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0mc (lourin'. proprietor 4 W'^veb. Associate Editor. "^VERY FRIDAY. bates of weekly. $2 00 ! Months RATEs' FOR lEI-WEEKLT; $4 ( . 9 I f _ IMont hs ' -- 1 > M °t iRUBLY IN ADVANCE. or more one copy will be ft •ab!0‘ “ M. DWINELL, Proprietor. Lyicr* 115, 0 " 0 0 0 ——-- I “WISDOM, JUSTICE AND MODERATION.” VOLUME XXVI. ROME, GA„ FRIDAY MORNING, NOV. 24. 1871. NEW SERIES—NO. 18. r ., L advertisements. ^.im-'nistrators, Electors or , . L ‘“‘ required by law to be held on |.jjrii ,as ‘ \dayi t eaca month, between the f sr il ^ ue5 ; 0 the orenoon and three in the jri of ien the Court House in the county in ■ -leffl 0011, ° r(>0 ertyis situated. Ijjici {i,e ? these sales must be given in a pub- 1 Java previous. • jette * 0 ' sa l c of personal property must :ifei n 'ike manner, through a public gaz- i*F fe ® i a previous to sale day. I,U* 10 Debtors and Creditors of an estate, J yjkihO iiiaiigii 40 days. I^ lbe W napplications will be made to the C,tiC f Orlin^ry for leave to sell land must be i f>r two months. 4 . lisnw^r i eU crs of Administration, Guar- ut : on;v mugt k e published 30 days—for Administration, three months— from Guardianship, 40 lays. the f.yrecloseuro of Mortgages must !5f ° r d monthly for four months—for es- t papers, for the full space of three r ^compelling tit^strom Executors or If.cw. I rs Wbc-re bond has been given by Ijiainishaw •• ^ ? p ac0 of three months. * ’ , w pi always be continued accord- jblicatmn ^ requirements, unless oth- It 1 th j e r ' e a at the following " ’ RATES. . . . lcvv of ten lines orless $3 00 Jl'Mertpgo *•>•»- P cr lev F. 5 00 ■ : .rflor°le»«s of Administration 3 00 °“ S .fnrletters of Guardianship ^ap^calior. fnrdism»sH>n.front # ## for dismission from ‘•i'rdisiwbip.. tinn to sell land,... „ pebtors and Creditors I Rules t 5tii» aa „,.... squib Hshab J ’ c property, 10 days ]G days ro of Mortgage, per square jvertwice Ids wife, (in advance) .. 6 00 .. 4 00 .. 5 00 .. 4 00 . 4 00 .. 1 00 10 00 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.