guipicancono.
From Chamborn' Journal.
LADY COURTHOPES TRAP
" There is a storm gathering over the
Beacon Hill, the air is heavy with thun
der. 'Surely, Richard, it were better even
now to let your journey rest until to-mor
row.
The tall, bronzed knight, standing
booted and spurred, with his hand upon
his horse's inane, turned to look in the
fair, anxious face of the lady by his side.
"And if the storm should come, do you
think, my sweet wife, that Dick Court
hope has never ridden through wind and
rain before, or that, Jim- fear of a wetting,
I could break my pledge to meet Philip
Orme this night at Chester ? No, no.—
Only let me find you watching for me
hero at noon to-morrow, with thus° same
pink cheeks and bright eyes, and I reek
little whether I ride in sunshine or in
shower. So, now, dear one, farewell, and
may God bless you ;" and' springing into
the saddle, the good knight waved a last
adieu, and trotted away down the long
avenue. •
His young wife's blue eyes followed
his retreating figure with a wistful gaze,
until he halted at the great iron gate, and
passing through, was hidden from her
view ; then, slowly turnimt, she remount
ed the steps that led to the door of Ash
urst; Manorhouse. The gloomy red brick
walls scented to Crown upon her as she
entered, tire stained glass window in the
hall threw a purple tint upon her thee,
and made it almost, ghastly, and the oak
floor gave back a hollow echo to her tread.
Just then, a dour at the further end of
the hall was softly opened, and Marston,
the old butler, advancA toward her.—
Old he was in service, fur he had
lived for more than thirty lung years at
Ashurst Manor, at first the page and
playfellow, the'it the confidential servant
and friend of his ouster, Sir Richard ;
yet nut old in years, fur he was under
fifty r bis black hair_ was still untouched
with gray, and there were few wrinkles
in his hard, keen thee. He stopped near
Lady Courthope, glanced quickly at her,
hesitated a moment and then said, in a
respectful but constrained tune: "Sure
ly, my lady, Sir Richard will not ride to
Chester on such a day as this ?"
The lady looked up as though surpris
ed at his addressing her. '• Yes," she
said, "he has just started. He laughs
at tire weather, but 1.--"
" There will he little - eause to laugh if
the storm mimes and the river is swol
len," Marston exclaimed abruptly. 'You
will see him back yet, toy lady, and that.
ere night."
" Nay, he roust needs he in Chester
this evening," Lady Courthope made:an
swer, as, stifling a sigh, she passed on to
the drawing-room
The butler looked after her. "'Sbe
would have us believe that she cares fur
him, Ibrsooth. Ile believes it. Ile has
only eyes and thoughts fur her; and old
frienda and old times are all forguttt n
now. Once he would have told me all
■bout this Chester journey, but now that
waxen dull hears all his plans, sod hardly
Coigns to speak of them to rue. But I
bays learned all I care to know—Sir
Richard must be in Chester th's night"
In the long, low drawing-room, the twi
light had already sot in, though it was
but four o'clock on a November afternoon ;
the-hogsfire -- hrd — burned t
heap of glowing faggots sh. d a weird light
on the mirrors and pictures on the wall,
while the high backed chairs and carved
tables cast strange, uncouth shadows all
around, as the lady 'nude her way to the
cushioned window scat, and gazed upon
the stormy sky. " lie' rides fast; his
horse is sure-footed ; the distance is not
great," murmured she to heraelf. "Why
is this dread upon me, this terrible fore
boding
of some cowing evil ?" She look
ed back into the darkening room, and
started as a half-burned log fell with a
crush upon the hearth. A longing came
over her to hear again her husband's blithe
voiee, to see his fond glance, to have him
there beside her ; and then gradually her
thoughts wandered away from this som
bre old mansion to another, far away at
Kensington, alive with gay, young voices,
smiling faces, and where her voice and
her face had, only eight months since,
been the gayest and the brightest ; for
she had been a cherished daughter of that
house until Sir Richard Court hope wooed
and won her, and brought her here to be
mistress of his Cheshire hunt°. Tenderly
she recalled to mind the young brothers
and sisters, the loving parents of her hap-
py maiden days, and wondered if they
yet missed her, and might, perhitps be
speaking of her even then ; till all at
once her fancy took another turn, and
she felt as though her fund remembrances
were treason to her absent hm-band, who
was far dearer to her than any of that
merry party. She would shake off this
strange sadness which had crept upon
her. With a sudden impulse she sprang
up, stirred the - glowing embers into a
blaze, and sitting down beside her harp
'deltoid, began a low, soft air ; then her
mood changed, and the full notes of some
martial air tang out into the room. Once
she paused when Marston entered, bear
ing the tall silver candlesticks, and asl,he
music died away, she heard the heating
of the rain against the casement, and the
howling of the wind among the.trees. A
minute she listened, and then her fingers
touched the keys again. " The storm
has come, my lady." It was Marston
who spoke She had thought hint gone,
but he was standing close beside her
chair. "Sir Richard can never crosB
Craven Ford to•night," he went on.
