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“WISDOM, JUSTICE AND MODERATION.”
VOLUME XXVI.
ROME, GA„ FRIDAY MORNING, NOV. 24. 1871.
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OI K XOVE1-
C'lIAl’. XXVII.
LETTER NO- -•
ffe left Hiram Lavender with his head
.- ie d beneath the blankets, and his brain
hiriinj! with the drunken deliciousness
new sprioqiug love. We must not
. biin there, least with the smothering
e blankets, and the delerium of his
.... we will have work for a coroners
jo the morning, and a sumary
! < ij 'Oar Novel.
Un! while looking alter his safety it is
[o quit such a pleasant little family
jj we left in the last chapter, aud we
i only revert to Hiram a moment just
i:.-eDCiU"h to uncover his head, and let
ie sharp morning air rushing in the warm
chill the ebuliton of his brain enough
|it;ut linn into a delicious sleep all rosy
i fairy dreams.’
Jingglemerrily in his sleeping cars y 3 m u-
al dreams, and lot your lightest fairies
robes of blue, aud piuk and yellow,
the soft net of his beautiful brain,”
Utwe will return agam to the scene, a far
ifpier scene than ever was conjured by
* fairy waud ot dream—sprite, which the
r*th of our last chapter so uucerimonious-
shat out.
We said lovely scene, and pray gentle
er imagine it you can a lovelier one.
It matchless loveliness of those two radi-
ctsirls, all rosy with health and life,
:: perfect in her own distinguishing
of beauty, the sweet joyousnets of
rippling over the room like sun light
pi the sweet tenderness of Emma’s chast-
2] heart halowing its atmosphere; the
rat smile of Mr. Middleton Muggleton,
'clthe loviog fiance, which noyears could
::;ach, of Mrs. Middleton Muggleton, giv-
|gio the beaming beauty of the girls a
•train? tone, like the silver of pictures to
hippies of gold.
Emma looked upon it, half in a pleased
aminess aud half in envy, and for
s tnem the room was silent, save the
muttering ol the fire ‘treading snow,’
we children used to say.
Then Mrs. Middleton Muggleton arose
■ad said.
You must excuse me until I see about
turner.’
No mama, you sit still, and I will at
”d to that,' iuterposed Viola, bouncing
; and before she could be gainsayed run-
■t: from the room, only looking back to
■t you and papa entertain Miss Emma,
ti I will soon be hack.’
Kama looked up from her dreamy ati-
tband said with a sincere glow of feeling
; -_as;ng her face.
t liardly know which most to conitratu-
Ctouaid Mrs. Mug leton upon such a
Pus, lovely, child, or Viola upon the hap
less of such kind and gentle parents.’
Ies, Viola is a joy, the brightest joy ol
it life,’ answered the father with a pride
■'odness lilting up his voice while Mrs.
ddletnn Muggleton confirmed the as
■aace by addiug.
lad a dear good girl beside,’ and when
'dinner was anounced aud Viola’s rndy
wts showed how much she had contri
ved towards its cooking, the judgment
ugh silent was unanimous that she was
: a domestic little piece ofperfection as
! *i, lor it was a splendid country dinner,
1 Huima thought that no dinner had
et tasted bo nice to her.
' ioh had ordered John to kindle a fire
tie parlor, and after dinner its bright
‘"Hired walls was substituted for the cosy
‘Ruth of Viola’s room.
•Now papa you must read for us,’ said
- J 5 after they were all nestling in the
"toons of their rocking chairs and set-
Cf,’
Very well what shall I read,’ he readily
led.
Miss Emma have you any choice,’ she
"i defering to Emma.
Oh DO.’
Then papa read Professor Aytoune’s new
i*“>. Boswell,’ have you read it Miss Etn-
’■ asked Viola.
I have not read it, but I have read a
’■ruble review of it in Blackwood, and
juite anxious to see it,’ replied Emma
lLtn 1 will read it,’ said the spleudid
■ Stafieman, ‘where did we leave off last
-'■ °b jes, here page 22.’
papa, begin at the beginning.
Oh 1
^‘shujma will not understand it, and
t es ii is worth reading over, and we
‘ ta ke it by turns and finish it all this
ituog.’
t es, that is best, I will begin a new,’
'f t ^'^leton Muggleton recommenc-
*he excellent poem, the master peice
e author of the ‘Lays of the (Javalier’s.
' “urnatiug between Emma and Viola
| was bn ' sb d, but not until it was
Jri ate ior Emma to return home, and
£ a * as dispatched with a note to Mrs.
« l roai Emma, statins? that the time
‘"•o pleasantly spent, that she would
’^u with Viola all night.
»ute rS ? Ppt!r Mr .‘ Middleton Muggleton’s
Mrs W \r-i° requisition, and with
Viola’ .ddlctoe Muggletons harp and
lt?n;| S j la . no ‘ 0 a ' te a lively little concert
the darkening hours.
3L., Emma give us some of your new
til f^J ai “, ‘ we ploy nothing but
tv, t, ‘° n , P Ieccs , papa and mama arc
»Hs c / . e . arn an Jthing new, and I am
t p a> ' ln s in concerto that I cau-
£ pla J b J' myself.’
i0 S Z!°“Pi ie(1 > an d Hte hours glided by
J ttnd so softly, that ere they
had to retire? Emma feeling in her heart
a quiet happiness she had long liccu a
stranger to.
Many more such pleasant day s and even
ings were spent, for from this time on the
two lovely girls were almost constant com
panions.
And in this pleasing friendship the win
ter months passed away and the spring time
came again.
May with its budding flowers, and twi
ning roses had come, and Emma in the
midst of her flowers was surprised one mor
ning by John, who had been to the Post
Office, handing her a letter. She droped
her knife, and glanced anxiously at the
address. Her heart almost ceased to beat,
and the color laded from her face as she
recognized the hand ol Mr. Augustus Fra
zee, alias Xodiah Scruggs. Her first im
pulse was to crush it beueath her feet.
