Newspaper Page Text
lewhm\oaistnpro^i0ertor.} Ail Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. j?2peeashocihadvabcb. VOL. 5. ?- ~7 r? YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, OTOBER 13,1859. , ; " J^~Q^41. 'Willie figjjfjjearlY ^. . ? - WRITTEN FOR THE "! "WHO IS 1 ' c THE DARK MYSTERY OF BY WILLIE AUTHOR OP "tULA WOODSWORTH," "WIN! 8UN/' "OLD HEADS AND ^ M CHAPTER IX. While the incidents detailed in the lastoh&pter were taking place in Monctown, Dalson and two other surgeons, were groping their way up the darkened staircase of the 'aesertea nouse. According to promise, they bad repaired there earlv in the morning to administer to the comfort of old Loo, whom, as the reader -will remember, Dolson had left, the night before, in a critical condition. .. v. . After knocking, and ringing and shooting for nearly an hoar, the three surgeons managed to effect an entrance by sheer force; bat the mere fact of entrance was of very little service to them, for they were unable to find the staircase because of the darkness of the basement rooms. Patience and perseverance, however, with a natural curiosity to ascertain the cause of the remarkable - silenoe of the inmates, enabled them, after considerable effort, to find the locality of the stairs. The reader may possibly imagine the surprise of the three gentleman on entering the room and finding D'Vilton and Milton stretched upon the eajrpet, appearantly dead, and old Loo nowhere to be fonnd. Upon a closer examination of the persons of D'Vilton and Milton, Dnlson pointed to the vial which he had left upon the table the night before, which was immediately handed to him. 'This explains the mystery,' said he. 'See, the bottle is quite empty 1 I told this gentleman'? pointing to D'Vilton?'to administer periodical doses to the wounded woman until she fell asleep, as rest and quiet were absolutely necessary. It is plain, that the gentlemen are under the influence of the narcotio?but where can the woman be?' 'We most endeaver to arouse them as quickly as possibly,' snid one of the physicians, whom we shall call Williams. 'Did I not understand you to say,' said the third physician, 'that there were three gentlemen here ?' 'Yes, sir,' said Dolson. 'Then it is very probable, that the absent gentleman has, for reasons best known to himself, administered the opiate to these persons. See, here is a bottle of wine.1 'Bat,' said Dulson, applying the moutn 01 me bottle to his nose, and shaking his head suspiciously ; 'what can have become of our patient ?' 'We must arouse these gentlemen immediately,' said Williams, feeling the pulse of D'Vilton; 'or they will most certainly die.' 'Johnston,' said Dulson, addressing the third physician, see if you cannot open those two windows and admit a little fresh art-.' By patient and persevering application of the remedies within their reach, the physicians succeeded in arousing D'Vilton from his lethargic slumber; but Milton, who had inadvertently taken a much larger dose of the drugged wine, was not so easily aroused. Nothing could exceed the surprise, disappointment and rage of D'Vilton, when he learned of the mysterious disappearance of old Loo. At first, be suspected Milton of foul play; but, Seeing that individual under the influence of the narcotic, he at once dismissed the thought, as one altogether untenable,- and called -lustily for Ned Brown. Upon being told of Ned Brown's (Jade's) absence, the whple truth flash ed upon his mind at once, and the excited man stormed and raged to an alarming extent. 'To think,' said he, 'that I should be thus duped, victimized and drugged by a designing and cowardly villian in my own house! Zounds! I shall burst with indignation and shame!' And, so saying D'Vilton walked rapidly to and fro.? Then suddenly pausing in the centre of the room, he said: 'Where is the boy ??has lie been carried off too ?' 'What boy, sir?' asked Dulson. 'Julius?my son ;' replied D'Vilton. We were not aware, sir, that your son was here,' said Dulson, in mnch surprise. 'Have you seen a boy anywhere about the house?' asked D'Vilton. 'No, sir,' replied Dulson. 'Not in the library ?' asked D'Vilton, anxiously. 'We have not been in the library,' replied Dulson. 'The house is so dark, that we could scarcely find our way to this room.' 'I'll soon let in the daylight!' said D'Vilton, seiziog an andiron from the fireplace, and rushing out of the room.' 'The gentleman is beside himself!' said Dulson, as tbe gingling of glass and the crash of timber reverberated throughout the old building. 'Hark! there goes another window sash!' 'Come down here, Dulson!?here's another patient for you!' shouted D'Vilton from the foot of the stairs. 'That opiate has certainly affected the poor gentleman's brain,' said Dulson, leaving the room. 'Here, Dulson,' said D'Vilton, as the alarmed nhtrsinlan rlpsferulpd to the third floor: 'that vil lian has drugged the boy too. There he is on that ouoge ;?here goes another window !' and, with a deafening crash, a?'ay went another sash and shatter, and in came the warm, bright sunshine. In the name of heaven!' exclaimed Dulson, 'this is an uncalled for destruction of property, Mr. D'Vilton. Look at yourhands!?yon are injuring yourself, man!' 'Never fear about my hands,' said D'Vilton. 'I am positively sick of this darkness R. Bat, sir,' said Dnlson, as D'Vilton raised the andiron again, 'we have plenty of light now.' 'I intend to open every door and window in the house' said D'Vilton. 'I have borne with this darkness and mystery long enough.' 'But there is no necessity for all this destruction, my dear sir,' said Dulson. 'Let us procure candles, and then quietly go through the house, and open the doors and windows. See how your hands bleed !' 'Well, go up stairs and get candles from the basket under the table, and tell Mr. Williams to come down and do what he can with this boy,' said D'Vilton, putting aside the andiron, and throwing himself exhaustedly upon a lounge. The candles were accordingly brought; and, Williams having been left with Julius, D'Vilton and Dulson proceeded to open the long closed doors and windows of the house. The darkness and gloom which had so long shrouded the desolated halls and chambers, now fled before the sunlight as it streamed through every newly opened door and window. Along the passage way, in the hall, and in many of the dusty rooms, D'Vilton and Dulson discovered footprints. In one of the closets hung female garments covered with dust, and literally enclosed in a net work of spider webs. Old chests, trunks ana boxes were neapea confusedly together in dark corners; half consumed faggots were upon the hearthstones; withered flowers drooped in the vases upon the mantle; wasps had built their nests in the richly carved cornices, and half starved rats bad knawed the harp strings. Where now was the fair hand that once swept the harpchords, that filled these gloomy halls with delicious music ? Where now was the hand which arranged those once fresh and fra grant, but now withered flowers, with such exquisite taste, and placed thera upon the mantle ?? Where the form that lived and loved in those now moth eaten garme"nts? What meant that stain upon the carpet ??those dark spots upon the rubycolored lounge ? Softly, silently and stealthily did D Vilton aud Dulson traverse the loDg halls, the desolated parlors, drawing rooms and chambers of the long deserted building. Mysteiy? I deep, dark and damning mystery was written npon every object upon which the eye fell. You are probably aware, sir,' said D'Vilton, i that this house is mine.' ' (Dripal jtadtoite.1 fORKVILLB ENQUIRER. lEHEIR?" >R, THE DESERTED HOUSE. 