[ Home ] [ General John B ] [ Gen. Gordon Home ] [ Etowah ] [ CSA Survivors ] [ THE ASHES OF SOUTHERN HOMES ] [ Southern life during the war ] [ Henry Wirtz ] [ CSA Monument ]

Etowah

Etowah

A romance of the confederacy

by Francis Fontaine

Chapter 1

DIXIE.

The group of young ladies and gentlemen formed an attractive scene as they halted their foam-flecked horses one afternoon at the hospitable home of Judge Dearing in the little city of Etowah in a far Southern State.

That venerable gentleman sat on the piazza reading a newspaper, and with such interest that the young people had dismounted and were approaching the house ere he perceived them.

A light-hearted, silvery laugh greeted him as he arose to welcome them, and his daughter, a lovely brunette, introduced them, then added:

"Well, Papa, I have brought them at last--these travelers from a foreign land."

"I am delighted to have them with us, Julia; you must keep them here as long as you can," said her father as he cordially welcomed his daughter's guests.

"Why did you not take the carriage, Julia, and where are the trunks?" he asked.

"We preferred to surprise them, so Mr. Latané and I held a caucus, and he agreed to provide the horses if I would provide the riding skirts--and--we've had a glorious ride."

"Indeed, we have!" said one of her friends. "We crossed the frontier at a rattling gallop."

"And I expect to see Miss Julia arrested," said Latané,

"As a matter of fact, the bridge-keeper had a right to prevent your riding fast," said her father, "and you should not have galloped across the bridge."

"But he didn't do it," answered Julia, laughing, as she thought of the incident.

"I fear you have deeply offended him, Julia, and I will go down and see about it."

"It is not necessary, sir," said Latané; "I took the precaution of riding back, and, thinking that 'the end justified the means,' 'I lied like truth, but still most truly lied.' I told him that the animal was entirely beyond her control."

"And what did he say?" asked Judge Dearing.

"He said that he was glad to know it, and added that he had actually risked his own safety in order to shield the young lady."

"Did he say that?" said Julia. "Well, I shall tell him how very sorry I am that I was guilty of such unpardonable rudeness to a poor foreigner like himself."

"Why do you call him a foreigner?" asked one of the young ladies; "he looked just like the natives."

"Well, he is a native of that State, but this State is an independent sovereign country with an army--and all that--isn't it, Papa?"

"It is a lamentable fact, my young friends, and you must hurry to your rooms and dress for dinner. After dinner it will tire you, Julia, to supervise the illumination of the house. The 'Star of the West' has been fired upon, and the 'shot which was heard around the world' has gone forth to herald the birth of a new nation. It has been decided by the people generally that every pane of glass in the windows in

"Oh, we are to have a grand surprise party!" said one of the visitors. "How glad I am that we got here in time to participate in this spectacle. Will you not send word to father, that he may come in to see it also?"

"Certainly; do so, by all means, Julia," said her father.

Clara Leslie, with her father and brother and a young lady who had been at school with her in Geneva, Switzerland, where Colonel Leslie had lived for the past two years, had arrived home that day. Her father and brother had gone on to his plantation home, "Thronateeska," three miles distant from Etowah, which was not yet prepared for the reception of the young ladies, and therefore Julia Dearing had planned this sudden invitation to her cousin and her friend. The girls easily persuaded Colonel Leslie to give his assent, and thus the gay party arrived as Julia's guests.

Later Colonel Leslie and his son, Hugh, arrived just as the cannon sounded the signal for illuminating the city.

In an instant the houses gleamed with lights; the streets and squares became brilliant with bonfires and fire-works, which recalled to the returned tourists the famous Champs Elysées in Paris.

Pedestrians thronged the streets, and young men flung their Zouave caps, or hats adorned with cockades, high in the air.

Had it been in Paris, this day of hilarious revolution would have been ushered in with bloodshed, and hired claqueurs would have mounted the walls, and statues, and trees, and led the populace in the wild cries of "Vive l' Empereur!"

But in this distant Southern State there was no monarch

It seemed absolutely unanimous: the old and the young, the rich and the poor, the high and the humble, the slave and the free, all joined in the carnival of enthusiasm.

The little group had ascended to the top of the mansion, one of the largest and finest in the city, and had a fine view of the whole town.

"Oh, how beautiful it is!" said Clara Leslie, full of the enthusiasm of a girl of eighteen years. "Indeed, it is prettier than the illumination during the fêtes in Paris."

"Is it, really?" said Julia. "Oh! how I do long to visit foreign lands."

"Why, Miss Julia," said Latané, "you boasted this afternoon that you had visited a foreign land."

"And so we did when we crossed the river; but this is not like Europe, and, above all, it is not like Paris."

"C'est bien vrai, n'est ce pas, ma bien aimée?" said Hugh Leslie, as he looked down into the eyes of Nathalie Blanc, a lovely daughter of one of the oldest Creole families in New Orleans.

"Oui, Monsieur, décidément," she answered.

"What are you two talking about?" said Julia Dearing, who had just heard enough to know that they were speaking French.

"I said that Paris was the pupil of the eye of the world," said Hugh, not wishing to reveal what he had said.

"And I that it was second only to New Orleans; I am always loyal to my home," responded Miss Blanc.

"That reminds me what it is that makes this scene so brilliant and so attractive to me: it is because it beautifies

"'The dearest spot on earth to me is home,'" said Henry Latané, humming the air.

"Oh! do let us sing it," said Julia, and in a moment those clear young voices sang the familiar air with a zest that was so charming that Colonel Leslie and Judge Dearing paused to listen until it was finished before ascending the last flight of stairs to the top of the house. This house, by the way, was a typical Southern home. The front was ornamented by lofty Ionic columns that reached to the roof, and a broad veranda ran the length of the mansion. It contained fourteen large rooms, with wide halls on every floor, but the promenade on top of the house was the most unique and, in summer, the most delightful feature.

It was finished throughout in hard woods, and the whole lower floor could be converted into a ball-room by throwing back the massive mahogany sliding-doors.

Hardly had they ceased singing when a band of students appeared in the square below, and halted on the lawn which led from the residence of Judge Dearing to the river.

Then Clara Leslie and Nathalie Blanc heard for the first time the stirring strains of the Southern Marséillaise, and, ere they knew it, they had caught the refrain and were joining in the chorus:

In Dixie's land I'll take my stand
And live and die in Dixie.

Colonel Leslie turned and grasped the hand of the venerable Judge and said:

"I feel as if I, too, could throw my hat in the air."

Henry Latané, noticing this, said:

"Hugh, do you intend to enter the Military Institute again?"

"I don't know. Father and I were talking of it as we drove into town this evening. I think it more likely that I will enter the army," said Hugh. "And you, Latané, what are you going to do?"

"I shall return to the Institute in a few days. I am captain of Company B, you know, and should report promptly. But, I assure you, a few more evenings like this would spoil me as a cadet and induce me to join you and aid in making history."

"Who is captain of Company C?" asked Hugh.

"Barnum. Do you remember him?"

"Very well, and very favorably. A better fellow I never knew. But, if my memory is not at fault, he is a native of New York."

"You are correct, and I agree with you in your good opinion of him."

"How does he take this sort of thing?" said Hugh, waving his hand toward the enthusiastic groups in the square and in the streets below them.

"That I don't know; no one does. He is singularly reticent; but whatever he does, he does well, and his course as to the war will be animated by the loftiest sense of duty, I do not doubt.'

In a few moments the young people followed the elders and were gaily talking in the parlors.

To Colonel Leslie's remark Judge Dearing only replied by a profound bow, then led the way down to the library.

There the two old gentlemen sat and talked upon the impending issues, while ever and anon bright, merry laughter echoed from the parlors, and told how those young people were enjoying themselves without a care and without a sorrow.

"You do not seem to enter into the spirit of the occasion with your usual zest, Judge," remarked his guest.

"No, I am sorry to say that I cannot. I have sad forebodings as to the wisdom of Secession. Indeed, I am satisfied that it is a mistake, and that we should fight, if fight we must, within the Union. But to form a new government is full of peril. The United States will exhaust every resource before consenting to disunion. I fear a long and bloody war is before us."

"Have you any doubts as to the constitutional right of this State to secede?"

"Not the slightest as to this State or any of the original thirteen colonies. But Louisiana and Florida, for example, were bought and paid for by the government of the United States. They have only what the "Declaration of Independence" calls the inalienable right of revolution. Have you read Captain Maury's letter, written to the Grand Admiral of Russia, declining the home and princely salary offered him by Russia?"

"No; have you it?"

"Yes; I will read it to you. It was printed in this morning's paper, and gives the whole story as to the right of the States to secede."

"But before reading Captain Maury's opinion, let me say again that secession is a grievous mistake. What have we to gain by this proposed change of our relation to the general government?^1. We have had sixty years of Southern Presidents to their twenty-four.

"There have been eighteen Southern Judges of the Supreme Court, while the North has had but eleven. Although nearly four-fifths of the judicial business has arisen in the free States, yet a majority of the court has always been from the South. In choosing the presiding officer (pro tem.) of the Senate, we have had twenty-four and they eleven; Speakers of the House, we have had twenty-three and they twelve. Attorney-Generals, we have had fourteen while the North has had but five. Foreign Ministers, we have had eighty-six and they but fifty-four. We have had a majority of the higher officers of the army and navy.

"No, sir; I am not enthusiastic about it, but I regard it as a lamentable mistake. While I will go with my adopted State, which has honored me beyond my deserts, I must declare to you, as I have often done before, and as it has also been declared by the greatest and wisest statesmen and patriots of this and other lands, that the American government is the best and freest of all governments, the most equal in its rights, the most just in its decisions, the most lenient in its measures, and the most inspiring in its principles to elevate the race of men that the sun of heaven ever shone upon."

The judge then read the following letter: "

Richmond, Virginia, 1861.

" Admiral--Your letter reached me only a few days ago. It fills me with emotions. In it I am offered the hospitalities

"I have slept upon it. It is becoming that I should be candid and in a few words frankly state the circumstances by which I find myself surrounded.

"The State of Virginia gave me birth within her borders; among many friends, the nearest of kin and troops of excellent neighbors my children are planting their vine and fig-tree; on her green bosom are the graves of my fathers; the political whirlpool from which your kind forethought sought to rescue me has already drawn her into a fierce and bloody war.

"In 1778, when this State accepted the Federal Constitution and entered the American Union, she did so with the formal declaration that she reserved to herself the right to withdraw from it for cause, and resume those powers and attributes of sovereignty which she had never ceded away, but only delegated for certain definite and specific purposes.

"When the President-elect commenced to set at naught the very objects of the Constitution, and without the authority of law proceeded to issue his proclamation of the 15th

"She then straightway called upon her sons in the Federal service to retire therefrom and come to her relief.

"This call found me in the midst of those quiet, physical researches at the observatory in Washington, which I am now with so much delicacy of thought and goodness of heart invited to resume in Russia. Having been brought up in the school of 'State rights,' where we had for masters the greatest statesmen of America, and among them Mr. Madison, the wisest of them all, I could not and did not hesitate. I recognized this call, considered it mandatory, and formally renouncing all allegiance to the broken Union, hastened over to the south side of the Potomac, there to renew to fatherland those vows of fealty, service and devotion which the State of Virginia had permitted me to pledge to the Federal Union, so long only as by serving it I might serve her. Thus my sword has been tendered in her cause, and the tender has been accepted. Her soil is invaded; the enemy is actually at her gates, and here I am, contending, as the fathers of the Republic did, for the right of self-government, and those very principles for the maintenance of which Washington fought when this, his native State, was a Colony of Great Britain.

"The path of duty and honor is therefore plain. By following it with the devotion and loyalty of a true sailor I shall, I am persuaded, have the glorious and proud recompense that is contained in the 'well done' of the Grand Admiral of Russia and his noble companions in arms.

"When the invader is expelled, and as soon thereafter as the State will grant me leave, I promise myself the pleasure

Matthew F. Maury,
"Commander Confederate States Navy.

" To H. R. H., the Grand Duke Constantine, Grand Admiral
of Russia, St. Petersburg."

"That is the whole of it in a nut-shell," said Col. Leslie, as the Judge finished reading, "and the leading Republican editor in the United States, Horace Greeley, agrees with Captain Maury. I cut this out of the newspaper edited by Mr. Greeley, and it fits the reasoning of Commander Maury to a nicety." And then he read the following:

"If the cotton States shall become satisfied that they can do better out of the Union than in it, we insist on letting them go in peace.

"If the Declaration of Independence justifies the secession from the British empire of three millions of colonists in 1776, we do not see why it would not justify the secession of five millions of Southerners from the Federal Union in 1861.

"If the slave States, the cotton States or the Gulf States only choose to form an independent nation, they have a clear moral right to do so."

Chapter 2

The stand at the race course was thronged with lovely women and manly men. The afternoon was delightful, the warm atmosphere being tempered by the soft spring breezes that caressed the cheeks of maidens, whose color rivaled that of the rose. The bright blue skies were relieved by Alpine-like cumulus clouds, which, if they did not seem to have motion, would be perfect reproductions of the snow-clad peaks amid the Alps. The last race is finished, and at her waist hangs the trophy won by Nathalie Blanc from Hugh Leslie. A handkerchief, on which was embroidered an ideal flag of the new nation, designed and executed by Julia Dearing, with only three stars as yet, though space was left for a dozen more, was in the happy possession of Bruton Stewart as an evidence of his success in betting on Latané's blooded mare against his own thoroughbred, which Julia had championed. And a close observer might have seen the shy, sweet glance that Clara Leslie gave to Latané as he received from Julia's hand the little curl which she clipped from the wealth of hair--golden and luxuriant tresses that well could spare it--and which indicated that he had won the rarest prize of all. At least Latané so considered it, for he said:

"I shall have a locket made, which shall be the shrine for this"--

"Love-lock," interrupted Julia, with a mischievous smile.

"No; love-lock is purely a masculine appendage," said Stewart. "It was worn by men of fashion in the reign of Queen Elizabeth--worn on the forehead, not on the heart.

The bugles sounded for the "knights" to assemble for the tourney as this speech was made, and Hugh Leslie, Latané and Stewart, with a dozen other young gentlemen from various parts of the grand stand, bade a hasty adieu to their young lady friends, and descended to enter the lists.

A dozen young ladies might have been seen then to pin a ribbon, each of a different color, and each contrasting well with the dress selected for this occasion, so that when she arose, her "knight" might see the emblem which was to cheer him to victory. And now, below them, "pools" are being sold for the final race which is to succeed the tournament; for all the élite of the county is there, and no county in America, perhaps, thus distant from a large city, could boast of horses more famed for pedigree and swiftness than that of Etowah.

Each "knight" was required by the club rules to ride his own horse, and that the horse should be of a well-known pedigree. It was thus that they kept out of the lists, without giving offense, men who might be accomplished riders but were not of their "set." Thus in the middle ages the title of "knight" or "cavalier" was limited to persons of noble birth. A light mask was worn by each knight, and an imitation of the armor worn by the knights of old was usually worn so as to complete the disguise and render the spectacle more attractive. By their colors they were known by the wearers of the ribbons. The silver tones of a cornet announced their egress from the round-house, or place of assemblage, and the prancing steeds seemed eager for a race around the course rather than a tilt at the rings. It was indeed a pleasing spectacle as they rode forth and passed the

Stewart was recognized by his great stature and herculean strength, and the applause of the multitude greeted him as he rode forth. But his eyes were cast to where Julia Dearing sat, and he waved the handkerchief toward her as he saw her pin the ribbon to her dress.

"By George! Stewart," said Latané, "I believe you have won the fight already!"

"Not so, Latané; I received my 'walking papers' this morning, but I am going to win this contest, crown her as queen of beauty, and shake the dust of this State from my feet." There was no time for further conversation; the bugles sounded the charge, and away, one after another, the knights, each with lance well poised, dashed for the twenty consecutive rings.

Eighteen rings were on the lance held proudly aloft by Stewart, as he approached the beginning point, and cries of "Hurrah for the Halbardier!" resounded.

He was dressed like an ancient Halbardier, and his lance was very like the halbard, an ancient military weapon, consisting of a pole or shaft of wood, having a head armed with a steel point, with a cross-piece of steel.

He had won the choice of position, and being in the lead, had taken all the rings but two, which were taken by the third man on the list, a "knight" who bore the name "Unknown." Had not betting on the results of the tournament been prohibited by the rules of the club, a large amount would have been placed on the success of Stewart, now the general favorite, and well did Julia assume the rôle allotted to her, though in her heart she regretted that she would probably have to be publicly congratulated on being crowned

"Etowah Heights," his ancestral home, was the finest estate in the county, and Stewart was, in all respects, worthy her favorable consideration.

Her vanity was flattered by his persistent decision to appear to be her devoted admirer until he left with his troop for "the front," as the seat of probable war was already styled in Virginia.

The fourth knight chose as his device "The Talisman;" and none felt its significance more deeply than the young girl whose tiny lock of hair had in two hours caused him to change his costume and title that he might adapt himself to the incident.

"Count Robert, of Paris," "Ivanhoe," and other famous knights of the middle ages, were the prototypes selected by the various competitors. The knight who bore on his crest the word "Unknown" was Hugh Le-lie, who was thought to be still abroad, except by a few intimate friends, for in those days the arrival or departure of prominent people was not chronicled in the daily gazette; their names paraded side by side with that of the family baker or milliner, anxious to chronicle their departure for "the springs." Nor were the minute descriptions of the dresses of the belles at parties considered proper subjects for newspaper criticism. They were trained in a different social school, and were averse to "staleing their presence before the vulgar herd." The members of the club which supported the race-course and tournament festivals retained for their families the privilege accorded to the ancient cavaliers, that of occupying during the races or public sports the first fourteen tiers or rows of seats. The cavaliers of the middle ages alone

War was his profession; trade he could not indulge in without forfeiture of his social position and his feudal rights. The chase, tournaments and other sports, which developed manly strength and courteous courage, were his amusements. Tournaments were held under the auspices

Again the bugles sound, and with a grace that is marked by all, Latané leads. A shout that makes the stand tremble arises, as the graceful youth holds his lance aloft and it is seen that he has taken every ring.

One after one, they all essay again until the time for the final effort of the young giant, Stewart, arrives. For the second time he advances, and after him comes no other. Thirty-eight rings stand to the credit of Latané, for only two were taken by his predecessors in the last run, and he secured all the rest.

The tilt is between Latané and Stewart. In his excitement Stewart has let fall his mask, and few are as popular as he in the county. People rise on their feet, heads are bent forward and eyes are strained to see the champion make his final thrust. In unison with the crowd around them, our young friends also arose, and when it is seen that the most fearless equestrienne and the handsomest girl in the county, Miss Julia Dearing, wears his colors, the excitement increases, and murmurs of admiration are heard.

"What a handsome couple they will make!" is the remark.

Bruton Stewart, a proud smile upon his lips, rides forward,

In a moment he is off, and voices cry, "One!" "two!!" "three!!!" and so on, until the fifteenth ring is reached, as the people count as he secures each ring. Surely he will win! The sympathy of the spectators is with the superb young cavalry leader, who returned but a month ago from West Point, and already has organized a cavalry regiment and will leave next week for Virginia.

"Hurrah!" "Hurrah!" resounds on every side, as fast as he takes the rings.

Julia Dearing is excited as she never was before. Exulting in his success, she could not help admiring the superb, reckless, daring and graceful carriage of her champion, and she began to wonder if she had not made a mistake in rejecting so gallant a cavalier. But could she have seen the proud, scornful look upon his face, she would have realized that no effort could ever again make Bruton Stewart a suppliant for her favor.

It was the look of a man who scorned the very success he was achieving in securing these harmless rings; it was the look of a man who courts death in battle; it was the look of a herculean "Front de-Bœuf."

What means the sudden hush--then the scream as Julia sees the horse stumble, fall, and Bruton Stewart thrown headlong and senseless on the ground. The horse, in attempting to rise, leaped upon the prostrate form.

"Give him air! Don't crowd around him!" cried Latané, the first to reach his side, and a moment later Julia Dearing was also at his side.

Chapter 3

Fortunately Bruton Stewart had been only stunned, and, as no bones were broken, his robust constitution enabled him to re-join his command in a reasonable time.

While he could ill brook such a rejection as he had received, yet that social training which keeps in the foreground the tenets of chivalry bade him bear his disappointment without one word of censure or one inconsiderate expression concerning the innocent author of it. It made him a reckless, gallant soldier, eager to participate in the clash of arms which was now at hand. And sentiment, he vowed, should no more be indulged in by him.

Julia, as soon as she discovered that he was not seriously hurt, was the gayest of the trio, and no one could extort an expression showing that she felt any further interest in Bruton Stewart. A few days later, as they were promenading along the piazza, a negro youth dismounted at the gate and approached them. Taking off his hat and politely handing Julia a note, he said: "With Marse Henry's compliments, Miss Dearing." Opening and reading it, Julia exclaimed:

"It is an invitation to a moonlight picnic; what do you say, girls, shall we accept it?"

"By all means, if papa will consent that we shall do so," answered Clara Leslie.

"What is a moonlight picnic?" asked Nathalie Blanc. "You must pardon my ignorance, but half of my life, you know, has been passed abroad; and young girls are not

"What a horrid country it must be!" said Julia. "Now, I think, if you strike out of a girl's life the delightful pleasures of social life, as we know it here, from eighteen years until one is married, why, you would strike out the best part of it. A moonlight picnic is as far superior to any other picnic as a début party is to an ordinary party."

"Well, none of us, I believe, has had her début party as yet; and it seems to me"--

"Somewhat previous," suggested Julia, as Miss Blanc hesitated, "'putting the cart before the horse,' and so forth. Well, I dare say you are right. We will just leave it to papa and Colonel Leslie to decide." This was said just as the three girls approached the two old gentlemen, who were pleasantly conversing.

"Who is going, my daughter, and where is it to be?" asked Judge Dearing.

"Except Mr. Stewart, we are to have the same escorts that we had at the tournament. Mrs. Latané will be our chaperon, and it is to be given on the club-grounds to Magnolia Island."

"Then let them go, Colonel; they could not go under better auspices."

"It is astonishing," said Hugh Leslie to Nathalie Blanc, "how quickly one adapts himself to his surroundings. When in the beautiful Alps I wished the months to lengthen into years; when studying the treasures in the art galleries in Germany and Italy, I thought that I could spend years thus in that delightful study. And now, after two weeks' frolicking at home, I am a good American again, and all thoughts of study have been blotted out for the time being."

"That is true as to gentlemen, I suppose," replied Miss Blanc; "but I have lived so long in Europe--since my tenth year, in fact--that I cannot so easily conform to some social customs."

"For instance?" suggested Hugh.

"For instance, this ride by moonlight with you. Nothing would seem so shocking to dear Mademoiselle Lobereau, my teacher in Geneva. In no country in Europe could I do so without violating social ethics."

"The more's the pity," he replied. "We 'outside barbarians' are a law unto ourselves in social matters. But our people seem as well-bred as Europeans, and our women, as a rule, are more refined and modest."

"It all seems novel, strange and charming to me, of course, for I am with you; but in truth, Mr. Leslie, it don't seem exactly proper to me."

"Well, if you say so we will immediately return, but we will have to pass all the carriages, as our carriage is in the lead, and every one will surmise that we disapprove of a custom as innocent as it is agreeable. Besides, we have reached the bridge that leads to Magnolia Island, and--the night is glorious."

"Oh! no; I don't wish to be conspicuous or to seem to be hypercritical. It is only poor little I whom it affects so, and I suppose it is due to my education."

Hugh laughed--a rarely musical laugh was his, and clear as a lute. "I remember," said he, "the espionage that your teacher used to keep over your movements, and the difficulty I had in securing even a momentary chat with you alone in the parlor at your school in Geneva. If it had not been for Clara's diplomacy, I don't believe that I ever would have had an opportunity to tell you how completely you had won my

"Well, I think you have succeeded, for this moonlight drive is--"

"Delicious," he interrupted, and just then the carriage stopped, the well-dressed negro servant threw open the door, and they descended at the pavilion.

Rapidly other carriages followed until a hundred people were present.

The moonlight picnic resembled the ordinary evening parties, except that dancing was indulged Index the open air on a platform built for the occasion, which was as smooth and as even as any ball-room floor need be.

"What large building is that up the avenue, Mr. Leslie?"

"That is our club-house; what the Germans call conversationhaus at Baden-Baden."

"I hope it is not modeled after that place."

"Oh! no; there are no roulette tables or rouge-et-noir tables, and no gambling of any kind is permitted on this island. Would you like to promenade?"

"Yes, if you please. This is delightful, Mr. Leslie. I did not expect to see so gay a scene; it is more Parisian than American, is it not?"

"No, I can't say that; but the island is the property of the club, and it combines many advantages."

Along the promenades they passed and re-passed many happy couples who seemed as appreciative as they were.

It was indeed a lovely scene. The island seemed a pyramid of vegetation at a distance, the effect of the large white magnolia flowers amid green foliage being exceptionally striking.

They ascended terrace after terrace, passed through a grove

"Why, these are tropical trees, are they not? How do they protect them in winter?"

"Just as they do at the Isola Bella in the Lago Maggiore," he answered; "stoves are heated beneath them; but orange trees grow here naturally. We have made the Isola Bella our model in adorning this island."

As they turned to view the scene below them the Chinese lanterns were lighted along the promenades, and pine knot fires, on stands erected for the purpose, illuminated the avenues.

"The glory of this isle is in its fountains," he added; "they embellish it on every hand."

"It is beautiful! beautiful!" she answered.

"I quite agree with you," said Hugh, "and with the writer, Matthews, who pronounces it 'a magic creation of labor and taste--a fairy land which might have served as a model for the Garden of Calypso.'"

They walked in silence for a few moments; then he said:

"There must be something peculiarly exhilarating in dancing au clair de lune."

"Why do you say that?" she replied.

"Look at Latan and Miss Julia Dearing and you will see why the word "lunatic" was invented. It is derived from luna, the moon, and if Latané is not 'moon-struck,' then I'm a Dutchman."

"What an idea! I had never thought of the derivation, but is it really true?"

"Yes, the ancients gave the name lunatic to every one who submits to the influence of the moon; and I repeat, Latané

"And I say," she replied, "that Mr. Latané is not in love with Julia, but is in love with Clara Leslie."

"Is that so?" Why, I never suspected that."

"Where have your eyes been these past two weeks! It is as plain as daylight."

"To the best of my knowledge they have been concentrated upon the most beautiful and lovable vision on earth, carissima mia; that is as plain as moonlight," he answered, looking down into her face, which was now blushing with happiness.

"Really, Nathalie," he continued, "when you are near I have not eyes even for my sweet, gentle sister, whom I love next to yourself."

A smile inexpressibly confiding rewarded this speech. Then she said:

"Do you know, I hope Clara will learn to reciprocate Mr. Latané's attachment, do not you?"

"I can't say that I wish any man to steal her affections from us. But I will say that Henry Latané comes nearer being my ideal of a gentleman than any man of my acquaintance. Yes, if Clara loved him, I would most assuredly approve of an engagement. I am glad that Bruton Stewart is not here to-night," he added.

"Why? It seems to me that his presence is the one thing lacking to make this a perfect evening. Julia has seemed to me to be a little distrait all the evening, and I have thought it must be owing to the absence of that handsome cavalry officer."

"You don't know my cousin well yet, and you can hardly know Bruton Stewart if you think that either of them would

"Was he severely hurt?"

"By Julia, yes; by his horse, no. She rejected him the morning of the day he was thrown from his horse, and he and she are, beyond doubt, the two proudest people I have ever known."

"Has he entirely recovered?"

"From the fall, yes; from the shock to his amour-propre, no; and I don't think he ever will forgive her."

"Forgive her? Why what crime has she committed? How can Mr. Stewart have anything to forgive?"

"He feels that she flirted with him and he has been famous at West Point as the greatest 'catch' in the cadet corps there. Many, many scheming mammas, it is said, have sought the acquaintance of the handsomest man in the United States Military Academy, and he could have married one great heiress and charming girl, I know."

"Then you and Mr. Stewart have been intimate friends?"

"Yes, and are so still, though I have never had many intimates."

"And you don't like him now?"

"On the contrary, I like and admire him more than I ever did. He is the soul of honor, but he would not make Miss Julia happy."

"Why? It seems to me if a girl loves truly she cannot help being happy."

He rewarded this speech with a gentle pressure of the hand that rested on his arm and a look that spoke volumes.

"Yes, it is a peculiarly blessed arrangement by which providence blinds the sweetest of women to the most glaring faults of the men whom they love. But Bruton Stewart is

"And Julia's is not," interrupted his fiancee; "she is the most generous and the most unselfish girl I ever knew."

"Granted; but nature made her a coquette, and she may try ever so much to be otherwise, and she can't help attracting admiration. Now, to see another man giving her society a decided preference, and evincing the admiration which she so generally excites, would be the gall of wormwood to my jealous friend, Stewart, and he would be sure to do something rash."

"That would be very trying to one's nerves; very provoking," she answered.

"But you don't think he would fight a duel about her, do you?"

"Certainly, as quickly as the dropping of a hat if he thought there was any occasion for it. But that is not likely, as he left yesterday to join his regiment in Virginia; and I believe he went a week before the appointed time, to avoid attending this picnic, that he might not be thrown in her presence again."

Gay groups were chatting here and there while the band played enlivening airs, and occasionally a couple would take their places on the platform and join the waltzers there. The platform was not covered, and they danced by the light of the moon. Indeed, there were no other lights except the pine-knot fires along the main avenue and the Chinese lanterns suspended from the branches of the trees along the more secluded paths. And now the last hour was approaching. Clara Leslie's musical talent was known to be highly cultivated, and she was asked to sing a song composed by one of the club in honor of the place selected for their clubhouse

The moving clouds with mantle gray
Float peacefully, onward, away;
And 'neath thy surface, flashing bright,
Gleam stars like diamonds of the night.
Flow, rio, flow! away! away!
Haste onward to the rolling sea!
 

Behold the sheen from fleecy fold
Flash in the stream like wan of gold,
And 'joy the moonbeam's dancing quiver,
Gilding the wavelets of the river;
Flow, rio, flow! away! away!
Roll onward to the deep blue sea.
 

The earth is covered o'er with green,
And moonlit sky is soft, serene,
Where countless stars with silvery light
Kindle the pathless dome of night;
Flow, rio, flow! away! away!
Mingle thy currents with the sea.
 

The great Magnolia's flowers glow
To-night, like lilies, white as snow;
The breeze is sweet with perfumes rare
That laden this soft southern air.
Would, would that I could ever view
Thy dimpled stream--rio, adieu!
 

The guests crowded around to congratulate the young musician, who had acquitted herself remarkably well.

"Clara, I declare I am proud of you!" said Nathalie Blanc.

"And I will echo Miss Nathalie's speech," said her brother.

"I envy you your success, and am so glad that you came," said Julia, as she pressed her cousin's hand affectionately.

But Latané was not to be seen; after the congratulations were over, however, he was seen coming slowly from the spring, his mother being his companion. He reached the group just as Nathalie Blanc said: "Now, Julia, I have a favor to ask which I know will shock you--I am amazed at myself for asking it--but--is the author of that song present?"

Julia, looking at the group of gentlemen in the vicinity, after a pause answered: "Yes, shall I present him?"

"Yes; that is the request I intended to make."

"Mr. Latané," said Julia, "let me introduce to you Miss Nathalie Blanc, who requests a second introduction."

"Indeed!" said Miss Blanc. "Did you compose that song? I congratulate you and the club," she said, with unfeigned enthusiasm. "But, indeed, you are the last person I should have suspected of poetic accomplishment."

It was evident that Clara Leslie was equally surprised and equally pleased to learn that her escort had composed the song. Was it prophetic of good or evil that such an unlooked-for circumstance should have happened? She had learned the song the week before, and had done so at the suggestion of another member of the club, whose scholarly attainments were generally recognized, and, in common with others, she thought that he was the author. He sang exquisitely, but he had none of the dashing spirit of adventure that seemed to characterize Latané. He was not at the Island on this evening and, hence, Clara felt freer than she would have done had the supposed author been present. The glance of reproof which Latané gave to Julia Dearing was softened to an approving smile as he saw the radiant face of Clara Leslie.

While no further reference was made to the incident, there seemed between these two a tacit understanding which needed no words to interpret. A half hour later the party returned to the city.

The river in places was broad and almost as placid as a lake, and then the many islands and the rocks jutting out from the stream, narrowed it until it became a rushing flood of waters, casting high the white spray. The moon lighted the scene all the way, for the road through the forest ran alongside or above the river until it reached Etowah. This beautiful drive revealed a series of lovely scenes, each as charming as a landscape of Claude Lorraine; and the joyous spirits that enlivened the unbroken forest with that essence of conversation, "small talk," were unconscious of any impropriety in thus attending this fête champétre. The woods were fragrant with flowers, and here and there the white-flowered "dog-wood" clusters seemed in the moonlight like figures created by the wand of enchantment. And the silence of the streets was enlivened by merry voices as they drove through the city to Judge Dearing's residence

Chapter 4

In the stately mansion at Chestatee might be seen the family chart which traced the lineage of the family without a break in the line for six centuries. The most noted among Henry Latané's early ancestors was Jacques de Latané, who was martyred A. D. 1563.

The family chronicles state that this Jacques de Latané was born in the Province of Maine, near the borders of Normandy, in the year 1500. As soon as he was old enough to bear arms, his father procured him a commission in the household of the king, Francis I., in what was then called "Les Ordonnances du Roi." He retained his command, not only to the end of the reign of Francis I., but during the reigns of Henry II., Francis II. and until the second year of Charles IX., when he voluntarily resigned. He had become a convert to Protestantism on the first preaching of the reformed religion in France in 1535. His influence with the king gave him the means of showing kindness to his Protestant brethren, and he frequently shielded them from oppression. He was, therefore, much beloved by his brother officers, by the men under his command and by the tenantry on his estate.

He was a witness to the horrible persecutions to which the Huguenots were subjected between the years 1534 and 1563, and had participated in their struggles until, the Constable Montmorency being a prisoner and the Duke of Guise slain, favorable terms were granted to the Huguenot leader, Coligny.

Believing himself and the Huguenots protected by this Edict of Pacification in 1562, he retired to his paternal estates in Maine to end his days in peace. But his elevated position and his staunch adherence to the new reformed faith made him a marked man, and it was judged expedient to get rid of such a leader.

In the year 1563 a number of ruffians were dispatched from the city of Le Maus to attack his house at night. He was taken by surprise, dragged out of his house and his throat cut.

Thus the blood of martyrs flowed in the veins of young Henry de Latané, who looked like a worthy scion of noble stock.

The earliest days of the "Old Dominion" found a de Latané on the staff of Lord Spottswood when he discovered the valley of Virginia, in commemoration of which event he created the Tramontane Order,^1. and made Lieutenant Henry de Latané a "Knight of the Golden Horse-Shoe." Since the year 1713, the de Latané family had been in Virginia, John

In France, under the ancien régime, an individual of noble family could not engage in trade or the mechanic arts without forfeiting his claim to nobility. Hence, the de Latané family, being forced by confiscation and exile to earn their living, when they became citizens of Virginia ceased to use the prefix "de," the indication of the ancient nobility of the family.

No lawyer in the State had a more brilliant future before him than did the father of Henry Latané when he was killed leading his regiment in the charge at Cherubusco, Mexico. He displayed conspicuous gallantry at San Antonio, Cherubusco, Molino del Rey and the City of Mexico. At Contreras he "behaved in the handsomest manner," in the language of the official report. At Cherubusco he fell mortally wounded.

Julia Dearing was Clara Leslie's first cousin, her deceased mother being Julia's aunt. She was also distantly connected with the Latané family. Her father, Judge Dearing, had been for many years the Judge of the United States Court, and was a Pennsylvanian by birth, having come to his adopted State in early life. His grand-father had been the first President of the State University, and his father was a prominent officer in the United States Army during his life and until his death. Hence, the very conservative opinions which he entertained

Colonel Leslie's grand-father had received his patent to the estate on which he lived from King George of England. Its Indian name had been given to it in commemoration of the Indian maiden, "Thronateeska," who took the fatal leap from the precipitous bluff into the rapids below with her lover rather than see him burned at the stake by her irate father, who had forbidden their union. The locality is now called "Lover's Leap." In like manner, the name of the chief, her father, was given to the adjoining estate, owned by the mother of Henry Latané, and known as Chestatee.

The falls that beautified the Etowah river in front of these two fine estates recalled to the returned tourists the falls of the Sallenche in the Canton Valais in Switzerland, while the two mansions in the lovely valley were surrounded by beautiful grounds ornamented with flowers, rare plants, artificial lakes, fish ponds and parks for deer.

One of the pre-historic mounds that extend from Ohio and Kentucky to Mexico--relics of the unknown race which first peopled this continent--overlooked the river at Thronateeska, and on its summit was a fountain, which was watered from the upper waters of a tributary stream.

These young people had wealth, the highest social position in the land, delightful homes, cultured society--all, in short, that makes life most desirable. Colonel Leslie alone owned five hundred negro slaves, inherited from his father. These negroes were distributed on a half dozen plantations. His income was princely and his generosity was proverbial. Judge Dearing had always refused to buy or sell a slave, and hence, had never been a slave-owner. But the servants

"He was bought and sold, and treated as an ordinary article of merchandise and traffic whenever a profit could be made out of it."

Such were the words of the Chief Justice in support of the conclusions of law of the highest judicial tribunal of the land at the time of which we write.

Nearly one-half of the population of the South were negro slaves. If slave-holders were brutal, as political agitators charged, there was a servile foe in their rear far more to be dreaded than any enemy in the front. Yet in those distant plantation homes the gentle mistress, with her young children whose fathers and brothers were in the Confederate army, hundreds of miles distant, felt no terror amid the hundreds of slaves around them. The white population of the United States was eight times as numerous as that of the seceding States. The word "slave" enlisted public sentiment throughout the civilized world against them. Capable of being distorted into the most hideous of meanings, the word "slave" proved a more terrible foe than any which confronted their armed soldiery. But now, like a prairie fire, the war spirit had swept over the States, carrying into the ranks of Confederate volunteers the old and the young, the rich and the poor.

