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Ocuftcb to Literature, Science, any Ctrt, tlje Sons of temperance, ©b3 JTcllcunaljip, ittasonrn, anb ©cncval intelligence.
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Tin; w inow.s son.
t< Do you go sir to tlie village of A?”
■i a low voice at my side. Buried in thoughts
* alt a t to occur to him who travels a horse-
autumn day through a shady and
W , res( , ue country, I heeded not the (Question. —
11101.I 1101 . , Repeated in a louder tone, and rousing my-
ItA turned to the speaker. He was a slender,
sC \\.., mj w ith intelligent features, mild blue eyes,
MbiA while forehead. In his face you could
rve read his temper and disposition at a glance.
TWewas the shadow of a smile playing around
beautiful curved lips, as I fixed my eyes on
!. so menial and courteous was the expres
his features that I felt myself irresistably
’ nvn towards him, as if towards some old and
‘ r j f r iend. “My name sir,” he continued, “is
ri!/ir and if your route lies towards A , with
r permission we will ride together.”
•Mv route docs lie towards A I answered,
rul happv am Ito gain a companion. Max
ell is my name, one I fancy very common here
on the border.”
jnJced it is sir,” ho replied, “ and one that
, rv many own whom I am happy in thinking
; |1( ] 3 ‘May I ask if you are related to James
Maxwell, of Eltndell? ” “Only a very distant
connexion,” I said, “ but I know h.m well.”
“Then vou know a noble fellow. lake the
road to the right, the left leads to Edinborough.”
Following his counsel we turned into a road
narrower, but far more picturesque, and as we
moneyed slowly along, he courteously pointed
Odt tlie remarkable points of scenery. In one
s pottad an English army pitched their tents, in
another had happened some desperate encounter,
while here again was the pass through which in
times of yore, marched the plundering Johnstones
and Armstrongs to harrass the English marches
with fire and sword, and many a wild legend did
he tell of daring murder and retributive justice.
“Do you see,” said he, pointing through an
amongtlie trees, “ do you see that hill so
faraway that it looks blue ? that is in Scotland,
and on it stood the watch tower of the Graeme.”
‘‘And to whom,” said I, “ does that fine old
family mansion on our right belong? tis a gieat
pi tv that it should be allowed to go to decay.”
‘‘ That,” he answered, “is Madely Manor, it
lias been untenanted for the last seventeen ycais,
rid l hardly know who owns the estate ; who
ever he may he he has never honored it with a
visit.”
“Madely Manor ! ” I exclaimed, “ I think I
have heard the name before; tell me, was not
the last owner murdered 1 Yes, lam sure it was
the owner of Madely Manor, and according to all
accounts, murdered most foully.”
He shot a keen, and as I thought, repioachfui
glance at me, and answered :
“The last tenantot the Manor House was mur
dered, but whether foully or not is a question on
which many differ. I have heard very mauy say
that the act was a just, though terrible one.
“And do you know the circumstances?” I asked.
“Yes,and know the parlies, and was present
sheathe crime (if crime it be) was committed,
lasted him if he would not relate the causes of
i a deed that had given rise in my early youth to
much excitement and wonder ; remarking at the
sinie time that I had never heard a statement oi
facts that could be relied on. He hesitated,
I muttering something, the tenor of wdiich seemed
J fte to be, that it was a painful subject to him,
but at length said, that as I appeared to ha\e eon
eivedopinions from false statements, he would
•-ate all lie knew ; so having stopped foi a few
nutes beside a clear and rapid brook to water
lr horses, we resumed our journey', and he thus
Cor] amenced :
Just before you enter the town of A , you
‘'ilisee on vour right a cottage, once the neatest
lJ '"prettiest in this section ot the countiy,
if* decayed and fast falling into ruin. The
I . , uS are damp and broken, part of the roof has
u ‘ n m, and the little garden in which once
-veiled the rose and the sweet brier, is usurped
y r ank and unseemly weeds, and the jessamine is
clamberiim over arbors on which the kindly
|rupe vine once displayed its blushing fiuit. A
-ting curse seems to have fallen upon this once
A'Py abode, and no living thing is ever seen with-
; lts walls except the sulky owls that mope al
; composing, one would think, a dnge to howl
iv, night.