.4 What will ho do ?" and ehe looked
round with startled eyes
" Ile may make for home, but I fear,
my lady ; and had I your leave, I would
ride out to meet him with a lantern.—
The night is as black as pitch, and one
false stop by the roadside would be his
death." lle spoke law, and there was a
strange eagerness in his tone and in his
face.
" Go,- 9 pray ; go !" she exclainied, her
voice trembling with anxiety ; " aml'yit
=:!-tniaht you hot send Stephen iii your
stead 7" She . knew not why she asked
that question—she only knew that some
vague feelitig prompted it.
Marston's brow darkened. lie is a
stranger to the country, while I have lived
here from my child! ood. He does not
even know the road, while I have ridden
along it thousands of times by night and
day. But he is at your, will : my lady."
VOL. 63.
A. K. RaEEM, Editor & Proprietor
"Go yourself," she once more repeat
ed ; lose not a moment! /leaven send
you may be there before Sir Richard."
The man turned silently to obey her
orders, but as he reached the door, he
looked round, and for an instant his eye
met her's—only for an instant; but there
was something in that one glance so pe
culiar, so sinister, that she almost shud
dered. Ere she could recover her fast
shock, ere she could speak or think, be
was gone. What did it mean ? She had
long known that he bore her no good will,
that he regarded her as an intruder in
her hushand's house, and that he bitterly
resented the stern rebukes, and even
threats, with which his waster had visited
his occasional disrespect to her. She had
known this long, but 'never had his dis-
like for her been written so plainly in his
face as now.' (,`Mild lie be plotting harm ?
Should she follow hint and countermand
his going ? For thirty years Marston had
served Sir Richard faithfully—surely lie
would not now be false to him. That
cliff path might indeed be feared. but not
the old and trusted servant. So she wait
ed, till in less than half an hour she heard
his horse's hoofs crashing on the garden
walk. She did net hear something else;
she did nut hear his muttered war.-s, as
he glanced up at the lighted windows of
the drawing-room " She Would
stopped we had she dared, but she can
not step me now. There will be a heavy
reekmong this night fur the scorn she
has made Sir Richard heap upon toe,"
and his teeth was ground with somethim_ ,
like a curse.
Lady Courthope, sitting thoughtfully
beside the bright fire, lie, eyes fixed upon
the leaping flames, her hands lying idle
in her lap, was left. undisturbed till nearly
two hours later,_when Stephen came tu
tell her supper waited She asked him
as she rose if the storm still raged. "It
has passed, my lady, and the sky is now
clear." She ''went •to the window and
drew aside the curtain. The dark clouds
were gone, and in their stead tlie moon
shone bright on wood and hill. Marston's
journey would be needless ; Sir Richard
would be safe now. She heaved a deep
sigh of relief, and with a light step went
on her way to the supper•room.
The evening wore away; the great clock
over the stables had lung since struck
nine, and the hands were nearing ten,
when Lady Courthope, throwing a cover
over the embroidery that occupied her
since supper, retired to her own chamber
for the night. It was u large lofty room
in the left vying of the building, reroute
from the staircase, at the further end of
a long corridor, which opened by side
doors into several unused rooms. But
LI y,QAug bade l ielelivac.u„it.rather...tliaL.,
any other, for she k.iew her husband had
lived in it and loved it, and that lung ago
it had been his mother's room. The high
mantel-piece, with its curious carvings,
the ceiling, decorated with strange pic
tures of nymphs and Cupids, the antique
furniture, and the tall, canopied bedstead,
gave a sombre aspect to the chamber,
but to night the fire roared and crackled
on the hearth, and flashed upon the yel
ow damask draperies, and the candles
burning upon the dressing-table, lit every
corner. As Lady Courthope entered, her
maid came forward from a door on the
opposite side of the room, which led into
a small dressing-room.
" Have you been waiting long, Hes
ter?" the lady exclaimed, noting the
girl's weary eyes. " You look tired."
" I have just came in, my lady. Anne
and I have been in the work•room all the
evening, and it is that makes my head
ache so."
" Poor girl !" said her mistress, pity
ugly; "you have been more used"te
milking cows than stooping over needle
work. But cheer up, Hester, and it will
seem more easy in time. have the oth
ers gone to rest ? '
" All but Stephen, my lady; I heard
bin cro3s the hall just now."
"'Ell him he need not keep watch for
Sir Richard. Ile is, 1 trust, ere now,
safe in Chester. lie must have forded
the river while it was yet passable."
" Or if the stream were swollen, toy
lady, he had but to ride down to the old
stone bridge below father's house," the
girl said, quietly.
" The bridge heard of no bridge l'!
exclaimed Lady Courthope.
