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“But. how came I in my present situation?” I self vigorously, and sang on with extreme unc- he demanded. j tion. “I know nothing of the circumstances,” she “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed such afeast,” replied. “Iheard to-day that you were dead, j panted the Deacon at last; and he wiped the and I did not dream that we should ever meet I streaming perspiration from his bald forehead, again. Tell me how you came here.” j “Brother Joice, your coming is indeed a God-- : He briefly related the incidents of his adven- j send.” A ' ture and informed her of his narrow escape “ Ah ! how good it is for brothers in Christ to from death ! he together!” responded Mr. Joice, while Mrs. i “Non* of your would-be assassins were mem- Kempson could only echo the prevailing senti- bers of mv band,” she replied; “but after you i ment by a murmured “Amen!” and John blundered in here, they could not do otherwise moved sleepily in his chair and yawned, than take all due precautions. We carry our ' After singing a few more hymns, and offering lives in our hands, as it were, and by this time : up a few more very long prayers, it was consid- to-morrow nmht may all be in prison, so far on ered best to retire for the night, as the minister our wav to guillotine.” , and Deacon had something of a journey before | “I had to choose between joining the band or , them on the following day. Before retiring death ” he said I h° wever > Mr. Joice made the Deacon a present “ You shall have another chance to choose,” | of a spectacle case, as a token of the high esteem i in which he held him. The Deacon received I this testimonial with a profound bow, and left 1 j the room to assist Mrs. Kempson in the comfort- j able arrangement of the minister's bed. she replied. “What?” “ You will prefer enlisting under my banner! she answered, looking him full in the eyes. “And if I do not?’’ “I have not the power to save you. I am queen here; my word is law; the men willingly obey. But, let me step aside to reprieve you. and they would suspect me, become rebellious, and the band would dissolve.’ “I will not join!” said Travelick in a decided [For The Sunny South.! HARGARETT. BY J. H. BAILEY. Oh, fleeting dream of brighter days! Fate lifts your soft, illusive haze— Points to a flinty pathway set That leads, in spite of wild regret. From Margarett. A fairest June of dreamy hours, Low-eouch’d on banks of perfumed flowers; A sweet, rich lr-y—a loved sonnet, To tender, mystic music set, Is Margarett. Thou sweet embodiment of all For which my yearning heart did call, And all for which must live regret! Harsh Fate no harder task has set Than this—that I must now forget Loved Margarett! He was looking at her, and he saw her cheeks grow pale and a frightened look come to her ‘ “Y'ou will for ?nil sake?” laying her hand on his arm. “ How—what ?” “I would save your life because I—I love you!” she stammered. He looked into her eyes, and he saw that she was not deceiving him. (TO BE CONTINTED.) [For The Sunny South.] Deacon Kempson’s Take In. BY FBAXK ESTWELL. John muttured to himself as he ascended to his room: “ That man must certainly think the old gen tleman is the father of the Marshalsea, to receive testimonials of regard on so short an acquaint ance. Religious feast! I believe I’d rather par- , ticipate in a Comanche’s feast of baked dog [For The Sunny South.] HOWATTAN’S TREASURE. BY H. E. SHIPLEY. “Where is mj- old manma?” “She is here with me. Oh ! I must run and tell her the good news;” and she was off like mad—out of the door, down the stair, and out through the crowded street. Howattan sprang up and hastily dressed him self. A light step ran up the stair, and the door opened. “Up, Howattan? It's a good thing, for break- [For The Sunny South.] REFLECTIONS IN THE SHADE. Br H. D. c. NO. VI ARISTOCRACY. It is related of An tarns, who aspired to wrestle with the gods, that if they could by any means induce him to leave his muter terra, and grapple fast is coming from over the way. What’s the with them, they found little difficulty in worst- matter, old fellow ? Y’ou look as if yon had taken ing him; but so long as he could keep his teet a new lease of life.” said Sneed, cheerily. firmly planted upon his native soil, he was moie than a match for them. When men outgrow- their true position, and aim to live remote from the cares and duties of this world, like Ant;eus, they lose their foot ing and fall in the conflict of life. In order to battle successfully, we must never forsake our proper sphere of action. If we suc- , - , , ,, . ... ,, , The steamer Pride of the West had arrived than go throiigh another such scene with that frofu Europe. A tall, grave man had just stepped squint-eyed, long-winded hypocrite. j from the gangway, portmanteau in hand, when After the minister had been tucked between ke was accosted bv the coj^jal salute, from a - . . . , . ' the best pair of sheets in the house, the Deacon gen tleman on t ; lf . pi, ; yer axes kirn? Ain t 1 bin a prayin tor yer all | crept up to John’s room to see if that physiog- j b .