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! ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 31, 1877. VOLUME XXIV.--NO. 34. ^____ i 1 C " One More Mouth to Feed." Ay, " One moro mouth to food !" fulls on tho air? From bearded lips, this cry of deep despair. But hsrk! Embalmed upon the sacred pages, 1 A Voice rings out through all the pausing ages : "Go, multiply, replenish; the earth is mine; I give the heritage to thee aud thine." Ay, " One more mouth to food!" in feeble tone Is echoed back?a woman's bitter moan. And yet from Palestine the words are ringing, "In pain and sorrow life hath its beginning: But when the hour is passed," proclaims the Voice, "A man is born, the woman shall rejoice." Ay, "One more mouth to feed !" Ah. toll me why, Why rises up toward heaven this bitter cry'! Shall triumph greet the babe tbat needs must perish, Whose feeble life there is no food to cherish'( N Man's royal heritage sincc time began Is wrestled from him by the wrath of man. <- Not " One more mouth to feed !" rang out that i morn When heavenly hosts proclaimed: "The Child is boru!" " The Child is born !" Yet who the Voice is heeding, In stem command and now in anguish pleading: . "My poor! my poor !" The tones ring loud and free: *Lo ! what ye do to these, yo do to Me." .Esther Chillingworth's Ring. A TALE OF SALEM WITCHCRAFT. Such a queer old ring ! I picked it out of tlie old lacquered cabinet, where . Auut Lncinda'a odds and ends of family ? relics?memento moris, antique trinkets, and souvenirs of the past ; her past, that seemed so very, very old; fcr she was my mother's aunt, not mine?were stowed away in rows of tiny drawers, packed in soft jeweler's cotton, and smelling sweet j and strong of Tonka beans. It was a ring of old yellow gold, curiously dressed with the jacinth cut crescentwise, and set in tiny seed pearls; aud the jewels and setting, as in many old rings, opened at the. coaxing of a fiuger, and showed a wee space for hair?whose? I asked Aunt Lucinda, Init she was hurrying to : shut up the cabinet, ami only said ; II Y> :_i i.~ *?11 ?, u ,\, ULie IM iru juu utMJiu h hi (UV jr^orning, child," for it was late, and she wanted to send me oft* to bed. " Can't I keep this, just to wear while I'm here?it's so pretty?and I'll take j Buch good care of it, auntie ?" " Well, put it on," said Aunt Luanda;. " and then run away,'for it's past eleven o'clock. To think of you keeping me up talking until tlii^Jatc hour!" .r _So.I went away to bed, slipping the, narrow band of fretted, carven, crusted 1 gold over my first finger, and watching the rich, warm flake of light in the heart of the jacinth?like a drop of clear honey. I slept alone at Auut Lucinda's, in a queer old room, with an open fireplace and brass andirons, and with a great, high posted bed, dark with flowered , 1-:-.. ?.wi ??,i n\,nnat . tiuiu:uo, umi ct auu uuu\?o?, i inaccessible, mountain of feathers, into ; which I usually lpaped with the aid of a ohair, when I had blown the candle out. , I always went to sleep drowsily sjieculat ing upon the ancestral personage who had reposed in this old ark of a bed, under that ancient red silk quilt; and wondering if any of their forgotten dreams lurk0 ' ed round those flowered curtains, to j creep into my brain when sleep sets its j gates ajar. I did not dream, that night, at any rate; I am sure of it, for I had not, slept ten minutes by the old alabaster j clock on the mantelpiece, when I was ; awakened by, the pressure of a hand. It was not Aunt Lucinda's hand; even 1 in sleep I knew the difference of the touch. They were young Augers that slid coldly over mine?soft, round tips, that left a damp chill upon mv flesh where they crept along. As my senses 1 awoke gradually, I felt these fingers working at the ring on my left hand, and Tfelt a cold breath on my forehead, like a puff of night air. I tried to strike away the hand, but it fastened clingingly on mine, and a moaning voice said, passionately, and yet piteously, like a hurt .chikl: mr; u Let me have it?let me have it!" "Who are you? Where are you >. \ What is it ?" I gasped, struggling to sit > upright in the deep trough of the feather ,/bed. " Aunt Lucinda !" The dark, still folds of the curtains wavered and moved, the streak of light between them widened, and then tlicy were