1 UGHTHEART, "WILLIE," "THE CHILDREN OP THE YOUNG HEARTS," 40., *C. 'Judging from jour name and actions, I should suppose that it is,' said Dulson; 'but I have always heard that Mr. Edward D'Vilton was supposed to be dead.' 'A very natural supposition, under the circumstances,' said D'Vilton ; 'but, nevertheless, that individual has the honor of addressing you.' 'Indeed!' said Dulson in a tone of surprise.? 'This accounts for the presence of Milton and Ju lius here? really, I heartily welcome you back to England 1' How long have you been living in Monctown V asked D'Vilton. 'About eight years,' replied DnJson. 'You have no doubt heard of the mysterious disappearance of Charlotte D'Vilton from this honse, and its subsequent desertion by myself.' 'Yes, sir;' said Dnlson. 'I think, that among the very first things told me, after my arrival in Monotown, was the history of, what the people called, the 'deserted house.' 'Did you hear nothing of a babe being found near St Mary's church ?' asked D'Vilton. 'Yes, sir. The boy, when I saw him at Mr. Milton's house, was five years old ; and I recollect seeing the papers and money which were said to have been found in the basket.' That was eight years ago ?' asked D'Vilton. Yes, sir.' 'And the boy was five years old, then ?' 'Exactly,' said Dulson. 'Making Julius just-thirteen?the exact number of years that I have been away from England,' said D'Vilton. 'Do you know anything of this Claude Milton ?' 'I have never been personally acquainted with him,' said Dnlson ; 'but I have heard him spoken of as a kind, benevolent, and worthy gentleman. There is not a man in Monctown who does not respect him?not a child, that does not revere and love him.' 'You surprise me, sir,' said D'Vilton ; 'I had j? j ?- J:*T *1... _ *1 iurmeu ijuuc u uuicrcui upiuiuu ui iuc ^cuucujuu. Ton are an old man, friend DnlBon, and may possibly be able to keep secret what I am about to communicate in reference to Claude Milton, whom I strongly suspect of villiany.' 'Indeed sir;' said Dulson, in much surprise 'I can never believe such of Mr. Milton!' 'Listen to me, Dulson: I have been away from England for thirteen years. My wife and servants are all gone?my hoose robbed of much of its valuables?Milton has the key to this house ? Milton imprisoned me here for many hours?Milton asserts that he found and raised my boy? Milton has been deliberately charged with the murder of my unfortunate wife.' 'Heavens 1 exclaimed Dulson, 'trAo makes the charge !' 'I do not know. 8ince I have been under this roof I have heard the terrible charge from some unknown being, and the voice did not seem altogether strange to my ear. Dalson shuddered, and looked uneasily around the room, as he said: 'I have listened to strange tales about this old house, sir; and, if I under stand yon aright, your language seems to confirm the marvellous reports which I have heard relative to the existenoe of some invisible being beneath this roof.' 'That there .was such a being here the first night of ny stay in this house, I cannot doubt for a moment. Why, sir, not only were footsteps distincttly heard upon the stairs, and the windows closed after I had opened them, but the bell in the tower tolled several minutes, and the hand of some invisible boing was laid heavily upon my shoulder.' 'Wonderful!' exclaimed Dulson, looking cautiously over bis shoulder, and moving his chair nearer to the window. Have you any very particular business to transact this morning?' asked D'Vilton. 'Noue, sir,' replied Dulson. 'Then, with your permission, I will inform you upon what grounds I base my suspicious of Milton,' said D'Vilton. 'I am all ears; please prooeed' said Dulson. 'Ou my arrival at Liverpool some weeks ago,' said Dulson, 'I had but just stopped upon the peir when a gentleman accosted me, and desired to know my name; but not feeling disposed to gratify what I considered mere impertinent cariosity, I passed him by in silence and stepped into a cab. He no sooner saw me get seated than he also stepped in. He stopped at the same inn; sat beside me at the table; and liberally haunted me wherever I went.' 'Very strange !' remarked Dulson. 'Determined to get rid of his presence,' continued D'Vilton, 'I quietly set out for London, at midnight, by private conveyance. Arriving at London, I took up my quarters in the King's Arm's Inn, where, I flattered myself, I had become altogether rid of my evil spirit Judge of my surprise, when after a week's stay in London, the identical man walked into my private room and seated himself upon the foot of the bed without even the formality of a salutation. Again he pressed me to tell him my name ; again he dogged my Bteps everywhere.' 'Was the individual Mr. Milton?' asked Dulson. 'The same,' replied D'Vilton. 'Well, sir,' said Dulson, 'perhaps he recognized in you a likeness to your son.' 'Perhaps so;?let me proceed with my story.' 'Go on, sir,' said Dulson. 'A few days after Milton's arrival, I received this strange communication from Monctown.'? Here D'Vilton handed a scrap of letter paper to Dulson. 'I have left my spectacles at home,' said Dulson, handing back the note to D'Vilton, and requesting him to read it. 'The paper reads thus,' said D'Vilton : 'Edward D'Viltok.?Hasten back to the ivy-covered walls of your former home. I have something to tell thee of thy son?much to speak unto thee of the sad fate of Charlotte. Meet me at the 'Deserted Housefor thus they call the old D'Vilton HalL OLD LOO.' 'Remarkable!' exclaimed Dulson. 