‘The wretch thus to iusult me again,’
she murmered, and the letter was dashed
from her as if it had been a reptile. But
there came a sober second thought which
whispered tlial possioly the villain had
softened his nature, and perhaps had a
confession of some foul wrong to make,
and with ibis thought site picked it up
again. Still she had not the courage to
open it, and she carried it to her moti or.
‘Mother’the cried, here is a letter lr.nu
that wretched mail Frazee. I c hili.t read
it, do witli it as you p.'ease.’
Mrs Eustace with a perplexed air, too'-
the letter, and altera moment's hesitation
she opened it.. It c, mained auother, un
sealed and time worn and usage soiled.
The letter was dated Stoningtou, Conn..
April 26; and Mrs. Eustace read ar, fol
lows :
Miss Eustace :
Siuce your indecent hunkering alter that
puppy Lavander, deuied me the pleasure of
tanieing your upstart pride, it is a great
atistaction for me to know that I have been
the means of placing him out of your reach,
and now that it is certain that he is going
to marry another—a lady, us much too
ood for him, as she is in every way supe
rior to you, proud and pretty, and high
faluting as you think yourself—I have con
cluded that uiay be you would like to si»
how much' he once professed to think of
you. If you do you can read the enclosed
letter, which I took from the Wiuusboro
Post Office for you, nearly two years ago.
You will see that the puppy is quite
spooney on you, and piles up the agony in
a manner th at you would have doubtless
enjoyed much better then, than you will
now.
The letter was all smeared over with
perfume when I opened it, but it does not
smell quite so sweet now.
Tell your old fool of a daddy, that the
next time ne offers a fellow over tbiee hun
dred negroes and gold and land to marry
his daughter, that he had better nu ke the
foul takeher at once, as there is always dan
ger in delays.
Nodiab Scruggs, or
A Frazee. just which yon please.
Mrs. Eustace read the cruel missive with
f. elings alternating between pain, mort’fi-
eation and anger.
Emma perceived her emotions and she
eagerly asked :
‘What, is it so teirible mother.’
‘It is mean, contemptnble, cold aud cruel,
read it for yourself my child, but do not
mind anything tne villain says, only be
thankful that you escaped the hands of the
monster.’
Emma read the letter, hut she heeded
not its insulting taunts. She only threw it
down and reached out her hand for the
letter oi Hiram. This, Mrs. Eustace, with
a delicate tenderness, had not opened.
Emma eagerly grasped it. and sitting in
a chair, she read letter X'o. 2.
Norfolk, Ya., Sept 3,1855.
My Dearest Emma :
Were I toyield my thoughts to the turbul
ent flow of passion, and attempt to give
utterance to all that niv (bnd heart feels at
this moment, I know that I would di gu-jt
you with the extravagance of my language.
It- is only those who like me have boon
suddenly surprised wiili the ineffable glad
ness, ihe delicious warmth and power aud
courage of a new aud earnest heart-affection,
can imagine the wild delight that suffuses
one’s spirits, a- he sirs down to commune
with tl c absent bride of tl e soul.
It is a gladness almost too sacred to li t
touched, and as I address myself to its swe”t
emotion, I can only bow my head ior very
joy, and murmur and bless the name,
the precious name, dearer to me than all
others on earth: ‘‘Emma, Emma! God
bless her, oh, bless her.”
You know not dear Eunna. how grateful
to me is your love, what a heaven of hope
it opens up to my heart, what a world of
encouragement it offers to my efforts, what
a load of discouragement, ol discontent and
privations it outweighs, and how gladly I
walk in the bright light of its assurance;
strong to encounter any difficulty and brave
to combat any misfortune. And when l
reflect upon the lich, the priceless worth of
this love, I shudder at my own unworthiness
and wonder at the goodness of my God in
blessing me with such a joy.
I need not tell you that my heart beats
with a grateful sense of its gladness, and
that I account my life enjoyable only as it
can by a studied devotion, merit some claim
to your sweet confidence.
The brightness of my skies, never shone
so beautiful, and the essence of li ving was
never so laden with 3 dilieious perfume as
now. 11 nature seems aglow wiih a new
beauty, and the music of the birds trills
with a new song. I understand now as I
never understood before, the delicious har
mony of Flash’s “Cricket Song,” and
“She loves me, She loves me.’'
Is ringing in my soul like the distant chant
of a Cathedral hymn.
But I must not yield too readily to its
rapturous influence, else the extravagance
I feared to offend you with, should prevail,
and what my fond heart would esteem as a
poor expression af its gladness, would be to
your good soDse and tastes, a sentimental
hyperbole. Only in its own pure and se
cret depths may it sing its lo ream, trust
ing to the electric sympathies of the soul
to waft its echoes to your own.
‘My time since I left Fairfield, except
ing of course the leaden weight of absence
that is loading it down has been tolerably
spent. You know that it is my first ven
ture front home, and the excitement of
travel and the novelty of the changing
scenes served to amuse and interest me. I,
may bo fondly partial to my dear old home,
but I have not yet seen a place half so
pleasant to me. It sometimes requites a
firm decision to shutout longing desires for
its pleasant walks even this soon, and I
cannot trust myself to dwell too long at one
time upon the kindly smile of my mother,
or the happy sparkle of Viola’s face. And
when to these is added the sweetest, fondest
thoughts of you my own dear, dear Emma,
the strong heart ot the man is melted and
the weakness of a child is almost ready to
cry for home.
I start within a day or two for Cam-
bridge, and then in the rigid grappling
with my studies I can have but few mo
ments to indulge m; childish weakness.
For weak as it is and unmanly as it may seem
to others, I am yet glad to indulge it, for
T always arise from such thoughts refreshed
with a better heart and a purer mind.
I have not expected a letter from hone
this early, but when I reach Harvard I
shall be all impatient to get one. I need
not say to whom I shall look with the fond
est, most eager anticipations! Your own
sweet heart can tell you that!
May I remind you dear, dear Emma, of
your promise to visit my dear mother often,
and encourage herwithyour brave presence,
You will meet Viola there, and I am sure
you will learn to love her as a sisler. She
is aware of our relations,ami already loves
you. S1kuld any trouble beset you, please
go to mother and Viola, no mother ncr
ter can sympathise more readily with you,
than they.