" "f is by the old Priory—a matter of
three miles around maybe; but Sir Rich
ard knows it well."
" And Marston said nothing about it,"
said her mistress, musingly.
" Ile said nothing of the ford," Hester
answered ; " he only said he was going
to ride, after Sir Richard."
" He has not come back ?" asked Lady
Courthupe, abruptly.
0 no, my lady ; he told us that if he
did not meet Sir Richard, he would stay
at' the ..Golden Ilorn till morning."
"I gave him no such leave;" and there
was surprise and resentment in the lady's
tone. A long sileime followed, While the
maid moved sBftly to and fro, assisting
her mistress to undress, till, as she, bro't
the taffeta dressing-goWn and velvet slip•
pers,.Lady Courthope said kindly : " that
Will do, I can brush my own hair for this
Right Now go, and sleep off your head
ache."
The maid lingered awhile, hut at a sec
ond bidding she withdrew, thankful to
be released The lady fejlowed to secure
the door; then returning, she drew an
armchair close to the fire. and leaning
back in it, began to unfastco,her shining
braids of hair. With her fingers moving
dreamily among. the golden tresses; as
they fell around her lovely face, She sat
thinking of many things. She thought
of her husband, who seemed closer Co . her
heart for that very-difference of age which
had made many marvel at the marriage;
ahe t4ou,ght of hie totyloi.l4ilulgetioo to- •
~~
wards her faults, of his almost fatherly
care of his sympathy in all her pains and
pleasures, and yet of the manly care and
respect with which ho treated her—of
the perfect confidence with which he, the
man of forty-five, showed to the wife more
than twenty yeaes younger than himself.
And then she pictured the coming years,
and the time when his hair should be
Trhite, and his now upright figure bent,
and when she in turn should show her
lore and gratitude by her unwearied care
—when she should forestall his every
wish, and make his declining age so hap
py, that he should never regret his youth:
and when, too—and her cheek flushed at
the thought— that young children, bear
ing in their faces a n' , Bled 1—
Akentss to
them both, might perchance be about
them, malting the house, so — quiet now,
ring with laughter from morn till night;
and as that picture rose before her, she
yearned to lay her head upon her hus
band's breast, and whisper it to him.
it Wad strange to be here far from him
If she could but leave this lonely, silent
room, and mount her horse, and gallop
through the darkness to that lone inn at
Chester. The vague dread was coming
back to her again The fire was dyin:r,
down, the room seemed darker, and a cold
chill crept over her frame. The dread
grew. The ivy brash upon her knee slid
down, and fell with a dull, heavy sound
upon the floor; she stooped hastily to
reach it, but as she raised her head, all
veiled by her long, drooping hair, she
saw, away by the window in the furthest
corner of the room, a bony hand grasping
the fringed edge of the damask curtain,
and a white, eager face peering from be
hind it, intently watching her. One in
stant—and the curtain !A again, softly,
silently, and that facc was gone, --lout-she
had seen it, and she knew it. Not six.
hours ago, that same look of hatred and
revenge had been turned upon her, and
with a sickening heart ti he recognized the
tierce eyes, the lowering brow, and knew
at last what that look meant. She did
not start or cry. Her pulses throbbed
wildly, her very blood v.eis chilled ; but
she sat on, calmb quiet] - She had
y, ce y.
trembled at the very thought of peril to
her husband, but now in her own feat ful
danger, she was brave and steadfast. tier
icy hand still toiled with her bright hair,
her eyes were bent vacantly upon the dy
ing embers, and there was no outward
sign of the tumult within ; and yet she
knew and unde.rstood all. Ma, stun .:as
there close by her. Ills night journey
had been Lut a feint to hide his loudly
purpose and screen himself. He had stn
len back in the darkness, and hidden
there to wait for her, and—murder her.
Anal—he- might-in her:---Here .a lone
in this locked room, how could she es
cape him ? If she fled, if she could even
gain the gallery outside, it would avail
her little. Long, long before she could
pass those deserted rooms, before her
voice could sumi»on any one to her aid
he would be upon her, hiti fingers at her
throat. And there came across her a
strange memory of how one Summer day
she had seen him standing on the garden
terrace twisting in his hand a piece of
rope—how he wound it round and round
until the strained fibres were stiff and
rigid, and how then his iron fingers were
bent for one more effort, and when the
last turn was given, the rope was left
hanging idly on his arm. A strange
thing to recall at such a time as this,
stranger still that she should almost shud
der in recalling it. What, if rising from
her chair, she were to go straight to that
window, and drawing back the curtain,
confront him there, and in her husband's,
in his master's name, and appeal to him
fur pity ? Ah, no ; that name from her
lips would but inflame his jealously and
hate. She raised her eyes, and they rest
ed on something bright and glittering,
something which just then seemed almost
a friend , for there above the chimney
piece, within reads of her hand, hung
her husband's rapier She might seize
it, and with one wild dash, stab her ene
my crc he could free himself from those
concealing folds ; but her woman's soul
shrank from that deed even in this her
dire extremity. In that upward glance,
another thought had conic into her mind.
