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U ^ > t-4"if ? ... i ii. - ?: ' . V' .,m\i\ 's \ > , -r~ "*' " '"...* I VOL. 2. NO. 3J BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY OCTOBER, 12 1871, ^ \ Single Copy 5 CeiU#* - lL- , v * * ^ ^ f n/1 Ko r.lr tr o r/To infA tliA TlO.ll. gtaufort THURSDAY, OCTOBER, 12,1871. ^ POETRY. MYRRH. BY JOAQl'IN MILLER. P 'And you and I have buried Love, A red seal on the coffin's lid; The clerk lielow, the Court above, Pronounced it dead; the corpse is hid. And I, who never crossed your will, Consent?that you may have it still. " "" klimo t "What recks it now wnose wm mc . But call it miDe; for better used Aia I for wrongs and cold disdain? Can better bear to be accused , Of all that wears the shape of shame, Than have you feel one touch of blame. ****** "I go alone; no little hands To lead me from forbidden ways, So little voice in other lands Shall cheer me all the weary days: Yet theso are yours and that to me Is much indeed, aLd must it be. * * _ MI did not blarv^you?ifo not blame The stormy elements of soul That I have scorned to tone or tame, Or bind down unto d? '1 control; In full, fierce youth, they all are voure, With all their folly and their force. * * * > "But should you some time read a sign A name among the princely few, While jrou are with your friends and wine, Then careless turn to one or two, Say, uHt was mine, his smiles his tears, Were nine were mine for years and years." SflAKES. Everybody in and around Norway Flal was acquainted with Shakes. Shakes wai every one's iivorite, and every one'f laughing-stock. What his real name was "O one on the Flat, excepting the Post ster, knew or seemed at all anxious t< * -tain. In outward appearance, hi a specimen of debased humanity ^Vbar.cbery war ndelibly stained upoi *w-/ /J" T n *i?b to tee him with a cleat face. Stwski o I gra\ force* vhe a ecu muJwicus that .g to hi>, long ? -?? . _ - . . .... oc?. u. v coarse >} woolen overall irt, with .altered svr- coverec hi back, from whence miny doubted whether it had been removed since the day he first put it on, in Giffin'sstore, twelve months ago. His du:k pants had completely lost their origin/! whiteness, and were tucked into a wdl-worn, much-patched pair of gumbcots. The veritable felt hat, worn by | hru in '52, still maintained its usual posiIticn on the side of his head. The only cbmge it had apparently undergone since then, was that a piece of an old rubber [coat now constituted the crown. Shakes's history outside of the precincts of Norway Flat, was wrapped in i complete mystery. Even the time of his ? arrival in the camp was unknown. kH' >wn, the proprietor of the "Occidental" ?Norway Flat's principal hotel, drinking and dancing-saloon?and also one of | the pioneers of the place, asserted, I "Shakes bummed around here when I ust 'rived in '52." It was generally be ieved that he hailed from the temperance State of Maine. Shakes, however, was i .o "temperanc; man" himself; to the conrary, he had earned the unenviable reputation of being an inveterate "whiskey Jiummer." No one had ever known him 10 pas'' a single night on the Flat "out of ?:s "nps." It is true that these constant im oings had so enfeebled his system as to cause him to readily succumb to its influence. A h>nely log-cabin stood on the hillside. ,^-es owned it, and proiessed to be its Kx,cupant; but seldom, if ever, crossed its threshold. The bar-room of some one or D>ther of the numerous drinking-hells was Bus home ; the tloor, a bench or a faro-taftle was his bed. B Although a slave to his appetite for inB>xicating liquor, none its venders on IllHway Flat were much the richer for IllBng .Shakes as their customer. It was jMsftm that a coin passed from his hands barkeeper's drawer ; but drink he MSpjfcve. and somehow or other he al|Kre|?.:iaged to obtain it. The manner SMB^^&it was obtained was but a seconeSBpj^P^te^ration to him. Nothing was wffi^^flating or too degrading for him it. When begging failed, strate v was immediately resorted to, and in fBiis he was invariably successful. He H^ould enter the saloon, go up to the bar SKith thumb and forefinger inserted in his Socket, and address the bar-keeper thus: j "I say, bar-keeper, hurry up ; give m a 'brandy straight.1" The bar keeper would flrefc cast a gianc at the position of the hand, and then ten der the bottle