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‘/WISDOM, JUSTICE AND MODERATION.”
VOLUME XXV.
ROME, GA., FRIDAY MORNING. JULY 7. 1871.
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FATEFUL SHADOWS.
[Continued.]
“Viola’ said Hiram, as they drove home
‘would you mind it if I were to marry af.’
ter I complete my studies and return home?’
This question wis asked in a brother’s care-
less confidence.
Viola looked up with a laughing twinkle
in her eye as she answered,
‘Of course I would not mind it, I want
you to marry—all men marry.’
‘And who would yon rather that I would
marry of all the girls you know ?’
Viola was not puzzled for an answer, bat
she answered at once with a laugh
‘Ob, if I was not afraid of making you / once thought so charmin
vain, I would say Miss Emma Eustace.’ which, in reality, was so naughty.
‘You think then it would be a proud for
tune to marry Miss Emma ?’ Hiram ask
ed this half in jest and half in earnest.
‘Yes, a proud fortune, Hiram, and more
than proud fortune, bat a great happiness
—she is so pretty, and they say, those who
know her host, that she io as good as she
is beautiful.’
‘And you could love her as a sister, Vi
ola ?’
‘Oh yes, I would be as proud of her as
you could possibly be yourself, Hiram,’and
the sweet girl reached up her hand and
gave Hiram’s ear a pull that almost caused
him to cry with pain.
Hiram said no more, but he felt a strange
delight with the assursnee that the true in
stincts of Viola went out in the direction
of his own heart, aud it was a 'Sweet relief
to his anxiety to know that Viola’s own feel
ings towards him were of no more vital na
ture than those of a Bister towards a broth-
But did Hiram know it—did Viola
know it He thought he knew it—she
thought she knew it) but Hiram knew it
not, neither did Viola.
It was a pleasant evening they spent at
the Middleton Muggleton home. Mrs. Lav
ender was there; and Lillian too, had come
to bid Hiram good bye again. The shad
ows of to-morrow's parting crept in it was
trne, but only to soften the enjoyment and
to make its music only the sweeter in the
memory of after days.
The next morning Mg. Middteton Mug
gleton walked to the depot with Hiram.
Jake, with the cart, carried his baggage.
‘Hiram, my boy, said Mr. Middleton
Muggleton, as the train came whistling
down, ‘you cannot know how much I shall
miss you.’
•I shall remember your kindness, sir,’
said Hiram, with true feeling.
‘Be certain to write me if you want any
thing,’ continued the fatherly hearted Mr.
Middleton Muggleton.
‘Oh yes, I willv bit You have alreadyan-
ticipated all of my wants,’ gratefully re
sponded Hiram.
‘That’s a fact,’ spoke up Mr. Thomas
Hoggins, who could not let Hiram go with
out a shake of his hand, and then he con-
tinned, ‘be certain Hiram to let me know
if there is any one’s nose here that you
want pouched, and I will punch it for
you.’
‘Oh yes, I will, and now good bye, Mr!*
Muggleton—good bye Mr. Hoggins,’ aud
Hiram took his place in the car.
‘There goes as true a man as ever lived,'
and Mr. Muggleton found a relief to his
thoughts in this half unconscious ejacula
tion.
‘That’s a fact, sure,’ corroborated Mr.
Thomas Hoggins, ‘and if he wants any
body’s noses punched, I can punch ’em for
him.’
This was the summum bonum of Mr. Thos.
Hoggin’s idea of friendly professions, and
he snapped it out with an earnestness of
tone that fully attested its sincerity.
Mr. Middleton Muggleton was eminent
ly a man of peace, but he could but choose
to admire this evidence of Mr. Thomas
Hoggin’s manly devotion to hisporlege. •
‘There is hardly any occasion for that,
Mr. Hoggins, ho mildly replied, ‘as I do
not think that Hiram Lavender has an en
emy in the world.
‘That’s a fact,’ habitually returned Mr.
Thos. Hoggins, which habitual corrobora
tion he as quickly contradicted, by adding,
or, at least, he oughtenter have any, hut
folks are not all as folks seem. Now there
is old man Eustace who I heard abusing
him last Saturday to this enssed yankec,
Air. Bombustus Euzce, who seemed to take
at once to the old fool, and looked as if he
had a right to hear him abuse Hiram, It
was all I could do to keep from punching
his nose for him.’
‘Oh, I hope you are mistaken, Mr. Erazee
could know nothing of Hiram, and Mr.
Eustace is too old to bo punched,' sooth
ingly replied Mr. Middleton Muggleton.
‘That’s so—that’s a fact,’ retorted Mr.
ThomaE Hoggins, ‘the old man’s too old,
but Mr. Bombustus l-'traee aint—he totes
the very nost> as I intend to punch—you
see if he don’t,’ and Mr. Thos. Hoggins
dashed his fist through the air with a vim
that threatened to smash any number of
imaginary noses,
Mr. Middleton Muggleton could hardly
approve of this practical demonstration of
Mr. Thomas Hoggin’s friendship tor Hi
ram, but he felt really gratified to him for
it. He knew that though Mr, Thos. Hog
gins was outspoken in his threats, he nev
ertheless never uttered one that he did not
mean, and only awaited an opportunity to
make good.
‘Mr. Frazeeis only sojourning tempora
rily in our midst, and he can hardly come
in conflict with Hiram’s interest, or his
honor; so I hope, Mr. Hoggins, that there
will be no occasion for the use of your
friendly offices.’ This Mrf Middleton Mug
gleton said in his most soothing tone.
‘That’s a fact—or, leastwise it may be so,
and it may be so’nt—and the prefatory nod
of Mr. Thos. Hoggins had terminated in a
dubious shake,
‘I thank you^all th,c same,’ said Mr, Mid
dleton Muggleton, as he grasped the hand
of Mr. Thomas Hoggins, and turned; with
a downward glance to his homeward; way.