'I could not imagine,' continued D'Vilton, 'who a ii.i J ? i _i~j _r : i 11 whs iutu pussesseu h miuwieuga ui my arrival I in London; a kuowledge of my poor wife's fate, or of my son's exi3tance. I determined, however, to act in compliance with the request of the unknown writer ; and, that very morning, engaged a seat in the stage for Maysville. What was my astonishment, when I stepp d in the stage, to find Milton already seated within. We traveled together the whole day without the enterchange of a single remark; and, at nightfall, arrived at the Crowing Cock Inn, at Maysville. Immediately upon our entrance, a drunken fellow recognized Milton, and made use of no very complimentary remarks concerning him.' D'Vilton then related what had taken place in the Crowing Cock Inn?the journey to the 'deserted house' the next day?the strange conduct of Milton in closing the door upon him, and his adventures in the mysterious old house. 'Astounding;' exclaimed Dulson. 'And you have not been able to discover from whom the voice proceeded ?' 'Whoever, or whatever, the being was, it mistook me for Claude Milton, and asked me if I had come here to murder the boy as I had his mother. Now, is it probable, that a really good man?as you say Milton is?would be likely to have his name mentioned in an old deserted buildding, and coupled with such words as vUlian, monster and murderer V 'Perhaps old Loo, for reasons best known to herself, may have made use of the remarks or epithets to which yon allude. The darkness of the hoose, of itself, may have rendered her inris ible,' said Dalson. ' . ?, ' 'Very true; bat what possible motive could have influenced an old woman like Loo to bring snch charges against Milton, provided sach charges be false?' 'You do not appear to know that the poor woman's brain is completely disorganized, and that she means not what she says,' said Dalson. lWhoknow8 that V asked D'Vilton. 'How can any one pretend to assert positively, that she knows not what she says ?' 'Well, well; all I hnve to say about the matter, is that Milton's-chara:ter is based upon too firm a foundation to be toppled over and destroyed by mysterious whispers :n haunted houses, or the mad ravings of a dem snted old woman. Has he not trained and educated your foundling son for these thirteen years ??has he not been a kind and affectionate fat her to the son whom you so heartlessly deserted in helpless infancy ? My dear sir, it strikes me as an evidence of deep ingratitude? 'Zounds!' said D'Vilton, 'I oare very little, sir, how it may strike you! Why all this mystery ? Why lock me up here, instead of allowing me to Droceed to Monctown and claim my son, as I had intended to do ? Why bring the boy at night to this abhorred abode of hobgoblins ancLall imaginable kind of devils. Why hasi old Loo been carried off and every one of us drugged almost to death ? Zounds! it strikes me, sir, that there is too muoh mystery and manoeuvring about the whole matter for plain honest dealing.' ' . .... 'But, my good sir,' said Dulson, 'you cannot I surely blame Milton for all that has oocured since your arrival here. It may have been exceedingly injudicious to bring your son to thin house, but, sir, depend upon it, Milton was actuated by the best, of motives in all that he has done.' 'What possible moitive, save an evil one, oould have actuated him in locking me up in a bouse, into which he feared to enter himself?', said D'yutoB. . 'I admit, that appearances are against him,' said Dulson; 'but does not the very fact of his being so dangerously dragged, go very far to prove that he is innocent of the removal of old Loo 'I admit that much,' said D'Vilton. 'Well, then, if old Loo's presence is neccespary to the carrying out of your plans, and it was found necessary to drug him before she oould be removed from the house, does it not prove that Milton would not have permitted her abdnction had he not been drugged V 1' confess that your reasoning is plausible,' said D'Vilton ; 'but I cannot see either into the propriety or expediency of that lock-up business.' 'Will you allow me to suggest an exposition and explanation even for such seeming unaccountable steps ?' asked Dulson. 'By all means,' said D'Vilton. 'Did Milton know who you were when he locked you up here?' asked Dulson. 'I do not think so; at anyrate I did not tell him my real name,' replied D'Vilton, 'Did you not express a determination to enter this house?' asked Dulson; 'and did he not endeavor to persuade you not to do so ?' 'That is all very true,' said D'Vilton. 'Did you not open the door for yourself, and deliberately walk in without the slightest compulsion on the part of Milton?' 'That's a fact,' said D'Vilton. 'Then, as & matter of course, if you had not voluntarily entered the building, you would not. have been here now,' said Dulson. 'Admirable logician!' said D'Vilton tickled with the ingenious reasoning of Dulson, and smiling in spite of himself. 'But why did he close the door upon me?' 'Did yon see him close the door!' asked Dulson. 'Of course I did,' said D'Vilton. 'You saw Milton literally close the door ?' 'Well, I don't know-wAo closed it,' replied D'Vilton, 'but I can swear to the fact of its being so.' 'How do you know but what the man that was with him closed the door?' Pshaw!' said D'Vilton, 'it matters not who was guilty of the mere act of shutting and locking the door, Milton could have prevented it being done.' 'You df not know positively, whether he could have prevented it or not,' said Dulson. 'The door of the house may have been closed by Milton's companion, merely as a punishment for your obstinacy in entering.' 'But how came the kev of the door in the nos session of Milton ?' asked D'Vilton. 'That also can be readily explained,' said Dulson. 'Indeed!' said D'Vilton, 'yon advocate Milton's cause right cleverly.' 'No doubt that he oould advocate his own cause much more to your satisfaction,' replied Dulson. 'It is because I feel assured of his innocence in the premises, that I desire to disabuse your mind of its unfavorable prejudices.' 'Well, well; how about the key?' Some ten year ago, as I understand, Milton obtained the services of a locksmith to open the back door of the house.' 'For what purpose?' asked D'Vilton. 'Well, there were so many reports about the building being haunted, that he determined to disabuse the minds of the people of such impressions by occupying a room for seven consecutive nights. For this purpose, the lock was taken from the door and a new key manufactured to fit the wards.' That smacks of probability,' said D'Vilton. 'I hope, sir, that your opinion of Milton has cbang'ed for the better,' said Dulson. 'I cannot say that it has,' replied D'Vilton. 'Why, my dear sir, consider how kind it was in Milton to bring the boy Julius here. Certainly, a man who would ride fifty miies merely to gratify your wishes can mean you no harm. Why the boy was brought here, I confese I cannot tell,, unless Milton did not wish your arrival made known until he could satisfy you of the legitimacy of his ward to the hiership o:? the D'Vilton family.' 'Bah ! the man did not know that I was Edward D'Vilton until the boy had been presented.' 