“Bat what puts trouble ia my lioait?
It may ba (ar awa’. ”
Aed now my precioas one 1 had better
better close, I know that this is a very
doll letter, but you know n it what a strug
glo it requires to control the vehemence
cf my ematiois. I could write all the
evening, but it would be but the repetition
of the words
-Zee inou, sar aga p:-
I shall look oh so confidently tor a letter
fr uii you, and even now in advance my
heart reaches out to bless you for it.
Gud bless you, my own dear, dear Emma.
Hiram Lavender.
Emma read this letter with a wildly
beating heart. It was not until she had
finished reading, and hauded it to her
mother, liat the mad rush of leeling over
came her, and droping her head between
her hands she burst inio covulsire sob:
aud tears.
Mrs. Eustace sought not to check their
flow but eagerly lead the letter herself only
£0 find at its contdusion her own tears,
flowing as freely. The earnest devotion,
the frank spirit and the bright fai'b breath
ed in every line could not be mistaken.
Whatever Hiram Lavender might be now,
he had once leen true, a"d he had once
been wronged. The Utter his heart so
fondly reached out and blessed her for,
was a cruel stab to his dearest hopes.
This thought it was that cut the sensitive
heart of the stricken girl to its teuderest
core.
‘Oh miserable me,’ she at length cried,
‘is this wound never to be healed, is the
gaping sore ever to be torn open, and is
there never to be auy peace for me?’
■Do uot reproach yourself Emma,’ kindly
encouraged her mother. You are innocent
of this great wrong, it was all the work of
that wretched man.’
•Oh, I ought to have known better, I
ought not to have condemned Iliram so
harshly.’ still cried the girl. ‘He
nocent.’
‘Yes Emma, I eau not doubt the tiulh
of this letter,’ said Mrs. Eustace.
‘And what must ho have thought when I
spumed him from my presence as he came to
plead with me, uot forhimselfbutformyown
sake,’ to save mo from this misserablc
wretch,’ cried Emma, rocking her body to
aod fro in an agony of grief and self ro-
The earnest tag at the subtle mysteries
of the law was resumed, and no extranejui
thought was permitted to Interfere with its
determined prosecution.
The reniemheraneo of Miss Kate Walton
came to his dreaming mind often and pleasant
ly, but never to fix an absorbing hold upon
his thoughts. He remembered her as a
pleasant companion, a rare and beautiful
flower that he would like to cultivate for
the richness of it? beauty, and di licacy 0
perfume, but not as the fruits of the orchard
and the field are cultivated fl r their vital
health, giving properties. The dizzy in
toxication of the ball room had passed off.
and like all other intoxications it left a
rather unpleasant void behind, a void
whose aching was'somewhat soothed by the
reflection that no rose scented alcove be
trayed his heart into a commitment of his
honor.
To his studies he gave a steady purpose,
and as the long winter nights glowed with
the steady glow of his lamp, the rich treas
ures of judicial lore were unburied and
stored away in his mind, to adorn in after
years the brightest walks of his profession.
Wiothiop too, delved side, by s de,
with him, aud as the spring came on, and
the commencement horoscope coaid be
forecast, it was certain that they would
carry th? first honors.
So well assured were they of this, that
Winthrrp insisted upon Hiram writing to
his mother and Viola, to come on and wit
ness their triumph.
And Hiram had written, aud Mrs. Lav
ender had gladly consented, and Viola’s
laughing pretty face was ail sunny with
happy dimples at 'he thought.
Mrs Lavender and Viola had reached
Norfolk in May, where they were to spend
the month intervening between that and
commencement. The Beal Villa was all
rosy with flowers, and stiil roster with
pleasant memories to Viola. Each shrub,
each walk, each rock, had its lit tie tale to
tell of happy bygone days, day? shortly to
burst ay:uu like a shower of diamond dust
upon her fair young life.
Hiram was busied with his finishinj
review. He had ceased to watch the
mail with any intere-t, and '■! a letter
came to him it w s quietly put aside tor a
leisure moment to give it attention. NVic-
tlrop was not si careless. The little
Buyers of Viola had not yet lost their
cunning, and her sweet letters were still wel
come messengers of joy, and of gladness to
his heait.
This morning he had been particularly
watchful for the coming of the letter earlier
for it was the morning upon which
Viola’s letter was due. He met the car
rier in the hall.
Any letter for me Billy,’ he asked ea
gerly holding out his hand.
Yes, one for you, and one lor your chum
Mr. Lavender,’said the boy holdin:
the biters.
AYinthrop seized them, and hurried back
proaelt
‘Do
not think of it my poor child,
ycu did not know titis, perhaps when he
knows it he will still think kiudly of you,
encouraged the mother in a soo’hing
tone.
‘I shall write to him mother, I could go
to him, and on my knees I could tell him
how foulv I have been betrayed, and im
plore h m to forgive me, to pity me.’ sobbed
Emma.
‘No, not that my poor child,’ said Mrs.
Eustace.’ you can write to him and when
he knows all, he can then appreciate your
motives aud your c.mduct.
‘What shall I write mother,’ asked the
poor girl witt* a look of childish confidence
in the kiuil mother’s face.
‘I would simply enclose the letter to him
with a simple note of explanation,’ answered
the mother. There are ether points of
mystery connected with the affair to which
it would be indelicate in you to allude.
‘And lhe:e aic other points mother that
are terribly dark, answered Emma, with a
tone of sickening despair.
■A’es. the engagement with Vioia even
when this letter was written, is a sad affair
my child, and reflect, unfavorably upon the
truth of bis professions,’ said the mother
with a perplexed aud sorrow/ul shake of the
head.
•May not th re have been a mistake there
too mother, Viola never told me what tran
spired between her and Hiram,’ answered
the girl, glad to sieze upon any possibility
that would bear up a hope.
A’es my darling,butshe toldmethatshewas
engaged to be married as soon as he returned
from college,’ replied the mother zealous of
her child’s feelings,and unwillingtoencour-
age a hope that would entail such a bitter
disapoiotmeut.