And in ten thousand homes, delicate, refined gentlewomen with their little children lived amid their negro slaves, protected by the kinship of humanity.

Notes

• 1. [Lord Spottsword, during his expedition across the Blue Ridge, instituted the order known as "The Tramontane Order." The badge of this order was a golden horse-shoe. See Dr. Slaughter's history of St. Mark's Parish, Virginia. It is a historic fact that the first party of white men who ever crossed the Blue Ridge were these "knights of the golden horse-shoe," and that they passed through what is now known as the Swift Run Gap. This highway was opened by order of King George III. in 1764. See Acts of the Assembly of the colony of Virginia.

Chapter 5

But a month before Henry Latané had written the following sophomoric article for the college magazine:

"FOR THE COLLEGIAN."

One cannot help wondering as to his prospective wife. Have I ever seen her? Who is she? Where is she?

Have I ever talked with her, or is she still hidden from me by the impenetrable and impalpable future? Mystery of mysteries, our unwedded fate! Which one of my acquaintances; what plan of mine; what train of thought is to lead me to her?

Or will it be no friend, no plan, no thought, but only the silent workings of those strange things called accidents? Strange! that of all the millions that people this earth we two are so surely to find each other, though now so utterly ignorant of each other's existence. We are approaching now by an inevitable fate, yet neither of us feels in the heart one throb of that great passion which one day is to reign there. We are even indifferent to each other as yet. Oh! for a glance into some mirror that would reflect, even if for an instant only, the features of one who is to be the sharer of his fortunes, the participant in all his thoughts. Is she a blonde? a brunette? Is she, like myself, a careless, indifferent somebody? Or has she suffered till suffering has purified her spirit? Or has she known none but thornless flowers?

She may be even now brightening the world about her with her smiles.

Why does she not come to me out of the misty future to comfort me and light up my lonely life?

Ah! if she only knew how unsatisfactory the world is without her companionship--how I long to meet and welcome her, I know she would come to me quickly.

Does she inherit the traits of some remote ancestor, and is this ativism favorable to my happiness or to hers?

From books, statues, pictures, the soul gleans from memories, and forms for itself a face to gaze upon with its inner eye--a face that epitomizes all the beauties of the past ages and concentrates them in one. Is this face hers? Bears it yet, in the strange, sad, but hopeful thoughtfulness of its features, some traces of a glorious past life before this one?

Such faces have I seen, whose wondrous beauty must have been dispensed by the higher thoughts of a lofty ante--rior life.

Has ma femme inconnue such a face? Are the complex mental attributes on which genius and talent depend inherited?

Out of the countless millions who people the earth, like the countless stars that deck the heavens, if no two are identically the same, of what avail is heredity?

Is it an illusion that the Arabs have for thousands of years kept pedigrees of their horses? If not an illusion, is it not far more important that the wife whom I seek shall belong to the elect?

Is inheritance the rule and non-inheritance the anomaly?

Why read the thirtieth chapter of Genesis, or Plato's Republic, or Virgil's Georgics? Is not Darwin right when he says: "But human nature is the same throughout the world; fashion reigns supreme, and man is apt to value whatever he may chance to possess." It seems to me that

It is possible that my affinity is plain, hard, practical, downright ugly! If so, may she remain in the unknown, and bloom on the banks of the river Nowhere in the land of Utopia, dispelling, like the Eucalyptus, the miasma of unhappy forebodings.

Ah, but her mind! Is she reading at this moment some grand master, or some old maid, who has ransacked all the dictionaries for words big enough, comprehensive enough to explain her meaning which "adumbrates in the penumbra?"

Or is she singing some song of the ages, some song that has welled up out of the great heart of mankind and found its expression at last from the hand of a Maestro? Thus is she making her own the thoughts and feelings of the best and greatest--reaping the harvest of the literary host that she may share it with me some day?

And who has preceded me in her affections? But, supposing that she has never been courted, would I like to be her forlorn hope? Would it be a pleasant reflection to know that my lips were the first that ever uttered words of love to her? Scylla and Charybdis are here!

Is she precise, prim, exact? Will she, if she is a traveled miss au fait to customs European, will she tell me that a spittoon is unknown over there because gentlemen in Europe never chew tobacco? That I may retort that rocking chairs are there also unknown and, ergo, ladies never sit in rocking chairs? If, by chance, she be a Northern girl, will she tell

I wonder if she will catch me thus en flagrante delictu, and utter those cabalistic words which always invoke the hidden devils of a man's nature: "I told you so!"

It would interest one to know whether he is to storm the citadel of the lady's heart, or be himself taken by storm or stratagem. And her kin! But one wearies himself with such conjectures, and here endeth the reveries of a bachelor!

The above duly appeared in the "Collegian," and the "bachelor" writer, Henry Latané, was aged twenty.

He congratulated himself that he had never "fallen in love"--had never yet met the "destiny," whose coming he so flippantly invoked in the above epistle. He frequently asserted that love was a weakness which debarred a man from making his mark in the world; and that many years should elapse before he would hazard his future by giving the matter any consideration whatever.

Withal, he was as manly, frank, intelligent and genial a young fellow as one is apt to meet in life--was this young editor of the college magazine.

And little did he reck of the stirring scenes in which he was so soon to enact a conspicuous part, and of the chequered vicissitudes which were to characterize his own affection, which came to him as suddenly as a meteor; pierced his vaunted impenetrability with the ease and purity of a lightning flash, and left him in the meshes of a love as pure as the tints of the dawn.

Chapter 6

They had not a vessel on the seas; not a regiment of veteran troops; no arsenals, nor manufactories for making arms and ammunition.

The "Free States" under the slogan of "Union" were battling for the balance of power; the "Slave States" under the slogan of "Liberty" were fighting for independence--repelling invaders--protecting their homes and firesides.

The Constitution of the Confederate States absolutely prohibited the over-sea slave trade; that of the Union did not.

The Federals declared that they were fighting to emancipate the negro; the Confederates retorted that the Constitution was the shield of slavery, and that, under its protection, they had invested two thousands of millions of dollars in the "peculiar institution," and that emancipation, without compensation, meant ruin. The logic of events made slavery the corner-stone of the new government.

Mean while Washington, Jefferson, and three-fourths of all the Presidents of the United States, from the beginning of the government, were slave-holders. Disunion had its origin in New England, now the hot-bed of unionism and abolitionism.

On four separate occasions Massachusetts had threatened to secede from the Union; on one occasion her legislature had actually passed a vote of secession. One of the chief leaders of the abolitionists, on the fourth of July, 1856, undertook to "register a pledge before heaven to do what within him lay to effect the eternal overthrow of the Union." He was now

And yet the father of the Republican party, the great Federalist, Alexander Hamilton, stigmatized coercion of sovereign States as "madness."

American leaders seemed to be political Iconoclasts.

The Union had been the shield of slavery; and the slave-holders now took the initiative in casting aside the shield.

One fought for the rights of the Sovereign States; the other for an Imperial Republic.

Thus this clash of arms between the Titans!

Thus a new flag was flung to the breeze, The Stars and Bars.

And now the great battle of Manassas had resulted in a glorious triumph for that new standard.

At roll-call that morning the membership of the regiment to which Lieutenant Hugh Leslie belonged was five hundred and eighty; by night, the killed and wounded amounted to two hundred and eighty. They had heard for the first time the weird scream of bomb-shells, which tore the ground about them into fragments, and scattered death-dealing missiles into their ranks. The Minnie balls cut through the leaves of the trees, and bullets rattled against fences or rocks like peas thrown against a drum-head. The slaughter was terrific as the enemy closed around them, while dust and smoke obscured the advancing columns on the narrow plateau.

The valley resounded as the decimated troops pressed on in the gallant charge, and faced again and again the ever-increasing hosts before them.

The situation was critical, and defeat seemed inevitable, as the Federal columns, which grew into vast proportions, rapidly advanced with cheers of victory. The woods and

As at Waterloo, the field of battle at Manassas was chiefly fought on a small plateau. Had Grouchy arrived two hours sooner than did Blucher, Napoleon would have won the battle and the map of Europe would have been changed. Unless Early should arrive in a few moments, Generals Johnston and Beau regard saw that the day was lost. Yet these gallant troops did not falter, but advanced against the hosts before them with yells that betokened victory; reckless, desperate, daring, impetuous men, who would not acknowledge defeat!

And now, far in the distance, they see the glint of flashing steel, as Early's brigade comes in view, having double-quicked nearly all the way from its original position six miles below the Stone bridge, far down on Bull Run. Placed in position just in the rear of the little army, they advanced to the field amid the boom of cannon and the enfilading fire of musketry. To their right, the left of the Confederate army was heavily engaged; in front they encountered the Federal skirmish line first, then formed in line of battle. A quarter of an hour later and the Federals would have flanked the Confederates, and the field would have been lost. Amid the welcoming cheers of the gallant troops on their right they advanced, with their colors flying, and held well forward that all might see that these flags were the stars and bars. They seemed fresh troops--did these gray-coats--as they quickly obeyed the command: "On right, by file, into line!" and formed in line of battle as if on dress-parade.

The men fell by scores; but their comrades pressed on over their fallen bodies and opened fire. The Confederate batteries were now in action all along the line, and the order

The retreat became a stampede.

The stampede became a panic, and resembled the flight of Murad Bey with his 80,000 Mussulmans and Asiatic militia before the victorious Kleber.

The panic became a rout, and artillery horses fell dead upon each other, obstructing the flight of the frenzied troops. Caissons were overturned in the desperate flight, as the Federals were forced over the narrow plateau and driven into the fields, where the columns scattered and rushed pell-mell, a disorganized mob, toward Bull Run. The cavalry and light batteries pursued, and, far in the distance, retreating masses could be seen as the flying Federals turned toward the Potomac. The wounded asked for water. Ambulances went on the run to the battle field. Couriers flew with orders in hot haste over the hill and plain. Generals with their staffs galloped from hill to hill to overlook the movements of the troops, who were surging and swaying at double quick, and yelling like wild Indians as they drove back the enemy and broke their columns.

This bivouac of the dead was an awful scene.

One hurried to the branch for water; another rode to the rear for ambulances to bear away the wounded.

Surgeons were busy; the wounded were all along the line, and as one passed he saw the quivering flesh and arteries and the thigh-bones severed with the saw, and heard the agonized groans of those who were thus saved by being maimed for life.

As one poor fellow was attended to, and moved aside, the doctor wiped the perspiration from his brow, and hurriedly said, "Next!"

Excitement and victory smothered feeling during the battle, but now sympathy was busy; wounded men often talked, and even laughed and cried as the surgeons dressed their wounds. The Federal dead were so thick in some places that one could step from corpse to corpse.

On the summit of a knoll, where the fight had been deadliest, Hugh Leslie and Colonel Pierce found the body of their friend, Major Moyer, where they had seen him fall. The cannonading had ceased, but the smoke still hovered over the battle-field, and ambulances went slowly to and fro bearing off the wounded. His body was partly covered by the battle-flag, which he had wrested from the gallant Federal who had slain the color-bearer. The flag of the "Lone Star State" thus covered the Gray and the Blue. But a singular scene confronted them. Two men were in violent dispute over the body of their fallen friend, and were too much absorbed in their efforts to rob him to observe their approach. The German accent of one of these men showed that he had hardly been in the United States long enough to become naturalized. He was dressed in the Federal uniform. The other wore the gray uniform of the Southern army. The German was struggling with the other robber, who had torn open the coat of the fallen man and had taken therefrom a purse. Hardly had he done so when two pistols touched the heads of the robbers, and two determined faces greeted their eyes as they turned to see who the new-comers were.

The two villains had detected each other in the same pursuit, and had cast aside their weapons that each might

"Who are you?" asked his captor.

"I am what letter-writers call your humble servant, and have great respect for--your pistol."

"An escaped convict?"

"No; a miner from the silver mines of Arizona."

"Who is he whom you have just robbed?"

"A very generous young rebel who, in settling his debts with this world, left to me this purse, signed by Thomas Moyer. It contains two checks for $2,500. Take the one drawn for $1,500 and turn loose my ear."

"What is your name? No more trifling, or I'll blow your brains out, you murderous dog!"

"Jonathan Ray, 20th Louisiana regiment, at your service," replied the man coolly."

"And his?" said Pierce, pointing to the prostrate form of Tom Moyer.

"Major Blank--blanked if I know, though he has a major's star on his coat."

"Put that purse and the checks where you found them. Hesitate, Jonathan Ray, and your life pays the forfeit."

The man obeyed.

"Now go!" said Pierce. "If I find you away from your regiment again I will have you tried and shot for the crime already committed."

The man gave one wild, incredulous stare, then ran rapidly down the hill, followed by his comrade, whom Hugh had likewise released, giving him a kick as he departed.

They now gently raised their friend, who, recognizing them, faintly pressed their hands. They bore him to a spring near by, and by bathing his head and moistening his parched lips, gradually revived him. Then, giving him some brandy, they were rejoiced to find that his pulse was more natural and his rest more comfortable.

"Hugh, go now for Dr. Battle, and tell him to send an ambulance here immediately," said Colonel Pierce. Without a moment's delay, Hugh went on his mission. They had left their horses tied to a tree at the foot of the hill, but now they were not to be seen. Evidently the robbers whom they had spared had taken them. No time was to be lost if Moyer was to be saved, and Hugh kept on his way on foot. After wandering sometime, he became conscious that he was lost, and did not know the direction of the camp.

The silent stars looked down upon the wounded, the dying and the dead, and the brave youth's heart was saddened by the spectacle of those rigid forms stilled in death, which, a few hours before, exulted in life and glowed with patriotic ardor.

From the point where he stood he could see the Henry House, where Mrs. Henry had been killed that day by the

The moon lighted this ghastly scene, where forms of dead soldiers, the Gray and the Blue, lay as they had fallen in battle. Here and there were caissons overturned, and haversacks and cartridge-boxes littered the plateau. As Hugh neared the stream where the carnage had been most dreadful, a moan arrested his steps. He listened. Near him lay a group of Confederate and Federal dead, and underneath two of them was a wounded soldier, who feebly begged for a cup of water--"a drink of water before I die!" Hugh filled his hat with water and, returning, raised the head of the wounded soldier and gave him water.

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

The wounded soldier was a youth and the water seemed to give him a new lease on life. His face was blood-stained and Hugh had not observed it particularly, his mind being too full of thoughts concerning Moyer. His friend might lose his life for this delay, caused by aiding a Federal soldier, yet not to have heeded his request would have been unworthy a soldier or a gentleman. Now, however, he must hurry, and he gently prepared to ease the soldier down again, first having removed the bodies which lay across his limbs. The hand of the soldier tightened its grasp on his arm, and a voice said, in a strangely familiar accent, "God bless you, Hugh! don't you know me?" To Hugh's amazement the lieutenant proved to be a former class-mate, Charles Barnum! He bathed his head tenderly, and washed away the blood which had coagulated upon his face and head. The

"Never mind me, Hugh; save Tom Moyer," said the noble youth.

"I'll save you both; cheer up, Barnum. I'll soon be back," and he was off again.

He did not go far; as he entered the wood, he heard steps behind him, and, drawing his revolver, turned with the command, "halt!" He had scarcely uttered the word when a shot, fired from behind a tree in front of him, struck him in the head and put an end to his humane mission.

The robbers, after concealing the horses, had followed Hugh. They had seen him minister to the wants of a Federal officer; had waited until he had entered the wood, intending to murder him by knocking him down and cutting his throat. They did not wish to excite Pierce's suspicions by firing a gun, for they intended to kill them in detail in order to get possession of the checks. When Hugh heard the step of the German who intended to strike him from behind, he stopped and before he could well draw his weapon, he had been shot by the man whom he had spared! Pierce was watching the sleeping form of Moyer when the shot was fired; creeping forward to the highest point of the hill he looked forth. The moon now shone brightly; he saw two men rush from the wood to where they had tied the

He waited a half hour, but could neither see nor hear any one; Moyer was still sleeping, Pierce having placed his coat over him. He stepped forth to take a new position, and as he did so a ball whizzed past his head; as the report came from the rear, he turned and firing quickly and at random, for the smoke had not yet cleared away, his ball struck the Dutchman, killing him just as he was in the act of aiming his gun again. Rushing forward he stumbled and fell. The fall saved his life, for the other robber had taken deadly aim and fired just as he stumbled; the ball passed over him. As the smoke passed away he saw the Yankee, for he now wore the Federal uniform, mounted on his horse and fired upon him. Seeing that his comrade was killed, Jonathan Ray fled untouched, Pierce emptying another barrel at him as he rode off. Moyer, aroused by the firing and delirious still, shouted: "Hurrah for Pierce! now, boys, charge!" then sank again exhausted by the effort. His wounds bled again; his countenance became pallid as death, and his extremities again grew cold. As Pierce knelt by him, moments seemed hours, and imagination conjured up new horrors. His conscience reproached him, too, for having sent Hugh off alone. Had he sent him to his grave?

These thoughts were arrested by the approach of wheels; the ambulance of the Eighth regiment had come in search of their wounded. It was the work of a moment to place

As they neared the wood where the shot was fired, they saw men bearing off a wounded man on a litter. Pierce halted them and asked what regiment they belonged to and who they were bearing off? "The Fifth Texas. We came out to look for our major, Major Moyer. We found the hero of the great battle lying here desperately wounded, and we are going to take care of him first."

"Your major is here," said Colonel Pierce, hurriedly getting out of the ambulance and going to the litter. He looked earnestly at the body and now the strong man wept. There lay the pallid features of Hugh Leslie turned to the sky. The blood still trickled from the wound in the head; the form seemed stiffening in death; the boy-soldier seemed sleeping the sleep that knows no waking on earth!

The morrow dawned--a bright summer day. The birds in the green trees were twitting and singing the sweetest carols of summer. The daisies and violets seemed never lovelier or sweeter. The earth seemed at peace. The dead seemed restored; the living to die. Hugh Leslie, whom all thought would die, had rallied, and had insisted that Barnum should be sought for, and now they were lying near each other. Major Moyer died that night.

Chapter 7

"Mr. Potts, do you know Captain Latané?" asked Clara Leslie.

"I am acquainted with him; I don't know him," replied Wellington Napoleon Potts, a young man, aged twenty-five.

The occasion was a "Reception" at the hospitable summer home of Colonel Leslie in commencement week. The scene was the ball-room at "Intervale." It was believed that Potts had entered the Military Institute in order to avoid going into the army, for already the word "skulker" had been coined.

"That is strange," replied Clara; "every one speaks so highly of Captain Latané."

"I think he is the most arrogant and pretentious fellow I ever knew; he expresses a contempt for me because I have entered the Institute instead of enlisting in the army, while remaining here himself. I predict that he will never go into the army."

"Do you consider that a disgrace, Mr. Potts?"

"I do, when a man feels it his duty to go; for my part, I do not think so, and I shall not enlist until forced to do so. What do you think about it?"

Clara, astonished at this statement, said: "It seems to me to be incumbent upon every gentleman. But pardon me, Mr. Potts, you are our guest, and I did not mean to be rude."

Potts bowed, but said nothing; for, without intending it,

"I am glad you have joined us, Clara, for I wish you to add your persuasions to mine, and induce Latané to remain at the Institute until he graduates."

"Are you going in to the army, Captain Latané?" she asked, speaking directly to Latané; for her thoughts dwelt upon the remark just made by Potts.

"He has been elected Captain of the "Light Guards," the company which his father led to Mexico," replied her father, "and will leave for Virginia, going first to Etowah to-morrow. In spite of this, I do not think his duty to his mother, or his responsibilities as a slave-holder, will justify his going until it becomes more imperative than it is now."

Latané smiled as he said: "My resignation has been tendered to the Superintendent, and by him will be accepted to-morrow. I will leave to-morrow night." Then with careless grace he asked: "Miss Clara, can I have the next dance?"

"Certainly," she replied, "if Mr. Potts will release me."

Potts, who still lingered near them, bowed affirmatively, but an expression of sinister malice darkened his face, while Latané's beamed with generous good nature.

It was "the Cuban." As they danced this spirited dance they were the observed of the observers, for never had Latané seemed more joyous, as his light-hearted laughter responded to the silvery tones of his lovely companion. A great load seemed lifted from his heart -- at last his wish was realized--the army--honors, duty and inclination beckoned him on with inspiring wand. The various groups promenaded while the band discoursed from the inspiring airs of Tannhauser at the conclusion of this dance.

"I am glad you administered that rebuke to Potts, Miss Clara; I would not have missed hearing it and seeing him wince under it for worlds."

"But I did not mean that you should hear it, and I did not mean to say it to a guest in my own home; but, really, Captain Latané, he astonished me so much that I was hardly conscious of what I said."

"Don't let it worry you; it is as easy to pierce the hide of a rhinoceros with a hair-pin as to wound that skulker's sensibilities. Indeed, it is high time that every gentleman should leave the Institute, whether he goes to the front or not, for it is becoming a refuge for such fellows as Potts, to whom I have spoken much more plainly than you did."

"Who is Mr. Potts, Captain Latané? I never heard of the name before."

Neither he nor Clara knew that Potts was standing behind a pillar on the veranda and heard every word they uttered.

"Potts," replied Latané, "is what savants call a rara avis, and what I call my bête noire." I am really sorry for one who answers at roll-call to the name of Wellington Napoleon Potts! I never think of him without recalling a criticism of the late Judge S: 'I am ready to maintain against all comers and goers, that a man with his name can never rise in the world. A union of the grandiloquent and the mean is a never-failing source of ridicule, and a fellow whose appellation is Wellington, or Napoleon, or both, topped off with Potts, is destined to be somewhat of a butt in his passage through the world. He feels the ridicule of his name and cowers and sinks under it, or he takes the only other alternative and glories in it. Either turn is fatal to true elevation of character. A great name, when coupled with a man or a dog who is not great, dwarfs him into absolute

Clara laughed, for he spoke in a tone of raillery, and replied:

"But you have not told me who he is; I did not ask you what he was. Now, ordinarily, it would be self-condemnation in me to ask you who my father's guest is; but you know at these commencement parties one meets everybody."

"All that I know about him is that he lives at Pottsville, which, you know, is a suburban manufacturing village near Etowah, and his father owns the factory and the village. His father came from New England, when a young man, as a mechanic, and was employed as an overseer in my father's cotton mill. Later, he became superintendent, and finally amassed sufficient money to build his own mill. He is now one of the wealthiest men in the State, and Wellington Napoleon Potts has been his book-keeper for several years, and is his only son and sole heir. Financially, you see, he is quite a parti."

The angry frown and look of malicious hate on the eavesdropper's face, as he heard this criticism of himself, was modified now by a smile of self-conceit as Potts heard his wealth described also.

In spite of the estimate given of his character, Potts had decided to make this proud young beauty his wife, if it took him ten years to do it.

He was animated to this resolution, not by sentiment or love, but by cool calculation. His unique ambition, next to making money, was to raise himself and family in the

"She will have a cool hundred thousand dollars, besides niggers!" said Potts to himself, as he turned away to avoid the approach of the couple, who seemed too much interested in themselves, however, to notice any others.

"I would not marry a 'skulker' to save his life!" said Clara, "even if he had all the wealth of the Astors and Crœsus united."

"Then I have no chance," said Latané. "It has been months since Hugh went to Virginia, and I am still here."

"You should not speak thus, Captain Latané, even in jest; you may be criticised by people who do not know, as I do, how anxious you are to go 'to the front,' as you express it, and you have only remained here because your duty to your mother demands it."

"Who told you that?"

"No one, but I know that it is so. I have heard Hugh speak of you too often to doubt your gallantry."

"I thank you, Miss Clara; you have looked into my heart clearly. It is indeed a hard trial to me, and I am almost convinced that it is no longer my duty to remain here. I appeal to you to look into my heart still deeper, and read there all that I would say to you to-night, but for your youth and my brief acquaintance with you since you were a child. Strange mystery, is it not, that I, who have always been told that we were destined for each other, should this night discover that the idea which I have laughed at is now my dearest wish? To you I ask the question: shall I go or remain, as your father suggests, to protect my mother and those dependent upon her and upon me?"

She--recognizing intuitively that that look and voice,

They stood upon the rustic bridge; the massive vines which clustered over the trellis that arched overhead and hung down from the sides of the bridge concealed them from the laughing groups which thronged the paths and graveled walks about the lawn.

"I knew it," he answered, "I knew it," and ere she could reply he had borne her unresisting hand to his lips. What might have followed was prevented by the sound of clattering hoofs as a horseman rapidly approached up the winding road through the lawn to the house. Leaping from the panting animal, the rider handed to Latané a telegram addressed to Colonel Hugh Leslie.

They entered the parlors and found the old gentleman in his happiest mood, explaining to a lady the beauties of a rare specimen of porcelain which he had brought from Dresden. "This, madam, is a treasure; the painting is of exquisite delicacy of coloring. It is by Bracquemonde, who, I think, has even excelled the ancients in painting on porcelain." Just at this moment, touching his arm, Latané handed him the telegram. Rumors of the battle at Manassas had reached the town, though it was not thought that the regiment to which Hugh Leslie belonged was engaged, and, instantly divining the serious nature of this telegram, he retired from the room, Clara following.

A moment later a fall was heard as Clara had swooned, on hearing its contents. The telegram stated that Hugh Leslie

It was worded as follows: "

Richmond, Va., July 22d, 1861.

"Your son, Hugh Leslie, Jr., greatly distinguished himself yesterday. Surgeon Battle reports that Lieutenant Leslie was dangerously wounded. Come to Richmond at once. Inquire at the General Hospital or at the War Department.

M. B. Pierce.
 

Colonel Leslie sank in his chair, overcome by the terrible news.

Clara swooned as she read the telegram. The house of revelry was changed into one of grief. The guests departed.

It was now that Potts began his systematic work of knavery. His object was two-fold: first, to thwart Henry Latané, and next to win Clara Leslie's fortune by marrying her himself.

No lawyer ever prepared a brief more carefully and systematically than did Potts his scheming against the peace of mind of Henry Latané.

The old Scot's maxim: "Get thee the money, my son, honestly if thee can, but get the money," he reverenced. Emulating a prominent politician of that day, he considered all men purchasable, and valued only such friends as could be bought and bound by ties of self-interest. And, like that famous politician, he would leave no stone unturned to overthrow and ruin even the humblest bailiff who opposed his plans or thwarted his ends in any way.

Chapter 8

Richmond was crowded with troops, officers and office-seekers. Regiments were being marched to their quarters as fast as they arrived from the South. Orderlies galloped through the streets on their errands, and congressmen and ladies mingled with the throng which hurried through the principal thoroughfares. In those early regiments graybearded men marched side-by-side with youths and boys hardly in their "teens."

The hardy mountaineer with his trusty rifle laughed at the raillery of the youth at his side, fresh from the mercantile counter, or ridiculed the fancy boots of some parlor-knight who rode, nevertheless, like a veteran cavalryman.

Aides-de-camp, with their glittering uniforms and polished accoutrements, their huge boots reaching nearly to their waists and enclosing their pantaloons, dashing the Texas rowels into the flanks of their steeds, hurried past as if the fate of the country depended on the celerity of their movements. Cavaliers and gay young Southern girls--scions of the "F. F. V.'s" - go dashing past to view the evening dress-parade of the brigade which had so distinguished itself at Manassas. As they pass the General Hospital their gayety is moderated, the speed of their horses is slackened, and hushed voices are eloquent with patriotic meaning.

The heroes of that grand battle are lying there, and the groans of the wounded are heard without the building. In the rear, stretched on tables, lie the desperately wounded, to

Side-by-side were ranged the cots throughout the length and breadth of the vast building, and side-by-side lay the factory operative and the heir to a wealthy estate, each a private soldier, each desperately wounded; for, in those gallant days of genuine patriotism, the wealthiest and the most cultured were the first to enlist, and they were singularly free from the desire to rank their fellows, or claim precedence on account of their wealth.

The plowman left his plowshare standing in the field; the mechanic put up his tools for more peaceful times; the professor, the lawyer, the physician, the minister, the student exchanged the library for the bivouac and the battlefield. There were private soldiers, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, who refused to receive any pay from the government.

Involuntarily, it seemed, the gentlemen of this gay cavalcade took off their hats, and the ladies bowed, as a distinguished looking old gentleman, accompanied by a beautiful young girl, stopped and scanned the portal of a large building as if in doubt as to whether it was the place he was seeking. The girl touched his arm to recall his pre-occupied mind just as the ladies and their escorts, divining the object of his search, had saluted them. With native dignity and stately courtesy he lifted his hat to return the unexpected salutation, but resumed immediately his observations. He was seeking to find a son who had been wounded at Manassas. The wind blew his white hair to and fro as

"Is he conscious, doctor?" asked Colonel Leslie.

"No, he is under the influence of opiates?"

"Suppose they are discontinued?"

"Delirium would ensure and, perhaps, result fatally. For the present good nursing is our best auxiliary, and we have the best in the world here."

"Let me nurse my poor, darling brother!" said Clara with an appealing look to the surgeon.

"It would be the worst thing you could do for him, my dear young lady. I appreciate your feelings, but any excitement now will be fatal to your brother."

Clara sank in a chair and sobbed as if her heart would break.

"Can we not see him, doctor?" asked her father.

The surgeon hesitated, then said: "I will not take the responsibility of refusing, but I caution you, as you value his life, to preserve the utmost quiet; it will not be well if Lieutenant Leslie recognizes you."

Then he slowly preceded them through the hospital. There were hundreds in that building, and the scene, amid the groans of the wounded and the anguish of the dying, attended by the patient care and watchfulness of those white-bonneted Samaritans, the Sisters of Charity, was enough to overcome the stoutest heart. In the quietest corner, near an open window, slept two youths, one dressed in gray, the other in blue.

The first was Hugh Leslie, the second Charles Barnum the latter dressed in the Federal uniform. Had they not

Clara, with irresistible impulse, forgetting her promise, knelt at his side and kissed his pallid brow and lips, and smoothed the hair on that pale, white forehead very carefully that she might not hurt him.

Hugh smiled a sweet, gentle smile and murmured feebly: "Clara, Clara, my gentle sister!" then sank into unconsciousness.

The surgeon lifted her up and drew her away in spite of her violent sobs which seemed about to break her loving heart. Her father, as he neared the door, could only utter: "My poor boy, my poor boy!" The doctor told them that Hugh's life depended on their absenting themselves until the crisis had passed, assuring them that he would warn them in time whatever might be Hugh's fate.

America had no "Red Cross"^1. associations during the civil war, nor had the confederation of the Red Cross been established in Europe at the time of which we write. The necessity for such an organization had been suggested by the author of "The Souvenir de Solferino," who devised a plan to "insure efficient and systematized aid to the wounded in time of war," having observed the necessity of such an organization at the battle of Solferino. Had there been such an international organization, the terrible sufferings

The Red Cross knows no national or state lines, knows no man as a foeman, but alleviates alike the sufferings of both friend and foe.

When the Franco-Prussian war was declared, "it was found that Austria had 2,170,000 francs and a vast supply of sanitary material in its possession, besides a bureau for maintaining correspondence in eleven different languages."

No sign of the Red Cross floated over any hospital, or ambulance, or building, or tent on any Confederate battlefield. The magnificent charities lavished by neutral nations to succor the wounded and sick, irrespective of the banner under which they fought, were denied to the soldiers of the Confederacy. They had nothing but their own strong arms, dauntless courage, and peerless self-sacrifice to sustain them in battling for the right of Home Rule, with which right they had never parted.

Their ports were blockaded; almost the entire adult male population were "enlisting for the war;" no bounties were offered to any foreigners, like the Hessians of Revolutionary times, who contributed their enormous quota to the ranks of the Federal armies; no friendly nation lent its aid; but despite all this, the cause of humanity was not neglected, for in every patrician household, as in the humbler hamlets of the poor, noble women lent their services to alleviate the sufferings of Confederate soldiers.

Affection outwits the shrewdest vigilance when the life of a loved one depends upon its efforts. It was not long before a new "Sister" was admitted in the hospital. The Mother-Superior had yielded to Clara's solicitations to be permitted temporarily to assume the garb worn at the Convent of the Sacred Heart.

"Sister Eloise" now wore the conventional dress, of the spotless order, which has proved such a great blessing to humanity.

Nothing but a case of life and death would have justified such a breach of Catholic customs, but "Father Ryan," the poet-priest of the South, urged it, and it was done; for here was a pure young life which might be moulded, through her affections, into accepting this faith and this garb for life.

The suffering beggar, even the anathematized tramp, is turned away from other doors, but when he knocks at the door of "the hospital presided over by the Sisters," a voice bids him enter.

An humble cot, a crust of bread, a cup of water--these at least he may have, and, when the morrow dawns, prayers for his conversion and redemption are offered up, however poor his station, however humble his garb.

Hence this charity to Clara. One thing was enjoined: she was to keep her face veiled, and she was required in all respects to conform to the customs of the order as if this was her novitiate.

As a Catholic, the Mother-Superior was perhaps wrong.

As a Protestant, Clara was perhaps wrong.

As a Christian and human being, who will say that either of them was wrong?

For many days Hugh's condition was critical in the extreme and without definite change.

Barnum was at times delirious; at other times self-possessed, quiet, but observant of what transpired around him. Sister Eloise nursed these two. Barnum alluded to her as "La Petite Soeur."

His eyes would follow her graceful figure as if it was the vision of an angel soon to pass from his sight. His ears

"Do not worry about me, Hugh; I am doing famously well. My condition will depend on yours; so cheer up, my friend; I have been paroled and will go home with you soon."

Hugh smiled, then, turning his head, saw a kneeling figure by the side of his cot; he got a glimpse of that sweet face just as Clara had clasped her hands in prayer, and had turned her head to avoid recognition.

"Hush!" murmured Hugh, half dozing again; "hush, Barnum; wait a moment until I can dream again; I dreamed that I saw my sister."

Hugh closed his eyes, the doctor drew near, and feeling his pulse, motioned to the "sister" to sit by his side and fan his brow while he was absent from the room. The crisis was now at hand. Surgeon Battle had now gone to the anteroom where Colonel Leslie passed his days and nights. He had

By-and-by Hugh opened his eyes, looked at the sweet face bent near his own, smiled and gently pressing her hand, he uttered these words: "Thank God, it is my precious sister Clara! Clara! Clara!"

To kneel beside his cot, still holding that thin, wan hand, whose warmest clasp had ever been given to her; to caress and kiss that face of her brother as only an idolized sister can--all this was the work of a moment, for her intuition told her that the critical time had arrived. Barnum, leaning on his elbow, witnessed this touchingly beautiful scene, the pathos of which seemed to enter his very heart. He comprehended all now. Not so the others who had seen, but had not heard, and who looked with amazement at this unorthodox conduct of a Sister of Charity! The sisters were shocked to see one of their Order, even though she was only a "Novice," thus caress and embrace a man! Silence prevailed throughout the hall, for the Mother-Superior had been from cot to cot urging all the wounded soldiers to suppress their groans. Hugh, recognizing Clara, placed his thin arm around her neck, drew her face down to his, kissed her time and again, and wept for joy!

"Send instantly for Miss Clara, Colonel Leslie," said Surgeon Battle; "the time for a reünion is at hand; Hugh will be saved or he will die in the next twenty-four hours."

"Clara is here. Let us go at once," said Col. Leslie.

"Where is she?" asked the surgeon.

"She has been at Hugh's bed-side constantly."

The surgeon understood him now. "Come!" he said. The venerable gentleman, now full of anxiety, stood near his son's cot. Clara raised her face with its happy glow and happier tears saying: "He is saved, father!" Col. Leslie with assumed cheerfulness, taking his son's hand and with the other arm supporting his form, which Hugh, by a great effort, had raised to a sitting posture, said: "Hugh, my boy, I've found the deserter at last and the doctor says I can arrest you."

It would be vain to attempt to describe the succeeding days, when all the conscious inmates of that crowded hospital awaited with intense interest Hugh's convalescence Clara was greeted by those wounded soldiers as a veritable princess among her loyal subjects; for never did an opportunity to say a kind word or offer some delicate attention escape this pure-hearted, lovely child-woman. A week ago she was but a timid, inexperienced school-girl; now she seemed to have at one step passed into young womanhood. Her figure was faultless, and grace was as natural as the innate refinement which characterized every word or movement. Hugh's conscious intervals were brief and rare; and to Barnum, who had rapidly improved, fell the task of cheering her with hopes of Hugh's speedy convalescence. At Col. Pierce's earnest solicitation, this young Federal soldier had been placed in the Confederate Hospital, a civilian's dress having been procured for him the day after Col. Leslie's arrival, that he might not be criticised as a Federal soldier. All thought he would die.

He was now so much better that it became Dr. Battle's duty to report that he was physically able to be assigned to

Then, placing Clara's hand in Barnum's, he said in clear tones: "Barnum, I am going to die--yes, I am dying. No one can tell how this war will end. It may be in your power to befriend my poor sister, my dear old father--remember." The sobs of Bingo became so audible that he had to be led away. The father held Hugh's left hand; to him he endeavored to speak, but the rattle in his throat proclaimed dissolution and all that was audible was: "It is the fate of war; I am not afraid to die. Take care of Barnum!" Thus he died. And far to the South, in her home, fanned by the breezes from the Gulf of Mexico, where the orange and the lemon trees meet the banner-like leaves of the banana, his lovely fiancée, read the crushing news.

Notes

• 1. See "The Red Cross," by H. H. S. Thompson.

Chapter 9

The alchemy of time is the panacea of life, and Colonel Leslie and Clara, after months of grief at the loss of son and brother, did all in their power to make the time of the convalescing soldier pass as pleasantly as possible.

Lieutenant Barnum, a prisoner on parole, was permitted to visit Colonel Leslie's summer home, "Intervale," a lovely home in a picturesque part of the Piedmont region. His journey South had caused his wound to bleed anew, and he had to experience the same hospital treatment again, so that months elapsed before he approached convalescence.

Now, however, he was enabled to throw his crutches aside, and his conscience admonished him that he should resign his office in the Union army or return to his duties as a soldier. To do this meant to fight these kind friends who had saved his life, and the sentiment of patriotism had a strong struggle for the mastery. He had learned to appreciate the character of Colonel Leslie as the noblest he had ever known among men, and a stronger sentiment than patriotism touched his heart with the gentlest impulse as he thought of the fair young Samaritan, Clara Leslie.