to Shakes,-who would un concernedly drink. "IIere'8 luck," am retire from the counter without paying. "Ho, Shakes I" 1 ' "Eh?" "Come and see me." "No, thankee; don't feel like it now jest had un." ; And the bar-keeper learned that he wa duped once more, but dared not attemp to punish his deceiver. The indignatio! of the entire camp wonld most assured! fall upon the individual who dared t abuse Shakes. He was Norway Flat' "privileged character." "Likes his whu key, I know ; but he's a harmless, good natured old devil for all that," was th sentiment universally expressed by th members of that little mining communi ty. ? ? A ? lneoriate as he was, Shakes was not in detect. He was always, in sunshine o rain, engaged in chopping cord-wood, o in riving shakes?long shingles; frot which latter occupation he received hi nickname. The sun rose on Shakes en tering the woods , it set upon him mafc inga "bee-line" for the "Pony Saloon. Fire-wood was worth SO a cord, an shakes 816 a thousand, in those days, 01 Norway Flat Shakes always choppe< fron two to three cords per day. Thre dolare a cord he paid Billy the boal min" for hauling it, which, of coursi considerably diminished his earning} stfl, there was a good margin left. How ; itcame to pass that he should always h } por, could never be satisfactorily ex j pained. His condition of being, what hi ? trmed "flat broke," was patent to all . ad was considered another of the mys ) tries of his peculiar life that no one caret 2 t solved, and accepted unquestioned. Norway Flat, since the time of its dii i overy in *52, had'continued to be a pros erous.mining ramp. Tht fabulous yiefc f I ;?f manv ot claim." K" ' ^ ' j <?f the leading newspaper " ! if the civ J* world Numerous oppoi I K.mit'cs lu : o?en oh';red Shakes to be j '. some the j 'bsrsor of ground of a proruii (,'trv rl?.\rat U'.r, subsequently proving ri< b mining, however, possessed no attraction t for him. There existed no affinity be . tween his nature and the excitement c . the average goldminer's life. He neve owned a foot of mining ground, "an* didn't intend to," he was accustomed t say; "I go lur the sure thing." Evei when the Wake-up Jake Company atrucl a two-ounces-to-the-pan prospect, Shake declined to staking oft the adjoininj ground, then vacant, and upon which h was at the time chopping wrood. Th same piece of ground afterward prove* the richest spot on the whole Flat, near ly 1,200 ounces being obtained from it a the proceeding of one day's washing This lack of enterprise?this disinclina tion to venture?was supposed to be th morbid offspring of his dissipated career The only things for which he appeared t< have any care were his axe, cross-cut saw and frower. These constituted his entir stock in trade, and for them he cheris"ne< something bordering upon affection. Stakes was viewed as one of Norwa; Flat's fixtures. It had been settted lonj ago in the minds of ita inhabitants tha his bones would decay in the little ceme teryon the knoll overlooking the Flat The idea of his removing was never for i moment entertained by any one in tha j secluded community. Shakes and Nor J w vy Flat had grown up with one anoth ' er. Norway Flat was Shakes's home ; If he possessed a home elsewhere, he ha< i never been heard to speak of it. The winter of '59 had set in. It wa about the middle of November. Th ground was covered with several inches c snow. The tinkling of sleigh-bells wa heard in the distance, and the little towi on the Flat Avas instantly thrown into; commotion. It was all occasioned by th arrival of u13arnard's Monthly Express.: The arrival of the express was an import ant event in the otherwise monotonou routine of every-day life at Norway Flat for be it remembered that the era of wagoi roads and railways had not then been in augurated, and communication betweei that mountain retreat and civilizatioi was at best infrequent and uncertain Among the anxious faces awaiting th opening of the little wicket of the Post ollice and the distribution of letters ap peared that of Shakes. Shortly afterwan he was obserted intently perusing a letter e "Dam'd 'fl don't make tracks fui hnm," he suddenly exclaimed, and as sude denly bade farewell to Norway Flat and > its surronndings. That evening Shakes was missed from fl his ususi haunts, and it soon became generally known that he had left the Flat This was an