poshed quite apart. Then T saw the mpon shining on the floor, and the fire'dying on the kearth between the. brass and. irons, and a figure standing by the bed?standing right in the arch made by the parted curtains. It was a woman, and I saw her just as : plainly as I see at this moment the words written by the pen in my hand. I could j tell you every item of the dress she wore, even to the edging of lace on the tight sleeves that reached her elbows, and the little blue damask figure on her gray gown. Her face was very pale and! quiet, and there was no light in her eyes; they were heavy aud dark, and the lids , ' were reddened as if with crying and waking; but she was beautiful for all that?beautiful as some old, dim picture with a story in it. There she stood, with . her face and neck gleaming dull-white, like old marble, above the gray gowr., and one lock of her black hair twiV?d round her throat, like a soft neck'a"e, and her little damp, cold hand lying on j mine, and her lips moved yet, as if she ; were saying over again : . i "Let me have it!" _44 Who are you ?" I cried, trembling and hardly breathing. 44 What do you want 44 Mv rinar?mine and Roarer's. No other woman can wear my ring, -Look ! don't you see the blood on it ?" Aunt Lucinda's ring ! There "vras no stain on it when she took it out of the old casket; but I saw it now in the moonlight?a dash of ugly red among the : 1 crusted carvings. I tore it off my finger. and flung it away as if it were a coal of.; ?v.fire. - . T.Yl I " "Who are you ?" I cried once more. ! And the answer came softly and slow, like a sigh : 4i Esther Chillingworth." I stared up at her breathlessly. "Look at me," she murmured " This is the fooe that Roger Vane loved nigh i two hundred years ago; this is the hand that wore his ring?that sent it back to him from Salem jail when he cared no | longer to remember how he slipped it on with kisses. They say I was Tery fair to ; r tee in thoee days. Look at me. * Am I eomelynow ?" - I She swept back her long hair from her face, but without displacing the lock that curled like a snake arouiul her throat; and thou, as I looked at her, she broke into a low wailing cry : " I had the fairest face in Salem?old Chillingworth's daughter. ' The grass withereth, the flower fadeth.' The parson used to tell me it was a vaiu show, and I laughed him to scorn. For in the woods beyond Salem, when I was picking Mav flowers, and rustling aside the brown leaves to find their piuk aud white clustered stars I met Roger Vane, and he told me a sweeter tale than the preacher knew. And I let him kiss my mouth, for he called it ' most sweet?yea, altogether lovely'?sweeter than the breath of May flowers. Oh, the Salem woods ! 01?, my love, Roger, Roger !" Her wail swept by like a gust of chilling wind, and the folds of the curtains stirred and trembled with it; but she never stirred?not even a hair of her head was shaken as she stood there. " He was brave, and young, and hand ?i i._ _-3:?e T> BUUie, UIIU lie Ullllie HUlIl^ m num ton, and rcxle clown the 6treet of Salem that spring day, the goodliest day I ever saw. In old England, or in the new, bleak country, there were none to compare with him, in my eyes; and so I loved him. And he stayed in Salem, and I saw him day after day; and none knew it lit first, for we strayed far away in those green woods that were jnst putting on their leaves, and looked for May flowers, and, Inter on, for the bine violets that crept np through the rustling dead foliage of last year. And at last he came to my father's house; but Abel Chillingworth was old and stern, and J feared him, and I had no mother; and so we kept our secret?Roger and I. I feared nothing, asked nothing, in my t-rxT'/i. T nnn r?f rllLV firv ivyitiy J. lUHUiWi bUV VVtjJ/ V* V...J .~<r , and was content with its full draught of joy, and never dreamed, with summer aud the roses round me, of winter and decay, and dust and ashes, until one day came when we met in the Salem woods to part. " ' No tears, my little Mayflower,' Roger Vane said, softly, as lie held me within his strong, kindly arms. ' I have never seen the drops in those sweet eyes of thine before, and I would not have mv last sight of them so marred. It is only for a little space, sweetheart. I shail come back to steal away my little Puritan maiden before the lirst leaf has turned red by her father's door.' " ' Why?why will yon go, Roger ?' 