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i | ' " ' ISSQ1D S^II-WBESI^ x ' I K. GRIST & SWS, Publishers, jj JMfamilj Ilrasppr^ _4m < >? |romotion of the f olititajj, ff otial, Agricultural, and Comnityial Interests of the fjeogle. {TBBM881MoiE?coir!^wra cEMDmKCE' E ESTABLISHED I8o5T ~ YOBKYIXLE. S. C., VEDyE8DAY, JAISTUARY 2, 1901. " 3STO. 1. ! TIE MM By ANNA KATE Author of "The Leavenworth C and Ring, Copyright, 1900, by Anna Katharine Synopsis of Previous Chapters. In order that new readers of The Enquirer may begin with the following Installment of this story, and unierstand it just the same as though tiey had read it all from the beginning, w? here give a synopsis of that portioi ol which has already been published: i The story opens with the close of a ball after daylight In the mornEg. While the guests are leaving the hclse Frederick Sutherland dashes out frintically and disappears in the woods?n the other side of the road. Agatha Webb is found up stairs murdeEd. The body of Batsy, the cook, is foipd hanging from a window. Philenfn Webb, Agatha's husband, is dlsoovefd sitting before a dining table sslef), with a smear of blood on his cat sleeve. Philemon being charged wth the murder, his mind, alrady feede gives way completely." All Agatla Webb's money has been taken. Mis Page, standing on the lawn, points t? spot of blood on the grass. FrederWi Sutherland, who has been a wild fdlow, promises nis father to reform; alo to give up Amabel Page, whom he his been expecting to marry. Miss Pa? tells Frederick that she followed hh on the night of the murder and s* him secrete $1,000 in a hollow tree. Se declares that he shall either marry br or she will proclaim him a murder*. She is about to leave him and the ton when she is held as a witness, lb past life of Agatha Webb. Six childn have been born to her and all died a infancv. It is learned that the moay taken from Agatha Webb was alia! new bills. A storekeeper produces oei of them that a strange man witha flowing beard gave him the night of te murder. The problem now is to fH the man with the long beard. Suspion falls on the Zabel brothers. Fribrlck visits the hollow tree and fiK the money gone. Wattles a gambl from Boston, demands $950 of Fred*ick in payment of a gambling de. Frederick secures a check for te amount from his father, pays the d<t and is about to leave home when hes stopped by Miss Page. Knapp, det?tive, and Abel, with the coroner, vft the Zabel brothers. They are obligl to break into the house, and find bo brothers dead. A spot of blood 3 found ,on the clothing of one of fe brothers, and a miniature of AgatL Webb when a young girl is lying 1 James Zabel's breast. The party vk the hollow U&&; Sweetwater. w> has oined them, digs under ltTuTfl'Tms $980. The finder declares that Amali Page buried the money. He also d? -*- - A * . J A VvaI , ciares mat ne iwiuweu ^.mauci x ?e when she left the house on the nigl of the murder and saw her bury tb[ money. He accuses her oftrying t throwsuspiclon on one of the Zety brothers with one of the bills. Mifl Page is examined with reference to he conduct on the night of the murde and proves a very wily witness. CHAPTER XIX. A SYMPATHETIC FRIEND. The next day was the day of Age tha's funeral. She was to be buried in Porchestei by the side of her six children, and. a the day was fine, the whole town, a by common consent, assembled in th road along which the humble corteg was to make its way to the spot ind cated. From the windows of farmhouses from between the trees of the fei scattered thickets along the way. sat deiied and curious faces looked fort) till Sweetwater, who walked as nea as he dared to the immediate friend of the deceased, felt the imp'ossibillt of remembering them all and gave u the task in despair. Before one house, about a mile ot of town, the procession paused, and i a gesture from the minister every or n-itiiiti ?iirhi tonic off their huts, umid hush which made almost paiufully a] pareut the twittering of birds and ti other sounds of unimate and iuati mate nature which are inseparab from a couutr.v road. They had read ed Widow .lones' cottage, in wbic Philetuon was then staying. \ The front door was closed and i \ were the lower windows, but in one < \ the upper casements a movement wt \ perceptible, and in another instat i there came iuto view a woman and \ man. supporting between them the It 1 passible form of Agatha's husbani \Holdiug him up in plain sight of ti almost breathless throng below, ti woman pointed to where his darlho law and appeared to say something i blbi. Then there was to be seen a stranj sigjht. The old man. with his thi wlfite locks Buttering iu uie unwz lear]i?'