'Well, sir; I have already told you what character Milton bears, and have endeavored to show you how much that is apparently strange and suspicious in his conduct may be accounted for,' said Dulson. 'But Dulson,' said D'Vilton, 'just suppose that you occupied the position that I do; and, that you had received a communication, containing these words, relative to your wife and son: 'I have somewhat to tell thee of thy son, and the sad fate of Charlotte. Meet me at the -Deserted House.'' Suppose that you set ont for the said house; and, upon your arrival there, felt a hand laid heavily upon your shoulder, and heard snch words as these from some invisible being: 'Thou prince of villians, I warn thee to beware!' and that these words were spoken on the supposition that Claude Milton was the person whom the invisible addressed.' 'How do you know that the speaker mistook you for Milton ?' asked Dulson. Why, man alive!'said D'Vilton, impatiently; 'what else could I infer from such expressions as: Claude Milton, beware!?thoa doep, dark, bloody villian ?' What less could any sane man infer from such language?' Dulson looked confusedly up to the ceiling, and remained silent. Just imagine yourself in my place with these words almost hissing in your ears : 'Didst think to murder the boy, as thou didst his mother ?' nnrl tli?n f)?11 mo eandidlv what imnressinn would be left upon your mind as to the true character of Milton?' Dulson did not venture a reply; so D'Vilton continued: The only conclusion which I can arrive at, is, that Claude "Milton has been in the habit of visiting this house; and, therefore, the invisible speaker mistook me for him ; and that the boy, spoken of, is my son. If that be so?if Julius D'Vilton is the hoy whose mother Claude Milton murdered?then, as a matter of course, the singular disappearance of my wife is at last accounted for?Milton murdered her!' 'Merciful heavens!' exclaimed Dulson, 'you surely, sir, cannot believe that of Milton!' 'In the name of common sense!' said D'Vilton, 'how is it possible to believe anything else ?' But the hag?for I believe it was Loo who addressed you in the library?did not say a word about your son. She merely spoke of a boy, without mentioniug names.' 'Bah!' said D'Vilton. 'But, sir,' persisted Dulson, 'it is very plain that your son was not in th*g/hgjiB$>(.ntihe time the strange language 'was addressed to you. If Milton had the remotest idea of injuring your son, has he not had abandant opportunities during the thirteen years of yoitfibsence from England ? And if old Loo, (it must hare been her) did not allude to your son, when speaking of the boy whose mother had been murdered, then it is plain that the good man is not guilty of the murder of your wife.' 'It is plain, that the 'good man', is the murderer of tome woman, then,' said D'Vilton. 'I do not believe, it sir!' said Dalson, emphatically. 'That old creature, Loo, is a public nuisance?stark, raving mad!' 'Well, well,' said D'Vilton ; 'we shall see?we shall see.' Then, suddenly jumping to his feet, and taking Dulson's arjjf, he said: 'Let us see how our patients are- gettbig along?I thought that I heard Milton's voice awhile ago.' CHAPTER X. .....: It was with considerable difficulty that Milton and Julius were aroused from the lethargic slumber into which the drugged wine had thrown them. Joy ttto use, nowever, or we Bwnroga pomp, runbing, and frequent applications of the wet towellash, they were finally brought to their feet? Coffee was, with diffioulty, procured^ and administered in large, strong and frequent doses; and, at the time our chapter opens, Milton aud Julius were doing very well. The former expressed much surprise upon being told of the disappearance of old Loo and Jude; and carried his hypocrisy so far, as to insist upon an immediate pursuit of the 'villainous scamp,' as he termed Jude. Of course, his excessive nervousness from the effects of the opiate, together with the extreme impracticability of rescuing old I<oo, precluded all active measures for a pursuit. Julius, poor boy, listened to the relation of what had taken place, in demure silence and wonder; then, with a curiosity peculiar to one of his age, he wandered out of the room, and proceeded to take a closer examination of the panneled halls, chambers, and antiquated apartments of the old house, which possessed so deep an interest to him. * Milton, by the advice of the physician, took a stroll in the court yard and about the premises; while Williams set out in his gig for the Crowing Cock Inn, for the purpose of hiring a carriage to convey the party to Monctown as soon as possible. The reader will be gratified to learn that Williams took with him the following penciled lines :? 'Mr. Thomas Gould Send Barney along with Dr. Williams. The poor fellow Is altogether innocent of the charges brought against him by Mr. Clande Milton. I will be responsible for his appearance before a magistrate should you feel disposed to resort to snch harsh steps. Send him Without fail, or I shall come for him myself. WENTWORTH.' D'Vilton, Dulson and Johnston then partook of a portion of the refreshments, which, the reader will remember, were brought by Jude and Milton the night before. It is yonr purpose, I suppose, Mr. D'Vilton,' said Dulson, 'to remain in England, is it not ?' 'My present purpose, sir,' replied D'Vilton, 'is to ascertain the probable fate of my wife ; after which, I may take a trip to America with Julius, while this old house is undergoing some repairs.' 'Your wife, sir.' said Johnston 'went with vou to LodiIod ; did she not ?' 'She did,' replied D'Vilton ; 'but she returned to this house about a month after, while I was on a business visit to Manchester. I have never looked upon her since; nor do I know what motive prompted her to leave London without my knowledge.' 'Why, sir, we never knew of her retnrn to this house. We, that is mjeelf and Williams, recollect distinctly seeing you leave this place in company with your wife?I think about fourteen years ago,' said Johnston. 'She did return,' said D'Vilton, with a deep sigh. 'But how is it to be accounted for' asked Dulson 'that you did not return also, when you learned that she was here ?' 'I did return, gentlemen,' said D'Vilton. 'You??when sir?' asked Johnston. 'About thirteen years ago I came among you in disguise to ascertain the truth of certain reports which had reached my ears' said D'Vilton. 'I came, to this house; found an infant son with a domestic. My wife's absence could not be accounted for?' 'My dear sir,' said Dulson, 'why did you not apprise your friends of the remarkable disappearance of the lady ?' 'If you are prepared to listen to an explanation of my conduct, and a history of my subsequent misfortunes, I will begin,' said D'Vilton. 