■ Hello, Tom ! Is ityoSTor vour ghost? Pow- dese years?—and here yer is. Tank de blessed nomist had been conciliated any by the recent er f n [ g l a d to see yon, old fellow;” and his hand de 5? s * . . . ! demonstration ol religious feelings on tne part j seized and wrung witli a grip truly refresli- -Ilie simple faith of this old creature touched of Mr. Joice. The Deacon entered, bearing a j to one so fengused to cooler demonstrations ! donbter , »°°®“ al “ ost ,’ beli ?7" in fate tallow candle, which he placed on the table in a I 0 f regard that he was—repudiating the love ot his Creator, puddle of molten tallow that he had dropped on Lo " king int entlv into the face of the utterer ’ who takes cognizance of the sparrow’s fall. Who the table to hold the candle in its place of these words, Mr. Howattan at last recognized 8ha11 sa - v that th £ ,il * th thls ^T 111 ? heart saved “ Well, John, how do you like Air. Joice by his old coUege chum> Alfred S need. But be- bl “ not - " h «“ He declares “If ye have faith, this time?” asked the Deacon, as John raised up i fore he could co ii ec t hiswits sufficiently toreplv, noth,n S sbtdl be impossible to you - on his elbow. _ , ,, j the hand of the other gentleman was brought j , ‘ hlt do ™> wbl ‘ e w . e take ou " break : “ The more I see of him the less I like him, j down upon his Moulder with such force as to £ ast ’ a “ d * el1 a11 aboat . tb f b «mugot the old returned the heir of the house. “ I noticed him cause h f m to wince a , ittle under its heartiness, i homestead. AA here was? the housekeeper? Did very closely at supper, and I noticed that his and Sneed asked) in llis ilnpll isive, bov-fashion: i 7 on save nothing—my books-mv valuable paint- j smile, ‘bland and child-like, was altogether “A.re you dreaming, Howattan, or have I got j ln 8 s _ nothing . forced just as long as he thought himselt no- ; ^old Q £ y OUr double V” Deacon Kempson belonged to the old class of I ticed; but as soon as he thought himself unob- | «>it isL in propria persona-— only a little dazed ' plain, honest farmers and Christians. He was j served, he would shut it oft and look very cun- . tke rus ij 0 j- recollections. If I have a double, tender-hearted, easily flattered, and a little opin- ously around him, closing up that lett eye in ke kas m y sincerest sympathy. But, Sneed, this ionated in his views, which were rather behind the 1 his peculiar way.. Then again, while he and j s quite a coincidence. Yours was the last face I , He looked unfavorably upon too “mnoh [ you^were talking in ^he^sitting-room^he^ exam- • saw w hcn, thirteen years ago. I left America, and j X 1 . l , uel 1 ‘ “ ’ ' ° ’f fhp Grist fn (Trent me nn me return none more OllUS, X>lit < As Howattan narrated the event of the morn ing. an old negress hobbled in. followed by a child some ten or twelve years of age. “Bress de Lord! my chile’s come home!” shouted the old creature, while the happy tears streamed over her wrinkled face. “Bress de Lord!” „ „ . “ Manma, my dear old mauma !” cried Howat- ceed in this sphere, let it be wbat it may, it here tan, grasping her hand with filial affection, as a we have faithfully developed the elements ol suspicious moisture gathered in his own eyes, manhood which were implanted within ns by “ Aly poor old mauma, yon have suffered since the Creator, we secure a title to the rank ol a I saw you last; your looks show that.”. • true aristocrat. Nothing is more untrue than “’Deed I has, chile; I se seed awful times. I the declaration of some that riches form the nebber’spected to see sicli times. Bless de heb- basis of a genuine aristocracy. But suppose benly Jesus, my chile’s come back to his old this be so, how many thousands are kept poor mammy !” by the silly attempt to ape the customs and no- “Never mind, mauma; you shall never suffer tions of the rich? How many more, who are any more. I shall take you all back to the plan- rich, become poor because their vanity will not tation. if yon wish to go.” allow them to keep what they have accumulated. “ Dat I will go, chile. Tank de Lord! Didn’t What a grievous thing it is for these kind of he say if yer has faith in him, he’ll do whateber people to look back upon the line of their »n- “’Deed. chile,’' said the old creature, seating herself, “ when dej* sed de Y’ankees was acomin’, Aliss Jane she ’peared like she was ’stracted, an' rnn about jis’ like a chicken wid its bed off. She unlocked de pantry door whar de box ob silber was a settin’, an’she hollered out ‘Jack, Jake, cum here quick, an’ run to Den she call Tony, age. xie lUOJveu uiummauiv upu "•'."J .