?i forward, with a smile, an holding out his arms, cried in a fail but joyful tone. "Agatha!" Then, as realizing tor the Grst time that it vet . death he looked upon and that tt crowd below was a funeral procesafoi his face altered, and lie fell back, wit a low. heartbroken moan, into the uhi of those who supported him. ( As Iiis white head disappeared f-(>i sight the procession moved on. m from only one pair of lips went up ht groan of sorrow with which evr heart seemed surcharged one griai k From whose lips did it come? S\\\. P water endeavored to lind out. but ?a f uot able, nor could any one infu-i him unless it was Mr. Slithering k whom he dared not approach. This gentleman was on foot like tj I rest, with his arm fast linked in tli r* of his sou Frederick. He had men k* to ride, for the distance was long f I men past (j(?: but. tinning the latter i K> solved to walk, he had consented to B the same rather than he separat from his son. K He had fears for Frederick-he cot B hardly have told why and as the ci p emony proceeded and Agatha was s | emnly laid away in the place prepar jy or ifflAWM [ARjNE GREENE, ase,' "Lost Man's Lane," "Hand Ec., Etc. (ireflfoi Uer bis sympathies grew upon nim , to tuei an extent that he found It dif ficilt to quit the young man for a mor meit >r even to turn his eyes away ; fran tie face he had- never seemed to know till now. But as a friend and . stmnjer were now rapidly leaving the yard ie controlled himself and. assuming a nore natural demeanor, asked his son If be were now ready to ride back. Bu|. t< his astonishment. Frederick replied hat he did not Intend to return to Sutierlancftown at present, that he had bisiness In Porchester and that he wai doubtful as to when he would he ready to go home. As the old gendenial did not wish to raise a controversy. he said notbiug. but as soon as ibe saw Frederick disappear up the road he sent back the carriage be had ordered, saying that he would return lu a i'orchester gig as soon as be bad settled souieflffairs of his own. which rnigbi and tuigbt not detain him there till evening. Then be proceeded to a little Inn, where be hired a room with windows that looked out on the highroad. In one of these windows he sat all day, watching for Frederick, who had gone further up tbe road. " /I n.l4K oil I IIU r rwinirtx uppruiru, aim t> iuj vague misgivings. for which as yet he bad no natac. ke left the window and set out on foot for home. It was now dirk, but a silvery gleam on the horisou gave promise of? the speedy rising of a full moon Other wise lie would not have attempted to walk over a road proverbially dark land dismal. The churchj-aid. in which they had just laid away Agatha, lay in his course. As be approached he felt his heart fail, and popping a moment at the stone wal tbat separated it from the highroad, he leaned against the trunk of a blue elm that guarded the gate of eutnuce As he did so he heard aj^tilaf repressed sohhlug f.iff-ft way; Wi-.1 L moved l>; soiie undefluable Impulse strouger (mollis will, he pushed open the gate uid eutered the sacred pre i clncts. Instantly tlr wlerdness and desola tion of the spit struck him. He wish ed, yet dreued. to advance. Some thing in tbe grief of the mourner whose sobs ti had heard had seized upon his heatstrings, and yet as he hesitated, the Sounds came again, and. forgetting thnJhis intrusion might not prove altogettr welcome, he pressed i t-forward till Incame within a few feet from tlie spotfrom which the sobs Is r, ued 1 s He had meed quietly, feeling the s we of tbe pice, and when he paused e was with a ienaation of dread not to e f entirely explained by the sad and I- ?mal surntuidiugs. Dark as it was. I discerne! tbe outline of a form ly 3, ^ xtretcleJ Id speechless misery ,v *oss a gilte. but when Impelled by 1- # almost irresistible compassion he 3, ?ove to spilt. his tongue clove to the ir bf of - his uouth aud he only drew Is furth?r nto the shadow, y 'e had ecognlzed the mourner aud p tfc grave. Tbe mourner was Fredand .be "grave that of Agatha it W>b. it -'tew in antes later Mr. Sutherland le r">penredu: the door of the Inn and a aslj for aids and driver to take him [> bat to Siberiandtown. He said in le ex(st. for his indecision that he had ii- uucrtaketto walk, but had fouud bis le strtgtb iiadtquate to the exertion. Ii- He as looting very pale aud trembled :b so tat thelandlord, who took bis order. sked lini if he were ill. But Mr. jo SutL-rland Insisted that be was quite >f 'welLouiy li a hurry, and showed the i| greatst iuiiatier.ee till he was again it startfl upoi the "oad. I Fotthe fint half mile he sat perfectly ly silnt. rhe moon was now up and i the rqd stretched before them hooded with Ight. .\g long as uo one was to ? be seq on his load or on the path it runnii* i,esi(o it Mr. Sutherland held t? kiuisel erw, his eyes iixed before kim Inan attitude of anxious inquiry, but as sooa as any sound came to in break he sleiiee or there appeared in et tlie disuiice ahead of them the least d, appear^, jfa plodding wayfarer he it drew hick mi hid himself in the reif, cesses <r th' vehlck?. This happened is several timis. Then his whole manie ner chalet;. They had just passed r. ! fiVu/1t n.MIl Iw^vml lllind u. It- wvaivt, v?UblJlK, i> ?