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4 (form'. $2 00 fujSiU-: B* il.-n* ‘^•"C'y uj’APVAJIOE. i-> ■' A J I t o- cne copy wil , uS ,of Fit' 0 ' M. DWINELL, Proprietor. t advertisements. *E ,lA r.‘VAdn? ; ci3trator6, Excctors or U D,i Paired br law to be hold on are req“« ^ ca J mont h, between the Tje -‘ j3 ' r tte orcnoon and three in the te» !!. Ceurt House in the county in 'X'- a.tvis situated, theP r °P®^ sales must be given in a pub- ‘— ■ ; j, .irn : n “WISDOM, JUSTICE AND EODEEATION." — VOLUME XXVI. ROME, GA„ FRIDAY MORNING. DEC, 8. 1871. NEW SERIES-NO. 14. |(S fek of personal property |<.ti:es° : f" manner, through a public I’.rt- * a * ...: 0 ns to sale day. Ie» ti4y *Debtors and Creditors of an estate, & liih l d vlt d ions' W ill be made to the r .lhe papr‘- t0 se ii land must be ,K ' vr ”S .a. nth.. . „ , , s 0 j Administration,Guar- e ‘,«t be published 3b days—for mpvr .^Administration, three months- Eii'W ! r ‘ f, om Guardianship,-10 lays. B ; f„ re dnseure of Mortgages must ■..tajf’r tat ’ j„ j* or f,,ur months—for ca- b;ui° d ia ™' cT s for the full space of three ?a clliug ,itles from Executors or ^•v.rco I0 ^,, t%r g i, on d has been given by tlm full >paeo of three months a ' e ' p always be continued accord- cation* . requirements, unless oth- UC ‘ the f.Rowing ■« lector letters f nt app!i ratl , aistrsition, ; ,f applicati •r&'i RATES. lew of ten lines or less $3 00 sales, per levy, 5 00 !;!g|Vv per levy 00 * r «ofA'lministration 3 00 e * irdianship 3 00 •r dismission from 6 00 r dismission from . Del !P days. 6 00 . r> oo per square 4 00 e, (in advance) 10 00 01 It XOVE1.. CHAV. XXIX. i THINtiS MADE NEW. ,.!.t he:ut .if Emma Eustace that J..n, Hu* drove home, -rus resting iD ItKttrrep^e tlian ii hud knownfor many I . pffis the calm delight u! the KtJ.vc as it rested from its turbulent bolding in its eager clutch no |" jj^anch. it was true, but sighting t distance a haven and a rest. Ichtoctly did this sense of repose rest Interlace, tint the motherly eye of l Justice, caught its expression, and f 3 a as they walked from the carriage Jctir door. JOaima you are looking so pleasant, I ft.- that you enjoyed our s urprise.’ y ei mother, the evening to me has been .: pleasant,’ she replied, find Hiram has lost his strange acerbity, J|appeared quite free and agreeable It I;pity that he keeps himself so secluded,’ lithe mother. find yet mother, lie appears to much mr advantage at home than auy where > slid Emma. find that Emma is a very pretty com- |::.t that you have paid him,’ replied la. Eastace. I Ye-it is better to be pleasant at home li:elsewhere, for home is life, but still - t Ik he embarrassing to one not to be able petrol ones diffidence in society,’ she Ksrercd. . he that awkward, I had thought that iLis usual grace, he would be able to i: at leas'; unconstrained,’ said Mrs. bnly speak of his last visit to us, you i how embarrassed lie was, and at a. wedding, he appeared to be in an ■ !'constraint,’ answered Emma. H’e know not wl at his thoughts were, :iriMtinstances you know, alter cases,' . Kustaee answered. iX 1 kr, 'W. and hi visit mother was marly iry.ina to his sensitive feelings, l a uderthat he v,*nt red to make it at oil Emma with a sadder recollection a’ unpleasant! ess tiiat weighed so like sefousupon th. ir last interview. 1 Ii ipethit hisvsit to morrow will embarrass, il wilh unple n-ant. andiuas.' n i.hed In r mol her, as they I’a-'i each I i her own chamber, i k said I hrani the next day after din ■- ! uraped his n.olhe.t’sshawl around ■ ’i r-.' o i y,, u ihink that you can - the horses this evening, v - V.-.s- Hiraui, I kio drive -m.’ •n drive the phaeton over to -Mr. '«'s tlnseveuing after us—come ab iut ivn and be sure Dick that you arc a ith the horses.’ lyes I'll mind out,’ answered Dick. ■i then Hiram an t his mother walked ker to the mansion of Mr. Eustace. It pleasant walk, the sharp November •'ring a bracing glow to the spirits anti ling the nerves, lit not agree with the poet Bryant,’ Hrs. Lavender, as she paused for a rat on a little knoll io the park, and i around upon the mellow loveliness of animal scene,’ that the days, “0! falling leaves of wailing winds, Aid Arrest brown and sere.” '■be saddest of the year, I consider the '•:a season one of the happiest of the Ves 1 too love it, there is a rich ripeness t; aspect, the harvests of its nuts, and e Iruits, that is realy gladening, it is r the gathering of ones reward for the i: -‘ labor.' answered Iliram, as they turn- '•ocontinue their walk. -Vnd this prospect is delightful, the ;atQ yellow of the leaves, set off by the 10!on blush of the red oak, and the gum, "ter with the dun carpet of straw aod ‘-Heaves beneath, make a scene that jy'-' the brightest of spring,’ continu- ■;!'? Laver der. Xg; it is a beautiful prospect, and one ''Us ruy Southern heart with pride to ■ iplate,' answered Hiram with a glow '■ inern enthusiasm lighting up his hand- '■"'Lee. ° ° 1 ”' ;j tn do you remember the last time *« sed this path together,’Mrs. Laven- ’ “-Aid.recalling to her mind the un- ■a ant s ccne that followed it. ,, e tlnie you brought Miss Emma’s dress e , r '^ I 0 ?. I remember it, and I rcmcm- , v excellent words of advise and en- •' a -’!nent you consoled me with, mother,’ *” s ' tere< L unwillingly to permit her i ”‘ ts to dwell upon the indignity impos- -ii Un ' im .^y 'he proud owner cf the ‘lou have not visited Mrs. ^ r Mently, mother.’ he asked. ’• it has been more than a year,’she ■*ered, J ••tid why mother did you cease jour in- f , ’ Fae *'th the familyhe asked, ‘was it .[ ' e °‘ U . T esl rangement’ -appose that it was, Hiram. Mr. ‘■‘ice was 'cry rude and insulting the »ith j 0 ^ was there, and I could not Vi l.,'L. SC rfs P eo ' vi„it hia. house again Vive ” as a * on " Wl, 'l e ago, and I ssth , at ™ 18 sorry tor it now,’ reluct- ri,T credth « "^w. Vint wbn° TCr ^ rude mot ber,’ asked VSrin J . ‘- a L ? ather ing sense of ind'tgna- 1}I tlD g his blood. «e of jt™ -l'j u “ast net be angry,’ it was 'lid djj ’ a ,us *ace's passionate outbursts, ‘ 'U societvo( lar “; on 'y deprived me ‘y 01 ®y dear friends, Mrs. Eus- soothing tone. ‘And he hn3 never appoligised/ asked Hiram, still smarting under the sense ol his mother’s insult. ‘I have never seen him since, except last year when I was so ill,’ she answered. ‘Then mother I am almost tempted to turn back and never again put my foot in his house/ said Hiram, as he halted undecidedly at the gate. ‘No Hiram, that must not be, it would be rudan insult to the gentle ladie3, who are innocent of this thing, I can despise the insult Hiram, and not notice it. it was when Mr. Eustace was so completly mfatu atco with th»t bad man, and I suspect that his conduct was instigated by his evil in fluence/ said the mother, laying her hand soothingly upon Hiram’s shoulder.’ Come •she continued/ open the gate and go in, we arc observed.’ And with the flush still on his check, Hiram opened the gate and led his mother in. They were cordially received on the por’ico by Mrs. Eustace, who "reefed Mrs Lavender with a kiss, and Uiratn with a kindly smile. ‘Cou e to my room Mrs. Lavender, ir is more cosy and warm. Hiraui walk in the parlor, Mr. Eustace will be in presently and 1 will send Emma in in a moment,’ she said as she led Mrs. Livi nder away.ai d pointed Iliram to the •_pen parlo: door. ‘My de »r Estalla, 1 am so ul id that ywu have come; it is a rolling back of many weary-laden days from my h art,’ she *aid as she divest- d the widow ot her bonnet ami shawl and drew an easy chair belore the fire for her. ‘.And I am glad (o be with you again, Matilda, to me it is the recalling of happ, days gone by,’ returned the widow in a grateful tone, while the watery eye attested its truth. It was hardly the result of a motherly stratergy tha placed Iliram alone in the parlor to await the entrance of Emma, but it was certainly a very successful one,and had Hiram been in any othei position,he might have considered it a very fortunate and grateful one as well ; hut, as it was, he somehow or oilier, as soon as lie had seated himself, began to find his feet rssuming their old embarrassing prominence, and they threatened to be as troublesome as ever. But he had little time to devote to their composure, before the electric rustle of the silken folds of a dress, called all the blood from his toes to his face, and he looked up to behold Emma more queenly, more lovely, more radiently beautiful than flu had ever before seemed to his enraptured senses Deep down into his soul the effulgent beauty beamed, and with an admiration sparkling from his eyes he arose to greet her. ‘I know not Miss Emma/ he said as he held out his hand, which most to congratu late, myself upon the pleasure of meeting yoj, or you upon the splendid health, I am glad to see glowing npon your ctieek.’ ‘Thank you, sir, I am glad to see you/ she awkwirdly answered, as she accepted the hand, and it was a warm strong hand, and her own plump velvety palm rested a moment in its gentle «.rasp. ‘We were discussing, mother and I, as we came through the park, the beauties and gladness of the season of autumn/ he continued as he led her to a sofa and seat ed himself by her side—big hoops be it remembered had not then monopolized an intire sofa—‘and we both agreed that Bry ant was wrong when hr sang, “The melancholy days have ct-me, The saddest of the year. Of scattered leavc3of wailing winds, And forrest brown and sere.’' and were a crownim.* argument needed in favor of the autumnal cxcrllence it could be found in the rudy ulow of heahh with which its air tinges beautyV check.’ Euwm’s cheeks were ting d with a rosy b!u.-h as she answered. ‘You re disposed to he complimentary. I am glad to see y»u St• pleasant. Hiram was not at. all dLpo-’Oi: io be com plimentarv, he hardly over indulged in such cheap amenities, and »he tribute he paid to ihe rosy g! v. « f liri.ltl: that sat upon Emma’s cheek was siuct-r-- and un affected. *No ? he answered, *1 di-like compli meets. Any shallow patcd folicw can offer them.’ ‘And I suppose that, any silly maiden can accept them/ she answered, slightly piqued at his abruptness. *]r is too often the case that they do/ he retorted, and then for a moment a silence subdued the Bush that had mounted to his brow when she cauie in. ‘It is* sometimes very hard to distinguish flattery from admiration/ Emma at last said. ‘And as often one mistakes admiration fer sincerg respect,’ he answered ‘Yes one hardly can tell the troth of ones own convictions,’ she replied with a little sigh. ‘I greatly fear that we do not sufficeutlv weigh our convictions before acting upon them, Hiram said in a tone rather too grave for the occasion. ‘Oh as lor that,tried by the rigid test cf an uneering morality, we would all fall far short of propriety, but I cannot allow my self to be thus severe, and knowing my own weakness I must in self defence make a charitable allowance for others/ she an swered softly. ‘And far be it from me to condemn, or to judge, I was only deploring a weakness, a weakness which oppresses me as heavily as it oppresses others/ Iliram replied, ‘but you say rightly we have need to be judged of charitably,’ he continued with a meltiDg of the heart and a softing of the voice. ‘And I more than all others, for you know not how I have been tried/ she cried with a rush of feeling from her soul that she was weak ae a babe to control. Hiram’s heart leaped into his brain, and his every nerve was aglow witn a thrilling surprise He turned his wondering glance upon her face,and in her swiming eyes he read the tru*h of his old, his dearest love. He reached ont his hands. ‘Emma ’ ‘Hiram. And, with the beautiful head pressed closely to his wildly heating heart, the sweet girl lived in that moment an eternity ofjoy. But it was only for a mou ent it rested there when she raised it, -aised it only to be caught again by the tremulous aim and drawn closely to his own, when lip to lip the interflow of love as pure, as true, as glad as angels ever breathed, transfused and quickened their souls. ‘Mine at last.’ he whispered between his kisses. ‘Yes yours always Hiram/ she murmur ed in her gladness, and then drawing back her head, but still clinging her arms arotmd his neck, she said. ‘Ob Hiram let me tell you.’ ‘Oh not now darling, this is joy enough, my cup is full/ he interrupted, tenderly gazing into the loving depths of the spark ling eyes. And thus they remained for a moment longer, when with one more kiss npon the rich ripe lips, he released her from his straining grasp, and disentwining her arms from his neck, she was again seated by his side; but with her head leaning npon his shoulder, and his strong manly but loviow and gentle arm around her waist. ‘Iliram/ she whispered, ‘I have cruelly tried you.’ ‘And dailing you have sweetly repaid me/ he answered in a voh e low and tender, ‘This moment is worth more than all I have suffered/ ‘Yes it is a Heaven to me/ she murmur ed. ‘More than I deserve, I can never re pay you Iliram.’ ‘Hush darling ‘And vou did uot learn to dispise me Hiram,’ she asked nestling her head still closer upon his shoulder, as if to soften the answer. ‘No Euiua, 1 loved and blessed you al ways.’ ‘And I loved you Hiraoi, even in my bitterest sorrow, as I lovey^u now; dearer titan mortal t.,u^ue can tell, but not so joyously, so hopelully as now,’ she said reaciiin" tier arm up to his neck agaiu. •I believe you darling, and I bless you I' ryour truth,’ he answered. •But you thought me cruel dear Hiraui ’ site asked. ■I thought my fate a hard one Emma, and I fear that I was wicked enongn titnumer at Providence for the harsh dis pensation,’ be answered. •But Iliram you knew not why I did it,’ she said, her eyes beaming with their fdl- tlcSS. •Xo darling, I will not distress you to tel!,’ he auswered soothingly. ‘Anu you can trust me without knowing. Oil Hiram, my own dear, dear Iliram, this is a love too firm, too Doble for poor unworthy me, I do r.ot deserve it,’she sobbed enthused wilh a delicious sense of her gladness, and humbled by a rccollec- t on ot her unworthy weakness. ‘Daning this is not just to yourself, you are all that my fond heart would bt-.ve you to be. You are my own darling, the bride of my soul, and whatever you have been, or done, it has ot lv taught me hew inexpressibly dear you are to me,’ he an swered stooping bis lips again to hers and sealing the truth with a gentle kiss. ‘And uiy heart blesses you dear Iliram fur your confidence, and now you must permit me to tell you all,’ answered Emma as she drew back again to her seat. ‘Are you sure that the subject will not be painful, I want nothing but joy to glad den this hour,’ he said. ‘No it will not pain me now, it will be a sweet relief, and I know Hiram, that you will uot blame me so severely when you know all,’ she answtred. ‘Then tell me all darling in your own way, and your own time,’ he answered. ‘Well you know Hiram what a delight ful world of love, of hope, and of joy, you left me in when you first went away. The hours were golden in their gladness, and my life was as a happy dream, a dream t hat I held 'ondly to, and dreaded so much to awake from that I turned with a sickening tremor from the longand dreary silence that insued. You cannot imagine bow eagerly I watched the office for a letter from you. Oh yes I can Emnta, for I was watch- l: it with the same heart eagerness my self,’ interrupted Hiram. Aud yours came at last Hiram, a cold, cruel, wretched, letter. Oh Iliram ior- give me lor it, I did not know what I was doing, my dispair had driven me mad,’ she cried, shivering at the recollection if her cruel letter. Aud then sli; continued. •Did you get it Hiram, and can you ever forgive me lor it.’ Yes Enina I got it. and it chilled my very sm.l, but it is all over new. and you lr to be el d that 1 got ii. for it told wl-at a miserable blank lilt would he bout you,’ h answered, .ud then he added as he drew from Ills breast pocket a Uinruceo uiemulaudum book See here darling. 1 have kept ii with me ever since; ill-re those little yellow blotches can tei! you now dear you were to me.’ Ej.-ma seized the letter, the same cold ruel later that cost her hear such a pang to write and as she read its heartless he bowed her head upon his snouider and wept. The tear-all bitter as they weie, brought a relief, anu when she raised her head gain, ills' smile of a joyous heait was iu her eyis. May I keep this Iliram,’ she asked. Yes Emma, but why do you waut it,’ lit asked. I waot to put it away Iliram, that if in the great joy I so fondly nee iu the future my heart should forget its humbleness -and become proud and vain as it sjmetimes dues, I can read this letter and be chasten ed into its wretched humility again,’ she answered with a voice of tender earnestness. But Hiram you can never know the agony it cost me to write this cruel letter. The misery that crushed my heart as I applied the knife to my own hopes; but I must go back Iliram, not to dwell upon the wretchedness of that miserable time, bat to tell you how cruelly I had been wronged myself. Wearied with your long silence, my heart became open to the idle tales of scat - dal that were whispered about the town, and I foolishly stooped to listen. I was told Iliram that you loved Viola, that, that, forgive me dear Hiram for wronging you with the unworthy thought, you had pledged her your love, and had received her own iu return, and then Hiram half destractcd with this gossip I went to Viola, and through some fatal misapprehension of my meaning she confirmed my worst fears, and then Hiram as I looked into the bright lace of that sweet girl i resolved for her sake to give you up. And then Hi ram I wrote this cruel letter, and having iven you up I gave up all hope in life and abandjned myself to a hopeless dispair, and it was thus Hiram when my soul was d-.ad to every earthly hope to every earthly thought or aspiration, that I yielded to my poor father’s infatuation and consented to— to— oh I cannot speak it,’ she cried with a terror. ‘Never mind Emma, it is all over new, and you are still my own,’ he soochingly answered. ‘Yes it is all over, and I have to thank you Hiram for saving' me from a wretched late, and oh Hiram, the hitter memory of my erne! repulse of your friendly offices, they have burned like a fire into my soul, and I have prayed often for death to re lieve me from thier curse.’ ‘Emma, darliog do not say that,’ he soothingly said. •Yts Hiram, I know that it was wrong, but you cau never know the pangs of an upbraiding remorse. What demon of pride possessed me to treat you as I did, I can never divine It may have been that smarting under the cold neglect with which you had treated me that day; for Hiram you know not how proudly my soul was thrilled with the splendor ol youi triumph, and how eagerly my poor heart longed for ono glance of recognition, on'e kindly glance from your eye; and oh bow wretchedly it sank within me when at last yon did look down into my face, but with such a cold, sue'- a haughtily scorn that my soul was outraged.’ ‘Emma dear Emma, you mistake, it was your glance that inspired me. It was be cause that you were there I had courage to speak, and when I bad done, I could not trust myself to 'ook in your face again.’ ‘Yes Hiram, but I did not know that, nor could I have blamed you; for the glance of love I so longed for would have been criminal in you to give; it was weak, fool ish, sinful iu me to ask. And it may have been the smart of all this cutting iu my soul, that impelled me to reproach you as I did, I ooly know that after the bitter words had been spoken, and you had turn ed in sorrow from the room, that I would have given my wretched life to have called you back, and on me knees to have kissed your feet’ in hum'-le contrition But I had not the power, and then I felt that in deed ail was lost.’ ‘Anddi-i you know darliog that I dd come back, that I saw you moaning in n heart agony, and that I longed so much to knc‘1 by j’our side, to take you in my arms and to bear you away from this wretched - prison house of wee, but I dared not,’ he said as he drew her closer to his side as if to shelter her from the danger. That moment Hiram,! she resumed ‘was the bitterest of my life, and after that 1 cared not for life, indeed the breath, the mere being, was all of life that I knew, save its darkest, bitterest unrest, and then when that fatal night came, and the hand of a merciful God, led me away from the horrible fate they had prepared for me, led me to you Iliram. all unconsciously,all un knowing to myself,oh with what a pure gladness did I feel the strength of your pro tecting arm as it lifted me from the floor, and placed me so tenderly by the side of yonr mother, then it was Hiram that for very joy I would have gladly die!. And oil Hiram the delicious repose of that night as I lay in a half dreamy state watching the tender care with which yuu waited upon your mother, and I was selfish enough to wish that it was me hovering there between life and death; and after awhile when my eyes closed beneath the dewy weight of this ladncss, and I passed off into dreams it was to dream of a joy too pure for earth. But when I awoke the next morning it was to the same old cankering unrest that was eating at my soul, and when I saw Viola so bright aud joyous I had to crush back my own hopeful thoughts, and still my heart again.” And may God bless you for your self- sacrifice,’ Eiiram answered as he tenderly pressed back the soft silken tresses that fell over her cheeks. And he has blessed me Hiram, the joy of this hour is blessing enough for all that I have suffered. And how, m - darling,’ he whispered, could Viola have so misled you?’ Oh Hiram it is all plain to me now, but then I could not see I was maddened; cot angered Iliram, but distracted, by the cruel gossip iliat I bad heard, a gossip con firmed by the positive assurance of Miss Seymore. Miss Seymore, Emma, that backbiting creature whose every breath is slander,’ in terrupted Hiram with an impatient start. I know Hiram i' was wrong, but I was driven to it, and th^n she detailed to me every particular of our interview at the pic nic, with such a correct minuteness that I could not doubt the truth of what she told me si>c heard aud witnessed between you and Viola. Between me and Viola, what— where? interrupted. Or. the beach, under the bank, below ■ Id mill.’ answer *d Emma. Ill And what d-d sin- say that she saw and ird.’ he asked ‘She-aid that -h- saw you stoop and kiss Viola; and that she heard yon ask her to be your wife, and Viola gladly as sented.’ Euima ans vered. •And did you believe all this Emma.’ •Not then Hiraui, not uaiil 1 saw Viola, a-d from the co itn-inD t'”at ova game her when I a'ludcd to the interview, and then Hiram my poor heart was crushed beneath its load ot doubt, and I could hope no long er.’ ‘Oh Emma, you were cruelly deceived,’ Hiram cried, aud the weight of a malicious lie will hang upon Miss Seymores siul. ■And you do nut blame me for my con duct Hiram.’ •No darling, had I have acted as yon supposed. 1 would have been a monster too vile to claim one thought of your purer soul. I remember our iuteiview, Viola’s and mine, at the mill, I remember stoop ingand kissing her budding lips, but it was only as I had kissed them before, and as I have kissed them often since, as a brother wouid kiss the dearest sister of his love; but a? for marrying her, I never ODce dreamed of that, nor did she.’ ‘Ves Hiram. I know ibis now, but rot until Viola returned' from the North and told me of ter engagement with Mr. Win- throp. did I know it,’ she answered. •But still Hiram,’ she continued after a pause. ‘I did wrong, I ought to have told you all this at first, I ought to have trusted you before all others, but I was weak, foolish, and crazy,’ she murmured bursting into tears. ‘Hush darliog, you are strong now, you will trust me now, eay so darliog, say that you will never donht me again, and the bleak wretchcdnessofthe past will all he for- gottin, never to be mentioned again,’ he answered turning his fcndly ^beaming eyes npon* hers. ‘Yes Hiram I trust you now, will trust you ever,’ she answered. The perfect joy of their hearts is too sacred to bo intruded upon, and we leave them for a brief interval to the sanctity of that nnsecn bat soul thrilling presence, while we return to the room ot Mrs. Eu stace, where we left Mrs. Lavender so cosi ly ensconced in the softest easy chair. The ladies had exhausted the usual do mestic gossip, and were cautiously reaching out upon the neighborhood fora subject of discussion when Mr. Eustace entered. He advanced with a cordial friendliness, lifting his countenance as he extended his hand. ‘I am glad to see you Mrs. Lavender,’ he said, ‘But before I express my pleasure, I must appologise, and humbly bHg your pardon for the discourteous and rude manner in wh ch I treated yon when last here I am ashamed and heartily sorry, can you forgive me Mrs. Lavender. •Oh Mr. Eustace you mistake my nature if you suppose that I could think unkindly of an act done under the impulse of a great trial, and of which time has long since dis troyed its unpleasantness,’ answered the generous hearted,widow, as sheaccepted his offered hand. ‘Then you forgive me,’ he asked. ‘Yes perfectly—pray think no more about it,’ Mrs. Lavender answered. ‘Then I thank yon for your goodness,’ he said, and for once again in his life the hard nature of that proud man was touched ‘Where is Hiram V he asked after a mo meats pause, ‘he has become such a Strang er that I can hardly evjr get to see him, I was surprised yesterday evening when Matilda told me that he was at home, aod I hoped that he would have come with you.’ ‘Hiram is here.’answered Mrs. Eastace, ‘he is in the parior, and you ought to go-nito sea him.’ ‘Ves certainly, where is Emma?’ he said. ‘She is with Hiram.’ answered his wife. ‘Oh well then, I suspect that my presence would not add greatly to his entertainment, so I will intrude myselt longer upon yon ladies,’ he answered assuming an air of gal- antry not,by any means natural to him, which little species of annatural gallantry was bat another stroke of the band of des tiny. holding open to Hiram and to Emma the golden opportunity of which we have seen they made snch a blissful use. Mr. Eustace made his happiest efforts to he pleasant, aud succeeded very well, much to the great satisfaction of Mr. Eastace, and the surprise of Mrs. Lavender. The thrilling transport of Hiram and Emma had subsided, and ia its stead a de licious gladness suffused their souls. They had ariseD from their seats and were walk- arm in arm, around tho room, all no- conscious whether the velvety flowers of the rich carpet, that so softly caught their steps, were wrought by human hands, or flowers strewed by fairy hands to gladden their path. Their voices were low, bnt it was the music of g!adne-s that they whis pered. ‘And you think dearest,’ he said, ‘that your father will now listen to my suit.’ ‘Ves Hiram, father is greatly changed, happily changed, and I am sure that he esteems you very highly,’ she answered. ‘And I may ask him to give me his ihaghter, his queenly, beautiful daughter,’ he asked looking unuterable fondness down into the briraning eyes. Yes ask him Hiram,’ and the scene had liked to have become too sacred again , for profane eyes. Hiram,’ she said after a moments si lence. Yes Emma,’ he answered. Do you remember the evening I walked with you to the park gate, when you went away.’ Oh yes, I have lived these precious boars over a thousand times since,’ he an swered with the love light in his eye again threatning to kindle to a flame. ‘And yon remember how I placed my hand in yonrs, and beged you to shield me from the fate I eomeliow felt even then, was in store for me,’ «he again whispered leaning her head close against his shoulder, as if the presentiment stood ready to frown, again. ‘Ves darling I lemember it, and bow of ten have I reproached my blindness for not heeding your fears and seizing the hap piness that was in my grasp.’ The beantifal head nestled still closer, and his brown locks rested lovingly upon the raven tresses. ‘And do yon know niram thit your re fusal to do so rankled deeply in my soul. Oh Hiram it is a dangerous thing to re ject the offered love, the life, of a proud won-an,’ she said raising the beautiful head. ‘To reject 6uch a love as yours Emma, would be to reject heaven itself,’ he re plied drawing the beautiful head back to its place again. ‘Hush Hiram, you must not be blas phemous,’ she cried with a little shock, but not enough to detach the head from its loving rest. ‘I trust that I am not Emma, and es a proof of it, my heart is every n oment mur ium in". G >d bless yon, God bless yon, my own dear Emma.’ Ir needed not the tremulous arm to h -id the beautiful head upon its loving rest,‘.- r the fair rounded taper arm, went up to the man’s neck, and the Shekinah of joyagain became too bright for protane eves. Th-re Hiram ’ sh-‘ at. length said, as she looked up, blushing with rosy oy, •tins is foolish ’ This is Heaven darling,’ he answered. •a joy too deep for utterance, a bliss that only kisses can express •Yes I know ’ she sailed, and the num erable joy was again expressed. ‘Auii now darling piny me one of your hapuicst pieces,’ he said as he released her head from his clasp, and led her to the piano. ‘Yes I will ‘an, To Pcan’ she said in a voice swe' ter than any music. And then the happy hearted girl touch ed the keys again, but not this time with a medley of fierce, wild and despairing pas sion, running through every scale of weary dispair, sinking at last into the sad wail of the Zauberflote but with the sweet thrill of a great joy trilling upon every note, rising higher and higher, sweeter and sweet er, os the bliss of her soul awoke under its melting strains to a keener sense of its joy, until at last its melody filled everythought, and enlhnsed every nerve, and the voice of her own sweet heart found an utterance, and her own rich notes warbled forth its joy as sweetly as the cotes of the magio flute itself. AdJ when at length she ceased, she did not bow her head low into her bands, as she bowed it before the storm of grief that rolled over her soul, when she played be fore Mr. Nodiah Scruggs, hut it was raised with a halo of gladness resting upon her face, and the drops of a dewy joy trembling upon her long silken lashes. The unuterable joy, again rose to Hi ram’s lips, but before he could stoop to ex- piess it; Mr. Eastace entered the room. Hiram had nothing but the joy of a ra diant love in bis heart, and in that joy he forgot the indignaot sense of the insult to his mother, and with a ready hand he a eepted the friendly offering of Emma’s father. ‘I am glad to see you Hiram,’ he said, ‘and the presence of your mother in my house has gratefully surprised me.’ Hiram answered rather awkwardly that his mother rarely ever visited, and that this visit was quite as surprising to him. “Play on Emma,’ Mr. Eastace contin ued. ‘1 do not want to internpt yon, I only slept in a moment to pay my respects to Hiram. I have business at the gin bouse, and you must excuse me Hiram. And Hiram was very gracious and glad ly excused him as be bowed himself out. The hours tripped unheeded by, and tne suns last slanting beams stretched across the room befrre Hiram, or Emma thought of the hour. Mrs. Lavender and Mrs. Eustace now appeared, the formerall bonneted and shawl ed, ready for the ride. ‘Come Hiram, let ns go, Dick has be'D waiting sometime,’ said Mrs. Lavender. ‘Ab, is it that late,’ Hiram answered as he started up with an awkward, surprise. Hiram wanted no invitation to call again, and none was offered, bnt be drove away with the lightest heart that ever gladened a youthful breast. ‘What an elegant torn oat Lavender has,’ said Mr. Eastace, who had joined them just as Hiram was driving off. ‘Yes,’ replied Mrs. Eustace,‘it ia aapleu ded team.’ ‘And it is queea that Hiraits gmd for tune has not turned his head, he appears just the same as he was before he got his property. I sometimes doubt all the (ales I h°ar atiou*. it, and don’t believe that ho realy got so much after all,’ said Mr Ea stace with a dubious shake of his head. ‘Oh there can be ro doubt about it fither,’ quickly an-wered Emma with a 1 ttle bit of strategy, whicif uotbecomingin maidenly simplicity, was at least excusa ble in maidenly effection. Tie gave Viola quite a handsome property, two hundred thousand dollars.’ Oh that was pilling it on pretty thick, and I do not wonder if that damned Fr .zee told snch a lie about 'em after all,’ said Mr Eustace evidently chagrind about some thing, aod it may have been about the two hundred thousand dollars.’ Emma shrank back in pain, but said nothing. ‘No,’ answered Mr. Eastace, ‘there was no truth whatever in his stat ntent about Hiram and Viola, and Hiram’s gift was but the offering of a true brother’s love, and I homr him for it.’ Pshaw, he had better have kept r fot his own wife if he ever gets oae,’ re fu ted the gentleman. Yes but he has enough left to gratify the taste if not the ambition of any ordina ry woman,’ softly answered Mrs. Eustace. ‘Yes but he won’t have it long if that’s the way he intends to scatter it,’ replied the man as he turned away. And now Emma tell me,’ asked her mother as she locked her arm iu that of her daughter. Oh mother it is all a joy. a gladness,’she answered with a beaming eye. That is enough darling.’ and the mother kissed the blushing cheek of Emma. And how did jou enjoy the cvcnin Hiram,’ asked his mother as they drove through the park. ‘I enjoyed it well mother, I found Emma Eastace to be all that I once th light her, and she love3 me still,’ he answered freely and frankly. ‘Then I am glad to hear it my son.’ ‘Yes mother, Emma has been greatly tried, fearfully tried, mother, hut the pure gold is there yet, as sterling as ever,’ con tinued Hiram, with the joy flushing his face. ‘And I find Mr. Eustace happily changed, he even appologised to me for his former rudeness,’ said the mother. ‘I am glad to know it, and now mother, may I divide our home with Emma. ‘Yes, and may God bless yon.’ After this no more was said daring the drive, and only in the silence of their secret hearts could the music of their revived joys find an utterance. The next morning, Hiram SDcnt as usual in the library, but he had as well have been shaving pigs for merino wool, as for he good his books did him. After dinner the same hazy warmth prevaded the atmos phere, and the out-doors was deligbtfuly balmy aud inviting. ‘Mother,’ he said, I believe that I will take a ride this evening, Charley is spoiling for exercise.’ ‘Very well, I am going over to Mrs. Muggleton’s, and will have no use for you,’ she pleasantly answered. ‘Dick, catch Ch »rley aud saddle him,’ he said, calling to Dick. Charley was caught, and as Hiram mounted he asked himself. ‘Which way shall I rile,’ andtht-n yelding to the impulse that was henceforth to sway 1 is lile, he auswered ‘I will rid- to tile old mill, and I will go by and ask Emma to ride with me ’ Charley loir r e lit!- in every brea h, and his f-vt aim-si di-daii.e i the ground a< they clattered up the r-.ad and then through toe park. ‘Good evening Mrs. Eustace.* Iliram said, as I hat lady met himiutht hall ’ Thecv.-n- ing was so inviting that I could not tv-!'* 'lie temptation to ride, and I came t*y to sk Miss Emma t 1 ’ ride witii me ’ ‘Emma can answer for herself/ answered the lady, as Emma cauie forward audoffi-red her hand. Yes, smilingly, answered Emma. I was just wishing for a cavalier. Mother please order niv horse, and Mr.—niram, excuse me for a moment, until I dress.’ and Emma rosy with joy, hurried to hir loom to don hei riding habit. John soon appeared, leading Emma’s splendid mare, and a moment later Emma appeared looking more like a queen than ever, in her well fitting and well becoming riding jacket and skirts'. With a little spring scarcely resting a pound npon the assisting arm of Hiram, shewas seated in her saddle, and seized her reins with a graceful firm ness that told she was mistress of the eques trian art. Where shall we go,’ she asked, as Iliram mounted and spared by her side. To the old mill,’ be answered. Oh to the fateful old miil,’ she said with u ball serious tone. Yes, it is a pleasant spot to me, although so much that was fateful did go out from its shades,’ be answered. And now it is past Hiram we can afford to langh at its shadows,’ Emma said with a silvery gladness in her every tone. Yes, it is much better to look fate in the back than in the face,’ uns vered Hiram, in whose heart every silvery tone found an echo. Do you kaow Hiram that I do uot be lieve that I could ever again live under snch a terrible sorrow, she asked. One baldly knows what one can endure, Emma, to me it seems that death itself would be less terrible than the bitterness of my disappointment,’ he answered. They had uow reached the park gate. ‘And here Hiram it was, that I told you good bye, do you remember it—when you first went away, she said as the gate opened and they rode out. ‘Oh yes, sad os it was to release you from my heart, that moment was a bright oasis in memories bleak waste. It came to me in dreams Emma, eveuafer my wakin moments bad nothing, but sorrow,’ be answered. ‘I remember it vividly Hiram, bnt not so pleasantlv. I often fearei in my sad forebodings, I had . made onmaideoly advances, and that you despised me for it.’ she said with a little shudder at the recol lection ‘Oh no Emma, you ought not to have thought that, it did us both wrong,’ he answered in a tone fall of perfect truth and love. ‘Yes I know, jve c; n all see better be hind than before, clearer into the week that has gone, than the morrow which is to come, and your trust in me, Hiram was stronger than my own/ sbo replied. *My frith was not tried, like yonrs was tried, Emma/ hejanswered in a soothing voice. The by-road that led aronnd the planta- , tions of Mr. Eastace was entered, and the quiet woods, quiet ordinarily, but uow vocal with the chatteriigof squirrels, and the rattling ol hickory nuts as they dropped upon the brown leaves, were traversed. ‘And here Euima,’ Hiram said, ns they reached the turn in the road that had brought them face to face in their ride the year before/ is the place where I met yoa last year alone, and yon passed me without a word, without a notice. ‘Oh Hiram I am sorry that