‘But did she say Hiram, perhaps mother
she meant some one else,’ eargerly spoke
out Emma.
‘No, she did not say Hiram, his ntme
was not mentioned, bat she coaid not have
misunderstood my refference,’ replied Mrs.
Eustace.
‘I am so sorry that Viola is gone, I would
“O at once to her and know the truth,’
arain said Emma, with a strange yearning,
tugging at her heart strings.
‘Poor Viola has been already beset with
us enough to worry her patience,’ answered
Mrs. Eustace.
‘A’es I know, but oh, this sus; ense, this
disquiet is unbearable, said Emma.
‘Oh I know it my child, I sympathise
with yon, but Emma it will uot be much
loDger,’ answered her mother.
And with this Emma arose and went to
her room wheD she wrote:
Mr. Lavender.—The enclosed letter,
which I have just received, may partly ex
plain the abrupt and positive nature of my
letter to you in 1855.
Very respectfully,
Emma Eustace.
May 21.
Emma read Hiram’s letter over aud over
agaio before enclosing it, and when she
did fold it up so tenderly and smoothly in
her own little note it was all ulotched with
kisses and tears.
And now while this letter was on its. way
back to lliiam, we will ourselves go back
a“ain to him and see how he survived his
rosy dreams. He awoke the next morning
just as any other young man would have
awakened from a night of giddy enjoyment,
his head confused with its turnings, and,his
heart still fluttering, at every sound of a
rustling dress. .
That evening he and Winthrop return
ed to Cambridge, and however pleasantly
the image of Miss Kate Walton, clung to
his brain, it had to tremble there in all the
delicious uncertainties of an unexpressed
joy, a joy evenescent as the hues of an
April rain-bow.
was in- t0 t ] ie r00 L]. kissing the rustic monogram
at every step,
‘Here Lavender is a letter for yon,’ bo
said eagerly opening his own.
‘Throw it on the table, 1 haven’t time
dow,’ answered Hiram without looking up
from his book.
The letter was thrown aside; Winthrop
all aglow with the delicious enjoyment of
A r io!a’s cheerlul wit as it sparkled in evory
line ofhis letter, and Hiram too selfishly
absorbed to care whether his was a message
ol love or a challenge to mortal combat.
And there it lay, the ri se tinted envelope
all puffed out with its triple missives, and
the modest initial E. enwreathed with an
ivy chaplet, until late in the day, after
the lectures were concluded and the frieuds
had returned to their room to injoy their
afternoon cigar.
‘Did you have a letter for me this mor
ning Winthrop,’ Hiram asked with a con
fused recollection of the mornings annouce-
ment.
‘A'es there it is,’ answered Winthrop
pointing to the neglected letter.
Hiram reached his hand, and as he rais
ed it before 1 is face, and his eye caught
the monogram and then the address in Em
ma’s well remembered hand, he gave an
amazed start.
With an eager clutch lie fcroko the ser.l
and read, first Emma’s few lines, lines all
too few, and then he read, with a trow
flushing fierce with attgfr the insulting
words of the brute, the beast, the Butler,
and tit n as his hand trembled with pas
sion, he read iiis own long forgotten words
of love and truth, and taith to Emma
And as he read it again all the rush of
that old love came flood.rig his heart, diz
zying bis brain and blinding bis sight.
‘Why Lavender, my boy what is the mat
ter.’ srid Winthrop seeing the palor that
over spread the face 0. his friend.
Hiram answered not a word, but | laced
Emma’s note and letter in his hand.
Winthrop read with an indigDaDt flush
burning his cheek.
‘The infernal hellion,’ he fiercely hissed,
for which fierce hiss we must teg our read
ers to excuse him.
The name Butler had not then been sub
stituted as the synonym of all that is
mean and vile, and the fact was that Hel
lion was all the term that could be employ
ed with any degree of fitness to the sub
ject. And for the want of Bntler, Win-
throp was compelled to hiss hellion, or else
let his indignant contempt for the wretch
go unexpressed.
•He is a great villian.and the wrong he
has done me is irreparable.’ answered Hiram
aroused by the vehemence of his friend.
‘And lie ought to be bunted down and
shot like a dog,’ said Winthrop.
‘No he is not worth that, that will not
undo the wrong, lot him go,’ scftly answered
Hiram.
‘And what will jou do,’ asked Win-
tbrop.
‘1 can do nothing, after the cold and
scornful repulse of my advance last sum
mer, I cannot venture to approach her
again,’ answered Iliram with a bitterness
in his tone, sadly in contrast with the soft
expression of his eye.
‘I shall do her the courtesy to answer
her note,’ he added after a moments si
lence, and then he went to his desk and
wrote.
Miss Eustace: I have to acknowledge
the receipt of your note of the 21st inst.,
with its enclosed letters. While Ianpreciate
your kindness, I must fraokly confess,
that its reception gave me much pain, for
however much I may wish to be, even
partially vindicated in youresteemit reopen
ed a wound from which I have already suf
fered intolerable anguish.
With the kindest wishes for your wel
fare, 1 am very respectfully,
Hiram Lavender-
June 10th.
This was a cold note, formal and stiff,
and altogether unworthy the nun that
wrote it, and insulting to the gentle hearted
girl to whom it was addressed. Hiram
felt this too after he had dispatched it,
and more than once did he seize his pen
to write another and a more kindly one.
But his better intentions were put aside,
and the cold conventional note went on
only to be eagerly caught at by Emma, and
sadly silently droped.
‘I ought to have known it, why should
he care for me now, and why should I
hope for hi3 love,’ 6he mumered a* she
turned sorrowfully away.
The commencement week came at last,
and with it came the bright, the beautiful,
and the lovely from all the land, to wit
ness the proud triumph of sons, brothers or
sweethearts. But amid all that throng,
nnno was more bright, more lovely than
Viola, and none was greeted with a proud
er, grander, nobler love, thau the love of
Robert Winthrop, as it reached out its
strong brave arias to enfold her.