*.? iw?? ?*I "V? ;h jtovard Sutlietlandtovn. is | Hut he was not tie only person on the road at tlfis time. A few uilnutes ? previously tiey had, passed another d man walking hi the s.-ine direction. As it Mr. Sutb?rlind inusitl over this he y founj liims'll peeriig through the 1. small window at the luck of the bugt gy. striving to catch mother glimpse is of tlie two men plodditg behind him. l) He could set- them both his son's form 1. throwing its long sliulow over the moonlit road followed uily too closely ie by that other, whose nigainly step he it feared to acknowledge t) himself was it growing only too fainilia' in his eyes, r Falling in:o a troubled icverie, he bet held the wll known biases and the ?? great trees under whost shadow he t| had grown from youth topianhood flit by him like phantoms In ^dream. hut I suddenly one house and one place s drew his attention with I force that 0 started bin: again into ati erect atti? tude, and, seizing with on* hand the ?:?: r- = arm of the driver, he pofvted with the other at the door of the ^pttnge they were passing, saying in choked tones: "See. see.' Something dreadful has happened since we passed by hfcre this morning. That Is crape. Samuel, trape, hanging from the doorpost yonderY' "Yes. It Is crape." answered the dirtver, jumping out and running up tke path to look. "Philemon must be dead, the good Philemon." Here was a fresh blew. Mr. Sutherland bowed before It for a moment Then be rose hurriedly and stepped down into the road beside the driver. "Get In again," said he. "and drive on. Hide a half mile, then come back for me. I must see the Widow Jones." The driver, awed both by the occasion and the feeling It had called up In Mr. Sutherland did as he was bid and drove away Mr. Sutherland, with a glance back at the road he had just traversed, walked painfully up the path to Mrs. Jones' door. A moment's conversation with the woman who answered bis summons proved the driver's supposition to be correct. Philemon had passed away. He bad never rallied from the shock he had received. Hp had joined his beloved Agatha on the day of her burial, and the long tragedy of their mutual life was over. "It is a mercy that no inheritor of their misfortuue remains." quoth the good woman as die saw the affliction her tidings caused in this much revered friend The assent Mr. Sutherland gave was mechanical. He vas anxiously studying the road leadug toward Porchester. Suddenly he stepped hastily in. "Will you be so food as to let me sit down in your paror for a few minutes?" he asked. '1 would like to rest there for an install alone. This final blow has upset mei' The good woman iowed. Mr. Sutherland's word was lav in that town. She did not even dare to protest against the "alone" which le had so pointedly emphasized, but left him after making him, as she said, comfortable, and went back to her duties in the room above. It was fortunate she was so ame liable to bis wishes. Tor do sooner bad her steps ceased to le beard than Mr. Sutherland rose from the easy chair In which he had been stated and, putting out tiie lamp Widow Jones had insisted on lighting, passu! directly to the window, through which he began to peer with looks of the deepest anxiety. A man was couiiug up the road, a young man?Frederick. As Mr. Sutherland recognized bin he leaned forward with increased aixiety till at the appearance of his sou In frout his scruiiUyrgreW (j? that It seemed to exercise a magnetic influence upon the passerby, for when directly opposite the window Frederick involuntarily roused from his abstraction and looked up. Tbt glance be gave the house was but momentary, but In that glance the father law all that he had secretly dreaded. As his sou's eye fell on that fluttering bit of crape, testifying to another death in this already much bereaved community, he staggered wildly, then in a pause of doubt drew nearer and nearer till his fingers grasped this symbol of mourning and clung there. Next moment he was far down the road, plunging toward home in a state of great mental disorder. With sinking heart Mr. Sutherland let bis eyes drop from this flying figure to search for the man whom a little while before he had seen following Immediately behind bis son. He was following him still and hastened by the house just as Mr. Sutherland's glance fell on htm, so that whatever was strange or pitiful in the foregoing scene must have had this man for a witness. A ball' hour afterward Mr. Sutherland reached home. He bad not overtaken Frederick again or even his accompanying shadow. Ascertaining at his own door that his son had not yet come iu, but bad been seen going farther up the bill, be turned back again Infft i?ao rl nn/1 od Q ftoP him on foot. The next place to his own was occupied by Mr. Hnllidny. As