Colonel Leslie was standing in his library one morning, examining closely an image of curious character, as Barnum entered to announce that he was ready to carry out an adventure planned between them, that the young Northerner might gain a correct idea of the practical workings of slavery.

"I came in to tell you that I am ready for the interview

"I shall be much interested, at any rate, to hear of your views as to slavery after you have 'interviewed,' as you call it, my old gardener. You will have to disguise yourself well to deceive Zeke," said Colonel Leslie, laughing.

"A new chef d'œuvre, Colonel?" asked Barnum, examining the image.

"Yes, and the most interesting one in my little collection. It was brought to me yesterday from one of the largest Tumuli in this State, on my upper plantation."

"That is near the river, is it not?"

"Yes; you have doubtless seen it; it is not far distant by rail, and, if you like, we will go there to-morrow."

"I have an engagement to go to the mountain with Miss Clara to-morrow."

"Ah! well, then, some other day will do. See these hieroglyphics, they seem to be Egyptian, but they are doubtless of Aztec origin."

"The 'Mound Builders' were not Indians, then, in your opinion?" asked Barnum.

"They certainly belonged to an entirely different race. The American Indians know nothing, either from tradition or otherwise, of the Mound Builders. There are innumerable historical links connecting the ancient Mexicans with Egypto-Indo races. Marine shells that abound in Hindoostan, but are unknown here, are found in the American Mounds. We are in the habit of calling this the New World. It is certain, thanks to these earthen pyramidal mounds, that two races, as separate and distinct as the

Barnum examined the idol to which his host alluded, and there plainly to be seen were characters that resembled hieroglyphics. "The theory," he said, "is a new one to me, and of course I cannot express an opinion, but this ugly little idol does indicate that it was not the Indian nor his progenitors who placed them there. What evidence have you as to the antiquity of these mounds?"

"Go with me and see the trees of vast size that are growing on these ancient mounds. The number of annular layers around them demonstrate their great antiquity. Many of the trees are probably five hundred years old. But the most convincing fact is that the skeletons found in these mounds are often entire and well preserved, and the earth around them is dry and compact. Now, the skeletons found in Great Britain, having an undoubted antiquity of eighteen hundred years, are greatly decomposed. It is, therefore, supposed that the age of most of the monuments built by the 'Mound Builders' is two thousand years."

"But I have heard," said Barnum, "that a cross was found on the pinnacle of the 'Temple of the Sun' at Cuzco, and that temple was built by the people who built these great mounds probably. If that is true it will show that the religion of the descendants at least of the 'Mound Builders' had a knowledge of Christianity, and yet this temple is a very ancient one"

"Mistakes have arisen," replied Colonel Leslie, "about that discovery in Yucatan; also from the triune vessel found

"In what way?" said Barnum, taking a seat and evidently much interested.

"The symbol of the cross is older than Christianity," said Colonel Leslie. "It was the emblem of the goddess, Astarte. It was found on one of the bas-reliefs at Pompeii, and the early Christians knew that it was a sacred emblem among Pagan nations. The Hindoos often wear a cross appended to a rosary, and Brahma is often represented as holding one in his hands. The devotions of the Ascetics are still made by counting their beads, the rosary being still used in Thibet and China. The Tartars carry crosses, and the Mongols regard it as sacred, and it is seen in the Pagodas. Copper crosses and necklaces of beads have been found on skeletons found in American Mounds, but they do not indicate, as many suppose, that the Mound Builders had any knowledge of Christianity. The Temples of the Sun at Cuzco, Queretaro, Mizteca, Tepique, and Trianquiztepec, are celebrated for their great crosses. It is owing to traditions, then, that the Aztecs, imbued with the same superstition that made the Patagonians tattoo their foreheads with a figure of a cross, worshipped crosses in wood and stone."

"I am thankful that opportunity has favored me with this instructive conversation. I can realize now that the Smithsonian Institute is but the beginning of American investigation"

"That is true; the National Museum should contain mummies from the caves of Kentucky, as well as from Peru and Egypt. Museums constitute the true 'Kindergarten'

"Well, where do you think the Indians came from?" asked Barnum.

"The American Indian is a different type of the Red race, just as the copper-colored Bushmen of South Africa differ from the negroes of Congo, or the natives of the Queen of Sheba's country. The books written to prove their descent from one of the lost tribes of Israel are refuted by a simple physiological fact: how can bearded Hebrew ancestors have descendants who, to a man, though scattered throughout this continent, are beardless? Neither have the American Indians any traditions linking them either with the Hebrews or with the Mound Builders.

"A lieutenant in the United States Navy, who is a distant relative of mine, was with Commodore Wilkes during his four years' cruise, beginning in 1839, coasting the Pacific Islands as well as Asia and Africa. He stated to me that this subject was one to which he gave the closest attention. The conclusion arrived at was that the American Indian and the Malay were one and the same race, the latter having been changed by circumstances of time and place. They bear a striking resemblance to each other, whether seen in Canada, Florida, Peru, or Brazil."

"I am glad," he continued, "that you take an interest in such subjects, because in this country investigations of this nature must be conducted chiefly by individuals and at their own expense. Our government"--At this remark, Barnum could not repress a smile, which Colonel Leslie

"Who was Hay, and where did he get his collection?" asked Barnum.

"To answer that question may seem egotistical. While Clara was at school in Geneva, Switzerland, I visited the principal Museums in Europe, and became much interested in Etruscan antiquities and in the fragments of Egyptian art, which had been excavated in Egypt by Drovette, Salt, Hay, Belzoni and others, and by them sold for enormous sums to crowned heads and wealthy virtuosi. In the past hundred years the Egyptian galleries of European Museums were thus enriched. I became so much interested that, last year, I went to Egypt myself and found there the noblest-minded investigator I ever met. His object was not to make money, but to restore the lost links of history. His name is Auguste Mariette, and he is still there prosecuting his studies and work.

"Together we followed the line of the obelisk avenue, where he had unburied the temple ruins, thus laying bare an unparalleled profusion of inscribed stones, columns, bas-reliefs,

He had turned to another cabinet and had taken the object he referred to as he spoke: "Now see these characters, or hieroglyphics, and examine the characters on this image, found, last week in one of the great mounds on my plantation. It is made of silver ore and must have been brought from Mexico. Who were the 'Mound Builders?' Why this resemblance to some of the Egyptian treasures that have been buried under the sands of Egypt, perhaps, for a thousand years?"

"I notice," said Barnum, "that the palm of the right hand of the image from the Etowah Mound is open, while the other is inverted; is that usual?"

"No. I never saw one like it in that respect. Zeke says it is held out for money, and I think the old darkey's theory is as sensible as any that can be advanced. It was probably designed to receive alms."

"Before I go, let me ask you how you became so much interested in such investigations? The subject is full of interest! but few Americans have the leisure to prosecute it," said Barnum.

"Few Americans take the leisure, you mean. Of all people on earth, I think our people the most illogical in their mad pursuit of wealth. The daily newspaper seems to satisfy their intellectual desires, and it is only the chosen few who enjoy music and the arts. We do not give enough time to recreation in America. The country is new, and the poorer classes, especially where slavery prevails, have very few opportunities to enjoy, and at the same time improve themselves."

"You do not speak like a slave-holder, Colonel," said Barnum; "that expression sounds like the opinion of a New Englander."

Placing his hand on Barnum's shoulder, Col. Leslie said: "My young friend, I am not a slave-holder from choice, and there are thousands, like myself, who would be more than pleased to live, had Providence so ordained it, where slavery had never set its seal. It is something for which we are not responsible; but the welfare of our slaves, as far as it is in our power to promote it, is something for which we are responsible. The negroes in America are but a century removed from savages, and yet they have progressed more rapidly, in all that pertains to civilization in one hundred years under our mild system of slavery in the Southern States of America, than in one thousand years in any other country on the globe. The slavery here is a vast improvement over that to which they were accustomed in Africa.

"It is an unfortunate system for the 'poor whites,'" suggested Barnum.

"Yes, the effect of slavery upon the social condition of the class known as 'poor whites' here is deplorable. There is little here to elevate the taste of the white laboring man, and make him aspire to rise above his surroundings; nothing in our cities like the Kensington Museum or Sydenham Palace in London, or the Cooper Union and Free Reading Rooms of New York city. Of course, however, such amusements would not interest 'semi-civilized negroes.'"

"Then you do not mean to have your remark concerning the social condition of your 'poor class' applied to the negroes here, although they constitute the greater part of your poorer class?" replied Barnum.

"No; for our negroes would not enjoy or appreciate the pleasures afforded to Europeans accustomed for centuries to the highest civilization. Take Paris for example. I do not remember having seen but one negro while there last, and my sojourn was of six months' duration."

'I am curious to know what he was doing," said Barnum

Colonel Leslie laughed heartily at this remark as he recalled the incident. "He was waltzing at the Closerie de Lilas with quite a pretty girl, and I think she was the only blonde in the assemblage," he answered.

"Waltzing with a white girl!" said Barnum.

"Yes," dryly answered his host as he lighted a fresh cigar, offering another to Barnum.

"And were you not shocked?"

"Not in the least bit; I was amused. It was in June two years ago, if I remember aright. A little incident like that in Paris would not shock any intelligent person."

"Why?" said Barnum; "it would shock you terribly to see it done here."

"Not more so than it would shock that young negro student from Algiers to waltz with one of our young negro girls here," replied Colonel Leslie.

"You amaze me!" answered Barnum. "Why should be shocked?"

"Would you not be?" replied his host. "Would you waltz with one, Barnum?"

"No, certainly not. I would not ride in the same vehicle with one!" said Barnum.

"What absurd prejudice!" said Colonel Leslie. "No Southern man feels any repugnance to the negro per se, so long as he or she, as the case may be, knows his or her place. Now,

"Well, I declare!" was all that Barnum could say in reply.

Here was the owner of five hundred negro slaves, a cultured gentleman, whose views as to the negro per se were as advanced as those of the most enlightened thinkers at the North. He would have willingly emancipated his slaves if he could have benefited them by doing so, and could have received a tenth of their value in United States Government bonds, but no proposition of this nature had ever been made by the government. He was a slave-holder from principle as well as from right; for what would have become of his five hundred slaves if they were suddenly emancipated while all the others remained in the condition of slavery? No more helpless creature lived than the average "free nigger" in a country where African slavery prevailed by constitutional enactment. He inherited them, and all he could do was to be as kind a master as circumstances permitted.

Colonel Leslie continued: "Let us suppose that all the

"I see the point now," said Barnum, "and I wish the whole North could see it. Where the two races are nearly equal in numbers, civilization itself demands that certain barriers should keep them apart."

"That is it; and, like you, I wish that the whole North could realize that there is a vast difference between granting certain social rights to a few negroes or Chinamen--say one in one thousand even--and in according the same rights where the races are nearly equal in numbers. Especially is this a dangerous prerogative where universal suffrage prevails."

"The Northern people," said Barnum, "think that the same results would attend the emancipation of the negroes which attended the emancipation of the white slaves in the Northern States--known generally under the name of 'term slaves,' or 'redemptioners', in colonial days. Of these 'free-willers' and 'indented servants,' many, at the expiration of their term of service, became respectable and

"It must require great enthusiasm, to say the least," suggested Barnum, returning to the subject first under discussion, "to pursue such investigations in so monotonous a country as Egypt for such disinterested purposes as you say Mr. Mariette does."

"Ah! there you betray, my young friend, the utilitarianism that is dwarfing in the minds of Americans the noblest and most beautiful studies. Could you see, as I have seen, a 'diligence' filled with German students, accompanied by their tutor, during the summer vacation, suddenly vacated as one of the number leaps from it to gather what he supposes to be the Alpine rose amid the eternal snows of the beautiful Alps; could you hear their animated discussion concerning this flower, or that rifted rock, you would appreciate at a glance what a world of beauty is that unfolded by the geologist and botanist. Earth, sky, sea, air, life itself becomes larger and more comprehensive, and every atom in it of increasing interest. So it is with the mind of my friend Mariette, who designs turning, cleaning and dating every inscribed stone and copying the inscriptions, as well as photographing and measuring every object of interest in the ruins."

"For what end?" asked the practical young Northerner.

"The truth of history. His excavations of the disputed Mound of Maskhutab, and discovery of the long-sought treasure-city of Pithom, in the language of a recent writer, 'achieved the most brilliant Biblical identification of modern times.' To Mariette the mental pleasure afforded to Tyndall and other Alpine enthusiasts by the Alpine flower and the

"And these mounds of America?" asked Barnum.

"May reveal to us whence America was first peopled," answered his host. "Take the American Indian, and he resembles the ethnic type which is to this day characteristic of upper Egypt. The high cheek-bones are alike in each. But the Indian has no ceramic jars and vases and bowls like this one; nor has he any tradition which will go to explain by whom these idols were worshipped. His ancestors, so far as he knows, had no household goods and gods."

"Such men as your friend, Mariette, would find America very uninteresting," suggested Barnum.

"Yes, even Dickens, that master in the art of analyzing human character, found the so-called 'New World' tame and uninteresting. But Mexico and Peru would be an intellectual paradise for Mariette. Scientists become absorbed in their special pursuits. Hugh Miller, for example, saw England through the glasses of the geologist alone; and the 'Upper Silurian,' or the 'New Red Sandstone,' clogs his work to the exclusion of minor but interesting details. Take architecture: to one familiar with the different styles, it seems as a landmark--as a guide through the labyrinth of history. It stands toward the student of history in the same light in which rocks and mineralogical formations do to the geologist, or the aquatic inhabitants to the investigator into the physical geography of the sea. Take, for instance, the Kenilworth Castle in England, or the Castle

"I understand," said Barnum, "but permit me to say that for an American "ignorance is bliss." How can one who has seen so much, be contented in this new country which has no ruins except those left by the 'Mound Builders?'"

"On the contrary," replied his host, "it makes all that we have doubly interesting. Nature is a grand instructor everywhere. For example, it was a large water-lily, seven feet in diameter, showing the peculiar structure of the under side of the leaf, which suggested the cellular structure of ironclads and other large vessels. The radiating ribs or veins resemble girders, and form many hundred air-tight cells, giving remarkable buoyancy to the leaf, a single leaf having been known to support a weight of 400 pounds. So with the spider's web which has suggested many valuable inventions."

"That is true," answed Barnum, with the manner of a listener.

Col. Leslie continued: "It required American talent to invent steam, telegraphy and the great science of the physical geography of the sea. Nearly all the pursuits of the human mind in the old world are beaten paths, and Humboldt, the master of the respective thirty sciences, found America infinitely more interesting as a continent than Europe. The snow-line on the Alps is at an altitude of 8,000 to 9,000 feet above the sea, but the snow-line on the latitude of Popocatepetl in Mexico is 15,000 feet above the sea-level. The village of San Pedro there is 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, and nothing on earth can be grander than the glistening sunset, or moon-light upon the cold summits of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, or the snow-clad heights of Orizaba. far away toward the Gulf of Mexico. To appreciate our own continent, we should first see Europe, and we will find that nature's grandest achievements are on the continent of North America."

"Mr. Barnum, are you ready for our game of chess?" asked Clara, appearing at the door at this juncture.

"Yes; I will answer for him, my daughter, for I have been boring him terribly for the last half hour."

"Not so, sir; it is the most instructive conversation I ever had," said Barnum, who withdrew to the sitting-room with his fair young hostess. The smile which lighted his face as he heard her voice indicated that the game he was playing was more serious than chess, though Clara seemed utterly unconscious of it.

They had hardly begun the game when visitors were announced, and Barnum sauntered forth to pursue his investigations.

In this solitary walk, Barnum reflected upon the novel

Now these two States were at war with each other.

"Indeed," he said to himself, "every man's life in these days is a romance;" for in another week, probably, he would be en-route to Richmond to yield himself a prisoner of war according to the terms of his parole.

Barnum's reflections reverted also to the conversations with Colonel Leslie regarding the "poor whites" of the South, and he thought that it was doubtful if the poor whites in Northern cities were as comfortable and as well cared for as the negro slaves here. He reflected that in one ward in New York city there are 500,000 people living in 18,000 houses, and that the death-rate there was 76 per cent. There was no such squalor, and misery, and no such death-rate among the slaves of the Southern States, in any part of this region at least. He asked himself, "for what are we fighting? Is

"Who, then, were the true patriots in this struggle between the States?" he asked himself, as he approached the garden where old Zeke was at work.

Notes

• 1. The six cotton-planting States only were included in this early estimate.

Chapter 10

The old Federal road ran along the west side of the premises at Intervale, and near it was the garden and the house of the gardener, old Zeke. Like most of his race, Zeke talked to himself while alone at work, or sang lowly portions of hymns peculiar to African hymnology.

He frequently talked to the fowls, which crowded around him, eager to get anything which he might bestow upon them.

On the day selected by Barnum for his adventure, the old man had admitted some pet hens into the garden, "to help me rake it, chickens," he affirmed. He would dig a few spadesful of earth, carefully turning it over each time, the poultry watching him as if deeply interested in his investigations.

"Whar all de wurms gone to, chickens?" he asked. Then he dug again, and threw toward them the worms.

"You's all de same age--you is--and you kin jist fight over dem wurms; fust come, fust sarved is de rule." After a while a cock, which had been trying to get into the garden, succeeded in flying over the fence and dispersing the hens, as he rapidly executed that political maxim, "to the victor belong the spoils," pursuing finally a hen that had not succeeded in swallowing her prize. Old Zeke raised his head, keeping his foot on the spade meanwhile, and looking around said, "What dat racket 'bout?" Then he spied the

The chickens crowded around him again, and old Zeke thus endeavored to console them: "Never mind, chickens, dat rooster 'll never bodder you no more; I 'clare 'fore God he won't!" The chickens seemed delighted. Then going to the fence, he leaned on it and cried: "Hezekiah! Oh, Hez! Oh, Hez! you Hezekiah! Come here, nigger!" Then he muttered to himself: "Drat dat chile; 'pear's if he ain't got no more p'liteness dan--dan a rooster."

"Hello!" said a voice on the other side of the fence. As old Zeke looked around he saw the tall form of a travel-stained man, evidently a "tramp," dressed in a dilapidated suit of jeans. The man held a carpet-bag in his hand and a roll of blanket under one arm.

"Hello!" repeated the stranger.

"Hello, yourself!" ejaculated old Zeke.

"I'm tollerable; how's your family?"

"Four wives buried, and a huntin' of a young gal now what wants ter marry--sixteen chillun, ten of 'em gals, or women ruther, and fifty-two grand-chillun; all well, thank ye. How mout be yourn, stranger?"

The stranger laughed. "You seem pretty well satisfied, old man," said he.

"Seemin's lying, den; dat's what 'tis," said Zeke.

"Then you are not satisfied?" queried the man.

"In course I ain't. Ain't I wukked to death? And den dese here tarnal roosters and chillun what won't heer nothin' and won't mind nothin' what dey do heer's nuff to drive me 'stracted! Sartinly, I ain't satisfied. Ain't I done raised two craps o' chillun fur marster? And here I is, wukkin yit!"

"That does seem pretty hard. Who lives here, old man?"

"Why, marster lives here," replied old Zeke, "and me and a heap o' niggers."

"Who is your marster, my friend?" (Particular stress laid on the last two words).

"Look-a-here, stranger, whar did you come from, anyhow? Is you from K'liny?" (Carolina). Evidently old Zeke considered it a phenomenon for a man not to know who Colonel Leslie was. Before the man could reply old Zeke caught sight of a boy. Now a boy is generally suggestive of broken china or other evidences of destructive powers, and the boy whom old Zeke saw was not an exception.

"You, Hez, come here to me, sir, you good for nothin' brat!"

The boy came on, making faces at the stranger meanwhile, and Zeke resumed his conversation with that individual.

"What has he been doing?" asked the man.

Old Zeke paused and scratched his head to answer this unexpected question. The boy had arrived, however, and relieved his embarrassment. Said he: "Hez, why didn't you come when I fust called you? Why don't you mind me, boy?"

"I didn't hear you," replied the boy, grinning with mischief as he caught the stranger's eye.

"Why didn't you hear me? What's yer eers made fur?" asked the old patriarch.

"I was hidin' de pig," said the boy, showing his ivories. As the boy said this he dodged, and as he dodged the old man threw a "chunk o' wood," as he called it, at the urchin. "I'll chunk yer life out'en you, boy! G'long wid you, nigger, and ketch dat rooster. Ef I ketch him in here agin, I'm gwine to take de hide offe'n you!" Hezekiah grinned, cracked his heels together, turned a somersault, and ran back to the cabin. He had betrayed a weakness of the old man's, viz., stealing a fat pig occasionally. In old Zeke's case such thefts were intentionally not discovered.

"'Pears to be a smart boy," said the stranger.

"Yes, he's right peart, Hez, is; but de wust chile in de world!" said the old man, looking fondly at his favorite grand-child, who was clapping his hands to his legs, imitating the sound of a horse running, as he ran back to the cabin.

"You say your marster is unjust to you--why don't you get your marster to sell you?"

"I've axed him to many 'en many a time; he won't do it he can't spare old Zeke. Marster wouldn't take two thousand dollars fur me."

"Are you more valuable than the other old men?"

"Sartinly I is; makin' truck (i. e. gardening) is one thing, an' plowin' an' hoein's another. Who gwine to wukk dis ere gyardin if Zeke ain't here? Now tell me dat?"

"Don't the other old men work as hard as you do?"

"Stranger, whar did you come frum? Sartinly not. I works barder'n any on 'em. Dere's Pompey; he's two years older'n me. He don't do nothin' but shoot crows for marster, an' ducks and squirrels fur hisself. Dere's Club-foot Harry; he makes baskits in de fall fur to pick cotton in, an' he suns hisself de balance of de year. Dere's Cary; he don't do nothin' but make horse-collars and drive de horse kyart (cart). Dere's Gumbo; he feeds de mules an' tends stock. And dere's Big Dick, an' ole Mose, an' Little Mose, an' Yaller Bill, an' Step, an' Jake, an' Long Tom, an' a heap more on 'em what don't do nothin' 't all, year in and year out."

"Who feeds and clothes them?"

"Marster. I say, mister, got a chaw terbacker?"

The stranger, like all poor people, did manage to save enough to provide this luxury, and he gave old Zeke a quid, or, in his parlance, a "chaw."

"And yet he forces you to work?" suggested the tramp.

"Look-a-here, mister, to tell you de God's trufe, marster don't do no sich thing. He jest says, says he, 'Zeke;' says I, 'Sir!' Says he, 'Zeke, you go down to Oswitchee and live there, and I'll try to get some one else to take your place here; but I know I will never be able to find anybody what knows as much about gyardenin' as you does.'" Says I, 'Marster, you an' me is a most wore out, we is; an' dis ere gyarden done b'long to me so long I hates to leave it.'"

"If he would give you your freedom, my friend, would you leave it?"

Old Zeke slowly approached the man, looked at him closely and said: "Look a-here, mister, who is you, anyhow? I done found out already dat you ain't none o' our kind of folks. Whar did you come frum?"

The man put his fingers to his lips in token of silence, bowed, and pointed to Zeke's cabin.

"All right!" said Zeke in a confidential tone, "you go to de cabin."

Then he sang in a loud voice a revival hymn, working industriously meanwhile, until finally he gathered up his tools, put them on his shoulder, assumed an expression of extra innocence, and continued his song until he reached the cabin.

Arrived at the cabin, after putting his tools in a corner, the old negro went to the door and looked out cautiously to see if any one was visible; then re-entered the cabin, and with a chuckle of satisfaction, slapped the tramp familiarly on the back, and extended his right hand. "Glad to see you sir, I is. What's de news frum Mr. Washburn?" Before the stranger could reply old Zeke had deposited himself in a chair which Hezekiah had placed there for him, and almost immediately he jumped up again, with the angry expression: "What! whar dat chile?" rubbing himself meanwhile as if in pain. "He's the aggravatenist chile on-hung!"

The mystery was soon explained. The boy had placed a red hot piece of iron in the chair just as the old man sat down; and as soon as he saw how the charm worked, had

The tramp could not conceal his amusement. But a matter of too great importance was before old Zeke now to pay any more attention to Hezekiah.

"Well, old man, I think you'll have to get your master to sell that boy," said the stranger.

"Dar 'tis agin! Marster won't sell no nigger onless he wants to be sold, and Hez. don't. He wants to stay here to pester me." The truth was the old man had begged his "marster" to let him have the boy to "wait on him," as he expressed it; and he would have sooner parted with his hand than with Hezekiah, who made life spicy for him.

"You do seem to have your troubles. What's your name?"

"Zeke."

"Mr. Zeke," continued the man, "don't you want to be free?"

"'Deed I does," said Zeke, and inspired by that suggestive prefix, "mister," the old man continued: "I tell you what, I wish I was free!"

"That's my business in these parts, Mr. Zeke. I wish to set you all free," replied the stranger.

"Hi! how you gwine ter do it?"

"Will you help me, Mr. Zeke?"

"Will I help you to help me? Sartainly I will."

"Well, you tell all the old men like yourself to meet me at Ringgold with their children and their children's children, and I will lead them to Ohio, and you'll all be free; that's what this war is for."

"Golly?" said Zeke, smiling at the prospect. "Will dey

"No, we will not give you houses, nor horses, nor servants, but we will give you freedom, my friend."

"What good freedom gwine to do us widout de means of 'joyin' it?" queried Zeke.

"You must work and make a living," said the man.

"Hi! ain't dat what we does here? 'ceptin' 'tis de ole men and women an' de blind an' 'flicted folks--dey don't do no wukk here. Will dey have to wukk dar?"

"Yes, my friend, all able-bodied men must work there. We will try to provide for each head of a family forty acres and a mule, for which he can pay when he makes money enough."

"Look-a-here, Mister-what's-yer-name? we don't want no mule to work wid. I want a bob-tail white hoss, like marster's, an' I don't want to do nuthin' but ride him 'bout, and give orders to niggers, like marster does. Marster's free; he don't wukk. Bill Baxter is a free nigger and he owns his own land and he ain't no better off 'an we is 'ceptin' 'tis he goes and comes whar and when he pleases."

"Would'nt you like to be able to do that too, Mr. Zeke?"

"Sartainly, I would; pervidin, mind you, Marster would let me come home when I got tired cavortin' 'round, and would take keer of me when I git so I can't take keer uv myself."

"Then you won't take any risk to secure your freedom?"

"Sartainly I won't! I don't want no freedom whar I got to wukk at my time uv life," said Zeke.

"But the young men will be glad to make the effort, will they not?" asked the tramp.

"I 'speck dey will; de very last one on 'em! All young folks is fools, white and black, 'ceptin tis Miss Clara, bless de honey's soul!"

"Who is Miss Clara?" said the man with increasing interest and a change in his tone.

"What yer want ter know dat fur? She is too high quality fur you ter know, but she'd meet you like she meets everybody, white an' black, so kind-like dat dey all loves de chile; why, Miss Clara's my young Missus," said Zeke.

"Is she pretty?

"De angels in heben can't beat her!" exclaimed the old man.

"What do you think about this war, Mr. Zeke?"

"I think dey kilt Mars Hugh, an' mighty nigh kilt dat other young man who dey do say--leastawise Mariar do say it--is a Yankee soldier hisself, but I don't b'lieve it."

"Why don't you believe it?" said the tramp.

"'Cause he acts like de quality-folks, like a gentleman--an I don't b'lieve no white-folks kin be quality onless dey owns niggers."

"Does he own negroes?"

"Dat's why Mariar say he is a Yankee. But I will tell you what, Mister-what's-yer-name," said Zeke growing confidential again, as if he was about to impart some very important information, "he's gwine to own lots on 'em some day."

"What do you mean?" said the stranger, leaning forward.

"I mean he's a courtin' of Miss Clara, dat's what I mean, and she has nussed him, and rid wid him nigh on to three months. Now, mister, hit stands to reasin dat when a gal

"Who on earth is this 'Mars Harry?'" said the man.

"Mars Harry Latané, who owns, or is gwine to own, place jinin' ourn down to Etowah, on de river. He's a quality-gentleman fur you! an ef he knowed what was gwine on here, he'd leff his company, an de war, and he'd take dat ar Mr. Barnum an lift him out'en his boots afore he could say Jack Robinson!" and the old man laughed immoderately at the imaginary picture.

The tramp's hat had fallen off now, also his wig, and his features were disguised only by the whiskers, though he did not seem to know it. "I clar to gracious!" cried old Zeke looking intently at the man. "Great snakes alive! ef you ain't him!" And then old Zeke informed him that he intended to tell his master on him, "Onless," he added confidentially, "you kin prove to me Mr. Washburn sent you here."

Barnum's intense interest had betrayed him, but assuming a careless manner and re-adjusting his wig and whiskers, he took up his bundle and departed, first telling old Zeke that he would notify Mr. Washburn, if he reported him, and asserting that he did not intend to be picked up for another man. Old Zeke remained in deep thought for a few moments. He was not positive about this being Barnum, and in spite of all his statements there was not a negro on the estate, old or young, who would not gladly have accepted freedom. Then he concluded he would tell his "marster" any way that Barnum would not do as a suitor for Clara's hand.

Colonel Leslie intercepted old Zeke as he was on his way to the house, and began to make complaints against Hezekiah.

"I tell you what, Zeke," said he, "I've spared that little darkey long enough, and the next time he strikes my pointer, I intend to thrash him. I don't believe you ever do whip him."

"Marster, in course you kin whip Hez--in course you kin whip me, whenever you wants to, in course you kin! But did you see Hez strike de dog?"

"No, Zeke, if I had, I should have whipped him anyhow, but somebody has struck Dan."

"Dar 'tis!" said Zeke, "dar 'tis! now marster, you is de court, and you is de jedge, and you is de jury: which one am you, when you make up your mind to whip Hez, jest because Mariar's chile has hit de pineter?"

"Zeke, I do believe you have got a way of looking right into me. I had made up my mind to whip Hez this time, and have come here for that purpose, but you have put a question to me, which I can't answer. Now, did you see Maria's boy hit my dog?"

"I seed him hit your dog jest as much as you seed Hez hit de pineter," replied the old man. "I tell you what, marster, jest bekase Hez is a peart, lively critter, dese niggers charges all dere rascalities up to him, but bless your heart, marster, dat Hez's de innocentest boy I ever seed!"

Detaining the old man long enough to admit of Barnum's return to the house, Colonel Leslie slowly entered it, but was called back by Zeke.

Barnum had returned and had taken off the old clothing which he had worn over his best suit, and was now describing

Then they heard old Zeke's voice addressing Colonel Leslie, who was sitting in the veranda.

"I say, marster," said Zeke.

"What now, Zeke?"

"Marster, you has been imposed on," solemnly said old Fidelity.

"By whom, Zeke?"

"By a man you can't put no 'pendence on--a piece of white-trash, sir."

"What do you mean, Zeke--who has given you a dram?"

"I ain't had no dram, marster, sence de war commenced, you's got so stingy you ought to be shamed o' yourself! I done forgot de very taste uv whisky. But, marster, spite o' your stinginess, I'll tell you how you's been 'posed on. You has done like de man what de Bible tells 'bout; one cold, frosty mornin' he found a snake in de big road, what was froze stiff. He tuk de snake home wid him, an warmed hit by de fire, an hit bit him an pizened him!" said the old negro with the solemnity of a judge.

"Well, nobody has poisoned me," said his master.

"Dey has tried to, sir, but old Zeke--"

"Who has tried to poison me?" interrupted Colonel Leslie, not wishing to hear Zeke's history of his faithful services which he had heard already a hundred times.

"Dat dere young man wat come here wid you atter Mars Hugh died, and what Miss Clara an' you has warmed to life agin!" said the old darkey.

"Who? Barnum? Why, Zeke, you are drunk. Barnum was Hugh's best friend."

"He ain't no friend o' yourn, marster; and he ain't quality, marster; an he ain't fitten to cut Mars Harry Latané out, marster!"

Then old Zeke related all that had transpired, but Barnum had his reasons for wishing to put a stop to his narrativé before the old negro reached that part of the recital which related to his interest in Clara. He therefore walked out on the veranda from the parlor window and talked laughingly to Clara Leslie and her friends, as if he had not heard a word he had said.

"I 'clar to God!" said Zeke, staring with wonder at the unexpected appearance of the young gentleman dressed in his elegant suit of black, his easy manners, and the laughing eye which accompanied the following request, addressed to old Zeke:

"Proceed with your story, uncle Zeke; it is interesting to hear one's self denounced. But, really, I can't understand why you should dislike me so much as to invent that story."

He only said: "I 'clar to God, marster! 'fore God, I don't b'lieve 'twas him no how!" and retired completely mystified. He walked slowly back to his cabin in deep thought, then went to the road and endeavored to track the tramp, but he finally gave it up, completely "out-done," as he expressed it. His boasts had already subjected him to ridicule so often that he concluded to keep his own counsel henceforth concerning the mysterious stranger. But he humbly begged Barnum's pardon the next time he saw him for having mistaken him for a tramp.

Barnum informed him that his fidelity to his master had raised him very much in his estimation.

Chapter 11

"Forgery is the false making or materially altering, with intent to defraud, of any writing which, if genuine, might apparently be of legal efficacy in the foundation of a legal liability."

Wellington Napoleon Potts reflected for sometime, after reading the above definition, before putting his pen to the paper before him. Was the letter he was about to write of " legal efficacy in the foundation of a legal liability?"

He consulted the authorities at hand, and in one he read underneath the same caption the following: "For it is not every falsification of writing which constitutes forgery in a legal sense. If one writes letters and signs them with the name of another, which may be very injurious, not only to the feelings of some other party, but to his interests, he is not in law a forger, if no pecuniary rights, obligations or engagements are, or are intended to be, directly affected by this falsehood."

That was satisfactory to this pious young man, whose Sunday-school class was a model in its way. He was a shrewd judge of human nature, and he had observed that the ethics of the legal profession seemed to mean that any outrage or wrong-doing, if " legally" committed, is legitimate and pardoned. He had observed that the criminal is prosecuted by one attorney only, while a score of the ablest legal minds are ever ready to defend him for a pecuniary consideration. His observations in this direction developed the fact that in the previous year the number of reported murders

"Anything that is legal is right;" "might makes right," he was heard to remark; and his secret aspiration was to become a legal "counsellor" in this lawyer-cursed land, where legal fees are out of all just proportion to the value of the services rendered. So alluring did the practice of law seem to him, that he would have at once become a lawyer but for the existence of war, which prompted him to

Had he become a lawyer, he would have probably been a prominent legal Pharisee on the principle announced by him to be the basis of professional ethics, when he was ventilating his opinions to his chosen associate and satellite, Jonathan Stunner, Esquire.

"Stunner," said Potts; "there is no doubt that most great criminals have in them the chief elements which go to make successful lawyers."

It was a fine piece of acting when his obsequious friend held up his hands with an air of pious horror, and earnestly protested, in a tone which resembled a Methodist class-leader's, against this aspersion of what he called "a NOBLE profession."

In becoming the "silent partner" of Jonathan Stunner in his money-lending and rack-renting schemes, in the distant capital city where Potts was not known, Wellington Napoleon Potts had adopted the next best method of utilizing the terrors and tyrannies of the law as practiced in this country where the attorney and the advocate, the solicitor and barrister are, unfortunately, united in one individual, and where a dry-goods clerk may become a lawyer by six months study.

The prominent sign of John Bull Stunner announced to the public in large letters that he was "Attorney and Counsellor and Real Estate Agent," while underneath, in small capitals, one read the suggestive words: "Detective Collecting Agency." It was said that Mr. Stunner's "business" was one of the most lucrative in the capital city.

Stunner was a small, wiry, tough-looking citizen, who could change his facial muscles at will. He was a natural

In the presence of a modest lady, or an honest, rural citizen, ignorant of city methods, Stunner's manner was tremendous, so to speak. He stood so straight that his head lent backward and his round stomach forward, when he wished to awe such customers by the majesty of his presence. He received such people in his handsomely furnished front office, which was upholstered and furnished like a bank. The plate-glass windows abounded in signs, and everywhere one saw the name "Stunner."

Three female clerks were kept busy all the time, notwithstanding the dullness of trade, adding up figures in columns on huge ledgers, and making out bills. A hoary-headed old book keeper seemed equally busy, and the passers-by wondered how business could be so active with him, when all other lawyers, note-shavers, and real estate agents were grumbling at the stagnation in business.

To borrowers he assumed a fierce and uncompromising expression, and as they stood before the small aperture above the counter in the adjoining room over which was the sign, "Loan Office," they were spoken to by the great man behind the counter, which extended nearly to the ceiling, in a manner which suggested that they were on trial for their lives. From his perch there he could see them plainly, through the small aperture provided, while nothing except his glittering black eyes were visible to them. But mention a trade to him! Instantly his features

The entrance of Wellington Napoleon Potts into this office was the signal for the most cordial welcome, and half-veiled obsequiousness was prominent in the bow and hand-grasp with which the head of the "Detective Collection Agency" greeted his visitor.

For Potts was at once client, customer, patron and silent partner. For him the best chair was ever ready on his brief visits to the capital. In business matters, and in business matters only, Potts did not let his right hand know what his left hand was doing; and even his father did not know that he made investments through the "Detective Collection Agency,-Real-Estate,-Law,-Loan-Insurance-and-Notary-Public Office" of John Bull Stunner, Esq.

"Why, my dear sir, my very dear sir, I am delighted to see you! Parker, here! take this gentleman's hat and cane. Take good care of them, too, Parker. Mr. Potts and I have a confidential conference before us--and remember, Parker, I am 'out of town' to all who come, so long as Mr. Wellington Potts honors the office with his presence."

The old book-keeper got down from his high stool quickly and advanced to do as he was bidden, but Potts retained his cane, kept his hat on his head, and deliberately walked to where one of the female clerks stood writing, and looked over her shoulder at the ledger. Then turning to Stunner, he said:

"Same old trick, Stunner; hasn't the public found it out yet?"

"No, and it never will. It works like a charm, I tell you."