Mrs. Middleton Muggleton, Viola and
Mrs. Lavender, were all standing in the
poreh to watch his return, and a feeling- of
loneliness crept into their -hearts as hut one
shadow was thrown in his path, and the
sound of but a single tread was awakeaed
by his steps.
“Well, he is off,’ Mr. Middleton Muggle
ton said, trying to speak lightly,’ and now,
Mrs. Lavender, you must stay with us to
make up for his absence.’
•No,’ answered the lady. ‘You must give
me Viola to comforfcme instead.’
‘And make my own home a midnight
prison—no I eaunot give up my little bird
and the fond father lovingly patted the-eur-
ly head of Viola.
‘Yon are too selfish, papa,’ spoke up Vio?
la, ‘I intend to go with Mrs. Lavender, for
I- can't bear home now, that Hiram is gone,’"
‘Well, well, you may go, but I know that
you will tease Mrs. Lavender to death with
your childish ways, laughed her father.
And Viola, twining her arm lovingly
around the widow’s waist, walked hand in'
hand with her to her lonely home, to be to
it a sunlight and a joy untill her son
should return.
The first was to Viola. It was dated
Norfolk; Sept. 10,1S55. It was from Hi
ram, and it read as follows:
My Pretty Pet—For your imagg rises
so pleasantly before me this evening as I
sit in the calm autamn gloaming, that my
heart is childish, and I must ca'l you pet,
and calling yon pet, of coarse the adjective
must precede it, and yon become my pret
ty pet. My pretty pet, then—now the
name sounds so pleasantly that I must re
peat it—I wonder if you have one time
thumped your little aoggin in vexations im
patience at my long silence. ‘Not even
once, Mr. presumption,’ me thinks I hear
you say, with one of your little pout)
, but
,. „ . Yon
should never pout, Viola. The temptation
to kis3 you into a good humor again, is too
much for mortal weakness to bear, and yon
should have more mercy upon your fellow
men—there now, what a capital bull 1 have
made—than thus to tantalize them.—
Very well, then, I am glad that you did
not care a fig for my silence, for it relieves
me of the disagreeable necessity of wast
ing the first page of my letter with an apol-
ogy_ which, as aoologies usually go, would
not be worth the ink with which it is
written.
No apology being needed to soothe the
wrinkles of your neglected dignity, I may
enter at once upon my letter, and tell you
how I enjoyed my trip, how I found my
uncle and his house full of great blear eyed,
gauky daughters, for the whole six of
whom, Viola, I would not give your little
finger; how I was received and entertained
within his lordly halls, and how I shook
the dust of his premises from off my feet,
and bid him and his delectable daughters,
my precious cousins, if not an affectionate,
at least a long farewell.
Firstly—not sermonologically, but epis
tolary I will tell you of my trip—don’t
think, my pretty pet, that I am going to
bore you with big words, and say, ma bon
t oi/atfe, when I mean trip. From H’innsbor-
ough to Columbia was not half so pleasant
as it was last May, when I had your feret
eyes—there now, pouting again, I didn’t
mean red eyes, or canning eyes, or prying
eyes, but qaick, perceiving eyes, to spy oat
the many beauties by the wayside, nor did
the car wheels, as they rambled over the
road with a deadening sound, as if they
Wuuld crush in two the strings of my heart,
which every revolution that carried me far
ther and farthoi from home, stretched only
the tighter—sound half so musically to my
ears as did a certain merry laugh that kept
ringing in and out as we (you and I, my
pet) then dashed along. Columbia—de
lightful Columbia, with its pleasant homes
and beautiful flowers. You already know
what it is, and I will not detain you there,
not even as long as I was detained, which
was only until I could he driven to the
Charleston dej.ot, as fast as Beverly Nash
could drive me.
The setting of night and a sound sleep,
which not even thoughts of home, and my
pretty pet could keep off, spared me the
monotenons sight of the Congaree and
Santee swamps, and when the morning
came I was in Charleston—grand old
Charleston. I spent a day there—such as
any other up country boy would have spent
it, in wandering up and down its handsome
streets, winding up, of course, with an
evening hour upon the Battery. I had the
curiosity, and it was a mean one too, to
glance over the Directory for the address
of the flourishing firm of Frazee and Pe-
gee, but like the good old ‘Hymnist, mourn
ing for the way he long had sought, I found
it not. The voyage from Charleston to this
city was without event or interest, and I
atn glad it was too, for 1 am all impatient
to get through firstly, and to begin on sec
ondly.
Secondly then pertains to my Uncle, and
a rare old ancle he is, no more like my
precious mother than darkness is like light,
or rather than the Prince of darkness is
like an angel of light. Yon have heard his
name, but that don’t matter. I suppose as
that as I have been so methodical as to
commence with a firstly aud am now going
on to a secondly, I will have to be consis
tent and tell you his name again. To be
in order then, it is Beal, Gordon Beal.—
Gordon what!’ exclaimed Mr. Middleton
Muggleton, to whom Viola was eagerly
reading her letter.
‘Gordon Beal,’ continued Viola somewhat
surprised at the suddeD earnestness of her
father. I landed at Norfolk glad to shut
out from my sight the
‘Dork blue sea-’
aud to put my foot once urorc upon terra
tirma. I was soon directed to the tlie su
burban villa cf my uncle—for you must
know that he is a millionarc; and being
that of course ho is a persona re of univer
sal note. With all my brass I felt a slight
trepidation as I knocked at the massive
bronze door. A servant soon appeared,
and I sent up my name. ‘Mr. Beal is not
at home,’ replied the servant after a mo
ments absence. ‘Where is he?’ I asked,
determined to see my uncle. ‘He is in
the city,’ answered the servant. “Will he
be hack soon?’ ‘Vos sir, this evening.’
‘Then I will await his return/1 said, as I
invited myself in, and tho servant seeing
no help for it conducted me to the parlor.