•—• — ° _ >» _... , i nuou, luuuoou jeou ngu, i im i learning,” and was dubious of all “new-fangled lned Hie old red desk where the Bible lay very j tke Hret to greet me on my return—, notions ” He regarded a church organ with as closely, I thought, as if he entertained a notion welc0 me.” de 8W » m P wld dls « !lber . ! - , much suspicion as he did a field mouse, and de- of buying *^ d was carrying it through a | -Thanks.” yorircjwTimur 1 and gib him a box dared it was impossible to pump religious wind : course of general inspection Then they looked steadily at each other with A red box with brass bands Howattan through brass pipes. “Ah, well. rejoined the Deacon, ‘probably that intensity the well-beloved long-parted always asked eagerly. , . , The Deacon’s familv consisted of Mrs. Kemp- k_ e was at a l° ss ^ or a ^° r d, as men often are. , evince when reunited, marking the inroads of ^ es ’ k° ne . v ’ an he took it and wen o o< e son and John, a young man about eighteen years ^ ou ar< r ^.°° nervous and suspicious, boy, ana in ti me on heart or feature. **— old, who had just been stopped from school to m 7 opinion, it’s all owing to too much book | There was little left of expression in the pale, keep, as his father said, from getting too much learnin . . grave face before him to remind Alfred Sneed of foolishness into his bead, and thereby drive out j John arose early next morning, mid descended tke debonair Southron whose love of fun bayou in de Lundred alter bottom- all .agricultural notions. So John was stopped. ' *° the dining-room, where he tound his father kad g0 0 fp en called down upon him the condem ' greatly against that voung gentleman's idea of | assisting in setting the table. 1 . J _ V , S ^ ! “ Ts Mr -Tniee nn ret ?” aski Is Air. Joice up yet?” asked John, preparing to wash his face. “No,” replied his father, his room to wake him now. that pan.” ! few moments wearing a very grave air. j “Is Air. Joice ill this morning?” asked Airs. Kempson, as she sat the coffee-pot on the table. “I don’t know-,” said the Deacon, coughing i slightly. “He’s not in his room.” “ Probably he’s gone to the pond to go in I swimming,” said John, closing up bis eye in the right, and put to work on the farm. One Saturday afternoon, as the ffinily were sitting in the shade of the favorite elm, a stran ger rode up to the gate and sang out the custom ary “halloa.” “Get down, sir—get down,” said the hospita ble Deacon, advancing to meet the stranger. The stranger was slightly above the medium height, well dressed, and wore rather long hair. He was cleanly shaved all but his upper lip, which was graced by a slight red mustache. Something seemed to be the matter with one of his eyes, and he had a way of shutting it, and to all appearances resembled Dickens’ man who seemed to be taking aim with an invisible gun. The stranger took a seat, and after wiping his face, asked if this was where Deacon Kempson resided; said that he was a minister of the gos pel, and that he had been directed to the Dea con’s house as a place where he could spend the night and have a regular religious feast with the Deacon. Hereupon, the Deacon got up and shook him warmly by the hand, telling him that they really would enjoy a religious feast, and that he was perfectly welcome, and he desired him to feel at home. The minister stated that his name was J.oiee, and that he was on his way to fill an appointment at Alt. Spencer, and asked the Deacon if he might hope for the pleas ure of his company on the morrow. To this the . _ _ . Deacon readily assented, and quite an animated i wdb another facetious squint of the left eye. conversation on church matters ensued. In passing through the room in which service Thej- talked on till dusk, when the Deacon had been held the previous night, John noticed said, rising from his chair: | one of the bureau drawers partly drawn out. “Air. Joice, accompany my wife to the house. He pulled the drawer open and made the