The truth was that these clerks were kept busy copying from old ledgers, and old due-bills long since collected, whenever business was dull. The public supposed that this was all new business, and patronized Stunner, not because they liked him, for he was generally thought to be a "shyster" in his legal practice, and disreputable socially. But he was a good collector, and business came to him because he seemed to get more business than all the rest of the notary-publics, small attorneys and real-estate agents combined. The public likes to be humbugged, and Stunner dearly loved to humbug the public. But the manner and remarks of Potts threatened to lower his prestige with his employees and, therefore, he hurried Potts to his back-office, as he styled the room in the rear where he was wont to arrange legal matters.

The methods of this worthy, inspired by the unctious Wellington Napoleon Potts, were peculiar. See them in the dingy, dark back-room, where they held their confidential conferences, discussing the mode of collecting bad debts upon scientific and artistic principles. A smoking lamp casts its flickering glare over the dust-covered books that were placed on the round pine table to impress the humble debtor that the redoubtable proprietor of the "detective collecting agency" was a profound legal student. In point of fact, they were rarely, if ever, opened.

The conversation drifted to the events which now made war a very stern reality indeed.

"How did you manage to get out of the Union army?" asked Potts.

"I served loyally my time; I only enlisted for three months."

"Were you in the battle of Manassas?"

"No; I found it convenient to have a violent attack of the colic that day and was in the hospital, where I managed to stay until the fighting was over."

"Were you not suspected of being an imposter, and of shamming sickness?"

"Oh, no; hear me," and with that began a series of the most violent contortions accompanied by sounds that seemed to emanate from a person suffering from the most excruciating agony, and yet that could not be heard in the front office."

Potts was convulsed with laughter, but finally asked: "Tell me, my dear friend, what induced you to risk that valuable carcass of yours by enlisting in the army?"

Stunner was now sitting on the table, his legs dangling down, and his face as grave as that of a judge.

Advancing slowly to Potts, he said to him, putting his fore-finger on the side of his nose--a favorite jesture of his--"Don't you give it away, but go thou and do likewise. When this war ends the soldiers are going to be pensioned by both governments, if the Confederacy wins, but by the United States Government anyway. To be sure to get a monthly pension all my days, I enlisted on the strong side, and now I am all heeled."

"But why do they not bother you here! How do you manage to keep out of the Confederate army? I am annoyed to death, and, as you know, have been almost ostracised because I will not go to the front."

Assuming the manner of a judge on the bench, Stunner

"Read that, and be convinced that it is a very cold day when Stunner gets left," he said.

Potts opened it and read the certificate of the Consul-General of Great Britain, that John Bull Stunner was a loyal subject of her majesty, the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. Potts returned the papers with a look of undisguised admiration.

"I envy you more than I do any man," he said. "I see the point: you have not taken out naturalization papers."

"Oh, yes, I did in the United States, but I have not yet become a citizen of the Confederate States, and--" again the dexter fore-finger went to the dexter side of the nose, as he whispered: "And between you and me, and the bed-post, I am not going to do so, so long as there is any fighting going on."

To this sentiment Potts responded by a cordial grasp of the hand, thus making a tacit admission that Stunner had uttered the wish dearest to his own heart.

"I do think, of all the fool things on earth," said he, "this thing they call 'patriotism,' which demands that men shall voluntarily pose as targets before deadly missiles is the--est!" The conversation became more and more free and easy, for Stunner helped himself to what he called "nerve tonic."

Hear him relating his latest experiences to Potts:

"Whenever I get a bad debt upon the employee of a corporation, I politely notify him that the paper has been placed in my hands for collection, and courteously invite him to drop into my office, as his previous engagements will allow, and settle the matter. Of course, I suggest that a remittance by mail or express, at the risk and expense of the

"No, thanks; I don't drink anything stronger than cider," replied Potts.

"Oh! you don't, eh? Well, I am sorry for you; here goes!" and, with that expression the "detective-collector," ignoring the glass, seized the bottle, inverted it, and drank half a pint without wincing.

"My goodness! man, you will burn your stomach out with that raw whisky--won't you take some water?" said Potts, handing Stunner the water pitcher as he spoke.

"Water be damned!" replied Stunner; then, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he resumed:

"Where was I when I left off?"

"You were telling of how you sent the debtor a request to call and settle, or send remittance by mail or express."

"At his own risk and expense, mind you; ha! ha! ha!" laughed Stunner.

"Well then, if the debtor is wise," he resumed, "he hastens to liquidate his little bill, and, while cursing the fate that threw him into my hands, he blesses the unseen gods that have brought him out again, even at the cost of the unpardonable extravagance of paying his debt."

No one who knew Mr. Wellington Napoleon Potts in his richly furnished office at Etowah would recognize him now as he asks:

"Does he always tumble to the racket?"

Assuming a serious manner, Stunner answered: "No, I grieve to say that sometimes he is not wise, or rather ignorance of the painful experience immediately in store for him makes him stubborn and rebellious; then the circus begins,

Potts was laughing with the keenest enjoyment, as he anticipated what was to follow, while Stunner retained his serious expression.

"Then," suggested Potts, "you tell him to write to me, do you?"

"Oh, no; the first act is to go to a Commercial Notary and make the necessary affidavit to secure a summons of garnishment against--let us say--a railroad company which employs our debtor as a locomotive engineer. The affidavit is made from a printed blank which, by some unaccountable oversight on the part of the compositor, omits to contain the very necessary allegation that the funds claimed are subject to garnishment. The bond to answer in damages for suing out a false garnishment, has also the same fatal and curious omission. The security on that valuable instrument is usually some of the negro janitors or office-boys of my acquaintance, and the depths of their insolvency could not be sounded with the Atlantic cable for a lead-line."

"Good! capital! you'll do!" exclaimed the happy Potts. 'Go on, John, I am listening--ha! ha! ha!"

Thus encouraged, Stunner took another pull at the bottle, and proceeded:

"The Commercial Notary, being usually very good-natured and invariably furnished with a skull thick enough to protect his valuable brains from anything short of a cannon-ball or a mule's heel, likewise issues the summons of garnishment, which I then place in the hands of a country constable,

The narrator's small, fox-like eyes twinkled as he ceased for a moment, that the delectable mental morsel might be enjoyed by his attentive listener, who was cracking the joints of his fingers, a method of indicating his intense enjoyment peculiar to him.

"You remind me of a cat torturing a mouse: ha! ha! ha!" laughed Potts.

The narrator proceeded: "He hurries to the officer of the company to draw his long over-due wages, and is horrified to find that another garnishment from another officer on the same claim has been served on the company, and that the old one has been dismissed."

"The indignant railway official suggests, in rasping tones, that employees who don't pay their debts and cause the company to be harassed with garnishments had better hunt another job. The paralyzed engineer makes another bond to dissolve the garnishment and starts out on the same hopeless rounds again until, driven by starvation and despair, he surrenders at discretion, pays his debt, and goes away a sadder and much wiser man. In future the slightest hint that I hold a claim against him is sufficient to make him remit or meet it with a promptness that would make a United States bond blush for its dilatoriness in meeting coupons due."

The pious Potts had rolled off his chair in his uncontrolled merriment, which Stunner thoroughly enjoyed while he had recourse again to the bottle.

"I say, Stunner, said Potts, wiping the laughter-tears from his eyes, "'when this cruel war is over,' I am going to turn lawyer, if it beats money-lending, and I want you to practice law with me."

"All right, pard; then we will go halvers all round; is that to be understood?"

"Oh! yes, said Potts, just as we do now; I lend the money and you collect 'the piece nearest the heart;' then we go 'halvers,' as you call it. By the way, Stunner, where did you learn that expression?"

"In the army, my friend."

"Which army?"

"Ah! now you have me; I don't exactly remember."

It was a fact that thus early in the contest, Stunner had enlisted in both the Federal and Confederate armies, and contrived to keep out of both.

"Now," said Potts, as he received from Stunner his part of the proceeds of recent "deals," "tell me how you managed to collect the debt that the fellow who could not pay the burial expenses of his wife owed; I shaved that note at seventy-five per cent., but I thought I would lose by it; it was a great risk, Stunner--a great risk."

"That was a hard un!" said Stunner; "let me see: he owed the undertaker for burying his wife, and I couldn't reach him by garnishment in the usual style, as he did not work for a corporation--always look into that feature, my friend; it's a heap safer to go for corporations. But this fellow had a great deal of 'human nature' in him, and one of my detectives caught sight of him visiting down in Etowah. He 'shadowed' him and found out that he was courting a girl and had engaged himself to her. He notified me and I dropped on to his racket, and found out his days for visiting his 'Jularky,' and, on the next day before his visit, had his prospective father-in-law, brother-in-law, his girl, and his girl's mother all served with garnishments to pay into court any money or funds they, or either of them, held belonging to the debtor, so that it could be applied to our debt, which was for the coffin and burial expenses of his wife. This last was written in red ink with large letters, so that you could read it half-a-mile off almost. When he arrived on the train and went round to see his girl, the old man fired him out of the house and her brother chased him out of town with a shot-gun and a bull dog. He came round to my office in a

"Indeed you do!" said Potts, laughing immoderately as he cordially wrung his hands and left the office. Such was the true character of this plotter against the happiness of Henry Latané, whose object in visiting Stunner was to consult him as to the legal liability of the forgery he was about to commit, in order to break up the engagement between Latané and Clara Leslie.

For selfish purposes he "professed religion," but he laughed in his sleeve as he read in Holy Writ the denunciation by the Master of men like himself:

"Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees; hypocrites ye are, as graves which appear not, and the men that walk over them are not aware of them.

"Woe unto you also, ye lawyers, for ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye, yourselves, touch not the burdens with one of your fingers. Ye have taken away the key of knowledge: ye entered not in yourselves, and them that were entering in ye hindered.

"And as He said these things unto them, they began to urge Him vehemently and to provoke Him to say many things, laying in wait for Him and seeking to catch something out of His mouth that they might accuse."

But as the most intolerable tyranny of modern times, in America at least, is executed under cloak of, and by means of the law, Potts was very careful not to subject himself to legal liability in his plottings against Henry Latané.

The crime of forgery was so easily committed, and was detected with so much difficulty, that it was not surprising that this unscrupulous young man should resort to it in order to undermine and destroy the influence of his successful

A brief retrospection is needed that the reader may appreciate how Potts was enabled to successfully forge the name and hand-writing of Henry Latané. In ordinary times such proceedings could scarcely happen without quick discovery, but in time of war it is the unexpected that is liable to happen.

His knowledge of the character of Henry Latané satisfied him that that chivalrous young gentleman would remain at his post of duty at the front during the war, and that nothing short of a wound or physical disability would cause him to return home, if the quasi engagement between himself and Clara Leslie could be broken.

The reader will remember that the guests had quickly departed when Henry Latané delivered to Colonel Leslie the telegram which announced the dangerous condition of Hugh Leslie in the hospital at Richmond.

The farewell note, written by Henry Latané to Clara Leslie, expressed the tenderest solicitude and deepest sympathy for the young girl to whom he had plighted his troth. In it he

In the excitement and confusion which followed, he could only hand this note to her maid, who placed it in a vase on the mantel to be delivered the next day. The vigilant Potts had observed all this, and it was the work of a moment to abstract it. The letter which he now wrote and substituted for it was as follows: "Miss Clara--Pardon the indiscretion which prompted me to address you. Believe me, I did not intend to do it, and realize already that it was an injustice both to you and to myself. I have the highest respect for you, and will always be your friend, but I fear that our hearts are not given to each other as the hearts of engaged people should be. Think no more of it, but pardon my conduct in seeking to bind the destiny of one too young yet to know her own mind on so momentous a matter."

Respectfully yours,
Henry Latané."

The next day they left for Richmond before it occurred to the maid to deliver it. When she did think of it and sought for it, it was not to be found, and she discreetly said nothing about it.

Months passed. One day Colonel Leslie, while taking his letters from this vase (where Potts, in his thoughtful consideration, had placed them, bringing them himself from the post-office), found the note given above and signed "Henry Latané." As the letter was not enclosed in an envelope, he had read a part of it before he realized its import. He then read and re-read it carefully, and, nursing his indignation as well as he could, he resolved that his daughter should know nothing of it.

Potts' reflections upon this feat, while not very cheering, were, on the whole, satisfactory.

True, if Latané should discover his perfidy in suppressing a letter full of the tenderest solicitude for the young girl who had confided her happiness to his keeping and substituting instead the infamous one he wrote, he knew that swift punishment would certainly follow.

But how was he to discover it?

Many months would almost surely elapse before Latané would return home, and his position in the post-office enabled him to destroy every letter in Latané's hand-writing addressed to Clara Leslie, and vice versa. "Long before they can meet again," he thought, "the seeds of doubt and offended pride that are thus sown will have done their work."

And his calculations were not at fault.

Colonel Leslie, while he found nothing congenial in the companionship of Potts, never forgot a kindness from any source, and he remembered the marked consideration and courtesy shown him by Potts in the hours of his deepest trouble just before his departure for Virginia. Potts was, therefore, cordially welcomed when he improved his opportunity by calling upon Clara Leslie, though he always asked for her father. Clara felt an intuitive aversion to his society, but she did not know how to be other than courteous to every one.

Neither Clara nor Henry Latané suspected the truth. She was cut to the heart by his unaccountable silence and neglect; he was troubled inexpressibly by her failure to answer any of his letters.

Chapter 12

The appointed day for the horseback ride to the top of the mountain had arrived, and the two young people had ceased the rapid gait by which they approached it that they might the better converse.

"November is my favorite month," said Barnum; "you know it begins with one of the most touching fêetes of the Catholic church to the head of all the saints--'All Saints Day'"

"Yes, as an Episcopalian, I knew that, but I thought you were a Protestant," answered Clara.

"I am," he replied, "but my parents are devout Catholics, and I was brought up to believe in the doctrines of that faith. While I am a Protestant, I revere the Catholic faith for their sake as well as for its own. Besides, one cannot help having respect for a church which numbers 139,000,000 souls, while we Protestants only number 59,000,000."

"Is that true? I am surprised to learn that."

"Yes, and the Buddhists number 170,000,000; the followers of Islam, 96,000,000; the Brahmins 60,000,000; the Greek church 62 000,000; the Jews 4,000,000; the--"

"Mercy! mercy!" cried Clara; "you overwhelm me with your statistics; you are actually as bad as papa."

"Very well," said Barnum, "but as you got the best of me last night in an argument, I was determined to get even today if I could."

"So you deliberately primed your mind for the occasion, did you? Really, Mr. Barnum, I feel complimented."

"Not so," he retorted, "but I have read volumes on the subject since I have been confined to my room, and these statistics have lingered, although I have usually very little aptitude for dates or figures."

"How can you, a Protestant, approve of these fêtes and august ceremonials of the Catholic church?" she asked.

"They seem to me to partake of the superstition of the heathens. It is similar to the Chinese worship of idols, don't you think so?"

"Are we free from the charge of preserving Pagan ideas?" he answered. "Do you not know that the name of this very month is an evidence that we do? The same pious instincts, the same noble and ignoble sentiments animated mankind in Pagan times as at present, and we do well to preserve all beautiful ideas or customs. The Gregorian hymn is a Pagan hymn, but the music appeals to the same feelings now as it did in Pagan days."

Clara's quick intelligence eagerly grasped at new ideas, and she said: "Tell me about November; what were you going to say about the name of this month?"

"Only that November--nov em--means ninth. Now, while November is the eleventh month of our year, we have preserved the Pagan calendar, for the Pagan calendar year begins in March, thus making November the ninth month."

"That is a new and interesting fact to me; but I should have known it, because the French language has preserved, in the same way, the Pagan names for the days of the week Lundi--our Monday--is the day of la Lune (the moon); Mardi (Tuesday), the day of Mars; Mercredi (Wednesday), the day of Mercury; Jeudi (Thursday), the day of Jupiter; Vendredi (Friday), the day of Venus; Samedi (Saturday),

Barnum smiled at the naïveté with which she related these facts that are familiar to every school-girl; for every language, probably, accounts in a similar way for the days of the week. There was in Clara's character a mingling of the innocence of childhood with the unusual knowledge which foreign travel gives to the mind that he had never known before. The study of her character was to him an open chapter of pleasing surprises, brightened by wit and merriment.

"What are you smiling at, Mr. Barnum?" she asked. "I don't like to be laughed at."

"It was not in ridicule, Miss Clara; I was only thinking of a delightful scene which I saw while walking in the village last Sunday. A gentleman was walking with his little girl, who seemed to be three or four years old; her manner and yours were somewhat alike, as you replied just now, as if to say: 'I have found a fact and am going to grasp it.'"

"What was my little prototype doing?"

"She was trying to catch the shadow of her father as he walked between her and the sunlight. One moment she stood with expectant air as he moved forward, telling her that he was going to hold it down with his foot; then, as it evaded her, she darted forward to catch the fleeing shadow; and then suddenly she stopped, half in inquiry, half in explanation, as she traced the shadow to its substance. I would give a great deal for a photograph of the swiftly changing emotions pictured on the face of that little innocent," said Barnum.

"And you would compare me to a little girl three years

There was pretended indignation and coquettish gratification in her tone and manner, but Barnum was equal to the occasion, for he answered:

"Oh, no; I think you are wise beyond your years--the most womanly girl I know--but you are as guileless and innocent as that little child."

The woman who is proof against such agreeable and well-timed flattery as this has yet to be born. Clara, at all events, was not, for, holding her hand toward him, she smilingly said: "I will have to forgive you, after that pretty speech."

They rode for a short time without speaking, but finally Barnum said: "I don't know why I should have thought of Catholic customs to-day, unless my mind unconsciously turned to the time when I first saw you as an embryo Sister of Charity."

"That remark reminds me of a very dear friend of mine who has become really, and I think forever, a Sister of Charity. You should have known her, for she was my poor brother's fiance at the time of his death--the sweetest tempered, best and truest girl I know is Nathalie Blanc." Then, pausing a moment, she added: "There is something about the falling leaves of autumn that recalls to me the loved ones that have fallen."

They had reached the summit of the mountain as this speech was uttered, and Barnum aided her to dismount.

It was the afternoon of a splendid day, when the varied colors of spring seemed united to the golden yellow of autumn. Advancing to the edge of a precipice, they viewed the landscape.

Barnum had fully recovered from his wound, and was evidently more interested in his fair young companion than in the scenery.

"What are you thinking of, Miss Clara?" said Barnum, after a few moments' silence.

"Strange to say, I was thinking of a quotation, and wondering whether the poet was right in thinking spring the loveliest of the seasons."

"What is the quotation which can take your mind from this beautiful view? I think 'Indian summer' is the loveliest of the four seasons," he replied.

"It does not take my mind away from it; indeed, the quotation was recalled by it-- "

O Primavera, gioventu dell natura,
O gioventu! primavera della vita,
 

"That sounds beautifully; what is the sense of it?" "

'Oh! springt-ime, youth of fair nature,
Oh, youth! spring-time of life,'
 

"Do you understand Italian?"

"No; where did you learn it?"

"I studied Italian in Italy; we lived there a year--the year before we lived in Switzerland. You know I call Geneva my European home. My father wanted me to learn French and Italian, so as to read and speak it fluently. The sentence conveys a beautiful idea, I think."

"So do I. Did you ever read a novel in that language?"

"Oh, yes, indeed; and the best one, I think, is 'Doctor Antonio.' The author wrote it himself in English, French and Italian, the latter being his native tongue, and it is a classic in each."

"I quite agree with you, for I have read the English version. Don't you think European novelists have greatly the advantage of our American novelists?"

"I had not thought of it, but since you have suggested it, I will say that I do. There is no room for a Thackeray in Republican America, where there is no aristocracy, but we have a Dickens already."

"And who is he?" queried Barnum.

"Bret Harte," she answered.

"Who is the author of the quotation you have just Uttered, Miss Clara?"

"I do not know. I heard it quoted first by my teacher, Madame R., with whom we made the ascent of the Voirons, which, DeSaussure says, offers the finest view among the Alps; and whenever I see a beautiful mountain view it occurs to me."

"But is not the effect of seeing those grandest scenes of nature to render insignificant our little mountains here?"

"Oh, no! Do you know I have a fancy that a beautiful view, if you really enjoy it intensely, as I do, is never lost, and each successive landscape adds to that which preceded it? And then, Mr. Barnum, these 'little mountains,' as you call them, are ours."

"That's a new idea," said Barnum; "your look, tone, gestures, all seem to imply, as you gaze at yonder distant blue range, that they are your individual property."

"And they are! Put into the soul of the humblest of God's creatures an appreciative taste of 'The True, the Beautiful, and the Good,' as Guizot expresses it, and place them on any mountain in one's native country, and who can rob him of his appreciation of the glorious sky, and sea and lake, or wood?"

"But why couldn't you feel the same sense of appropriation amid the Alps?"

"Oh! Mr. Barnum, I don't know how to answer you, but I did'nt. I could only feel the insignificance of all human things there. I can see them now--Mont Blanc and many lesser monarchs that pierce the very skies--the sunset glow on their icy peaks resplendent as burnished gold, and a thousand times finer than any painting! Then follows the re-glow illuming the snow peaks with all the colors of the prism, and far more beautiful than the sunset itself. I have never seen this re-glow except amid the Alps."

"You certainly are an enthusiast in your love for beautiful scenery," said Barnum.

"I confess that I am," she replied. "I think with Victor Hugo that the study of nature detracts in no degree from the successful pursuit of the practical things of life; that the spirit which knows how to be free and winged with the birds, perfumed among the flowers, mobile and vibrating amid the waves and the trees, elevated, serene and peaceable among the mountains, knows also when the hour comes, and better perhaps than any one, how to be intelligent and eloquent among men."

Then, after a brief silence, during which Barnum was contemplating the expressive face before him instead of the scenery, as her very soul seemed interpreted by her animated features, she continued:

"Mr. Barnum, look there!" From the rocky heights the eye sweeps over valleys, while lower mountain spurs trend far away until they melt in the horizon. "How beautiful that view is! But it is much finer than this," she added, "at Dahlonega; the isolated peaks there rise in separate

"Do you know that you look like Murillo's Madonna, with your hair all falling loose that way?" he asked, unmindful of the beauties of the landscape.

"Fiddlesticks! You haven't a particle of sentiment, or you would at least refrain from making allusions that spoil mine."

"Pardon me; you are mistaken; my trouble, I fear, is that I have too much sentiment, and I am greatly tempted to give it utterance."

The scene and the occasion certainly seemed propitious. The air was redolent with roses and flowering shrubs, laughing at autumn and tossing sweet blossoms to the amorous breeze on this vernal belt which clothes the rim of these Southern mountains with perpetual verdure.

The young soldier's convalescence admonished him that it was his duty to report at Richmond and resume his place as a prisoner of war until he could be exchanged. During the months of his daily association with Colonel Leslie's household, Clara's cheerful voice, as she read or talked to the helpless invalid, had become the sweetest of sounds to him, and her gentle smile thrilled his heart with happiness. Clara did not dream of his infatuation; it had not occurred to her that Barnum would be a suitor for her hand. To him too, the idea was surrounded with difficulties, but long ago he had surrendered his heart to her in his secret thoughts. His sense of honor told him that the war itself was an insurmountable barrier if he returned to what his conscience told him was his duty, the prosecution of the war for the restoration of the Union.

A question from his unsuspecting companion brought him to his senses again.

"Mr. Barnum, you have told me that you once lived here a a short time, and left to enter the Northern army; were you ever on this mountain before?"

"Oh, yes, frequently; we used to come here to get cedars with which to decorate the ball-room at the Military Institute for the commencement ball. By the way, it is just over there," pointing as he spoke in the direction of the Institute. "We had a gay time there. No ball can compare with a cadet ball during commencement week."

Clara had been occupied, meanwhile, in gathering fern leaves and flowers, and she appeared for the moment to be oblivious of everything else. The wind had blown her hat from her head, and her thick, luxuriant hair becoming unconfined reveled in disorder. It was fairer in his eyes, as he had stated, than the chevelure of Murillo's Madonna. Rich color mantled her cheeks, and her graceful, lissome figure never appeared to better advantage. There was an air of coquetry about her, which seems as natural to pretty women as the air they breathe, and Barnum recalled mentally the various characters in which she had enacted a part, and in all of them had seemed to him to be a heroine.

Now, filled with enthusiasm inspired by the lovely scenery and bracing air, she seemed the incarnation of feminine coquetry, free from all the ills and all the cares that flesh is heir to. He had never looked at her so intently before. His very silence was unusual, and there was a sad, wistful, earnest look in his eyes which she had never before noticed. The sun was melting into splendor, as all the colors of the prism seemed to glow in the western sky.

"Mr. Barnum, I don't wish to be inquisitive, but may I

"Miss Clara, there is no wish on earth which you could utter which would offend me. I owe my life to your unceasing care. There is nothing which could give me so much happiness as to feel that I could contribute to your enjoyment or happiness. Sit down here and I will tell you of the greatest trial of my life--except one," he added, looking at her sweet young face upturned to his with all a girl's interest in some interesting revelation about to be made.

There they sat on a rock near the summit of the Kennesaw, while he simply narrated the following incident:

"A wealthy young Texan named Moyer had been chosen as captain of the 'Raccoon Roughs,' a military company raised in this vicinity. He was a member of the Senior class and we gave him a farewell banquet. In two months I would have graduated, and I intended to remain until after that event, as the first battle had not then taken place, and I hoped that peace might be maintained. Moyer's intimate friend was a youth named Latané"--Clara started with surprise as she heard this name, but Barnum did not notice it and continued--"a chivalrous, gallant fellow, full of enthusiasm, who, like the rest, was burning with ardor to resist the 'invasion of his country,' as he termed it. A stone loosened from its place here where we sit will bound down the mountain side, leaping from cliff to cliff, from precipice to precipice, crashing great trees in its course, until its course is run. A tiny ball of snow gathers strength and volume as it rolls over and over in its impetuous course, until 'tis merged in the mighty avalanche which cuts down trees and plants, and sweeps all before it, a very besom of destruction. The war spirit of those youths was

"The guests arose as one man, with one exception, and drained their glasses. The one exception was captain of Company C, a native of New York. He was also an assistant professor, which was the highest academic honor. At his side sat the Senior Cadet Captain, Blount, the noblest fellow I ever knew."

Barnum paused for a moment and pointed to the descending sun.

"Go on," said Clara; "father knows I am with you, and hence will not feel uneasy about me."

Barnum smiled and continued: "Latané noticed it first, and added a hot-headed speech about 'skulkers,' and those who sought 'bomb-proof places.' Blount arose to reply, for

Clara had listened to this recital with unflagging interest--an interest all the greater because of the allusions to Latané.

"You said there was a trial greater than that severance of college ties and friendships?"

"Shall I tell you what it is?" he said, as he looked into her face with a pleading, earnest look. She did not reply, and Barnum continued: "But for you, Miss Clara, I would have died in the hospital; but for Hugh, upon the battlefield. I used to think, before I knew who you were, that it was worth getting desperately wounded to see this lovely nurse; and often did I lament the garb which told me that, even if I could win your love, you had placed an eternal barrier between us when you entered the convent. I used to spend my hours in thinking how you could be rescued and returned to that world which you are so fitted to adorn. Indeed, you are too sweet, too lovely to be a nun!"

This was said in a simple, manly way--the honest outpouring

"That is what tries me; that is the greatest trial of my life. It is my duty to return and fight in support of my convictions, but when I think that my sword will be turned against my benefactors, my saviors; against those whom you love; against you whom I love with all the earnestness, all the tenderness of my nature--more than life itself--I hesitate."

The trembling tones of his voice and his impassioned manner left no ground for doubting his sincerity.

The announcement was so unexpected, and it seemed so singular that two strong and valiant men should ask her opinion in a matter of so much moment, and each do it at the time that he declared his attachment for herself, that Clara was overwhelmed. Too sincere to trifle with the affections of such a man as this young Northern officer had proven himself to be, too fearless in her purity to dissemble, she, acting on the impulse of the moment, said: "Do not ask me, but follow the instincts of your own heart. If I were a man I would scorn not to be a soldier at this time. But I cannot appreciate your feeling of loyalty to the old Union. But, Mr. Barnum, go where you will, you must always feel that my poor brother's friend is very dear to us. I know that you will never do anything dishonorable, and--try to think of me as of a relative whose interest in you is second only to that of your parents." She ceased, surprised at herself. Her hand was placed unconsciously upon his arm, her speech was as earnest as his, and yet the one expression which he

Superb self-control, buoyed by self-esteem, animated these two young people.

"It is time that we returned," said Barnum; "I see the lights in the village, and I would not have your father think that I had intentionally abused the last evening I spend under his hospitable roof."

"Surely you are not going away?"

The agitation which Clara displayed as she asked this question was like an elixir to his hopes, but it passed away in a moment as his better nature re-asserted itself. Even if he could induce her to confess that the attachment was mutual, did he have the right, as an honorable man, to do it? Should he, the avowed enemy of her country and of the cause for which her idolized brother had yielded his young life, should he ask this?

The whole solemnity of the subject rose with prophetic clearness before his vision, and, curbing all that he longed to say, he said: "Yes, I will leave to morrow; it is not honorable for me to remain longer. I owe to your dear father my immunity from prison thus far, and now I am well and strong, and I shall return at once to Richmond and take my place until duly exchanged.

But, Miss Clara, for the last time perhaps on earth we are alone together, and I must speak freely. I would not have you pledge me your love if I had won it, which I see I have not, but you must always remember that I love you as I love no one else on earth. I see that it is hopeless to

She could not answer him, but her agitation and her inability to say a word as they rode slowly homeward left a thrill of hope in his breast that he dared not express.

Chapter 13

The day before Barnum left this hospitable home to deliver himself as a prisoner at Richmond, a conversation with Colonel Leslie as to the cost of emancipation and the evils incident to the separation of families made him eager to personally witness a public auction of slaves. Richmond contained the only regular auction mart of this kind in the South, and it was an easy matter for him to gratify this curiosity, which could never be witnessed again if emancipation became a reality. In that conversation Barnum said:

"It will be a great financial loss, then, if emancipation shall result from the war."

"Yes, as a matter of course, and the war will determine that. Take any part of the New England States, the nursery of abolitionism, and so arrange the territory as to embrace eight millions of people; then take away from the accumulated savings of the most industrious and thrifty of her people over two thousand millions of dollars by the stroke of a pen, in what condition would it leave them?"

"It would convert it into a wilderness, because the people would abandon it and go West," answered Barnum.

"Precisely; and yet that is exactly what the abolitionists propose that we shall do. The issue is made up, and neither you nor I can avert the consequences. Each of us must do as his conscience shall dictate. But do not be deceived by public clamor. Bear in mind what the Democratic convention in Indiana has just unanimously demanded--that 'the

"To appreciate the full force of the demand made upon the South, you must know that the money value of our slaves is greater than all the mills and factories and railroads in the United States combined. But be that as it may, the South has staked all upon this war, and if we lose we will not grumble about what cannot be helped. The cost of war is always borne by the defeated country." His tone and manner indicated very clearly that he had no doubt about the success of the South.

"How long have you been a secessionist, Colonel?"

"Ever since the promulgation of the so-called 'higher law.' But the first advocacy of the constitutional rights of the States to dissolve the Union when it ceased to protect their interests came from the foremost abolition State, the State of Massachusetts."

"Indeed!" said Barnum; "I never heard that before. Who suggested it?"

"A statesman and a gentleman for whom I have the highest respect. In 1844 he introduced in the Massachusetts Legislature resolutions which were passed by that body respecting the annexation of Texas. He had declared therein, just as Josiah Quincy had declared with reference to the acquisition of Louisiana, 'that the power to unite an independent foreign State with the United States is not among the powers delegated to the general government by the Constitution

"The great misfortune, my young friend, is that the political leaders of both the North and South have allowed passion to master reason, and are willing to plunge this country into a bloody war rather than make mutual concessions.

"When the doctrine of an 'irrepressible conflict' was announced, the gauntlet was thrown down. When this, my native State, passed the ordinance of secession, I felt, like the Massachusetts statesman, that she had exercised her sovereign right and loyalty bade me obey."

Colonel Leslie's remarks concerning slavery lingered in Barnum's mind as he proceeded northward.

Animated by a spirit of adventure, and knowing that he would never be able to witness such a scene again if the Union armies triumphed, Barnum strolled forth the day after his arrival in Richmond, to find a slave-auction house. A public sale of slaves was a rare spectacle in any other Southern State, but the exposure of ordinary goods in a store was not

Where the street was in which the brokers conducted their business he did not know, but the discovery was easily made. Rambling down the main street in the city, he found that the subject of his search was a narrow and short thoroughfare turning off to the left and terminating in a similar cross-thoroughfare. Both streets were lined with brick houses. Looking about, he observed the office of a commission agent, and into it he stepped. It was a large shop with two windows and a door between; no shelving or counters inside; the interior a spacious, dismal apartment; the only furniture a desk at one of the windows and a bench at one side of the shop three feet high, with two steps to it from the floor. This dismal-looking place had nobody in it but three negro children, who, as he entered, were playing at auctioneering each other. An intensely black little negro of four or five years of age was standing on the bench, or block as it is called, with an equally black girl about a year younger by his side, whom he was pretending to sell by bids to another black child who was rolling about the floor.

Barnum's appearance did not interrupt the merriment. The little auctioneer continued his mimic play, and appeared to enjoy the joke of selling the girl, who stood demurely at his side.

"Fifty dolla for de gal--fifty dolla--fifty dolla. I sell dis here fine gal for fifty dolla," was uttered with extraordinary volubility by the woolly-headed urchin, accompanied with appropriate gestures in imitation, doubtless, of the scenes he

At another office of a similar character, on the opposite side of the street, he was more successful. Here, on inquiry, he was respectfully informed, by a person in attendance, that the sale would take place the following morning at half-past nine o'clock.

Next day he set out accordingly, after breakfast, for the scene of operations, in which there was now a little more life. Two or three persons were lounging about, smoking cigars, and, looking along the street, he observed that three red flags were projected from the doors of those offices in which sales were to occur. On each flag was pinned a piece of paper, notifying the articles to be sold. The number of lots was not great. On the first was the following announcement: "Will be sold this morning, at half-past nine o'clock, a man and a boy."

It was already the appointed hour; but as no company had assembled, he entered and took a seat by the fire. The office, provided with a few deal forms and chairs, a desk at one of the windows, and a block accessible by a few steps, was tenantless, save by a man who was arranging papers at the desk, and to whom he had addressed himself on the previous evening. Minute after minute passed, and still nobody entered. There was clearly no hurry in going to business. He felt almost like an intruder, and had formed the resolution of departing in order to look into other offices, when the person referred to left his desk and came and seated himself opposite to him at the fire.

"You are an Englishman," said he, looking steadily in Barnum's face; "do you want to purchase?"

"Yes," he replied, "I am an Englishman; but I do not intend to purchase. I am traveling about for information, and I shall feel obliged by your letting me know the prices at which negro servants are sold."

"I will do so with pleasure," was the answer; "do you mean field hands or house servants?"

"All kinds," replied Barnum; "I wish to get all the in formation that I can."

With much politeness the man stepped to his desk and began to draw up a note of prices. This, however, seemed to require careful consideration, and while the note was preparing, a lanky person, in a wide-awake hat and chewing tobacco, entered and took the chair just vacated. He had scarcely seated himself when, on looking towards the door, he observed the subjects of sale--the man and boy indicated by the paper on the red flag--enter together and quietly walk to a form at the back of the shop, whence, as the day was chilly, they edged themselves towards the fire, in the corner where Barnum was seated. He was now between the two parties--the white man on the right, and the old and young negro on the left--and he waited to see what would take place.

The sight of the negroes at once attracted the attention of Wide-awake. Chewing with vigor, he kept keenly eyeing the pair, as if to see what they were good for. Under this searching gaze, the man and boy were a little abashed, but said nothing.

Their appearance had little of the repulsiveness we are apt to associate with the idea of slaves. They were dressed in a gray woolen coat, pants and waistcoat, colored cotton

Barnum thought it was but fair that he should now have his turn of investigation, and accordingly he asked the elder negro what was his age. He said he did not know. He next inquired how old the boy was. He said he was seven years of age. On asking the man if the boy was his son, he said he was not, he was his cousin. He was going into other particulars, when the office-keeper approached and handed him the note he had been preparing, at the same time making the observation that the market was dull at present, and that there never could be a more favorable opportunity of buying. Barnum thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and then read the following price-current:

Leaving the document for future consideration, he walked

On his arrival, and while making these preliminary observations, the lots for sale had not made their appearance-In about five minutes afterward they were ushered in, one after another, under the charge of a mulatto, who seemed to act as principal assistant. He saw no whips, chains or any other engine of force. Nor did such appear to be required. All the lots took their seats on two long forms near the stove; none showed any signs of resistance; nor did any one utter a word. Their manner was that of perfect humility and resignation.

As soon as all were seated, there was a general examination of their respective merits by feeling their arms, looking into their mouths, and investigating the quality of their hands and fingers--this last being evidently an important particular. Yet there was no abrupt rudeness in making these examinations; no coarse or domineering language was employed. The three negro men were dressed in the usual manner--in gray woolen clothing. The woman with three children excited his particular attention. She was neatly attired, with a colored handkerchief bound around her head,

While intending purchasers were proceeding with personal examinations of the several lots, Barnum took the liberty of putting a few questions to the mother of the children. The following was their conversation:

"Are you a married woman?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many children have you had?"

"Seven."

"Where is your husband?"

"In Madison county."

"When did you part from him?"

"On Wednesday--two days ago."

"Were you sorry to part from him?"

"Yes, sir, she replied, with a deep sigh; my heart was a'most broke."

"Why is your master selling you?"

"I don't know--he wants money to buy some land--suppose he sells me for that."

There might not be a word of truth in these answers, for he had no means of testing their correctness; but the woman seemed to speak unreservedly. He spoke also to the young woman who was seated near her. She, like the others, was perfectly black, and appeared stout and healthy, of which

There was an entire absence of emotion in the looks of men, women and children, thus seated preparatory to being sold. This did not correspond with the ordinary accounts of slave-sales, which are represented as tearful and harrowing. None of the parties seemed to feel deeply on the subject, or at least any distress they experienced was but momentary--soon passed away and was forgotten. A trifling incident proved this. While waiting for the commencement of the sale, one of the gentlemen present amused himself with a pointer dog, which, at command, stood on its hind legs and took pieces of bread from his pocket. These tricks greatly entertained the row of negroes, old and young, and the poor woman, whose heart, three minutes before, was almost broken, now laughed as heartily as any one.