I v e r Lee, the last occupant of this cottage,
I i widow at the early age of twenty-two,
y . ! "° young children, the elder a boy o our
other a 0 infant girl; young and inexpe
-d as she was, with nothing except the ew
J ts Aat her husband had cultivated; her future
r , gloomy enough to daunt the boldest, JU
woman of no ordinary resolution,
and devoting herself to the education of her two
children, she firmly rejected all offers of marriage,
several of which were made ; for she was young
and still very handsome. So she set to work and
got on extremely well, for there was no farmer
within three miles who did not bestow a day’s
work on Esther’s little farm, aud many were the
presents of calves and sheep, of cheese and but
ter, that she received from her kind hearted neigh
bors, for they all loved her for her meekness and
goodness, she was so gentle, so walling to help
when help was needed, and as the farmer’s waves
said with clasped hands, “ such a mother to those
poor, sweet children, besides she was so free from
pride in spite of her learning ! ” for Esther had
been better educated than most persons in her
station of life, and had improved herself by read
ing the books that the curate lent her ; that poor
curate who had so often asked her to marry him,
and w T hohad been so often so gently refused that
he loved her only the more after it.
Well, time sped on and the boy Henry r , was
wise and strong enough to see after the farm al
though he was only thirteen years old, and little
Alice with her large blue eyes and golden ringlets
could assist her mother about the house. And if
help w r as needed, who so ready and willing to give
it as young Willie Armstrong, the rectors son ?
In fact, Willie was more frequently at the widow’s
cottage than at the rectory, and the country waves
used to say of him and Alice, when they saw the
two playing on the green at sunset “ that will be
a match one of these days ! ” and Alice used to
say r that she did’nt know wdiich she loved best.,
brother Harry or brother Willie. But Esther saw
all and w r as glad, for she knew that the young son
of the Rector would grow up a man worthy of’
the daughter she had brought up and on wdiom
she doated.
So, in time sir, llenry r became a young man of
twenty, and Alice a maiden of seventeen, and the
pride of the country. There was not a farmer
who did not wish the portionless maiden to be his
daughter, and there was not a lad who w r ould not
have gone through fire and water to gain her ; she
was so lovely 7, so amiable, such an angel to the
poor, that she was never mentioned but a heart
felt “ God bless her ” was spoken. I remember
well, her sunny hair bad deepened into chesnut,
except in the sunshine where it was as bright and
golden as ever, and she wore it smoothly and
plainly parted on each side of her low but finely
formed forehead ; her eyes were dark blue, so said
the neighbors, but Willie Armstrong was wont to
declare thathe had known her all his life and that
he never could find out the color it varied so, and
spite of a country life, her complexion had a fair
ness and transparency that many a high born city
dame would have coveted far more than the dia
monds of a rival. With such attractions as these
you cannot wonder that all the young men were
her most devoted slaves. But Esther said she was
too voung, and Harry declared tliatif any one de
served her it was his friend Willie. Willie him
self was very much in love with her, and she still
treated him as she did of old, and often as he
came to the widow’s cottage and Alice bounded
to the arms of “ dear brother Willie,” and offered
her cheek to his caress, he would watch in vain
with a bitter sigh of disappointment, for that con
scious blush and downcast eye, the shyness and
coy demeanor which distinguish love from affec
tion and friendship, and which Wille would have
mven worlds to have seen, for he well knew, that so
long as Allice offered her cheeks to his lips he had
no hope.
May was at hand, and who so fit to be the queen
as Alice ! when news came that Lord William
Madely, the Lord of the Manor, having attained
the age of manhood, was coming from the conti
nent,°where he had been travelling, to take pos
session of his inheritance. You may imagine
that this threw ns into a state ot great excitement
Fire works were to be obtained, bonfires to be
prepared, and many other matters to be attended
to, by which we could show our admiration and
welcome on the last day of April. In the midst
of our preperations, down coincs Lord Madely.
And truely we did our best to show our joy at his
arrival, an attention he well requited as the sequel
will show. All night we kept the bonfires blazing
and the fireworks illuminated the country for
miles around, Lord William, fatigued as he yas
by his journey, mounted his horse and rode out,
and wherever he appeared, loud were the shouts
with wnich they welcomed him to the halls oi his
fathers. . . ,
The next day was as fair a one as ever issued
from the gates of Heaven. May day is always a
joyful one, but on this occasion, the arrival of the
Lord of the Manor, and the possession ot such a
lovely queen made it doubly so, all was joy and les
tivity : I pass over the earlier events of the day, un
til Lord William rode up, accompanied by two of
ihe neighboring gentry, and followed by their
orooms. We had now an oppor/unity ol obser
ving what the obscurity of the proceeding evc-
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 18-50.