1 cried, as 1 clung round him; and I asked it only to hear over again what I knew before quite well; how Gov. Wintlirop, whose blood relation he was, had sent him here, and now recalled him, 011 business of the commonwealth, and now he must obey; leaving me only for a little while?' a very little while,' I made him whisper over and over, with my arms about his neck. And then he pulled from his finger that ring, with its dark yellow stone and the little bright pearls, and slipped it over mine. "'See,'he said, 'you shall wear this as my pledge of love and loyalty; there is a lock of my own hair under the stone, and you shall give me one of those precious dark locks to keep and kiss when we are parted; and in two little months I vow to exchange our love gifts back again, here in this very wood, my sweetest. " He took the Jock ot nair tnat curieu by my forehead, and I took his ring, and liis own kiss sealed it on my finger. So we turned away from each other, and started on the'long paths that led our lives apart, and never drew them together again ?never any more ! Roger Vane rode back into Boston town, and I stole sadly to my father's house, to mourn and wait for him, with his ring hung round my neck, low down, by my heart. 41 The summer crept on, and the hot days shortened their fierce fires, and the August haze was in the sky ; the golden rod shook out its plumes all along the drv, dusty road, and the ragged white thistledown blew here and there. I watched for the first change along the dark borders of the woods?for the red leaves, and for Roger ; but, one morning, I woke up and saw the white frost glittering on some blackened, drooping vines around my window, and a broad splash of scarlet, like blood, dashed across the maple trees, and no lover came riding down the road, or straying through the Salem wooil to linil me. 44 Never, never, more ! I luul the last kiss on my lips forever, for none touched tliem after Roger Vane. The leaves turned crimson, and golden, and russet brown, and withered and dropped from the bare trees ; the dark November days glowed over the land, anil my lover never came. No word had I from him?no sign ; I knew not if he we*e among the living or dead, until Gideon Giles, coming home in the early winter from a week's journey to Boston, told me, as he sat in the elbow chair by our hearth, that he had seen gay young Roger Vane. 4 You rememb?r him, Mistress Esther? A well favored youth, but sometimes light minded ; and yet I saw him among goodly company, coming out of the South church after meeting, and with a fair young lady on his arm. He had no eyes for any of the worshipers but her. and I got no speccli with him, else I might have brought back a kindly 7uessage for his friends in Salem, and for you, Mistress Esther.' 44 He looked at me with a keen, cruel glance, and I remember how once lie had crossed our path as we loitered in the woods, Roger and I. If lie searched for any telltale sign hi my face, it was in vain. 44 So I knew that Roger Vane was living and had forgotten me. I could have borne his death, I could not bear his scorn. The bitterness of hades crept into my soul, and ^ taught me hatred of a.u nmuKijiu. i snranK away from tiie sight of human faces, and in gloom and solitude ate my own heart away, with brooding upon its despair. Oh, my vain beauty !?Oh, cruel dowry that brought my fall ! Two soft months of early summer, against the long, dreary winter's cold?the wffrmth of kisses in green, glancing woods, and the ice walls of Saiein jail?the crowd on Witch's hill, the strangling rope, the darkness of the death struggle, and the trackless abysses of eternity?these things my fair face brought me?me, old ChiUingworth's proud daughter !" What a cry she gave! In the dead silence of the night it clove sharp and shuddering, and seemed to freeze my senses within me?turn me cold and dumb with fear. The ghost girl wrung her white harfcls, and flung them high above her head, and her shadowy figure B-a-nvfvl and waved in the arch between the curtains, as the woe almost two centuries old shook her with the strength of yesterday. "I had no fear of God or man," murmured on the voice again; " and my mouth was full of bitter