"Sale is going to commence--this way," cried a man at the door to a number of loungers outside; and all having assembled, the mulatto assistant led the woman and her children to the block, which he helped her to mount. There she stood with her infant at the breast, and one of her girls at each side.

The auctioneer, a handsome, manly-looking personage, took his place with one foot on an old deal chair with a broken back, and the other raised on a somewhat more elevated block. It was a striking scene.

"Well, gentlemen," began the salesman, "here is a capital woman and her three children, all in good health--what

The next lot brought forward was one of the men. The assistant, beckoning to him with his hand, requested him to come behind a canvas screen, of two leaves, which was standing near the back window. About a dozen gentlemen crowded to the spot. The man was told to open and shut his hands, asked if he could pick cotton, and his teeth were looked at. The investigation being at an end, he was requested to walk to the block.

The ceremony of offering him for competition was gone through as before, but no one would bid. The other two men, after undergoing similar examinations behind the

"This way, gentlemen! this way!" was heard from a voice outside, and the company immediately hurried off to the second establishment. At this office there was a young woman and also a man for sale. The woman was put up first at five hundred dollars; and possessing some recommendable qualities, the bidding for her was run as high as seven hundred and ten dollars, at which she was knocked down to a purchaser. The man was put up at seven hundred dollars; but a small imperfection having been observed in his person, no one would bid for him, and he was ordered down.

"This way, gentlemen! this way--down the street, if you please!" was now shouted by the person in the employment of the first firm, to whose office all very willingly adjourned. In going in the crowd, Barnum went to see what should be the fate of the man and boy, with whom he had already had some communication.

There the pair, the two cousins, sat by the fire, just where he had left them an hour before. The boy was put up first.

"Come along, my man--jump up; there's a good boy!" said one of the partners--a bulky and respectable-looking person, with a gold chain and a bunch of seals, at the same time getting on the block. With alacrity the little fellow came forward, and, mounting the steps, stood by his side.

"Now, gentlemen," said the auctioneer, putting his hand on the shoulder of the boy, "he is a very fine boy, seven years of age, warranted sound--what do you say for him? I put him up at 500 dollars--500 dollars (speaking quick, his right hand raised up and coming down on the open palm of the left)--500 dollars. Any one say more than 500 dollars? (560 is bid) 560 dollars. Nonsense! Just look at him. See how high he is. (He draws the lot in front of him, and shows that the little fellow's head comes up to his breast.) You see he is a fine, tall, healthy boy. Look at his hands."

Several step forward and cause the boy to open and shut his hands, the flexibility of the small fingers, black on the one side, and whitish on the other, being well looked to. The hands and also the mouth having given satisfaction, an advance is made to 570, then to 580.

"Gentlemen, that is a very poor price for a boy of this size." (Addressing the lot.) "Go down, my boy, and show them how you can run." The boy seemingly happy to do as he was bid, went down from the block, and ran smartly across the floor several times, the eyes of every one in the room following him.

"Now, that will do. Get up again." (Boy mounts the block, the step being rather steep for his short legs, but the auctioneer kindly lends him a hand.) "Come, gentlemen, you see this is a first rate lot." (590, 600, 610, 620, 630 dollars are bid.) "I will sell him for six hundred and thirty dollars, twice. (A pause, hand sinks.) Gone!"

The boy having descended, the man was desired to come forward, and after the usual scrutiny, he took his place on the block.

"Well, now, gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "here is a right prime lot. Look at this man; strong, healthy, able--bodied; could not be a better hand for field-work. He can drive a wagon or anything. What do you say for him? I offer the man at the low price of 800 dollars--he is well worth 1,200 dollars. Come, make an advance, if you please, 800 dollars said for the man (a bid); thank you; 810 dollars, 810 dollars, 810 dollars, (several bids, 820, 830, 850, 860), "going at 860, going. Gentlemen, this is far below his value. A strong man, fit for any kind of heavy work. Just take a look at him." (Addressing the lot): "Walk down." (Lot dismounts, and walks from one side of the shop to the other. When about to re-ascend the block, a gentleman, who is smoking a cigar, examines his mouth with his fingers. Lot resumes his place.) "Pray, gentlemen, be quick" (continues the auctioneer); "I must sell him, and 860 dollars are only bid for the man, 860 dollars." (A fresh run of bids to 945 dollars). "945 dollars once, 945 dollars twice" (looking slowly around to see if all were done). "945 dollars. Going, going," (hand drops), "gone!"

Such were a forenoon's experiences in the slave-market of Richmond. Everything is described precisely as it occurred. Barnum's emotions as he returned to the hotel were conflicting. Savages brought from Africa were certainly much advanced in the scale of civilization by becoming the slaves of a man like Colonel Leslie. But this selling of human beings, as if they were dumb brutes, this separation of families, seemed so revolting to his mind; so at war with the essence of the Declaration of Independence, that he, who had seriously

"If it cannot be done, then let them secede!" he exclaimed. "There is an 'irrepressible conflict,' and this country cannot form one harmonious government half slave and half free." He forgot, in his unselfish thoughts, that New York was once a slave State. The Albany (N. Y.) Gazette of 1785 contained many advertisements concerning fugitive slaves and slavery, similar, in all respects, to those which he had read in the Richmond papers. Slavery had ceased there when it ceased to be profitable, just as it probably would have been abolished eventually in the South for like cause before the close of this century.

Chapter 14

For the army each day was a cycle of events at this period, but for Clara months passed and her interest in the stirring events was repressed and she seemed a changed being. Her bright color was gone now, and Colonel Leslie's cheery greetings were answered by a forced smile and the unremitting attentions of his devoted daughter. But all these dutiful attentions did not bring back the bloom to the cheeks of the convalescent.

There are people thus cheerful, thus earnest, thus faithful, whose wealth of love cannot fulfill its mission by pursuing the narrow path of duty.

Thus without a quarrel Latané and Clara suffered a mutual disappointment which nothing but a satisfactory explanation of the enigmatical state of affairs could remedy. Her father had finally acknowledged to himself the true reason why her buoyant cheerfulness had given way to a gentleness which seemed born of disappointment, and he felt extreme resentment to the author of it. She was his idol, and her happiness was the object of his life. When relieved of the cares of business, it was her society he craved, and daily some little token of love would evidence his absorbing affection for his only child.

Time had rolled fleetly around; great battles had been fought, and still, late in the second year of the war, Henry Latané had not asked for a furlough.

In the North the steady expansion of population by means

But war was crushing the South with anaconda force. For men and material for the purposes of war, the North had the whole world to draw upon. One paper stated: "We have now over twenty-six millions of people within the Union lines, against less than five millions (nearly one-half of whom are negro slaves) within the lines of the Confederates. All things considered, the actual, positive, available strength of the North against the South is more than twenty against one." It was at this period that a ring at the doorbell of Mrs. Latané's house, one bright, sunny winter morning, brought the warm-hearted matron herself to the door. It was not the fashionable hour for calling, and she knew that it must be some familiar acquaintance. She looked in every direction, but could see no one, and was about to reënter the hall when a bright, laughing voice from the conservatory, into which a door descended from the veranda, said: "I will join you in a moment, aunty; I wish to get a camellia -- and what beautiful geraniums!" Then the shapely figure and fresh, beautiful face of Julia Dearing appeared, holding in her taper fingers some choice geraniums and other plants.

"Why, Julia! always at your delightful surprises; actually playing hide-and-seek with an old woman like me. I'm so glad to see you!" Then she met her with a mother's kiss.

"You ought to be, aunty, for I've brought you something that you will prize very highly," said Julia.

Mrs. Dearing and Mrs. Latané had been bosom friends

"I will guess what it is," she said.

"No, aunty, I will not postpone your pleasure; it is a letter from Captain Latané. I stopped the carriage as I passed the post-office and made Jeff inquire for your mail."

"Then you must share my pleasure," said Mrs. Latané, leading the way to the parlor. "Sit down, my child, while I read it to you."

They had hardly entered the parlor when a sunbeam of a child, a perfect type of blonde beauty, with golden hair and blue eyes, ran in and threw herself in Julia's lap with the expression, "Oh, here is Cousin Julia!" In an instant her plump little arms were around Julia's neck, and the affectionate child lavished kisses upon her, telling her that she was the most beautiful lady in the world.

Mrs. Latané, opening the letter, read: "

Culpepper Court House, Virginia , 1862.
My Dear Mother:

For two weeks we have been almost constantly on the march. I am writing under disadvantages, having been drenched by the rain, which is even now dripping on the paper. We are in a strip of woods near the Rappahannock; drawn up in line of battle, expecting orders to advance every minute; shells are flying over and around us. The cannonading is tremendous. Ambulances are hurrying by, carrying the wounded. One poor fellow is being borne by on a stretcher; he cannot live many minutes longer.

Two Days Later, 25th.

I was interrupted, as I expected. The left of our division. Anderson's brigade, suffered severely. The Washington Artillery, attached to our brigade, suffered very heavily in killed and wounded; the enemy abandoned their positions, but cannonaded us furiously. We have bivouacked at Jefferson, waiting for provisions which gave out yesterday. Hungry men are cursing commissaries, yet it is not their fault, for provisions have to be hauled a long distance. We have no bread, but it will come after awhile.

Thursday, 26th.

We left without provisions, and are still advancing. Details are sent into every corn-field that we pass to procure roasting ears, which is our only food. The men seem nearly famished, but are brave and cheerful. We are drawn up in line of battle in an old field opposite the enemy. Shells were thrown during the whole of yesterday by the enemy; several fell in a few feet of me. Poor Charles Vincent, color-bearer to the regiment, was killed by one of them. Please call to see his mother, and tender her consolation and assistance. Charlie enlisted in my company and was one of the best soldiers in the regiment. Fifteen or twenty men in my company are bare-footed; their feet are torn and sore, but they do not murmur. They are chiefly poor factory operatives, like Charles Vincent, and I do not see any way to procure shoes for them. Thousands in this army are no better off. These men are certainly patriots. I feel thankful for my own good health; I need nothing. God bless and take care of you, my dearest mother. Give my little pet, my sweet little sister, a hundred kisses for me and my kindest regards to Manson.

Your devoted son,
Henry Latané.
 

"Manson" was Mrs. Latané's colored carriage driver. As Mrs. Latané finished reading the letter, little Minnie, with tears in her eyes, exclaimed:

"My poor, good, dear, dear brother!"

Her mother, smiling through her own tears, caressed the little blue-eyed child, and Julia interupting her said:

"Say my brave, noble, heroic brother--that's what I think of him!"

The mother's heart was too full to reply. Pride in his courage, and fear for the safety of her darling son, agitated her with conflicting emotions. Julia soon left in order to make other calls.

For many days thereafter Julia was busily engaged embroidering a pair of slippers and a tobacco-pouch for the "brave, noble, heroic soldier." Her father looked on with gratification, for he was even more anxious that Henry Latané and Julia should form an attachment to culminate in marriage than Mrs. Latané was. But Julia had always declared that she and Henry Latané were too good friends ever to become lovers. Latané was completely infatuated with Clara Leslie, and, indeed, loved her the more on account the very uncertainty of its successful termination. He never permitted himself to doubt Clara's fidelity, honesty and truthfulness a moment, but no positive engagement of marriage existed, and his self-respect would not permit him to make any further overtures until the mysterious silence of Colonel Leslie and herself was explained, for none of his letters to Clara had been answered.

The next day the stylish equipage of Mrs. Latané drew up in front of an humble cottage of one of the factory operatives at Mr. Potts' mill. The little yard in front was ornamented with a few rose bushes and other flowers, while in the cottage

Mrs. Latané, leading her little daughter by the hand, entered the porch and knocked at the door. Mrs. Vincent, with a respectful curtsy, welcomed her kindly, for there were few among the suffering poor in her neighborhood who did not know of and appreciate Mrs. Latané's charity.

"How are your little ones, my friend?" said she. "My little girl has brought them some presents."

"You are too kind, my dear madame; pray be seated; I'm sure, m'am, you know you are welcome."

While the mothers were engaged in friendly conversation, in which Mrs. Latané learned all about the needs of the sick among the operatives, little Minnie had gathered the children around her--all sitting on the floor--her golden curls mingling with their flaxen locks, while she emptied

The little creatures would scramble playfully for the bonbons until they would roll over the floor, to Minnie's inexpressible delight, whose bright curls shook as her merry peals of laughter succeeded these antics. The little boy toddled up, and taking her curls in his chubby little hands, said in infantile tones: "I'll take this for my present." Minnie smiled, and putting her arms around the baby boy, kissed him and said: "Oh, no, Johnnie, I've brought you a real pretty present. Boys don't like dolls, so I've brought you something else." Then she ran to the carriage, followed by the delighted little mob, and, nearly breathless, exclaimed, accompanying the speech with the forefinger of her right-hand in an imperious way: "Be quick, uncle Manson; I have left a box in the carriage." Three little voices chimed in: "Be quick, uncle Manson; left something in the carriage!"

Manson got down, and patting his little mistress' head, lifted her in his arms gently and placed her in the carriage, where she sought among the downy cushions in vain for the missing box. Tears were about starting in her eyes, and the little friends were nearly crazy with excitement, wondering what Minnie had brought little Johnnie.

"Uncle Manson," said the child, "can't you come in here and find that box?"

"Certainly I can, Minnie; don't you know uncle Manson can always find anything, or do anything for you?"

Then he took Minnie in his arms again, placed her on the ground, and, looking in, saw the box under one of the seats, where Minnie, in her eagerness, had pushed it without seeing it. As he held it down to her, she clapped her hands and leaped for joy. Three little children clapped their hands and leaped for joy. Again the parlor floor is animated with happy children.

"Here, Johnnie, is your present," proudly said the little beauty, as she took out the toy soldiers and placed them in a row. There were soldiers on foot, and cavalry soldiers, and toy cannon. The mothers had ceased talking and were silently gazing at the children. Mrs. Latané had taken down in her note-book every article which Mrs. Vincent needed, the latter protesting against receiving them.

"Oh, never mind," said Mrs. Latané, "you can pay me for them when you like, but you must take them. We know not how soon we will be poor, and I want to help people while I have the means. After a while, maybe your children will be helping mine." Just then the little boy uttered an exclamation of delight; Minnie had placed the toy soldiers in opposite lines for a battle, she said; and one of them, holding a flag above his head, as if in the act of waving it, she had placed in front of the centre of the line of battle.

Charles Vincent was color-bearer in Henry Latané's company, which was the color company of the regiment, a position given to Charles for gallant conduct. He was promoted to be lieutenant the day he was fatally wounded. The honor was conferred at the special request of Captain Latané, and it indicated that, though social advantages and

"Mama," said little Johnnie, "here is brother Charles marching ahead of all of them!" With a look of grateful pride, Mrs. Vincent said to her friend: "When the war is over my Charles will not forget to whom he owes his promotion, and will do anything on earth for your children." Before she had finished the sentence Mrs. Latané, overcome at last, was sobbing. Then Mrs. Vincent sank, pale and trembling, in her chair, and gasped, "What is it?" Her mother's heart told her the truth too well. Mrs. Latané embraced her and caressed her as if she was not only her equal, but her sister.

There is another democracy: the democracy of grief! The eldest daughter, Agnes, entered the room at the moment when Mrs. Latané gently conveyed to her mother's stricken heart the agonizing intelligence. Agnes interpreted the scene at a glance and, aided by Mrs. Latané, lifted her mother and placed her on the bed. Mrs. Vincent did not utter a sound, but her lips moved convulsively, as if she would speak, if speaking would not break her heart. She did not weep; such grief as this freezes the fount of tears! She did not close her eyes; such grief petrifies the glance of misery! The open eyes saw no one; the ears, listening for the silent voice of the dead, heard no one! The brain of

"It will never do to help these people," said Mr. Potts, the rich manufacturer. "The more you give, the more they want. Give them an inch, and they'll take an ell. Teach them to take care of themselves is my motto; that's the only true charity. I've paid the girl all I agreed to pay her. Honesty is my motto--I believe in the omnipotence of honesty! These people expect me to buy them Brussels carpets and feed them on cake and champagne! I am against giving to the poor; against it on principle! It spoils them for laborers; they begin to hold their heads too high; none of that for me! I'm a self-made man!"

Mr. Potts was an eminently "respectable" man. His shirt-collar was always stiff and straight and upright. Mr. Potts had a "high place in the synagogue," and wore a cut-away coat. His coat tails were also eminently respectable. Mr. Potts was a deacon; and when other people stood up to pray, he knelt down, first having swept away any dirt which might be on the floor, with his handkerchief, to protect his

One day the physician, employed by Mrs. Latan, called at Chestatee and informed her that the invalid must be removed.

"Why is it necessary, doctor?" she asked.

"Malaria," he replied. "Her cottage is very near the river, and if she were in her normal condition, malaria might not affect her seriously. But malaria affects not only the cells of the cerebral centres, the normal phosphorescence of which gives origin to the mind, but also every nerve-cell and molecule. It also affects the action of the chylopœtic viscera, and thus produces indigestion and destroys the manufacture of the great pabulum of life--the blood." While Dr. B's fondness for using medical terms sometimes amused Mrs. Latané, she had the utmost respect for his opinions, as he was at the head of his profession, and had for many years been the family physician.

Following the advice of the doctor, Mrs. Latané had the Vincent family conveyed to one of her farms, called "Beallwood," where the aroma from the pine forest which surrounded the dwelling had been found singularly efficacious in lung diseases and malarial complaints.

But all the efforts to restore Mrs. Vincent to health were in vain. The ball that struck Charles Vincent's heart pierced

One day Mrs. Latané sat at the bedside of the invalid, relieving Agnes, who was overcome by fatigue, her mother having been much worse the previous night. Little Minnie was carefully fanning the weak, emaciated woman, who was sleeping far more tranquilly than she had slept for weeks. Suddenly the sleeper awoke, and, fixing on Mrs. Latané her unnaturally large eyes that now beamed with the old intelligent look, she said: "My friend--my dear, good, kind friend! I am going soon. I've been with my boy, Charles, in Heaven!--I will meet your husband there--have you any message for him? Bring my darling children to me." Then the dying mother, released at last, talked rationally and tranquilly to them; told them of the great struggle which she had had in order to be saved, and, admonishing them concerning the illimitable future, consigned them to Agnes' care.

The poor factory woman had joined her son at last!

Agnes returned to the lonely cottage, in spite of Mrs. Latané's protest, and to work in the mill again. The great river rushed with mighty force down the magnificent falls.

"Is life worth having?"

The insatiable maw of commerce demands its victims with an iron heartlessness, and twelve hours a day must be given to labor by women and children of tender ages within the huge manufactories, which run day and night. And this is done that the rich may become fabulously rich and the poor reduced to that point, calculated with a nicety which does honor to mathematical physiology, at which life can be sustained. It matters not how many lives are ground out by the daily routine of monotonous toil, the cloth must be woven, and enough profit made to pay the interest on "watered stocks" that sharpers may grow rich, even though little children are kept at work in the mill. In a land which boasts of being the asylum for the oppressed of all nations, labor has little hope of rising in the world when once it enters the portals of the factory or mine. What matters it that "Corporations have no souls?" Does not a new-comer take the place of him or her who yields to the unequal fight, and dies in the fierce battle of poverty, for the lack of air, sunshine and wholesome food? Is not life at best a battle, where humanity is but an improved animal rioting in a refinement of cruelty undreamed of by the beasts? Does not humanity repeat the natural law, the strong oppress the weak, the big fish eat the little fish? Do not politicians

Whatever were the evils of slavery, let us not forget what a great Belgian economist, speaking of countries where slavery is unknown, has said: "Except as a tradition, Masters and men are in a state of constant warfare, having their battles, their victories, and their defeats. It is a dark and bitter civil war, wherein he wins who holds out longest without earning anything; a struggle far more cruel and more keen than that decided by bullets or a barricade; one where all the furniture is pawned or sold; where the savings of better times are gradually devoured, and where at last famine and misery besiege the home and oblige the wife and little ones to cry for mercy."

Little accidents frequently usher in important incidents. It is the accident which often determines the fate of a battle; and an accident frequently decides that most important incident in one's life, courtship. It was a trivial accident which introduced Julia Dearing to Major George Blount, but, trivial as it was, it is a necessary link in the chain of of events which form this life-story.

As Julia Dearing was driving rapidly near Chestatee, on her return from a visit to one of her friends, her dog, a small Italian grayhound, leaped suddenly out of the pony-phaeton and, striking the lines, fell just before the wheels which ran over the little animal. The mare stopped instantly at her command, which was spoken in a tone that seemed to communicate sympathy to the animal for the little whimpering brute. She quickly descended and took the little dog in her arms as gently as if it had been an infant, and its low whimpers ceased as she held it in her arms, though its leg was broken. Resuming her seat, with the dog in her lap, she was about to drive off, when a strong voice said:

"Most beautifully done, Miss Julia! I would have aided you had it been in my power, but walking on crutches is slow locomotion."

"Why, Captain Latané! I am so glad to see you; when did you return home? I have one vacant seat; let me drive you home. On crutches, did you say? I must have a pair made for Bijou." As she said this she looked with real sympathy

"Oh, yes," he replied, "but that is a small matter; it might have been a great deal worse. Let me introduce my friend, Major Blount: Miss Dearing, Major Blount." Julia had not seen Blount at first, the turn in the road and the dense vegetation having hidden him from view, but now she saw a noble specimen of young manhood--a soldier and a gentleman. Blount threw open the great gate and the young lady drove in, for the dog, she thought, demanded immediate attention. She soon reached the house and had entered it, bearing her dog with her, before the young gentlemen arrived.

"By Jove! isn't she handsome?" said Blount.

"Yes," replied Latané, and she is as clever as she is handsome.

"She is the handsomest girl I ever saw," said Blount, "and I mean to cultivate her."

"In time of peace prepare for war, then," retorted Latané, who seemed fully to appreciate her merits himself.

Her buoyant health gave a vigor to her movements which was apparent to the least observant. The elasticity of her step as she walked and her natural vivacity seemed the acme of the joyous sense of living. The very idea of existing seemed a pleasure to her.

No care oppressed her, and her heart seemed a well-spring of perennial gayety. The only child of a wealthy and eminent man, her every whim had been gratified during her life. Her self-possessed manner made her appear older than Clara Leslie, and she took the lead in all diversions. Clara's admirers were constant; Julia's more numerous, out fickle, as she wanted them to be.

"Men's hearts were made to be broken and then mended again," she was heard to say; yet she was not selfish, and she despised downright deception. She would have scorned to deceive for any purpose except to gratify her conscious power and this, she flattered herself, was a harmless amusement. She was brilliant, caustic when she chose to be sarcastic, witty and beautiful, the essentials for the "make up" of a successful flirt. To the poor she was the embodiment of charity. Without having been strictly "in society," she had been courted a dozen times, and each of her lovers, except Bruton Stewart, though jilted, hung around her with the same blind infatuation whenever she appeared in society. She neither rejected nor accepted her suitors, but always referred them to her father, whom none of them dared to approach until she had given an outward visible sign responsive to their own declarations, which she was careful not to do. The girl seemed utterly to lack sentiment. Success did not spoil her, for the idea of not succeeding had never entered her head. Insensible to jealousy, she could not comprehend how it could hurt others. Excepting this one foible, springing from love of admiration, Julia's heart was a kind one, ever ready to minister to the sick and needy. She seemed insensible to fatigue or ennui. The common people and the negroes all liked and admired her. Without being masculine, she was an excellent "shot," and frequently went gunning with Henry Latané when he was at home. She was also a superb horsewoman, and could handle the "ribbons" famously well in driving.

And now Latané thought of the bitter cold day when he had received the slippers made by the hands of Julia Dearing, for of such were the presents to soldiers made in the days

The snow was thick on the ground in the valley of Virginia, and shoes were scarce and hard to obtain, "for love or money." His own shoes were worn and afforded poor protection to his almost frozen feet.

Each day was being ushered in by a battle or a skirmish, and he commanded the picket line. One by one his men were falling, and his company, which had numbered one hundred and twenty-five, had dwindled to forty-five men. To each of these soldiers he had endeared himself by acts of kindness when self-abnegation meant physicial suffering. It was at this time that the slippers and tobacco pouch made by Julia had been received, his initials being worked in by her hands. With grateful appreciation Latané wrote, thanking her for the unexpected kindness, and thus began a correspondence in which she wrote just as she would have talked had he been present, an epistolary art as rare as it is attractive.

To the letter referred to she replied as follows, after having briefly alluded to the comfort which she hoped the slippers might afford to the absent soldier:

"I am so glad that you are well again. I feel very proud of my gallant cousin. Has he forgotten me? I saw your uncle John yesterday; he is seventy-six years old, and yet he says he will give his three sons to the army, and, if necessary, will lead them himself. This, from the wealthiest gentleman in town, shows the spirit that is destined to win our independence.

"I have been for the last week in such a state of mind--sad and glad, angry and proud. We went to the depot yesterday to see the Guards off. All the town was there. The

"The black people, particularly Shack Shorter, wept copiously when their young masters went to the war. Hennie Wakefield, stranger as she is, cried. Old men cried. My tears flow far from the surface else I would have cried, too. Mr. Hart resigned; said he had no idea when he joined the company that there would be a fight, and that he had to stay and attend to the sewing machines! I don't believe any woman even would show such cowardice. He ought to be drummed out of town! He missed his vocation in being a man. Good-bye, dear cousin.

"Your affectionate, belligerent cousin,
" Julia Dearing.""

The battles of the Chickahominy, culminating in the battle of Malvern Hill, had raised the siege of Richmond.

In four hours General Longstreet's corps had lost three thousand men, killed and wounded; but Richmond had been saved, and the army of one hundred and fifty thousand men had been pushed from their strongholds and fortifications and put to flight, leaving an immense spoil in stores, provisions and artillery. For the first time, Captain Latané returned home on furlough, accompanied by his most intimate friend, Major George Blount, of the Second Regulars. This regiment was stationed on the Atlantic coast and Major Blount, becoming tired of the life of inaction, while so many of his friends were gaining distinction, had applied for a transfer that he might be more actively engaged. Pending the result of this application, he had accepted Latané's invitation to visit him at Chestatee.

Just before the accident happened which caused the introduction to Julia Dearing, Latané was pointing out to Blount the interesting features of the landscape, or "waterscape," as Julia persisted in calling it.

They stood near the bluff overlooking the picturesque spot called "Lover's Leap."

The river, visible for miles from this point, presented a succession of rapids leaping wildly over dark jutting rocks and casting its white foam on high. Far to the north it widened, then narrowed as it made its rapid way on either side of Magnolia Island, where those grand Southern trees form a forest all their own. Their mammoth size, deep coloring and great white flowers would do justice to the most luxuriant forests in the tropics.

To Blount Julia's appearance was a revelation. He

"Where did you learn the healing art, Miss Dearing?" asked Blount.

"Oh, I don't know; at the soldiers' hospital, I reckon, You know the girls all belong to the Soldiers' Aid Society?" she replied.

"Yes, God bless them! They have these societies in every town and village," he said.

"Auntie," said Julia, "I must tell you something funny; it is about papa. I believe he knows as much as Solomon did, but he won't use good English; he will persist in calling Florida, 'Flurriday,' etc. I told him the other day that the girls at the last meeting of the Soldiers' Aid Society resolved to dress in calico hereafter in order to show our patriotism by dressing in cloth made at home. Well, I have to abandon my pet scheme, for papa only replied when I asked his permission, 'My daughter, you have ' coats' enough.' Just think of how insignificant and useless women are! Oh! I wish I was a man!"

"I don't," said Blount; "it would spoil a lovely woman.

"Oh! no, indeed! I have made bandages, socks, slippers, etc., for them, and have helped to nurse a few who were sent to our home at my father's invitation. I never had a brother to get wounded or I should do it."

"I believe it," said Blount, earnestly.

"What did I tell you, Blount?" said Latané. But that gentleman preserved a discreet silence.

"Major Blount, do--please tell me what Captain Latané told you about me?"

"That would exhaust the whole evening," answered Blount, politely avoiding an answer.

"Upon my word, you are provokingly contrary, and I shall have to declare war à l'outrance!" she answered.

"He said an untruth about you," said Blount; "he accused you of being an 'atrocious flirt.'"

"Then," she said to Latané, "you don't know what you are talking about. But I am determined to avoid those perambulatory worries, called husbands, as long as possible."

"Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry," answered Latané.

"Dear Harry, I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget you must not teach me how to learn any extraordinary pleasure," replied Julia, transposing a sentence in "As You Like it," from which he had quoted to suit the occasion.

Then, rising, she extended her hand to Blount, saying: "You must not give attention to such slanderous charges

Pardon the liberty, Miss Julia," said Latané, "but I have your horse to be taken on to the stable. A storm is coming up. Do you see that mass of clouds over there? They are the blackest I ever saw, and they seem to reach the earth."

"Are you afraid of storms?" said Blount, as if he were then and there determined to analyze her character.

"Afraid of storms? Why, no, certainly not; I've been in storms frequently."

"I Thank Heaven that you will escape this one; if it is a cyclone it will be here presently and will continue its terrible destruction a hundred miles distant in an hour," said Latané.

"Do cyclones travel so fast?"

"Yes, and in a straight line, too; they go two miles a minute frequently and spare nothing that is in their path."

Just then a clap of thunder, succeeded by rolling intonations across the heavens, silenced them. With wonderful rapidity the clouds massed themselves together, and the storm was ushered in by a low, dull, continuous roar that increased rapidly to the intensity of a tempest. Now a flash of lightning revealed the swaying pines that, after having reveled in their lofty strength a century or more, yielded to the force of the gale as the black, moving clouds scudded with the wind close to the earth.

In ten minutes the cyclone had passed; the tall century pines lay upon the earth, like prone Titans, near forest oaks which had been twisted up by the roots and scattered along the track of the storm. The forest, for a width of a hundred

The wind had sown the whirlwind! The great dwelling itself shook like a vessel at sea in a storm, or as if an earthquake had rocked it to and fro. The window-blinds were wrenched off suddenly and were borne away as if they were twigs, and the whirling monarchs of the forest went down like sticks drawn in the vortex of the whirlwind. They could see from the house the débris of wrecked buildings; immense sills of houses, with planks and weather-boards, mingled with beds and mattresses, had been borne by like feathers on the wings of the wind, or as if clutched in the strong, merciless hand of the storm.

She stood erect, her eyes brilliant with excitement, without seeming to appreciate the danger until it was over, for the cyclone had passed not one hundred yards from where they stood. When it was over, and the big drops were followed by sheets of rain, while peals of thunder reverberated across the heavens, she said with the utmost enthusiasm, "How grand it was!"

"Yes," said Latané, "I can think of nothing more so, unless it is a battle."

She did not answer, but the nervous clutch upon his arm and the mute appeal in her earnest eyes bade him say no more of battles, for in the last great battle many of her friends had fallen, and long afterward that earnest, interested look cheered the absent soldier in the Old Dominion.

What hostess would not be as pleased as Mrs. Latané was, when the young gentlemen pronounced the coffee (made of okra, for the ports were blockaded, and genuine coffee was not to be bought the best that they had had for months?

They were enjoying the best comforts the land could afford, and the society of a girl who would have made a social sensation anywhere, and they looked at life as if it was "au couleur de rose," without a trial or a sorrow.

In an hour the storm had ceased. Amid bright sallies of wit and happy repartee the evening passed delightfully; and it was quite evident that Blount had made an agreeable impression also.

"Julia," said Mrs. Latané, "have you seen Clara Leslie's new silk dress? I am told she received from her cousin, now in Paris, several very handsome dresses by the blockade runner, 'The Clara,' which managed to get into Brunswick last week. The vessel was named for her."

"No, auntie, but I am going to see her to-morrow--I am crazy to see those dresses."

"It strikes me," said Blount, "that no Paris modiste--not even the great Worth--can excel the fit and texture of the lovely dress you have on now."

"Oh, thank you, Major; I have been hinting to auntie all the evening to compliment me, for I made this dress myself."

"Indeed! Julia, it is very handsome. I asked you about Miss Leslie's dresses because I thought the one you are wearing must be imported. I saw that it was neither just the thing for walking, nor driving, nor indoors--and--"

"Nevertheless, she is exquisitely, charmingly dressed," said Blount.

"Thank you again, Major; I see that I have one appreciative friend at least."

"What did I tell you, Blount," said Latané.

"Well, now, did you ever!" exclaimed Julia.

"I never did," said Blount, interrupting again, and he said this so solemnly that it elicited general laughter.

"I don't think any one but Julia can make a dress like that without imported materials," said Mrs. Latané; "so it is not to your discredit, Major, that you confess that you 'never did.'"

Blount laughed also then and asked mischievously, "How did you do it?"

"Very easily--no, not easily either; I would not do it again for myself, but I will make one for you, auntie. The material is an old, worn, black silk dress and lint cotton. I raveled the silk up, then mixed with the fine white cotton and carded all together till thoroughly blended; when spun and woven it formed a beautiful texture of gray, soft and silkish to the touch. The best of the worn silk was put by for carding and covering the buttons with. I don't mind telling it the buttons are made of pasteboard, and the dress is 'real pretty,' I think."

"My goodness!" said Blount, substituting that expression for the more emphatic expletive in vogue among gentlemen. But to Julia it was an entirely novel expression, and in all innocence she said, "Your what?"

Latané laughed and again said: "What did I tell you, Blount? You have had fair warning."

And thus the evening passed in speeches abounding in humor, when spoken as "small talk," but seeming without sense or interest when written.

In spite of the storm and its ravages, Latané did not fail to attend a wedding at "The Quarters" that night, and the whole party went with him. The scene was a novel one to Julia, whose acquaintance with plantation life was very

Not one individual there gave a thought to the morrow, or to the war that was desolating thousands of happy homes; unless it was the tall, perfectly black young negro man who stood aloof, and seemed to be frowning upon it all. Turn which way she would, Julia could see his look of disdain, but whether it was his antagonism to the presence of these white strangers, or a deeper feeling of impatience at slavery itself, she could not decide.

As they left the Quarters and returned to Mrs. Latané's home, she asked: "Captain Latané, what is the name of

"His name is Hallback," said Latané; "he has been with me in the army and, for some unknown reason, seems to think himself superior to the other negroes."

"I don't like his looks," said Julia; "are you going to take him back with you?"

"Oh, yes," replied Latané; "Hall is very humble in his manner to me; is obedient, and as fearless in battle as the bravest soldiers are. But he is a mystery to me, just as his name is. He was born here on the plantation, both of his parents dying shortly after his birth. My father gave him to me when I was ten years old, and he has recognized his position as my servant all his life. I played with him as a child, and he used to prevent me from imposing upon him by stating that I was stronger than he was by being born his master, though he was the stronger physicially. He would never resent any blow if he thought I was angry, until I got to thinking it was ungenerous to get angry with Hall. He has always said that he belonged to me, but if I sold him he would die before he would belong to any one else."

"I don't like his looks," said Julia; "I have a presentiment that he will play you false yet."

"I do not fear it," said Latané. "If Hall. makes up his mind to leave me he will quietly tell me so, and he will do it if he can. If he remains faithful until the war ends I intend to give him his freedom."

Early the next morning Latané drove Miss Dearing to her father's home in the city.

The birds were now singing in chorus, it seemed, as the bright sunlight bathed the hills and dales and made the dew glisten like diamonds. The great poplars and forest trees had donned their summer dress of green, and the buds had burst into full bloom. The forest was redolent with the perfume of will flowers, and nature had painted her glowing colors on leaf and twig and flowers in delightful contrasts--varied, yet harmonious.

The darker foliage of the chestnuts and cedars greeted the pines, whose lofty heads bowed to each other and, sighing, dropped their "needles" to the ground. The cattle went lowing to the pastures, and the meadows were fragrant with new-mown hay.

As they entered Colonel Leslie's estate, "Thronateeska," the sun rise shore in the clouds widened its limits till it belted the heavens and scattered gems upon the river as the ripples chased each other and danced in the sunlight. Near by the river was wide and placid as a lake; beyond, it was a succession of cataracts rapidly succeeding each other and dashing the foam on high; in front, and a hundred feet beneath the level plateau, was the city of Etowah and the huge factories which afforded employment to five thousand operatives. Now they neared the residence at "Thronateeska," its spacious grounds elaborately ornamented with all that the costliest

"Is your friend, Major Blount, a flirt?"

"No; far from it. Blount has never pretended to be in love with any one, and when he does he will be sincere. He is the noblest-hearted fellow I ever knew."

"I am glad to know that he is too manly for that; it is bad enough in a woman, but I think it utterly contemptible in a man." Then Julia changed the subject, having learned all that she wished to know concerning Major Blount. She was very bright and agreeable and Latané began to envy the interest which his friend had excited. She told him how much she admired gallantry in battle, alluding to Hugh, but meaning it for him, and declared she never would marry a man who had not distinguished himself as a Confederate soldier.

As they stopped in a bend of the road to view the scenery, the clattering of hoofs was heard approaching, and in a few moments the graceful figure of Clara Leslie galloped up, followed by Giles, the groom.

The old groom was devoted to his young mistress, and, as Clara was not stopped by Julia and Henry Latané, who bowed to her as she passed, the old negro rode up to them and said: "Good mornin', Miss Julia; mornin', Captain Latané; p'raps you all didn't know Miss Clara." Then, seeing Henry's crutches, he added: "Sorry to see you are hurt, Mars Henry; hope your leg won't have to come off; glad to see you back home, sir. Mornin', Miss Julia; mornin', Mars Henry.

"A pretty good lecture," said Latané. But his heart did not echo the light speech. His face had blanched as white as Clara's, who came near falling as she saw the crutches of the wounded soldier. She had not heard of his return, and did not know that he had been wounded. What would she not do to fathom this mystery which separated her from the only man she loved?

"Why did you and Clara go through that pantomime, Captain Latané? I hope you have not quarreled; I thought you were good friends," said Julia.

"Really I did not expect to see her, and did not know her at first. I never quarreled with a woman in my life, and Miss Leslie is the last one with whom I could find fault," said Latané, very soberly.

"Excuse me; I did not mean to be inquisitive, but Clara is such a sweet-tempered, lovely girl that I wonder that any man can know her and not fall in love with her."