'Nothing could be so much deBi*ed' said Dulson. 'The impenetrable mystery connected with the disappearance of your family from this place has given birth to the most wild, alarming, and superstitious surmises?pray proceed.' 'You are aware, I presume, that at the decease of mv late father, some fifteen vears asro. I went over to America for the purpose of baying lunds in that country,' said D'Vilton. 'We have beeu so informed.' said Dulson. 'I there saw,' continued D'Vilton, 'the only wo man I have ever loved. She was the youngest daughter of a wealthy, retired land speculator; had been handsomely educated in England, and possessed a disposition which made her almost akin to an angel. When I first became acquainted with her, she had been residing in America about five years, and wa9, I believe, in her twenty-first year. To be brief, I remained in America one year, during which time I was almost ever in her society ; and, just before my departure I solicited and obtained her hand and heart in marriage. About a week after our anion, we took passage in the 'New World' for Liverpool, accompanied by my wife's favorite domestic?a woman of some fifty five years of age. After a rather boisterous passage we were safely landed in Liverpool some thirty days after we had left New York. , 'Wo then took a tour through England, Wales, Scotland and France, and returned to England,* and took up our abode beneath the roof of this old building, then known as D'Vilton Hall. 'Perhaps, gentlemen, there never existed as happy and contented a couple as my beloved Charlotte and myself. Perhaps, the summer cloud never floated above the roof of a home so nearly akin to Eden?so nearly allied to the peace and harmony of heaven. Everything that art, science or the most exquisite and fastidious taste could furnish and conceive of, was gathered beneath this roof to administer to our gratification, ease, and enjoyment. A choice collection of some of the most beautiful paintings that genius ever produced were suspended upon the now bare walls ; rich and 9uperb curtains fell in luxuriant folds over these now shattered and dusty windows; gorgeous carpets sunk like cushions beneath our footsteps where all is bare, cold and desolate now; the dulcet tones of the harp and guitar, filled these once ohcerful but now desolate halls, beauty lived in every chamber, laughed in every hall and bloomed in everv flower, tree and shrub that grew upon the premises; the gardener sung merrily at his daily labor ; the hostler whistled light heartedly in the stables;, the maid laughed amid her household duties ; the servants generally attended to their several avocations with cheerfulness and apparent content, and all was harmony, peace and happiness.' Here D'Vilton brushed a tear from his cheeks and looked sadly around the room. For a few moments he seemed overpowered by the deep and tempestuous emotions of his spirit; then, drinking off a glass of wine, he continued. 'A little more than thirteen years ago?very nearly two years after our marriage?my beloved Charlotte, being about to present me with an heir, was desirous of removing to the residence of her grandmother, about five miles from London, where she intended to spend several months. We left this house early in November?a cold, cheerless and miserable day?leaving the gardener, and Charlotte's faithful old nurse to take care of the place during our absence. We were accompanied by four servants, including the coachman ; giving the remainder a general holiday for about two months. 'Upon our arrival in London we found two letters awaiting us ; one addressed to Charlotte and one to myself. The contents of the former amouted, in substance, to something like this : 'Do not come to Oakvlllo until the lapso of eight days? the house has been undergoing repairs and is at present unfit for occupation?wlllsend the carriage to you as soon as the workmen finish the painting, and my servants can replace the fUrniturc. I believe this was the substance of the letter.' 'From her grandmother, 1 presume,' e&idDolaon. 'It was thought to be,' said D'Vilton, 'as her name was attached to the letter; but let me proceed with my story.' '60 on, sir,' said Jdbnston. 'The other letter,' continued D'Vilton,' was, as I have already said, addressed to myself, and contained intelligence of the most startling character, requiring my immediate presence in Liverpool. The contents of this letter went to show that my immense crop of grain, in America, together with a large number of cattle, sheep and swine, had been utterly destroyed by the Indians; that all my mills and dwelling house had been burned, and that my immediate presence at the office of my Liverpool agent was necessary to allay the unfavorable impression which the news had excited among ray creditors. 'I communicated this sad and almost overwhemingintelligence to my wife; and, upon ex-, pressing my unwillingness to leave her in her delicate critical situation, she insisted upon my im mediate departure for Liverpool; assuring me that she felt perfectly well, and apprehended no evil consequences from my absence, as two pf her best servant-women were with he^. I did notleave her, however, until five days after the letter was received; and with the impression, that in three days time her grandmother would send for, I left my beloved Charlotte?alas 1 T left her forever ! 'So saying, D'Vilton buried his face in his handkerohief and groaned aloud. 'Left her forever." said Dnlson; 'what mean yon, sir ?' 'I have never looked upon her since,' said DN Vilton. 'The carriage whioh took me from the door of the Hotel in London, instead of leaving me at at the-wharf, was driven some miles out of the city. Before I was awarer I was forcibly seized, gagged, and carried into a miserable hut some distance from the road, where I was detained about five days. What possible motive the oocupants of this hut could have bad in thus detaining me, I could not then imagine; for no robbery was attempted, although I had upon my person a'l my available funds. The fifth day, I was provided with a horse, and instantly returned to London. The proprietor of the hotel was surprised beyond measure to see me; and, to my utter consternation, informed me that my wife had received a letter from some individual, signing himself 'Traveller.' . This letter had been brought by an unknown messenger, who did not remain one mo.ment after its delivery, and amounted to'about this much: 'This is to inform you that your h usband has met with a terrible accident on bis way to Liverpool, about nine miles north of Mouctown. His friends have ta'ten him to D'Vilton HalL-where ho now lies in a oritical condition To be brief, my poor Charlotte had returned to this house to minister to my last moments, as the tone of the letter must have led her to believe^ Wonderful!' exclaimed Dulson. 