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quiet, rather laev, and a little careless
in his dress. Carroll, too, in rather dull
at books, good tempered, and talkative ;
*hde Wallace is a great student, in his
desultory way, chary of speech, sharp
ami sarcastic
Now, readers, 3 T ou have before you the
characters destined to claim your inter
est, sympathy and good-will, in this
story; 1 sincerely hope, with success.
Les amiez vous V 1
The young people had been enjoying
an unusually gay Spring, owing to the
return home of the collegians for the
short extra vacation, which was given in
the April of that year. On this particu
lar night they had been eagerly discuss
ing an affair which had created no little
excitement in the neighborhood. An
Abolition emissary had been discovered
tampering with the negroes, and, his
guilt being proved beyond the shadow of
a doubt, he had met with the well de
served punishment of taking a compul
sory ride • upon a rail, well tarred and
feathered. The ytung men had been
hot in their denunciation of the mis
creant, and of the party, who did not
scruple to resort to such villainous devi
ces for undermining the institution they
hated. Carroll was particularly vehe
ment, and wound up a rather lengthy
harangue, by declaring there was not an
honest man'in the party, and that they
all deserved to be hung as high as Ha
man.
‘T like Abolitionists as little as you do,
Carroll,” said his brother Edward, ‘‘but I
can’t quite agree with you in that opin
ion.”
“Nor I,” added Wallace Carroll, or, as
he was always called, Watt, to distinguish
him from his cousin, Wallace Austyn
“They are a bad set, but 1 suppose there
must be one or two honest rogues among
them. Carpenters would command high
wages if your wish on the hanging ques
tion was gratified, Carroll. I’d take up
the trade myself.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” answered Carroll,
“I would enjoy being a Jack Ketch for
the occasion, and would do the work for
the pleasure of the thing. Just think
how I’d make the devils dance on
nothing.”
“How oan you talk so Carroll ?” broke
in Theo impatiently; “you don’t mean
a word you say.”
“It is so strange of you too, Carroll,”
cried Mary, who did not particularly like
her handsome cousin, lie having lately
transferred his rather sentimental devo
tion from herself to Gerty. “It is in
such bad taste, you are half a Yankee by
birth ”
: 'A fact which I could not help, and
ot which lam heartily ashamed,” he re
plied, good-humoredly. “Indeed, per
haps, that is what makes me so extra
fierce against the rascals. A bad argu
ment, that of yours, Russ.”
‘lt is too provoking in you to keep
on calling me by that horrid name, when
I have begged you so often not to,” she
cried. “You know I hate it.”
“Cerlainly I do; and that is the rea
son I never use it except when you show
your claws so very plainly. It is only a
polite way of sayiDg ‘don’t be spiteful.’ ”
She tossed her head and turned away
from his laughing gaze, while Theo pre
vented farther remark on the subject, by
sayiug:
“I must say, Carroll, it would be bet
ter if you were not quite so violent. It
sounds”—
* Like wishing one’s own father hung,”
interrupted Lester, the midshipman.
Well, that was very much my mean
ing, though I should have expressed it a
little differently,” continued Theo.
“Don’t you think so, yourself, Carroll ?”
“Why, no, 1 don’t, Theo. By the way,
I met Major Ledbrook, this afternoon,
and we rode part of the way together.
He has a fixed opinion that before many
years there will be a civil war in this
country.”
“A civil war? Oh, Carroll, what a
dreadful idea!” cried Gerty. “Do you
believe him ?”
”1 don’t know; things more unlikely
have happened.”
“And wouid we all have to fight Car
roll ? ’ cried Hugh, with wide-open eyes,
Carroll laughed merrily.
‘ I oat depends upon how soon the war
takes place, and who you mean by ive, v he
answered. “Os course, all of us who
are grown up at the time, will light. We
don’t come of a shirking stock 1 ”
‘W by, Carroll, suppose father went
on the other side, we’d be fighting
against him,” cried Harvey. “How
would that do ?”
‘ It would be very dreadful,” replied
Can oil, slowly. “But our country has
the highest claim on us, I think.”
“Next to our God,” added Stuart
( arroll, thoughtfully. “Yes, I think you
are right, there, Carroll.”