be approached It he caught sight of a man standing half In and half out of the honeysuckle porch, whom he at first thought to be Frederick. But he soon saw that It was the fellow who had been following his son all the way from Porchester. and. controlling his first movement of dislike, he stepped up to him and quietly said: "Sweetwater, is this you?" The young man fell back and showed a most extraordinary agitation, quickly suppressed, however. "Yes, sir; it Is no one else. Do you know what I am doing here?" "I fear I do. You have been to PorChester. You have seen tny sou"? Sweetwater made a hurried, almosl an entreating, gesture. "Never mind that. Mr. Sutherland. I had rather you wouldn't say anything about that. I am as much broken uf by what I have seen as you nre. I nev er suspected him, sir: only the girl tc whom he has so unfortunately attach ed himself. But after seeing him abandoned to grief in that place, ovei that grave, what am I to think? Whai am I to do? I honor you; 1 would noi grieve you, but?but?oh. sir, perliap> you can help me out of the maze lntc which 1 have stumbled! Perhaps yoi can assure me that Mr. Frederick die not leave the hall at the time she did T ...t 1 1.1 ?I.A /1nnom.e 1 iiiisstvu iiiin iiuin <tiiiiur uauvriii I did uot see him between 12 and 3. bui perhaps you did. and?and"? His voice broke. lie was almost ?5 profoundly agitated as Mr. Sutherland As for the latter, who found hiuisel! unable to reassure the other on this very vital point, having uo retnem brance himself of having seen Fred erick among his guests during those fatal hours, he stood speechless, lost In abysses, the depth and horror ol which only a father can appreciate Sweetwater respected hIs anguish and for a moment was silent himself. Thee he burst out: "1 bad rather nfever have lived to see this day than be {he cause of shame or suffering to you. Tell me what to do Shall I be deaf, durob"Here Mr. Sutherland found voice. "You make tot> much of what you i saw," said he. "ky boy has faults and ! has lived anything but a satisfactory | life, but he Is not as bad as your fears < would show. He could never have taken life. That would be Incredible, monstrous, In onp brought up as be has been. Besides, If he were so far gone In evil as to be willing to attempt crime, he had no motive to do so; Sweetwater, he had no motive. A few hundred dollars! But these he could have got from me, and did, but"? Why did the wretched fathe*, stop? Did he recall th$ circumstances fender which Frederick had obtained th?se , last hundreds from him? They weiV : not ordinary circumstances, and Fred erick bad been In no ordinary strait 1 Mr. Sutherland could not but acknowledge to himself that there was something in that whple matter which con- j tradicted the very plea he was making, and not being abfe to establish the conviction of his son's innocence in bis own mind he was too honorable to try I to establish it in another. His next ' words showed the struggle he was 1 laboring under, f 1 "It is that glr| who has ruined him, Sweetwater. He loves her, but he doubts her, as who could help doing after the story sbe told us day before yesterday. Indeed he has doubted her ' ever since that fatal uight, and it is < this which has broken his heart and not?not"- Again the old gentleman paused; again bk recovered himself, this time with a touch of bis usual dignity and self command. "Leave me!" be cried. "Leave.us! Nothing that yon have seen has escaped me, but our Interpretations of it may differ. I will watch over my son from this hour, and you may trust to my vigilance." Sweetwater bowed. "You have a right to command me," said he. "You mfy have forgotten, but 1 have not, that I owe my life to you. Years ago?perhaps you can recall It; It was at the Black pond?I was going down for the third time, and mj mother was screaming/ln terror on the bank, when you?you plunged in and? Well, sir, such things are never forgotten, and. as I said before, yon have only to command me." He turned to go, but suddenly came back. There were signs of mental conflict*ln bis face and voice also. "Mr. Sutherland, 1 am not a talkative man. If 1 trust your vigilance, you may trust my discretion. Only 1 must have your word that you will convey no warnlug to your son; that you will not; even let him see he lies under any suspicion, least of all your own." ^ ifr, gutiiL'itinni^mQdo -an -Lndoflaabio gesture, and Sweetwater again disappeared, this time not to return. As for Mr. Sutherland, he remained standing before Mr. Halllday's door. What had the young man meant by this emphatic repetition of his former suggestion? That he would be quiet also and not speak of what he had that night seen? Why, then? But to the hope thus given this honest hearted gentleman would yield no quarter, and, seeing a duty before him, a duty he dare not shirk, he brought his emotions, violent as they were, Into complete and