"Has she not many admirers? She is certainly even more beautiful than she was two years ago when I last saw her. I fully agree with you in your good opinion of her," he answered.

For once Julia was misled. This calm, quiet demeanor as he alluded thus to Clara showed the resolution of the man, and did not betray the struggle which was going on in his heart. Clara's manner was not that of a callous, heartless flirt, but rather of one who uncomplainingly had suffered an injury. The same sweet, cheerful smile brightened her lovely face as she recognized her cousin's face, only to die

The birds still twitted in the wood, and the flowers and honeysuckles made the air fragrant with perfume, while the morning breeze brought the aroma of newly-plowed fields. But the bright sunny day had lost its charm for Henry Latané. This estrangement was utterly incomprehensible, and he half resolved to go immediately to see Clara and ask for an explanation. A chance remark of Julia Dearing just then goaded him inexpressibly. "I do hope," said she, "that the reported engagement between Clara and that Mr. Barnum is not true. It would be such a pity if she were to marry a Yankee officer. I can't believe it is true, but she is so reticent I can't find out. I know, though, that he addressed her; I am quite sure of that, but I am in doubt as to whether she refused him."

This, then, explained it all! It was the consciousness that she had wronged him that caused her sudden emotion. He would rival her now; he would do all in his power to win Julia Dearing, and would show Clara Leslie that he was not as weak as she deemed him to be. Such were Henry Latané's thoughts, and for the first time in his life he wore a mask. The next day he had a serious fall, which confined him to his room for sometime. Major Blount divided his time between Julia Dearing and Latané.

Delicacy forbade his asking his friend why the "affair," as he termed it, had been broken off, but evidently it had been. Hence Blount did not make Clara's acquaintance but he lost no time in cultivating Julia's.

The last night of his stay at "Chestatee" an unexpected treat awaited Julia and interrupted her slumbers. Below her window Major Blount's rich, well-trained voice accompanied

SERENADE. I come from a land afar, a land where soft guitar
And the magic flute
Reply to harper's strain, reply with love's refrain,
Reply--with sweet salute.
 

Bright stars of tropic sky, full moon slow sailing by
On peaceful azure sea;
Aid now the minstrel's lay, where is my lady--say--
Oh! stars, tell this to me.
 

Dear eyes of deepest blue, dear heart so fondly true,
Sweet little lily hand;
Would I could clasp again, form, hand and heart in mine,
Then life might fleetly end!
 

Where does my lady sleep? may angels vigils keep
Over my lady's rest;
Sweet be her slumbers deep, may no dark troubles sweep
Over my lady's breast!
 

She threw open the blinds, the better to listen to the sweet strains of melody until they died away in the soft æolian whispers of the night-wind, and she thought: "This has been indeed the happiest day in my life." And for a long time after his departure the memory of his bright, cheerful, witty conversation and attractive presence lingered pleasantly. Had she met her match at last? It seemed so, though not one word of love had he uttered. But she saw it in his eyes, in his every act and speech, and the attentions of no other man had affected her so agreeably.

A few days later Julia carried the invalid some flowers, gathered from her own hot-house and from the forest.

"These fuchsias and geraniums, though," she added, handing them to him separately, "I got at 'Thronateeska,' where Clara's geraniums are growing beautifully in the open air."

Latané received them with evident appreciation.

Mrs. Latané was present when Julia gave the flowers to her son, who was reclining upon a lounge in the library, and she did not fail to notice a day or two after that when the vase was replenished with fresh flowers, the fuchsias and geraniums had been carefully pressed by Latané, as if for preservation, while the other flowers were left to the servant who replenished the vases.

"No one will ever know of it," he thought; "in two weeks I will be with my command in Virginia, and I'll keep these flowers pressed in my Bible to remind me of"--gratitude admonished him to say "Julia," but love changed the utterance to "Clara."

The revelations which Julia had made concerning Barnum's attachment for Clara, which she believed to be reciprocated, astonished him greatly. He had not anticipated this at least, and he said to himself:

"If this be true, then I will lose all confidence in the stability of any woman. But why on earth will she think of marrying an utter stranger? Does she--can she know anything of his family? Can her father so soon change all the prejudices, one may say, of a lifetime, and give his daughter away to a stranger of whose lineage--of whose immediate connections even--he knows absolutely nothing?"

And the more he pondered over it, the more mystified he became. He knew nothing of Barnum except what was to his credit, for he had always seemed to him to be a noble-hearted fellow and a gentleman. But his sister was certainly

"Of what are you thinking, my son?" asked his mother, entering the room in the midst of these reveries.

"Frankly, mother, my thoughts trouble me greatly; Miss Julia has intimated to me that Miss Clara Leslie is engaged to be married to Barnum; you have heard me speak of him, have you not?"

"Certainly," answered his mother, smiling at the thought, for the idea gave her great pleasure, as she desired that his thoughts should turn to Julia rather than to Clara. "Certainly," she added, "and I do not think I ever heard you praise any one, except Mr. Blount, so extravagantly."

"But, mother, you surely don't think the report can be true, do you?"

"Why not? If he is all that you say he is, he will make a model husband, I think."

"Yes, but, mother, his family--have you thought about that? They are watch-makers--at least his brother-in-law is--and--"

"Put aside those foolish prejudices my son; in the North they do not attach the importance to such matters that we foolish Southerners do. Vanderbilt was a common boatman and who is better than he in social circles? Who entertained the Prince of Wales recently when he visited this country? The daughter of a millionaire, who made his money by hotelkeeping keeping in New York city." As she said this she stooped down and kissed the forehead of her handsome son.

Latané laughed. "Mother, I am glad that you are becoming superior to our provincial prejudices. I know a pretty young milliner in Richmond, and all the scruples I have had about proposing to her have now vanished. I declare

"Hush," said his mother, placing her hand on his lips. "No more of that, an' thou lovest me Hal'. In truth, my son, I think differently when my own children are concerned, but--"

"It is just as I thought," he said, laughing as he

Chapter 17

The great cathedral is crowded, and resounds with the world's most magnificent hymn, Kyrie Eleison. The censer swings to and fro, and robed priests, attended by acolytes, perform those imposing ceremonies which take yonder kneeling figure, young and pure as the first breath of spring, from all the pleasure and joys of social life and consecrate her to God.

The postulants were clad in pure white, decorated with orange blossoms. Three little girls carrying flowers preceded the candidates upon their entrance to the chapel. Behind them came the Sisters of the convent. To the strains of solemn music the procession marched slowly up the aisle to the altar where, the Right Reverend Bishop and his assistant were waiting. Tapers trimmed with orange were placed in stands while the postulants were prayed for.

The crowd looked on with awe and admiration, mingled with pity, that so fresh and lovely a blossom should be plucked so soon.

"Who is she?" asked one, addressing a young girl who seemed to know her.

"It is Kate Barnum, my school-mate; she is only sixteen years old, and the sweetest girl in all the school," she replied

"What school do you attend?"

"The Convent of the Sacred heart."

"Are there no others to take the white veil this season?"

"No, sir; Kate has not seemed the same girl since her brother, Lieutenant Charles Barnum, was killed in the great battle. Her parents are poor, but they must be as nice people as live in New York."

Again the great organ peals forth its melody; again the crowd throng the aisle and slowly departs.

It is done; the sacrifice is made, and one more beautiful virgin enters upon her novitiate.

Mysterious self-immolation! Pure young heart! Thou art the incarnation of heroism, sweet, gentle martyr!

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
 

"And that smiles, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart;
For a smile of God thou art.
 

Picture to yourself, gentle reader, who live in the "piping times of peace," the feelings of Barnum's venerable parents. You who have seen how poor humanity forgets the heroic valor and self-sacrifices of the gallant soldiers who yielded all for their country; you who have seen the non-combatants who devoted those gallant years to the selfish accumulation of riches while their hired substitutes fought their country's battles; you who have seen the unknown Confederate dead neglected, the living Confederate maimed neglected, and time-serving sycophants yield homage and grant honors to those who used the war as a means of accumulating wealth: imagine, if you can, their anxiety. They had heard nothing from their absent son--had received none of the letters written by him.

One day the blow came sudden and startling. The New York Tribune contained a list of the killed at Bull Run,

But that mother's heart never lost hope. She cherished as the most precious of all things the hope born of the uncertainty of the report that Charles was dead; and her thoughts would constantly revert to that comforting assurance in the Book of Life, "Thus saith the Lord: refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears; for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord, and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy child shall come again to his own border." And this Rachel never lost hope--never lost the thought of the silver lining to the grief-clouds; the rainbow that irradiates the heavens after the storm; the monitor that whispers cheer to the surcharged heart; that lifts up the despairing soul and commands it to "be brave, be noble, be worthy of the love that thou hast lost!"

That mother clung to the hope which "hoped against hope," which had been rejected by all others as a mirage which deceived. That mother's heart still clung to hope like faith clinging to the "Rock of Ages," enduring, suffering, trusting, and never ceased saying: "I mourn for him

A few more silver hairs are added day-by-day to a mother's head, a few more and deeper lines are 'graved by sorrow upon a father's furrowed face!

The mother's tears will fall at times in spite of her, so blinding as she sits there alone in her room that she tries again and again to thread her needle, and murmurs to herself: "Ah, me! I can hardly see well enough to sew."

The father's hand, in consonance with his grief-charged bosom, is at times so tremulous that the delicate parts of a watch are misplaced or a spring broken; or the dew of sorrow is collected on his eye-glass, so that the aged silversmith can scarcely see.

"I'm getting old, like a worn-out clock," he mutters. "The sands of time go regularly in the hour-glass, but life seems dreary now that my hope, my pride gave his life for his country!" The old man takes out his silk handkerchief, ostensibly to wipe his glasses, reader, but sometimes the handkerchief is borne to his eyes, apparently that he may see the better, really to hide his depth of sorrow from yonder careless and prying customer, and the old man thought:

"Still waters run deep--aye, they do; they do!"

The fountain of sorrow is dried up by loss of wife or child, and misery, in its last analysis, is tearless. Their prop and support is gone, and they are ready, too, to sink into the grave.

"But no, our daughter!"

Thus thought and felt the aged couple. And the young maiden, impressed by the solemn surroundings of convent life, for the first time dwells upon the poverty of her parents.

"Can they, now that brother Charles is dead, support

The gazettes had done their work in New York. The name of Lieutenant Barnum had been published among the killed.

Now, once again through the clattering streets of New York city he approached the home of his father, the venerable silversmith.

No period of time since his exchange and release from imprisonment seemed so long as that ride from the ferry to that not distant and humble home. No loneliness is equal to that feeling of being alone at night while riding through the miles of brilliantly-lighted streets of a great city like New York. One year before, he had gone forth as adjutant of the -- New York Volunteers, his military training at the Military Institute having fitted him for that office. Then followed the incidents we have related after the terrible battle, in which his regiment was almost annihilated; all of which came before his mind like a panorama rather than a reality. He was still ignorant of the announcement of his death in the New York papers, and had hurried to New York as soon as his exchange was effected. Crape was still hanging at the door of his father's house, and he was so overcome by his fears concerning his father, mother and sister that some minutes elapsed before he could enter. It was after twilight, and darkness had just cast its shadow over the earth. He was ignorant of all that had transpired in that home during his absence. Just one week before, in spite of the protestations of friends, his sister had taken the veil, the preliminary step to renouncing the world with all its pleasures and hopes. Entering quietly, he proceeded through the hall

Alas! was it his only sister, then, who had died?

Tears trickled down his face as he made one quick step forward and said, with choking voice, "father--dearest mother!"

The plate dropped from his mother's hands, as with a low moan and out-stretched arms, she rushed to her son and would have fallen at his feet had he not caught her to his breast as only a son can under such circumstances. She did not faint, nor did she utter another sound, but looked up fondly in his face and stroked his cheeks and head caressingly, for not one moment had she ever lost hope entirely that her son might still be alive. Laying her head on his shoulder she wept with joy. This Rachel was comforted at last. The father arose, but fell back again, and mutely gazed at the affecting scene, and rubbed his hands together as if it was all unreal--a happy dream to be terribly shattered by awaking thoughts. And not until his son had time and again spoken did the old man say: "Come hither, Charles, my son, my very son--God is good!"

"Sister, my darling sister?" was Charles' answer as he

Now the old people, satisfied with his identity, made him take a chair between them, each holding a hand. "Talk, my son, talk," said the father, "and tell us how the grave has given up its dead." "But wait," he added, and going to the door he took off the crape hanging there, and returning with it said: "No need for this now, Eliza; no need for this now!"

Surely Rembrandt had never a better candle-light scene than this, and his brush alone could have done justice to it.

The mantle of age seemed suddenly lifted from their shoulders, and that love which places the smile of youth on the faces of the old seemed to have rejuvenated these worthy old people.

The approach of the Prince of Wales as envoy of his mother, the Empress of India, in her eastern dominions, is greeted with salvos of artillery, and thousands of moving flags and a hundred thousand cheers from multitudes assembled to do him honor, or to greet his safe return; but that is not equal to a precious heart-welcome like this.

The world reclaimed its own. Sister Kate was reclaimed from her voluntary sacrifice; the bloom returned to her cheeks, the smile to her lips, the laugh to her heart, for "brother Charles" had been restored to life and to her. Life was no more to her a period of penance for sins uncommitted. The Mother-Superior and the gentle "Sisters" willingly saw her go back to the world which she was so fitted to adorn and to bless, and happiness reigned where misery had set its seal.

Chapter 18

He who would find the truest friendship, the highest type of unselfishness, must go into the homes of the poor. There the ineffable charm of charity illumines the poorly furnished cottage like the rainbow after the gloom of the storm. It is of such a home and such a character that we have now to do, for of such a charity was the soul of old Mrs. Higgins illumined.

"My dear child, I've come to warn you against that young man."

"Which young man, Mrs. Higgins? Do you allude to Thomas Radcliff?"

"No, Agnes, no; Thomas is one of the best workers in the mill, and would make you a good husband; I wish you would encourage him more than you do; you know he loves you devotedly."

Agnes Vincent stopped washing the dishes, was silent a few moments, then said: "Mr. Radcliff has never told me that he loved me. Besides, I never wish to marry until I am in love myself."

She had grown to be a very handsome young woman, and was generally acknowledged to be the prettiest girl in the factory village, in spite of the care of a dependent family which had devolved upon her chiefly since her mother's death. Mrs. Higgins had risen from her chair and, putting her hand on the girl's shoulder, said: "Agnes, I was your mother's best friend--unless it be Mrs. Latané, God bless her!--and I have come here to warn you, child, against that young man!

"Young folks will be young folks, but all folks grow old and experience is the best larning. I've come here, though, to mind you against that young man!" As the old woman said this she shook her stick in a threatening manner in the direction of the Potts mansion, which overlooked Pottsville, as the village where the operatives lived was called.

"Why, Mrs. Higgins! how can you be so unjust to young Mr. Potts? I think he is the best and kindest young man I know. He pays me more for my work and requires me to work less than any of the girls in the factory."

"That's what I say, too! that's what other eyes than your'n have been seein', and other tongues than mine have been talkin' about young Potts' 'tentions and kindness to you! I want to put you on your guard against that young man," shaking her stick more emphatically than ever as she spoke.

Agnes burst into tears. "Oh! Mrs. Higgins," she said, "I wouldn't be disrespectful to you for anything, for I never see you without thinking of my poor mother. But you are so unjust to Mr. Potts. He has explained it all to me--says he sees how hard a burden mine is, and he wants to lighten it as much as he can. He would do the same thing for any of the girls whose mother and father were dead and who had to support her little sisters and brothers; indeed he would, for he told me so. And then he comes here to see me, and talks so kindly to me and the children. Last Sunday evening he saw me down at the spring and insisted on bringing the bucket of water up the hill to the house! And in truth, Mrs. Higgins, I never did have such a friend."

"Well, Agnes, I hope you never will have such another!

Agnes had not told the whole story to Mrs. Higgins; that Sunday evening Wellington Napoleon Potts had lingered in the cottage until the dusk of twilight. He had played with the children as if they were his kith and kin, although no military martinet was ever stricter than he when connected with the great cotton factory. No other family was visited by him, and he was ever haughty with the other operatives, checking instantly the slightest approach to familiarity. He was a despot in the small sphere in which he moved, and was cordially hated by his employees. Agnes had accompanied him to the gate and he had pressed her hand as he bade her good-night and complimented her upon her beauty.

She blushed and seemed confused. "What did it mean?" she asked herself, and long after the children had gone to sleep, she remained awake thinking of the good, kind-hearted Mr. Potts, who had taken such a deep interest in her. The rosy God fanned her smiles into dreams, and she dreamed of love. Weeks passed and these little attentions increased, and she began to miss them when he would allow an entire week to pass by without coming to see "how the little ones were getting on." He punctually attended his Bible-class and these children belonged to it. His voice, however harsh to others, was ever gentle to her, and his eyes lingered upon her whenever she passed him. He noticed, too, that she blushed beneath his ardent gaze.

Again Mrs. Higgins entered the room; this time Agnes was sitting alone looking into the fire, evidently in deep thought and the thought was evidently pleasing to her.

"Agnes," said Mrs. Higgins.

The girl started and seemed surprised, for latterly Mrs. Higgins had seemed to avoid her.

"Come in, Mrs. Higgins; you are always welcome."

"Agnes, I did not come to sit down, but to tell you that Thomas Radcliff is ready and anxious to marry you. He told me to tell you so. He says he has tried very hard to do it himself, but that you always repulse him and look so proud-like that he hesitates to tell you that he loves you as an honest man should love a true, honest woman. Will you marry Thomas, child?"

"Mrs. Higgins, I do not love Thomas Radcliff, and he knows it. I will never marry anybody I don't love."

"Good-bye, then, Agnes; I have done my duty to your dead mother and to the living Thomas! May the Lord take care of you, Agnes! Mind you don't learn to love that young man; if you do, may the good Lord help you!"

As Mrs. Higgins left the cottage Agnes returned to her chair and looked into the fire, and great big tears came slowly to her eyes. "It is so hard," thought Agnes, "that everybody should turn against me just because I like Mr. Potts. Do I love him? Yes I do! and I know he loves me, though he has not told me so. I would not give one smile from him for all the praises of everybody!" As she sat thus upon the plain split-bottomed chair, her hands beneath her chin, looking into the coals which glowed brightly, time passed without her reckoning it.

The door of the cottage was near the fire-place and Wellington

The meanest of mankind was a child once, and was loved and caressed on a mother's breast, and the dead mother of Wellington Napoleon Potts was a good woman, sadly mated to a harsh man. Agreeable, and even subservient to the world at large, he had been a tyrant in the home-circle, and fear supplanted love where love should have reigned supreme. The meanest of mankind can love; but selfishness dwarfs love, and selfishness was the most prominent trait in the character of Wellington Napoleon Potts. He had been to school in Washington City, where liberty is construed to mean license, and he had not been unobservant of the "vices of gentlemen," notably made manifest by senators and representatives, whose official position shields them from arrest. It needed no Asmodeus now to guide this sanctimonious Lothario in following the example of these seigneurs. He stood behind the chair with admiring eyes, then softly caressed her head. She arose quickly with frightened look, but he re-assured her with the words:

"Do not be alarmed; no one shall hurt you while I am here."

His eyes arrested hers, and she seemed under a spell like that of the poor, fluttering little bird which flies round and round the glittering eyes of the serpent until it is irresistibly drawn into the fatal snare. Recovering herself at last, she said in a pleading tone:

"I've been warned against you."

His only reply was to place his arm around her waist, and drawing her to him, ask her if she thought he would harm one whom he loved so dearly.

"Do you really love me--love me honestly?" she asked.

"Can you doubt it, my darling? I have come to ask you to be my wife. Tell me nothing about your humble station. I know that you return my love, and you shall be mine."

Her head sank on his shoulder as her form was drawn to his, and he kissed her passionately. She trembled--trembled like the sensitive-plant, and well she might!

Could Faust have witnessed that passionate kiss he would have laughed with more diabolical glee than when Marguerite succumbed. That was the loss of one pearl above price; this the beginning of the ruin of the support of a dependent family. A few moon-lit walks; a thousand oaths to love, honor and protect; a promise to marry her, and then the old, old story.

It is a few months later.

"What a lovely face that girl has," said Julia Dearing when riding with Potts one day. "It is one of the faces which Carlo Dolce took from real life, perhaps from the peasantry of Italy, and transferred to his canvas as Madonnas. Did you ever notice the sad beauty of the Madonnas painted by Carlo Dolce, Mr. Potts? I think no one ever painted sadness as he did, and no one knew better the efficacy of blue colors in painting. That girl's sweet, melancholy face recalls his Madonnas more than any face I ever saw. Pray, who is she? She can't be an operative; her face is too refined."

Potts winced at this remark; he, too, had seen that sad, reproachful glance, as the wronged Agnes looked steadily at him as he rode past with this dashing equestrienne, and his heart smote him for his perfidy. It was with assumed carelessness that he replied:

"Yes; she is an operative, and is considered the village belle."

"I declare," said Julia, looking back; "the poor girl is crying; I know she is a good girl; no one but a good woman can have such a face as hers."

"I wish she was in Hades!" thought Potts, but he quickly answered: "She is doubtless thinking of her mother to whom Mrs. Latané was so kind. Seeing you ride past with all your radiant beauty, doubtless, recalled to her some other day when she saw you," said he.

"Is that Agnes Vincent? I must ride back and speak to her. I would not wound that noble girl's heart for a kingdom!" said Julia. "I will wait for you, then, until your return," said Potts; "I see enough of the operatives without spoiling a pleasure-ride to greet them." This was said in a half-appealing tone, but Julia would not, or did not, understand him, so she said: "You shall do no such thing! you must go with me and introduce me to her."

"Introduce you to a factory girl!" said Potts in amazement.

"Yes, certainly; why shouldn't you? I am sure I feel honored in making the acquaintance of one of nature's noblewomen; her devotion to her demented mother makes her a heroine in my eyes," and, suiting action to word, she turned her horse and galloped back. There was no help for it and Potts followed. How he did curse the innocent author of this ill-timed meeting. He had ridden with Julia around through the village in order to impress her with his prospective wealth and actual business qualifications. He now wished he had never seen Julia or Agnes. Agnes was confused and embarrassed when Julia rode up to her.

"Agnes," said Potts, "this is Miss Dearing." Julia's indignant glance at the speaker smote him like the lash upon the back of the criminal in the pillory. She instantly said:

"You are very kind, Miss Dearing, very kind to speak thus to a poor girl like me! I am sure I appreciate it; you must not think I do not if I fail to accept your invitation." Then Agnes burst into tears and, to spare her feelings, Julia rode off.

"For shame, Mr. Potts! How could you introduce Agnes Vincent to me as if she was a servant?"

"You are a strange girl, Miss Julia; who would think a proud beauty like you--and you are the proudest girl I ever saw--you, an heiress--who would think that you would put yourself on an equality with a factory girl?"

"For shame! for shame! I wish I could put myself on an equality with her. She is one of those devoted characters that we read of in novels, but seldom see in real life. There are some rich people unworthy to tie her shoes, and I feel humble when in her presence."

This was a new revelation to Potts. He had never had the faintest idea before that there was any criterion of merit but success, and success with him meant wealth.

Agnes Vincent was as beautiful as the Virgin described by Tasso, although she was but a factory girl.

Potts had been her teacher in the Bible-class at Sunday-school, and, like Rousseau's young teacher, he had been guilty of outraging hospitality. "Instead of instructing he corrupts; instead of protecting he poisons; he permits himself to be thanked by an abused mother who has lost her child.

Agnes Vincent had no mother. She did have a dead mother's children dependent upon her for support and moral guidance. But, alas! her step is slower now as she goes and comes from work. Her cheery voice no longer sings with the early matin birds as she prepares the frugal meal for the little family gathered around the humble pine table. The rosy hue on her cheeks is not as bright as it was, but her figure is still more charming--as the bud blooms into the flower. There is a gentler look, at times, in those deep blue eyes, and then a longing look as if seeking some expected loved one. Often a big, pearly tear creeps down her cheeks as she sews on the garments intended for her dear little sisters. Her head is bent forward eagerly; she hears a footstep; is up--meets him, and is clasped in his arms! Then she forgets all save her love for him; his crime--her sin, too innocent almost to be called a sin--and tells him she will follow him over the world if need be, and he sees her life is inwoven with his. At length she weeps; the month has passed - two months, and still he procrastinates! Three months! and he rides with Julia Dearing! his manner to her no longer as it was. Her grief culminates in misery. All shun her, even Mrs. Higgins; 'Oh, for the rarity of Christian charity!" All, all treat her as if she was a leper!

Yes, stone the woman--let the man go free!
Draw back your skirts lest they perchance
May touch her garments as she passes,
But to him put forth a willing hand,
To clasp with his that led her to destruction
 

 

  page 197  And disgrace. Shut up from her the sacred
Ways of toil, that she no more may win an
Honest meal--but ope to him all honorable
Faiths, where he may win distinction.
 

Then he sears her heart as with burning iron by offering her gold.

She will not hear more; casts from her his proffered gold, and, with one plaintive cry and hands clasped appealingly to his flint-set face, she sinks into unconsciousness at his feet.

The sickness of Agnes Vincent was known to be critical among the operatives in Pottsville, and more than one anxious face indicated her popularity. The frequent visits of the doctor excited comment, and many were the praises uttered concerning Potts' magnanimity in sending for the highest-priced physician to attend the poor factory girl. We have all done injustice to young Mr. Potts; he seems to be a hard man in exacting labor, but he shows now that he has a kind heart. Another sympathized with old Mrs. Higgins, who was still a doubter, but whose tongue was hushed for two reasons--one, sympathy for the wronged girl, and the other her conviction that the truth would soon be developed and would crush the villain, as he deserved to be crushed.

The doctor's visit on one occasion was unusually prolonged, and his countenance was unusually grave as he encountered Potts walking slowly in the street as he left the Vincent cottage.

With assumed carelessness Potts asked him concerning the illness of Agnes Vincent.

"She is very ill, critically ill," replied the doctor. "She has brain fever; I seriously doubt her recovery."

"Indeed! I am exceedingly sorry, and am very much surprised to hear this statement," said Potts.

"Her mother was insane, was she not?"

"Yes," replied Potts, "but Agnes is too young for that."

"I don't know about that; some great fear seems to oppress her, some foreboding secret."

"Why, what secret could oppress one so young as she is?"

"Mr. Potts, I fear some one has infamously deceived that poor young girl; in fact, I know it," replied the doctor, eyeing Potts intently as he spoke.

With averted face but imperturbable manner, Potts answered: "I dare say you are correct; indeed, I have suspected it already. She is quite a belle among the operatives, and you know, among people of her class in life, such accidents, or incidents, are not uncommon. If it is true the villain should be punished, and I will contribute to effect that; yet I hope you are mistaken, both as to your diagnosis and the probable termination of her sickness. Good morning, Doctor." The doctor stood watching him several moments until he turned the corner and was out of sight.

Chapter 19

The young negro valet, Hallback, was an interesting character in his way. His grandfather was said to have been the chief of the Askari tribe before he had been captured and brought to America and sold into slavery. It was said that he was, when brought to Virginia from Africa, a remarkably stalwart young man. He had wonderfully good eyesight and health, and was never sick in his life. His teeth were perfectly sound at the time of his death at the age of 102 years.

Whether true or false the effect of this tradition was to give to Hallback a self-esteem not common with his race, and, his pretensions not being received pleasantly by the negroes on the estate, intensified his feeling of isolation.

The fact, too, that education was denied by law to slaves, and that his young master had instructed his sable play-fellow in the rudiments of reading and writing, inculcated a morose feeling of discontent in the breast of this young negro slave. But he never complained of his lot, for he could but realize that his very isolation caused a deeper sympathy to be felt and shown him by his mistress and her children than was evinced for the other negroes. He was perfectly black, and, never having labored at hard work, his hands and feet were smaller than those of negroes usually are. One day after Henry Latané's return home on furlough, he secured a copy of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and though it was difficult for him to read it, he did so at night by the lightwood

To his mind every aged butler was another "Uncle Tom;" and he felt quite sure that his little mistress, Minnie, was another Eva, blessed with all that lends to human nature its sunniest attributes.

He loved as well as respected Henry Latané, who, whether in camp or in the snow-bound bivouac, always divided such luxuries as he had with his faithful servant, and ever endeavored to shield him from the post of danger. But Hallback seemed indifferent to danger; and while he took no part in the battles and skirmishes in which his young master was so frequently engaged, he was often under fire, and seemed to court, rather than avoid, danger.

He surprised Henry Latané one day by replying to his order that he should go to the rear: "I will go, Marse Henry, since you order me to; but I wish I had a country to fight for!"

Meanwhile, he was obedient, submissive and patient, and no one could justly upbraid him for not doing his duty.

After the battles, he would request Latané's permission to go out with the ambulance and succor the wounded, and the drivers observed, without objecting, that Hallback seemed particularly solicitous about the wounded Federal soldiers.

In battle, animosity gives way before the flash of eternity which is before every man's eyes, and he is a craven at heart who would not alleviate the sufferings of a gallant foeman after the clash of arms is ended.

These facts were reported to Captain Latané, who chose to be oblivious of them, for already the Federal Government was enlisting negro slaves in the Union armies, and regiments of black troops were being mustered into service. He determined that he would not interfere if Hallback decided to cross the lines and enlist himself.

"Marse Henry, here is your purse; I think you will find every dollar in it that it contained when you gave it to me to keep for you," said Hallback to Henry Latané when the surgeon informed the latter that he should consider himself out of danger from his wound, and recommended that he should go home to get entirely convalescent.

"Thank you, Hall.," he replied; "I don't doubt it; you have never failed to take good care of anything I confided to your care, and I will not take the trouble to count it. Here is some money for you. If you want more, and I can spare it, you shall have it."

Such was the relationship between this master and his slave, and yet Hallback was not satisfied, and after the conclusion of the festivities, in which he had not participated except as a spectator, related in a previous chapter, he repaired to a large double cabin, the best in the quarters, and knocked at the door. There was a bright lightwood fire on the hearth, and yet there was no response. Becoming impatient, he opened the door, and saw, kneeling by a table on which was a large Bible, "Uncle Barney."

He took off his hat and listened as the venerable negro preacher (who was a blacksmith by trade) uttered a pathetic

As he arose from his knees, Hallback extended his hand, smiled, and thanked him for his solicitude.

"Why have you come to see me, Hall., so late to-night? You ought to be abed."

"Uncle Barney, I am pestered in my mind and I want to talk to you!"

"Sit down, Hall., and tell me your troubles," said Barney, wiping his spectacles and adjusting them again.

"I have no personal troubles, Uncle Barney, for it seems to me that every favor which could be shown a slave is given to me, but I am tired of being a slave!" Hallback said this with a free, frank manner, which was equivalent to sayings "You may speak of this to whom you please, but I am determined to be free."

Old Barney arose from his chair, and placing his hands on the young man's shoulders, turned his face to the light and said: "Hallback, do you realize what you are talking about?"

The young negro did not wince, or move a muscle, but answered firmly, "I do."

"Do you remember the fate of George Standback?"

"Yes; he attempted to make his way to the free States, and was hunted down, and, when he refused to surrender in the swamp, he was shot down by the overseer."

"Who was that overseer?"

"Mr. Washburn."

"Who have you been talking to about making your way to the free States?"

"To no one. But I must say that Mr. Washburn has sent me word that he wanted to talk to me about freedom."

"I thought so. Now, Hall., what did mistress do when Mr. Washburn shot George Standback?"

"She dismissed him from her service, and, I am told, lawed him!"

"And what was the result?"

"The result was that he was cleared, and that is the result every time a nigger is murdered by a white man!"

His eyes were flashing now, and he looked as if he could throttle "Mr. Washburn," as he paced the floor. Then he continued, "We have no rights. The juries are composed of white men only, and they do not often dignify us with imprisonment. It is the whip which conquers the slave!"

The old man had taken his seat, and, with a face beaming with compassion, he answered:

"Sit down, Hall., and hear me read, and then we will talk." He opened the Bible and read from the fifth chapter of Exodus as follows: "And Pharaoh commanded the same day the taskmasters of the people, and their officers, saying, Ye shall no more give the people straw to make brick, as heretofore: let them go and gather straw for themselves. And the tale of the bricks which they did make heretofore, ye shall lay upon them; ye shall not diminish aught thereof: for they be idle; therefore they cry, saying, Let us go and sacrifice to our God. Let there more work be laid upon the men, that they may labour therein.

"And the taskmasters of the people went out, and their officers, and they spoke to the people, saying, Thus saith Pharaoh, I will not give you straw. Go ye, get you straw where

"Then the officers of the children of Israel came out and cried unto Pharaoh, saying, Wherefore dealest thou thus with thy servants? There is no straw given unto thy servants, and they say unto us, make brick; and behold thy servants are beaten, but the fault is in thine own people. But he said, Ye are idle, ye are idle; therefore ye say, Let us go and do sacrifice unto our Lord. Go therefore now and work, for there shall be no straw given you, yet shall ye deliver the task of bricks.

"And the officers of the children of Israel did see that they were in evil case, after it was said, Ye shall not diminish aught from your bricks of your daily task.

"And they met Moses and Aaron who stood in the way, as they came forth from Pharaoh; and they said unto them, The Lord look upon you and judge; because you have made our savour to be abhorred in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of his servants, to put a sword in their hands to slay us. And Moses returned unto the Lord, and said, Lord, wherefore hast thou so evil entreated this people? Why is it that thou hast sent me? for since I came to Pharaoh to speak in their name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.

"Then the Lord said unto Moses, Now shalt thou see what

He ceased reading, closed the Bible and turned toward Hallback, who had listened attentively, and had been evidently impressed.

"Well?" said Hallback.

"Do you not see how powerless we are, and that we are as little birds in the hands of Him?" said Barney, with hands uplifted, while his eyes sought those of his visitor.

"I don't know, Uncle Barney; I don't know anything about the hereafter. It is the ever-living present--the present, which sees my race doomed to servitude forever, that oppresses me all the time."

"Then learn to know, my son; to believe is to know. We are powerless. For generations niggers have been slaves in this country. The few free niggers we have among us are no happier than we are. There is Bill Baxter, who owns other niggers; he is not as happy as I am, and most ginnerally free negroes are of no account."

"Oh, uncle Barney, you are not like the rest of us. Everybody respects you, even Mr. Washburn. You don't know what it is."

Taking off his coat, then his shirt, the old man showed his muscular torso, and there, on his bare back, were the scars inflicted years before by a brutal overseer's hand. Upon his broad breast were two wounds which seemed to have been inflicted by the knife. And now the old negro's self-possession seemed to fail him, for his breast heaved with terrible excitement as memory bore him back to the days of his youth, when resistance produced almost fatal wounds. Calming himself, he asked Hallback:

"Are you convinced that I do know what it is?"

"I would never have rested until I had killed the man who did it," said Hallback.

"Thou shalt not kill. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," answered Barney, meekly but fervently.

"Now, Hallback, listen to me. Marster's brother took my part when I received these wounds, and lost his life in defending me. Were he alive to-day, would it not be my duty to serve him all my life?

"George Washburn killed my nephew in cold-blood, and he claims now to be the only friend we poor niggers have. What is my duty toward him?"

"Kill him!" muttered Hallback.

"Hush, my son. Put away such evil thoughts. God, Index his own time, will punish him; and you, will you not deserve a like fate if you harbor murder in your heart?"

"But what are we to do?" replied Hallback.

"Wait, and trust in the Lord; He will provide. This war is His doings, and He will treat us as He treated the Israelites."

"What, give us the land?"

"If we deserve it, yes; all that we need. But would you take Marse Henry's land away from him, if you could?"

"No, I would not; but I would take Washburn's, and anybody else's land, except Marse Henrv's."

"Wait, and the land will be given to us."

"But, uncle Barney, it won't be given to us unless we fight for it, and I have come to tell you good-bye. I am going to fight for it."

"Who you gwine to fight, Hall.?"

"The rebels."

"Who is de rebels?"

"The white folks--the rebel army--the--"

"Is yer gwine to shoot Marse Henry?"

Hallback bent his head, and the tears forced their way through his fingers, and his sobs prevented an answer.

"It won't do, Hall., my son, for in the absence of your father and mother, in heaven, you are my son. I preach to a thousand niggers like you and me, and tell them all what I tell you, we are in the hands of the Lord, and He will provide."

The young negro man stood up now, hat in hand, and said: "Good-bye, uncle Barney; you don't know, as I do, what will happen soon."

"What gwine to happen, boy?"

"The rebels will force all of us young niggers in their army, and we will be shooting at our friends."

A twinkle of humor lighted old Barney's eyes as he asked: "Hall., did you ever see two dogs fight over a bone?"

"Certainly I have; why do you ask me that question?"

" Well, then, did you ever see the bone fight?"

A broad smile, followed by laughter, was Hallback's answer as he saw the force of the old preacher's parable, and he took his departure in a better frame of mind than he had had for a long time. Long after Hallback had left the old negro preacher continued to pray, though no sound escaped his lips. He prayed now for himself--that this temptation to yield to feelings of indignation and revenge should be removed. His faith had become greater as he neared annually three-score years and ten allotted to man as the fulness of his years; and as the Bible taught him that God had permitted slavery and commanded obedience to masters, he submitted to his lot as one ordained by divine decree.

And so did the ministers of the white race teach their flocks, until a whole people believed in the righteousness of

Per contra, from the earliest antiquity history does not record as rapid advance in the comforts, and arts, and luxuries of life among any negro race as one century of slavery in the Southern States of America had given to the negro.

It was the object-lesson of humanity; the technological training which led them by rapid strides from the wilderness of the savage to nineteenth-century civilization. Doubtless many slaves possessed all the elements of leadership except education; and so long as slavery existed it was wise to deny them that boon which would have led them to anarchy.

Education to a slave is a "pillar of fire by night and a pillar of cloud by day," and it is only commanding spirits, like this venerable pattern of piety, old Barney, which can make of this scythe a pruning-hook--apply to this rein a curb which shall restrain as it guides.

In the mind of young Hallback it was a brand with which to light the flames of discord until insurrection, that dread spectre, the fear of which was used as an inciting cause to war, should take possession of the minds of the slaves, as the evil spirits entered into the bodies of the swine, and lead them to their destruction.