words, and I defied both in my heart and on my hps. In the glass I saw my beauty withering away, as if ten years had sped Hince ... ^ ^ Roger and I picked the earlier flowers to- I gether; aiid yet the May flowers l)loomed only once since then. I wandered out I to And them, one April day, in the old place where he and I had walked; and, j as I swept away the heaped brown leaves, I cried aloud to the merciless powers above me?to God or Satan, to j whom I would have sold my soul that hour, only to have Roger back again beside me. And there was one in the wood that day who heard me. " The land' was all astir with cries of [ witchcraft, and Parson Mather was at his bloody work, in the name of God. On , the long low hill beyond Salem village stood'the gibbets, where old Mistress Nurse had suffered, and Goodwife Corey, and the old and frail, and the strong, young limbs had swing against the sky ' j for pitiless mobs to gibe at. There were I cruel tongues in Salem that whispered . against me, and brought me before the judges?me, Esther Chillingworth, nine teen years oia in mat wrote neu Apru? whom Roger Vane had loved ! There were those who swore to bitter threats that I made, and to strange mutterings : and waitings heard when I was alone, ! and prayers aud cries that hod another name in them than God's; and it was | said that I stole out in the forest to meet: . my fonl master, and worthy Goodman j ! Giles had heard me call him to my side, j . as he strayed through the trees near me. : And a child whom I had pushed from my ' i way, a9 I walked down Salem street, had . I fallen ill, and cried, in its strange fits, ! that Esther Chillingworth tormented 1 | him; and my old father's honor and his j gray hairs could not save me, nor my youth and my poor, fading beauty. They (Iragged me from his house and cast me into Salem jail; they locked the heavy : door, and drew the creaking bolts fast, and left me crouched under the grated j , window io stare up, in my blind anguish, i at the glimpse of tender sky, that had 110 | pity for me?none. God, like Roger, had forgotten me. " Tlien came the crowded courtroom, day after day; the solemn, unflinching I face of the gray, old judge; the hot, i stifling air, and the sunshine through the ! ' glaring row of windows, and the jeering, 1 cruel women and merciless men; the j writhing children, who, in their lying fits. r>laved like devil's babies with my life, ami flung it away; the screams and ; curses lifted up against me; tlie slow, cold voices of the wise old men who were giving me to death for an old wife's tale; : j and then the dark walls of the jail?the . i damp, the icy chill, the silence, and the i i death ill life. So, day after day, I came ; and went, and asked no mercy at their i hands. ; | " There was one face in the crowd that hiul a pitying look for me, though it was only a young lad's?vouug Martin I Brown's) whom I had counted a child only a year ago, but who had grown of j late to look with a man's eyes at me. I 1 saw the hot rage and bitter tears on his face as he stood with the crowd in the ! courtroom, and listened and could not speak to me; and one night?a wild, , rainy night?he stole under the window of the jail, where I was pressing against the grated bare, and whispered my : : name. " ' Esther ! Esther J do you hear me ?' [ he said, softly. ' Esther, will you answer ! me V' " And I spoke, and the poor lad pour- j ed out a passion of grief, and pity, and j anger, with the muttering of the wind : ' and rain. " ' They say there is no hope, Esther,' i he sobbed up to me in the (lark. 4 Oh, i if I could but save you?you, so inno-1 cent! Oh, God ! what can I do against | all this cruel persecution ? You are no ! witch, Esther ! You are purer than anv ! : 1 ?li t SH9UI UI llll^IU nil, tiuu x uiuac ouuui ?