absolute subjection and, opening Mr. Halllday's door, entered the house. They were old neighbors, and ceremony was ignored between tlem. Of 11 UAI MM* r lnuiug Lue uuj eujpijr ttuu me purlor door open, ht walked Immediately ^ Into the latter ram. The sight that Jj met his eyes ne^er left bis memory. _ Agnes, his little ignes, whom he had " always loved and vhom he bad vainly longed to call by -.he endearing name of daughter, sat tfth her face toward v him, looking up tt Frederick. That young gentleman lad just spoken to her, or she had juslreceived something D from his hand, for her own was held out, and her expession was one of gratitude and accptance. She was not a beautiful gil, but she had a beautiful look, and it this moment it ? was exalted by a feling the old gentleman had once longed, but uow p dreaded inexpressily, to see there. 31 What could It mea? Why did she b< show Interest, devtion. passion al p? most, at this especll moment of her h? life, when In all tb years that had a gone by. and when was the dearest st wish of his heart 9 see these two &c united, she had nevt betrayed in all fa their intercourse anyting but distrust. I If not an uneasy dlske? It was one m of the contradictious f our mysterious fa human nature, and at jis crisis and In lb ' this moment of secre heartbreak and th miserable doubt it mle the old gentle w man shrink, with hiitirst feeling of in 1 actual despair. hi The next moment gnes had risen, nc ' and they were both f?ing him. en "Good evening. Agm." tli Mr. Sutherland fored himself to th speak lightly. \ "Ah, Frederick, do find you here?" er ' The latter question hd more of con rif ' straint in it. th ( Frederick, with a light flush suf- so fusing liis cheek, wbh had beeu only an too pale until now. tknowledged his ?f . father's greeting with smile In which la." , that father was surised to see a fe< , faint shade of relief ifot of joy. Then w 1 . he backed toward the ?or. of J "I was just leaving said he. "I as ? 11? 1 A^ */% If taa co I Was lue ueurei vi a t-ssuge iu anoa ?v I Halliday." He had alays called her ta Agnes before. ] Mr. Sutherland, whoiad found his wi t faculties confused by tLexpression be In had surprised on the yaig girl's face, to j answered with a divldeattention: in "And 1 have a messa? to give you. nil ? Walt outside on the arch for me, da , Frederick, till I exchan/ a word with ho our little friend here." yo Agnes, who had thru/something she in! , held Into a box that It beside her on a in t table, turned, with a Qjfused blush, to fa listen. Mr. Sutherland waid till Frederick Ir: I had stepped into ththall. Then he fo i drew Agnes to one se and remorse- oh lessly, persistently, raed her face to- ca j # 1 ward liTm tilT she was forced to meet bis benevolent but searching regard. "Do you* know." he whispered in what he endeavored to make a bantering tone, "how very few days It Is Blnce that unhappy boy yonder confessed bis love for a young lady whose name I cannot bring myself to utter In your presence?" The intent was kind, but the effect was unexpectedly cruel. With a droop nf her head and a hurried gasp which conveyed a mixture of entreaty and reproach Agnes drew back in a vague endeavor to hide her sudden uneasiness. He saw his mistake and let his bands drop. "Don't, my dear," he whispered. "I bad no idea it would hurt vou to hear this. You have always seemed indifferent hard even, toward my scapegrace son. And this was right for? for"? What could he say. bow express o*e-tentb of that with which his breast was laboring? He could uot. he dared not. so ended, as we have intimated, by a confused stammering. Agnes, who had never before seen this object nf her lifelong admiration under any serous emotion, felt an Impulse of remorse; as if she herself had been guilty of occasioning him embarrassment. Plucking up her courage. 3he wistfully eyed him. "Did you imagiue," she murmured, "that I needed any warning against Frederick, who has never honored me with his regard, as he has the young lady you cannot mention? I'm afraid you don't know me. Mr. Sutherlaud. notwithstanding 1 have sat on your knee aud sometimes plucked at your beard in my infantile insistence upon attention." "1 am afraid I don't know you," he answered. "1 feel that I know nobody now. not even my son." He bad hoped she would look up at this, but she did not "Will my little girl think me very curious and very Impertluent if 1 ask her tvhat my son Frederick was saying to ber when 1 came into the room?" She looked up now and with visible randor answered him immediately and o the point "Frederick is In trouble. Mr. Sutberand He has felt the need of a friend vbo could appreciate tins, and he uas isked uie to be that friend. Besides, le brought me a packet of letters vblcb be entreated me to keep for blm. [ took tbem. Mr. Sutberlund. and I vlll keep tbem. as be asked me to do. afe from everybody's inspection, even uy own." Ob. wby had be questioned ber? He lid not want to know of these letters; le did want to know that Frederick >ossessed anything which be was if raid to retain in bis own possession. "My son did wrong." said he. "to conIde anything to fouFcare which be did tot desire to retain In his own home feel that I ought to see these letters. 