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lewis \1. GRIST, proprietor.! $n Jnbtptitirtitl Jfamilg ftetaspajjer: Jar % promotion ef tjje |alrtital( facial, ^griraltnral anb Commercial Interests af % j&entji. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 24. YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, MAY 2, 1878. NO. 18. jMfrtetl f0ftrg. i THE YOUNG WIDOW. She is modest, but not bashful, Free and easy^but not bold : Like an apple, ripe and mellow, Not too young and not too old: Half inviting, half repulsive, Now advancing, ana now shyThere is mischief in her dimple, There is danger in her eye. She has studied human nature; She is schooled in all her arts; She has taken her deploma As the mistress of all hearts. She can tell the very moment When to sigh and when to smile ; Oh, a maid is sometimes charming; But a widow all the while. Are you sad ? How very serious Will her handsome face become! Are you angry ? She is wretched, Lonely, friendless, fearful, dumb ! Are you mirtbtui 7 now uer inuguior, Silver-sounding, will ring out! She can lure and catch and play you, As the angler does the trout. Ye old bachelors of forty, Who have grown so bald and wise ; Young Americans of twenty, With the love-look in your eyes ; You may practice all the lessons Taught by Cupid since the fall; But I know a little widow Who could win and fool you all. Jim Original Jtorg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARY EUSTACE; OR, TRUST BETRAYED. CHAPTER XIV. About ten days after Mary's removal to the little village of Springviile, (for such was the name in which her new abode rejoiced,) she set out one afternoon to take a solitary walk. She had, that morning, received letters from home which filled her with disquietude. Mrs. Blanding had written in a doleful strain, lamenting over her absence, especially as the calamity of illness had fallen upon their household. Maurice had, in some way, overtasked his strength, and injured his wounded side. He was now suffering great pain, and forced to keep his bed, and her whole time, (Mrs. Blanding's,) was taken up in nursing him. Adelia had written, also, and not pleasantly ; and the effect of the two epistles was by no means enlivening upon Mary's spirits. She had, therefore, escaped from the young Clives, whose fondness for her society was sometimes a little inconvenient, in order to gain an opportunity for reflection. She felt almost as if it was her duty to go back to Mosslands at j once, under tbe altered circumstances, ana yet she shrank from doing so, if it could pos sibly be avoided. She was so occupied with these perplexiug thoughts, that she did not observe some black clouds gathering above the hills, but continued to stroll absently along, until a distant roll of thunder startled her. Then looking up, she perceived that a storm was evidently approaching, and quickly turned to retrace her steps. She had, however, walked a considerable distance, and before she had gotten half-way back, large drops of rain began to fall, while the thunder-claps grew louder and more frequent, and lightning-flashes played, with unpleasant vividness, about her path. Mary was dreadfully afraid of lightning. And to add to her distress, no house appeared any where in sight. She ran on breathless, casting, as she went, vain but despairing glances around, in the hope of discovering some refuge, when suddenly a voice accosted her. It called out in friendly tones? "Miss I Miss! You'd better turn in here, and stop awhile until the rain is past." A pleasant looking, ruddy country lad, blushing at his own temerity in accosting her, stood at a little gate, half hidden in a thicket of bushes, at the entrance of a narrow path, leading apparently into a wood ; for nothing was visible around and beyond it but trees. Without hesitation, however, she accepted his advice, and "turned in," and directly found herself in front of a neat brown cottage, quite hidden from the road, but with a pretty cleariug around it, adorned with grass and shrubs. A girl was lounging in a rush-bottomed rocking chair in the piazza, the broad sloping shed of which protected her from tbe rain. She jumped up as they ascended the steps, and turned as red as the boy had done, at sight of the stranger. " oo'irl tKa loftor Qtnmmncr OBO 11 CI C) lxait, aaiu vuv imv?v? 9 his muddy boots upon a rough mat placed i there for the purpose, "thi9 lady's got caught in the rain ; take her in to mother and let ; her dry herself. If she's as wet as I am she needs it." Without making any reply, the girl opened the house-door, and by a motion, invited Mary | to enter. Crossing a little hall, she ushered her into a cheerful sitting room occupied by three persons; an elderly woman and a young one, both knitting woolen hose, aud a youth in soldier's garb, extended on a chintz covered sofa, with one foot swathed in a baud- j age. The old lady immediately rose and came forward, exclaiming iu sympathy with Mary's plight? "Why, you're awful wet, ray dear I I'm right glad you stopped in. What a pity you hadn't got here a little sooner! Dear me, I'm afraid you'll catch your death of cold, j Em'ly, ha'ntyou got something you can lend her till these things dry ?" This question was addressed to her elder j daughter, who, in a pleasant voice, replied j that she reckoned if the young lady would ! come up to her room she could find some ! things for her to put on. Mary, however, as- | sured her, with many thanks, that it wa3 only her out covering that was wet. "Then give Em'ly your shawl and hat, and let her hang 'era up by the kitchen fire. And vour shoes?come now, I'm sure your shoes J must be soaked, for the road is awful muddy just round here." Mary acknowledged that they were ; but being stout, serviceable walking boots, they had, fortunately, protected her stockings, which were quite dry. "Em'ly" fetched a pair of slippers, which were some sizes too large, and insisted 011 