentary," she remarked. "May I ask if your parents know of this attachment?" "Oh, certainly, yes ; this morning," he re? plied. *rDo they approve of it?" "Oh. quite. In fact, my father said he was surprised at my showing so much souse; that he would never have expected it of mc. Oh, yes, they aro quite pleased, I assure you, Mrs. Temple." "In that, ca-jo," the managing woman said, blandly, "I shall leave the matter in my daughter's hands. 1 have no objection. Mr. Doolittle-indeed, that is not saying enough I am pleased.,: And in this way clever, bookish, lively Car Temple was matrimonially engaged to one who might fairly be described as the silliest young man in all England. CHATTKR IV. ANOTHER EXOAGKMEAT. Thc next to follow-and the succession was rapid-was the laauty Sibyl. Sibyl's en? gagement was quite as ?-ingular as Cur's, and in neither cuse did these really beautiful and SIBYL TEMPLE. spirited young ladies marry equals. For and rank were even enough, but in all sides there was the most unexpected and reasonable disparity. There lived a quarter of a mile down road from the Beeches a wealthy bael named Goldmore-a man of fifty year thereabout, tall, pompous, and imposinj look at-a man of great solemuity, who n laughed except in a responsible sort of i and who kept his coat well buttoned rc his atnplc frame, typifying, it might be, reserve with which ho wrapped his per ality from view. He was the sort of i who, in a picture book, would look tho ? imnge of a resjK?ctable Great Briton. Tl w :s an air of steady solvency about hin ba!ance-at-my-banker's air-which was ^ telling. Tho most timid shopkeeper w? have given Goldmore credit for a thous pounds before even hearing hts name, mien would have carried him. With majesty, the bigness of his frame, his ' bony features, and the sober color of attire, he looked rather liko an elephant y had cast his trunk, and was going round world on a tour of solemn survey, in a < and trousers. Archibald Goldmore, Esq., hail a nop] -his heir-who used to come and seo I often, and who, being on the lookout fo wife, was struek with the beauty of Si Temple. This Harry Goldmore was a li's young feUow, but no great favorite with uncle. He was heir, because there was n other forthcoming, but nephew and ut never quite hit it off. The young man i ono of those fortunate,, cr unfortunate, pee -very much either they are sure to be-w without being exactly selfish, have yet inordinate idea of their own claims upon and their fellow-creatures, with a proj tionate disregard of other people's feelir Young Goldmore would always help him: to the best, even before his uncle's eyes, i would never say, "Uncle, won't you try th or "Let me recommend so and so"-trifl attentions, but by such little acts young n sometimes make their fortunes. The neph< too, well knowing that his uncle employed unsurpassable cook and prided himself uj his table, would yet in the most flippant st lind fault with dishes, and declare that in club in London the cooking was fifty til better. "Outrageous sauce this!" he exclaimed t evening as he tasted his boiled mutt "enough to put one off one's feed." "At your age," remarked his uncle J emnly, "I got very little sauce at ali" uGave enough, I daresay!" retorted 1 witty young man, with a great roan laugh, aJ tt>r which he finished his mutton a asked for another help, administering 1 condemned sauce plentifully. From these few hints every reader of < servation can fill up a sketch of this you fellow's character, and it need only be S? that he was tolerably good looking, by means vicious, and with very passable ma ners, becoming almost agreeable on the ra occasions when, standing in awe of somebod be had tho sense to curb his frolicsome disj sition. He saw Sibyl Temple Used as he was believe the finest horses bred for him, t finest vintagc3 grown for him, the rich? dishes cooked for him, he hearing and seel that Sibyl was the handsomest giri in Ketti well, easily concluded that she hod bo reared for him. So he began making eyes her, and having perceived that she notic his attentions-which she could not fail do-he treated the conquest as made, and to his uncle on Sunday at lunch that he lovt Miss Sibyl Temple, and that he had litt doubt that she reciprocated the passion. Beneath some of our big, middle-agi waistcoats tfiere lie strange secrets. Tl ponderous Archibald Goldmore, elevate pompous, and remote from sentiment as 1 appeared, had a buried sorrow of his ow \ ears ago his only brother, Harry Goldmori father, died The two brothers had ev? boen fondly attached Life's early strugg they had faced side by side, and an affoctic never to bc destroyed had, during tba early years, laced thar- hearts togethe The brother died Indyir^he put his thi white hand out from under the bed clothe and, catching Archibald's wrist, begged bi ?ot to forget his little son. soon to be an o phau. Archibald promised, and that pron iso, never broken, and re-enforced year aft* year by memories of the dead man, made tl uncle merciful to the rudeness and the foll of this rash and