1 or If my son Is in trouble, as you say. . his father, ought to know It" "I am not sure about that." she mlled. "His trouble may be of a diferent nature from what you Imagine, i Frederick<has led a life that be regrets, j think bis chief source of suffering lies j n the fact that It Is so bard for him , o make others believe that be means | o do differently in the future." , "Does he mean to do differently?" j She flushed. "He says so. Mr. Suth- } dn r?/1 A n/1 I fnti Ann nonnAt hnln hrt levlng him. Don't you see that he be- 1 ins to look like another man?" j TO BE CONTINUED. '1 t Scraps of ^ocal history.; REMINISCENCES OF YORK. ? aluable Bits of Local History Pre- * served by a Septuagenarian. r. Maurice Moore In The Enquirer of 1870. * INTRODUCTION. g "Dear to my heart are the scenes of t iy childhood;" and amid the distrac- a ons of civil war, political strife, and t egro supremacy, I And incalculable t rto niir>rv 1 n or. dnrr Konlr In aorlv VAQra caoui c in gwmg uciV/i\ tv wa>i ij jvaio g >ent In York, in which district I was e )rn and lived the earliest and best r irt of my life; and though many years f ive rolled over my head since I found ^ home out of her bounds, the "old a amping ground" is very pleasant and s >odly still to me; and many localities, t .milies and anecdotes, belonging to d lem, which illustrate the first settleents and settlers of the district, are k st fading from the knowledge of the s ring, as a new generation arises; and t: ough of interest as landmarks to all t ho claim to be of York, will be buried a oblivion (as much belonging to her h story has already), if someone doeaJfl >t stoop and rescue the bits not t< igulphed entirely by the passp^e of n ne and string them togethp^ Shall g< Is be? w When I think of her demotion to Lib- p( ty in the Revolutiohf even her abo- (< jines?the Catawbas?true Whigs; e good and distinguished sons of her ir il?men claiming her ever lovingly g] id proudly as their mother, though ri ten far removed from her limits; and n 3tly the long list in the roll of Conierate dead, I am moved to step for- nr ml with the little remaining strength r| three-score-ten-(four) down Lethe, h far as I am able, and take upon my- k If, according to my mean ability, tbe ]3 sk of chronicling the past of York, y, [ do not intend to attempt a history b th precise dates and all things 0 order?such an undertaking belongs -j a younger son?rather a record of g, dividuals, manners, customs?remi- u scences of an old man who recalls the ,y when there was but one glazed use outside the county-town limits; r< ung ladies played on spinning wheels ir stead of pianos; many people believed ir witches, and corn-shuckings were w shionable instead of tournaments. k 5fork was mostly settled by Scotch- jj Ish from Pennsylvania, who first w und a resting place there from the s 3 country; but after a few years j me farther south for a permanent /I\ home, and gave to their new settlement the name of the one they had left in Pennsylvania. When the war of the revolution came, to the never-to-be-forgotten honor of the Scotch-Irish of York and Chester districts, South Carolina, be it said, they were as true as steel to the Whig principles which they early espoused. No "Bloody Scout" arose in their section, a Tory was a "rare bird," and an anathema marantha to his neighbors and relatives. On the soli of York, Houck was defeated and Ferguson killed. To Lacy, one of her sons, was given the honor of beginning the attack at King's Mountain. He and his men belonged to the good old stock. They fought with the tenacity of the old Covenanters, their forefathers, and marched and bivoucked with the gay spirits and good humored endurance of their Irish ancestry. Indeed, these settlers were a happy mixture of the canny Scotch care, with a spice of Irish spirits and good humored endurance? a Imnrnvsmpnt nn thp stprn fa naticiam of the one, and easy pliancy and want of thrift of the other. In religion they were Presbyterians to a unit?good conscientious men, "true and just in all their dealings;" always punctual attendants at the meeting house, looking up to their pastor with the faith?devotion, almost, of a Romanist to his Padre. Yet it was not a venial sin to get groggy at the court house salesday, or get so exhilarated at the polls election days, as to have several small fights; and at a wedding, the best of men would dance a jig, hornpipe or reel, and "come home with a drap too much in the e'e." THE CATAWBA INDIANS. The aborigines of York were the Catawbas, who, as late as the year 1760, numbered 3,000 