—her dressing-room I The door stood
Open, not ten paces from her. Once lock
ed in there—but alas I there was neither
bolt nor bar, and the key turned on the
outside. Iler heart almost sank within
her. Already she seemed to hear stealthy
steps on the floor behind, around her, to
feel his hot breath upon her cheek, and
still she sat on quietly. Was there no
escape. for her ? Once ae - ,ain her eyes
fell upon the open door of the dressing
room.
There are moments of life when every come, aad she had no power to move or
power of the mind is unnaturally strain- cry. One moment more and she would
ed, and when ideas and plans which, at twat peace. But the moment bad passed
another time, might be the work of weary at id she still lived. Another moment,
hours, are formed in one short instant. and that cold pressure was gone. His
Such a moment had come to Lady Court. breath was no longer on her face, yet he
hope now. As she looked Ma the dress- was still there ; she felt him stirring;
ing-room. door and the key on the out- she knew that he was watching her.—
side, a sonic flashed across her niind, Long he watched, then, muttering, low
bringing back the life-blood to her cheek, "illy hand shakes ; I'll wait a while,"
sending fresh
_hope to her heart. if she he turned away. She heard him turn,
could but decoy him into that room—do• she heard his footsteps sloWly receding
coy him as she bad seen birds and dogs from the bed, but the sound brought no
decoyed by seine tempting bait. :ms relief ;_shc was past that; she had felt
come for his revenge, but, she 4,nows there the death pangs, and •she almost longed
is another passion strong in him, and that that the knife had done its Wnrk, and
passion is avarice. Often has she seen his' brought her release from that long tor
eyes brighten at the touch of gold; often ture; but the end had not come yet. He
has Sir Richard laughingly said that the was going to the dressing-room. Once,
one fault of - his old and faithful servant twice he stopped, as though listening,
was the love of money ; and now if through and then ho went on again ; and now he
that love sie can beguile him firs! to thewas moving something on the dressing.
dressing-room, she may yet besaved.-- The I
table. There was a faint rattle, a dead
part before her was hard. and perilous. but pease, then again (hat stealthy tread. She
she
,could tru=t herself to play it. She strove to open her eyes, but they seemed
knew , that if her nerve once failed, her sealed,,and it needed a contiurstve' e ff ort
doom Was 'sealed, but; the brave young to uneloSe th,,m. She click .uncleso ; them
heart - did . not quail. - Slowly and &gib- and she saw lihn.
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1863.
spoken for thone listening cars; and now
she must constrain her limbs to calm,
slow movements to bear out the deception.
She unlocked the cabinet, and from one
corner drew out a small satin-wood be:
—her jewel-box ; laying it on the floor
beside her, she stooped to arrange two
other boxes which she had displaced,
then fastening the cabinet, returned to
the dressing-table, and lined one of the
li g hted candlesticks. With the box in
one hond, and the candl,stick and keys
in the other, she advanced toward the
dressing•-room door. .Iti4t . As she reached
it, a board behind - - her creaked sharply
and suddenly, and her heart stood still
Was he following hei!", tempted too soon
by the costly prize Waa the t treat mo
ment come? all was again still and
quiet a: the ;gave. She. went on, on to
the further end of the long, narrow dreSS
ingroom, leaving the door still set wide
open. She put the jewel box and can
dlostiek upon the- table ; she stood where
her every movement might be seen from
the dark corner where he was hiding,
11 - fattier) mini:it:ming - tlfe - lids; title
out the various trays, and spread the
glittering trinkets all around her. One
by one she lifted them, holding them
close to the light, moving to and f'ro, :to
that rho precious stones would sparkle in
the blaze, and then carefully polishing
them put them back. For nearly half
an hour sh e s tood now trifling with -one,
and hen another, her fingers busied iu
rubbing and arranging, her ear strained
for any sound, her heart leaping as the
candle threw sudden shadows on the walls;
and still there was no miwcinent in the
dun 'chamber beyond,. She must return
there new, for ;he could stand no longer;
her knees would scarcely support her -, her
strength :. earned ebbing, mid that forced
coan•nosum was t..(t) to,Tinle to lest. For one
halt' i....i5t0,n4_44;411tn,ed brea,h,,
then with it weary sigh, she laid aside the
bracelet she was holding, and raising the
candle moved toward the bed-room. On
thy' t~iicsln~ttt a — stopTiedy - Te tretrt
step or two, and then sueo.ed to hesitate.
If she hail seen how at that moment the
hand behind the curtin was tightening
its grasp upon tire knife it held, and the
crouching loran was making: ready for a
spring—lf she had seen this, even her
courage might have tailed, but she dui
not see it, and she played out the play.