And Viola was proud of Winthrop’s
honors, for they were second only to the
honors of her generous hearted brother
Hiram Lavender.
And Hiram’s triamph waswitaessed with
•1 bright eye, and a glowing heart by Kate
Walton, aud her soul was thrilled with a
strange music as she drank in the elo
quence ofhis valedictory.
Mrs. Lavender’s motherly eyes were wet
with glad tears ol love as she saw her son
the centre of so much applause, and as he
bowed his head iu modest prido as he le-
eeivetl his diploma, she could hardly re
strain the exuberence of her joy.
The brilliant ceremonies and gaieties
that’followed were wild, and new to Viola,
and for once she fluttered around their
splendors like a mountain bird in a golden
cage.
'I do not like v“ur courtly ceremonies,’
lie said to Winthrop. ‘I am afraid to
laugh above a whisper.’
I am glad that you do not, I do not
like then roy-elf, and am clad that they
cud with to night,’ lie answered.
I much prefer a dance in the woods, on
th? bri lit green grass,’ she said.
I am all impatience <0 present you to
my parents. Mother is ill and could not
attend, to yon must go with us to-morrow,’
he said after a moment.
•Yes I am as anxious to see her, I know
that I shall lore her,’ answered Viola
whose skits reflected nothing but love.
And the next day they went. A’icla,
Mrs. Lavender, Miss Walton, Hiram, and
Winthrop
Mrs. Winthrop was recovering from a
severe attack of fever, and was in that
peculiarly grateful stage of feeling inci-
del t upon a convelescence, and she receiv
ed the friends of her son with unaffected
pleasure.
One glance in the bright sweet face of
A’iola was sufficcnt to lean her heart to
wards her, and to draw the silken cords of
love around her being'.
Mr. Winthrop received A’iola with a
father’s tender pride, her bewitching sweet-
mss went straight to his heart, and he im
printed his heart’s fondest blessing, in a kiss
upon her rosy lips.
A few days of quiet repose, followed their
arrival, the most of the time being spent
by A’iola in the sick room of Mr3. Winthrop
who seemed never so glad as when gazing
upon the radient beauty of the girl. And
A’iola tuuehcd with such a delicate skill
the dufe-i. of the room, no hand could ad
just likehers the pillows, no taste could pre
pare the little diets, or dishes prescribed
aud no voice was so musically soft and
flute like as she read to the grateful invalid
AVi-throp watched all this with a rap
turous joy, and again and again, did he
bless her in h:s heart for being such a
treasure.
One morning he surprised her in his
mother’s room busily employed in dusting
the furniture.
‘AA’hy A’iola, you have become a regular
help, if some of mother’s amiable neighbors
could only see you, they would at once lay
a trap to spirit vou away,’ he said.
‘And is that the way you A’aokees show
your appreciation of a good thing, try to
appropriate i'-,’ she merrily laughed.
‘And what better way could they, pray,
he answered, ‘But mother tell me what you
think of my little secesh.’
■Ok I think that she is much too good
for you,’ smiled his mother, while A’iola’s
taee blushed scarlet..
‘And yeu do not care if 1 go home with
her—stop A’iola,’ he said as A’iola started
to run out of the room. ‘Here now,’ as he
caught her hand and led her back to his
mothers side. ‘And you do not care if I
go back with her to her home and ask her
mama to “ive her all to me, to he mi iC, my
own little darling forever, and your daugh
ter.
‘No Ribert, go. and may Gud bless you
my children, God bless you,’ said the
mother, as she burst into tears.
The knees ot the lovers were bent and
with his strong arm pressed tightly around
her beaut it’d w a-st, they laved their heads
upo the brea-t of the happy mother, and
drank anew the joy of loving and being
lovi d.
For a moment they knelt thus, a hand of
the mother resting tenderly upon either
bead, and then they arose, and with a fer
vent kiss, Winthrop released the blushing
happy girl, and turned from the room.
‘Now A’iola,’ said Mrs. Winthrop, put
away your brush and sit by me, I had
rather hear you talk than see you work.’
A’iola drew her chair by the bed side and
sat dowD, taking the delicate white hand of
the lady in her own little rosy palm, and in
a tattle as gay and thoughtles as a child she
rattled away the morning hours.
‘Viola,’ said Winthrop, that evening a3
she took his arm for a walk. ‘Wbat do you
thirk of MiES Walton.’
‘Oh I like her very much, she is a beauti
ful lady, and so intelectual. Do you know
that it she did not remind me so much of
Miss Emma, that I wonld stand qnito in
awe of her,’ answered A’iola.
‘Oh, she is not the least pedantic, and
her learning only serves to simplify her
manners,’ said Winthrop, in an assuring
tone.
‘Yes I know,she does not scareone at all,
and seems as much pleased with my silly
nonsencc as if I was the most euridite bine-
stocking that ever discussed a metaphysical
problem. I love to hear her talk though, even
if she docs sometimes soar high above my
ken. I heard her and Judge Cashing
talking Greek the other day, with as much
fluency as if they were only telling stories
in the nursery. I listened until my very
jaws became sore at the hard words they
were saying,’ pleasantly tattled the girl
‘And yon can perceive the resemblance to
Miss Eustace,’ he asked.
Oh yes she is very much like her in
deed, only I do cot think her quite so per
fect,' said A’iola.
And wbat think you, does Hiran. think
of her,’ asked Winthrop, in a gossipy sort
of way.
Ob, Hiram is not half so deeply smitten
as I expected to find him, he hardly
mentions her at all, and then his eyes do
not sparkle at all/ she answered.
- ‘I thought once that Hiram was done for/
Winthrop said reflectively.’ I am sorry
that he waB not, lor Kate wonld make him
a charming wife.
‘Oh no Robert, I am glad that he is not,
I do not know why, bnt I would be very
sorry for Hiram to many/ said Viola/ with
a strange fluttering of her heart. ‘And
least of all. to marry away up here anion-:
the snows. I couhl not b ar the thought, I
could not give him up.’ A? d Viola’s hand
twitched nervously upon Winthrop’? arm,
and her pretty eyes were sparkling with
tears.