start- John and I are going to feed, and we’ll be back ! ling discovery that all the silver spoons had soon. Just go in and make yourself at home. 1 mysteriously disappeared. This he communi- nation of the august faculty at Trinity; and the question, “Is it you or your ghost?” was not so : wide of the mark as it seemed. but I am going to Howattan was the first to speak, and then with Make haste with : an inflection of feeling he strove to conceal. Y’es, Sneed, I have come home at last, if you The Deacon, carrying water and a towel, re- ean ca jj home, where all associations are paired to the minister s room, coming back in a . broken up, and all ties uprooted. Under my own ancestral oaks I fear Ishall feel lessat home j than in Paris. By the way, can you recommend comfortable, quiet lodgings here in some quiet l part of the city ?” “Come with me.” ’ “ Well,” a little nervously, “I ” “Oh ! don’t fear meeting any of the ‘unfair’ sex. I am a bachelor yet, living a life of delight ful freedom from feminine supervision in Blank street.” j Accordingly, to Blank street they drove, and ... once there, {were duly ipstung n i" Mr. Sneed> left eye and muttered “Beagious . to bachelor apaJtmSnts, which were like the aver- age bachelor lodgings, with no particular place ! manner peculiar to Air. Joice. “We dont stand in need of any of your sug- I gestions, John,” said the Deacon, still looking I very grave. John winked again very facetiously with his himself. “John,” said Air. Kempson, “goto the barn and see if his horse is still there.” John hurried off to the barn, informing his father on his return that his horse was gone, and that the new saddle was also gone, and an old one hung in its place. “ Well, I’ll be hanged if I understand it,” said the Deacon, growing a little excited. A regular religious feast,” muttered John, Come, son, it’s time we were feeding the stock.” Air. Joice went into the house, while John and his father repaired to the barn, leading Mr. Joice’s horse. for any particular thing. But what struck Mf. Howattan as a little peculiar, considering his friend’s boast of freedom from feminine rule, was the fact that though it was the last week in January, Christmas evergreens still hung about the room, which, though faded and turning yel low in places, still gave quite a decorative effect to the otherwise bare walls. He said as much, as they sat over their supper, procured from a res taurant across the street. “The fact is,” returned Sneed, “my laundress did it. She is a most deserving mulatto, drifted here by the tide of war, as so many have been. She comes now and then to do the chores, and asked me to let her diess my room for the yule- tide, as she had seen her mistress decorate her house in the far South. She was evidently raised by a family of wealth and refinement. tort he went dar. Well, chile, ’twas de false larm; dem Yankees nebber got dar twel next morning ’fore breakfas’. Dat night I heard somebody a talkin’outside my cabin in de moon light. Ebbryting was still as deth. I gits up an’ looks through de crack, an’I sees Tony an’ Silas a talkin’ right ’fore my door. Tony say. ‘ Alistis’ dimints an’ things is in that box, an’ I’m gwine ; to make my Jack outern dem Y’ankees ’fore I gibs it up.’ ‘Dat’s what I’m a gwine to do, too, ’fore dey gits dat silber—dat box is a settin - under de corn-crib right now, and Aliss Jane tints we done tote it off.’ Silas say dat, a triflin' ' rascal. Den Tony spoke up: ‘An’ I got dem dimints in my eliis’. ‘Ef wese a gwine to Air. Larkins’to-night, we better he a trottin’.’ Den dey went on. I knowed ef dey gwine to Alas’ Billie Larkins , dey couldn’t git back ’fore mor- ; nin. no how. So 1 runs to Savannah an’ shakes her. -Git up, gal,’ I say, ‘ef you lub your mis- ; tis an’ master, an’ hep save dey things.’ She gits up, an’ bofe ob us. wid de hammer an’ de chisel, goes to corn-crib an’ prizes open de box ob silber an’ puts it in two bags; she tuck one an’ I fuck de dueler; den we filled up .le box wid rocks an’ nailed it up agin. Den we went to dat nigger Tony’s house, ’cause we knowed nobody i was dar, an’ we prize open de eliis' an' took de dimints, an’ put dem long o’ de silber, an’ oft'to de bayou we went, fas' as our two legs could carry us. When we got to dat high ole beech, whar you an' Aliss Katie Nelson was allers a gal- ivantin. an’ whar you cut her name an' yourn in • dat big heart ” “ Never mind about Aliss Katie and the big ; heart; she has got a pair of big epaulettes now,” ! said Howattan, too much interested to continue 1 his breakfast. “ Well, eliile. as I was a savin,' when I got to de big beech I couldn't git no fudder. I say I ! gwine to drop my bag down here, 'cause de water ' deep an’ black; so we drop dem bags right dar, an’ run home like de debbil was arter us; an’ ’bout de time I got back in de bed an' cover up cestry. Thirty years ago, this one butchered, that one made guano or candles, another sold cheese, and a fourth kept a rum-shop. These moneyed aris tocrats are acquainted with both ends of society, as their children will he after them, though it won’t do to say so aloud. Often it is that these toiling worms produce a gaudy butterfly that lives but a season. Death brings division of property, and a new genera tion of financiers. The heirs-at-law take their revenues and travel on towards poverty. A few good seasons of cotton will send a generation of men up. and a score of years will bring them all down, and return their children again to labor. The»father grubs and grows rich, while his chil dren strut and spend the money; their children inherit vanity, a mean element of character, and go swift to poverty, while the fourth generation, reinvogorated by the smell of the clod, come up again. Thus, society, like a tree, draws its nourishment from the earth. From the spring ing sap comes the bud, the blossom, the flower and leaf; these to wither, to die and fall back again to earth, again to mingle with the soil and reappear in new ties and fresh garniture. The only true aristocracy is that of merit — leastwise, we springing from no sickly pedigree of titled dig nity, but from the moral, intellectual and social worth of the individual. “ It is worth makes the man, The lack of it the fallow, And ail the rest is leather and prunella.” cated to his father and mother, who came hnr- riedlv into the room, greatly excited. Airs. ; , , , Kempson stated that she was certain the drawer i The poor creature has had quite a different ex- 1 eiu , an m .- v °le rooster commence crowin was locked, and upon examination, it was found j perience of life since her emancipation, I imag- or 1 a ‘ V, . au ore on 8 j* ere de , m , nl &' “Well, John, how do vou like the minister?” the lock had been picked and partiallv wrenched ine. Deserted by her husband, with an old, in- ° er! ’’ an * or ® " e 8 ot through de ireaKtas here .'Oil rli O TiAfionn wli on t li o \- (J T-ri ,-0.1 .1 f 1I1.1 nnl of Til .1 o o I firm nmllir.r nml eumriil ol, i 1/1 von 1a nrAri.lo for ’ CU1U lie I fl II k e t“S deyselts. 011 V all SiltlS tole dem bout de silber an’ dimints; an’ when dey got an’couldn’t find de dimints, dey say dey gwine to teach dem niggers how to hoax dem; so dey tied dem bofe up by de thumbs an' gib dem Jesse, an’ I say ‘ Amin ’ to myself ebbry lick. Dey burnt up de house an' ’stroyed ebbry- wliich Airs. Kempson had been saving up to buy cherished an affection for~me as true and tender j ^ dfc - y bad ‘ lj ’ lt de “ , d * m * nts an dat a new cook-stove with, had been taken from the ’ as for her children. Finding her, I should feel hl „ er 18 ar "j® 1 ra P em ^ , *1 ,, drawer. ! that life had one tie for me, bankrupt in fortune Howattan had become so excited as the old “ Well, this gets a little ahead of anything I • and spirits that I am. I should have returned creau e we ° n a e sprang _ P— P 1 asked the Deacon, when they arrived at the barn. “Well, father, physiognomically speaking, I don't like him in the least,” replied John. “ Physiog-thunderly speaking !” said the old man, not well pleased with his son’s reply, “l'ou don’t know any more about this man than you do one of my swamp hogs you never saw.” “Oh !” said John, “I don’t propose to tell a man’s past and predict his future by a look at his face. All I said was that I didn’t like that chap’s flesh marks.” “ Why, I am sure he looks like a gentleman from top to toe.” “He is dressed like one, but I think his tail or’s done more for him than his Maker has, as far as looks are concerned.” “There’s more of your irreverence, sir,” growled the father. “I suppose if a man isn’t comely, he must be a rascal. ” “No, sir; you don’t catch my meaning yet. I’ve seen many a homely face so* full of manli ness it did me good to look at it; and I have seen handsome faces with an expression stamped out of place. “ Wait,” said John, as his father was about to leave the room. “Let’s see if he has found his ministerial way into the little red desk. I saw him noticing it very closely.” firm mother and several children to provide for, 1 think her ‘freedom ’ a questionable blessing.” i uuul ue f’ 111 “It is that, I think, to the whole race. Aly | own slaves are doubtless scattered like leaves in the autumn blast: but there is one of them I Here again the startling discovery was made ! shall use every means to discover, if she is still that the lock had been picked and forty dollars, in the land of the living,—my old nurse, who ever saw !’’ said the Deacon, while all that good i to my native land when I buried mv mother on . , _ - , . , .. ,, , _ Airs. Kempson could do was to twist a dish-rag ; a foreign shore, but the opportunity to strike J n el ow , u . wa ^. aDl tr own lme ' 1 in silence. one blow for my country was passed-the drama, | “ h “ ^ . “ A regular religious feast,” repeated John, as ; the tragedy at Hare’s House had been played, them v ” he a .'ked & n ^' er ^ he walked out of the room on his heels. I found myself bereft of mother, fortune, friends 8 , i?# At this juncture, a party of men on horseback and hope -yes, even love, for Fate could not; ‘ hoarse not, chile: who was dare o tell ? Ef stopped at the gate and halloed for the Deacon. , leave me even that consolation—my betrothed ! ava a . , . ,u , a 8 < a , a me ' v,< ‘ , . • The Deacon went out to the gate, where five men deserted me for a pair of epaulettes.” here penshm now bhe would marry dat triflm ' ' ' He said this with the in tensest scorn of look ! T . on >'’ an he > 1 ke de f ool ,. he “* wuld , leab de and tone plantashun an cum to dis onlawtul place, an “Common occurrence.” said Sneed, philosoph- \ wben ^ bnd out . b ® couldn ' t . ^ ically: “elementarv lesson—‘Thou hast learned ; 011 en ,. t e 8 ree . s ’ ' m 1 a .P*88'- „. e 8a to love another,’ etc. I was treated pretty much f 1 L“ “ <-> ls rUn ° 6 ’ aU 1 b ° pe the same wav myself, but have come out of the ' „ T >e ’ ac ' .... , . affair with unimpaired capabilities of affection, j mauma ’ we wlU 8 art home to-morrow, and undiminished admiration for the sex; bui ! a11 of us ’. and commence lltea h ram ’ 5-° 11 and ba the floor, knowing that she would tell her story on them that said ‘beware’ as plainly as if the j the speaker, “and am in pursuit of a most no word was printed on their foreheads.” ' torions house-breaker, who is at present passing “If that’s all the good schooling has done himself off as a minister.” you—made you suspicious of your fellow-men— ; Here the Sheriff gave a complete description I'm glad I never had much,” grumbled the Dea- i of Air Joice. with shot-guns were sitting on their horses. “Is this Air. Kempson?” asked one of the men. “Yes,” replied the Deacon; “that’s my name.” “I am the Sheriff of the county,” continued Cliiiroli-Goiiifi: in the Old Dominion. The Atlantic Monthly for November contains a genial sketch of life during the glorious ante bellum days of generous hospitality, patriarchal households, delicious leisure and frank, social enjoyment—days that alas ! live only in memory. It is a little singular to see that this hitherto rab idly radical monthly, which was so bitter upon slavery and painted such terrible pictures of the wrongs and miseries of the down-trodden African, now describes the Southern slaves of that time as an idle set kept hanging about the houses of their owners in useless numbers —half a dozen doing the work that two or three could have easily performed—with their wants fully sup plied by their careless, generous masters, and nursed in their sickness by the white bands of the wife and daughters of the household. It is something, too, for the Atlantic Monthly to admit that • - life in this slave-holding State was very beautiful and enjoyable before the war came to turn old ideas upside down, and convert the picturesque Commonwealth into a commonplace modern State.’’ As an illustration of this pictur esque uniqueness, which is forever destroyed by the hard poverty and bitterness produced by the results of the war, our Atlantic artist gives ns this pretty sketch of the fashion of church going and visiting among the young folks in Virginia during the old regime: “All the people, young and old, went to church; it was both pleasant and proper to do so. though not all of them went for the sake of the sermon or the service. The churches were usually built in the midst of a grove of century oaks, and their surroundings were nearly always pleas antly picturesque. The gentlemen came on horseback, the ladies in their great, lumbering, old-fashioned carriages, with au ebony driver in front, and a more or less ebony footman or two behind. Beside the driver sat, ordinarily, the old‘“mammy” of the family, or some other equally respectable and