“What do you say, Theo?” asked
Lester. “How would you act in such a
strait ?”
“Cod grant I may never have to de
cide.” answered Thco, fervently. ‘ But
I think, with Stuart, that Carroll is
right.”
There was a little pause; then Wallace
said, slowly 7:
“Theo do you think such very hard
trials often come to people? I don’t
think I would even have strength to fol
low the right through such a dreadful
road.”
“You will have strength given accord
ing to your need, if you ask for it, Wal
lace,” said Stuart, gravely.
“I hope so, for it would be too terrible
if I ever let anything make me fight
against the South
“Why, what are you talking about,
Wallace?’’ cried Ilarvey, impatiently.
“Fight against the South! Why 7, man,
I would die first. It would not take
such an extra amount of strength to stick
to the old Palmetto through thick and
thin.”
The boy had risen, and spoke with his
bright handsome face full in view of
them all. The day was yet to come
when they 7 would recall him, as he then
looked and spoke, with deep pity and ex
cusing tenderness.
As his voice died away, the sound of a
horse’s tread was heard approaching,
and there was an eager rush to meet the
servant, with the always welcome mail.
Carroll sprang down the steps, caught the
bag from the negro, and rushing into the
parlor, followed by the whole pariy, ra
pidly distributed its contents. Tney
were all gathered beneath the lamp ab
sorbed in the letters, papers, and ma
gazines, when Alice Lomax, looking up
from her letter, exclaimed:
“Aunt Gerty, what is the matter ? Has
anything happened ?”
The cry caused Theo to turn just in
time to catch his mother, as she reeled
back, white and trembling, with a letter
crushed in her hand. He supported her
to a sofa, and leaning her head on his
shoulder, as lie knelt beside her, she
burst into a storm of hysterical weeping.
It did not last long, however, and as
her sobs grew less violent, Carroll took
the letter from her hand, saying:
“May I read this, mother, and see what
has agitated you so terribly ?”
.“Yes, yes,” 6he sobbed. “Read it
aloud; it is not long, and you must all
know its contents shortly.”
It was only a few lines, dated New
York, April I4th, and they ran thus:
“My Dear Gertrude:— Doubtless
you will be surprised to hear that I am
back in New York; and perhaps not
glad either. There’s a fierce political
struggle ahead, and I have returned to
tak' my pa-rt in it. My name is up as
Abolition candidate lor the seat in the
State Senate left vacant by the death of
Sadler, and my election appears pretty
sure. I have been here two months, but
had no time to write sooner. A house
is all ready for you, and I shall expect
you and the children to come by the
steamer President, which leaves Charles
ton on the Ist of May. I will meet you.
Bring all of the children. I fear
fear I have done wrong in leaving them
so long in that seditious and villainous
State of South Carolina. I have a place
at West Point for Carroll, and the twins
1 intend to send, for the present at
least, to a military school on the Hudson.
On second thoughts, as Theodore is so
near his graduation, and likely, you say,
to take the first honor, he may stay un
til he finishes his course, on condition
that he sends me, by you, his written
promise that the fifteenth of January next
finds him in New York. Tell the beys
that I will have no disobedience. The
law gives them to me until they are
twenty-one, and I will have them.
Follow my directions; don’t quite
break you heart at having to come home,
and try to be a little glad to see the hus
band you have been parted from for near
ly fourteen years. Love to all the
children. Affectionately,
Theodore Austtn.
“I enclose a check lor your expenses.”
So ran the letter, which came like a
thunder-bolt to destroy the happiness of
that loving family. The summons ad
mitted of neither disobedience nor delay,
and however hard might be the trial, all
felt that it could not be escaped. That
was a sad week which elapsed between
the summons and the parting. Theo de
cided, with the approval of all, to stay;
and in that time of sorrow a ray of glad
ness came to them all, in the engage
ment which took took place between Theo
and Alice.