AA’inthr p started w.th a slight shudder.
‘But you are going to marry away up
hear amid the snows/ he said. ‘And surely
you would like for him to keep yau com
pany.’
‘Yes but you knew I first saw you down
in Southland, you do not seem to me as a
stranger, like Miss Walton docs/ she
answered. ‘I once thought that Hiram
and Miss Emma would marry, and theu I
conld haveborneit. but now I would cry a y
.eyes out if he were to marry at all.’
•Viola you surprise tne.’
‘I hope that I am not selfish, that I atn
not wicked, l know that I am very foolish,
but somtitnes Robert, I wish that I could
be a little child as I once was, aud have no
body but Iliram to play with me, oh you do
not know how happy we were then, he was
such a strong brave hoy. and seemed so
proud of his little pet, and the other day
at Cambridge, he looked so proudly, s? hand
some andso noble that the old childish feel
ing came over me again, and I could hardly
refrain from running to him as I used to
do and making him stoop down art til I
could kiss him.’
‘And where was 1 A’iola.’
‘Oh I did not think of you one 'line
Robert, I only thought cfH'ram, and felt
so proud of him, so proud nf my sunny
South, and ofth? dear old Palmetto State,
that I bad no thought for any one
else.’
‘And do you think that, that wa3 treat
ing mo realy fair,’ ho asked, turning an
earnest but loving glance upon her.
‘Oh Robert, it did you no wrong, I love
you very dearly, cua place my hand in
oais and walk down the path ol life close,
clote to your side, but Iliram is dear to me
too, I can not think of leaving him behind,
I can remember when l used to be a little
curly pated toddler, and climb up in his
lap to lean my head upon his breast and go
to sleep. And at last Robert, when I come
to die, it seems that I would like to have
him near that I might again lay mv head
upon h’s breast and go to shop, the long
endless sleep that knows 110 waking/ ai d
A’iola’s voice was low, and sad and sweet.
‘And A’iola, you are not afraid to tell me
all his/ asked AA’iuthrop, with a tremulous
fullering of the voice.’
‘Oh no Robert, it is right that I should
tell you, there should 'c nothing between
us, my heart is yours, and you should read
its every seer. 1/ she answ red in a voice
so confiding and gentle that his heart leap
ed fir very joy.
‘A’es my darling you are right, aud I
love you all the better for your sweet confi
dence/ he said.
‘And you sympathise with my love for
Hiram?’
•Well, yes, I suppose that I do,’ he an
swered rather awkwardly.
Farm Wort for the Month.
The farm work for November has really
become so frittered down that we find it a
difficult problem to solve. We say to onr
friends, gather yonr corn, nnd notatoes,
and peas, and pumpkins, where cot honsed,
clean up pasture land ; repair fences, when
in season, good; fine weather for a part, and
when foul weather, for other things. We
are met by. “Wr cannot get our hands to
do’’ this or that; “as to splitting rails, pre-
par ng for pasture, making or cleaning out
ditchis, no use tc talk or write unless yon
send us the help.” AVe just say to all this,
the mau content tibc ruled by the fifteenth,
or any other except the p. tticoat amend
ment, is not fit to vote, and we would dis
franchise him. As small, as lazy, and as
ugly as we arc, if twenty-five or forty years
old, v e have too much of the hornet about
us to he thus under such colors. We would
“circumscribe,” not “our passions,” but as
great, an evil —wants—and do onr own
work, and let the amendments “went.”
We would have oar cows, and hogs, and
sheep; make our potatoes, peas, and such
like; try to have a few bales of cotton to
sell. With good toils efficient work can
be done, and why a man in health cinnot
m ike m ney at present prices, no man, nor
we can comprehend. We do adhere to a
life-long principle, to the proper prepara
tion of land, patting down to grass and
small grains, getting good animals to use
the crop on the farm, make all supplies
that climate admits of, and a few bales of
cotton as a surplus above necessaries, and
success must come. No time now to be
idle; prepare for the next year as the crop
of the present is taken from land. If an
extra large crop of corn is demin'ded—and
who does not want a large return ft abor?
the weather favorable, we say plow land
deep, then haninat all the manure, cotton
seed, scrapings of lot, mix well, and spread
over the plowed land as even as possible, so
as to be lightly turned under in spring af
ter a winter’s mulching. Gather up all
the manure po sible, and make it a daily
duty—Southern Farmer.
ENDEAVOR.
A moaning cry, as thrf world rolls t>r 1
Through gloom of cloud sod glory o? «ky,
Rings in my e»r« forever;
AndTfc'nbw'nbt'wfist it profits SIBib -
To plough and sow, to strive end plan,
And reap and harvest never.
“Abide, in truth abide,”
Spake a low voice at my aide.
“Abide, thou, and endeavor."
And even though, after care aid toil,
Though late yet blooming ever;
Peichance the prise were not worth the pain,
Perchance this fretting and wasting of brain,
Wins its true guerdon never.
“Abide, in love abide,”
The tender voice replied,
“Abide, tbon, and endeavor."
“Strive, endeavor; it profits more
To fight and tail, than on T ime’a dull shore
To sit an idler ever;
For lo him who bares hij arm to the strife.
Firm at his post in the battle of life,
The victory (ailcth never.
Therefore, in faith abide,”
The earaert voice still cried,
"Abide, thou, 1 nd endeavor.”
Ettas! icity of tVood.
Leaves.
The People's Journal gives tne following
practical advice to agriculturalists: In a
short lime the frosts, aided by rains and
winds, will have scattered a bountiful sup
ply of leaves over the woodland. These
leaves can be made to do an exeellentservice
on the farm. They shonld be carefnllj
raked together in heaps, and drawn to the
homestead, where a shed or some place ean
be found in which they may be stored
away. They may be hauled in a rack by
weaving in some cornstalks between the
stakes, close enough to prevent them fall
ing through. A large barn-basket is a con
venient thing to load them with, and it
will be surprising how many loads may be
gathered from an acre of woodland. They
make a very excellent bed for hogs, being
to some extent the bed provided for them
by nature. For sows with yonog pigs, they
are the best bed that can be procured, os
there is no danger, when they are used, of
ihe young pigs getting entangled in the bed
ding and crushed. As a source of manure
they are valualle; they rot easily, and have
good fertilizing qualities. Elm and oak
leaves contain a large proportion of potash,
and leaf mold, or the decomposed leaves,
makes a valuable addition to the soil of
flower gardens, or for potting plants. Where
manure is scarce—and where it is not?—
leaves should be the first resonree whereby
au increase may be made.
