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fact, he was mftre than ever decided to see what was going on in the basement. Unless he could escape through the building, he would have to remain in the yard until daylight, and he deter mined to investigate. No light was to be seen in the basement, nor had a sound been heard from the men since they disappeared. Walter crept forward until he stood at the door, and he listened for several minutes before gently pulling it open. He had descended a step or two, and was on a level with the basement as he opened the door. There was a hall before him. dimly lighted by a lamp which he could not see. and after a moment he entered. The hall extended from front to rear, and see ing a door at the further end, and hoping to es cape by it, he moved carefully along the hall. He could hear no movement but his own almost trampling hoofs, and dust, and blood, as to be unrecognizable. But he clasped tightly to his breast the folds of a torn flag, wet with his own gallant blood, and the men bore reverently from the field what they knew must be the remains of Peyton Howison, Captain, Company A, Forty- second Virginia Volunteers. That is all. He rests quietly enough here at our feet now—deaf to all earthly sounds, whether of rejoicing or lamentation; careless even that the flag under which he died is furled and con quered—no more to lead the legions of his sunny land to glory and to victory, His gentle mother sleeps near him. Even death could not divide her from her dauntless boy—her soul “followed hard after him.” The grass-grown grave attests that he is forgot ten. The world has no time to pause in useless noiseless footsteps, and he reached the door to sorrowing even for its most illustrious children: find it locked. He turned the knob and pulled with his whole strength, but the door was fast. He turned around to make his way back, and at that moment the hall was made almost as light as da}’, and two men stood before him. The sudden appearance of light and of the men amazed Walter so that he stood staring at them for a moment in astonishment. They were powerful men, wearing ugly faces, and each was armed with a bludgeon. “Come forward !” said one of them, in a quiet but firm voice. Walter laid his hand on his revolver. If there I were only two to confront him, he was more than a match for them. As he hesitated, he heard a step behind him, and turning, he beheld two more men, armed like the first. “Come forward !” repeated the man, in the same voice as before. • (TO BE CONTINUED. ) what then of the long roll of unknown heroes? The marble, chill and white, tells the story curtly and well: PEYTON' HOWISON*, 4>d VA. VOL. AGED TWENTY-TWO. Waiting the morning of the resurrection." [For The Sunny South.] MOTHER’S LETTERS. [For The Sunny South.! AFTER A RAIN. BY PEARL DALLICE. Dewy droops the sweet green-brier— Trembling hangs the rose— Wet leaves glisten in the sun, Wakened from repose. On a sunny, fresh hill-slope, Grass waves bright and green; Pearly drops hang on the spears. Fire-bright in the sheen. In a whispering, dreamy glen, Shadows come and go, Mingling with the sunset’s beam That slants thro’ leaves aglow. Wafted gently by the breeze, Floats sweet fragrance now— From (lowers, grass and scented rain, And every leafy bough. In cloud-waves of red and gold Sinks the peaceful sun, Silver stars come trembling forth, And the day is done. BY LOVELADY. NO. IV WHAT A SMILE IS WORTH. I would draw a picture for your shunning; — you have often passed it scarcely observed, may be never scrutinized. It is a fair young girl blessed with every proper faculty of mind and body, surrounded by the comforts and luxuries of home. You may see her, in the brilliant lights of an evening party, spreading for the gay world's entertainment a feast of sweet speeches and soft smiles, reserving for home- offerings only the beggarly elements of cold words and discontented frowns. Who cares for her as do her homely friends?—the mother who denies herself in a thousand ways for her com fort; the father whose toil through cold and heat procures all her pleasant surroundings; the brother who would defend her fair name with his life: the sister who yearns for her kind ness and confidence. And yet too often these best friends are served with only the scraps of the feast,—small compensation, say yon justly, for such a weight of obligation. The two phases of such a character are about as much akin as the sting of the bee and the sweet honey. adorn a young lady’s deportment, which rank higher than a contented, cheerful disposition. Nothing reflects more absolutely on our surroundings than a bright, happy spirit,— warming and cheering like the sun’s genial rays; coaxing into life the best feelings of the hardest natures, even as the sunbeams penetrate the rocks developing their scant, mossy verdure. A cheerful smile—a merry, rippling laugh !