unprecedented episode jn ' Norway Flat's history. Nothing had ever occurred before to disturb its uniform ; equansnity, excepting the shooting of Bed Ali'ck by Russian Bill In a moment of s frenaed excitement,'^roduoed in the heat 1j of a discussion as to the merits of the parti ties then engaged in the Crimean War. y His departure was the universal topic ol o con/ersation around every fireside and in 8 every bar-room in the camp. The specuj lathns as to the cause were as varied ae [- they were improbable. e ?he thermometer at Brown's that evene inj, indicated 15? below zero; but no fears [- wffe harbored in the mind of any one as tothe safety of the one who had so uncer_ enoniously left the camp "homeward r tound." r Weeks passed on, and nothing had been a seen or heard of Shakes since his depart8 ure. Norway Flat had almost forgotten him. Brown, the landlord of the uOccidental," was standing in his doorway, M gazing abstractedly at the distant windc ing8 of the "down country'' trail. It was t only the previous day that a prospecting 2 party had passed along it from the Flat, e bound for the deserted mining camp ol Diggers' Delight, situated about ten miles distant. His thoughts naturally recurred ! to their departure and prospects. Sud7 denly, his quick eye detected in the dis? tance a group of men slowly trudging toward the Flat, and was somewhat astona iehed to recognize in them the prospecton of Diggers' Delight returning, bearing ' with them a heavy burden. The new? j soon spread that Shakes had been found dead at Diggers' Delight. It was evidenl that night had overtaken him there, and that he had determined to spend it in ont of the deserted shanties. The lire-place . j had been filled by him with wood, readj lurtne match; but it remained unkindled, Why, ho one could answer. The verdicl . of all who heard the story was that he hac fallen a victim to the severity of the weath er on the evening of the day he left the i Flat, or, as they expressed it, "fri2 dead.' In an inside pocket of a vest worn unf derneath his ragged overshirt, a pocket o: I letters was found, all of which were writ3 ! ten in the same handwriting, and address 0 ed to *'James Wilkinson, Esq , Norwaj a Flat." Sundry photographs were alsc ^ discovered in the same pocket?one of at g aged lady, another of a woman in th( prime of life, and the rest of three beauti e lul girls of from ten to fifteen years of age e All the letters bore the same post-mark, j u , Me." Each envelope was indorsee in pencil mark, "Reed, (date,) J. W.' One of them was indorsed, "liecd. Novr, 17, 1859, J. W." That was the day thai ] Shakes left Norway Flat. Its content! explained the mystery of his life and pov erty, and ran thus: * , Maine, Aug. 30,1859. My dear Jamea: Your last remittance of $250 ha. ? been duly received, and flic mortgage on the farm is nov e ; j?id. * * * Have you not impoverished yourself t< a keep us in comparative luxury? Wt have wanted noth ing. * * Mother is ailing and rapidly declining Doctor says she eannot possildy live through the cominj y winter. She longs to see you, James, before she die*. , * * Ktuina, Annie, and (ierty are all well. * * * (J ^ James, do come home at onee; if not, 1 shall sell the plaa t i next spring, and come to Norway Flat myself. Your affectionate wife, r>i.:.KN >yilki>mi5. The bright side of Shakes's character ^ ; which he had so carefully concealed fron: j the sight of his fellow-raen, was here re | vealed. And he had now gone to anothei homo to receive his reward.? Overlain ^ Monthly. An Effective Temperance Lecture. e | "What will you drink ?" asked a wait er of a young lad, who for the lirst tircu accompanied his father to a public dinner : Uncertain what to say, and feeling sun ? that he could not be wrong if he followet j bis father's example, he replied, "I'll tak< what father takes." ? j The answer reached the father's ear and instantly the full responsibility of his 11 position Hashed upon him. And the fa ther sliuddered as the history of severa Q 1 young men, once as promising as his owr Q bright lad, and ruined by drink, startec ' i up in solemn warning before him. Shoulc ? his hope be blasted, and that open-fae< boy become a burden 1 But for Btronj i drink they would have been active, earn ^ 1 est, prosperous men ; and if it could worl . j such ruin upon them, was his own soi safe ? Quicker than lightning thei thoughts went through his mind, and in moment the decision was made. "If tl 1 boy falls, he will not have me to blame ; and then in a tone tremulous with em' i' "tlon, and to the astonishment of thos who knew him, he said, "Waiter, I tal water and from that day to this stroc ' drink has been banished from that man house. * ^ The Exiled Empress. Cassell's Magazine for Octobefcontais an article written by a lady who visitc , and conversed with the ex-empress Ei genie at Chiselhurst. The writer says: r She looked what Tennyson calls 'hi rinely fair" but as one who has suflere much. There was a worn, weary loc , inexpressibly pathetic in her eyes, ju touched over the lower lids with black; h< . cheeks were thin and very pale, her fa , hair simply arranged low on the neck b , hind, drawn back at the sides; and wil curls on the forehead, and it was hero* hair?distinctly and palpably her owi "? > ~?" t.l~ OQi UKr arcsa was ui uiautv po.iauabi.ba, ou trimmed, with a small tunic, and a gei , eral look of scantiness about it. She woi .ft little white shirt-collar and cuffs, ar not a single jewel, save one diamond st? that held the little collar. Her mann< suit her imperial presence, simply, court , ou8, earnest. It is as of a ready-witt( p woman, sweeet-tempered, full of hums interests attd feelings, impressions bl '? mobile, fascinating; emphasizing all sb j says with her grandly cut Spanish eye: i that might almost indeed stand her in li( of speech, so eloquently do they convers There is a wonderful and varied char about her, Cleopatra-like, that neither a< nor costom can wither or stale. To s< ( how the woman struggled with the Ec r press, and how it brought her down ' j sympathy arS pity from a solitary strai I ger, was very touching. Decorum aloi . kept tears from my eyes. [ She began in English (which she speal , readily, and with a good accent, only no , and then wanting a word which she asl , you with her eyes to supply) by regrettin that the Emperor was too^ill to see m "Not ill, far from it," she said, "that I God, but suffering greatly from rheuruat . pains, in consequence of a chill when 1 > first arrived at Chiselhurst. The weal , er had been warm and fine, and he hs been tempted out, too much wrapped i p (for it was so cold at "Wilhelmnhohe,) at he had incautiously taken off his paletc . and so cought cold, which had product r an attack of rheumatism." j Then she expressed much interest aboi t the place I came from. It was associate ; with her earlj life. Ah! how happy I wi . then?it seems like a dream?so happy, and her glorious eyes glistened. "Ho well I remember the house where I wi [ at school, the broad terrace and the di > taut bills, and my companions?my dei , friends?they have not forgotten me." t "Yes," said I, "young Miss B ." j "Young! ah, no!" and she laughe . "She is not young; she is my age, an that is not young." It is not allowed to contradict sove s eigns, but as she said this she was a li ' ing contradiction of her own statemen She looked wonderfully youthful, and h . present thinness is very becoming in tb ' respect. ' "When I first came to England," si a continued, "1 desire to go there." "Ah1 madame, why did you not com Wp woii1<1 havp. received vou with enth siasra." She bowed. "Yes, I wished it; it w ray first thought; but it could not be." r "But, madame, wi 11 you not cor j among us, and see your old haunts?" "Sometimes, perhaps, but not now:1 cannot; the Emperor is ill. I eann leave him, and I go nowhere. I think ' nothing, day and night, but of po< France. Ah, what horrors will be passi through ere France can be at peac Those dreadful scenes are always befo: ' me; the end is not yet." Her eyes filled with tears and rested ( " her shabby black dress?and this was tl i late queen of fashion?and her look seemi " to say, "See how I mourn!" And it wi true. There is often a whole world ' pathos in little tritles that involuntari I bear witness to the individual mind. 1 "Madame," said I, "there is but o: i ' consolation?the worse thin: a ?o in Franc I the more the Emperor is sure to be recalle I It is the Emperor alone who can gove ? France. They are like bad children, ai r require the master-hand of wholesome r . straints and discipline." c 4T do not wish to return?I suffered t 1 much; but I trust that events will justi Be the Emperor. Surely the