uncongenial youth. Whe the young man spoke of marriage, in som inexplicable way a reminiscence of long ag stole into the uncled heart, and made him sa and gentle. "Harry," he said, with unusual kindnes! "you are young to marry, and have little c your own, but I approve of the idea on th whole. I shall make your way plain." "Oh, ;hat of course." replied tho eas youth. "1 settle I that in my mind long ago, and he laughed loudly. "Suppose wc m ko a call?n the Temple tomorrow," the uncle said "No, not to-morrow, thank'ee," the passion ate lover said, shaking his head "To-morro? I ride over to Blancourt to see Jefferson Never hurry after the women. They thin! quito enough of themselves without ou help;" which delicate speech he enlivened with a fresh laugh, loud, hearty and vacant The matter dropped, but at dinner tba day, after the cloth had been removed, Archi bald Goldmore, gravely renewing the sub ject. said: "In a curious way your choice of Miss Temple-we say nothing about her view ol the matter-" "0, that's all right enough," young nany said "That wc shall see," his uncle remarked; "for the present, never mind I was going tc say your choice in a curious way approves itself to me; for do you know, Harry. I once had thoughts of proposing to the young lady myself." "Of what?" screamed the nephew. "Of proposing to thc young lady myself," tho uncle repeated "Of ichal f7 exclaimed the nephew, again in a scream of undoubted surprise, no could neither believe his ears nor disbelieve them. "Of proposiug to thc young lady myself," Archibald Goldmore answered once more with steady solemnity. His nephew would hear no more. Ho burst into a roar of laughter, threw himself back in his chair, laughed loud and long, changed the key of his laugh, went high, went low, slapped the table, and in a general way signified that the most comical idea ever I heard of since ideas first began had just been let loose upon the world "It is ]x?rfcctly true.*' the uncle said, used ; to his nephew's mad moods, and not as yet affronted. "At your age!" screamed the nephew, "marry a lovely girl ike that! Do you think she would have looked at you?" and so in a variety of phrases he put the absurdity, saluting each fancy with a fresh outburst of ridicule, while the uncle sat fuming over in? sults which were truly exasperating. But he was a man of great self-restraint, and ho said nothing. /.I! that J i ^ht the nephew persisted in his ridicule. "Uncle, what kind of a coat, would you 1K? married in?" "Where would you have gone for your honeymoon?" "How many bridesmaids would you have lind?" "Would it not have l>een suitable to have sage spinsters of fifty?" and so on in an insane, but Offensive, succession. The rude young fellow thought only of his sallies and his amusement; jx'rhaps a little tincture of an? noyance lay at the bottom, and made his jests taunts indeed. In any cast?, he jested to his heart's content: and the uncle, boiling with anger, disclosed nothing of his fury. The nephew thought of a final witticism. After they had gone to bed he marchai to his uncle's door and tapped; and tho uncle, hear? ing his voice, which for wittier effect ho pitched low and serious, fancied he was going to apologize. The great man opened his door. "Uncle," said tht? nephew, in a grave tone, which carried on the illusion. -Well, Henry?" "Something has just struck mc." "Weil. Henry?" "I could not go to bcd without asking you." "What is it?" "Make me godfather te number one." He dropper? his voice lower than ever. And screaming again with rapture, he retreated down the corridor, and left his uncle to go to bed with what appetite for sleep he might. The next day be rode over to Blancourt ' and ut night returned to dinner. He w-as tired", and 'spoke kttlo beyond a grumble at the fish. But when: dessert began, feeling hi? energies recruitedvhe thought it time to show something more of his playful ways. "Thought again about your inarriage, Uncle?" "Tes, Henry."' "You could not do- a-wiser thing than b* propose to a young beauty," said this young man of fatal rudeness.. "The younger and the more beautiful,, tho wiser you will ber*" Here came the facetious scream. It was always the same-?hort. shrill, spasmodic,, irrational. "So I think, Henry." "Only dont propose to Miss Sibyl Temple; she's mine, you know." "Have you asked her?" "No; but I shall to-morrow.*' "Henry,. I asked her to-day.