you recalled that unhappy moment. I could oot help it, I tried to speak but my poor heart was too full, and I for very agony lashed my horse forward,’ she answered with the flash of confusion reddeuing her face. ‘Our time had not yet come/ be ssid witii a happy smil". And then they rode on in silence, but at a rapid canter. At length the old mill was reached, the same deep ford was plunged into and crossed, and the bright sandy beach spread its smoothest pebbles to iuvite there tread. Here Emma, Viola aud I, used to play in th: sand, and skate pebbles oa the water,’ Hiram said, as he sprung to the beaeli mid reached up his arms to assist her to alight. •And a glad merry time yon must have had ’ she answered, as she sprung by his side. •And her: it was I suppose that Miss Det-by’s shaft was feathered,’ he said. ‘Yes thts is the beach, and there is the hank,’ Emma laughed. ‘And here is that horrid Lavender, and you will be Viola, aod this is the way it happened,’ he laughed as he caught her around the waist, and before she could have drawn back, even had she time, he stooped and kissed h-r rosy lips. ■There that will do, sir, she blushed,’ not in aff-*cted coyness, but rosy gladness.’ ‘And that was just the way Miss Debhy said it happened. ‘Then I wish Miss Debby was here to see it happen again,’ he 6aid, with a grin, too broad for a smile, and too silent for laugh. ‘No it mus'’ent happen again, show me how you skated pebbles.’ she laughed, removing his arms and stooping to gather up the brighr smooth pebbles. And for an hour they played there upon the gravely shore of tho beantifal river, like too glad hearted children. The time came at last for them to mount for their homeward ride, and with a little surprise at the swiftness of the passing moments, they re-crossed the ford and can tered away. •Do you hear from Viola now/ asked Emma. Yes often, she is as jolly as ever, the same fright laughing creature, and her letters are quite a gladness to me/ he answered. ‘Her letters are indeed pleasant but somehow l have missed their bright pres ence for the present week, I believe how- ver that I am doe her a letter, although -he does not stop to count letters, but writes just when the Seine moves her/ continued Emma. She is delighted with ! er Northern home, and Emma, I must carry you to see her when, wh"n—but his handsome face was all crimsoned with a bashfulness, and he hesitated to speak the word. But Emma’s glad heart spoke it for him, nd she answered. Yes. that will be pleasant, I should like i u.ueh to visit the North And Hiram, do you know that I have a curio-ity to visit Cambridge, and to explore the haunts of your college life.’ Have you Emma, then my heart blesses you for the feeling, fori know what induces it, he sail, with another •■■fthe unutterable*, rising up in his thoughts. hu> iuexi ressible because ot* the inconvenience of their rttu arion. •The rei'ieuihcrunecs associated with my •liege life arc u--.: altogether pleasant,’ he added, .at r the unutterable had somewhat lisi.lf-d.’ but still l wouid like to re-visit an! especially during Commencement, I niany good friends there.’ •And what of Miss Walton,’ Email nsk.-d. wiih a bright twinkle of the eye. •Oh I would like to sea her too,’ he answered, do vru know Emma, that I almost thought she was the living prototype of'yonr sweet self. I could almost love her tor your sake, and at times I almost forgo: Toys- If, and fancied that I was spcakiDg to you.’ ‘Others remarked the resemblance,’ she replied, and f flattered myself that I did look somewhat like her.’ Somewhat like he., onlv lovelier darling, beautiful as a Hebe as she was. yon to me a are, always have been, far prettier, more queenly, and a thousand times dearer.’ he said, and what more he would have said the Lord only knows, had not the unutter able again so choked him that nothing id the world but an inexpressible could have possibly sufficed. Emma blushed, for though she knew that she was beautiful beyond all other women, the gladness of being esteemed so by f uch a handsome man as Hiram, was enough to crimson her check for joy, if for nothing else. The Temperance Fledge. The writer of this has jnst read the ad dress of the Good Templars published In the Commercial some days ago. That pa per justly characterised it as- an able ap peal in beha f of the cause of temperance. It is pervaded, too, by a kindliness and charity for those whom it necessarily as sails, that cannot foil to be appreciated and admired, and to secure for it a much more extended hearing than snch appeals usual ly receive. The writer evidently com prehends the truth, that invective is a poor weapon to use against error. A little enlightenment in snch a case will accom plish more than a great deal of sermonizing aod denunciation. If the Good Templars could by any means get the community to comprehend, what is now well known to the medical faculty, the disordering disinteg rating, finally ruinons effects of Alcohol in all its forms npon the human body and mind, their work would probably be no- complishcd, except as to those who have lost the power of re isting, unaided the appetite for drink. But the object o! this c mimunication is to notice in a few words a part of the address which doubtless surprized many, and may have shocked s:me—that whioh construes the pledge or oath of the member. A solemn oath of total abstinence for life is administered; yet it is here put on a foot ing with ibe marriage end church vows, aDdcvcn the obligation of a promissary note. It is seriously argued that its violation is not perjury Dor aoy kindred crime, but simply a misfortune. If tl e writer means the perjury defined by Coke and the law writers, he is correct; for the law never swears a man to do or abstain from doing something in the fotnre, but to speak the truth of the past or present, and it regards □ottiing perjury uole 8 the oath is ad ministered in a judicial proceeding before a competent officer. But is a man IrsB guilty at the bar of his own consoieuce and in the sight of that Being whom he calls to witoess his truth, and whose veu- ueance he imprecates should he foil" to perform his promise, because the oath is □ot administered by a magistrate, or is to abstain from a future act. It is an argu ment issued by the Templars, that nothing short of a most solemn oath and the infa mous consequences of its violation will so brace up the shattered