>j ou ; ' helpless and see you clio for their wicked sport!' " ' Martin,' I whispered to hira, cliug- : ing to the bars, ' if you cannot save me, : will you do for me what you can ?' " ' Die for you, if I may, Esther,' he cried, with a boy's own eagerness. And I readied up and put my hand through the window bars, out to meet him. " 4 Will you carry a message for me to , one in Boston, Martin ? I have none but yon that I may trust to bear it, and my j father knows not. Martin, will you find ! Roger Vane for me ?' "I listened and held my breath till j he answered. Then I heard him say, j softly: , " ' I will, Esther.' "?i.Carry this to him,' I said; and, as I j felt his warm young hand, wet with rniu, i touch mine, I slipped the love gift into j his palm. ' Take it to Roger Vane, and 1 tell liim that Esther Chillingworth lies ! in the jail in Salem village, charged with ! witchcraft, and that she sends him back j his token?no more than that, Martin. Go, for the pity of God ! Hurry, and 1 take no rest till you find him, or it will be too late?too late for me !' " T ft>lf flip hnv'n lir?? kins inv liainl. and his young, clear voice came up again, with a tremble in it: " ' Aye, Esther, that I will. My fath- j er's mare is in the stable, and, this very j hour, I will start, and take 110 rest till I i ! find Roger Vane, and put your ring iu i ! Ids hand, God helping me.' : " God bless you, Martin!" I whispered j to him, as he went; and, having blessed a human creature for the first time in this bitter year, it seemed as if peace stole into my heart, and tender tears into my eyes, mid half the weight rolled away | from my wretched bosom as I knelt on . the cold, bare floor. I counted two days . by, and I went for the last time from the j jail to the crowded courtroom. On the ; day when I looked for Martin back again, j ; they told me that I was to die. And, 1 while the voices clamored all around me for my innocent blood, and from beyond the windows the shrill cries rung in, I cursed them as I stood there?all, gray old judges and young children?and cast my murder upon their heads forever more. I- lay by the grated window all the rest of the long, slow afternoon, all through the open twilight, and waited for Martin. My blood was hot with fever, and there was madness in my brain. I almost believed, as I crouched there, that all these ?.ni.A fvno oiwl fllttf /li.tnln 1 HI 11 pvr?"nf into every pulso that bent in my hot head, ami whispered in my ear as I clenched my hands over it. At last I heard my name called in a voice that was human, and yet was kind?a pitiful voice sounding under my grating: ' Esther ! Esther !' I sprang np and answered him. I pressed my face to the bars, and, in the growing starlight, I saw him standing there?Martin all alone. I conld only speak his name, and all other sounds died in my dry, parched throat. : " ' I have done yonr errand, Esther.' " ' You have seen?you have seen Roger Yane ?' " ' I liaye seen him. " ' And the ring ?' I gasp|d out.' " He seemed to hang his head lower and lower, as if he feared to meet my : eyes. " 'X put it into his hand, Esther, as you bade me.' " ' And he said?what did he say ? Are you dumb, Martin Brown ?' I cried, stamping my foot wildly. ' Why cannot you answer me ?' "'Because ? because I shall break j your heart,' the boy cried out, breaking ! into tears. ' Estlnr, he will not come to I you?he is cruel and false, and deserves not flie sigh that you have spent for linn! He is to be married to-morrow; he cannot break away from his bride at Gov. Winthrop's grand house to keep a tryst at Salem jail!' " That was all I heard. The place j wliirled round and round with me, and the roar of groat waters was in my ears as I fell 011 the stone floor, senseless while yet alive. But that was the bitterness of death ; what cared I for the rest ? To-morrow came, and the April sunshine glinted fair over the earth, and shone on the bride in the streets of Boston town, and 011 the witch girl climbing the cursed hill to die. I heard the ' shouts and jeers aud hootings of the rabble riving the tender spring air, and I saw, as one in a dream, the sea of hateful faces upturned to me, and the black gallows drawn against the sweet, blue, ! T foH I1\q Vinnrrmori'a n 11X1XI Y OXV y y UilVl X itil tliv uuugutivu ? | hand's touch me nnd turn cold the blood in my veins, find I flung out my List; breath in a curse that should cling?that has clung?to all women born of that j woman, down through unnumbered generations?down to you, who trace your i lineage through Mabel Daniells and Roger Vane ! In that curse my soul wavered and fluttered out?sprung free, ! and left, swinging between the black earth and the sky, on Witch's hill, the ! fair form that crept close into a lover's arms in the green wood long ago !" She stood over me?this