worm must a come to see what kind of people he had to govern. The Emperor knew that these people were in Paris?for twenty years he se knew it, and he did rot shoot them. He was too merciful. lf> "Madame," said I, "it is as though the Fenians ruled in London. The Keds are the same all over the world." '-The/Emperor is to be blamed for every thing," said she, yet how rich and prcten perous France has been for so many years. :d The wages of the. laborers and the ou vriers i- were high and work was plentiful. To Paris came all the world, and money was i- spent. Now the taxes have been paid for id three whole months. The taxes not paid >k and no money at the Bourse. The Ernst peror is blamed, too, for the war. lie 2r was against it. Such blame is most unir J just. But"?and she drew herself up?' 'we e- do not desire justification. Time will do ih that. Let events speak. By and by Eun rope shall judge the Emperor fairly. Q. I expressed a hope that the trials she f. had undergone in Paris had not injured a- her health. re "No," she replied. Then she con tinid ued: "I was forsaken by all the ministers, tr Trochu, whome the Emperor had appiont?r ed, lett me. They all left me and betraye ed me. What could I do I I was alone. ?d Ah,'* she added, with an inspired look, in "It was my passion!" e, She turned her tearful eyes to heaven. ie "Her passion!" Coulq anything be s, more touching? Woman as I was, I could ;u have died for her. e. "I was alone," she repeated, as though m in justification; "utterly abandoned, re What could I do but lly? I was afraid. 2e I could look death in the face: but all had q- left me." to "Were the datails of your Majesty's a- flight which appeared in the newspapers ie accurate?" "Yes," said she, "tolerably so. For to thirty days I was guarded by those men w of Belleville. Oh, it was horrible 1 They to took possession of the Tuilleries. My only ig happiness was, that I suffered alone. The e. Emperor away and my boy safe. No! I ik could not have borne it had my boy been ic in danger." ie Again the inspired look came into the h- biauiiful Spanish eyes, td "By what door did these wretches enip ter the Tuileries, madame?" 1(j "Everywhere?by all the doors and the ,t? winriows, too. They came down from the d Place de la Concorde. I saw them coming through the trees. Then they broke over 2t the fences into the reserved garden, and d at last smashed the lower windows and ^ broke open the doors. They came, too, on the other side, from the Place du Carw rousel; black masses of men, pressing j,8 closer and closer; they, too, broke in everys. where. No one opposed them; the guards ar were gonp. There were horrible cries, and screams, oaths. From these theif-dogs I expected death; I saw it in their faces, d. these Belleville men; they wanted my d blood. I was so weary I did not care; to live or to die was the same to me. For the last r_ three days there was a change; more savage v. men came about me. I never left my Lt- room; I lay down a little on ray bed for er rest, but I did not undress; I would not ,i8 be murdered in bed in my night-dress." made a little motion with her hand hn I that I cannot describe. It told of the delicacy of the woman, and c',? the lofty decorum of the sovereign, that u- carefully gathers her robes arouud hei ere she dies, as "Madame," said I, "had you fallen by the hands of those wretches, you would nc have lived forever in history and in poetry. Every art would have been evoked I to celebrate your memory. You would ot have united the beauty and fascination ol of Mary Queen of ijeots to the virtuous f irDr titude of Mary Antoinette. It would r?d have been a glorious immortality!" e! "Yes," she said, melting into the sweetre est, merriest smiles, "yes, that is all very well; but I would like to enjoy a little in )n my life.,, 3C rod grant you may, madame!" replied ed I. Thp Tlmnress then crlanced at a clock. la 1 w of "You have come so far to see me; you ly must return. Your train will be soon due; you must not lose it." How I ne wished that time had ceased to be?how e, I longed to go on listening to that musid. cal voice and looking into those protean rn eyes! She rose. She was again the Ernid press?and stood here grandly calm, tc e- rteiive my salutations. It was a rapid change from the fascinating woman to the oo lofty sovereign. She did not even oiler ,fy me her hand; she only bowed her head. ' ftUU X ltVl Ca b^U l/aVtiTT(*LUO iu W vuv mw??