warriors. They had all the characteristic bravery of the redmen of America, but were ever kindly dispositioned to the whites, and from the earliest settlements, dwelt in amity with them. Sad, indeed, is the contemplation of their present state. A miserable remnant hangs around the waters of the river that bears their name, though the fish, once their prey and sport, have nearly all left its broad stream. The woodman's axe has long since felled their broad hunting grounds, and the laborers' gee-haw to his plodding plough-horse, echoes through the hills that once resounded with the high hunting cry of the Catawba, to the bounding stag or fainting hind. The women engage in a rude pottery, making pans and pipes, which they exchange In the neighborhood for provisions and old clothes. The men, still too proud to work, live on in worthless dignity upon the poor pittance nalA Kir fVio ofoto fnr tholr hrnoil for tile lands. It Is 20 or 25 years ago since (with what aching hearts we may well imagine), they acceded to the proposition of the state to sell their lands to South Carolina, and they went to Haywood, North Carolina, to join the Cherokees, give up their individuality a.s a people, and be blotted out from among the nations; but North Carolina refused them a home, and they came back to the haunts of their forefathers, a living monument to the cupidity of the whites, which must excite the sympathy of every generous heart. Their numbers were reduced to less :han one-half, not long after the Revoution, by the smallpox. The tradi:lon that I heard in my boyhood was, :hat it was introduced through the avirice of some of the white men, to enible them to get more easy possession >f the rich lands of the Indians. Be :his as it may, the fatality of the disease among them was awful. The reatment of all diseases was the same vith the Indian doctors, and to each md all thev cave a corn-sweat. The node of administering this was to boll sars of corn, slip-shucked, take them iteaming out of the pot, and pack hem closely around the patient, and as ioon as it produced a profuse sweat, hey were taken up and thrown into he river, and it was more frequently l dead than a live body that was takn out of the water. Experience was 10 teacher to the Catawba physicianjj or I remember being told by an ey^ f ritness, a reliable man who> .^ed .mong them at the time, thaha(i ( een 25 a day, during the ny^alence of . he scourge, taken ou*/?f the river ^ ead. Hagler was the/*"06 their last :ing. I rememj^r being told, by the 1 ame indlvid**" referred to above, of he mode vSnls burial. The grave was c en feef^wide, ten deep, and ten long, nd 3d it, with his body, was put his s ^ridsome mounted rifle, a fine powder s ask, gold and silver moneys, pipes, )bacco, etc. In fact, the grave was early filled with valuables, the per- * jnal property of the dead king. There c as a guard of sixteen warriors apointed to keep watch over it a moon, >r four weeks) and some Virginia amblers, who had been present at the t iterment, got rum enough to make the t aard drunk, succeeded in doing so, and s lied the grave of all it contained of i ?al value. i u.-?n-iAv /Har? nhfMlacio Dno Qlstpr rp? i lained who had married General New- ( ver, and had an only child. Both i usband and wife died soon after the 1 ing, leaving their little daughter, Sal- i r. an orphan at the early age of 5 1 ears. This little princess was taken i y Thomas Spratt, the intimate friend i f her father, to his own home, reared 1 nd educated with the same advanta- t es given to his own daughters; and i nder his kindly, sheltering roof, know- i lg no pangs of lonely orphanage. c Sally Newriver, as the last of the J jyal family of the Catawba race, is an 1 iteresting personage. I remember see- t lg her once when a little boy. She i as then an old woman, and save the g een, piercing black eyes, had no vest- \ ;e remaining of the high beauty it g as said she possessed in her youth, t he remained with her foster-father, g "h^mas Spratt, till she attained her c Ith^year, when she went to her tribe i i _ and demanded her rights of royalty. Seated on a Jet-black pony, with six of the most attractive maidens of her people as attendants, she rode with grace and dignity of mein to the principal town, near King's Bottom. The Catawbas came out en masse to receive her, greeted her presence with loud acclamations of joy, gazed on her with pride and admiration, fitted up a new wigwam for her residence, gave her princely rents, paid every respect to her person and wishes, but never gave her the title of queen. In the Revolutionary struggle they had imbibed the prejudices of their white compeers to monarchy, and would not have a crowned head over them. Prom this time forth, Sally Newriver's home was with her nation, but frequent long visits did she make to the haunts of her girlhood, and the dead friend of her early orphanage. She never