respected African woman, wiiose crimson or scarlet turban and orange neck erchief gave a dash of color to the piottire, a trifle barbarous, perhaps, in combination, but none the less pleasant in its eft'eet for that. The young men came first, mounted on superb rid ing-horses, wearing great buckskin gauntlets and clad in full evening dress—that being en regie always in Virginia—with the skirts of the coat drawn forward over the thighs and pinned in front, as a precaution against possible contact with the reeking sides of the hard-ridden steeds. When I first saw young gentlemen going to church dressed in this fashion, the grotesque ness of the thing impressed me strongly; but one soon gets used to the habitual, and *1 have worn full evening dress on horseback many a time, once even in a cavalry parade. “ The young men came first to church, I said, and they did so for a purpose. The carriages were elegant and costly, many of them,' but nearly all were extremely old-fashioned; perched high in air, they were not easy of entrance or exit by ladies in full dress, without assistance, and it was the prescriptive duty and privilege con: and thus the colloquy ended, and the two returned to the house, where they found 6upper awaiting them. When they were seated around the table, the minister bowed with great solem nity and invoked a lengthy blessing. Supper over, the household adjourned to the sitting-room, and Air. Joice was invited to take his seat at the old red cedar desk, which was the family altar as well as the repository cf the Dea con’s valuable papers, bills, etc. The lamp and the old family Bible lay upon it, and Mr. Joice, duly clearing his throat, read a chapter from its pages, stopping occasionally to expatiate upon certain texts, especially the passage which spoke of entertaining angels unawares. The reading was followed by hymns and long Pan is my mistress henceforth and forever.’ But ■ va ^“ ab sba11 never repent of ycur devotion to ; of tke y 0ung me n to render the needed service you, who proved vourselfTirgoou a son by your ■ 0 , . 3 ^ at the church door. AN hen this preliminary “Yes, that man stayed here last night, leav-! devotionto j „ Six ^ Aj fred Sneed received a let- ing this morning before any of the familv were material of which good husbands are made; you j te ^’ f portion of which ran thus . up, taking away with bun a new saddle, all of our silver spoons, and forty dollars in money,” replied the Deacon, somewhat excited. “ Yes, he said he came to have a regular relig ious feast,” said John, appearing upon the scene. “ There’s nothing too brazen for him to do,” answered the leader of the men, “and I am not surprised that he took you in, Deacon, though I am sorry, I must say. Show us the way he went, and we’ll get on after him now without another minute’s delay.” • crack aud cranny the next morning when Air. The Deacon did so, and wished them good Howattan opened his eyes. They fell upon a ’ must not make a vow of celibacy.” “Ah! I realize what Byron felt when he moaned out, ‘We can have but one mother,’ though, un like him, my grief is unraixed with remorse; and sometimes I am tempted to believe we can have but one love.” “ Don’t believe anything so absurd. Miss Nelson has done society a grievous wrong, if she has curdled your milk of human kindness and I write at once, that you may rejoice, as I know you will, in my good fortune. I had the bayou drained, and tliere, at the foot of the beech, I found the silver and box containing the diamonds and valuable papers, intact; being tin, and soldered, it of course was not affected by the water; the bags were decayed. So I have duty was fully done, some of the youths took seats inside the church, but if the weather was fine many preferred to stroll through the woods, or to sit in little groups under the trees awaiting the exit of the ladies, who must of course be chatted with and helped into their carriages again. Invitations to dinner or to a more ex tended visit were in order the moment the ser vice was over. Every gentleman went to dine with a friend, or took a number of friends to dine with him. But the arrangements depended ! once more a nest egg.” ! “Alauma” still reigns as head nurse at the made you a misanthrope.” ?