ghost of Esther Chillingwortli?and tore the coil of dark hair away from her neck ; and, in the faint, misty moonlight, I saw a dreadful circling mark around the fair, \ white throat. My blood curdled with the 1 horror of it ;.'and I hid my eyes, cowe*-! ing away in the pillow as she hung over me with a long, moaning sob, like the j last breath of the dying. I think that j terror made me insensible as I lay there; 1 I heard no more, nor saw my strange; visitant vanish with the glimpse of the ' moon ; but when I opened my eyes ; again, the room was light with llawn, i and I was quite alone, with nothing more ghostly than a dull old family por-, trait, to watch me between the parted curtains. " A dream," I thought, shuddering, as I rubbed my hands across my eyes. Esther Chillingwortli'a ring was gone f & Li T .1.? ?i- i-1. ^ ? iroin my imger. x uuu b ruu<\? wic i-.vact story of it," .said Aunt Lucinda, at, breakfast. " Tlie legend goes that it belonged to a sweetheart of our ancestor, Roger Vane; who was hung for witch- j craft?the girl, I mean, not Roger Vane j ?in the Salem excitement of 1G(>3. That was what my grandmother used to tell me. She never wore the ring, for she j said it was unlucky. By-the-way, you ' havn't got it on, have you ? I don't see i it on your finger." " Auntie," I said, solemnly, with my eyes as round as the saucer before me, j " it was taken away from me lost night." " Taken away ! Nonsense," said Aunt Lucinda. " What are you talking about, child r So I told her. " Tut, tut!" said my j aunt, derisively; "you've had the nightmare ! The ring has slipped off your , finger in bed, it was a size too loose for ; you. Susan will find it when she is do ing up your room, I'll engage !" And so she did, but my faith was in ! nowise shaken, nor could any skeptical j arguments destroy my firm belief in the ghost of Esther Chillingworth. And to this day Aunt Lucinda admits that " it: was an odd coincidence about the names, i that's certain." Thoughts for Saturday Night. The true man is the happy man. There will be ever a place for virtue. | Character is a perfectly educated will. [ Time's chariot wheels make their road i in fairest faces. Iii the commerce of speech use only I coin of gold and silver. The greatest truths nre the simplest; i so are the greatest men. Born, lived and died, sum up the great' epitome of man. One must do more when one is old than when one is young. Love is the ladder on which we climb to the likeness of God. They who have light in themselves will not revolve as satellites. Home gooil, loving, self-sacrificing! deed -will transform the homeliest face j into beauty and sanctity. A little management may often evade : resistance, which a vast force might' vainly strive to overcome. Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright; and shy. If we try to grasp it, it still i eludes us and still glitters. They who do speak ill of themselves 1 do so mostly as the surest way of prov- j ing how modest and candid they nre. j Things right in themselves are more ; likely to be hindered than advanced by ! an injudicious zeal for promoting them. | "No One Man Can Stealer All." | . Chinamen evidently believe in the j cynical mea mat virtue in wuwuu mm i honesty in man do not exist as a prinei- j pie. Their loose morality and distrust- j fill natures are evidences of this belief. An attorney of San Francisco had a j claim of 200 against a large Chinese j mercantile house on Clay street. They I acknowledged the note and seemed anxious to pay it; but, on being told to call 1 from day to day, the attorney's faith be- j came somewhat shaken in Chinese hon- ; esty. On every occasion he noticed that< messengers were dispatched, each bring- j ing a man, until five or six were assem-1 bled, somewhat resembling a backroom | caucus where campaign slates are manu-: factored. In answer to an inquiry, the attorney was told that the firm consisted of seven members; there were seven; locks on ' 'ie safe, each lock opened with ; a differe key, and that each of the I seven members of the firm hail a key. The safe c^vild not be opened unless the j seven members with their seven keys . were present; and it was about ai dim- j cult to got those seven Chinamen tog--tiler at one time as it was to get a meeting j of the Lick trustees. This