'What wretch could have plauned and carried out such a heartless, cruel, and villianous deception!' w 'Instantly,' continued D'Vilton, 'I -was in my saddle, and on my way to Monctown. Towards the evening of my first day's journey, I was felled to the earth by some weapon in the handB of an unknown personage, fortunately?aoipernaps it was unfortunately?tbe blow was not a serious one; and upon recovering from the shock, I found that my horse had left me. Being familiar, however, with tbe roads in that section of the country, I arrived, after midnight, at tbe 'Crowing Cock Inn' at Maysville. 'Hie landlord was not at home; and, not willing to make myself known to the clerk of the inn, I wrapped my travelling cloak about my face, and asked, for a private roorti. Thnt hpinjj irrnntpd, T shaved my fee?, stained my complexion somewhat like the natural color of the North American Indians; and, having disguised my person as much as possible, I reentered the public room ; and after taking a hasty supper, hired a horse, and resumed my journey to this house.' 'Well!' said Dulson, drawing his chair closer to D'Vilton, and moving his legs about uneasily. 'Wha-wbat then?' > .. 'I had soaroely got fairly upou the road, when some cowardly assasin fired upon me, and wounded me severely in the right arm. I was obliged to return, as the pain was too acute to continue my journey.' ^ ... 'Remarkably strange!' said Johnston. 'For four days I remained at the 'Crowing Cock Inn, suffering intensely from the cowardly wound?.' 'Pardon me for interrupting you sir,' said Johnston; 'but did you not give your name to the attending physician as Wilson ?' 'I did,' said D'Vilton. 'And do you not recognize, in the person addressing you, some likeness to that physician ?' | asked Johnston. 'Am I to understand you as affirming that you are the gentleman ?' asked D'Vilton. 'Exactly so, sir,' replied Johnston : 'pray continue the relation of your remarkable story.' 'I rejoice sir, that Providence has furnished me, in you, with a witness to the truth of what I have thus far related,' said D'Vilton; 'but I shall proceed.' 'On the fifth day,' continued D'Vilton, 'I was again in the saddle and on my way to this place ; and, after a fewjioura' ride, arrived here to find the doors closed, the windows shut and the entire premises wrapped in impenetrable silence and gloom. The porter was absent from the lodge ; the gArdener nowhere to be found; and no voice replied to my frequent shouts.' 'Well I' said Dulson, eagerly; 'what th-th-then?' 'I know not how I got into the house; for my brain was crazed, maddened, and afire with the most horrible apprehensions of evil. I oalled aloud for my wife, but no voice replied save that of mocking echo. I rushed up the stairs ; ran like a madman from room to room, until?oh'! my God!' * Dulson and Johnston both involuntarily started to their feet upon observing the expression of horror and agony upon D'Vilton's countenance; then, as quickly resuming their seats, Dulson requited D'Vilton to proceed. 'In this very room (Dulson looked uneasily and cautiously over his shoulder) I found the dead body of my faithful old steward,' said D'Vilton. The deuce you did!' said Dulson, getting up and closing the door, and looking cautiously under an old hat box. 'Charlotte's faithful old nurse, who had followed her over from America, was also stretched upon the floor, apparently dead, and an infant lay sweetly asleep upon a pillow beside her.' 'Well!' said Dulaon. 'I succeeded in arousing the faithful creature after considerable difficulty,* said D'Vilton; 'but it was sometime before I could convince her that I was her master, and intended no harm to her. As soon as she was convinced of my identity, she placed the babe in my arms ; and, pointing to the vacant bed, uttered a heart rending scream, and then burst into tears. It was sometime before I could get her sufficiently calmed to inform me what had occured since my absence, or what had become of my unfortunate wife. In substance, she related the following remarkable story: About eleven days prior to my arrival she was awakened during the night by the unexpected arrival of my wife. 'I thought' said she, 'that the poor, dear lady had become crazy when she asked if Edward was still alive. She then told me, what I had already known, that my wife had received a letter, while in London, informing her of my presence in this house and the critical condition of my health. My poor Charlotte was so fatigued by her journey from London, that she immediately went to hei chamber; and, after mailing a letter to Liverpool to my address, re tired to her bed.' 'Well!' said Dulson, much excited. 'About four days after,' continued D'Vilton, 'my wife gave birth to a male infant?poor Charlotte !' And the stern man 'lifted up his voice and wept,' as though his heart would break beneath the pressure of the great sorrow there. The good hearted Dulson quietly arose to his feet, and walked to the window to brush away the tears that rolled down his furrowed cheeks ; while Johnston paced the room slowly and with bowed head, as if buried in deep and painful thought. Ah! it was a sad, sad scene ! There, at the window, stood the old white-haired physician, whose dimned eyes had gazed upon many a scene of suffering and woe in the far-away years which were gone forever?there the old man etood, while the tears, that would come, ran slowly down the black and dreary walls of the old deserted house. Sitting beaide the little work table of his unfor tunate wife, and with head bowed down upon its now faded and dusty cover, is D'Vilton. Though in the very prime of life, care, sorrow and grief are written upon bis brow; for the torn heart had throbbed.beneath the woe of many an untold sorrow, and the weary head had been distracted by many an unknown agony. And did he not have cause to weep ? did not Everything upon which the eye rested, serve but to bring up from the: graveyard of the past a thousand thoughts, each of which was fraught with a potency like unto the power of death ? There be sat, where once all was gathered, - ' - J -1 !_ 1 a wbicb was acar to tne neart ana pieasiug to me eye. Now all was desolation, gloom and mystery; now, the voice, whose mnsio was sweeter to him than the minstrelsy of heaven, was hushed, and the face that once looked lovingly into his ojrn, in the far-away years which were gone forever, tbriW led the heart no more with its never-ceasing look of fond affection. - > > ' 'You do not mean to aay, sir, that your wife was alone when she gave birth to the infant,' asked Johnston, suddenly pausing in his walk, and resuming his seat. * * 'With the exception of old Susan, the nurse, there was no one with her,' replied .D'Vilton, lift , ing his head, and looking sadly upon Johnston.? 