Os them all, poor Carroll was the most
depressed. He had to leave Gerty, un
certain if she would ever be more to him
than the affectionate cousin she now de
clared herself to be only; his college
course must be giveu up, and anew
one entered upon; and with the feelings,
opinions, and independent pride of a
man, he must submit quietly to be.treated
like a boy. His Uncle Norman brought
the best comfort to him:
“Cheer up, Carroll,” he said. “Study
MHHII ~©l Ell |o®fM„
hard at West Point. Keep before you
the thought that you may be fitting your
self to render incalculable service to
South Carolina, if she ever, as I cannot
but fear she will, needs the strong arm
and cultivated intellects of her sons.
Only three years, my boy, and j 7 ou will
be your own master. Don’t fear. It is
my own opinion that absence will not
make you less dear to any of us.”
It was a sad parting. Gertrude climg
to Theo until the last moment, weeping
bitterly. They two knew best the life
to which she was going ; and Theo al
most resolved at the last moment, not to
let her go forth to bear it without him.
She would not hear of any change in
their plans however, so the last good-bye
was tearfully spoken, and the President
steamed slowly out of the fair harbor,
bearing five hearts full of bitter sorrow.
As Carroll looked around him he said
sadly:
“I wonder when and how I will see
old Sumter’s Walls again.”
A few years, and he was once more in
that peaceful harbor, but all was changed
from the fair and calm scene, which he
gazed upon now, beneath the glad suu
shine of a bright May morning.
[to be continued.]
From the New York Sun.
THE AMERICAN ST PETER’S
£ 4
THE MOST MAGNIFICENT CHURCH EDIFICE IN
AMERICA.
The Progress of the Great Roman
Catholic Cathedral— r The Result of
Ten Years' Work—Nearly Fifty
Thousand Square Feet Enclosed
within Marble Walls—The Great
Bell and the Chimes.
On Sunday, Aug. 15, 1858, an audi
ence of more than a hundred thousand
persons assembled upon an open square,
between Madisiou and Fifth avenues and
Fiftieth and Fifty-first streets, to witness
the ceremony of laying the corner stone
of the new St. Patrick’s Cathedral of the
Archdiocese of New York. The late
Archbishop Hughes on that occasion
addressed the immense assembly, and in
the course of his impressive sermon an
nounced that “SIOO,OOO had already been
subscribed toward the erection of the new
Cathedral.” •
That was certainly a noble sum to
begia with, but owing to the war, the
progress of the work has not been as rapid
as might have been excepted from such
a commencement. However, the walls
of the beautiful structure have risen to
above fifty feet in height, and the ex
quisite portals in the front, transepts,
and rear, are now completed, aud the
work steadily progresses.
A MAGNIFICENT STRUCTURE.
When completed, tnis building will
be the largest and the most magnificent
temple of worship upon the Amerieau
continent, and will compare in size as
well as architectural beauty with the old
cathedrals of Europe. It is being built
of white marble within and without,
with a filling of solid brick masonry
between the outer and inner walls. The
marble is brought from the quarries of
Westehester county. The style of archi
tecture is the highly ornamented mediae
val Gothic, not the usual Romanesque
or Byzantine of our Catholic churches.
A CHURCH THAT WILL HOLD NINETEEN
THOUSAND PEOPLE.
The space covered by the whole build
ing, including the walls and buttress, is
40,500 square feet. The spaoe within
the wails comprises an area of 38,500
square feet, and will afford ample room
for fourteen thousand persons, and wheu
necessary it could accommodate, nineteen
thousand. From these figures some idea
maybe formed of the immense exten ta
of the edifice, as compared with other
churches in New YV>rk, the largest of
which will not contain more than three
thousand persons.
THE CEILING OVER A HUNDRED FEET IN
HEIGHT.
Its extent in length will be three
hundred and tnirty feet from buttress
to buttress; inside the walls three hund
red and otic feet. The bredth at the
transept is to be one hundred and seven
ty two feet, one hundred and twenty
above and below the point of intersection
of transept and nave. The height from
floor to the crown of the arched ceiling
wii be one hundred, and ten feet, -while
the ceilings side aisles are fifty
four feet from the church floor. Along
the aisles will be a row of chapels,
fourteen in number, the height of each
seventeen feet. There are to be eight
sacristies and two baptisteries at the east
end of the church.
The high altar is to stand forty-eight
feet east of the line of intersectien of
nave and transept. Back of this is to be
a chapel dedicated to the Blessed Vir
gin, forty-eight feet in length.