—there is cool, refreshing rest in the very sight and sound. A contented spirit floats out over the [For The Sunny South.] GALLERY OF MEMORIES. BY FLORENCE HAHTLASD. NO. III. “ No rude sound shall reach thine ear. Armor's clang or war-steed champing; Tramp nor bugle summon here Mustering troop or squadron tramping. Soldier, rest.' thy warfare o’er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking." A grass-grown grave in a country church-yard; a lonesome spot, shaded by solemn cypresses and the ivy-clad walls of an old brick church. Only a simple headstone, and the name is half- hidden by trailing sprays of the dark-green ivy. Brush away the thick leaves and read the inscrip tion : ‘•PEYTON HOWISON, 4'2d YA. YOL. AGED TWENTY-TWO. Waiting the morning of the resurrection.” That is all. The simple record would not say much to the passer-by; the stranger might pass on to more pretentious monuments and more elal>orate epitaphs. The young sleeper will nei- i whole circle of its acquaintance to the remotest tlier reck nor care whether rude feet tread over circumference, and like oil poured on the tron- his nariow bed, or pitiful eyes moisten the clay hied waters, induces holy calm. No influence? above him with regretful tears. Why should he Why, every inmate of a home, every child, even care? The ear that once thrilled at the first the servants exert an influence for good or evil note ot the bugle that called to battle—the gal- which will reach through eternity. Many expe- lant heart that burned with dreams of glory, j rienced housewives will testify wit ne, that would heed not if a thousand guns should thnn- even the unpretentious cook can dep or ele- der by, a thousand bugles blow. Let him rest, vate the moral thermometer of a h _ .. Cook In that profound sleep no troubled dreams can is cross, untidy, morose. What matters it to the come, no mocking visions ot tame can dazzle or gay household whether or not she is deft and deceive, no memory ot past happiness, no hope | expert and neat? she asks her own disconted of a glad to-morrow, no regret, no disappoint- heart. She is careless—the dinner is deficient; mont, no remorse. Let the young sleeper rest, the mistress is irritated, and cannot be the pa- J<„t P 1.- I; ( U- —, . -w. 1- r ; :Ll home. Only twenty-two ! “Peyton Howison, hostess. The cloud on cook’s brow rests on the aged twenty-two.” Shall we con the short story whole uncomfortable house, from kitchen to par ol' his life ? lor. No influence can be indifferent; it must be He was a handsome boy. He stands before positive or negative, me now—tall, straight as an arrow, with a prom- Did yon never observe, my dear child, L ise ot great strength in the firm, compact limbs, effect on our own family circle when good Mrs. that were yet lithe and graceful. Dark, earnest C comes to visit us? When she enters the eyes, thought too grave for a boy, and yet tender gate, we all hurry to the door, pleased to greet and sunny at times as the eyes of a woman, her sweet, contented, happy face? Every child Beautiful lips—firm, clear-cut, with a wealth of reflects her cheery, bright smiles, and papa comes strength and sweetness lurking about them. A in from his work with a pleasant expression of anticipated cheerfulness. Did you ever analyze the magic of her influence? She is the same in her own bright, humble home. The secret lies in her effort to please; not a sickly, sentimental hilarity which is at best a poor sham, but a no ble Christian effort to be contented and agree able wherever she finds herself. If the circum stances are prosperous, the surroundings agree- My dear girl, of all the qualities which ^Ul add gm^J^what Fxank poetically lorn a young lady’s deportment, there are non6'" ^ e ' n 7 , e r , ' suppose Mrs. Beau- J 6 J r mont wished me to do the music of the occasion, [For The Sunny South.] JUST 1101V IT IS. BY KITTY SOUTH. NO. II. I verily believe that Puck is my attendant sprite, so contrary and helter-skelter goes every thing with me. 1 have had many invitations, many channels of enjoyment opened before me, and yet my wardrobe is so scant .that I cannot reap these pleasures. Last