Murmuring in a low, steady tone : " Vu
matter for to-tlight,r she came on into
her chamber, leaving the jewels scattered
about on the table, arid the door standing
open. And now the trap was set, and
she might rest and watch.
Hastily extinguishing the lights, she
drew aside the bed curtains, and lay
down. There was a strange rep Use after
that long and fearful self-restraint in ly
ing motionless, iu the fitful firelight, her
aching limbs stretched out, her weary
head resting on the pillow—a strange re
pose, even though he was so near her.- 7
The minutes passed away, the deep tones
of the clock struck twelve, and still all
was quiet., save fur the click of the em
bers on the earth, and the distant bay
ing of dogs in the courtyard. With
closed eyes, drawing deep breath as though
asleep she lay listening. It seemed as if,
sine bed lain there many hours, %flied) at
last there was a faint stir in that corner.
lie was coming out now. She dared not
look or move, but she heard—she heard
the (lull fall of the curtain, the stealthy,
cautious fLetstel , s on the fluor. Was he
going to the dressing-room ? No—Heav
en help her—he was coming to the bed.
The steps cam.) on, nearer, nearer; some-,
thing brushed against the bed clothes,
then stopped close behind her. tier eyes
were closed, her breath still Caine through
her parted lips, but within that statue
like form there was a human soul pray
ing in mortal anguish fur pardon for her- 4
aelf, and comfort for her widowed hus
band. A pause—then another slight
movement. lie was bending over her;
he was leaning over the bed, then some.
thing cold and sharp was lightly laid
across her throat. The last pang had
Tils)Jr
erately she fastened up her hair, then
rising from her seat, threw fresh lo7s
upon the fire, and erozsing the room laid
her brush upon the dressing-table. Some
books were lyins , there; she took one of
them up, turned the leaves carelessly, and
throwing it down exclaimed in a low tone:
"Too tired to read, and yet not tired e
nough tu go to sleep ; I wish night were
over." She yawned wearily, waited a
moment, as though in doubt„ then mut
tered : "By the by, these emeralds," tGok
a bunch of keys from the table, and went
towards a small ebony cabinet-inlaid with
silver which stood near the fire-place
Her voice not fhltered. No tone
could have betrayed that she had seen the
crouching figure, , ind. that her words were
The room was very dark now, but by
the faint glimmer of the fire, she could
just discern the door-way of the dressing
room, and the figure standing within it.
The trap had taken—the jewels had lured
him. lie turned his head, and her lids
fell instantly, though she lay hidden in
the deep shadow of the heavy bedstead.—
When she looked ag.iin he was standing
where she stood an hour a!ro There
was a light in
,the dressing room, for he
held a bhizing match in his hand, and a
candle burned upon the table by his side
She could see him plainly now, his tall
ritiar, - • form, his long arms, but not his
face, for his back was turned toward her.
(lasting away the burned match, he bent
over the table and softly swept the jewels
toward him. This was her time. It
would be but the Mork of two minutes for
him do gather, all to , ather, and return to
her. She knew that in those two minutes
lay her only chance for which she had so
longed. But she seem ad spell hound
That. frightful moment when the steel
had tonohed her neck had paralyzed her
powers, and an unspeakable horror w a g
upon her. She struggled with that horror ;
she thonOlt, of her husband, of all to whom
her life was precious, and - with one in
ward prayer of strength, for courage,
;hipped noiselessly on to the floor. lie
had not heard - her; his' head was - still
V:ut; his lingers were still busy:with the 1
jewels.
Barefooted, her eyes still fixed upon his
figure, she stubs on, softly groping her way
to the , lttor,•passed the end of the bed by the
dry-mint:dab e ; she was close upon it now,
her hand was Stn•tehed out to grasp it--
teere were but two more steps to take, when
her loot struck with a dull sound ag..inst an
unnoticed stool, and she stumbled; she I.:-
covered herself instantly ; but, faint as the.-
noise. Wa•, his ear had caught the sound, and
he Furnird afid saw her. -- Por one nrrieWbt"
they stood face to f .ce gazing upon each
other, and then they both 'made for the door.
She was the nearer of the two, and she was
there first; she had hold of it; she pushed
it to, but we eke could turn the key, lus fin
gers were upon the other handle. It was a
struggle fur life and death, between a strong
man and a desper.tte woman. It could nut
last long. loch by inch the door was yield
ing to his pressure, when, gathering all her
strength for one last effort. with a power be
yond her own, she forced tt home. It-closed ;
the key rattled in the lock, and with a wild
hearse scream, she fell back upon the floor.