| where the lady In waiting received and conducted me to the door. The impression left on my mind -Wad that Marie Antoinette had been speaking | to me, escaped by a miracle from the Temple?Marie Antoinette youn^r and more womanly, without the proud aiflH tere reserve.Elephant's Revenge and Grat-' itude. The elephant, with a sort of hflmorotfs justice, is given to return injuries or insults in kind. In Madagascar, an elephant's cornac, happening to have a cocoa nut in his hand thought fit, out of bravado, to break it on the animal's head. The elephant made no protest at the time; but next day, passing a fruit stmd, he toot & cocoa-nut in his trunk and returned the cornac'8 compliment so vigorously on the iViot Via l-illod him nn fhr> ?nnfc. v** T'"' If vindictive, the elephant is also grateful. At I'ondicherry, a soldier who treated an elephant to a dram of arrack eVery time he received his pay, found himself the worst for liquor. When the guard were about to carry him off to prison, he took refuge under the elephant and fell asleep. His protector would let no" one appear, and watched him carefully all night. In the morning, after caressing with bis trunk, he dismissed him to settlef with the authorities as best he could. IT # Both revenge and gratitude imply intelligence; still more docs the application of an unfercseen expedient. A train of artillery going to Seringapatam had to cross to the shingly bed, of a river. A man who was sitting on a gun-carriage fell; in another second the wheel would have passed over his body. An elephant walking by the side of the carriage saw' the danger ^and instantly, without any order from his keeper, lifted the wheel from the ground, leaving the man unla* jured. Queen Victoria Fancies. Whatever may be the truth in regard to the report that Queen Victoria intends5 to abdicate the throne of England, it is known that she has been laboring for some year past under atleast one phase' r\f manfal infirmifir QVin hoa a firm nnn. vi uivuuc*i luiauiivji vuv iiuo u* mtu vvu viction that Prince Albert isalwaws nres*. ent with Vi, ? i.tl rlt-tl - to **an h. \l *onv munion -vith him. J7ec private rooms' are arranges hey were *' u waff alive. II d opj oslte U, hef own in th b>>rui} am! he ' >c??:s which he delighted ?o iwui to her are arranged lovingly, in order, upon the table. Inf some of her moods she will converse with1 him for an hour together, conducting her own share of the conversation aloud and with the vigor and interest of old times. He had taught her by his example the success of his business enterprises?especially by his management of the lAichy of' Cornwall?to superintend as much as possible all her private affairs herself; to reduce all unnecessary expenditures, and to1 forbid extravagance. Hence the greatest, simplicity is observed at the Queen's table, and she imagines that her husband looks on, well pleased. At times, when she is more than ordinary impressed with . a sense of his presence, the poor, fond woman will order a knife and fork to bo placed on the diBuer-table for him, and . cause the attendants to place every course before the empty chair as if the master r still occupied it. Every morning a pair I of boots are cleaned and set down against the door of the chamber which he once . occupied ; and at breakfast, when in Scotia land, she will often sit a long time in sip lence, waiting for the Prince. The Queen'8 strong belief in the corny j munion of the living with the spirits of the dead she received, no doubt, from Prince Albert himself, who was a sort of r | thcosophist?asov il .* nrfw-tn T j Behmen, the my-!! an J. -u j the philosopher Iran re . : . tali n ; Whatever may be 'ijoug!.! ,1 in i. tlcoI ry of philosophic religious 1 -n. f lv | sober, common sense people,- it is to Vioioria a source of great consolation, and she often talks-with the Prince concerning , the state of the soul after death. ?She has j been gradually withdrawing from public .; life for some years past, and lives in a world of her own. Iler harp and her ea., sol are both neglected, and she neither , sings, plays, nor paints, except at rare in' [ j tervals, when she will sweep her harp, j strings-for a few momenta in memory of some sweet (i-eriuarf air that her husband* loved to sing or to hear siuig,