married, for the smallpox, which had been so dire a visitation to the Indians, had left her the sole scion of the royal stock, and she could not mate beneath her. Revered by the Indians, loved by the whites, she lived to a ripe old age, a right noble woman, meet representative of the royalty of the tribe, which sunk with her into the grave. Soon after the Revolutionary warperhaps two or three years?a white man named Adam Caruth, induced four of them to accompany him to England and make their appearance in the theatres as specimens of "live Injuns," promising, of course, part of the emoluments to the actors. They drew large houses, showing themselves in their paints, decked with feathers, armed with tomahawks and bows and arrows, shooting at a target to show their skill, dancing their war dancd, singing their green-corn songs, and showing off all their native accomplishments. This was an entirely new feature in London amusements, and they made a large amount of money. Traveling for some months through the British Isles, they returned to London, and there the contractor, Caruth, pocketed the earnings and returned to America, leaving tne uaiawDas aione and destitute in the vast city. Their case, after a little, came to the ears of some charitable and wealthy individuals, who gave them their passage home; but three days after they sailed, three of them, sea-sick, weary and disheartened, Jumped overboard, and drowned themselves. The only survivor, Peter Harris, got back safely, and long afterward told me the history of the voyage, the ill-fate of his companions, and vllllany and bad faith of Caruth. I have known but little of "the nation" for the last 20 years; but I can, up to that time, speak of their chief characteristics?and one, that of honesty, was so marked, that in these times of peculation in high places, I wish to hold up as an example to our officials, the poor savage, who would eat of fruit on a tree out of an enclosure, but never, even a peach or an apple, no matter how luscious to the eye, would they take, until after they had asked and obtained permission to do so. For years, the law among themselves was their own, and no white officer of justice thought of interfering among them. What was between themselves, was among themselves. It was in later times that a man named Sam Scott, killed a woman named Cantey, (both Catawbas). He ran away to the Cherokees, for fear of retribution, and remained some six or eight years, but he could not be satisfied and returned to y the Catawbas, fully armed, always on / his guard for fear of being killed, and X especially avoided liquor. For a year/ : he remained sober, but going to Coluro'^ ' bia with some others of his trlb&^"e lost his caution and got drunk.be" coming sober and finding ha^d been unharmed, he was muchj^?ved his fears, and after thaX"irned t0 "the nation," would now/^ then indulge; but the "avenge/1^ blood" was not sleeping, for 9X day? when Scott was lying drunl^y the roadside, a party' of seveiV^nd,ans came by, among them14> the daughter of the mil .Xred woman. She gathered a ytge rock and hurled It at his head, areaklng the skull. The ethers drew lim to one side of a wigwam, and there le breathed for several days, the Inllans feeling no sympathy for sufferngs they deemed merited, and admirng the spirit that Inspired the deed, he lied and was burled, and the whole natter was ended. I was told not many years since, by )ne who had preached to them himself, hat though the Catawbas all underitood the English language, and missionaries of all denominations had 'aithfully preached the Word among hem, not one, up to that time, had iver professed conversion and become ;onnected with a Christian church. [to b3 continued next saturday.] Dutch Turkeys.?The goose holds he same place in Germany that the u urkey does in this country. It Is the standard of luxury of the German peo)Ie and during nine months of the year s the principal dish at festive as well is everyday entertainments. Every Jerman village has its flocks of geese ind numbers are bred on farms, river mnks, ponds, and yet tne nome-grown jupply is short of the demand, which las to be filled by large importations, nainly from Russia. The season Is at ts height in October. The receipt of Russian geese in Berlin during this :ime, averages about 15,000 dally. A special goose train of 15 cars on ordilary days and 35 to 40 cars on Mon-. lays, brings the birds from the Russian frontier. The cars are especially milt for the service and each carries ibout 1,200 geese. On arrival a train . s immediately Inspected. The fat ,'eese are distributed to the dealers, vhile those not in condition, which are renerally in the majority, are sent to >e fattened at farms and feeding estab- t Ishments. The inspection is rigid. If J i single goose dies or is found with a ontagious disease, the whole carload ^^Bl s placed in quarantine for eight days.