Water for Fires.
The following arc some of the rrsn’ts of
the recent experiments of Messrs. Cbevan-
dier and AVertheim on the resistance of
wood. These experiments have drawn the
following principal conclusions :
The density of wood appears to vary very
little with age.
The coefficient of elasticity diminishes,
on the contrary, beyond a certain age ; it
depends likewise, upon the dryness and the
exposure of the soil, in which the trees
have grown, to the suo; thus the trees
grown in the northern, north eastern and
jiorth western exposures, and in dry soils,
have always so much the higher coefficient
as these two conditions are united; whereas
the trees grown in muddy soils prevent
lower coefficients.
Age and exposure influence cohesion.
The coefficient of elasticity is affected by
‘Poor Hiram, he looks so sad, so cast l the soil in which the tree grows.
down, so love lorn and forsaken that my
heart is grieved for him/ cite said with a
tear of pity wel’ing up in her eye.
•And it is for this that I would be glad
that he could love Miss Walton,’ AA’iuthrop
answered.
‘Oh no, not Miss AA’alton, he can never
do that, his heart is buried in Mi-s Emma,
I know that true, pure heart ofhis, and it
can never love another than Emma Eustace
she said with an earnestness of voice
that carried a conviction with it.
‘And what terrible fate is it that stands
bet seen them,’ he asked.
‘Oh, I cannot tell, Miss Emma is the
slave of her father, and to please him, I
suppose she discarded pour Hiram, and
received the attentions of that horrid Frazee.
Si ice then I suspect that a mutual aud bit
ter pride stands between them. Hiram has
been fouly wronged, grossly outraged, and
1 is manly nature justly resents it, while the
c nciousness of having wronged him, still
embitters Emma’s heart against hint, for
you know Ilobeit, that oue can hardly ever
think kiudly of one,whom one has wronged.
Do you think that Mis? East ieestill loves
him ?
‘Oh yes, she would secretly die for him,
but she is very proud, she never mentions
his name, but I can see by the giud flash of
her eye when 1 is name i? mentioned hj
others, that she knows no earthly Gad hut
hint.
And you would be willing for Iliram to
marry Miss Eustace/ he said, and with
a penetrating glance lie Watched the
answer.
The answer was frank, truthful, and
sweet.
‘Oh yes, I could gladly have him marry
Miss Eustt cc/ and the answer thrilled so
gladly in his soul that he caught her to
his breast and kissed her again and
again.
A Risixo and Excited Market for
Broom Corn.—It is dow known to be a
positive fact that the recent fire in Chicago
destroyed 2,500 tons of broom corn, and
the excitement of Monday and Tuesday
continues, and prices have still further
largely advanced. In fact, it is almost im
possible to buy even common grades under
12015 cents per lb. Telegrams come
pouting into holders in this maketfrom the
growers in the AVest ordering their brush
held for fabulous prices. The crop cf 1871
is well known to be a partial failure it being
estimated by the most liberal and best can -
rosted dealers at not over one-third; but the
immense stock of old corn that was held in
Chicago prevented prices from materially
advancing, although it was generally con
ceded that they would have been high &Dy
how later in the season, bjt now, since the
destruction of about one fourth of the entire
stock in the United States, it is fair to pre
sume that we shall have the tallest prices
for broom corn known since the war.
Messers. J. M. Atwater & Bro. have re
ceived telegrams from all their Chicago cor
respondents stating the loss variously at
from 2,000 to 2,500 tons, and ordering all
the brush held by them, both in New York
and in their Philadelphia honsc withdrawn
from the market. Ooe large receiver on
the West side was offered 12* cents cash
to-day for bis entire stock which two weeks
ago wonld not have averaged over 8 cents,
and refused to sell. We anticipated an ac
tive market anl high prices for the balance
of the season.—New York Daily Bulletin.
A Bubble.—The Insurance business is
abont to prove a humbug. The losses of
Chicago are abont to be c ompromised at
25cts on the dollar. We hardly ever
heard of an Insurance loss being settled
without a compromise. Business men have
more trouble with Insurance Companies
than any other branch of business.
To bo independent ot this the citizens of
Rome ought to form a Mutual Insurance
Association, and insnre their own property.
The money saved by such an association
would more thau pay the city tax.
Trees cut in full sap and tbo;c cut be
fore the sap, have not presented any sensi
ble differences iu relation to elasticity.
The thickness of the woody layers of the
wood appear to have some influence of the
value of the coefficient of elasticity only for
fire, which is greater as the layers were
thinner.
In wood there is not properly speaking
any limit of elasticitv for the woods expc
rimcQted upon by Messrs. Chevandier and
Wertheim: but in order to make the re
sults of their experiments agree with those
of their predecessors, the authors have
given, for the value of the limit of elasticity,
the load under which it produces ODly a
very small permanent elongation —Treatise
on the Resistance of Mata ials.
Use of Sodium for Blasting.
The employment of sodium for blasting
rocks has becu frequently proposed, and
numerous experiments have been tried.
The subject is again revived, and we have
some of the figures upon which its use is
founded. To decompose 3 parts, by weight
of water, 23 parts, by weight, of sodium,
are requited ; and the product is 31 parts
of soda and I part ofliydrogen. If we em
ploy 16 grauim.s of sodium tliiswill evolve
wiili IS grammes of water, 2 grammes of
hydrnuea, which occupies a space equal to
22.471.9 cubic ceutimcters. If the sodium
be sealed up in a glass ball of the capacity
of 50 cubic centimeters (46 grammes sodi
um occupy 447 cubic centimeters,) the
hydrogen gas will exert an explosive force
against the walls equal to 450 atmospheres.