She was still conscious; she heard him beat
ing the strong oak panels in his Yalu fury;
Ai,. heard his passionate imirecations ; ni
ter awhile, other zombie toe, reached her ear
—hurrying feet in the gallery, wally voices
outside her door. That piercing cry had
ruusA every ideeper in the house, and they
were all gathered there, now, cid - treating ad
mittance ; she rose, she totter, d arrass the
room, and let them in ; and as they came
around her, gazing, horror-stricken, at her
w eves ; ber-b Imre-lied-1i pe r -siteltati ted -ouC
her tale, ever piloting to that inner door;
then laying her head tin Ilester's shoulder,
and nioaoieg out, "0, husband save me,"
swooned away.
It was still early on the morning of the
sell-same day, when Sir Itichard, followed
by a groom, galloped up the beach avenue.
The white autumn mist hung like a shroud
over the park, the gulden leaves fell in show
ers around him, Mt. be noted them not, as,
wdh spur and whip, he urged On his flagging
steed. Ills ruddy face was pale as death—
his teeth were set in dread anxiety, for he
knew all. They had sent to summon hint,
and since he had left Chester he had not
once tit awll rein. Ile was here at last, at
his own door, and throwing himself off his
exhausted horse, he flung the reins to his
servant, and sprang up the steps. No wife
tilts there to welcome him. All was still
and quiet. Without—the dewy grass, the
red sun struggling through the mist, and the
falling leaves Within— the dark old hall,
the servants sadly watching fur him, and
low sounds of weeping. He to .ked frinn one
to another, then his parch, d tongue slowly
formed the words: " Where is she ?" They
led him to the room s hers she was lying;
but whets he knelt beside her. and pressed
his quivering lips upon her feverish brow,
she only greeted with a wild laugh, and
gaiting at loin vacantly, began again tier
miserable, rambling talk of emeralds and
keys, lonely rooms and glittering knives.—
For awhile he lingered, looking down upon
her haggard fare, seldy stroking her tangled
hair, trien, unable to endure it longer, hur
ried away. They wanted hire elsewhere, for
Marston was still in the house, and had ask
ed to see him. 13ut Sir Richard shook his
head ; he dared not trust himself, just now,
to he near that mess ; let them carry him Mr
away front h.s sight. There was noting
fresh to Lear, for Marston had already told
all—how his first dis.ike had deepened into
deadly hatred, and how, finding that Sir
Richard would be absent, 1 1 had resolved
to wr , nk his hatred, enrich himself, and flee;
how, feigning that night journey, and lea,-
ing his horse some three miles off, he had
returned mice n to the house. Ile had
thought to do the deed, and then escaping
with what treasure he could find, be far on
his way to London before morning broke.
His horse was fleet; the servants thought
hint at Chester; and long before suspicion
could have turned upon him, he would have
been safe. Doggedly and dandy he spoke
of all this, and now bade them to bring Sir
Richard to hear what his neglect and harsh
ness had brought about. They carried him,
bound hand and foot, to Chester, where three
months later, dogged and as calm as ever,
he was sen,tenced to a life-long exile. Many
days went by, and still Sir Richard, ever
watching by his wife, met only those vacant
eyes, beard only that weary, ceaseless mut
ilating. At length she knew him—at length,
when weeks had come-and gone, she' cams
from her sick chamber, and leaning on his
arm, crept down to the drawing-room. She
had loft that room a brigla-haired bride,
radiant with health and beauty she entered.
it again graphaired and feeble, trembling
at , every sound, clinging to her husband's
aim for protection and support. And.when
year, had passed away, and the roses had
returned to her cheeks, the sparkle to her.
ryas—and when the fair children date had •
dreamed of, elnetering.round her knee,lobk l
ed up into her face, and MarvOled at those
silvery locks, thorn she would hash them with
fond words and tender kisses, but she never.
spoke to them about 'that night—never again
trod that gallery, never again entered that
room. ' •
•
Can a watch pitted with a raoond, band ba
called a steoond watch ?,
IJiL
TERMS:--$1,50 in Advance, or $2 within the year
gle help us ? Evry battle we might
gain ought to wring from the hearts
of southern n.en. We are just that, much
Nreuker—that much nearer our final ruin.
Atwitish and sorrow and desolation meet
us wherever we turn. The longet the
straggle the more of it.
" Don't let yourselvas be deceived with
the hope that the United States will aban
don the struggle. They can never do it.
They have toiled and spent too much to
see the solution ot' this problem, and not
foot up the figures. They scarcely feel
the war at home. Their cities are more
populous and thrifty to day than t ver.—
For every man that dies or gets killed in
battle, two immigrate to the country.
Their villages and towns, their fields and
country flourish as flesh as ever. They
could sink their armies to-day, and raise
new levies to crush us and never feel it.