'Shall I proceed with my story ?' ~ 'Please do so sir,'said Dulaon. 'Prom (he old nurse, I-leaned, -that about two days before my arrival, two men called at the house and solicited refreshments and a night's lodgings. No sooner were they admitted, -than Frank,'an old steward, was stabbed by one of the strangers. Tbe poor fellow ran np stairs to his mistress, hoping to secrete her and the infant be-, fore the assassins could find her apartment Be- fore he oould otter a word of alarm, however, he fell dead at her feet.' 'Terrible !' exclaimed Dnlson. 'Tbe next moment,' continued D'Vilton, the villfon* rnshed into the room, andseized Charlotte and tbe old nurse; swearing to take the life of eaoh if they made the least resistance or attempted to give any alarm. Of ooarse, the extreme . delicacy of poor Charlotte's health prevented her from making the least resistance; while old Sasan was altogether unequal to the task of defending her mistress against two powerful men.' 'Zounds! if I bad been there!' said Drilsou, taking ont his pocket bandkerehief, and nearly blowing his brains out. 1 'Tbe villians,' continued D'Vilton, 'then ferci bly. administered to my wife and her ^domestic a stupifying potion, after having done which, they proceeded to make themselves merry over my wines. Susan?Jnformed me that she made every effort to prevent the natural effects of the drug upon her nerves f bnt, finding it impossible to do so, she took'the infant from the bed, and, placing it upon a pillow upon the floor, she commended it, its mother, and herself, to the o'are and protection of their maker, and then laid down beside the ehild.' 'Poor, helpless things!' said Jonhslon. 'How long Susan lay.in this stupor, she could not inform me. She-only .kpew, that she had remembered nothing from the time she yielded to the Influence of the drug until I aroused her! It was plain, however, that poof' Charlotte bad been nbdneted?perhaps, murdered?while under the influence of the drug.' 'But, my dear sir,' said Dulson, 'why did yon not take immediate and decided steps towards her recovery, by apprising the. authorities of Monctown oi ^rhat had occnred"?* Patience, and I will explain everything to your satisfaction.' said D'Vilton. - 'Proceed, sir; and, if possible, 1 will not interrupt yon again,' said Dulson. 'The very first thing I did,' said DTilton, 'was to send Snsan to hunt np one of the cows, so asto obtain milk for the babe. This having been procured, I dispatched the faithful creature to Monctown in search of Mr. Bdgar Vandry with whom I wished a private interview before taking any definite steps in the mysterious affair. Why she did not return, I know not; but, since that eventful, day I have neither seen or heard anything concerning her.' . , Remarkable!' said Johnston; 'I did all I conld for the poor babe during the first three days of Susan's unaccountable absence, when I accidentally fonnd, upon my writing desk, a note addressed to myself, and informing me that Charlotte's relatives in America," having heard of -the loss of my property, bad deemed it their duty to restore her to her parents until my business arrangements for the future could be satisfactorily and permanently adjusted. The note went on to say, that Charlotte' was perfectly safe, and would be on her way to Liverpool before the note conld be read, by me. 'That very night I placed the babe in aDasket, after clasping a bracelet aronnd its left ankle, and packing a few papers securely beneath its body ; and, going to Monctown about midnight I secretly laid the basket beneath the portico of St. Mary's.Church, most solemnly beseeching God to protect and guard it, and care, kindly for it until my return. When I made up my mind to do this, I did not expect to be absent from this place more than two weeks at most' But why did you not leave the infant with one of your friends ?' asked Dulson. 'Friends!?beside old Mr. Viindry I had none; nor had time to ascertain whether he Was in Monotown or not. My object was to start at once for Liverpool, in hope of reaching that port in time to prevent my wife embarking for America. I did not stop for thought-^ was mad, gentlemen! stark, raving mad!' 'No wonder, my dear sir,' said Dulson. 'I must confess,' said Johnston, 'that it strikes me as an exceedingly strange thing, that you should have placed any confidence in the truth of the statements contained in the letter which you round upon jour aess. ir is not scan nseiy imi jour wife's relatives would have hired assassins to break into jour house and carry off your wife in a stupor.' 'My dear sir,'said D'Vilton, 'it is very easy for you to discovers fraud in the letter, now that you can ooolly and dispassionately consider the matter. Place yourself in my position, however; remember that in the short space of less than a month, I was thrustfrom the pinnacle of happiness down to the very blackness of despair and distraction ; then ask yourself if you think it so wonderful that a drowning man should grasp at a straw.' The peculiar ciroumstances in which you were placed were well calculated to drive you to the commission of the rash acts to which you have alluded,' said Johnston; 'but, I must confess, that it strikes me as a very unaccountable thing that you should have thus abandoned your own child.' 'In the name of heaven, what could I have done with the babe ?' asked D'Vilton. 'Certainly almost any person would have taken it, had you stated the circumstances of it birth and tbediappearance of its mother,'said Johnston. 'And do you suppose that any one would have believed me ?' asked D'Vilton impatiently. 'Why, sir, it would have been as much as my life is worth to have told such a tale. Was it not perfectly nliiin that fhp villiann who ahilnntnri mv wife in r * * ?w -? ff t;? ? tended that I should have fallen into this very snare!' 'I do not understand you,' said Johnston. Do not understand me !'?why, did not every man in Monctown know that my wife left this house in my company ?' Well, what of that?' asked Dulson. Who of them saw her return ?' asked D'Vilton. None, that I know of,' replied Dulson. 'Very well then: who would have taken the babe from my arms without doubting the truth of my story ? Who would ^iave taken care of it without also arresting me on suspicion ? Was it not my duty to save my beloved wife from the clutches of her villianous abduotion ??could I have done so without leaving for Liverpool as soon as possible ??could I have left Monctown as early as I did, had I made any other disposition of the babe ??pshaw ! you talk foolishly, gentlemen.' Dulson and Johnston remained silent; while D'Vilton continued: 4I took every ,precaution to leave the babe where it would be certain to be found ; where the dew would not fall upon it, nor the night air chill it. I left it under the eye of Him who never slumbereth ; in the care of Him, without whose permission not a sparrow falleth to the earth; and as I kissed its closed eyelids, a strange strength came into my soul and a strong arm glided beneath my sinking heart, u J slow!