helping her unlace her boots. She seemed excessively good-natured, and Mary was quite prepossessed by the frank, kindly faces of the whole group. She sat down in a rocking chair which they placed for her, thankful for the refuge and the rest, 1 and a general conversation ensued, in which she learned that the name of her hostess was Mayfield, that she was? a widow, and "ran" a farm, with the aid of her youngest boy, Sam ; j that her eldest son, James, (the one on the \ sofa,) was home on furlough, having received 1 a wound iu his ankle, and that it was his first | furlough since the beginniug of the war. | He had been fighting in Virginia, his mother I said, and bad bad awful hard times; but then she reckoned everybody in the army bad to go through those?war was a terrible thing, and she hoped and prayed it would soon be over. Mary's interest was aroused, on hearing that he was from Virginia. She was always eager for news from there, and her first question was, to what regiment did he belong ? "To Snow's regiment, afterward Dacre's," he replied. Snow was killed a couple of weeks before he had left, and Dacre put in command." "Dacre!" exclaimed Mary. "Was that Colonel Dacre, from this State ?" "Yes, and a splendid man and a splendid officer he was. Did you know him, Miss?" "Was," echoed Mary, turning pale; "you don't mean?" "I don't know truly whether he's alive or dead," said the young soldier; "he was wounded the same time I was, and it was rumored that his wound was mortal; but I never heard anything positive. They brought me off. and I stayed in the hospital awhile, and theu came home." Mary sat like one stunned. For a moment Bhe was incapable of speech. The young man repeated his former question, in a sym pathetic tone. "Did you know him, Miss?" Was he a friend of yours?" "Yes," faltered Mary, "a very dear friend. I have beard nothing from him for weeks. I feared something had happened." "But James," said the old lady, "you don't know for certain that he's dead. You said just now that you wern't positive about it, you recollect?" "Of, course, mother, I'm not positive at all. One hears all manuer of reports just after a battle, and I'm sure I would have been more cautious how I spoke, if I'd known you were any way concerned about him, Miss," he added, apologetically, to Mary. "Never mind that. I want to hear everything that you know," replied the latter, controlling her agitation by an effort, for she was unwilling to betray to strangers all that she felt, or how painfully deep was her interest in the subject in question. "It's not much that I do know, only what I told you just now. They told me he was wounded?shot from his horse by a rifleball, and one fellow said it was likely he would not recover. Another afterwards said the Colonel had been carried off the field, and was alive then, but very weak from loss of blood. I was suffering great agony myself, and thought my foot would have to be amputated, and could hardly think about anything else, just then. Afterward, when I made fresh inquiry, I could learn nothing positive, as I said before. The last report I heard was that a lot of wounded, among others, had fallen into the the enemy's hands ; but nobody knew whether he was among them or not." "But how stranee it seems?how dreadful that nothing certain should he known !" said j Mary. "I thought that after a day or two, at all events, all the casualties were reported." "Well, the list comes out, of course ; but still there's many things happen that are not known, for ever so long afterwards, sometimes never. Many a poor fellow is killed and buried, and no one hears of his fate; though, of course, with officers it ought to be different, and generally is. I got a letter, too, a couple of weeks since, from one of ray comrades in the army, but he didn't mention the Colonel. I hope and trust, Miss, for your sake and everybody's else, that he'll turn up all right, at last." Mary was too sick at heart to respond to the wish. She felt dizzy and stunned, and longed to get away from these people, to be I alone, that she might think. A wild scheme of journeying off aloue, at once, to Virgiuia, to seek among the hospitals there, for the missed and mourned; to learn, if possible, by personal effort, the tidings which she could obtain in no other way, flashed across her brain. It seemed to her as though she must lose her senses if forced to remain here, inactive, in this solitary place, with only strangers around her. Oh ! if the Clives had only stayed in town ! And yet, in that case, perhaps, she would have heard Dothing whatever of Lhe ! Colonel's fate. All would have continued blank uncertainty and suspense. The friendly people of the cottage, seeing her pale aud Btricken looks, tried to cheer her with kind words and consoling suggestions. She answered them faintly, but her j thoughts were faraway. At last the rain; ceased, and the clouds dispersed. She put on her shoes and wraps, thankful to be able at last to escape, and expressing her gratitude to her entertainers for their timely hospitality, she set out on her homeward way. When she reached the hotel, she found the Clives full of anxiety about her; but she answered their -- * -? ?j~ inquiries id as iew wuius as pusoiuic, auu slipped off to her own room. After she had been shut up there for about an hour, she heard a gentle knock at the door. It was Mrs. Clive, who had come to satisfy herself that she was experiencing no ill effects from her wetting. "I was afraid you might be feeling ill, my dear. Are you sure you did not get a chill from your exposure to the storm ? How very white you look; and your hands are ; cold, too. I know you must have a chill." "No," Mary said, "I have no chill." Then she suddenly broke down, and burst into a j flood of tears. She could not resist Mrs. | Olive's kind, motherly sympathy, and in bro-1 en words, she poured out the story of her trouble. The good lady tried to comfort