In the prattical.applicat'on, it is proposed
to take two glass bulbs connected by a
thin tube. In the upper bulb is placed
the metallic sodium; iu the neck between
i? formed a sol lble salt, and in the lower
bulb is drawn some water, when required
for use. By filling the lower bulb with
water, and inverting it, the salt will grad
ually dissolve and give the water access to
the sodium, and the explosion follows.
The bull>3 can be safely transported, as
the water is put in like a charge of powder,
and the leogtb of time required for the
melting away of the intervening salt can be
calculated.
For submarine Hasting, for employment
in crevices, for hollow trees, and other pur
poses in which gunpowder is not easily
available, a fuse of metallic sodium can be
highly recommended.— Scientific Ameri-
Galt for Rust in AVheat.—We copy
from Klippart’s Laud Drainage, p 36, -the
following timely notice of the experience
of that celebrate! farmer, John Johnson,
of New York, the father of tile drainage in
America:
“As a sure preventive of rust, to give
softness to the straw, to expedite ripening
of wheat, by four or five days, Mr Johnson
sows Sve bushels of salt to the acre, after
seeding. He thinks, moreover, that for
each of the five bnsbel almost an extra bush
els of wheat may be expected.”
As Mr. ’ohnson was not only an em
inently practical mao, bnt also a very suc
cessful farmer, his recommendation and
practices are worthy of great attention.
Advice to Land Bayers.
BE SURE THAT YOU GET A GOOD TITLE.
Before baying, see—
1. That the chain of title is direct and
perfect.
2. That no dower interests are ontstand-
ing.
3. That there are no mortgages.
4. That there are no mechanic’s liens.
5. That there are no tax titles.
6. That there are no judgment liens by
conrts in this country, or by other courts
in this State, or rendered in the United
States Court.
7. If property has ever been sold at
sheriff’s, execu' or’s, administrator’s or guard
ian’s sale—see the proceedings are regular
The present is a fitting time to consider,
says the Chicago Tribune, whether we may
not improve onr present system of water
supply, in order to make it more efficacious
in case of fire
In the city of Montreal, the supply of
water is obtained from an artificial reser
voir two or three handled fe t above the
city; the supply is unlimited, and any house
holder, by attaching the hose, can have a
stream of water, which, by its own force,
can be thrown 123 feet hieh against the
resistance of the air. This obviates the
necessity of steam fire apparatus, the water
itself ascending higher than it can be forc
ed by aoy steam engine. To secure this
same resnlt is the principal fcatnre of the
Holly system. We have an abundance of
water, bnt no elevation. The great steam
pmnps force the water up a coInmD, by
which a head of less than one hundred feet
is obtained. This force, however, is not
maintained in the distribution, and half a
mile distant it does not rise above thirty
feet, and diminishes until at a distance of
two miles it does not rise above twelve feet,
and often not over six feet. This arises
from the impossibility of the pomps keep
ing the distribution mains fall at all
times.
The inflow of water from the lake is far
in excess of the capacity of any existing
machinery. From the wells of the tunnel,
there might be supplemental tunnels to
various points of the city. Other tunnels
might be constructed into the lake. The
city might be devided into fifty or more con
venient fire districts, and in each of these
districts there might be such wells, supplied
from the lake, incapableof exhaustion. This
having been dene, there might be erected
over each well a pump, by which this water
could be given a force equal to an eleva
tion of one hundred feet. This would place
the public in a much better condition, as
against fire, than it is now with the steam
engines. The main items then needed
would be hose and fire pings. Every build
ing could have its own hose and fire pings,
and uron the first appearance of fire, the
roof, or any room in the highest bnildiog,
could be instantly flooded with water. At
present, an ordinary fire, occurring in the
upper story of any large building, has time
to obtain a fierce headway before the en
gines reach the place; and, before the bose
can be inid and dragged up ladders, and the
water forced to that hight by the engines,
it is impossible to save the building. In
the case of the Drake Farwell Block fire,
thirteen months ago, the water could not
be forced to the roof, and building after
building burned from the roof downward.
The engines conld not force the water to
that bight. Bad thefe been a head of
water ascending seventy-five feet, one man
standing on the roof with hose conld have
confined the fire to the bnildiBg in whieh it
originated, and the loss on even the latter
might have been prevented. In Montreal,
there can he no extensive fire resulting from
an insufficient supply of water or insuffi
cient force. Each man, with snffioient
hostf, can exercise as much power as can be
used by a steam eDg’me in Chicago. As
this watercan be thrown from the highest
building as far upward as it can be thrown
by a steam engine from the ground level,
no machinery or steam power is required in
order to make the water effectual against
fire. The wells for the supply of water for
fire purposes could easily be obtained from
the river. The pipiDg for that purpose ean
be easily laid, and of a much cheaper ma
terial than that used for the general dis
tribution. This same water could be used
for manufacturing purposes, for Every
stables, and for a variety of purposes, there
by reducing the demand upon the present
water works. It would be comparatively
inexpensive. The machinery once erected,
the cost of working it would be but trifling.
The cost of piping could not be one fifth of
tho cost of the ordinary water mains. This
pipe could be laid at once io every street in
the city, and the annual cost of maintaining
the whole wonld not equal one third that
of the requisite number of steam engines
under onr present system. We mighterect
water 'owers in each fire district and ob
tain additional head, but either plan is
feasible to supply tbe great natural want of
Chicago, a supply of water from an eleva
tion. That want must be supplied. Our
present system cannot do it, and now is the
time to consider and adopt some plan by
which the end can be obtained.—Sstenlific
American.
When onr water works are completed,
Rome will show them how it is to be
done.
The Babylonians, having no physicians
with whom to consult in ease of sickness,
adopted a novel plan to obtain relief under
such circumstances. They had the infirm
brought into the Forum, and those who
passefi by were asked their opinion as to
the nature of the disease. They demanded
of each one if he ever had tbe same distem-
per; if he knew any one who had -had ifj
and, if so, how he was cored.