But the brotherhood of man, the kinship of humanity, the omnipotence of God, restrained and preserved them, and bade them "wait." The homely advice of old Barney, "Let the dogs fight over the bone, the bone need not fight," was sound philosophy.

By some subtle means, yclept "the grape-vine telegraph" in the days of the war, every negro settlement, every negro in each settlement throughout that vast country, had been informed that the Northern people were fighting their masters that they might be freed.

In every plantation "Quarters" were impatient, young spirits eager to take part in the fray, if they believed success possible; and there was, here and there, scattered as if by the design of an all-seeing and an all-wise Providence, a Barney clothed with the wisdom which age gives to the unlettered slave as to the most cultured statesman, whose sage counsels bade them " wait!"

In all the South, amid four millions of negro slaves, with tens of thousands of helpless white families at their mercy, not one insurrection occurred during four years of bloody war.

Honor to those slaves!

Honor to those humane masters, whose sympathy and kindness alone made this remarkable fact a reality.

Nor could volumes so impress the mind of Hallback with the dangerous folly of following the counsels of the murderous ex-overseer who had never owned a slave, as the illustration of the scars of old Barney, and his simple recital of the fact that his young master had given his life in defence of his slave, and that that slave was himself.

He had played with Henry Latané as a child, and with him quarreled as a child; he had served him as a valet all his life, and he could not recall an ungenerous act on the part of the young master to him. But his spirit chafed at the humble deportment which his condition exacted of him as of all slaves.

He would rid himself of that if he could; but the time would never come, he thought, when evil-minded, sordid

Latané, finding that his wounded limb was nearly well, had thrown aside his crutch and now informed his mother also of his purpose. "A soldier's place is at the front, mother, unless wounds or sickness prevent him from being there. I shall return to the army next week."

"But your wound is not entirely healed yet, my son, and it seems to me you have been with me only a day; but if you think it is your duty to go, I will not dissuade you."

His arm was around her waist, her head upon his shoulder, as she thus spoke, vainly trying to keep back the tears as she made the Spartan resolution to do nothing to delay his return.

This was his first visit home since he went to Virginia, and she knew that where he went was to be seen, almost daily, privations--suffering--sudden death! A chance ball, a skirmish, a reconnoissance, perchance a battle might involve him any day, and his life, she thought, was thus rendered more brittle than glass.

"That reply does you honor, my mother. If I am of any value to my country, I owe it all to you. I am already weary of war, and the boyish ambition for fame has already departed. Let us hope that it will soon end, and then I can prove my gratitude to the best of mothers for life-long kindness to me." To change the current of his thoughts she said: "Julia has been slandered by those who envy her attractions of person and manner. Instead of being

"She is indeed a fine girl, mother, and has a noble character. I never knew but one girl whom I admired more, and I shall call upon her to-morrow."

His mother did not reply; she would not diminish his pleasure one iota during his brief stay with her by any unfavorable allusion to Clara, whom she had never known well. Mean while, she could not disguise her pleasure when any remark of Henry's indicated a possibility of the realization of her cherished dream.

The best of mothers forget that they were once young. Colonel Leslie's cold, formal courtesy when they met by chance, so different from the frank, genial, cordial greeting of other days, had banished all thoughts of Clara as a daughter-in-law from her mind.

"Mother," said Henry, "while I think your preference for Miss Julia a natural one, do you not think that affection guides a woman's mind and moulds her opinions?"

"I hope so, my son; I do not admire strong-minded women," was the reply. In that reply Mrs. Latané was logical. It is better that it should be thus. A mother's love is an instinct superior to reason in ordinary life, and accomplishes its purpose when shrewdest diplomacy would fail.

Again his card is sent in from the door of the hospitable mansion at Thronateeska. Again he is ushered in the parlor, and it is but two days before his departure for Virginia. Colonel Leslie, not Clara, responded, and his manner was strangely formal. Mrs. Latané had informed him of this change in Colonel Leslie's manner, but he was entitled to kinder treatment from any gentleman in his native county, unless he should prove to be an enemy.

His bow, in response to Colonel Leslie's coldly courteous greeting, was equally haughty.

"Good morning, Captain Latané; how is your mother?"

"Quite well, I thank you. I hope Miss Clara's indisposition was not serious."

"Miss Clara is quite well, and is absent from home," was the curt reply.

("Absent from home!" thought Latané. "Then she does not wish to see me.") His lips curled a little as he said: "I am sorry she is absent; I had hoped to have seen her before leaving home."

"Then you expect to return to the army soon?"

"Yes, sir; I will return day after to-morrow. I will not detain you longer, sir. Good morning."

"Good morning, Captain Latané," and then the studiously formal old gentleman politely opened the door of the hall and dismissed him with a parting bow. Latané, biting his lip with vexation, mounted his horse and rode home at a rapid pace. "He did not even invite me to call again, nor did he exhibit the slightest interest in my past, present or future. I'll never cross that threshold again, so help me God!" he exclaimed, as he dashed the spur in his horse. "Shall I," he continued, "permit myself to be treated as a foot-ball by those whom I would have died to serve? Shall I continue to worship as an idol one to whom I have declared my love, but who seems unmindful of all that I have suffered for her sake? Shall I continue loyal to her, when she is not only free, but will be better pleased never to see me again? No, a thousand times, no! I will not lavish on any human being a love which has been unrequited once. Romance, begone, and sentiment with it! Reason henceforth shall govern impulse.

"I have been a child in my love for Clara Leslie, yet the sweetest thoughts of my life will revert to her as she was. I'll be a man henceforth in love as in other things--cold determined, unrelenting, as is her flint-hearted father! But she changed in nature? Does she endorse this unaccountable conduct of her father? It matters not; I must see things as they are. The dream is over. Now for fame! it is all that is left."

Yet it is the love of woman that nerves a man to battle for all that humanity holds most dear.

What is one's country? Is it the air we breathe? The lovely colors in sky or flower? The riches hidden in mines and quarries? The railways, factories, buildings which make commerce?

No, it is home, with all its sacred memories and all its noblest aspirations.

How little did he interpret Clara Leslie's real feelings, for she, too, felt the depth of disappointment. Providence seemed determined to prevent her reconciliation with Henry Latané. She had gone to see Julia for a few hours, and when she returned, the servant informed her of Latané's brief visit.

"It was merely a call of courtesy, my child, to prevent an open rupture, I think; Captain Latané will leave in a few days for Virginia. I am satisfied that he would like to be re-instated here, but I have lost all confidence in him, or respect for him. Think no more of him, my daughter," said Colonel Leslie.

"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "say no more! I can't bear to hear you abuse him. I am sure you do him great injustice. If he is false, no man is true, and noble, and good." Her father's look was one of intense anguish. He said no more, but took her to his heart and caressed her tenderly, telling

If he could have learned then that Henry Latané knew nothing of the letter signed in his name and seemingly in his handwriting, asking Clara to pardon his precipitate avowal and to consider all that he had said as unspoken, how different would have been the reception accorded to the returned soldier! As it was, Latané's pride forbade any allusion to it, and Colonel Leslie did not deign to answer it. Potts was playing a bold game, but his position in the post-office had enabled him to intercept and destroy the letters written to Clara by Henry Latané, all full of the tenderest affection and solicitude, and he took the risk.

Chapter 20

Our worthy acquaintances, Potts and Stunner, are again conversing in the handsome front office of the latter; but on this occasion Potts seems obsequious and Stunner indifferent.

"Now, Stunner," said Potts, "I don't like the way you are treating me about this blockade-running business; I ought to have a hand in it. You have used my money for three years to bolster up your business, and now when you get hold of the biggest deal of the age you leave me out."

Stunner put his hands in his pantaloons pockets, placed his feet on the table, looked through the plate-glass windows on the holiday crowds that thronged the streets and--whistled.

Nothing is more exasperating to a man urgently bent on transacting business quickly, "before the iron gets cold," than such treatment as this. No word in the language can express exactly what this "whistle" did just at that time.

A silence of several minutes ensued, when Potts arose as if to go, and said, "Well, dog-gone it! how much will you take for an interest?"

"Oh! my dear sir, my very dear sir," said Stunner, leaping to his feet with alacrity and grasping Potts' hand cordially, "Now, my friend, you are talking. Don't beat around the bushes, Potts, but come down to 'business,' and you'll always find me there."

At this juncture an old gentleman approached the office counter, whose grave face and dignified demeanor at once arrested

But all this mannerism was lost upon the old jurist, whose simplicity of manner and honest gentlemanliness and direct methods always disconcerted Stunner.

"Is this Mr. Stunner?" asked the Judge.

"It is, sir. J. B. Stunner, at your service."

"Well, Mr. Stunner, I have called to say that I don't wish to have any further dealings with you if what I have heard is true."

"Indeed, sir!" with a look of honest surprise, "and who has been slandering me, sir?"

"No one, I think. I think the charge is true."

"Indeed, sir! and what is the charge?"

"Did you not lend a poor widow five hundred dollars at six per cent. per annum interest, payable in gold, and make the note and interest payable to me?"

"I did, sir; that is my business."

"What were the conditions of the loan?"

"Her property was worth five thousand dollars, and I charged her five per cent. commission for negotiating the loan."

"Did you charge five per cent. commission on the five hundred dollars loaned, or on the value of the property?"

Stunner did not hesitate a second, for he knew that the judge must have investigated the transaction, and that he might as well tell the truth at once, and so he promptly answered:

"On the value of the property, sir."

"Am I to understand that you charged and retained out of the five hundred dollars loaned, five per cent. on five thousand dollars, or two hundred and fifty dollars, and that the loan was for three months only?"

"That is about the size of it, sir."

Potts was amazed to see the once subservient Stunner thus defy the most learned and respected jurist in the State, for Stunner's thumbs were now in his vest and he stood in the most contemptuous manner before the good, kindly old man who was universally respected.

"Very well, sir," responded the judge severely; "have my account posted and forwarded at once; any letters from you hereafter will be returned unopened."

As the indignant old gentleman left the office, Potts arose and said to his partner: "Stunner, what on earth do you mean by snubbing the best client I have in that way for?"

"Is he your client; then why did not he speak to you?"

"Oh! he does not know me personally, or even by sight; but the money I have sent you for investment on our joint account was loaned by him to my father, who has for a long time handled Judge Dearing's money as a borrower, giving him good collateral security. Now we can't get any more of it."

"I don't wish any more of it," replied Stunner. "If he had not come at me in that way I intended to propose a much larger and safer investment, but he has kicked the bucket over now and the milk is all gone. Judge Dearing is just too good for this wicked world, that is all!"

They were alone in the office during this scene, the female clerks and the old book-keeper having been released for the holiday.

"Well, what will you take for a half interest?" said Potts, resuming his negotiations with Stunner.

"For a what!" said Stunner, with a surprised air.

"A half interest in your blockade-running business," said Potts. "I have seen for several months that you are losing interest in our business here, and that can only mean that you are making more money at something else."

"Correct," sententiously replied Stunner.

"Then what will you take?" resumed Potts.

"Ten thousand dollars in gold, cash down, for a fifth interest is the least dollar that I will consider.

"What!" said Potts in disgust. "Come now, Stunner, that is not toting fair; what would you have done in the past without my aid?"

"There are a sight of things that I would not have done but for your aid!" said Stunner, "and getting money from that honest old fool, Judge Dearing, who won't take a good thing when he sees it offered to him, is one of them. I have bigger game than he is working with me."

Potts' interest increased at this announcement as he leaned forward and said:

"Who are they? Is old--one of them, Stunner?" He had spoken in a whisper when he named the individual referred to. Stunner answered quietly:

"He is, and he and I go halves."

"One-fifth of the whole profits for ten thousand dollars cash is your offer, is it? I will bank on that man's judg ment always. And he has the power, too!"

"One-fifth of my half for ten thousand, cash down, is my offer, pard; and not a cent less will let you in," answered Stunner.

In truth he had just offered the interest for one-half the

The State, the city, the village--everywhere in Republican America is dominated by "the ring." If you are "in," profits come in troops; if you are "out," intellect and genius walk on the pavement, while mediocrity, with gilded conscience and vulgar display, rides by in the chariot.

Potts thus construed it, at any rate, and thus early gave in his adhesion to the "ins."

"Now, Stunner," said Potts, "it was only last week that an order was received by the Commandant of the Post at Etowah, instructing him to let a steamer pass down the river to the Gulf and thence to Liverpool if it got safely through the Federal gun-boats stationed at the mouth of the river."

"I know all about it," said Stunner.

"Why did not this steamer, loaded with cotton, belonging to the State, proceed?" asked Potts.

"Because the Commandant of the Post there is like our friend, Judge Dearing--a--fool!" responded Stunner. "Have a cigar, Potts?" All his former amiability had returned now, since the trade had been consummated, and the manner of the two was like that of bosom-friends.

"You see," Stunner continued, "the military commander of the district had given orders that no steamer loaded with cotton should be allowed to go down to the gulf."

"Why was that order passed?" asked Potts.

"Because it was asserted by some 'smart Alecks' who could not get 'in' that if a steamer got through safely to Liverpool, it was received there as the cotton belonging to J. B. Stunner & Co., whereas if the steamer was captured or lost

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Potts, "and is it true? Does it happen so?"

"You bet your sweet life!" was Stunner's answer.

A few days later Potts decided to renew his visits at Thronateeska, for his spirits rose as the fortunes of the Confederacy seemed to decline. If the Confederacy failed he would be the wealthiest young man in the county.

"Why are you so sad, Clara?" said Julia to her the day when Mr. Potts decided to make the all-important visit. "Mr. Barnum still lives and you are sure of his affections."

"You are mistaken in your surmise, Julia; Mr. Barnum has been absent nearly three years and we have had no correspondence whatever."

Though it was difficult to get letters "through the lines," it was often done, and this information surprised Julia.

"Then I am mistaken, and, have unintentionally misled one of your former friends," said Julia. "You are not engaged to Mr. Barnum, then?"

"No, I am not engaged to Mr. Barnum; what put such an idea into your head? To whom do you refer?"

"I refer to Captain Latané, and I told him before he returned to the army that I had no doubt of it?" "Why, Clara, what is the matter, my dear?"

Clara's agitation was too great to be concealed longer, and she could only say--"How cruel! how could you do it, Julia?"

"Why, my dear, I had no idea that you were interested in Captain Latané, but it is all clear to me now. His embarrassment and your's on that morning when we met you riding before breakfast should have opened my eyes, but

Clara had regained control over her feelings and now sought to remove the impression her embarrassment had created, for she did not know positively that Latané still loved her, and she could not persuade herself to make her cousin her confidante under the circumstances. Besides, she had every reason to suppose that Julia was not indifferent to his attentions. Rallying, therefore, from her embarrassment she said, "What a pity it is that Captain Latané was captured. If I knew what prison he was confined in, I should feel tempted to write to Mr. Barnum to go and undeceive him. Jesting aside, Julia, I did not even meet Captain Latané during his visit home."

"Well, I am glad I have done no harm," replied Julia; "I thought from your remark that I had committed the unpardonable sin. Confess now that it is not your fault that you are not engaged to Mr. Barnum--I would not be surprised if you had a like opportunity with Captain Latané."

"That would be high treason, Julia."

"Of course it would, my dear, and I did not mean for you to betray their secrets. I only wished to restore my equanimity by putting you on the defensive. See what a diplomat I am."

"Indeed, you are, Julia, and I feel inclined to ask you similar impertinent questions about both Major Blount and Captain Latané. You are very selfish in permitting that gallant major to go away without giving me an opportunity to "cut you out," as the phrase is."

Then changing her tone she said, "Is not the ingenuity of Mr. Potts in devising ways and means to keep out of the army remarkable? No taunts or sneers can drive him into

"It is indeed remarkable, said Julia; and I have a curiosity to meet him. He seems to be quite a character. "By the way, Julia, did you know that Bruton Stewart has been promoted for distinguished gallantry on the battle field on the 12th of May? It seems so funny that Bruton Stewart should be a Brigadier-general."

Had Clara been less absorbed in her own reflections she could not have failed to notice the quick flush which mantled Julia's cheeks, as she answered:

"Yes, I read it in the newspaper, and I have no doubt that he has won it bravely."

But not by word or letter, or by any indication whatever, did Bruton Stewart evince that Julia Dearing held any place in his heart or mind. To conceal her embarrassment at the unexpected allusion to him, therefore, she arose and left the sitting-room.

Just as she arose to leave, a ring at the door-bell announced a visitor. The servant handed to Clara a card bearing the name of Wellington N. Potts. On some of his cards was written the name of W. Napoleon Potts; other cards contained the simple W. N. Potts, used in his commercial correspondence. But in his social visits he always carried cards which bore the name of "Wellington" or "Napoleon," or both.

"Do stay, Julia, and help me to entertain him," pleaded Clara.

"Thanks; I am much obliged, I am sure, but he did not call to see me; I will go into the library and read "Macaria" until he retires," answered Julia.

After a few commonplace remarks, Potts said: "Well,

"Then you are going into the army, are you? I am not surprised. I don't see how any man can keep from going to Richmond now, and aiding to hurl back the immense army collected at its front."

"I must answer you in the language of a soldier whose flight General Lee sought to arrest, and then to induce him to return to the front as he was leaving the battle-field in the last battle. The General said: "Go back, my friend; remember your home, your wife and your children; go back and fight for your country."

"Well, what did he say?" interrupted Clara, as Potts hesitated.

"He answered: 'I've been thar, Gineral, and 'tain't no fitten place for nobody!' and that's the way I feel about it."

In spite of her contempt for the sentiment thus expressed, Clara could not refrain from smiling. Emboldened by this, he continued: "Miss Clara, you know I am not sympathetic with this war, or, in truth, with any war. 'Thou shalt not kill,' is the divine command. War is murder, and I am determined to keep out of it as long as I can."

"How do you propose to do it?" asked Clara.

In spite of her antipathy to him, she was entertained by his argumentative way of expressing himself.

"The Confederate Congress," he answered, "has passed a law exempting from military service manufacturers, captains of steamboats, and managers of a certain number of slaves. That law will whip the Confederacy, and save me from the trouble and danger of enlisting. There is a little

"I am glad to hear it," said Clara, laughing in spite of herself, "and I hope the conscript officers will get you yet."

"Conscript Fathers! Why Miss Clara, what have I done that you should wish to consign me to 'glory or the grave,' as the poets express it?"

"It is not what you have done, but what you have not done, she replied. But why argue the matter?"

"That is not my object; I wish to be of service to you if I can."

He then alluded to President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, in which the President of the United States promised that he would recommend that all citizens who shall have remained loyal to the United States during the war, should be compensated for all losses, including the loss of slaves.

"Well," said Clara, "it is nearly two years since that proclamation was issued, and I have not heard of a single slave who has availed himself of the privileges offered. With thirteen hundred thousand men in the field against us, they have not only failed to overcome us, but they have utterly failed to produce servile insurrection, which that proclamation was designed to effect. They have passed laws confiscating the property of "rebels," and yet I don't see that anybody owns less property."

To the mind of an ordinarily appreciative man, it was folly to argue thus with a young lady who had aided to cut up carpets in her own home to serve for blankets for soldiers.

These delicately reared young ladies, accustomed all their lives to every luxury which wealth and culture can give, were to be seen in the forenoon sewing c arse garments for unknown soldiers to wear; and at night they often participated in public concerts that money might be provided for hospital purposes. But Potts was not a generous man, and he despised a gentleman, and all that that world implied, more than any other product of civilization.

"You may not know it, Miss Clara," said he, "but there are at this moment seventy thousand negroes employed in the Union armies, nearly thirty thousand of whom are bearing arms in the field."

"Yes, I read the statement in a Massachusetts paper sent to papa recently. It stated further that there are fifty thousand blacks between Memphis and Natchez, from among whom have been culled all the able bodied men for military service. What was the result? The writer stated that last winter he buried, at Memphis alone, out of an average of about four thousand of these deluded and helpless creatures twelve hundred, or twelve a day. In all your life, have you ever heard of such mortality among negroes under Southern masters? Such results prove to them, better than all the arguments in the world, that their best friends, those who are most in sympathy with their feelings, are the people with whom they were reared. What interest can a stranger feel who lives a thousand miles distant, and who enlisted to defend the Union, not to liberate slaves--what interest can he feel in the sufferings of this dependent race?

"How do you account for the fact that we have no apprehensions of danger from our negro slaves? How can the spirit of patriotism be implanted in the breasts of men, who have left their homes and crossed the seas and become enlisted soldiers in six months after their arrival on foreign shores? Our soldiers are fighting hundreds of thousands of foreigners, and it is the duty of every Southern man to go to the front."

"Well, they won't get me this time. I have assumed the place of superintendent of the factory, and made our former superintendent, who is sixty-five years old, and, therefore, is exempt, take my place as book-keeper."

She despised him, and yet his bold avowal that he was not sympathetic with the Southern cause was the only thing which had ever inspired a particle of respect for this seekers after bomb-proof places.

"You know," resumed Potts, "that slavery has been abolished, in the District of Columbia at any rate, by Act of the Congress of the United States, and all loyal owners in Washington City are allowed ninety days to prepare and present to Commissioners appointed for the purpose, the names, ages and personal description of their slaves. Now, I think a good price may be obtained for all your father's slaves if he will join my father and proclaim his loyalty at once. The war is going against the South, and--"

His further speech was interrupted by the indignant girl, who, rising as she spoke, said: "Good Heavens! Mr. Potts, are you in earnest? Do you mean what you say, or are you merely advancing an argument which, if 'twas sincerely spoken, will make you a stranger to this house at least?"

Potts hesitated. This was the only home which he visited, and he did not pretend to like any other society than

"Let us change the subject, Miss Clara, for I see that a little argument on my side of the question offends if it can't be met.

'When a woman wills, she will, you may depend on it;
When she won't, she won't, and there's an end on it.'
 

"Mr. Potts, I never wish to hear any more 'arguments of this nature. Do you not consider yourself a Southerner and loyal to this State?"

"Oh, yes," he said, yawning, with well-simulated indifference, "by birth and rearing, but in everything else I am a New Englander."

"Then why do you own slaves? I believe your father has been, and is, a very extensive slave-owner, although he is a native of New England. Why don't he emancipate, them immediately, without any reference to what any government may do?"

"Oh! that's another matter. Hypocrites pretend to be animated by patriotism, allegiance to the State, and all that sort of thing. A New Englander is superior to sentimental notions We are a practical people. 'Nothing succeeds like success,' is our motto. Look around you, and you will find that Northern men take the lead in industrial enterprises at the South, while your leading men turn politicians. Now it is all very well for impulsive young cut-throats, like your friend Latané, to go and get killed or wounded in order to have his name in the papers and be lauded as a hero for a few days. In a short time all these men whom you call 'noble patriots' will be forgotten, while we, who stay at home and make money will buy them out--lock, stock and

Clara, under that quiet exterior, was trembling with indignation. Deceived by her silence into thinking that she was beginning to be imbued with his own penurious ideas, he hoped by this candid statement to pave the way for a new declaration, based upon her hopes of certain security in the future, it mattered not how the war might terminate. Her reply was as sudden and impetuous as a storm in summer.

She arose from her seat, and said in measured, but decided tones: "Mr. Potts, you forget yourself! Not content with seeking a bomb-proof place, you abuse the privilege of a welcome extended to you by my too-credulous father to insult our gallant soldiers, who think wealth and luxury and the brightest promise of the future nothing in comparison to the preservation of the rights of their native land. Young men with ten times your wealth or your father's have entered the army, most of them as private soldiers, which disproves your assertion that a mere thirst for fame actuates them, or that self-interest is the ruling motor in human affairs. If such are your sentiments I am glad you do not consider yourself a Southerner. I do not know what may be the result of this war, but I do know that Southern slave-holders will not desert their slaves when they are most needed by them. I do know that the man who sells his slaves at auction has never been recognized as an acceptable

"What's all this about?" said Julia Dearing, appearing at the door.

Wellington Napoleon Potts was at this moment the impersonation of the scathing criticism of him made on a former occasion by Henry Latané. He seemed to conform to the estimate placed upon his character by the young lady whose eyes were flashing with indignation. Julia's appearance upon the scene just at this moment was welcomed by Potts, although it sent a blush of shame to his cheeks--a blush which had rarely invaded his iron-clad effrontery before. If he had felt overwhelmed before, the reader can imagine the depth of his humiliation when Clara, her lips curling with contempt, introduced him as follows: "Miss Dearing, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Wellington Napoleon Potts, whose name (emphasizing the last word) recalls two of the grandest military heroes of the world's history."

Julia, who was somewhat given to slang, thought: "Well, here's richness to be sure," and gave him a curtsy, which Napoleon himself might have received with feelings of gratification. Interpreting the situation, she said:

"Well, what's the row?"

"Miss Clara is mad with me," said Potts in an injured tone.

Clara turned to Julia, as if to ignore his presence, and said:

"Yes, but neither of you seem to consider me of sufficient consequence to reply to my question: What's the row?"

"I'll leave Mr. Potts to enlighten you," said Clara, leaving the parlor.

Julia turned to him those eyes which could be at will either an interrogation point, a searching catechism, a judicial dicision, a conviction or an acquittal. This time Julia's eyes plainly asked, "What's the row?"

As Julia's flexible muscles gradually relaxed into a re-assuring smile, he said: "Miss Clara's outburst of temper just now was caused by my innocently informing her that I was not sympathetic with the war, when really if she knew my heart, and would treat me right, she could persuade me to enter the ranks to-morrow."

"Really? Then she ought to establish a recruiting station right away. I don't know what the government will do for recruits hereafter, for all the sixteen-year-old boys, nearly, have gone, and Colonel Leslie and father were enrolled yesterday in the Home Guard. They'll have to raise a regiment of Amazons, I reckon."

"They ought to place Miss Clara at the head of it then," said Potts, with a sickly smile.

"Good! that's a capital idea. Will you accept the place of adjutant, Mr. Potts?"

Potts surprised Julia now; he was far from being a fool and was generally quite ready in his sallies of repartee. He never attempted wit, but prided himself upon what he called his "horse-sense"

"You do me honor, Miss Dearing, I assure you. If I can be as successful in petticoats as you and your cousin seem to

"I must say, Mr. Potts, that you have been badly treated. Not by Clara--that's well enough I suppose; but by public opinion which has proclaimed you a coward and a skulker. Since you have shown by your last remark that you are not a coward, I hope to see more of you when I will do my best to persuade you not to be a skulker."

Wellington Napoleon Potts had risen to take his leave as he delivered this parting shot, and accepted the extended hand of Julia Dearing most gratefully, in spite of her previous raillery.

Hesitating a moment and looking as straight into Julia's eyes as a man can who can't meet a glance when it is directed to his own, he said:

"Your first speeches to me were such as I am in the habit of receiving from people who wish to drive me into the army by that mode. The second is a kindness I was unprepared for. I have been kicked like a dog and have submitted like a spaniel, for I do not believe in breaking the law in the slightest particular. You have seen fit to vary the monotony by a kind invitation to visit you. I would be a dog in fact if I failed to appreciate it. I shall do myself the honor of calling on you, if I interpret your words correctly."

Julia bowed affirmatively, and Potts left without waiting for Clara's return.

Now the reader must know that the hand-writing on the wall which so filled the heart of Belteshazzar with fright seemed

Hence the determination of Potts to avow his opposition to the war per se, and hence the conference with the unctious Potts pére which resulted in the determination to sell their slaves and invest the proceeds in cotton. Then, to protect the cotton, should the Confederacy collapse, a proof of "loyalty" would be in order. There was nothing to lose by this step, except the respect of the people, which to their minds was of infinitely small importance, when compared with money. It is a fact susceptible of indubitable proof that had they supposed the fortunes of the Confederate States to be in the ascendency at this period, the Messrs. Potts and nearly all of their ilk would have espoused the Southern cause with the most demonstrative and practical patriotism. Wellington Napoleon would have entered the army, and once there, would have fought bravely; for he was not a coward in the full sense of that term. His pecuniary interests prompted him to play that rôle.

His conversation with Clara was not unpremeditated either. Manifestly, if the war was going to result in emancipation, Clara would no longer be an heiress, unless he could prevail on her father, through her, to sell his slaves as he and his father had determined to do. If Clara would not aid him to accomplish his purpose, he knew Colonel Leslie well enough to know that its failure was predetermined. If it could not be done, Clara was pecuniarily not worth marrying. He did love her, as well as such sordid natures as his can love, but he did not love her well enough to take unto himself a penniless wife. Hence the interview, and hence the sudden resolution to transfer his suit to Julia Dearing, whose father owned few negroes and had a

"Well, Julia, what did you think of Mr. Wellington Napoleon Potts?" said Clara, entering the parlor a few moments after the departure of that worthy.

"I have invited him to call to see me and he has graciously consented to do so," said Julia.

"What! after all you saw and heard!" said Clara, astonished at this statement.

"After all that I saw and heard," coolly replied Julia. "You have done Mr. Potts injustice--not by rejecting him as a suitor nor by the castigation you gave him, which all such skulkers richly deserve, but by thinking him a fool and a coward."

"I think him both; that expresses my opinion of him perfectly, and a knave in addition!" replied Clara, for once thoroughly out of patience.

"He is neither; he is very uncommon, I think; he has a vast deal of common sense, which is a very uncommon article now-a-days," said Julia.

"So had Uriah Heep! I am disgusted with him, and you can have his attentions, Julia, all to yourself, but I pity you."

"You had better pity Potts," thought Julia, as she men tally resolved to make him know how fascinating she could be, in order that she might the better chastise his temerity as a lover and pusillanimity as a man. Then she said as they went out together: "We will not talk of a disagreeable subject, but really Mr. Potts has interested me by his contempt for the contempt of other people. He is one of those selfish contemptible people who are not capable of loving

"Mr. Potts was born old!" responded Clara.

Henry Latané had been captured the month before this interview at the battle of Spottsylvania Court House, the name of the county-site of Spottsylvania county, Virginia. Suffice it to say that never, perhaps, has history recorded five such battles compressed into six days, as the battles of the Wilderness, which culminated on the 12th of May, in the battle of Spottsylvania Court House. In two days the Federals lost twelve thousand men, and the Confederate loss was nearly as great. It is useless to dwell upon the fact that the Federal army numbered one hundred and thirty-three thousand men, while the Confederates had only sixty-two thousand men, and yet repulsed their enemy at the cost of an enormous number of prisoners. Among the prisoners was almost the entire regiment to which Henry Latané belonged, and both he and his servant, Hallback, were captured.

As the agreement for the exchange of prisoners had been abrogated and prisoners were no longer exchanged, Henry Latané real zed that he would remain in prison until the close of the war.

Chapter 21

Death lurked behind every hillock, nay every bush, green and fair to look upon the summer day when peace charms the landscape, but treacherous and sinister as the eye of a serpent when war plants a weapon there.

From the summit of Kennesaw I viewed the glowing landscape as the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge recede away in the distance; I saw puffs of white smoke, a sign I knew full well, and then the loud report of the Parrot guns planted on yonder hill a quarter of a mile away.

Opposite us is the summit of Pine Mountain, and three Generals commanding our troops survey the scene from the outpost there. They are joined later by a cavalry brigadier transferred like myself from Virginia for the campaign in his native State. But one of those Generals can compare in splendid physique with Bruton Stewart, and that is the loved Bishop of Louisiana, Lieutenant-General Leonidas Polk. The smallest in stature is the master-mind and great commander who, though pressed back gradually, inflicted a loss of ten to one upon the enemy, and in whom the confidence of all his troops was unbounded. A signal flag is waved from yonder height, and our signal sergeant answers the signal.

"What! General Polk killed! and by that battery a quarter of a mile away!" The sergeant is up again; field glasses are again directed toward the outpost; the flag flashes in the

"Yes, a cannon ball passed through General Polk's chest, from left to right, killing him instantly," said Colonel Harris, Inspector-General of the army, to me."

We bore him down the mountain side, and in the rear of a store in the village he was laid, the most perfect picture of manly serenity and physical beauty I ever saw in a man of his age.

"Two hours ago," said Bruton Stewart to me, "he gave me instructions, and I was to report to him by daylight to-morrow. Truly--" Then he ceased, for why should two old soldiers, though young men who had "faced the music" a score of times and more, why should they moralize about the uncertainty of life?

Two hours later we were at the front again, and a blaze of fire ran up and down the sides and heights of Kennesaw, now direct, now "en zig-zag," now to the right, then to the left, until that human tide is repelled and cast down the mountain sides. And a thousand died there!

Both armies in line of battle, and the long, seemingly continuous stretch of canvas in the distance is the Federal wagon train. Away to the right is a cavalry skirmish; to the left the opposing batteries are hotly engaged. And yonder, trending away toward the blue horizon the ranges of mountains grow fainter and fainter as coming twilight shuts out a scene where nature has painted her fairest landscapes, and the demon of war has let loose the lurid flames that are grander than any pyrotechnic display; more terrible than any scene peace can offer; but exciting to the true soldier as is the spirit of speed to the race-horse about to enter the arena.

There "Old Rock" illustrated this spirit of battle when his horse was killed from under him; and leaping off, he is seen cutting the harness away from a horse attached to a caisson, and then mounting him bareback, with hoarse, rough voice. he rallies and leads on his men--men, than whom never braver fought in defense of their native land!

I see again, from the roof of the old Military Institute building, itself on the highest hill, the lights and the red flag of the signal station on the heights of Kennesaw. The low distant rumbling of artillery comes sounding through the night air. Our boys are doing their duty there!

Again I wander in the park in the village, where beaux and belles used to congregate and laugh the merry hours away. It is filled now with cots upon which recline the maimed heroes who have fallen during the battles now raging around Marietta.

But a few days ago General Hart led our brigade with sabre waving over his head, and gallant cheers answered his beckoning challenge until we halted after a glorious victory!

Across this very park we dashed.

Ah! but the counter-picture! my young friend, William Young, but eighteen years old, and the picture of manly beauty before that charge. With the gay bravery of a Southern soldier, uninfluenced by thought of office or promotion, this wealthy young gentleman gloriously illustrated the private soldier.

I asked: "Who did you say was mortally wounded, Colonel?" And a great grief welled up in my heart as Thompson answered, "William Young."

There he lies, mortally wounded, but unconquered still, and murmuring, as I raise his head and give him a drink of water from my canteen, "It is the fate of war!"

Near him is a Federal soldier, also mortally wounded, and he, too, receives the attention which "soldier metes to soldier;" and although the noblest and bravest private in our brigade is wounded unto death, no word of unkindness is spoken near that fallen foeman.

Again the shrill whistle of rifle and minnie balls come over railway embankment, and the fight is joined in full view of Institute Hill.

A moment later, and Thompson is himself borne to the rear, shot in the head.

But in battle all thoughts are merged in the one triumphant thought of victory; and a yell, followed by a dashing charge, greets again our brigade commander as he rises in his stirrups and smiles when he sees the effect of our shells and canister.

And a few days later the Commanding General reported, in alluding to Bruton Stewart's fierce, stubborn fight a few miles distant, "The right of the Federal army made a change of front by which it faced to the east. It was opposed in this maneuvre by Stewart's cavalry, as well as 2,500 men can resist 30,000."

I was standing in the depot at Atlanta. The bomb-shells from the Federal army could be seen bursting as they penetrated the walls of the great buildings near it. But, pshaw! this was a daily occurrence, and we were quite accustomed to it. But what moved me more than anything else was the sight of hundreds of soldiers who leaned on their muskets and wept! It is true, some cursed; others looked unuttered curses; many, many others wept.

Why? The great General whom all trust has been removed from the command of the army. That was all.

Thirty-six thousand Confederates, of whom six thousand

Opposed to them was an army of 98,797 men and 254 guns. To this force were added three divisions of cavalry numbering 11,000 men. In the rear of the Federals were 119,000 enlisted men, fit for duty, which could be drawn upon freely if re-inforcements should be needed.

Why speak of "the continuous battle from June 10th to July 2nd?"

Why speak of the incessant artillery fire for twenty-six days around Kennesaw mountain?

Why speak of the exploit, greater than any which the ancient Fabius ever executed, of conducting this army of 43,000 men one hundred miles, fighting almost daily forces nearly three times as numerous and infinitely better equipped, without the loss of a single wagon?

Over 10,000 Federal dead are buried near the base of that mountain, silent witnesses to heroic valor.

General Johnston had been removed. That is but the loss of the services of one commander. But it was infinitely more depressing than all the toiling marches, the lack of shoes and comforts, the lack of ammunition and arms, the series of daily battles and continuous retreat.

The one thing the army did not lack was confidence in the wisdom and ultimate success of their general.

"Of what avail the long siege," men asked one another. "If he is removed, who can lead us to victory?"

But they did not murmur, and they fought as men only fight who battle in defence of their homes.

It was the energy of heroism incarnated.

And this "Gate City" stands on "holy ground." Within it during that siege rare scenes were daily enacted.

Here and there a straggling Confederate might be seen silently viewing the wanton destruction with feelings "too deep for utterance." Now a cavalryman, with his blanket, carbine and high-topped cavalry boots, would turn and watch the bursting shells as a "hole" is made in the wall of some prominent building, and then, sticking spurs to his horse's flanks, give a "rebel yell" and dash on to the front.

Upon the outer streets no vehicles are to be seen save those unmistakable signs of war: ambulances, with the sick, wounded or dead, and gun-carriages, whose sombre mien is enlivened by the laughing voices of light-hearted artillery-men.

They were dressed in dingy jeans, but, for all that, were as invincible as if clad in armor. Grand old uniform! what if it was dingy and rough. "A man's a man for a' that," and these be men indeed.

There stand the long lines of infantry in the intrenchments that enveloped the Gate City which cannot be taken.

We feel it in our bones; indeed, we know that this town cannot be taken by assault by a force ten times as numerous as ours. They stretch all around Atlanta with similar interior lines, and, amid the constant firing, the men joke and laugh with the utmost bonhomie.

The 22nd of July! I will not recall that gallant Confederate victory save to describe two scenes that will be indelibly impressed upon the retina until life shall end. One as the moving army is making the circuit around Decatur. I see that wonderful and indefatigable leader, Pat. Cleburne. He rises in his stirrups and orders the column to "close up!" as

A few hours later General Walker was killed, but he will ever live in the minds of those who saw him that fatal day.