It was a magnificent room, and I had heard
my mother describo it so often that I almost
knew it at sight. The furniture was all
old but rich and well kept. I made myr
self at home, aud told the negro that he
could go, but as soon as Mr, Gordon Beal
retnrned,to tell him that his very affection-
tionate nophow’ Hiram Lavender, Esq.,—
in prospective— would be glad to make
bis acquaintance. I had folly an boar to
reconnoile my surroundings, and to indulge
in come romantic speculations, for you must
know my pretty pet that it was upon the
very sofa that I then reclined, my mother
was wooed and won, or at least so ran the
story I was so bnsily weaving in my im-
magiuation. Several elegant portraits
adorned the wall and I was wordering at
the perfect tone, whpn I glanced at one that
E instantly recognised. It was the portrait
of my mother, painted when aho was a
maiden. My heart was. up iu tny throat
and my eyes were strangely dim as Ilooked
upon it. It is ouch lit? mother now, and
Vio}a, I some time3 fancy that it was like
you too. ; Near by'it hung the portrait of a
youth whom J supposed, to be my undo,
and as I looked upon It I womjered how
such a face could index a heart so cold and
stern as I had judged my uncle’s to be. I
arose from my seat qnfi Stood near them,
and my heart readied out to the beaming
canvass that seemed to welcome me there to
tho halls of my kindred. A magnificent
piey glass stood opposite and as I turned
round and caught the reflection of my own
fa'oe I was pleased with the surprise of the
resemblance it bore to the more youthful
portrait of my unde Gordon. From these
I turned to the portraits of an elderly coup
le which I conjectured were those of my
grand parents. I had not long however to
contemplate them before the door was
opened and a harsh looking gentleman, r
unlike the pleasant portrait that hung by
the side ol my mother as too objects con'd
he unlike, entered the room. He bowed to
me stiffly but rather awkwardly. ‘I wis
told that you wanted to see tne,' he said
standing half way betweea he door and the
center table. 1 pnt on my best grace and
said, “I presume that yon are my ancle.’
‘I am Mr. Beal,’ he replied without unben
ding his frigidity. “And I am Hiram
Lavender,’ I said with a deprcciativc bow.
‘Ah Mr. Hiram Levender, I hope that yon
are well,’ he said without manifesting any
particular desire to kiss me for my mother.
‘Yes, well I thank yon,’ I replied determin-
not to be ontaone in politeness. My ancle
remained silent and I continued: ‘I hope
you are wcIL’ My uncle replied that he
had no particular cause of complaint, but
never hinted at a seat. I began to feel
like pitching my ancle ont nf the window,
but a glance at my mother’s portrait sug
gested better thoughts, and I again ventur
ed upon the suaviter in motto. ‘My mother
desired that I should visit yon, and renew
the intercourse of our families.’ ‘Vonr
mother,’ replied my nncle with a blank
.stare, ‘I do not know her.’ This aroused my
Southern fire, and I retorted: ‘Do not
know my mother, then sir you are an urn
grateful and nonatoral brother.’ ‘Perhaps
you do not know me,’ he answered with
provoking coolness. ‘If you be'indecd Gor
don Beal, I know you to be a heartless
wretch that is no more worthy to call my
mother sister than a hog is to sing a Te
Darn.’ I retorted hardly able to restrain
my foot from,kicking him. ‘I lave no
wish to call your mother sister,’ he replied,
turning to leave the room. This was too
bad. I could not afford to forego the pleas
are of a furthey intimacy with my uncle; so
I anticipated his movements and steped to
the door. ‘But I have a desire to know
more of you and your family,’ I said. ‘I
am sorry to disoblige yon sir, but I have
already seen enough of you,” and my ami
able uncle put his hand out to ring for a
servant. At this instant I felt the door
pushed open and one sixth part of my wish
was at once gratified, for before me stood
one of oiy six lovely cousius; tall, wiry,
scrawny and ugly, and I do not know how
many more nys could be used if I only had
time to nse them. She bleared her great
owl eyes at me as if I had been the
king of the Cannibal Islands. ‘What is
the matter father?’ she drawled out
as if see was trying her voice for the
keynotcof auopera. -Thisgentleman,Lydia,
insists npon establishing a relationship with
‘Yes, my dear cousin Lydia,’ I said
with my most killing smile, (and jon know
my pretty pet, that I have a very killing
smile,) ‘I am your affectionate cousin Hi
ram Lavender, son of your dear aunt Es
telle, of-wbom you have doubtless so often
heard.’ My dear cousin Lydia seemed to
like my killing smile, and she solemnly
lowered her snuff colored brows as she ex
tended her hand. ‘Then I am glad te see
you, cousin Hiram.’ ‘Oh, cousin Lydia,
I am so glad to have you say so; aad, pray,
how are the rest of my cousins, if 1 have
more?’ for believe me, my pretty pet, I had
no idea of the strength and disposition of
my relations. ‘They are well, and are all
at home, and will all be glad to see yen,
bnt none gladder than I am;’ and my dear
cousin Lydia essayed a killing smile of her
own. ‘I am delighted,’ I replied with an
other discharge of killing smiles, ‘and my
ancle Gordon will now recognise me;’ and I
turned to my dear uncle with a profound
bow. A glance from my dear cousin Lydia
t'ld my dear nncle Gordon what to do, as
well as it told me whose good graces I had
to conciliate. ‘Yes I suppose I will,’ said
my dear nncle; and he extended his hand
which I squeezed until I made my dear un
cle’s eyes fairly weep with pain. . And now
my dear cousin Lydia, will permit mo’—
‘Oh, yes, interrupted my dear cousin Lydia
entirely misconstruing my drift, and poking
np her withered lips in a very killing man
ner inleed. I shnt my eyes and made a
desperate plunge at her lips. I suppose that
I struck them, as a very affectionate smack
followed, and I conld taste the vinegar on
my own for at least a day after. After this
there could be-no longer a doubt of onr re
lationship, and my dear cousin Lydia sum
moned the reserved force of the connec
tion, and one by one they were presented—
all precisely alike, and only to be described
by a multitude of rys, nys and lys, bnt
never a ty. It was not nccess ry to go
through the killing process with all of my
dear cousins—my dear cousin Lydia inti
mating by her smiling looks that she her
self wonld.be sufficiently able to stand all
of its languishing effects. My dear aunt- 2 —
I really forgot to ask her name—had been
dead for, the Lord knows how long, and T
could not help but congratulate the shade
of the departed, for the blissful relief she
must have felt when she resigned -my dear
uncle, and my precious cousin, to the mer-
eies of an ungateful world, and winged her
flight to the unknown chances of another.