Ilow is it with us ? The last man is in
field. half our territory over-run. Our
cities gone to wreck, peopled alone by the
aged, the lame and halt, and %vowel' and
children ! While deserted towns and
smoking ruins, and plantations abandoned
and laid waste, meet us on all sides. And
anarchy and ruin, disappointment and
discontent, lower-all over the land I
lie then shows there is no hope of
foreign intervention, as England will not
cow() to the rescue and Lows Napoleon
is only looking out for his own interests,
whichAreinctunptitible with those of the
South. With regard to Yortheiiidis:
sensions he holds the following striking
languago
" Have no hopes from a divided North.
It is on the surface. Scarcely goes to
the bottom of their politics, much less
shaking the great masses of their deter
mined people. Itemeinber too, that much
of the . outh is with them. There is no
division as far as fighting us is con
cerned. The mildest of thew simply
proposes peace by reconstruction. That
rejected they aro to press us with re
doubled energy. Let us not after all our
misfortunes and blunders, construe the
struggle between politicians for peace in
to sympathy fur ourselves. But how could
they propose peace? Who would bring
the message i To whom would it be de
livered ? And should the proposition be
made and rejected we are that much
worse off fur rt. We must propose peace,
fur we ought to know when we have got
enough of the thing.
Guerrilla warfare, be contends cannot,
in the nature of things accomplish much,
and generally injures those who engage
in it wore than those assailed by it
With regard to negro slavery he say's :
" 1 mini asked if Mr. Lincoln's emanci
pation proclamation will stand. If you
continue the struggle, certainly. Ile has
the physical force at his disposal to car
ry it out If you cease now you may
save all your hands, or compromise on
gradual emancipation. But let, 1 be
seech you, the negro no longer stand in
the way of the haPpiness and safety of
friends and kindred
The changes or sentiment upon this
question in the South have been curious.
Not many years since it was by no means
unusual for the press and public men, as
well as for the people generally in the
South, to concede that slavery was an
evil, and regret that it should ever have
existed; expressing, however, no dispo-
sition or desire to be rid of it. Yet, a
few years more—the demand for cotton
having increased, the price of negroes
having advanced, and . the agitation of the
slavery question having increased to viru
lence—finds us-defendinc , slavery as a
divine institution. Be Bow's Review,
and other Southern papers and periodi•
cats, with Senator Hammond of south
Carolina, were prominent in this defence
Their object was to educate the South
ern „mind to this belief. Such a course
had ( become vital to the existence of
slavery ; because, to concede that ne
gro slavery. was wrong, was virtually to
concede the - whole arguthent to the aboli
tionists. As the controversy warmed we
became sensitive. And so morbidly so
that the North miglit have threatened
with impunity to 'deprive us of horses or
other property : yet the whole South
would be ablaze if some fanatic took One
negie: • Such was' the public sentiment
South at the commencement of this most
, untotunate and bloody struggle. But
revelutions shuke up men's thoughts and
put-them in different channels. I have
recently talked with Southern slavehold-
ors from every. state. They, are tired , •of
negro .slavery,.and believe, they could
wake more clear money s.nd live more
A Repentant Voice From Ar-
kansas
Convictlon of A Rebel General that the
Rebellion is a failure-11e 001111301 M
Submission.
A pamphlet copy of the "Address of
Hon. E. W. Gantt, to the people of Ar
kansas," printed at Little Rock, contains
seine very important expressions. From
the address we learn that Mr. Gratt was
elected a member of Congress in 1860,
but never took his seat, having been an
earnest advocate of secession and until
recently, a Brigadier General in the rebel
army. On the 3d of July, he was taken
prisoner and since then has been within
the federal lines. Ile has visited all the
States in rebollimo and, is therefore well
informed upon, what lie writes. He re
views the early progress of the rebellion,
particularly in Arkansas, and is very bit
ter against Jefferson Davis, on account of
his heartless and blundering war policy
in that sem,ion, and contends that sub
mission to the federal government is not
dishonorable under the circumstances, and
cannot possibly be any worse in result
than their experience under rebel rule
Ile adds:
" But we are whipped—fairly beaten.
Our armicS are melting • and ruin ap
proaches us. Will continuing this strug-
peaceably without than with it. As for
the non-slave-holders of the South, I
honestly thought the struggle was for
him more than for his wealthy neighbor.
That to free the negro would reduce to
comparative slavery the poor white WWI.
I now regret that, instead of a war to sus
tain slavery, it had not been a struggle at
the ballot box to colonize it. This will
clearly be the next struggle.
'•
1 am of the opinion that, whether it
is a divine institution or not, negro. slave s
ry has accomplished its mission here. A.
great mission it had. A new and fertile
country had been discovered and must be
made useful. The necessities of man . -
kind pressed fur its speedy development.