*7 "What, for me!" "No, for myself." "You citdF "I did." "Now don't begin with ?ny tricks, unefe," tbs young man said, riding from bis chair with alarm in his face; "I hate practical jokes." "This is no joke,* the uncle answered with calmness. "I asked Miss Sibyl Temple to? day to mayry mep and she said 'Yes.' She is my afflaiicad wife, and with her mother's full consent" Poor Harry Goldmore's face fell as visibly during this announcement as if it had been a house tumbling down story by story. At tba end-the speech was slowly "delivered by bis uncle-he called out in exactly the note in which an angry boy says, "I won't play any more." "Well, it's the shabbiest thing I ever heard ot" "Henry, listen to me," the uncle said severely. "You are a thoughtless young man, and yoi know well your directions were not engaged. I doubt, indeed, if you havoany affections to engage. You have been rude and even brutal in your language to me; I forgive you; you have bad a lesson. I would have provided for your marriage with Miss Temple, and still I will provide for it with any young lady I approve of. I am going to my library now, and you had better think thiB matter over, and ask yourself whether you would not be wise if you learned good maimers. I am not harsh with you, and as long as you are not immoral I never will be harsh, for your father's sake. But I shall marry Miss Sibyl Temple, and you shall not9 He rose and left the room, majestic, like the Tower of Babel walking off with itself; and the young man, petrified, followed him with his eyes as he departed, and- then sank speechless into a chair. And thus, reader, was the second, the beau? tiful, Miss Temple engaged to be married. [TO BE CONTINUED.] What Our Editors Say. Polities and the Clergy. Columbia Record. I Rev. Henry Ward Beecher 4bas written a letter on the subject of free trade, and the same has been published in the News and Courier. Ile takes the side of free trade, speaks with commendation of the Free Trade Association which has been organized in Sonth Carolina, and alindes in complimentary terms to the record of our State on the sub* ject. . Mr. Beecher is a man of great learn? ing, ability and eloquence, and occu? pies an extremely prominent place among the clerymen of America. His views on any subject will al? ways command attention by reason of his wide reputation. But it strikes us that it is inconsistent for mern* bera of his profession to intermeddle with politics. Judging from the course usually pursued by ministers of the gospel, we would infer that such is their opinion, for it is com? paratively seldom that one of them takes any part in political discussions or accepts a public office. We sup? pose that a faithful performance of their spiritual duties would occupy all their time and attention. But politics, being a business so emphati? cally of the world worldly, is parti? cularly inconsistent with the func? tions of a Christian clergyman. We do not wish tb be hard on Mr. Beecher, but the publication of his letter gives every one the right to respectfully criticise it. While cler? gymen have the same legal rights that all other citizens have, and there is no desire or power to disfranchise them, yet public opinion approves some ways of exercising those rights and disapproves ethel's, and among the ways that it does not approve are those of making political speech? es, writing political letters and hold? ing political offices. And when a clergyman does either of these tilings he lessens his influence and im? pairs his usefulness in his chosen calling. The President's Veto. Lexington Dispatch. President Cleveland deserves cred? it for his courage in vetoing a pen? sion bill and condemning in the mes? sage the practice of Congress of granting pensions to persons whose claims have been rejected by the Pension Bureau. His position, that if the government maintains a bureau for the settlement of these claims, it ought to accept its work, is the cor? rect one. If the bureau isn't effi cient to it ought to be made so. As a matter of fact it is efficient, and in consequence of its efficiency a great many fradulent claims are rejected It is well equipped with detectives, examiners and experts of various kinds. It is a very costly piece of government machinery, and the fre? quency with which Congress ignoies its decisions, and without careful in? vestigation, acts favorably upon claims which it has rejected, indi? cates nothing more nor less than a disposition to bring it into discredit. The fact, doubtless, is that Congress? men are so anxious to vote pensions to ex-soldiers that they don't care much whether their claims are just ones or not. Thc message of the President, however, will cause them to hesitate i ti passing pension claims without giving them thc careful con? sideration the}' deserve. Williamsburg Herald. We have read the full text of an authorized version of Col. J no. J Pargan's free trade speech in Brook? lyn, published by the Watchman and boidhron, which paper received it direct from Col. Dargan himself. Thc speech is worse than we feared. As an argument for free trade it is an abortion ; as a more curiosity of speechmaking, it is a failure. Dad the author not announced his subject every hcaier would have supposed he arose to confess the sins of the South and laud thc horse headed abolitionists of the North. C<>! Dar? gan alleges that hy their course the ^ latter have achieved a deathless fame as charo pita* nf liberty, andnesnif& from afar the gloty with which the present free trade agitators wHl Have covered themselves when their ^iras ?hall have been accomplished. CoL Dargan may achieve fame fn ki? pre? sent course ; but if be makes many more speeches like his "Parallelisms of Negro- Slavery and Protection;'* his fame like that of Boswell-, will closely resemble infamy, The Netos and Courier calls Geo. Tillman's re? ply to the*Free Traders "dirt-eating we would like to know what it calls the Dargan Brooklyn speech. I The Primary Pia?. j Bock JM Renaldo :~rt j Ata recent convention of tho Dfe* i mocrats of Abbeville resolutions were j adopted favoring the selection of tho primary election as the mo?e jpr nominating the candidate for Con gres8 in the Third Congressional^^ l riet. The convention in its pream? ble says that the nominations by tho Democratic party are equivalent to election, and that consequently evety Democrat should have the right to participate directly in the choice of all representatives, both State and National. The convention plan, U is claimed, prevents this direct partici 'pation by the whore people, and; is therefore objectionable. Georgetown Enquirer. The acting secretary of the treas? ury has sent ta the U?use a letter .recommending the abolition of sixty collectors of customs and a consoli? dation of their districts, on the ground that the cost of maintaining them exceeds the receipts from the duties. Among the districts includ? ed in this recommendation is that at ? Georgetown at which the cost of collecting one dollar of revenue is $2.63. Oraitgeburg Times and Democrat. We regret to hear that some of our best and most progressive farmers oppose the organization of the farm? ers into clubs. If the farmers are to be organized, they will need the counsel and'advice of their more in , telligent brethren, and we hope they lwill bavc it. If the movement is controlled by intelligence and patriot? ism it will bc of great benefit to the State. j Louisville Courier Journal. Ordinarily the Democratic party might hope to escape popular censure by forbearance, but the people are in no mood now for the exercise : of forbearance. The D?mocratie lead? ers two years ago were rich in prom? ises. They attributed all popular distress to the misgovernment of the Republican party, but two years have passed and the distress is as wide? spread as then. Every plan of re? lief has perished in the committee rooms of Congress or fallen still? born in the House. The political situation is serious. The party must do something to regain public, confi? dence. It must rebuke the pension agents. It must put a stop td"^ex? travagance. It must cut the River and Harbor bill in two. It must- refuse subsidies to steamships. It roust re? form the tariff. It must pay the pub? lic debt with the surplus revenues. It must reduce taxation. Kew Orleans States. The New York policemen declare : that there are thousands of boys ia that city who are educating them? selves for the penitentiary and :tbe gallows owing to the unrestricted sale of yellow back novels, in which murderers, thieves and highwaymen are pictured as the noblest pf heroes and the most lovable of men. Large j quantities of this pernicious literature is finding its way into the hands of small boys who esconce themselves in the wood shed, and revel in the bloody and daring deeds of "Limping Jim, the Piebald Terror of Roaring Gulch/' or "The One-Eyed Pirate of the Car? rican Sea." The effect of such reading on the youthful roindjs- evi? denced by the fact that in New York at the present time a popular game among the boys is one called "llanda Up." -Thc urchins arm themselves with toy pistols and start out on the streets at night as amateur highway? men. Wilmington. Star. The Star is glad to see some of the Representatives in Congress so plaiu spoken in their opposition to the pro? posed grand subsidy steamship scheme. It is another bid to rob thc treasury. It will fail, just as the schemes in France failed. The subsi? dy business has been tried on an ex? tensive scale in that country and with no satisfactory results. We be? lieve that to subsidize one line is to drive out all pussiblc competition, and mouopoly is net the thing to be aim? ed at in a free country. Wc hope the scheme will be votod down. Major Bacon and Gen. Gordon met at Eatonton, Ga. They lost their temper and sharp words followed. Uere is what occured according to a special to the Augusta Chronicle: "Who asserts it lies, who insinu? ates it lies, who repeats it after hear? ing me to day lies-that I ever re? signed any public trust, in peace or in war, when my services would ben? efit my people or country, and when I was physically able to serve, and let him come who dates defy." "That was Major Bacon's man'y and significant reply, to Gen. Gor? don's insinuating inquiry if he had not resigned from the Ninth Georgia regiment, as Adjutant, when bj? r~! country ncc-dod his services. Din ing the delivery of thia bold re? buke of an unworthy insinuation Major Bacou looked Gen. Gordon fully in the eyes and shook his fin? ger at him." There came near being a serious row between Bacon and Dr. R. B. Nisbet and his sons. "Flipkins, I'm going to raise your rent," said his landlord. "Thank von ; I'm blowed it" I can," said Flipkins - Lynn Union.