Wednesdey, Mrs. Beaumont, who is par excetlence, the very summit of fashion in our little provincial town, invited me to lunch at ten o’clock r. m., to meet some young people who were returning from the White Sulphur to their home in Louisiana. Now, while my brown merino will “pass mus ter” by gaslight, or simply as a walking habit, it is not suitable for a dressy occasion of this : sort, and go I would not. Besides, mother has not yet been able to get me the ties of Mexiqne blue and marine, nor the ruche for neck and wrists which I will have a few weeks later, and j [For The Sunny South.] Comfortable Scraps for Men of Genius. BY VIRGINIA. Homer was a beggar; Plutns was a miller; Terrence was a slave; Boethius died in prison: Bogerce starved; Tasso had not money enough to purchase candles to write by; Cervantes died of hunger; Bentevoglia was refused admittance into a hospital which he had founded; Agrippa died in a workhouse; Vangelas left his body to the sur geons to pay his debts; Camoens ended his days in an almshouse; Bacon lived in distress; Kal- eigh and More ended their days upon the scaf fold; Lessage never knew comfort in pecuniary matters; Spenser died in want;Collins went mad from the world’s ne B lect; Milton sold his “ Para dise Lost ” for fifteen pounds in three install ments, and died in obscurity; Dryden died in distress; Otway died prematurely and in want; Lee died in the streets; Steele was dogged by the bailiffs, with a debtor's jail haunting him in his dreams; Goldsmith sold, through .Johnson, the “ Vicar of Wakefield ” for a mere trifle to release him from the debtor’s jail; Fielding lies without a stone to mark his grave; Savage died in New- as she was kind enough to say to me at the last meeting of the Choral Union: “Child, you have such a gift in your voice. You really trill exquis itely.” The second invitation which I have been forced to decline was to my friend Mabel’s evening. Had it have been that our own set of girls only were to be present, I should have donned the russet and attended; but you see, Mabel’s cous ins, those dressy Dangerfield girls from Georgia, were here, and I could not consent to stand the tire of their fashionable criticism. The last and worst disappointment is my ina bility to join at once the Social Club which the girls have formed. I shall do so within a month or so, because by that time not only will I have the becoming little additions to my dress already “Florence, you are not looking well. What have you done with your roses?” is the cheering, opening remark. Mother, seeing that the peering scrutiny of the old lady through her gold-frame glasses ac companying this observation had produced real damask ones on each cheek, said that she feared I had been sewing too steadily for some weeks— that I had, besides Tom’s set of shirts, my own winter clothing to get in order, but that she hoped I would soon be through with most of the work. “I have heard,”resumed the persistent dame, “that she was not joining the young people in any of their pleasure-making. Of course, there must be some reason for this; Mrs. Middleton, do you not agree with me?” I blurted out: “No, indeed, ma’am; I am neither out of spir its. nor ill, nor is anything the matter. I do wish that people would let me alone and mind their own ” An earnest, grave look from mother, while she touched me with her hand, stopped further ut terance. Mrs. Frazier left almost immediately, parting from mother in her usual cordial way, but, with me, a hi north frigid zone. I asked mother directly what I had done that her antique gate, at Bristol, where he was detained for three friend should be so freezing toward me. Then she told me that Mrs. Frazier had talked to her a great deal of Frank before I came into the room—said that he had become thin, and had lost his appetite and much of his wonted cheer fulness. And mother thinks that the old lady is so absorbed in anxiety for her son that she neglects her usual courtesy. Mrs. Frazier is ever so old—Frank is her Benjamin—and she never goes out except to pay visits of condolence. Well, if she thinks I am a tit snbject for condol ence because her son chooses to lose his flesh and cheerfulness, she is vastly mistaken. I can stand the fact with Koman fortitude. Has it not been six weeks since I have seen Frank? Yes, six weeks last Monday night. Never mind, my winter’s outfit will all be in trim now before long, and then I will be ready to attend the meetings of the Choral Union reg ularly, and anything else which promises enjoy