The other scene was enacted by a mere boy, a youthful aide-de-camp to our general of division. We had captured the batteries opposed to our immediate command and a large number of prisoners, when, in the very midst of our triumph, we were ordered to fall back. Why we were so ordered we never could learn. The enemy, seeing this, and realizing the great disparity in force, advanced on three sides at once. Before we knew it we were nearly surrounded, and demoralization was apparent in our ranks. It seemed that our whole brigade would be captured, and the Texans to our left also. The color-bearer of the division, borne back by the common impulse as the lines swayed back and forth, sought safety behind a large oak tree. It was then that this young aide-de-camp dashed up with the news that re-inforcements were at hand.

But the color-bearer of that magnificent division, for the first time in his life perhaps, seemed dazed, bewildered, unable

"Go forward with that flag!" shouted the dauntless youth.

"I can't. See! our line is far to the rear," replied the color-bearer.

"Forward! I say. Re-inforcements are at hand. We must rally these troops!"

The soldier hesitated.

I held my breath as I saw the aide-de camp pull his pistol from the holsters, cock it and present it to the soldier's head. There were hundreds lying there, dead or dying, or grievously wounded, but they were shot in battle by the enemy, and one does not stop to think of the man who has fallen just as his elbow touches one's own, so wonderful is the hold of the battle-spirit in the midst of the carnage. And all these fallen men moved me not. But this scene, when a mere youth--his eyes and every feature the very incarnation of battle--was about to send a bullet crashing through the brain of a brave Confederate soldier--for none but the brave are made division color-bearers--paralyzed me for the moment.

I held my breath and waited.

Then came the voice of the color-bearer: "If you are so damned brave, take the flag and rally them yourself!"

I felt that no other appeal could have saved his life, but that one did.

With a smile of disdain he replaced his pistol, and amid

And gloriously did he do it! He did not look back to see whether one man followed him, but he moved forward, holding that grand old tattered standard erect amid the storm. Too young or too feeble, for he already seemed physically exhausted, to hold it with one arm, he dropped the reins, and guiding his mare by his knees and feet, held the flag forward with both hands and gallantly moved direct upon the enemy's works.

Horse and rider seemed animated by a common impulse, and that was to get there! And now a yell that was begun on the right of the line reached the centre, and, like wave on wave of sound, passed along the line to the farthest man on the left, as they turned as if on dress-parade, and rushed forward to rally around that standard!

The tremendous odds against them were forgotten as they saw that dauntless boy move steadily forward. They faced the front and fought with desperate valor, as the entrenchments were taken and lost again and again. To the right and to the left they turned, and stood at bay, and repelled the enemy. And just as the field is won, the horse and rider, still holding the division standard and still in advance of all, go down, as a grape-shot tears its way through the flank of the noble animal which has borne him so well. But the flag does not touch the ground, for, amid all that dreadful carnage, the color-bearer has walked behind that horse, eager to regain what he had given up, and fearless of danger. That flag had seemed to him country, home, wife, children--but now another bore it, and the veteran of fifty battles followed it aimlessly. As the gallant youth fell, still holding it with both hands, the color bearer reached for it, and said: "Give

And now the young hero was a boy again, for tears came into his eyes as he saw before him the expiring agonies of the noble steed which had borne him all through the Kentucky campaign, and thence through Tennessee and Georgia. If ever eyes bade mortal farewell forever, the eyes of that faithful animal spoke its speechless grief at parting from its young master.

The Russians burned Moscow rather than have it fall into the hands of the invading army of Napoleon, but what would have been the verdict of history had Moscow, after being surrendered to the invader, been utterly destroyed?

A venerable matron proceeded to the headquarters of the Federal army to expostulate with the modern Attila, for already flames were devouring the city. Becoming indignant at this wanton destruction, she exclaimed: "Sir, this is vandalism!"

But he had written: "I purpose to make the inhabitants of the South feel that war and individual ruin are synonymous terms, and, even as she spoke, he handed to the orderly the following order:

" Captain Hoe:

You can commence the work of destruction at once, but don't use fire until the last moment."

Many sick and wounded had been nursed in that handsome

"Why has this house not been burned?

"Because we do not choose that it shall be burned," said a young lady standing at the door-way."

"Has it been searched?"

"No, sir; and it shall not be searched," was her fearless reply.

"Sergeant, enter that house and search it from garret to cellar!" ordered the officer.

The young lady was exquisitely dressed, having put on her best garments that day; "for," she reasoned, "a woman has most influence when she is looking her best." She stood in the door-way and said to the sergeant as he ascended the steps: "Sir, you cannot enter!"

He laughed in derision and raised his hand as if to put her aside. In an instant, calculating correctly the exact moment when one foot was lifted and his balance was least sure, she placed both hands upon his breast, and throwing her whole weight against him, she pushed him backward and he fell head-long to the ground.

Loud laughter from his comrades greeted his curses, which he muttered with an Irish brogue as he arose, and the officer ordered him to desist and remount his horse.

Then lifting his hat in token of admiration for the heroic girl, the officer led the platoon away.

When all danger was over, she, woman-like, fainted.

Time and again those fearless ladies, during the eventful days of the burning of the city, followed the soldiers around that house and scattered the burning fagots as fast as they were applied to the dwelling.

These Irish-Yankees had good hearts, and, but for the unscrupulous nature of the license given them to rob at will, would have spared rather than burn, as they did in this instance. While nearly all others were destroyed, that house was spared. Courage was the only weapon possessed by these heroic women, but that had thus far securely protected them.

Thus wrote Henry Latané in his journal, which he kept during the war. He had been especially favored, and had been exchanged by special request of Colonel Barnum, who happened to learn of his capture many months after he had been a prisoner.

Thus the triumphal "march to the sea!"

Was it vindictive malice? No; it was war! And to the mind of that general, "War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it."

But was it thus to the minds of Washington, or of Grant, or of that greatest of all American commanders, General Robert E. Lee?

Would either of them have us d the following language in his official report concerning this "March to the sea?"

"We have consumed the corn and fodder in this region of country, thirty miles on either side of a line from Atlanta to Savannah, as also the sweet potatoes, cattle, hogs, sheep and poultry; and have carried away more than ten thousand horses and mules, as well as a countless number of their slaves. I estimate the damage done to the State of Georgia, and its military resources, at one hundred millions of dollars. At least twenty millions of which sum has inured to our advantage, and the remainder is simple waste and destruction."

Chapter 22

"Clara, the view from this point recalls the city of Florence; don't you think so? Imagine that yonder picturesque hills are the heights of Fiesole, and that the Etowah river is the Arno, and the resemblance is striking."

"Indeed it is, father; it would be more so if we could see, below the foliage of yonder trees, the lovely flower-gardens that abound in our spacious homes. One remembers the expression which the Italians in Firenze use in describing it: 'The city of flowers, and the flower of cities,' ' La citta delle fiore, e la Fiora delle Citte,'" she added, giving the expression in Italian.

"That describes Etowah, at least; I don't know anything about Florence," said Julia Dearing, stroking the mane of her spirited mare to keep her standing while they reviewed the lovely landscape.

The sun-set glow was on the burnished spires of the many churches, and irradiated the skies with its golden tints.

The large, square mansions in the city, with rounded columns extending from floor to roof, were half hidden by the century-oaks; the huge mills along the river-side were all busy; a train of cars was crossing the river, and a steamer was ploughing the waters down stream. It was indeed a perfect April day, and, except where the waters rushed aflood just below them, the scene was calm, peaceful, serene.

But now and then an anxious look shadowed Colonel Leslie's face, for he did not wish to check the bright gayety and happiness of the two girls by expressing the forebodings which weighed upon him like a night-mare. Yonder was Judge Dearing's home--the very house where four years before he had expressed such confidence of the success of Home Rule as championed by the Confederate States of the South.

The legions of thought crowd the brain on an occasion like this, when all the past seems photographed upon the retina.

They had received no news from "the front"--alas! where now was the front?--in ten days.

The people of that little city were determined to fight to the last, though "the people" were composed of old men like Colonel Leslie and the young lad, Charles Latané aged fourteen, who rode at his side.

General Lee had surrendered his army at Appomattox ten days before, but they knew nothing of it. The telegraph wires had been destroyed by the enemy, and the last orders received by the commander of the little garrison were to "hold the town as long as possible."

Just as Julia Dearing spoke, a solitary horseman appeared in an angle of the road to the right of them. Though ascending the hill he was riding at a gallop.

His face was darkened by frowns, his lips were closely compressed and his eyes seemed a gloomy menace. As he passed the group, however, his face blanched as if with fear or surprise, or both, as he bowed and slackened his pace. He was hardly out of sight when two other figures passed by at a brisk trot. They seemed following upon the trail of the other rider, and their countenances were as ill-looking as the faces of brigands might be.

They passed on without saluting our friends, but a cynical smile, as if breathing an unspoken menace, might have been noted on the face of the younger of the two men.

"I wonder where Mr. Potts is going," said Clara; "he usually rides very slowly, but now he rides like a hurdle-racer."

"I would rather know where George Washburn is going," said Colonel Leslie; "the association of those three men at this juncture of affairs seems remarkable. I have never seen them together before, though each of them is known to be lukewarm, if not hostile, to our cause."

"I've seen them together often," said young Charles Latané. "They have been out to the creek near our school-house often; they pretend to be fishing, but they never carry back any fish. They don't speak to each other in town, but they are 'mighty' sociable when they meet each other there. Mr. Potts reads letters to them; I saw him do it yesterday."

Colonel Leslie's face was unusually grave as he turned his horse toward the road, and said, with assumed cheerfulness, "Come, girls, it is getting late; now for a canter to the bridge." Their horses distanced his, and he saw with a shudder Clara challenge her cousin to make a dètour that they might jump a ditch so wide that it seemed a perilous feat indeed. He reined in his horse, for it was too late to stop them, and saw the horses rise, leap and safely alight on the other side. He did not reprove Clara--he never did in the presence of another--but she, accustomed to observe his every humor, saw it all in his face, and, riding back, crossed the little bridge that spanned the brook and rejoined her father, while Julia, with the mettlesome boy at her side, sped on like the wind in advance.

The golden sunset illumined a peaceful scene as they ntered the town, and contentment and prosperity seemed

It was known that the Federal army of sixty-six thousand disciplined troops, after all the sick and disabled had been sent northward, were marching, unopposed, toward the sea, but it was hoped that the remnants of the Confederate army, in South Carolina, would yet confront and overwhelm them; and it was not imagined that this little city, situated so far in the interior, would be attacked, and yet that was the meaning of the rapid riding of the three men, led by Wellington Napoleon Potts.

The next day, from the hill where our friends had stood and viewed the peaceful scene, a cannon-ball passed over the town, which was summoned to surrender.

Like all Southern cities in those days, earth-works were already prepared, and into them hurried the little garrison of two hundred troops and six hundred civilians, or "Home Guards." In the ranks was Colonel Leslie, seventy-two years old, and in the cavalry troop was Charles Latané, aged fourteen. The hospital furnished its contingent of. sick and wounded soldiers, the whole number defending the town being eight hundred.

On the other side were twenty thousand cavalrymen, with light batteries in support, all splendidly equipped.

And yet the battle raged all day and far into the night, until a brigade, guided by Potts, Hefflin and Washburn, crossed the river upon a bridge several miles above, and entering the town from the north, attacked the patriots from the rear. The streets and squares of the town were filled with pursuing and pursued cavalrymen, and the ground was contested, street by street, until the mounted men reached

Across the State a belt of fire sixty miles wide marked the almost unopposed "march to the sea;" and, as the capital city had been destroyed, so was this little city doomed to destruction.

What a change had forty-eight hours made! The peaceful, smiling town was in ashes; and of the laughing group who had so pleasantly compared it to the most beautiful city in Italy, the youngest, the brave, gallant boy of fourteen had been slain in the battle.

Ah! well might a thought of Italy arise, for in his death were illustrated the words of the national hymn of Italy: " Chi per la patria muore vesuto lo assai." ("He who has died for his country has lived long enough.")

Chapter 23

Wellington Napoleon Potts now had it in his power to greatly befriend the people of his native town, but he seemed to gloat over their misfortunes. He desired to emulate Benedict Arnold, who was rewarded with a Major-General's commission in the British army for his treachery to the government which had honored him with high command.

The town was now garrisoned, and thousands of Federal soldiers were quartered there. The promise of the President of the United States to recommend that large rewards should be paid for "loyalty to the Union" caused Potts to make this "loyalty" as conspicuous as possible. He did not visit Clara Leslie nor Julia Dearing to tender them sympathy or assistance, nor did he recognize them in any way.

"Every dog has his day," he reasoned, "and this day is mine." This day had in him its dog. But, amid all the excitement and demoralization attendant upon the capture of the place, Clara and Julia preserved a calm, dignified demeanor and proved themselves heroines. Julia was full of suppressed excitement, but her attentions to her aged father were redoubled, for his feeble health was ill-prepared for such a shock.

Colonel Leslie was calm, self-possessed, almost placed in his demeanor, although his losses of two thousand bales of cotton, which were burned by the enemy, amounted to a half million dollars in gold. Two hundred thousand bales on

"Be not uneasy about me, my father," said Clara; "I do not forget that I am your daughter."

It is four days later, and the party of young men who escaped the city, it seemed by a miracle, slowly reëntered it. Smoke still hovered over the little city and the ashes of the great conflagration were not yet cold.

As they passed Judge Dearing's residence, pall-bearers were preparing to remove a corpse to the hearse, and among them was the venerable Colonel Hugh Leslie.

"Who is it?" they asked.

The lamentations of the negroes were loud and protracted, as the dead man was much beloved by them, for his decrees against brutal treatment of slaves had made him famous while he was a circuit judge. One of the negroes informed them that the body was that of Judge Dearing himself, and that he had been murdered by a drunken Federal soldier. A squad of soldiers, bent upon plunder, had entered his residence and demanded food. The tea-table was surrendered to them and they were served plentifully. After tea they demanded gold and silver. They were informed that he had none, except the family plate, whereupon they abused and insulted him. He bore their taunts and insults with dignified silence.

Finally one of them approached Julia and attempted to place his arm around her waist. She repelled him indignantly,

"Here, marster, kill 'em!"

The old jurist seemed suddenly endowed with the strength of youth, for, dashing aside two soldiers who endeavored to intercept him, he sent the ax crushing through the skull of the one with whom Julia was struggling, and had raised it to strike the other dead also, when he was instantly shot to death by two of their companions.

"War is cruelty and you cannot refine it," said the commanding general. But cruelty can be the refinement of torture, and this was the refinement of cruelty. To the credit of humanity, be it said, such acts were rare, even in those days when the women of the land were at the mercy of the enemy, and their former slaves were their only protectors. Sad as this murder was, what other war was ever accompanied by as few atrocities of this nature as was the war between the States? "Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's!"

Just as Judge Dearing was slain, the timely arrival of a Federal colonel arrested the infuriated soldiers and prevented further outrage. Two of the drunken soldiers again advanced with evil intent. The officer struck one with his sword and leveled his revolver at the other. The ominous click of the pistol and his determined look meant death, and they sullenly obeyed him. Not so the two who had murdered her father; they appeared at the door, and, aiming their guns at him, cried to their comrades:

"Get out of the way there! We'll fix him, too!"

Just then a squad of soldiers entered and arrested the men, striking up the gun-barrels just in time, for the balls pierced

"Colonel, give the word and we'll kill the cowardly scoundrels on the spot."

"No; arrest them and carry them to their regiment; they shall be tried by court-martial."

Julia did not wait to thank her deliverer, but ran immediately to assist her father, who was dead ere she reached him, one shot having struck his heart. She fell upon the corpse and kissed the face of the dead time and again, but grief allowed neither tears nor words to the unprotected orphan.

"Endeavor to be quiet, Miss Dearing; I appreciate your sacred grief too much to intrude, but had I reached the house sooner this would not have happened. Miss Clara Leslie is well, and at Thronateeska; can I not have your loved father borne there?"

"Oh, no! no! no!" sobbed Julia. "Only take away your soldiers, and leave me with my father!" and she threw herself upon his corpse.

The colonel said to the old negress, who had tried to assist her master:

"Here, "auntie," is my card; if anything is needed let me know; I shall do all in my power to serve Miss Dearing. I shall return to-morrow; Sergeant Cook will remain in the house to protect you from violence or annoyance, and to make known Miss Dearing's wishes to me. Call upon me as if I were a friend or relative of Miss Dearing's, for nothing that I can do will be left undone. I will be at Colonel Leslie's home."

Colonel Barnum--for it was none other--had reached Colonel Leslie's in time to prevent trouble there, and at Clara's

So busy had Colonel Barnum been in seeking to protect this people, composed now of women and boys and very aged men, that he was not permitted to see his friends again. He left with his regiment, which accompanied the army. A regiment of negro troops now garrisoned the city.

At Chestatee a guard had been placed, even before Colonel Barnum's arrival, by some one in authority, who rode up in the dark, and called Martha to the gate. He requested her not to ask who he was, but stated that he was a friend of the family, and that they might rest assured that no one in that household would be harmed. The guard consisted of two> negro soldiers, who were very respectful in their manner to all the inmates, both white and black. The officer wore the Federal uniform, and Martha heard the soldiers address him as "Captain." She could not see whether he was a white man or not, as he rode off quickly after giving her this ssurance. Mrs. Leslie was too full of grief at the death of her youngest son to notice anything save little Minnie, who exerted herself to comfort her mother.

During all the succeeding days of trial for the people of Etowah not an exciting episode occurred at her home. The guard was regularly changed, and they scrupulously obeyed the order not to talk to any one on the plantation. Neither would they give the name of the captain under whose orders they seemed to act.

It was only after the troops had all left Etowah that the following letter to Mrs. Latané explained the care with which her interests were protected.

A few days after this occurred, Henry Latané, with other officers, reached home. They had walked all the way from Virginia. As the travel-stained and dusty young officer, wearing his uniform and side-arms, entered the hall the servants shouted with joy. He had never looked handsomer. Little Minnie rushed to his arms, and his mother, dressed in deep mourning, tenderly embraced her son. "Where is Charlie, mother?" She could not reply, but his little sister said in grief-stricken tones: "Brother Charles was killed!" The returned soldier leaned on his sword and wept.

This last fight of the war between the States would have been chronicled as one of momentous interest had it happened a century ago. But, by the side of the colossal shocks of arms that attended the great battles of the period, it seemed of no consequence, and it has not even been noted by the historians; and yet all that the noblest self-sacrifice and the most heroic courage could do had been done, and every phase of human nature had been thrillingly enacted. It meant resistance to the bitter end in defense of their homes.

They were patriots of the loftiest stamp. But in the eyes of the conquerors there were but few "patriots" there, and the most conspicuous among them were Potts, Hefflin and Washburn. God save the mark!

A month before, another gallant hero had greeted the warrior's death. And he, too, the day before his death, when full of hope and courage, had written to Julia Dearing that all would yet end well, and had intimated that he hoped for a bright reward for his constancy when the war should end.

Throughout the State, and, indeed, throughout the South, may be seen upon the walls of the homes of the highest and the lowest a picture representing the "Burial of Blount."

A small group of ladies, a little girl, several female negro servants and an aged negro man who dug the grave, were the sole witnesses to this burial of one of the most promising young officers in the army. He had fallen almost at the gate of the old plantation homestead which these ladies had refused to leave. The battle had raged around the old mansion and more than one bomb-shell had passed through it, but these gentlewomen, with the few servants described, remained there during the storm of deadly missiles; and as they saw this young officer rallying the troops, with the standard in his hand until he fell, and his comrades eagerly pressing on, they begged that they might be permitted to pay the last sad rites. His name, rank and regiment were given them, and they left him to their care.

Ah! what a pathetic scene was that when the eldest of

And who were these ladies who illustrated at once heroic fearlessness and the most feminine sympathy and the most exalted Christian charity?

Far back in the records of the "Old Dominion" the name which they bore is inscribed among the first families of the land. In the Revolutionary war it was favorably known, and a brigadier-general in the Confederate army in Virginia had recently illustrated it by yielding up his life in defence of his country.

This act of genuine charity to the unknown dead, perpetuated by this engraving, will ever be a pleasing thought to all who bear the honored name.

And to this day his grave may be seen there in the lawn of the old home. But the flames that marked the path way of the "March to the Sea," that blasted with needless desolation a belt sixty miles wide across two States, left naught but chimneys to mark the site of the home itself. On the tomb of Major George Blount one may read the words of a gallant Confederate poet: "

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo!
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
 

The war was ended.

The negro was a freedman. Slavery was extinct.

^1. There had been enrolled in the Federal armies two millions and six hundred thousand men. There had been enrolled in the Confederate armies six hundred thousand men.

The Federal prisoners held by the Confederate authorities numbered two hundred and seventy thousand men.

The Confederate prisoners held by the Federal authorities numbered two hundred and twenty thousand men.

The Federal prisoners who died in Confederate prisons numbered twenty-two thousand and five hundred and seventy-six men.

The Confederate prisoners who died in Federal prisons numbered twenty-six thousand and four hundred and thirty-six men. Yet the whole world has been regaled with the atrocities at Andersonville!

Yet it was in the power of the Federal Government at any time to set all their prisoners free by an exchange of prisoners, and it was they who refused to make such an exchange, and abrogated the cartel agreed upon to that end.

And on the high seas nearly 500,000 tons of American shipping was transferred to the British flag to prevent capture by Confederate cruisers.

The magnitude of Confederate captures on the high seas is proved by the figures of results presented at the Geneva Congress, where bills for $26,408,170.31 were audited and presented for payment to Great Britain, as the total value of damage done by Confederate cruisers.

No statement can offset this exhibit, and no exhibit can better fix in history the record of the valor of the armies of

Were such soldiers "Traitors!"

Were such people "Rebels?"

Away with the terms! These Confederate soldiers and sailors and their brave and gallant foemen were, above all, Americans, and their deeds are the common heritage of all the citizens of these Re-United States.

In time to come, as now, when the names and valorous deeds of those who died in defence of home and right are repeated. in glad acclaim will admiring hearts respond: "

Roll back, O Time, the sacred scroll
On which is told their story:
For by the light that falls to-day
We read their quenchless glory.
For no historic page proclaims
Such deeds of high endeavor
As those the South enshrines within
Her heart of hearts forever.
 

Awake! fond memories of the past,
E'en though ye bring us weeping:
Unroll, O Time! the precious scroll
We gave into your keeping.
Flash all the golden letters out
That tell their glorious story;
Proclaim from every mountain peak
'Dead on the field of glory.'
 

Notes

• 1These figures are official, and are from the records in the United States War Department.

Chapter 24

A year had passed since the tragic death of Judge Dearing. The sale of the residence and payment of all claims against his estate left Julia only one thousand dollars. Her proud spirit suffered keenly when she thought of her dependence upon her uncle for support. She determined to leave this hospitable home which was hers for life if she would have it. She would leave it before the thousand dollars was exhausted. She had been in the habit of spending three times that sum annually, and it looked very small indeed to her. Her extravagance was not for personal display so much as unbounded charity. She had saved out of her annual allowance one thousand a year until she had accumulated enough to build an Episcopal Chapel for the factory operatives at her own expense. This beautiful Chapel had been finished two years before, and the good people loved the handsome girl as if she was a princess and they her subjects. Often in the rain she could be seen mounted upon her spirited mare, carrying medicines to some invalid whose poverty prevented her from applying to a doctor or an apothecary. No exposure seemed to hurt her vigorous constitution, and she never tired of these attentions to the poor. Meanwhile there was an utter absence of ostentation or the appearance of conferring an obligation upon the recipients of her lavish charity.

Judge Dearing had never denied his daughter anything. Since her father's death, these charities had been discontinued,

"Thank you, Miss Julia; God bless your tender heart! and he will do it, child," said Mrs. Higgins, as Julia, after giving her the medicine needed, smoothed her pillow for her and placed her own fine cambric handkerchief, which she moistened in water, upon the invalid's feverish forehead.

"I hope so, Mrs. Higgins; though I hardly think a proud, rebellious nature like mine will be acceptable to God."

"You ain't proud a bit, child; you are jist a born nat'ral lady, and you orter hold yourself high-like. There were grand folks even in the days when the Bible was written, and you can't no more be like us poor, ignorant folks than a fish kin walk!"

"Good-bye, Mrs. Higgins; you flatter me so I must leave you. I see the clouds are thickening up, too, and I must hurry home." How desolate she felt as she said "hurry home." She realized that she had no home; for when the heartless hand of the creditor closes the old homestead to you, it seems a mockery to walk familiar halls and rooms where you dwelt in your happy childhood.

The clouds were indeed thickening, and the thunder sounded the tocsin for the gathering clans. As she left the humble home of the aged factory operative, the big drops began to fall and she walked rapidly--so rapidly that she came near running against a tall form, whose military cloak and lowered visor protected him from the storm.

"Why, Miss Julia! what are you doing out in such a storm as this?"

"I've been making a few calls," she said, hurrying on. Colonel Barnum had turned to accompany her.

"Don't take the trouble to come with me, Colonel; you will get soaked."

"And what will become of you, I would like to know?" he said, taking off his cloak and putting it around her in spite of her objections. "Don't say nay, Miss Julia; I must have my way this time. You have been on one of your missions of mercy, I know, and the poor can't permit you to get sick."

"Indeed, I am grateful for your kindness, and I accept with a protest. I am not delicate, and have never been sick a day in my life," she replied.

"It is well for the poor that you have ample means. To be dependent upon the charity of friends for support is a hard lot, but to be thus dependent without having friends, friends who do not refuse to help the poor, 'on principle,' you know, is the hardest lot of humanity."

Again was this suggestion, which was burning into her soul, made to her, and made by Colonel Barnum, whose thoughtful, considerate speech and manner had become noted. "To be dependent upon the charity of friends for support is a hard lot;" that was what he said. Indeed, it was! A yoke she determined not to bear, if she could cast it off.

The rain now fell in torrents and put an end to further conversation. A sudden gust of wind caught a flap of the military cloak which Barnum had thrown around her and came near bearing it away; seizing it instantly, he placed it on her shoulders again and fastened it around her throat. He did not ask permission, this calm, determined man, but simply and sensibly proceeded to do the right thing in the

They reached Thronateeska drenched to the skin in spite of all protection offered by the military cloak.

"Why, bless my heart, Julia! Ah! Colonel Barnum, walk in. Don't stop to talk; you'll catch your death in a rain like this. Come in!" said Colonel Leslie. "I wish no better cause to die in than serving this daring Samaritan," said Barnum to Colonel Leslie. Meanwhile Clara had hurried Julia to her room and made her change her dress. Her love and attentions to Julia were redoubled, now that she was dependent upon them for love and protection.

"I am exceedingly glad, Colonel Barnum, that you met Julia," said Colonel Leslie; "I would not have been surprised if she had made additional visits despite the storm, if she had not met you, and I fear she is not as strong as she was."

"She must have a very determined character," suggested Barnum. "More than any woman I ever knew," replied her uncle, "but she is always right. She is utterly unselfish and is as fearless as it is given to any human being to be; withal she is refined and modest as"--Clara--he started to say, for Clara was perfection in his eyes; but pausing an instant, he said, "as any girl I ever knew. In fact, I wish she was my daughter."

"May I ask a question which may seem inquisitive, if not

"Yes; that is what I meant by saying, 'I wish she was my daughter.' She will not allow me to do anything for her which involves the least outlay of money. She always rode or drove on her charitable visits during her father's life, but she disposed of all her property, including her horses and phaeton, to settle claims against his estate. Her father was very patriotic and invested nearly all his property in Confederate bonds. He held claims against many parties for money loaned which proved to be worthless and insufficient to pay his indebtedness, incurred solely by his liberal indulgence of these parties."

"Do you mean to say that Miss Dearing is no longer an heiress?" said Barnum.

Colonel Leslie, with a look of astonishment not unmixed with displeasure, replied: "I do; I mean to say that, after all claims were settled, there remained but one thousand dollars to her credit; and I mean to say further, that she refuses even to accept the use of Clara's horse, or pony-phaeton, or carriage, except when she accompanies her, and then only to oblige her cousin. I mean to say more, that she needs no assistance, for my home shall be hers as long as she lives." The old gentleman was pacing the floor now. He did not wish to doubt Barnum as he had doubted Henry Latané, who, although all had been explained, was still a rare visitor. But he could not help asking himself, "Are Barnum's frequent attentions to Julia due to mercenary motives?" The truth is Colonel Leslie was a very proud man, and so was Henry Latané; and when two proud, haughty men have a misunderstanding, the trouble widens with time. Hence,

After tea, at which repast Julia was pensive and silent, a most unusual state of mind for her, the young people repaired to the parlor where Clara, in order to gratify Barnum, whom she believed to be very much interested in her cousin, seated herself at the piano, and was playing "The Blue Danube" with such verve and ease, that her execution would have delighted the ears of Johann Strauss himself, when a ring at the door was heard.

She had hardly left the piano when Henry Latané was ushered in the parlor. The two gentlemen greeted each other cordially. Under ordinary circumstances, Julia Dearing would have said to Barnum something to induce him to talk to her, that Henry Latané and Clara might have a quiet chat together. Now she hesitated, and met Henry Latané timidly.

The earnest, serious man whom she had first known as a protector, whose arm shielded her at the very moment her father was slain, and to whom she owed her life, had touched an inner chord in her nature untouched before.

"Miss Julia," said Latané, seating himself beside her, I am commissioned by my mother to say to you that she claims

"You and auntie are very kind, Captain Latané, and I will never forget it; but do you know that I am almost decided to leave the State in a few days?"

"Leave the State!" said Latané with surprise. "What on earth are you thinking of leaving us for?"

"I have told you purposely," replied Julia. "Mr. Barnum and Clara seem to be having a pleasant time on the veranda, and, as I may not have an opportunity of seeing you alone again, I want to ask your advice--not about the step, that's decided, but as to the place I shall go to."

"What are your plans, if I may be permitted to ask?" said Latané.

"My plans are simply to earn my own support; the thought of being dependent upon others is becoming a burden too great to be borne. I design teaching school, or becoming a governess, or something of that kind. Women have but few means of supporting themselves in this country. In the South it is a new question, growing out of the war, and the proudest scions of the best families may as well 'face the music' at once. They will have to earn their bread sooner or later."

"God forbid?" said Latané; "God forbid that you, or any of our gentle, lovely girls should ever be forced to contend with the scoffs and taunts and sneers of the world!" Then, forgetting his love for Clara which he had received no evidence was reciprocated, and thinking only of the gulf which

Julia had not expected this. She felt confident that both Latané and Barnum loved Clara, and she knew that Clara had loved Henry Latané. True, she seemed changed now. She was reserved and even seemed to avoid him, while he had made no efforts to renew his former position as a suitor for Clara's hand. Clara felt that Henry Latané had learned to admire Julia more than herself, and hence a tacit understanding that the subject was not to be alluded to was accepted by both the girls. Henry Latané had been stung to the quick by the cold, haughty manner of Colonel Leslie, and vowed to himself never to be a suitor where he was not acceptable to parent as well as child. He loved Clara, he knew, but if she had loved him as he loved her, he thought she would have prevented this unworthy suspicion from taking such deep root.

"Any good woman will make any good man a good wife if all other things are suitable," he persuaded himself.

Now he had crossed the Rubicon and had burnt his bridges behind him. What was her answer? Looking into his face with a grateful smile, she said: "Captain Latané, your kindness overwhelms me. Do not deceive yourself; you have said this to me from generosity, not love. You love Clara--nay, don't deny it; it is better that you should. I shall never marry until I can prove that no mercenary motives could induce me to take that most sacred of vows. I must

She was weeping now, and taking her hand he kissed it and retained it.

Regaining her calmness she asked him to excuse her a moment and left the room. This left Latané in an awkward position, for Barnum and Clara were so intently engaged in important conversation that they had not noticed Julia's absence from the room. Latané pretended to be reading, or examining a copy of Gustave Dore's illustrations in the "Ancient Mariner," and thus prepared himself for Clara's surprised exclamation: "Captain Latané, where is Julia?" stepping into the room as she spoke from the veranda.

"She excused herself for a few moments," said Latané. Evidently, in his mind at least, Barnum had been engaged in a most confidential conversation, in which Clara was much interested, or she would have ascertained Julia's absence ten minutes sooner than she did.

"They can't be engaged, but at the same time it is perfectly plain he has been in love with her for years. I can't blame him either, for surely she is the loveliest person I ever saw."

Thus thought the young man, already thankful that Julia had declined his proposition, yet more than ever determined that he would not make himself miserable about Clara.

Barnum had requested Clara to give him her undivided attention until he had unburdened the sentiments which animated his breast. He had thought for a long time that Julia was the most superior person he had ever met, and the more he studied her character, the more he became charmed with her.

"Miss Clara," said he, "it may seem unprecedented that

"It is the first time I have ever been asked such a question, Colonel Barnum, but I will do anything in my power to serve Julia, and I have not been so blind as to fail to see your attachment for her."

"I have never attempted to deceive any one," he replied, "and you are the last person I should feel tempted to repose a half-confidence in. I love your cousin; have long loved her, and I had determined to bide my time and wait until some circumstance might give me reason to hope for success. But I have waited in vain; while conscious that she does not now reciprocate my love, I have learned that she is unhappy. Besides, your father informed me to-night that she was almost penniless. I wish to offer her the true devotion of a loyal heart. I have no means except my profession; I have found time to study law, though still in the army, and have been admitted to the bar in New York. So long as I supposed she was an heiress I had decided not to address her until I had demonstrated my capacity to support her by my own labor without any reference to her property. There is now no cause for further delay. I wish to ask you whether it is proper for me, a Northern officer, to seek to make a Southern girl, whose father was assassinated by a drunken Northern soldier, my wife."

"I am glad you have told me this, Colonel Barnum. Julia has changed greatly from the happy, buoyant, self-reliant

"Thank you, Miss Clara; I would not take a prince's fortune for the hope you hold forth." This was said just as they reached the parlor window, and Latané heard it. This was confirmation of his worst fears. He remembered now his conversation with Julia Dearing, in which she had related the reported engagement of Clara with Barnum after his recovery, and Julia's remark: "What a pity it will be if Clara Leslie marries a Yankee officer!"

Stranger things had happened; Hugh and Barnum had been devoted friends, and if Barnum's popularity with the citizens continued to increase as rapidly as in the past, he might stand for Congress from that district with strong prospects of success.

These thoughts had passed swiftly through his brain as he said calmly: "She excused herself for a few moments."

"How unlike Julia to treat me so!" said Clara, taking a seat near Latané.

"I owe you an apology," said Julia, re-appearing just in time to hear Clara's remark, "and I'll make it now: Captain Latané and I are such old friends that I take liberties with him."

Julia then turned to reply to a remark addressed to her by Barnum, as if nothing of any moment had transpired. Clara, evincing a painful embarrassment after a few moments' silence, said to Henry: "Captain Latané, I am really glad to see you; you have not been treating us as kindly as we had hoped you would."

If she had said "I," instead of "we," Latané would have interpreted the remark as it was intended, for Clara was most anxious for a complete explanation of the past, yet her modesty would not permit her to make the first overtures.

As she did not say "I," Latané replied, "You are mistaken, I think, Miss Clara; a man who calls to see you on a night like this must surely wish to cultivate--the family."

His tone, caused by the last remark made by Barnum, which implied at least a better understanding with Clara than he had anticipated, rather than his words, seemed unkind to Clara. Indeed, Henry Latané, torn by jealousy, had spoken as he never had done before. Realizing it instantly, his naturally courteous manners returned, and he spoke most pleasantly the rest of the evening. Before taking his leave he said to her, "Miss Clara, I must ask your pardon for my rudeness; I do not know what impelled me to risk your good opinion, which I have wished to preserve for so long a time."

"It has never been forfeited, Captain Latané," she said, extending her hand to him as he stepped from the door into the veranda. Her smile as she said this, so like the smile which had first so won his heart, emboldened him to do more. Without saying one word, he clasped that warm

As Henry Latané rode back to Chestatee, conflicting emotions fought for the mastery in his bosom. Again he felt that his love was returned, and yet he doubted. But reflection told him that he, a man whose pride it had been to conquer himself and curb his impulses--he, a soldier, renowned for courage, and possessing gravity unusual in one so young--he, a devoted lover for four long years in spite of the injustice to which he had been subjected, had addressed two girls on the same evening and in the same house! He despised himself, and inwardly resolved, if Clara discovered it, that he would offer his sword to the Khedive of Egypt, or the Sultan of Turkey. All that he had been accused of was not as bad as this! True, he had not said anything of love to Clara, but that kiss was the whole history of love in one sentence. For the first time in his life he had been guilty of deception, and yet he was irresistibly led to it by the most honorable of impulses. His reflections as he paced his room till the great streaks of dawn were such as a thousand men have uttered before him, viz.: "A man in love is a fool!" The sun arose and its bright beams invading his room seemed like a sacrilige to his feverish brain. He could stand it no longer. Going to his desk he drew out paper and pen and wrote rapidly the following note, which he sent by a servant to Julia Dearing: "

Miss Julia--You were right in refusing me. I am unworthy your love or that of any noble woman. I not only

Respectfully yours,
Henry Latané.

The messenger quickly returned with the following reply: "

Captain Latané--No schemer or deceiver would have acted as you have done. You have acted naturally and honorably. I am the only person who has a right to have an opinion about it, and I like you better for it. It was your generosity which prompted you to offer me a home; I have thought for years that you and Clara loved each other. Never despair, but trust to time, and all will come right. Your letter is destroyed, and your confidence shall be kept a secret. Destroy this also, and keep the matter I alluded to a secret also.

Hurriedly and sincerely your friend,
Julia Dearing.

When Henry Latané called to see Clara Leslie the next week, the servant informed him that she was out riding with Colonel Barnum. When he called the week after, Clara was out taking a walk with Colonel Barnum. Surely Julia Dearing had been mistaken in thinking there was no serious understanding between Clara and Barnum.

"And what right have I," he asked himself, "to infer that she reciprocated my attachment? Clearly none."

A fatality seemed to have separated these two, and had Latané been imbued with any fatalistic notions he would have abandoned the effort as a hopeless task. He was not a fatalist and he did not abandon it.

What