Having stormed the c is tie and effected a
lodging, it next occurred to me to see if the
garrison was worth conciliating. To deter
mine this would require some time, and I
concluded to take time; and taming to my
dear cousin Lydia, I requested her to have
my baggage brought from the hotel. This
my dear cousin Lydia was ready to do, and
by tea I was regularly installed in the
honse of my dear uncle. It reqoired no
Machiavclian worming to master the situa
tion. I soon found that my dear uucle was
a cold, selfish, suspicions character; but
with it all, he was. the complete slave of my
dear cousin Xydiit. My dear cousin par
took largely, if not whole! y of my dear un
cles meanness, I further found that daring
the progress of human events, there had
been found three-men in till the good city
of Norfolk, and its'wide vioinage, of saffi
cient courage to-venture within the raiige
ef the killing charms of my dear cousins;
bnt being nnao!c .o choose between the six,
the three valiant men had been at length
compelled to retire from - the field, much to
the virtuous disgust of my dear cousins.
Of course this fittle bit of romance was
imparted to me, by my dear cousin Lydia,
in a manner so gushingly confidential, that
I began (q snspoot that I, myself, might be
subjected to the doubtful honor of being
the fourth, Only think of roy danger; my
pretty pet. Six dear ooostos ready at once
to flash their killing batteries : upon me, a
poop innocent nnpiotected grown up
boy. Three days iatpr + saw my dan?
gar* and cut short a gushing' sigh cf
my dear cousin Lydia by telling her
plainly, but lather- sheepishly, ihat 1
bad a sweetheart ia8outb Carolina; You
ought to have seen the indignant twitching
of tny dear cousin's shriveled- lips, with a
scorn belonging a)ona to flntfaged ft male
/‘pbeelinks” she stomped her - foot, not near
such a little Cinderella foot aayours. With
-a majestic-wave of her " hand—not suefc t>
plump little hand as my pretty pot’s—to
the door; and said, ‘Then sir, you have
betrayed :my feelings, and you are no lon
ger my oeusin-’ I tried to laugh it o(F, but
the soul of my dear cousin Lydia, was high
above suelt a maidenly frivolty, and with
another poke at the door, she whispered,
‘Begone.’ My hat heing ready, I went,
and here I am, my pretty pel, only waiting
for the morning to take the steamer to New
York I shall ever hold my dear cousin
Lydia, and my honored uncle in remem
brance. And now, my pretty pet, I most
cut my letter shore, Kiss your ma ma and
my ma ma for me, but tell all others not to
trouble themselves about the peiformance
of that office towards you, as I would great
ly prefer to kiss you for myself.
Hiram Lvvender.
CHAP. XL
THREE LETTERS.
[ Conlinital.]
This was the fourth time that Viola had
read her letter, and this time it was read
aloud for the gratification of her fond papa
Mr. Middleton Muggleton.
When she had finished it, dwelling with
■i ’ingcring sweetness in her voice upon the
name Hiram Lavender, her fond papa
Mr. Middleton Muggleton, arose, with the
excited air of an idea-strnck man.
‘It is strange,’ he said, in a half whisper,
‘Gordon Beal, Gordon Beal—why that was
the name of my beautiful boy ot the Des-
pablados—Gordon Beal—there is some mys
tery here. Let me see—I have the mem
orandum book yet. I will see again. My
love, where is my trunk key V And Mr.
Middleton Muggleton surprised Mrs. Mid
dleton Muggleton and Viola by the strange
ness of his gestures, as well as his words.
Mrs. Middleton Muggleton produced the’
keys, and Mr. Middleton Muggleton rath
er impatiently opened hia large .trunk/
which, to the gentlemen of the old regime,
was a Herring’s patent safe, and from its
depths ho took a small tin box, whioh was
secured with a small pad-lock, to which Hie
key was again impatiently fitted, and: Mr.
Middleton Muggleton, tumbling his finger
among his deeds, mortgages and'bills of,
sale, at length drew ont a small memoran
dum book; blotched with disuse and yellow
with age.
Mrs. • Middleton Muggleton and Viola
had followed bis movements with an ex
citement scarce’y less busy than his own,
for like his, the fancy of wife and daugh
ter was harmoniously tongue t in the same
groove.
rhere.now, don’t you see,’ he said, with
an air of iriompb, as he pointed to the
name writen in a plain, neat hand,‘Gordon
Beal, there it is as plain as day—Garden
Beal, Norfolk, Va., and this in the same
hand that wrote this diary—the same pre
cisely, and the same hand that wrote this
diary, I found stiff and cold and dead; up
on the Andes, in South America. Now,
how is that for an idea, my love—how is
that ?’ and Mr. Middleton Muggleton in
that moment attained the proudest height
of his life.
‘It is surprisingly strange,' replied Mrs.
Middleton Muggleton, with an air of sym
pathetic perplexity, os if she was ready to
recognize the presence of an idea, but was
undetermined os to what that idea was.