ment. I shall accept Frank’s attendance when ever he offers it, and I devoutly hope that he will be sufficiently fleshy and cheerful to do so. Mabel tells me that he is at their house every week, and always inquires about her friend “Miss Florence.” IjKonder what is the matter with Frank. If it is anything really serious, his mother ought to send him to Florida. I have such faith in that country for anything like decline. It seems to me that mother looks at me so at tentively and anxiously ever since that visit from Mrs. Frazier, just as if there was something on her mind which concerned me very nearly. But I will not question her about it, becanse mother will tell me in her own good time if I ought to know it. It will be better to know it then, and I will comfort myself, meantime, by remember ing the old maxim which she taught us in oar childhood: “Fatient waiting, no loss.” WOMEN AS 1HKT0KS. Arsene Houssaye, in his last letter from Paris, discourses upon women in his light, airy man ner. He tells us of noted female physicians, l TT T a,l T”>. 10 7 ures “ “‘ re “ u * and that, as such, they are by no means a mod- “*. m » 1 i ern innovation. This reminds me of a topic of 777. pounds; Butler lived neglected and died poor; the immortal Chatterton, in consequence of want, put an end to his existence in his eigh teenth year. With the sweet poet Burns, it is well known, poverty, sorrow and trouble kept their constant abode, and he, with his mighty talents, was glad to be appointed exciseman— with us, now, a kind of magistrate, partaking, too, somewhat of the office of constable. That Burns was ashamed of his office, we gather from this extemporaneous effusion, delivered when elected. The reader will excuse Scotch dialect: “ Searching auld wives’ barrels, Och. oh ! the (lay ! That dirty harm should stain my laurels; But—what'll ye say ! These muviu' things ca’d wives aud weans, Wad wuve the hearts o’ senseless things.” But in sweeter and more plaintive language — before burdened with a wife and children in early life, when ploughing in the field one frosty April morning, he turns up a mountain daisy, unseen until past his power to save it. and the ruthless ploughshare had driven over it. He says: “ Such late to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants aud woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink. Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He ruined sink !” And then, adapting the case exactly to himself, in mournful strains vibrating with the heart's ; echoes, he continues: “Even thou who mourn’st the daisy's fate, That fate is thine no distant date; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate Full on thy bloom. Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be tbv doom.” Ah! too prophetic soul, he died at the early age of thirty-eight, in very indigent circum- ; stances. The greater part ot his life had been ( spent in sordid cares and manual labor, and dying at last, he left a widow and four children I an imperishable name, his sole legacy. It is a consolation, though, to remember that a grateful and appreciative public (hut seldom found so to him) eared for the wife and children of this illus- A subscription was raised, and success in the possession of a relief guard to my n^tedto" writo'yon while at Cifstile! I V**? 1 * annait Y thus appointed for Mrs. Burns brave old brown. It is my dear mother’s inspi ration, and I bless tier for it. Among her pos sessions are two plainly-made alpaca dresses, i , , , . - Thev are of beautiful mmlitv and the colors are I d 7 k a . lar S e P h „ 0t0 - ra I ,h representing a group Sitting one day in Miss Green’s office, at the Castile Water Cure, I noticed hanging over her Tannahill, another of Scotland’s sons, was bred a weaver; life was one unwearied round of work and sleep, his cheerless inner self consoled alone by the visits of the muse. Was it that this con- face alight with light and energy - with intellect and will. This was Peyton Howison, aged nine teen, when the cannor of the first Manassas bat tle thundered over the plains of Virginia, and sent their sullen echoes reverberating through the length and breadth of the whole startled South. Among the first volunteers who flocked to the standard of the old State, was the quiet sleeper able,—if all things are just as we could wish, who lies here now at onr feet, liegardless of his then it is the easiest thing in the world to flow rapidly approaching graduation, and of the stud- on smoothly with the tide. But if there