her; but j it was a case in which it was difficult to impart comfort. She ackowledged that it was very sad, very terrible, but suggested that, j perhaps, Mr. Clive would hear something more dehnite soon, and would write them j word. She had not known before of Mary's ; engagement ; but in these moments of confi- j dence the secret came out, and her sympathy j and compassion were doubly enlisted by the discovery. Twenty years of matrimony had j not destroyed all the romance in her nature, and the love-tale was for her as full of inter- j est as if she had been a young maiden of' sixteen. Nothing but the need Mary felt, in j her loneliness, of sympathy and support, j would have so. broken through her usual reti- j cence. But she could have found no more ! sympathetic listener than her present one, I and pride and reserve gave way before her I sorrow, the burden of which seemed almost | greater thau she could bear. The outbreak did her good, and her friend ! would not leave her until she had calmed down again, and was able to talk, with some degree of composure, of the chances of their Boon hearing farther intelligence, aud of the want of certainty in that which they had heard. But when Mrs. Clive, bidding her go to bed and forget sad thoughts in sleep, had affectionately wished her good-night and left the room, her grief, quieted for a time, burst forth with renewed force. Who that knew the calm, indolent, languid girl, with her indifferent manner and absent looks, would have recognized her now, in the prostrate figure, convulsed by sobs, the pale face running down with tears, the clasped hands upraised, the quivering lips parted in an almost frantic appeal for pity, for mercy, from on high ? "Save him,save him, kind Heaven!" she prayed, through rending sobs. "Oh ! bring him back to me, that I may prove to him how much I love him ; that I may atone to him for my past coldness and selfish neglect! Ur, it he is dead, let me die, too?iaae me w him, my love, my love 1" CHAPTER XV. On the next morning, a letter came from Mr. Clive to his wife. In it was an enclosure addressed to Mary. She opened it with trembling eagerness. It was a brief note, containing little else, beside an extract from one of the daily papers, which he had copied for her to read, giving a list of the sick and wounded now lying in a certain hospital near Richmond. Among these was Colonel Dacre's name, and he was reported as "dangerously wounded." Her first thought was one of intense gratitude for the knowledge that he was still alive. Her next, an overpowering desire to go to him without delay, to be permitted to nurse him in his illness, and, if possible, bring him home under her care. She hastened, eager and excited, to Mrs Clive, and asked her if she did not think such a step were practicable ? "Oh I my dear," said the lady, alarmed, "how could you possibly attempt such an undertaking? Traveling now is fraught with so much risk, it would be most unfit for you to venture upon such a journey alone." "But if I were in town, I am almost sure I could find some one going on," argued Mary. "And even if there were not, I should not be afraid. Ladies do go backwards and forwards contiuually, alone. Oh ! Mrs. Clive, it would be such a comfort to me to go to him?to taxe care of him. Think of him, wounded and suffering, with no one that he cares about, within reach." "But a young girl, like you, could not be going in and out of a hospital, amoug the rough soldiers and everything," rejoined her perplexed friend. "He would not wish it, I am sure, my dear! And by the time you got to Richmond, may be he would have started for home?who can tell ?" "Do you think so ? But it isn't likely," answered Mary. "If his wound is so dangerous, he could hardly travel so soon. And I would not mind going into the hospital, in the least. Hundreds of ladies do it, and I could get some married lady to take me with her. There would be nothing improper in that. Who would care for conventionality at such a time? Dear Mrs. Clive, I am sure I would get on without any difficulty. You can't think how fearless I am." Mrs. Clive was distressed and annoyed. She could not imagine how Mary could have conceived such a wild scheme, which certainly never would have entered her own matterof-fact brain. At last, she suggested that she should write to Mr. Clive, and ask his advice on the subject. But Mary felt that such a de lay would be intolerable. She wanted to take some prompt and decisive step at once, and every minute of inaction now seemed to her like time thrown away. " Welh my dear," she said, at length, having exhausted argument in vain, "of course I don't pretend to exercise any control over your movements, and you must do as you please in this matter. All I can say is, that I certainly wouldn't let one of my girls go on such an expedition, and I would keep you from it if I could. However, you will see my husband in the city, and hear what he has to say about it. You'll promise me that, won't you." Mary could safely promise her that; though she mentally resolved to take her own way, unless Mr. Clive should bring some argument to bear against her plan which she should find far more conclusive than any which had yet been employed. She hastened to re-pack her trunks, so as to be ready to start on the same evening for the city. Nannie and Flora were full of regret at her intended departure, yet envious withal of the freedom with which she could regulate her own movements ; contrasting the liberty she enjoyed with the somewhat strict guidance exercised over them at home. Their mother informed them in private, howevef, that Mary was very rash, very unwise, and that she considered it a thousand pities that there wa3 no one who had authority to check her in her impetuous movements. And now behold our heroine once more on the cars, traveling city-ward, too full of anxious thought aud trembling anticipation to find opportunity to marvel at