‘Oh no, it is not strange at all, my love,
it is uot surprising at all, it is as plain to
me as day. Gordon Beal, unless he has
beeu lisco vcrtiT by some scientific explorer,
and set up as a specimen of ancient statu
ary, is now leaning against a rock on the
Andes; and Mr. Gordon Beal, of Norfolk,
Va., is a humbug—that’s what I mean, my
love—that’s what I mean,’ and Mr. Mid
dleton Muggleton descended from fancy,
and made a clinch at facts; and then he
continued, ‘Viola, go at once for Mrs. Lav
ender, she must know this, and just to think
that I have known her so long, and never
knew before that Gordon Beal was her
brother.’
Viola hurriedly seized her little walking
hat, that eat so prettily upon her head, and
set out as zealous in her father’s pursuit of
his idea as if his idea had been a wonton
butterfly, and she a little gipsy girl, a bout
upon its capture.
Unannounced, she tripped into Mrs.
Lavender’s room, and without noticing the
presence of Emma Enstaee, she said,
‘Oh, Mrs. Lavender, I have got a letter
from Hiram, and it is full of funny things
about his uncle Gordon Beal, and papa has
a book written by Gordon Beal, and he has
an-idea too—a grand booming idea, , but
what his idea is I can’t make out, but he
is all in a frenzy rolling, as the poets say,
and you must go to him at once, or his idea
will he too much for him*,’ and the rattling
little creature fairly laughed in her excite
ment.
Mrs. Lavender smiled at her childish
spirits, as she repeated, N
‘A letter from Hiram/
‘Yes, and what do you think, six great
blear-eyed, ugly female cousins, wanted to
catch him at once, and be a poor/ lonely
unprotected youfig man. Oh my, don’t you
wish I’d have been there, would'ut I have
pulled their hairs, and scratched their eyes.’
Aud Viola laughingly went into a feline
pantomine, in which any amount of hair
was polled, and a number of eyes were
scratched.
‘Oh yes, you are a terribly fierce little
kitten,’ laughed Mrs/Lavender,‘and lam
really afraid that Hiram will be hurt for
tho want of your protecting claws.’ .
‘No he will not, though, he saw the old
oat hid in-che meal,-and ran away from the
danger, and is now safe,:.-X hope; in the
cloistered walls of Harvard. .
Emma looked- upon this bright-faced
girl with a heart almost ready to envy her
joyousness. f ' “**Y*
‘And was that all the conceited boy had
to write about ?’ asked Mrs. Lavender.
Oh no, he wrote about his unde Gor
don, and about seeing yoqr portrait, and
sittio" in tho self-same seat that you were
sitting in when yon told his father - to' ask
“papa”—but here is tho letter—you most
read it for yourself.’ And Viola reae'ied
out the crumpled letter to Mrs. Lavender’s
hand. At that moment she caught the
sight of Emma, and started‘with an em
barrassed surprise..
Oh, Miss Emma, 1 trust that you will,
excuse my thoughtless discourtesy, but I
really did not see you.
Because she could not know it, seeing that
Mr. Augustus Frazee, with the familiarity
of a family man, bad called at the Postof
fice for the Enstaee mail, and with a curi
osity more eager than delicate, had appro
priated Emma’s letter all to hjs own secret
self.
‘Oh yes,’ answered ’Viola, recovering
from her confusion. ‘It is indeed pleasant,
especially from such a dear friend as Bi
ram/
‘Viola, may-I read it alond V asked Mrs.
Lavender, with a delicate regard for Em
ma’s feelings.
‘Oh yes, I do not care—only skip over
his foolishness about pet names and other
secret nonsense,’ laughed Viola.
Mrs. Lavender read the letter, interrup
ted by sundry little ptishes and pshaws, by
Viola, aud listened to with a heart eager in
terest by Emma.
VVell, Viola, what has this to do with
your father’s ideas ?’ asked Mrs. Lavender,
when she had finished reading. , ,
‘Oh, its Gordon Beal that did , it—Gor
don Beal is the magic word that called up
this idea from its resting place in the vasty
deep.’
‘And what of Gordon Beal ?’ asked Mrs.
Lavender, with increasing interest.
‘That I cannot tell—papa only says that
he is a humbug, and that he wants to, see
you about him,’ replied Viola, somewhat
confused in her own idea about her' fath-,
er’s ideas.
.‘Gordon Beal a humbug—my brother a
humbug—surely my child you are. mistak
en,’ said Mrs, Lavender, with surprise..
Viola blushed scarlet. In her' childish
simplicity she had repeated the most 1 un
meaning parts of her father’s ofihversation,
and 1 never for once had she thought of the
relationship of Mrs. Lavender to her; Dith
er's humbug.
‘Ob,’he did uot mean your brother—not
him he found on the Andes, but'Mr. (Jor
don Beal, of whom Hiram writes so unfa
vorably.
‘Not him he found upon the Andes—
what do you mean 7’ asked Mrs. Lavender,
excitedly,
‘Yes, Mrs. Lavender, that is what papa
wants to see you about—that is where
his idea threatens to overpower Turn,’ re
plied Viola almost as much confused , as
Mrs. Lavender.
Emma Eustace looked on and listened
with a strange uneasiness. It seemed'to
her as if something that vitally concerned
her own destiny, but of which she had no
part, was about to step in between her and
the quiet happiness she feltbut the moment
befbre Viola entered the room. Her own
presence she felt was even now a constraint
and she arose to go.
; I presume, Mrs. Lavender, that this is a
matter of some importance, and 1 will leave
you this evening.’
‘I cannot comprehend it, Emma, but I
suppose that I had better attend to it—
plesse excuse me, and do come again—yonr
company is snch a relief to my loneliness,’
answered Mrs. Lavender, with a tone of ear
nest feeling.
‘Yes, I will come again to-morrow, and I
do hope the mystery will be pleasantly ex
plained,’ replied Emma, as she kissed a
good bye to the widow, and tnen turning
to Viola, she said, ‘And yon, my Pretty
Pet, why do yon not let me see more of
you ?’
'Oh I am ever so busy at home, ..hot I.
am always glad to see yon, Miss Emma, for
I told Hiram that—Here the thoughtless
child was recalled to herself by thenlash-
es of Emma, and she suddenly hashed.