are ies he had so eagerly pursued before, he left the rough places in the path, and rocks and stones quiet halls of the university and enlisted under blockade the way, let us learn a parable from the new flag. There were no coward-hearts in those days— the women were as valiant as the men. His own mother—a frail, gentle woman, yet with some- the oft-mentioned mountain-rill, which gayly winds around the great rocks and discovers its own hidden music as it merrily ripples over the pebbles, making the rough places the most joy- thing in her dark eyes that proved Peyton’s re- ons. lationship — buttoned up his gray jacket and Now, if yon realize the sweet beauty of an kissed the handsome, beardless lips without a ever-ready smile, very well; but do not fall into tremor—only a whispered prayer that God would the error of confounding levity with cheerful- bless the right. Then Peyton rode away, bear- ness. The words are far from synonymous, ing with him the colors that same mother’s gen- There is about the same relationship that exists tie hands had wrought, and which she had pre- j between a horrible grimace and a sweet smile, sented to her boy s company. It is a positive crime to cultivate levity; it is a lor three years the boy—he was scarcely decided virtue to entertain cheerfulness. I have tt,ore ~f°)l 0 ^ e< l that- worshipped flag. He had been horrified at the spirit of levity which I have watched it fling out its defiant folds upon a score sometimes seen in the most sacred places, and of battle-fields, as with the hero of the valley he the sly, smirking demon even desecrates the was hurried on from the shock of one conflict to very aisles and holy altars of our churches, that of another. It was riddled with balls and There are hours of deepest gloom, when even grimed with smoke and powder; yet still, as the smiles are out of place; there are consecrated chosen emblem of victory, the boy had made it spots too sacred to be approached with an un- his guiding-star, and followed it with a ’daunt- j hallowed thought. It is only the mocker who less devotion that never faltered through all dares not take off his shoes on holy ground; the the long, tiresome marches, the cold, cheerless truly contented, thankfal spirit is most apt to bivouac, the countless miseries of camp and field appreciate the solemnity of all things sacred, that were enough to crush the spirit in many a A well-ordered cheerfulness is not the slave of bronzed and iron-sinewed veteran, but which , circumstances. It can only proceed from Christ ian principle; and if tbe heart-fountain is pure, no bitter waters will proceed therefrom. It is a high state of perfection for one to attain, to “be content in whatsoever state ye are.” Life is full of real troubles two shades of gray— slate and dove I should call im; and now that it is so much in vogue to form a dress of two shades, mother thinks that she can make me up something ever so pretty. How particularly reconciled I am at Aunt Sa rah’s removal from earth! It will take every cent that mother can possi bly raise to pay the insurance on the house and Tom’s tuition bill for this quarter; but after these two pressing demands are met, then I can hope to get through arranging my outfit for the winter. I find that my last season’s hat will be quite a la mode simply by turning it up more on the left and turning it down more on the right “’Tie true, 'tis pity; aud pity ’tis, ’tis true,” that I am still hankering after the black silk, tvliich was my pet dream last winter. Neverthe less, I believe I shall look right nicely minus the silk. I think that I can utter what rnaum Flora, the old poultry-minder at the plantation, nsed to say when questioned about the promise of her feathered crop: “All de tings stands fine.” I don’t know exactly why it is, but Frank has not been here since the night that they were or ganizing the Social Club. 1 know that it was the third time that I had declined to go out with him, for he asked to take me to Mabel Moore’s that evening, and then to the last meeting of the Choral I'nion. Weil, if Mr. Frank Frazier pro poses to cut my acquaintance because I won’t consent to go out dressed in a wholly unsuitable style, simply for the felicity of having his attend ance, he can do so. But 1 do think it is unkind in him not to understand my feelings. Of course, I never told him in so many words that the brown merino was the hindrance, but he ought to know it, and I believe he does. He sees Tom as often as ever, for by special invita tion he drops into Coleman’s every day. At least, I judge so, for Tom constantly brings us bits of news, and very varied intelligence it is, which, when closely questioned by mother or me, he says that Frank told him when he was last at his desk. To-day, I had become so en thused over the prospective revivification of Aunt Sarah’s two gray alpacas, that I burst out into description thereof to Tom while he was telling mother some late item; also urged him to put his wits to work with mine instanter as to the (frays and meKtbs-\.