her own trans formation into a helpful, self-reliant, independent individual, courageous in the performance of an enterprise, the very idea of which she would some time previous have shrunk from in timid dread, or calmly regarded as an absurdity. Mr. Clive was, of course, astonished at her unexpected appearance, and his consternation was nearly equal to his wife's, when she informed him of her desire to procceed at once to Virginia, and begged him to find out for her if there was any one going on, under whose escort she could travel thither. He tried to shake her resolution, but with no better success than Mrs. Clive had met with in the same attempt; and finally promised, since he could do no better, to hunt up an escort for her, which he fortunately sue * *** ceeded in doing that very evening. A ivir. Hunter, bearing official despatches of importance, was going on at once, and would be most happy to afford her his protection. So, after a few hours respite, which she employed in writing to Mosslauds, to keep them posted there in regard to her movements, she started off again, her face set at last toward the goal which she was so anxious to reach. Her journey was accomplished iusafety, and as pleasantly as was possible under the circumstances. Her traveling-companion, being pressed for time, could do no more, on their arrival in Richmond, than to place her in a coach belonging to one of the hotels, where he advised her to go. He regretted that he could not accompauy her, to see that she was comfortably accommodated, but business demanded his immediate attention. Mary had, by this time, got so into the way of think| ing and acting on her own responsibility, that it seemed natural for her to arrange this, like other matters, for herself. Besides, her mind | was so full of the object which bud brought her there, that in her impatience to accomplish that, she gave little heed to any minor inconvenience which she might encounter. She was taken to the hotel, engaged a room, and then, without waiting to obtain any refreshments, sought for information concerning the location of the hospital she was in quest of. Inquiries of this sort were too common to excite any surprise. The clerk, to whom she applied, was a civil, obliging man, and took the trouble to write down for her, on a card, the names and situation of all the Confederate hospitals in the city and its vicinity. Patients were sometimes removed, he said, from one to another, and she might be disappointed in finding the patient she was seeking at the first place she went to. Mary then ordered a carriage, and set out at once on her mission. The hospital to which she had been direct ed, as the one mentioned in the paper from wicb Mr. Clive had copied the extract, was considerably beyond the outskirts of the city. Mary's heart beat fast, as she stopped before the gate ; and alighting from the carriage, she rang the bell, and waited a considerable time, iu a state of indescribable anxiety, for an answer to her summons. A porter at length appeared, and partially opening the heavy wooden gate, inquired of her what she wanted. "Isn't this a Confederate Hospital ?" she timidly asked. "Yes'm?didn't you see the name written up on the outside ?" was the somewhat gruffly uttered rejoinder. "I did not notice it. I have come to see a wounded officer who is here. Can I be admitted at this hour ?" she continued. "No'm ; not at any hour. Ladies ain't admitted into this 'ospittle at all; it's against the rule." Mary was discomfited by this blunt reception, which was certainly not encouraging to her hopes. "At least," she said, appealingly, "you can tell me if the officer I am looking for is in there." "I reckon I can, if you'll let me know bis name," was the answer. "Colonel Dacre? Colonel Brentwood Dacre, of the ?th Regiment." "Of what State?" "South Carolina." The gruff* porter unceremoniously shut the gate, and left her waiting outside while he | went to make inquiries. After keeping her for some time, he returned, looked out as before, aud blasted her expectations with one brief sentence. "No such name in here." "Not in here ? He has been removed, then ?" "There's no such name on our books at all. I reckon you've come to the wrong place." "What is the name of this hospital ?" "It's written up outside, just as plain as can be?Cedar Grove 'Ospittle, Miss." "That is the one Colonel Dacre was reported to he in?it was in the newspapers. "Can't help it?newspapers was wrong. There's 'ospittles enough in and about Richmond. I expect you will find him in some of them." He seemed anxious to get rid of her ; but Mary still lingered. "Are you quite, quite sure that he is not here?" she asked. "Of course I'm sure," said the porter, impatiently ; and this time he manifested such a palpable desire to shut the gate that she turned away, and immediately heard it slammed and locked behind her. "I hope they are not going to be as rude as that everywhere," thought poor Mary, a3 she re-entered the carriage, and the horses' heads were turned again towards the city. Her coachman, a colored man, seemed quite to sympathize in her disappointment, and was willing to go wherever she directed him. But as she was quite unacquainted with the place, she was obliged to read out to him the various localities described on her card, and allow him toseek them in the most convenient order. The hospital she reached next was a very large and fine one, and her inquiries were met with extreme politeness, though, unhappily, the result was again unsuccessful. Col? ^ i J i i-i it onei JL?acre naa never oeeu iukcu mere, uui did they know anything of him. It would be useless to go into all the particulars of her wearisome quest, which lasted through the greater part of the day. Suffice it to say that after every hospital had been visited, and every inquiry made, she was as far as ever from obtaining the information she wanted, and was forced to return to the hotel