‘Well, yon must do as yon promised
him,’ laughingly replied Emma, and then
she kissed her a good bye too. ' ,
‘What slight hearted, happy creature,
said Emma to herself, as she walked home
ward, ‘bnt thea she ought to be happy—
such a- letter as that would make me happy
—oh so happy,’ and Emms clntched her
breast as if to hug in its impatient yearn-
ings.
Mrs. Lavender and Viola delayed no
time in returning- to Mr. Middleton Mng-
gleton’s. They found him still wrestling
with, his idea.
Eureka, Eureka,’ he 'cried as he grasped
the widow’s band. The mission of my life
isabont to be accomplished, and it has not
been so fruitless, after all.’
‘I do not comprehend,’ replied the wid
ow, shrinking from his enthusiasm, as if
she half suspected that one cup too many
had beep indulged in.
‘Of cotuse, my dear madam, you cannot
comprehend, for I hav'nt explained .it to
you yet,’ answered Mr. Middleton' Muggle
ton, letting go her hand, and as fervently,
rubbing his own.
‘Be so good as to explain, then,’’ plead
ed Mrs. Lavender; aS'fehlS'Sank into a chair.
Mrs. Lavender seized the memoran
dum book with a wild eagerness. She
read the name upon its initial pag», ‘Gor
don Beal, Norfolk Va., and then her eyes
followed the lines with a strange facioation,
her own name occurred, ‘Estelle my pre
cious sister,' and then with a cry of joy she
exclaimed: ‘
. ‘This is bis! this is indeed the writing of
my good brother Gordon,’ and then she
turned to Mr. Middleton Muggleton with a
look of wonder as>he asked: “How came
yon by it, wherfe did you get it?’
‘I took it from the dead aad stiffened
fingers of Gordon Be.il, the writer, as ho lay
against a rock in the eold and deathly re
gions of the upper Andes.’ answered Mr.
Middleton Muggleton with a tone of deep
solemnity.
" Mrs. Lavender’s head drooped upon her
hands; her generous and loving brother had
beeu to long dead to her heart, that she
felt a strange wish that he might he indeed
deadto her life as well. Better to be dead
as the brother she loved, as thelbrother who
loved her, than to be alive as the cold and
Unfeeling brother that had so cruelly re
pulsed her love, as the living brother had
done.:
‘And how did ha look?’ she asked with a
sudden recovery.
‘The smile of innocent boyhood was on
his lips, and even death could not rob his
face of an Calmest womanly beauty. His
beauty has haunted me for years and years,
and now that it is a’l so plain, I know that
it was that strange 'beauty haunting me,
aod the sympathetic longing I felt when I
beheld him, to nestle close by his side and
die too;' that firat drew my heart so kindly
towards Hiram, for the same boyish face
as prototyped in the face of your son.’
‘Ita Wonderful, it is strange/ was all
'that ther widow could answer.
• ‘Yes it Is strange, but it is no longer
doubtful. Gordon Beal your brother is
dead; and the' Gordon Beal of whom Hi
ram writes is an imposter, a humbug.’ said
Mr. Middleton Muggleton.
‘There now, I said that papa called him
umbug,’spoke up Viola, who notwithstand
ing the seriousness of the complication
could not restrain her childish nature.
‘Yes ha is a humbug and I intend to ex
plode him,’ savagely said Mr. Middleton
Muggleton. .
‘But that onght not be,’ shudderingly
replied Mrs. Lavender, ‘it wonld seem mer
cenary infos to attempt it, as the immense
estates of my lather all passed into his
hands.’ •
‘Aud for that-reason the scoundrel ought
to be exposed and justice done to you and
to your son,’ replied Mr. Middleton Mug
gleton with a return of his savageness,
which was all the more savage because un
natural to bis genial nature.
‘I do not want the property, I only want
the old love of my poor brother.’ and the
fire of Mammon was drownedtin the teara of
a sister love!
‘That love Mrs. Lavender you will find
recorded in that little note book, bnt the
heart that inspired is still in death.’ an
swered Mr. Muggleton with a pathetic
tenderness, more congenial to his nature,
than the little savageness he had assumed
before.
'Then give me the book and let the dead
rest.’ replied the widow, as she fondly tam
ed the yellow leaves of the newly found
treasure.’
Yes let the dead rest, but not let the
living usurp its place and dishonor its
memory. Gordon Beal is dead, and his
worth died with him. Bat that imposter
would resurrect his life aud change his na
ture. It is to vindicate the memory of
your brother that I would disprove the lie,
that this living man has put upon his char
acter
I cannot think of it flow, Lmust see Mr.
Hudson.’ replied the widow with an air of
self conscious weakness.
Yes, consult Mr. Hudson, and I (fill con-
salt Mr. Boyce,’ acquiesced and amended
Mr. Middleton Muggleton.
Mrs. Lavender returned to her home.
Dolly had been to the post office and brought
her a letter. It was the third of the throe
letters referred to in-the text, and it was
written by Hiram. It wa3 not so long as
Viola’s, nor was it so deeply tender as Em
ma’s, and it read as follows:
‘My Dear Mother—I have spent several
days under the roof of: my uncle Gordon
Beal, and I hope that; my candor will not
pain you, when I tell you that the time was
not at all pleasantly spent, and the impres
sions formed.upon.my mind were not at all
complimentaryito uncle. I met with a re
pulsive reception, and my visit was protract
ed more by a mean little disposition to an
noy, than it was to enjoy the hospitalities
* the family. Sly uncle has nothing good
wiljing to acmpt tho idea,, because, to her !
kindly, sisterly heart, outraged though it
had W n by the cruel neglect of Gordon j
EeU. lie iacu was a monstrous injustice.!