-f~getrttrg gloves to match my dress (the brown kids, of course, would not look by that picture. We are very proud it. That is Miss Swain,” she continued, point ing out the one white face in the photograph, ; “and the others are her medical students. Miss Swain is a native of Castile, and studied medi cine with Miss Green here, and she was the first woman physician who ever went to India to teach. That is why we are so proud of her. Was it not a noble thought of hers to go there to teach women medicine, because the women of : India of the higher classes wY^re almost entirely cut off’ from idl medical aid when ill?” The strict laws of caste in India prohibit women, it seems, of the higher caste, having a ; male attendant, unless a very near relative or husband is a physician. So that, no matter how ill they may be, they can have no physician, with the exception just noted, if men alone practice the healing art. To physicians of their own sex there is, of course, no objection. There fore, to instruct women in medicine was to re lieve thousands from heretofore hopeless suffer ing. This is, indeed, a noble mission, and well may the Castilians of fair Wyoming county, in ! this State, be proud of their representative in India. Miss Swain wrote to her friends that she thought she graduated her class at least fourth- class physicians, the best she could do under the circumstances. The yonng lady who gave me the foregoing information is one of Miss Green’s students, and will, with a fellow-stu dent—also a pretty and intelligent young girl— j attend the Women’s Medical College in Philadel phia when the next session begins. So the good work goes bravely on, and, in time, all the old, narrow-minded prejudice against women being supreme in the sick-room as medical advisers, where they have so long reigned as nurses, will be regarded as a superstition of the dark ages. Men are only too apt to say that onr sex is its own greatest enemy, and that women will not aid and encourage each other. That is disproved at Castile, for never did two physicians of the masculine gender surpass, if they have some times equaled, the two of our sex at the Castile Water Cure in the implicit obedience and re spect, if not adoration, rendered them by their _ _ _ patients.—Correspondence IxmisvUle Courier. the boy bore with proud patience, because of the ’ * ’ ’ ’ ” ’ " • • i,, ‘ . .. . . glow of romance and chivalry, in which, in his heart of hearts, he had wrapped the sacred cause. So the months lengthened into a year; then of real troubles to exercise 6ur forbearance. Its I so well), and also a lovely claret tie like Mabel’s mu 7 t expatiate any ev‘if done“^“thTs^hfe on'the 7ftod "stand in greater need of a chastening rod the year grew into two, and still Peyton followed , petty cares are only a probationary school to fit last purchase. Dear, good Tom, who did not s . )ot w h ere tq J0 s j n was committed, the whole fh tli * - ea - ■ -- nas - . & 0tl mind the interruption, received it all in earnest, CO untry is supposed to be peopled with these Tyrolese Superstition. As the peasants believe that a departed sonl the rasp, this mighty soli- —was it this, I say, that broke the intellect, broke the heart, and broke the thread of existence, too ? Biographers are mys terious as to his mode of death. They say “he wandered out at night and was found dead.” Did he end his existence himself? Tired of poverty and toil without recompense, w-ith a rashly impatient hand, did he throw the gift of life, genius and poesy away? Shakspeare, we know, was very poor in early youth; but his talents were of tnat rare kind that afforded amusement—amusement without labor or trouble on his part- so he quickly rose to affluence as well as eminence. Campbell, in his early days, was a private tutor; and, in a land of nobility and aristocracy, that was a kind of upper servant, but little more—not received in ttie first society; and pru dent mamas of grown-np daughters instinctively cherished, in those lordly