vigilance over each other was to prevent any mem- i ber of the firm from stealing the com-1 pany's funds and going to the springs, or j as one of them plainly put it: "No one | man can stealee all." Why Not.?" Why should not boys be j taught to cook as well as girls ? A hus- j band who understands how to bake, I broil, stew and boil is a real treasure in a \ household, however accomplished his j better half may be in the same direc-1 :tion." Why not make him baby tender | also ? Let his development in house- j hold education be complete and svm- | metrical. I L .. j THE ASHTABULA DISASTEB. Story of a Lady Pasncnger. Miss M. Shepard, of Ripon, Wis., one of tlie survivors of the Ashtabula disaster, gives the following account of her experience to the Chicago Tribune: I left Albany about two o'clock, and had a berth in the sleeping "Palatine." Tliore were twenty passengers on the cars; two ladies when we started and two more afterward A very severe snowstorm set in at Rochester, and we all expected to be snowed in. At Ashtabula bridge we were three orAmr hours behind ; this was between eight and nine in the evening. I think we were run uing faster tnan we aid a iew moments previously. The people in the cur were talking, eating or playing cardB, and the first warning of any impending danger was given us by ft candle being knocked down, the glass in the lumps being shattered and the bellrope breaking. The other lights fell, there was a bump, then ft horrible crash. A gentleman near me said : " Oh ! my God, we're going down." Then we commenced to fall, and we went down, down, down, down. Some remained in their seats, grasping them, while others rose. It was quite dark now. I stood up jn the center of the aisle, holding on to the seat, and thinking I would be less liable to be injured by the breaking glass and the splinters on the side of the car. As we went down everything was as silent as the grave, but when we had struck a terrible sliriek arose from the -wreck. There was another crash at the same time, but not so loud as the first. "When we went down, splinters, glass, etc.,were whirling around in the cur, the berths Mjta:e slipping down, and there was general confusion. Something fell on me, but it was nothing very heavy. Some gentleman also fell over me, but recovered himself a moment afterward. I could not tell who it was as it was dark. Some man said the car would be on fire in a minute, and we must hurry out. Another said : " The water is coming in, and we will be drowned." On my way out a perfectly uninjured man grabbed me as I groped my way along on hands and knees, and said: "Oh, help me; don't leave me; save me," and. ever so many such things as that, but L couldn t see his face. A woman wanted me to help her husband, who was jammed in between the floor and a berth. I tried to get him out, but could not. Some men called out and said they would come and help him. Then I went to the door, walking over the furnace in my course. There was no lire caught in our car. How to get out alive I could not imagine. The cars around me were either ablaze or covered with such masses of rubbish as to almost completely hem me in. But I saw a man climbing up the rubbish, an<l I followed liim. I got on the side of the car, which had turned over, and crawled along on it. It seemed to be lilled with people, jammed together, screaming and crying for help. There was another man behind me, and both tried to help me along, but it was too slippery, and I found I could do better crawling along by myself. "When we got to the end of the car these men?Mr. Tyler of St. Louis and Mr. White of Chicago?helped me down. When I got down J found myself in the water, snow and ice up to my kneed. Mr. Tyler was bleeding about the head, face and hands, with a dreadful pasli over his eye. Mr. Whit*' was unhurt, and he told me it was his eighth railroad accident. Under the corner there was a man whose head lay lower than the rest of liis body, and his limbs were all crushed by the car. He asked us to help him, and we did so as best we could, until others came and carried him away, suffering intensely. I do not know who he was. All this time the Ashtabula fire bells and the bell of the engine that had passed over were ringing furiously. The blinding snow fell arouncl us, illuminated by the