THE INTERIOR OF THE TEMPLE.
Upon entering the building the beauty
of the arched and star-grained ceiling,
with its foliaged bosses and wrought ribs,
will strike the beholder as in perfect
keeping with the tassellated floor, which
is to be formed of variegated marbles
and stones arranged in rich Gothic pat
terns. A uniformity of design throughout
the structure is to be preserved. The
interior will present the same Gothic
finish in the minutest detail which will be
noticed upun the exterior.
RICHNESS OF THE DOORS AND WINDOWS.
Three portals opening on Fifth
avenue, and two in the transept, one on
Fiftieth and the other on Fifty-first
street, will give entrance to the building,
The central portal on Fifth avenue already
erected, is fifty feet in length, and, like
all the others, decorated with rich mould
ings, columns, and foliated capitals.
Over the great door, a grand rose or
marigold window will admit the light
to the interior, through double panes of
rich stained glass. Rising above this
wiudow will be a crocheted gable and
finial cross. On each side of the great
portal, and over the side doors, two
towers will rise square at the base, but
finish octagonally. They are to be three
hundred and twenty feet in height and
crowned with a finial cross.
The transept doors, opening on Fiftieth
and Ffty-firsfc streets, are to be 26 feet
wide by 43 high: over each a grand
window, ornamented with rich tracery,
surmounted by a panelled gable, and
terminated by a pinnacle 150 feet from
the ground.
The whole number of large windows
in the building will be 68, in the rear,
13 on each side, and 13 in the clerestory
to light the nave or central aisle. These
windows are to have two thicknesses of
glass, the outer frame being set two
inches from the inner one. This will
equalize the temperature throughout the
building. The stained glass will be
embelished with figures and devices from
Scriptural history.
THE GREAT BELL AND THE CHIMES.
In one of the towers over the portals
on Fifth avenue the great bell is to be
hung, and in the other the chimes. There
will be no basement, but widely extend
ing vaults from which the edifice will be
heated by steam pipes. The structure
is being erected upon a granite base,
raised five feet in the front,* and higher
in the rear on Madison avenue, above the
surrounding pavement.
The plans of St. Patrick’s Cathedral
was drawn up by Messrs. James Ren
wick, Jr, and William Rodrigue under
the direction of the late Archbishop.
FATHER HYACINTHE’S PROTEST
His Letter in Full.
The following is the text of the letter
which, as we were advised by cable,
Father Hyacinthe has addressed to the
general of his order in Rome. It will
be seen that the attack of the distinguish
ed preacher is directed exclusively against
what he considers evils of the admin
istration, and not, as has been stated,
against any cf the doctrines of his
church.
My Very Reverend Father. —During
the five years of my ministry at Notre
Dame de Baris, d<'spite the open attacks
and seeret accusations of which I have
been the object, your esteem and confi
dence have never failed me for a moment.
I preserve numerous testimonies of them,
written by your own hand, and which
wer« addressed as much to my preach
ing as to myself. Whatever may happen,
I shall hold them in grateful remem
brance. To-day, however, by a sudden
chauge, the cause of which I do not seek
in your heart,but in the intrigues of a
party all powerful at Rome, you arraign
what you encourage, you censure what
you approved, and you require that I
should speak a language or preserve a
silence which would no longer be the en
tire and loyal of my co"
science. I do not hesitate an instant.
With language perverted by a ci mmand.
or mutilated by reticence. I shall not
ascend the pulpit of Notre Dame. I ex
press my regret for this to the intelli
gent and courageous Archbishop who
has given bis pulpit to me, and sustained
me there against the bad will of men or
women of whom I shall speak at the
proper time. I express my regrets to
the imposing auditory who surrounded
me there with its attention, its sympathies
I was nearly going to say, its friendship.