ning had shrouded from our sight—the extreme
beauty of his features, and the noble manliness
ol his figure; he sat his high mettled horse with
ease and grace, and as it curvetted along, he had
a smile and a bow for every 7 one. At length he
approached the spot where Alice stood, arraved
in ail her loveliness, her features animated, and her
eyes flashing with excitement. Dismounting and
throwing the bridle to the groom, Lord Madely
advanced, the crowd respectfully dropping to the
right and left, until theyMeft a lane, at the head of
which stood Alice. As soon as he saw her his
ey r es sparkled brightly 7 , and his features assumed
an expression of the most lively and pleased sur
prise. Alice colored deeply, dropped her eyes ;
not so the lord, who still advancing, fixed his on
her with a bold and passionate stare: at length
he reached the spot where she stood, and taking
her fair little hand in his, he pressed his lips to
it; then dropping on his knee, but still retaining
her hand :
“Fair queen,” said he in the softest voice “deign
to receive among your subjects, one who though
he has travelled in many lands, has never seen
maid, wife or widow, whose beauty may be in
any way compared to thine. Take me as your
subject, not only as owing fealty to the queen of
May ; but also as being sworn vassal to the queen
of grace and beauty!”
Nothing could surpass the ease and elegance
with which this was said; Allice overwhelmed
with confusion could only stammer a few unmean
ing words, while he rising, kissed her hand once
more, and vaulting lightly in his saddle, gal
lopped from the ground. Loud were the accla
mations from the crowd ; as for me, I trembled.
Well Sir, time passed on, and the young Lord
was often seen riding along the path that led to
the widow’s cottage ; he would be received re
spectfully and kindly, and would converse with
Esther on the affairs of the neighbors ; and would
seem to participate with them in their joys and
in their sorrows ; in fact, he appeared to be in
every respect, a kind and considerate Landlord.
On these occasions, Alice would sit by with down
cast eyes, engaged with her sewing or knitting;
and though the young lord spoke to her but seldom,
many were the pasaionate glances he covertly di
rected towards her. And in lime, “ foul whisper
ings went abroad,” aud Aliee’s name was disgrace
fully spoken in the same breath with Lord Wil
liams’ ; and the roses turned white on her cheek,
and her head was bowed, and often, very, very
often she left the room, that Esther and Harry
might not see the tears she could not restrain.
As is usual in these cases, mother and brother
and Willie Armstrong, the more than brother,
were the last to hear these reports. At length one
bright moonlight evening, they were hinted in the
presence of Harry ; the indignant brother struck
down the man who dared to hint such disgrace
towards the sister he adored ; and then the changed
manner of that sister came to his mind like a
flash of lightning, searing brain and heart, and
frenzied he turned and sped home as it on the
wings of the wind.
The moon- was shining brightly, when Harry
Lee reached the brook that flowed by the cottage,
and there lying on the bank was a female figure,
weeping bitterly.
“Alice,” cried Henry, “what means these tears ?
what are these reports that I hear? Why have
you become so changed of late ? oh God! oh
God ! can they be true ?”
Alice at the approach of her brother had sprung
to her feet, and now gazed up on his haggard fea
tures, while the blood went and came to her cheeks
in quick succession.
“Oh Harry dear !” she sobbed, listen, listen
to me: I have been guilty of deceit towards
mother and you, but ’tis not so bad as you think;
never, no never, did an impure thought enter my
mind!”
“ Bless you ! bless you for that my sister,”
sobbed Harry, and taking her in his arms, she
nestled her head in his bosom, and brother and
sister mingled their tears togother. And then as
a mother takes a weeping child to her bosom,
and soothes and caresses it, so did he soothe and
console her, pressing her ever closer and closer
to his heart, as if wishing to hide and shield her
from the obloquy of a jeering and heartless world.
The first storm of agony was over, and the tide
of almost supernatural affection, which he cher
ished towards her, came rushing back to his heart.
“ Tell me all Alice, conceal nothing; am I not
vour brother? and can y 7 ou doubt a brothers
love?” , ,
And then with the tears quick rolling down her
cheeks, and with many a sob, she told the story
of her wrong : how the Lord had woo’d her ;
had asked her to marry him ; and how she, judg
ing his love from her own, had consented that the
iriarriage should be private and concealed, for
reasons that he had said were powerful; and how
waking from her dream ot happiness, she found
the contract was a forgery, and the marriage n
farce. And now Harry,” said she pressing clo
ser to him, “you will not cast me oil*'?”