Negro slavery was the instrument to ef- .
feet this It alone could open up the
fertile and miasmatic regions of the South
solving the problem of their utility,
which no theorists could have reached.—
It was the magician which suddlnly revo
lutionized the commerce of the .workl by
the solution of this problem: It peopled
and made opulent tho barren hills of New
England, and threw its powerful influ
ence across the Northwest. Standing as
a wall between the two sections, it caught
' and rolled northward the wealth and the
population of the Old World, a'sd held in
their places the restless adventurers of
New England, or turned them along the
gre“ praries and vallies of the West.—
Thus New England reached its climat,
and the Northwest was overgrown of its
age, while the South, with its negro la
borers, was sparsely settled and compara
tively poor. Thus slavery had done its
utmost for New England and the North
west, and was a weight upon the South.
It; at this point, its disappearance could
have clearly commenced, what untold
butlerings and sorrow might have been
avoided.
" Its existence had become incompat
ible with the existence of the Government.
For, while it had stood as a wall, damming
up the cm rent arid holding back the peo
ple and laborers of the North, it had, by
thus precluding free- intercourse between
the sections, produced a marked change
in their manners, customs and sentiments.
NO. 47
And the two sections were growing more
divergent every day. Thi@ wall or the
government one must give way. Tho
shock came which wis to settle the ques
tion. I thought that the Government
was divided, and negro slavery estah ,
fished forever. I erred. The govern ,
went was stronger than slavery. lit
unt_on. is certain . ;_but noli more certain
than the downfall of slaver - y. As I li - ave
said, the mission of the latter is accom
plished. And as his happiness must
always be subordinated to that of the
white man, he must, ere long, depart on ,
the foot prints of the red men, whose
mission being accomplished, is fast fading
from our midst.
" While I think the mission of th©
negro is accomplished here, 1 am clearly'
oh' the opinion that the time will conio
when civilization and learning shall light
up the dark abodes of the Pour hundred
million people i t n India, and when their
wants and necesSities will put the patient
and hardy negro to toiling and opening.
up the great valley of the fertile but
miasmatic Amazon. But such specula
tions arc out of place here.
" Ler, us, l'elluw citizens, endeavor to be
calm. Let us, look these new ideas and
our novel position squarely in the face.—
Wefeaght_fertezreslavery. We have
lost. W e way liaie ti do"iviflioutbt'.—
The inconvenience will bo great for
while. The loss heavy. This, however,
is already well nigh accomplished. Yet
behind this dark cloud is a silver lining.
If nut for us, at least for our children.—•
n the place of these bondsmen will come
an immense influx of people froui•all parts
world bringing with them their wealth,
arts and improvements, and lending their
talents and sinews to increase our aggre
gate wealth. Thrift and trade and com-•
won destiny will bind us together. Ma
chinery in the hills of Arkansas will
reverberate to the music of machinery in
New England, and the whir of Georgia
spindles will meet responsive echoes from
the slopes of the far off Pacific. Protect
ing tariffs, if needed, will stretch in their'
influence from the Lakes to the Uulf, and
brow ocean to ocean, bearing alike, at
last, equally upon Arkansian and Yer
nionter, and upon Georgian and Califor
nian. Di fferences of section and !senti
ment will wear away and be forgotten,
and the next generation be more homo
geneous and united than any since the days
of the lievolution: And the descendents
of these bloody times will read, with as
much pride and as little jealousy of theise
battles of their fathers, as the English
and Scotch decendents of the heroes of
Floded Yield read of their ancestral
achievements in the glowing lines of
Scott, or, as the descendents of highland
and lowland chiefs, allusions to their fa
thers' conflicts in the simple strains of
rustic Burns
" Let us live in hope, my grief-strick
en brothers, that the day is not far dis
tant, when Arkansas will raise from the
ashes of her desolation, to start on a path
of higher destiny than withner° slave
ry she ever could have reached; while
the reunited government; freed from this
cankering sore, will be more vigorous and
powerful, and more thrifty, opulent and
happy, than though the scourge of war
had never desolated her. fields or made
sorrowful her hearthstones !"
The desolation of the South is told in
the following truly touching language
" I have witnessed the desolation of
the Southern States from one end to the
other. This hopeless struggle but widens
it. Each day makes new graves, new or
phans and now mourners. Each hour
flings-into this dreadful whirlpool more of
wrecked hope, broken fortunes and an
guished hearts..
_The rich have mostly.
fallen. The poor have drunk deep of the
cup of 'sorrow, while surely, and not slow
ly, the tide of ruin, in its resistless surge,
sweeps towards the middle classes. A
few wore campaigns and they will form.
part of the general wreck. Each grave
and each tear, each wasted fortune and
broken heart, puts . us that much farther
off from the object of the struggle, and
that much further off from peace and hap.
piness." .
"Viewing It thus, the terrible question was
presented to me, as tO.whether lebould con
tinue my lot in an enterprise so fruitless and
so lull-of woe, and help . hold tbe masses of
the people on this ter. ible Da,
via, where only ruin awaits thent.E:or whoth,
CONCLUDED ON SECOND PAGE.