/ departed from the little innocent's side.' 'Did yon reach Liverpool in time to prevent the departure of your wife f' asked Dai eon. I*M 'I do not believe that Charlotte va> takes.-to Liverpool at all,' replied b'Vilton; 'and as to letter which I had received, in relation to ay lossee of property in America, I asertalned it te be a base and villianous fabrication?I- had with no snch loss.' . . . 'Well, sir; how abont your wife T asked Jehttston. * site UQijiKk 'As soon as I reached Liverpool,'jaiji D'ViUatv 'I mado every possible effort to ascertain if atw. vessels had left that port for America; hat Mm bad sailed for three weeks prior to my arrival ja the city. I am confident that none sailed after that time without my knowledge. "J? 'Then why did yownot retnrs. to Monotowawdd make some provision for your infant son ! Yon certainly have not been in Liverpool for tEe laat thirteen years,' said Johnston. ' ' ' ? I remained in Liverpool oal; one week, gerttie men, all of whioh time was spent in making inqniries in reference to my poor wife's whereabouts. I employed the poliee, advertised in the pnblie ?l- imnMl ?t JUUIU?lO , |>lUVt?t?K* UW. v, to watch the shipping, rail-road stations, public houses, and every imaginable place where it was possible to hear tidings of my wife. The last fifj of-that never-to-be-forgotten week I received a letter from old Susan, requesting me to 4qm??t once to MayesTille, as she had intelligence of mooh importance to communicate. jirtbttotri that nighv gentlemen, with the foil inteottoa^nf returning to "Mayeaville in fiie morning; yet, when I again opened my eyes, it was to find itself upon the 8t George's channel, and on mj way to America.' L 'How V asked Johnston and Dalsoa in baa breath,?''on your way to America 1' y eJF 'True: I had fallen again into tfie hi >ade of tiy enemies ; and my hoitt had dragged either my coffee or wine, at the suggestion ofavillian whom I afterwards knew as Jude 81 meter. While wader the influence of the opiate, I was, no doubt conveyed on board oi the vessel. At d6me othvr time I shall relate what afterwards befeM itfe, Ml why I have remainedso long away fana-fifeland ; bat at present'! tisi toe weary to pcooafifc' .. [TO B? CON TIN 7J*D JST" We can supply a limited, number, ~of imv rubtcrikera with bank numbers i, Containing fee foregoing stovy. c A . fffwwgiif ,^t Work, and Faint 'Not.?Thowfee times wheoa heaviness comes orer the heart, and we fed as if there wen oo hope. Who has not feit it I- For this there is so core bat work. Flange into it ^-put sit your energies into motion; rouse np the. inner ipa ?act?sad this heaviness shall disappear as mist before the morning sum J There arise.doubts in the hum^a mipd which sink us Into lethargy, wrap as in glflfM and make us think it were bootless to attempt anything. Who has not experienced them ? Work ! that is tha.oure. Task your intellect; stir op your feelings; rouse the soul ; do ! and these- doubts, hanging like a heavy cloud upon the mountain, will scatter.and disappear, and leave jon uupnfhVM and open day. There comes suspicion to the heat men, and fears about the holiest efforts, and we stand like one chained.' Who not mlt this? Work! therein is freedom. By nignt, by day, in season and out of season, work ! and liberty wili be yours. Pht in requisition mind and body; war with ioeitnili; snap the. chain link of selfishness; stand np a defender of the right; be yourself:7M this suspicion and these fears' will be lulled, and, like the ocean storm, you will beipitefied by the contest, and able to betf Ad breast any bnrdeo of human ill. '4s ' ^ Gladden life with its sunniest features, and gloss it over with its richest hoes, tad k will become merely ar popiaAnd paintad thing if there be in toil, nouearty, fcted work. TheTaborerBighs for repose. Where is it ? What is it l:-. Friend, whoever ^boa art, know it is to be found a]one kPwodt.'? No good, no greatness, no progress, is gaidpd without it. Work, then, and faint not; for therein is the we^T'spring of l^wpaa hep? and human happiness.?So*tthJaovM>t*td. ??- " f .A, Warning to Boys who Btanmn J thxib Heads.?The Portage(0.) Soaflbol says: We regret to record that oar townsman, Dr. W. M. Prentice, has sustained a severe affliction in the death of., his lifftU son Frank. While visiting rapentjy Kpth his grand parents, in Boardmajf^iojmffhip, Mahoning county, he .was taken suddenly ill, and upon investigation the caiiae .fas found-to proceed from too violent mnaoqlar exertion?he being accustomed, like many other boys, of performing such feats as walking on his hands, standing on hisJiead, etc. He continued to grow worse, from da7 to day, the disease acting upon his physical nature, and not at all infloencing his brpa, until Tuesday of last week when he expired. A few moments before his death he bade his parents, little sisterjind all hit frica^is, good bye, and notioingute feelings exhibited.-by them took the hand of his fhther, and said, "Poor Papa and Mamma," and composed himself for that sleep which knows no waking in this world. Writing for the Press.?There is no class of people, says the Printers News Letter, more frequently sneered afrthan editors. It is the easiest thing ia the world to charge them with being mercenary; to say that such and such an artiole was paid for; that anybody oan have anything praised or abased in the paper, if he will pay for it; and, says a wiseacre, every now and then, "If I had a newspaper here, wouldn't I pitch into this or that, and wouldn't I show the people what an independent paper is Vf Well, my friend and pitoher, why not establish a paper and "pitch into everything and everybody ?" Nobody can object to yonr doing so. The papers that are in the habit of pitching into everything are the easiest edited in the world. It is only well practised and matured editors that possess that wisdom and trne independence which consists in refusing to "pitch inthat manliness which can withstand a public clamor, that can scorn personalities, and that can treat public questions with the dignity and soKornaoa that. Mn alnna unnrA tha mananf for the press. I?- Jacob Jones was elected Sheriff of his County in November last. Jacob was very proud of the honor. His neighbors called to see him. 'Approach^' said Jacob, 'approach very near. Thought am sheriff elect, I feel that X am still one of you.'