“Cast you off, my sisterV” said Harry mourn
fully, “cast you off ? oh no, no, why you are as
pure as any angel in Heaven, and curses on him,
who says otherwise !” and he bowed his head
and kissed her.
“Oh Sir, it was a wicked and a cruel deed, was
it not? for a high born noble to act thus towards
a poor girl.”
There was so much agony and distress in his
voice, that I looked at him in amazement. The
expression of the face, lately so calm, had entire
ly changed, and the flushed cheek, quivering lip,
and flashing eye, plainly showed the burning
indignation that was struggling to find utterance.
“ Pardon me,” said he, observing my surprise,
“I have allowed my feelings to overcome my
judgement. But if you knew her as well as 1
did, you would not wonder at it.”
“It was a very wicked and infamous act,” 1
answered, “ and one that ought to brand his name
with lasting dishonor; but proceed with your
story.”
lie bowed, but still remained silent, evidently
striving to subdue his agitation ; wo rode on in
silence, his emotion too great to allow words, and
I respecting that emotion too much to interrupt it.
At length dashing from his eyes, the tears that had
gathered there, he continued:
“ Henry arose, and gently putting aside his sis
ter, was departing, when starting to her feet she
threw her arms around him, and sobbing as if her
heart would break —‘Oh Harry !’ said she, 4 harm
him not, harm him not; for notwithstanding that
he has treated me thus, I love him more than all
on earth ; you will kill me if you harm him.’
He turned qucklj and sternly towards her and
seemed about to answer harshly, then checking
himself he asked, “ What did lie say when he—
he discarded you ? ” and Henry laughed, but it
was a bitter and fearful laugh, “ answer truly
Alice, you have never yet lied, do not so at this
time.”
She hesitated, and while the blood rose to her
face and neck in a crimson tide, answered—“bo
said ’twas an honor to us that he had ever noticed
me.”
“ There,” cried Henry, clasping his hands
wildly above his head “then may God judge be
tween him and me ! ” and ere the terror stricken
sister could attempt to detain him, he was gone.
The halls of Madely Manor re-echoed with
sounds of mirth and revelry, its noble lord was
canvassing the borough, and all that was nobio
and lofty in the neighborhood had met to ensure
him their support. The long tables in the oak
wainscoated hall glistened with plate and glass,
and dainty was the fare and rich the wine that
was prepared for the numerous company who sat
around the board, and among whom sat Willie
Armstrong, all unconscious of the terrible blow
that awaited him. At the head of the table sat
Lord William dispensing hospitality with the
pleasing smile and courteous manner that was nat
ural to him. Quickly flowed the wine and loud
was the light laugh and the merry jest. At length
Lord William, who had drunk very freely, rose
to his feet, and holding on high a goblet brimming
with wine, thus spoke :
“ Gentlemen and friends, all, let me return
thee thanks for the warm friendship and ready
support you have offered to me ; believe me, I feci
it deeply, and it is also a matter of deep gratifi
cation to me to see around my board so many of
the friends of my boyhood. The cause in which
you so kindly offer your support goes on bravely,
my tenants love me, my friends respect me, my
estate is unencumbered nor do I owe any man
any debt.”
“ You do ! ” said a stern, deep voice, and Harry
Lee advanced up the hall with folded arms and
firm step. His hair was dishevelled and his face
deadly pale, except where on each cheek burnt a
deep red spot. He advanced until he stood op
posite Lord William, and fixed upon him his eyes,
in which flamed a fierce and lurid fire, the expres
sion of his features was wild and fearful in the
extreme. “You do,” he continued, “you owe
me a debt Lord Madely that you cannot satisfy,
and I am come to demand payment.” Lord
Madely turned livid and grasped a decanter, while
turning to the company Harry spoke rapidly and
vehemently, telling them all his wrongs and the
infamous conduct of their host, but- when he
came to the false marriage,all the lords and squires
who knew Alice right well and admired her, rose
from the table and retreated, with expressions of
abhorrence and disgust. “ Willie ! \\ illie !! ”
cried Harry, “ what do you here? know you not
’tis your Alice that he has wronged; our own,
your beautiful Alice, the light of your life and of
mine! ” But Willie moved not, he sat as if rest
of life, save when at times a low, and gasping sob
broke from him, that seemed to be tearing his
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