circles, a feeling of antagonism against the tutor,—the tutor—supe- i rior, perhaps, by nature—holding his patent right of nobility from no earthly hand, but, j stamped by the King of Kings, his escutcheon ; and armorial bearings from Him who said “ Let there be light, and there was light.” One or two more to my brilliant but sad list, and I am done. The sweet, heart-poetess, Mrs. Hemans, reveled in the wealth of genius and the plaudits of a nation; hut alas ! who dare fol low her to that forsaken fireside which she has so sacredly and sedulously guarded from the public gaze—love slighted and scorned—a for saken and neglected wife. Does genius always l bring a curse, desolating the heart; if not home, of comfort ? And Edgar Poe—last but not least of this illustrious list—’tis said by some inti mate friend “that he lived from hand to mouth, ! with very often nothing in his hand to carry to his mouth.” This sad memorandum of the bright and bril liant of earth’s children would be too grievous to contemplate, we would turn away with a sonl sick with sympathy, did we not remember who : creates; “for though the Lord be high, yet hath He respect for the lowly; as for the proud, He : beholdeth them afar off.” These great intellects —these stars of such wondrous brilliancy—if eurth gave all to them—honors, happiness and wealth—this world would cease to be a proba tionary school, and this stamp of nobility, pat ented by the Hand Divine, become of the earth, earthy—stained, foul, and lost. Those so highly his mother’s flag. The slight, boyish figure had us for a higher state of cheerful endurance. If developed and strengthened; the pale cheek of the elementary duties are neglected, perfection the quondam stndent wore the bronzed hue of can never be attained. Whenever, my dear child, the veteran; the careless smile of the boy had you feel disposed to murmur at yonr ungratified become sobered and saddened as the stem ac- wants or disappointments, remember that every totalities of a soldier’s life—the blood, and suffer- defiant smile affrights the tyrant Melancholy, ing, and cruelty—were constantly before him. Kesist him, and like the devil he is, “he will Yet never had he lost faith in the final triumph i flee from you.” The real dark days, with their of the cause for which so many gallant lives had baptism of suffering, will inevitably come. An been freely sacrificed. At last the messenger of effort at cheerful endurance strengthens the inner death sought him also. It was before the heights of Gettysburg that Peyton met his fate, and laid another priceless offering upon the altar of Southern freedom. He had been in the thickest of the fray from the first. The black feather in his cap—he was man, and we can always console ourselves with the promise that there is a sufficient strength given for onr every need. You can possibly better appreciate this acceptable service by an illustration. I have two servants equal in strength, endur- an officer now—had been followed by his de- ance and proficiency; indeed, in every particu- voted men again and again in desperate charges lar, as far as the labor question goes, they are up the heights to the very throats of those yawn ing guns that still belched out molten death, and hurled back the shattered but danntless gray ranks, only to let them form and rush back as steadily as before. It was in the third charge that Peyton saw the color-bearer fall, and the sacred flag—hallowed by the touch of his mother’s fingers—trampled beneath the feet of the excited soldiers, as they pressed on again toward those terrible gnns. With a bound, the yonng officer reached the spot, seized the tattered banner, waved it tri umphantly over his head with a ringing cheer to his men; then, the black feathey disappeared, and the charging thousands swept over him. He was found there afterward, lying where he fell -his arm broken and his face so disfigured by on a balance. I can calculate with certainty on either to perform his allotted task. The only difference is, that one is uniformly cheerful and agreeable, content only to know my will and what is expected of him; while the other is con tinually questioning my plans, suggesting his own ideas and murmuring that I do not alter all my arrangements to please his fancy. Mind you, both servants are equally efficient, and yet, can you fail to perceive which is the best approved ? It is in point to apply this same rule to our lives and conduct in the light of the high tribunal awaiting ns. It is not enough that we are “ up and doing;” we must have a “heart for any fate.” Druggists may be appropriately termed the “pillers”of society. , .j . * . 