The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1870-01-06

spring.time, the cheerful lark first tunes
his lays in this enchanting spot. The
early birds build their nests in the tall
tree-tops and the wild, bushy under
growth beneath, while with gladsome
voice they warble forth their sweetest
songs. Here, also, are lovely wild flowers,
diffusing their subtle perfume through
the balmy breath of floating elysian gales.
The pale woodbine, the white and pur-
pie lilac, the esweet-sceuted brier, the dog
wood, tho mountain laurel, the yellow
jasmine, and when November chill
blaws loud viii angry sugh," here are
crimson clusters of the bright holly berry
to enrapture the sight.
Pleasant Orkney!
CHAPTER u.-REsULTs OF MORNING
WALK.
, There were soiue nice people living at
| Orkney. Some who resided there per-
manently, and others, very rich, exclu-
sive families, who came up from their
low country homes for the summer,
bringing stylish turn outs, keeping ele-
gant tables and living like lords. In the
the others by the little garden plot in
front, with its richly -colored verbena
and rhododendron, dwelt the Rawleighs
not far from them, the Maynards, and
richest and most aristocratic of all, the
Clayburns, who lived ut the pretty place
on the roadside, about mile from the
Orkney Spring. AS it is with this family
our history lies, we invite the reader to
accompany us to the place.
On n mild, bright morning, i'll the
month of November, Mr.. Clayburn was
slowly pacing up and down the sanded
walk in front of his dwelling. It was
such day as we often have in the sunny
South, even ut this usually bleak season
of the year. Neither cold enough to
roast yourself over the fire, nor warm
enough to prevent outdoor enjoyment,
the weather was absolutely delicious
inspiring the heart with its own radiance
and Joy. Perhaps Mr.. Clayburn felt it's
inspiration, For several hours, without
cessation, he continued his measured
tramp, up and down the garden walk.
But, in truth, the weather had very little
to do with Mr.. Clayburn's prolonged ex-
ercise and was, evidently, far from his
thoughts. His countenance bore O dis
satisfied, troubled aspect. Not once did
he glance around to the neatly -bordered
walks, and the beds of fragrant violets,
holding up their modest heads in the
dancing sun-beams; not once did he raise
his eyes to the calm, blue sky above; not
once did his vision sweep over the dis
tant corn and cotton fields, broad lands
which far and near acknowledged him
their master. His gaze was riveted in
tently upon the ground, and his features
displayed disturbance, indecisiop, even
weighty distress. Ever and anon, he
carried his hand to his head, pressing it
convulsively, as if it ached him from the
heavy oppression of thought. Gradu-
ally, his face assumed more worn and
wearied expression, and finally, he gave
utterance to the anguish of his feelings
in heavy sighs and stihed groans. While
he walks there, engaged in profound and
unhappy meditation, we have n favorable
opportunity to study the mans appear
ance. Power and tirmness are stamped
upon the marked features. In his youth,
Mr.. Clayburn must have been remarka-
bic specimen Of physical strength and
perfection; but he is now apparently an
old man, long passed the meridian of life
He has thin white hair; feeble, un-
healthy look, and m atmosphere Of lofty
sadness pervades his whole presence.
Watch him, rs he nervously clutches the
leaves from the orange hedge, scattering
them on the ground, which he does con-
tinually, apparently unconscious of the
fact. You can but notice how tremulously
his hand shakes and how white and thin
it is. 1t had not always been so. Once.
the hand was brawny and firm, and the
frame, now SO feeble, was once athletic
and robust to an extraordinary degree.
Age had not bent his erect figure, at any
rate, for he still walked straight as an In
dian, and his dark eye, yet undimmed by
the mists ofI'time, is keen and penetrat-
ing in its quick glance. The spirit within
10 ofsl
matter what ruthless traces have been
left on the outward man by the plow-
shares of time and sorrow. In fact, Jo-
seph Clayburn is not an old man in
years-though he has the appearance
and the decrepitude of age. He is aged
in nothing but sorrow and misfortune,
and of that he has had more than his
share in this world. Alas! how few of
those who envied the man, the worldly
splendor which surrounded him-who
coveted his wealth and his position
J knew of the heart-struggles which had
, emblttered his existence. When he be-
gan life, he was poor man and worked
harder than galley slave. Having by
skill and patient labor emassed tremen-
dous fortune, in one evil moment, he be-
J held it swept away, leaving not vestige
} behind. Such blow would have shaken
the strongest, but it did not paralyZe his
energies. Joseph Clayburn was not n
man to be stopped in his career by o
trihe. He possessed n powerful weapon
of defenceAone which he grasped firmly
and defied the evils of misfortune-oi
fate itself. He could work again-he
could retrieve his shattered fortune. The
children who were beggars now-the
children upon whom he lavished the
proud ;do!atry Of his deep, stern heart
he would make again princes in wealth.
So he set himself resolutely to work
toiled increasingly, struggled day and