disappointed and heart sore, and quite overpowered by the prolonged fatigue and excitement she had undergone. She was suffering from a violent headache, and pains in her limbs, and though she had eaten nothing for many hours, she could take no supper, except a cup ofhot tea and a morsel of toast, which an obliging chambermaid brought up to her room. Rest was absolutely necessary, if she desired to avoid a fit of illness. She could not even think, for her brain was tired out with thought. "Perhaps I can find out something to-morrow," she sighed out disconsolately, as she laid her head on ber pillow; and before five minutes had elapsed, she found respite from her cares in the sound and dreamless sleep which I comes to youth, and which, in her present j fatigued state, all her aches and pains were i powerless to keep at bay. She slept uutil late on the following morninc and awoke considerably refreshed, though I ?o - _ . I with a remnant of headache still hanging : ahout her. The friendly chambermaid, a good-tempered negro girl, brought up on a I tray a tempting little breakfast of snowy biscuit, thin-cut ham and hot coffee, of which she partook with some appetite, feeling much | the belter afterwards for having done so ; for ; she was really suffering as much from the j want of food as anything else. This meal j over, she asked to see the landlord, and when i he came, told him of her difficulties, and asked if he could suggest what it would be advisable for her to do next. The landlord looked doubtful. "It seems a queer case, Miss," he remarked. "If he was reported in the hospital, why he ought to be in the hospital, that's all. And if he isn't there, why, he roust be?somewhere else. That is to say, if he's anywhere above ground, I mean. That's the point, Miss. Are you | certain, sure, that he wasn't killed ?" "How can I tell, except through what I have heard ?" rejoined poor Mary, faintly. She thought now that the landlord was a dreadful man, and was sorry she had consulted him ; but Mr. Beveridge was not dread- j ful, and did not mean to be unkind. He was simply dull and foolish, and had no idea that he was touching a wound with too ungentle a hand. Seeing Mary's distressed look, he continued? "If you think advertising would be of any use, Miss, I'll see about having an advertisement put in the papers for you, with the greatest pleasure ; or anything else I can do for you, I'm sure I shall be most happy to attend to." Marv thanked him for the sucrcrestion. and I said she would think it over, but feared it would not be of much use ; and Mr. Beveridge considering the subject dismissed, bowed himself out of her presence, and went to superintend some of his own affairs. [to be continued.] IfpSfeUaoeiMS ifeatUng. THE NEGRO EXODUS TO AFRICA. That the Southern negroes have not only the population, hut the pecuniary means to supply a constant stream of emigration to the native land of their ancestors, is beyond reasonable question. To be satisfied on this point, we have only to consider the amount of money they deposited and lost in the Freeman's Savings Bank. Their deposits were a shining proof of their habits of thrift, and their losses implied such an abuse cf their confidence as fatally discouraged that form of economy. Considering that they had but just emerged from servitude, and that in the first years of their freedom they lacked experience, were without capital and had not yet acquired the habit of self-dependence, their deposits in the Freedman's Savings Bank was highly creditable to the character and capabilities of their race. The insolvency of that swindling institution must have dampened their hopes of fair treatment by the dominant race, and have prepared them to look with favor on other suggested means of improving their condition. The political -c .1? i__. .? i?? : j events UJ lilts met tnu ycaia uave tuuvuitcu them that they are hereafter to be excluded from politics and office, and that they have but sleuder chances in this country of a career worthy of an honorable ambition. These discouraging circumstances have made them eager listeners to the apostles of the "Exodus Association." That organization, which is already strong in South Carolina and is growing into importance in Louisiana, seems likely to spread all over the South and enlist the most capable and enterprising portion of the freedmen. Their large early deposits in the broken Freedman's Bank proves their ability to furnish means for emigration, and if the first colonists should do well and send back favorable account", no limit can be placed to the future magnitude of the exodus. Its growth will be gradual, because the pecuniary means by which it is sustained will for some years be the savings of the colored population. But the prospect it holds out will be a strong stimulus to fru gality, and tens of thousands of negroes will begin to make the accumulations necessary for paying their passage and establishing themselves in Africa. The Azor will immediately return from Monrovia for a second trip, and if the number of applicants should be as much in excess of the excess of its ca pacity and accomodations as in the present voyage, other vessels will be purchased for the same service, and there will soon be a regular line of emigrant ships plying between our Southern ports and the west coast of Africa. This new movement is a spontaneous enterprise of the colored population, inspired by hopes of bettering their condition, of escaping the sense of inferiority, of finding a career open to talents, and, though last, perhaps not least, by an enthusiastic and imaginative yearning toward the native Beat of their.race. These commendable aud honorable sentiments and the self-sustained practical arrangements to carry them into effect, are the best proof that has yet been offered to the world of negro capacity, intelligence, foresight and self-respect. It is a noble contrast, indeed?a proud contrast