She had never been able to reconcile to her |
ninl the great change that" had come over ]
i-.er oro: tier's nature; but rhe had ncvei
doubted the genuineness of that change
As to Lip personal identity, she had never.!
thought to question that. Three or four
years in the transition stage of the physical
developcmcat could make a difference in
the appearance of tho absent quite easily
to he reconciled with any one’s disinterest
ed credulity. Besides this, reasoned the
widow, there was but one other being that
at all resembled Gordon Beale in personal
appearance, and that was his evil genius,
Charley Villapugh, and the memorandum
said that Charley had died the day before
the unknown boy whom Mr. Middleton
Muggleton had found upon the And is.
‘No, no, it is all wrong—a ghostly hallu
cination, a terrible hanot, and Mr. Middle-
ton Maggleton must think no more about
it,’ and the widow pressed her hand over
her eyes, as if she would hide out an ua-a-
ey spectre.
[Cuuununicatcd.
Senator Carpenter at West Point.
What can portray the trne character of
man more forcibly than the sentiments
uttered by Senator Carpenter, in his ad
dress, delivc-ed before the graduating class
at the Military Institute, at West Point.
few days ago. Never conld have been
uttered sentiments showing the meanness,
depravity aud vileness of the heart, or a
want of houor iu the man, than was utter-
ed in his speech made on that occasion.
Snrcly if the dead cannot escape the
venom of such Senators, what are the liv
ing to expect. The extract I make from
his speech speaks loader for itself than any
language of mine can :
“Both Thomas and Bartow arc in their
graves, and I trust are mastered with the
host of “The lost made perfect.” Lieuten
ant Boh Garnet was also an instructor cf
tactics. He was the counterpart of Bar
tow ic many particulars. He looked like
a mean man, aud I never s iwor heard any
thing of him that belied his looks, fLaogh-
ter] He was not merely a strict, but a se
vere and cruel disciplinarian. The motives
which seemed to influence him in adminis
tering discipline was not the desire to ben
efit others, bnt to gratify himself. He was
a born tyrant. He seemed to know in
stinctively, or, at all events, he judged - un
erringly of the precise moment on a cold,
rainy n:g!:t, when a worn out plebe would
be most likely to sleep on his post. [Laugh- j
ter.] and that was a favorite hour for in-
spestion. I remember such a night in my
first encampment. It was the gray, "the
dim, misty forbidding gray of dawn, late
in August, when the nights were eold, and
that night the rain was falling in torrents.
It was an hour when the ghosts of tyrants
and murderess might have walked the earth
for penance. Bob Garnett joined the army
of the rebellion—(hat made all good men
his enemies, and he paid the penalty of
treason and suffered the death of a traitor,
at Barracks Ford. When I read that Bob
Garnett had been killed, I laid the paper
down and found the fortitude to say, “God’s
will be done.’
And snoh is a part of the address of a
creature—we cinnot call him man, for there
is nothing in his sentiments that entitles
him to that appellation, and with all high-
toned gentlemen the speech will be consid
ered bnt an eulogy on Carpenter’s own
heart, and not of Garnett.
“By their works we shall judge them,"
and this is a part of the work of one occu
pying the scat of a Senator, addressing a
class of military graduates, where the oc
casion demanded all that was high-tuueil, *
inspiring and honorable. We can only say
if snch are the sentiments to be instilled in
the minds of the young officers of the ar
my, and niguer radets are to be forced on
them as commanders, the sooner the Insti
tution is abolished, the better for the mor
als of the army—notwithstanding Senator
Carpenter’s ideas of the morals.
We have not written this article in jue-
tification of Garnett—he needs none from
our pen, as from Senator Carpenter’s own
statement, he clearly shows that Garnett
was a soldier, and bnt performed a soldiers'
duty. It was not the tyranny of Garnett
that aroused the venom of the Senator, but
it was for being a rebel, and that address
was intended as a reflection and insult to
every officer that enlisted in the rebel
cause.
We can only add that a government in
the hands of snch Senators as Carpenter,
most in time break np from its own weight
of iniquities. The comments of the Sen
ator would not have been noticed, for it
bears its own condemnation, bnt merely to
show that oven the Southern dead canno't *
escape the malicious hearts that actnatc
some of the Northern Congressmen in their
hatred towards the Southern people. We
say let them hate, and glory in their ha
tred.
Observer;
The Use of the Pardon Power hy Gov r-
uor Bulloch.
Due of our Savannah contemporaries,
the News or Republican desires the Atlan
ta press to tell the people about Gov. Bnl-
answered,
‘Of pQuyffl you are exensnWo, mjd J am
only glad that your over sight enabled you Beal, will never see
to indulge yipur hiliary without a constraint *
It is really pleasant to receive letters from
one’s friends." This was added in a tone
not quite so cheerful as tho first, for Emma he went away to South
thought, with a little sigh tfii 1 fbe ought
to h^yp. received t]io,grst jptlpf fppp JK-.
ram. ;
And so, indeed; she should, but it
was not Hirqm's fault that she did not, for,
did we'not caption this chapter with the
text, ‘Thre > Letters,” (vet up in smill
t ifyou were to see it again?’ aifred
lleton Mnggleton,.puttin3 on a,j®=
caps) and Yiola’s wa? ofily one; Kama's; t.
was Wo—not in tho order of inJictuisr, for
Emma’s was.written first, but then Emma
did not know that her’s had been written, dicial
It was long mopths after before Etotua did ‘Oh j—,
know, but then ignorance is not always tho widow,
bliss, and Emma, as we said,. thought with ; ‘Then*wh
a little 6igh,-ttiaU»nipm ought to l.r.ve do you say to that?’ and Mr. M:d
written to her flrst. And why did not Em- Mugglefon’fl triumph a;ain went up to i
ma know that he had written to her first?-
Yes I have a brother;’-taswerwl the
.Widow, . „ .
. . ‘And yoos brothers name was Gordon
Beal/ ih terogated’ * Mr. Middleton Muggle
ton. y' w I, ' 1 , * ":** ”
'Yes, my brother's name is Gordon Betti’
responded the widow. .