- ew h° mestead > and tells to the rising genera- [ arge ly upon the young women who had* a verv The*sun was peering curiously into many a j ^ how she saved her “chiles silber an di- pretty h / bit of Siting each other and staying m nts ‘ a week or more, and these visits nearly always The lesson of human kindness as a dutv has originated at church. Each young lady invited _ _ speed with all his heart as they galloped away, j figure strangely familiar—the figure of a mulatto come down to us from the davs in which* men ub rest to go home with her, and after a deal prayers from Air. Joice and the Deacon alter- In a few hours, they returned, escorting the ci- j woman, bending with earnest, inquiring eyes wa j ked j ev ohah and learned the right from ot confused consultation, out of whose chaos nately ^ after which,^more hymns of an emotional j decant^ minister, who still held up his head with j upon him. He returned the look with one as 1 jjj s j[ ps Hence He is the cause of life's ameni- on b' the feminine mind could possibly have ex self, “Where have I seen ties—as indeed of nil the virtues—for He was tricated anything like a conclusion, two or three Suddenly, she cried out, j tflejj. flrst teacher. AVe lack an ever-present con- would win all tne others to themselves, each with a little, womanish scream: j viction of this, and so our observance of the les- taking halt a dozen of more with her, and prom- character, in which the minister's voice rose with ear-piercing volume, and the Deacon in emulation sang until the anthem roused half a dozen dogs from their slumbers, and set them to howling in unison. By this time, Mr. Joice became religiously excited, and proceeded to wink with all his might, and to walk about the room, shaking hands and exhorting. Coming to John, he gave that classical youth a grip of the digits that made him jump and wince, and caused him to glare at the reverend minister with no very amiable expression of counte nance. The Deacon, also much excited, em braced bis kindred spirit with effusion, and con tinued to sing with an energy surprising in so ancient a gentleman, while his wife knocked her L two youngsters’ heads together in her zeal to se- *cure their silent attention, and then fanned her- “ Mas ^ Tom, Js this you ? Have you come j son and fl a ty, even though it be complete, is i s j n 8 to send early next morning for their trunks. ! and burst into unintelligent, and compliments neither teacher ^ Hh so many ot the tairest damsels secured nor pupil.—Jay. impudent effrontery, and on seeing the Deacon, ! earnest, saying to himself, “ AN’here have I seen burst into a laugh and cried out: j her ?” over and over. “How are you now, brother? How did you get on at family prayers this morning ? I hope you excused me for not staying to give you an other religious feast; but you see I was in a little of a hurry. I turn over your spoons and your greenbacks all right, but with a great deal of re luctance, I assure you. As for the spectacle- case, I beg you to keep it to remember me.” The Deacon was too angry to reply; and when the men had gone, he sat awhile in deep thought, and then, shaking his head profoundly, rose and j “Oh ! Alas’ Tom, I married Tony, your wait- j into my garden. God is not honored by our vir- hours. Perhaps* after all ihey were not whollv walked to the piazza with his hands behind his | ing man, after you went away. They told him ! tuous deeds unless they are done with a purpose wasted. AA'ho shall say? Other things than uolil back. A day or two afterwards, he informed he could make a fortune here when we were set : to honor Him.— Jay. are golden.” * “ John that crops seemed to be turning out first- , free, and when be found he could not do it, he ! ° •-** rate, and he might as well take another term at ; run off and left me and the children. Oh! i Every good deed that we do is not only a pres- • Mex who are used to goin>' it prettv fast college. ‘ | thank the Lord you have come home, Mas Tom !” j ent pleasure, but a prop for the future. locomotive engineers. ° back at last ? Oh, Mas’ Tom ! ! happy tears. He sat upright in his astonishment. “ Savannah, what are you doing in New Y’ork ?” he cried, clasping the brown hand extended to him. The poor woman could hardly articulate for her great emotion, yet she sobbed out brokenly: for a visit of a week or a fortnight, the youn^ hostess was sure of cavaliers in plenty to do her guests honor. And upon my word, it was all very pleasant. I have idled away many a week I do not thank my neighbor for removing the weeds from his garden —lie does it not to favor _ me, but for bis own benefit—and yet should he in those old country houses, and for mv life I not remove them, I should perhaps suffer injury cannot manage to regret the fact, or to remember from the seed that would be scattered from them ft with a single pang of remorse for the wasted