for the African race?that these darkhued men and women, whose savage ancestors were brought across the Atlantic, subject to all the cruelties and atrocities of the middle passage, sail to the shores from which their progenitors were torn, in a ship owned by negro proprietors, worked by negro seamen and carrying a hopeful body of negro freemen to lay the foundations ot a repunnc wnicn may become the cradle of African civilization The attention of all Christendom has of late been strongly directed to Africa, as it was four centuries ago to America, after its discovery by Columbus; and the infant settlements in the new world which followed the voyage of discovery, are likely to have a parallel in the American emigration to Africa, which treads so closely on the heels of the successful and brilliant explorations of Stanley. If the contemplated exodus to Africa should equal the expectations of its apostles and promoters, it will lead to consequences of the first magnitudue. Among the most important of these will be the conversion of the native tribes to Christianity and the diffusion among them of the arts and habits of civilized life. The American negroes abound in religious fervor, and as soon as a large colony of them shall get established in Africa and become prosperous, the propagation of the Gospel among the native tribes will be a favorite field of effort. They will be more successful than any white missionaries, because they will more easily gain attention, and their strong emotional nature will exert a powerful contagious influence over people constituted like themselves.?New York Herald. ???? Honey Hunting Afloat.?At the foot of Burdett street, Carrolton, Mr. C. 0. Perrine, of Chicago, has fitted up two barges as a floating apiary. Each barge has a capacity and | conveniences for 1,000 hives of bees. These will be towed up to Kernerville next week. They will start up the river with about 1,000 colonies on the two boats. Mr. Perrine has been in Louisiana eighteen months studying up the bee business and preparing for the grand onward movement for which he will be ready in a few days. His plan is to start with his bee palaces and his 1,000 colonies from Southern Louisiana when the honey flowers are in full bloom, to remaiB but a day or two at a landing, and move up each time to another landing and a fresh field. He thinks the bees, from 1.000 to 2.000 colonies. will take the cream from the country around j the landing from one to two miles distant in one or two days. In this manner he expects | to move up the Mississippi to St. Paul, a dis-1 tance of nearly two thousand miles, where he ! will arrive about the last of July. Returning, i he will halt about two months somewhere i above St. Louis, and will reach Louisiana with his palaces and bees in October. It will be his object to take the autumnal flowers at ! each point in their prime, precisely as he takes the Bpring flowers iu bis advance up the river, i He expects his early swarms on his boats to < increase his colonies to 2,000 in April and < May. The plan of moving bees to get the benefit of different ranges and fresh flowers has been tried in a small way in some parts of Europe. They are moved both in carts and in boats.?New Orleans Picayune. THE NEW YORK POST-OFFICE. The Post-Office of New York city yields an annual revenue to the general Government of more than $2,000,000. The amount of mail matter handled daily is sixty tons, and the registered letters and packages daring 1876 number 1,766,790. A very important, as well as a very interesting feature, in the present postal work is the fact that gold is sent through this medium from California. The first to begin this system was the banker, 8eligraan, who discovered that a bag containing four pounds, could be sent by mail and called a registered letter cheaper than by express. Nearly $5,000,000 have been sent in this manner in a few months, delivered with perfect safety. Another feature is the transmission of bonds sent hither from Europe. One /innAAwn in *kta nif? koa ro/ifl! ttqA flOft CWliVUl U 1U blllO l/IMJ UWJ I^VVITVU y~iV|\/W|V w of such property through the Post-Office. Eleven millions came at one time, and its owner came with a large trunk, in which it was packed, and bore away his treasure with a very small amount of trouble and expense. The reader will at once see the financial responsibility resting on a man in Mr James' position, and it is not surprising that he is required to give bond to the amount of 81,200,000. The entire force employed in the building numbers 650, of which 500 are engaged in the general letter department. There are four floors above ground and two beneath, all occupied by the varied details. The newspaper department is the most extensive, and includes an area of half an acre. The clerks are arranged in trios, and three men relieve each other after eight hoars' service, thus completing twenty-four hours of duty. The heaviest amount of labor is done from 4 to 8 o'clock, p. m., and when this is over the pressure abates, though a steady tour of labor continues all night. The newspaper department alone requires the services of ninety men. The salaries are seldom higher than $900, and some are only $500, but as small as the latter may appear, there is a constant pressure to obtain appointment. A man whose business for years has been to decipher illegible and incorrect writing finds constant employment in this duty. Many illiterate people fail to give a proper address, through sheer ignorance, while others, who know better, make similar mistakes through carelesness. In one week 1,100 letters have been received incorrectly or illegibly addressed, and some of this has been done by the best business houses in the city. The Department of Correction has directories of all the chief cities in the Union, and also Europe. The number of these volumes is seventy six, and they are in constant use. In one week 191 letters