moral powers of the inebriate, as to enable him to reform ; aud it is certainly an evidence of the fearful power of this passion, that the dread of perjury itself will not always restrain its indulgence. The construction here put upon the member’s oath, that if ho is sin cere wbenhe takes it, and truly intends to keep it, a subsequent change of pur pose does not snbject him to the moral guilt of perjury, while a gross misappre hension of the obligation of ao oath, dis- troys the great benefit claimed for temper ance organizations. It lets down the gap for all who are strongly tempted, to break over. Such an oath is bnt a rope of tand, and not a chain of brass. It has the ap pearance, too, (though of course such is not the object) of attempting to beguile men into taking the obligation by disguis ing somewhat its solemnity and binding force. It is a pity that the committee who reported this address, should have allowed their compassion and charity for the poor inebriate to so far becloud their judgment and sense of right, as to excuse before-hand one of the greatest of moral crimes, under snch a plea This is often characterized as an age of coveDant-brcakers. Men do not seem to be impressed with a proper sense of the seriousness of their ordinary promises. Let us oot then tamper with the sanctity of an oath, and degrade its obligation to that of the simple promise which are daily made and forgotten with such facility. F. Pleasant Words. A Bonapartist conspiracy among prominent officers of the French army, hea ded by General Flenry. is said to have been discovered, and the papers seized and plac ed io the possession of M. Thiers. The cheme was to arrest Thiers, seize the reins of goverment, and then proclaim an empire. If this'plan had been carried out, M Bona parte, who has lately been assuring English “interviewers” that be isnotintrigUeing,and that he would scorn theaction, would doubt less Have abandoned Cbiselhnrst to locate- himself again in the Tuileries. Of all clas scs of Frenchmen, th" officers of the army are the least satisfied with the present con dition of affairs in consideration of a revival of the empire, they would, doubt less, willingly forgive Sedan and all the humiliations that preceded and succeeded it. Tue monetary crisis previiliog in Paris causes much perturbation in affairs, al- t boot h the Bank ot France is working won ders in its fraDtic efforts to allay the exc te- meot and subdoe the signs of an approach ioz panic. GalignanCt (Paris) Messenger, of October 26 and 27,publishes a statement to the effect that the mint was at that time striking off 100,006 two franc pieces daily, in addition to a large quantity of others of oue franc and fifty centimes. The manu facture of 20-franc gold coin is also being carried cn actively,and 60,000 snob pieces, or a sum of 1,200.000 francs are now pro duced every day. The mint at Boadeanx is occupied specially in making the divi sionary money of bronze and silver, and has.snfficient bullion to produce a sum of 1,200,000 francs. Paper money ia looked npon with suspicion every where; and even in the restaurants and cafes, 20-fraio and 23-franc notes are refused. L’argent is what they want; and Vargent now, more than ever, stands for “hard cash.” If those, whom the accident of power has placed over us of the South; could only realize how much more potent are pleasant words, to conciliate our obedience, than harsh and bitter invectives, we are fain to believe that they would employ them oftener than tb'y do. How much more manly, true, and jnst, are the following noble words of Judge Richard Busteed, of the United States Dis trict Court, spoken in tribute to the memory ofthe gallant Olanteti.who was basely assaein- atod by the cowardly Nelson, tbtio werethe partizm utterances "f Judge Bonds of the tame Court, in North Carolina, in his “bloody assizes.” The one will endear their author to the hearts of our people, while the other will cause all honest men to turn with loathing from the name of the modern Jeffrees. Iu the United States District Court, Judge Busteed Presiding, proceedings were bad last Monday relative to the death of onr Lite esteemed and distinguished towns man, General James H. Clanton. Soon after the opening of the Court, Judge A. J. Walker, stated that be was deputized by the bar of Montgomery, to present to the Court, the resolutions of that body upon the subject of General Clanton’s decease, and read them to the Court. Judge Walker suggested that members of the Bar of other parts of the District than Montgomery respond to the motion which he had submitted, and General John T. Mirgan, of Selma, seconded Judge Walker’s motion in a speech replete with the deepest feeling, and more than even his accustomed eloquence. After which Judge Busteed raid in reply: My own grief at the untimely death of General Clanton is too fresh to admit of my makiug aoy extended remarks on this oc casion, notwithstanding that I fully antici pated this motion would be made The de ceased was my personal friend, and his loss personal bereavement. James H. Clanton was not an'ordinary man. In all his relation- to society, be was distinguish ed. Bugged honesty, peerless bravery, un faltering loyalty, fidelity to friends, and generosity to foes, were the constituent ele ments of his being. He was fall of the qualities which make men good, aod ofhis failings it may truthfully be said, they “leaned to virtues side.” Such a man is great, for it is io these qualities that great ness rests. It is sad to thiak his voice shall never more be beard by ns; inexpres sibly sad tl at the grave hides him for ever from our mortal companionship: “Sweet in manners, lair in favor, Soft iu temper, fierce in fight, Lewjer nobler.—wartior braver, Never shall behold the light." Let the resolutions be entered at length upon the minutes, and as a farther mark of respect for our deceased bro'ber, this Court will now adjourn until to-morrow morn ing. A Scribbler in the Commercial yester* day morning asks, “Does be (the Courier) suppose that every reader of his is a fool.” Truth proves by his silly twaddle, that ona of them at least, is a fool; one of Sat Lov- engood’s “natral born fools.” A man who loves a woman, both her body and soul, for lime and eternity, will pnt npon her both flowers and jewels, thereby equally to oelebrate bis passing passion, and bis immortal flame.— (Theo dore Tilton.