7 ,, , - _ - . | uuuuuv is tu ue wnu imjhe and said perhaps if he would send a few of his ghostly visitants. Almost every lone wood or rarest birds down to the museum in Charleston, they might pay him something for them. Then, with a great flash of light and love coming into his face as the new idea struck him, he con cluded: “Oh! Florrie, I tell you what will be jolly. Take that brightest oreole, or the deep-colored blue-bird, or the crested king-fisher, or that pretty little rice-bird, or what the English call the red-breasted thrush, or all of them together, if you please, and put them in your hat this win ter. Ernest Moore told me at school that Miss Dangerfield wore these very sort of birds in her hat.” Of course, I thanked the dear fellow heartily, and I believe it is an offer that I shall utilize. Three days ago, Mrs. Frazier came to see mother, and I am somewhat puzzled about this same visit She is a lady of the old school; never touches the back of her chair, keeps her hands decorously folded in her lap, never crosses her— her—feet, and altogether looks as if she had just stepped out of her grandmother’s picture, the old Landgravine, who flourished in the year— oh ! 1 never can remember dates—somewhere in the year one, I should think it was. Well, on Saturday, she was icily stately to me, giving me just two of her well-gloved fingers as I advanced to speak to her, and leaving me to do all the shaking of this couple of digits. She had been with mother some time before I came into the room, and I do hope that she was more agreeable to her than she was to me. gloomy spot has its own ghost. At holy seasons, a blue light is visible on the meadows, a fiery form hovers over the marshes and weird animals approach the frightened wanderer in desolate places; these are all “poor souls” who must thus atone for their misdeeds, far from human habitations. The reason for this is, that if the peasant perceives anything uncanny in his house or stables, he at once fetches a priest, who forth with blesses the whole house and banishes the apparition to some solitary woodland nook, where it can no longer disturb people. However, the exorcising may also be performed by the peasant himself, by collecting all the keys in the house and clinking them together. He can thns drive the spirit to the borders of his do main; but he must be very careful not to set foot beyond his own boundaries, or he will in evitably be torn to pieces. A common crime seems to have been removing the landmarks, for which the bearing a red-hot stone on his shoul der and crying in wailing accents, “ Where shall I place it ?” If any passer-by has the courage to reply, “Put it back in the spot whence yon took it, ” the spirit is enabled to replace the landmark in its rightful position, and is immediately re lieved from his penance. The Hottinger Gasse, at Innsbruck, is haunted by fiery milk-women who have watered the milk during their life time. Benevolence is allied to few vices; selfishness to few virtues. than the humble, the insignificant, with the one simple talent of life, and lift . only. Burns writes: “ When on life we’re tempest-driven, A conscience but a canker, A correspondence fixed with Heaven Is sure a noble anchor.” YVould he have thought this, had his intellect not failed to give him perfect and full happiness? I cannot close these lines without mention of Henry Kirke White, the son of a butcher— sell ing in his childhood butcher’s meat, and com posing, as his little feet bore him and his heavy load along, matchless poetry, exquisite music from the soul. Contending for his daily bread, and with others depending upon him requiring his labor, be yet struggled with books and school, trespassing far on the hours allotted to rest and sleep. Was it any wonder that he died early ? If he had lived and been the pampered child of luxury, the pet child of fortune, per haps the world would have never heard that ex quisite hymn, “The Star of Bethlehem.” As the bruised flower gives out its sweetest perfume, so his wearied spirit saw the Star of Bethlehem, and wrote: “Now safely moor'd—my perils o’er, I’ll sing, first in night's diadem, Forever and forevermore. The Star—the Star of Bethlehem !” A strong-minded female, who was arguing the other day that the condition of a married woman was slavish, was eftectually silenced by ber op ponent, who said, “It is not slavish, bnt high-menial.”