intended for Boston, but directed to New York, were sent to their destination. The latter was discovered by the name of the street?as for instance a letter addressed to "Beacon street, New York," would go at once to Boston. By the same rule a letter addressed to "Chestnut Street, New York," would be sent to Philadelphia. It is so natural for business men to write "New York," that it is done in a rapid and thoughtless manner, and in one week 247 letters thus addressed were rectified and sent to Philadelphia. Troy is another instance. One day thirteen letters addressed to "River street, New York," were sent to your city, and thus reached their proper destination, for the expert knows that River street is a Trojan institution. The same day a number of letters were received addressed to well known streets in London, but "New York"had been carelessly written instead of the latter, and the mistake was immediately rectified by the expert, and the letters were forwarded without delay. In consequence of this continued vigilance, the number of "dead letters" is comparatively small, and yet it reaches 2,500 a year.? Correspondence Troy Times. THE INCOME TAX. A dispatch from Washington, under date of 25th ultimo says: The people who have not large incomes will be delighted to hear that the Ways and Means Committee this morning completed the consideration of the internal revenue bill, and agreed to report it with a resolution that the House make it the order of the day for May 1st. The income tax was materially amended. The tax on the gains, profits, and income of every person residing in the United Sttates, and of every citizen of the United States residing abroad, derived from any source whatever, and every person residing within the United States and not a citizen thereof, or from rents of real estate within the United Slates owned by any person residing without the United States and not a citizen thereof, two per cent, on all amounts in excess of 82,000. The bill, in estimating what are incomes is very sweeping, and includes the salaries of members of Congress and military and naval officers, the interest on government bonds, and all products of farms except such as are directly consumed by the family. The exemptions are the rental value of the homestead owned or used by any person or his family, military or naval pensions, premiums on insurance for life or property, all taxes paid within the year, all losses by fires, &c., bad debts in trade, amount of interest paid, amount paid for rent or labor to cultivate land or to conduct any other business from which income is derived, the amount paid for rent of residence for self or family, and amount paid for usual and ordinary repairs ; the salaries of the President and United States Judges and State officers, whether legislative, judicial or executive. The machinery for assessing and collecting the tax is very complete and the penalties ample. The bill provides that the tax for 1878 shall commence on the 1st of July of this year, and not date back to the 1st of January, 1878, bo that only a half year's tax will have to be paid if the bill becomes a law in 1878. If any person makes a fraudulent return of his income tax, he may be indicted in any court of the United States having local jurisdiction, and, on conviction, be fined not less than $1,000 nor more than $10,000, and imprisoned not less than one, nor more than ten years, or both, at the discretion of the court. Brain Stimulant.?The best possible thing for a man to do when he feels too weak to carry anything through, is to go to bed and sleep as long as he can. This is the only recuperation of brain-power, the only actual recuperation of brain-force; because during sleep the brain is in a state of rest, in a condition to receive and appropriate particles of nutriment from the blood, which take the place of those which have been consumed by previous labor, since the very act of thinking ' burns up solid particles, as every turn of the wheel or screw of the steamer is the result of consumption by fire of the fuel in the furnace. The supply of consumed brain-substance can only be had from the nutritive particles in the blood which were obtained from the food i eaten previously, and the brain is so constitu- i ted that it can best receive and appropriate i to itself these nutritive particles during the I state of rest, of quiet, and stillness of sleep. : Mere stimulants supply nothing in them- I selves; they goad the brain, force it to a greater consumption of its substance, until it is so I exhausted that there is not power enough left i to receive a supply. i The Uses op Castor Oil.?Castor-oil was formerly employed only as a medicinal agent; but now its uses in the arts are manifold, and its manufacture has come to be a considerable industry. St. Louis is the centre of this industry in the United States, and nearly all the castor-beans grown in this country are produced within a circle of about two hundred miles south and southwest of that city. The chief uses of castor-oil in the arts are, according to the Shoe and Leather Reporter, as a lubricator for coach and carriage axles, in the manufacture of the best shoeblacking, as a dressing for calfskins, for treeing boots, as a substitute for neat's foot oil,and keeping leather Boft, mellow and pliable. Crude castor-oil is used largely in the manufacture of morocco. It will not "fry" or "gum," and imparts softness and weight, and leather nrenared with it remains mellow and pliable. The crop of ca8tor-beans for the year 1875 was 303,498 bushels; in 1876 the crop was only about onehalf as large. Last year a firm in St. Louis made, from 125,000 bushels of beans, 7000 barrels (47 gallons each) of erude castor-oil. ? The Art of Listening.?It is by listening, not by talking, that sympathy is acquired?that intellectual sympathy that makes man companionable. This abandonment of old restraints, of which we are jealous, may be one