I would not be worthy of the auditory of
the Archbishop, of my conscience, nor
of God, if I would consent to act before
them in such a role! I separate myself
at the same time from the convent in
which I have resided, and which under
the new circumstances that have happen
ed to me renders it for me a prison of the
soul. In acting thus lam not
to my vows. 1 have promised 1
obedience, but limited by the
conscience, and d.gmty „f my person'' 0 ,
my ministry, I have promised under
ofToyal^liberty? which ’is* aceCj” 30,1
the A & St. James, the prop*-
It is for the more perfect practice
this holy liberty that I came to ask
the cloister, now more than ten vear!
ago, in the elan of an entusiasm free f
all human calculation, I shall not venm*
to add free of all the illusion of youth 6
If, m exchange for my sacrifices [
to-day offered chains, l have not onlv th*
right, but the duty to reject them Tl
present hour is solemn. The dm h
passes through one of the most violent
dark, and decisive cries of its '
here below. For the first time in throe
houndred years an iEcumencial Council
is not only convoked but declared neccs
saay; such is the expression of the 11 j
Father. It is not in such a mome’/t
that a preacher of the gospel, where he
the last of all, can consent to remain as
the mute dogs of Israel, unfaithful guar
dians, whom the prophet reproaches us
unable to bark. Canes muti, non valdcs
latrare. The saints were never silent
I am not one of them, but, nevertheless I
belong to their race, filii sanctorum
samus , and I have always been ambitious
to place my steps, my tears, and, ifneees
sary, my blood, in the tracks which they
have left. I raise, therefore, before the
Holy Father and the Council, my protes
tation as Christian and preacher against
these doctrines and practices, calling
theselves Roman, but which are not
Christiau, and which in their encroach
ments, always most audacious and most
baneful, tend to change the constitution
of the Church, the basis as well as the
form of her teaching, and even the spirit
of her piety. I protest against the
divorce, as impious as it is insane, which
it is sought to accomplish between the
Church, who is our mother according
to eternity, and the society of the nine
teenth century, of whom we are the sons
according to the times, and toward
whom we have also some duties and at
tachements. I protest against this more
Radical and dreadful opposition to human
nature, which is attacked and made to
revolt by these false doctrines in its
mos tindestmotible and boldest aspirations.
I protest above all against the sacreli
gious perversion of the Word of the Son
of God himself, the spirit and the letter
of which are equally trodden under foot
by the pliarisaism of the new law. It is
my most profound conviction that if
France in particular, and the Latin races
in general, are delivered over the social,
moral and religious anarchy, the princi
pal cause is without doubt not in Cathol
icism itself, but in the manner which
Catholicism has during a long time been
understood and practiced. 1 appeal to
the Council about to meet, to seek for
remedies for the excess of our evils, and
to apply them with as much force as
gentleness. But if fears in which I do
qot wish to share, come to be realized,
if the august assembly has not more
liberty in its deliberations than it has
already in its preparation, if, in a word,
it is deprived of the essential characters
of an Ecumenical Council, I will cry to
God and men to call another truly united
in the Holy spirit, not in the spirit of
party, one representing really the Lni
versal Church, not the silenoe of some
men, the oppression of others. “For the
heart of the daughter of my people am
I hurt; I am black; astonishment hath
taken hold on me. Is there no blam in
Gilead ? Is there no physician there/
Why, then, is not the health of the
daughter of my people recovered?’’ —
Jeremiah, viii. In fine, J appeal to your
tribunal, O Lord Jesus! Ad tuum
Domine Jesu tribunal apprtlo. It is
in your presence that I write these lines;
it is at your feet, after having prayed
much, reflected, suffered and waited
much, that I sign them. I have confi
dence 1 hat if men condemn them on earth
you approve them in heaven. That is
sufficient for me living and dying.
Fr. Hyainthr.
Superior of the Barefooted Carmelites
of Paris, second preacher of the order
in the province of Avignon.
Paris-Pasy, September 20, 1069.
Death of Mrs. General Pillow.—
The Nashville Union & American say-’
that Mis. Mary Pillow, wife of Gen. Gii.
J. Pillow, died at her home in Maury
courty, at 12 o’clock Sunday night.
learn that Mrs. Pillow was attacked with
apoplexy while at dinner Sunday and
never :-poke after.
Grant in Favor of Dent for Gov
ernor. —A special dispatch from Grenada,
Miss., says: “JudKe Dent, in a speech
there yesterday, in reply to Gen. Alcorn,
said Grant was in favor of his election,
and had told him he hoped he would *-•-
elected. ’