‘i ‘Nor r olk, Va., interrogated, nr. "Middier
ton iiuggleion. 7 ; • ■ .
’ responded tho wid
ow
1‘And he was loet bo (he Andos in South
America^ id the year 1823,’ again intero-
hut ho alone of rite.J»Sty u WW :.sayed/ re
plied the widow. ‘
., ‘Not so,’ suddenly answered Mr. Middle-'
ipn Muggjeton .wi&gjfipneaft .H»»t sho$k,-
*d,the sifeWt foa tn :n r
. ‘Von are mistaken sir; he .returned the
but i§ pQK,liy)ggineaz; $hirfjgjt in the home
i>yifrw«iMiiwllr»few «='.- w
!o ‘Itriltyott itia no*: ; sp,-! a^JLdranfir,-:
Gordon Beal is dead, he died npon tfle An-
des; I saw his body there HugftJp&f af-l
ter,’ and the face of Mr. Muggleton grew
solemnly grand in its earnestness.
‘Mr. Muggleton you shock me,’ -
Emma, with a frank kindness,' readily, .gaapefljh^yidfty;
of his writing—his old time v
. seen him:
never scon Gordon
mm in this world, , for
- dead;’ and then Mr.
ton added, ‘have yon any
‘Yes, I.haye an album ii
flUt/se different 1
since his retu-n that 11
ber bis former self by.
a choking vY-
i bas
i toremem-
widow.iith
•. ... , .-
zenith^ib fe
ciaiqaKW
daught- j t ;;, n 0 f Juridical pardons
era arc.l»Ule better than spiteful gossips,! Southern Stares made by its genoroas and
whose greatest enjoymen seems to be in tender hearted Govern*. We have been
snapping each other’s words, and dissecting
the characters of their acquaintances. I
however found a comfort in the association
of your early life with tho house and
grounds. Yonr portrait was a real joy to
mo, and for its sake, I could almost forgive
the household for its unamiablcness. There
were many other things that pleasingly in
terested me, and softened my heart towards
my nncle; but the armor of bis selfishness
was too thick to ho penetrated; and yester
day I left his house with a feeling of relief
that my visit was ended. Any farther effort
on our part to establish a kindred sympa
thy between onr families, would be as disa
greeable as it wonld bo unfruitful. I hope
.therefero, mother, that you will content
yourself with the memory of your boy bro
ther, and dismiss tho regard of your churl
ish man brother as unwor'hy your least
thought. I could worry you to death with
conjectures, messages and commissions about
and to my dear friends in Fairfield; hut I
am not in the humor just now. I feel
sadly out of sorts, and must beg you to
overlook the unsatisfactory brevity of this
e letter.-'d J**!< {.n.-Lc-.n. Hiram.
Mrs. Larenlar, after the almost incredi
ble Story of Mr- Middleton Mugglton, read
this letter with a strange eagerness. She
had hopedin.it to find some word that
would extenuate the grave suspicion sug
gested by Mr. Middleton Muggleton, and
that tho unfavorable report be had given in
his facetious letter to Viola was not tho
result of an earnest experience. Her hopes
were not gratified, and the tone of Hiram’s
letter went to weigh down the scale against
Mr, Gordon Beal. His appeal to her to
cherish the memory of her boy brother as
a nature altogether different from th.it of
her man brother, tallied too well with the
suggestion of Mr. Middleton Muggleton,
not to strike strangely upon her feelings,
and to cause her more than one bitter pang.
And the idea—Mr. Middleton Muggle-
. ton’s idea—of her noble hearted brother’s
I" - death/sent'a cold shudder to her heart.
n jt,’ rqriifei, Gordon Beal UYiug^eve£tkongh altered,
Gold and unloving, was better than Gordon:
Beal dead, inanimate, cold and senseless.
Lot tho boy brotlier be to her only ns a
fond remembrance," but let the man brother
bo to others a living reality. She was un-
for sometime intending to give this inlcr-
mation, and we now take great pleasure in
gratifying our inquisitive cotemporary. The
figures will be found very intoxicating.
The Governor has acted on 426 applica
tions tor pardon since August 22d, 7868.
Of these 321 coses, involving 346 offend
ers were pardoned, 72Japplications were re
fused and 33 punishments oommnted. At
this time 160 spplications for pardons are
before the Governor.
Murder, pardoned 38; mnrder, commot
ed 18; simple larceny, pardoned 76; other
larceny, 14; assault to murder 20, burgliry
in tho night 18, burglary in the day 15.
assault 20, manslaughter 15, assault to rape
5, homicide 1, cheating and swindling’3,
stabbing 3, horse stealing 7, bigamy 6, for-
■gery 4, perjury 4, robbery 8, fornication
and adultery 7, seduction 1, incestuous
adulteiy 1, arson 5, misdemeanor 9, bastar
dy 1, rape 1, compounding felony 1.
The other cases making the 346 are mi
nor offence*.
In view of this liberal discharge of con
victed criminals, we think that the less the
Governor hasjto say abont crime and disor
der, the better for him. Convictions amount
to little, and laws arc a nullity, if. punish
ment is prevented.—At. Const.
Operatic.—The announcement made by
the Rome Female Seminary in this morn
ing’s paper, will be read with delight by al) -
lovers of mnsio in tho city and vicinity.-—
The perfect success that has ever attended
the efforts of Miss Armstroog and her clas
ses gives us an assurance of the rich and
delightful treat that may be expected next
Thursday evening.
In addition to the elegant entertainment,
ali may expect to'enjoy, the object of tho
Concert is one that should recommend itself
to the favor of all, and ensure the occasion
a full house.
Tiiere is an intelligent dog at Mud
Pine, Ind., so sharp that whenever compa
ny comes to tho house ho proceeds at once
to catch a chicken, a thmg that he will
Hot do at any other time.
P
mi