of the reasons why conversation as an art is going out. Children don't learn anything by chattering to one another, and saying what comes uppermost; neither does reading suffice to this end, singlehanded. Good talk should first be recognized as such in others. Attention is the most influential tutor in the fitting use of the tongue. Where we see good talk disregarded by a party of young people, there, we may be sure, the chances of their ever shining socially are small indeed. Mere listening with intelligence involves an exercise of mental speech. Not, of course, tbat we woald connne children to the art of attention; but good talk cannot be maintained under interruption, and observant silence opens the pores of the minds as impatient demands for explanation never do.?English Magazine. ? ? The First Step.?There is no step so long as the first step in any direction, especially a wrong one. Having once taken it, you are very likely to go farther. One who steals a penny will remember it when he thinks of stealing a sovereign. If he steals the sovereign first, when he is tempted by thousands he will remember he is already a thief. A perfectly innocent person dreads the soil of any sin upon his soul, but after the slightest smirch he cannot say, "I am clean." The vulgar proverb, "Onemigbtas well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb," means a great deal. Often the lamb was stolen years before, and now why not take the sheep ? An idle word, half-oath, half-exclamation, leads the boy to swearing. Once having sworn, he will swear again. The first step may not be much in itself, but in its relation to our lives it is a giant's stride. It is well to remember it. Storm and Gunpowder Explosions.? A correspondent of the Washington Star presents a long array of evidence that the burning of gunpowder in quantities is productive of local storms. He instances among others the following coincidences: During eight years past there has been a thunderstorm at Washington every fourth of July, and a violent one is cited as occurring on the evening of that celebration about twelve t\. .1 e .1 u.ii: years ago. .uurmg me war ui me reueniun, 86.5 of the battles are said to have been followed by storms. It is said that the storm producing power of burnt gunpowder might be used in advance of an attack during war ; and the weather bureau of the future may serve as a cloud-compelling Prospero, by organizing rain during hot periods in summer. ? Be Faithful.?A man cannot afford to be unfaithful under any circumstances; man cannot afford to be mean at any time; a man cannot afford to do less than bis best at all times and under all circumstances. No matter how wrongfully you are placed, and no matter how unjustly you are treated, you cannot for your own sake, afford to use anything but your better services; you cannot afford to lie to a liar; you cannot afford to be mean to a mean man; you cannot afford to do other than deal uprightly with any man, no matter what exigencies exist between him and you. No man can afford to be anything but a true man, living in his higher nature and acting from the highest considerations. a For Mothers to Read.?Mothers should look well after their children in the spring. The sun may be very warm and the atmosphere genial, but it is the time when heavy clothing is cast off and the half-clad children permitted to play in the lawn, yard or public highway. We may add, however, that this warning can be applied to adults as well as children. Ask anv experienced physician and be will tell you that this is the time when you have plenty to do. But many parents and others will never take warnings until it is too late, and the consequences may be fatal; or, if this should be escaped, a heavy doctor's bill will be forthcoming. ? t&"A typical game of poker was recently played in Dalton, Ky. William Kendrick and John Ellington were the parties, and Ellington thought that Kendrick cheated, and stabbed him in the arm. After a satisfactory explanation, however, the cut was plastered up, and the game resumed. Sooq Kendrick accused Ellington of cheating, knocked him off his chair, and stamped out three of his teeth. There was another explanation, after which the game was continued amicably for a while. At length Ellington was unmistakably caught stacking cards, and Kendrick shot him through the shoulder. That ended the game. Pay Your Debts.?Clean hands in matters of money among the young certainly ought to be the indispensable condition of gentlemanliness. No man who borrows and does not pay, and does not care whether he pays or not, is a gentleman, no matter how witty, or gay, or fine he may be. To speak in good English, the man who dresses himself at another's expense, not knowing how to pay, not caring whether he pays, is a genteel scoundrel! And yet such things are dnn? htr cmnfl.niii.nrpd fnllr. hv kind-heartpd people, by persons who never probe them morally to ascertain what their tendency is, and what they lead to. A ticket agent in Rochester has been searching the scriptures with an eye to business. On his advertising card appears the following legend : "In those days there were no passes givenand underneath are the following texts: "Thou shalt not pass."?Numbers xx: 18. "Suffer not a man to pass."? Judges iii: 28. "The wicked shall no more pass."?Naomi i: 15. "None shall ever pass."?Isaiah xxxiv : 10. "This generation shall not pass."?Mark xiii: 30. "So he paid the fare and went."?Jonah i: 3. I?" The women of Virginia are forming societies to help pay the State debt. The idea, according to a Warrenton letter, is "to give the thing a start, get every woman in the State to join the society, have an initiation fee of 25 cents and a certain monthly contribution, in this way to raise some money for the grand and patriotic purpose, but mainly by their example to inspire the slothful and 3hame the dishonest men of the State out of the idqft of repudiation,"