light of the fire which had attacked the wreck. The bunks looked as high as those near Niagara at first. Tlie bridge had broken off short at each end, leaving nothing but the abutments. . By this time there were plenty of men aronnd to help us, but there was a perfect panic, very few having any presence of mind at all. Many who could have saved themselves as well as not liad to be dragged out of the cars, or they would have been burned to death. The women really showed the most courage, and yet there were few of them saved. We were helped up the hill to tlio engine house, pushing through the snow and ice, and clambering up the steep, nigged banks of the creek. The injured were brought in, some of them horribly mangled, but very few of them unable to speak. There were three ladies there?a Mrs. Graham, of New York, Mrs. Bingham, of Chicago, another lady and myself. My cscape was most remarkable, my only injury being no more tlian a scratch upon my wrist. Mrs. Graham was only slightly injured. Mrs. Bingham had her left leg and spine hurt, aud the other lady, whose name I don't know, was also terribly injured. "Rnf/-\vo u?a lm/1 tvr\f. nn fliA ln'll Hip whole traiu was on fire; wo heard the slirieka of the wounded and dyinsr, and the whole scene was as bright as day. Men were working as hard as they could to help the sufferers out of their fiery prison. A physician came in about half an hour, and we took 'buses and went to the village. We were drenched through and through, and our clothes froze to us. A SAD INCIDENT. The centennial closed upon Springfield, Ohio, Bays a letter from that place, with darkness, gloom and sadness, caused by the loss in the Ashtabula horror of the worthy principal of the high schools, Professor Henry G. Rogers, and his lovely young wife. They were married under the most happy auspices Tuesday, and, after visiting Buffalo and Niagara Falls, were to return. here on .Friday, only to be swallowed up in a horrible, fiery dentil, with nothing left to tell the story. The young people were expected home on Saturday, and preparations w.\re made for a grand reception. When news of the ac-ident was first received fears were at oncu excited that Mr. Rogers might have token that tn-.in, and a telegram was sent to the proprietor of the hotel at Niagara at which they stopped, l ?-l 111. 4-1.^ WI11CI1 WlltJ I'l'SjiOHUKU u; niuu wic II-JJU that the party had left there taking the Pacific express at Buffalo, the ill fated train. . There was the most intense anxiety among all classes upon the subject, and any scrap of information was eagerly sought after. At a special session of the school board appropriate resolutions were adopted. Tno occurrence cast a dee] > gloom over the whole city and in the main put an end to the usual festivities of the day. Among the resolves for the new year, resolve that if you write anything for the newspapers you will close when you have said what you have to eay. THE LAST OF THE TRIBE. I ! i i I . How tUc Miiinnecock Indian* or Long Island linve Died Out?Tbc Rest of their Young 1 j iUcn Lost by the Circassian'* Wreck. | By the wreck of tlie Circassian, a tribe : of Indians whose history is a strange one j is practically obliterated Ten stalwart i young men of the Sliinnecock tribe, which j( i before the disaster numbered 187 souls, 1 lost their lives on that night, and the vil- ( lage is now desolate indeed, being bereft 1 of its most active and energetic workers. 1 The history of the Long Island Indians I is one of peculiar interest. 1 j At the time of the European discovery ; I of Long Island there were twelve distinct i. , tribes of Indians inhabiting it. On the j 1 north shore of the island, numbering ! i t? x *. j.1 , ? i I HULU WCOt IJ t'UUl', U1C1C WC1C I/IXC? jUUiui" ! ecock, Nissequag, Setalcott and Corcliang \ I tribes. On the south side, in the same j j order, the were the Canarsee, Rockaway, ;! j Merric, Marsapeague, Secatogue, Patch- j ! ogue, Shinnecock and Montank tribes, i1 I Tliis latter tribe liad subdued all those i1 east of Canarsee, and one of its chiefs, 1 Wyandank by name, was the grand j sachem of Long Island. This confeder- \ I ation was, however, itself under .tribute j ( to the more powerful Peqnot nation of j ' eastern Connecticut, the Canarsee tribe | ! being under tribute to the Mohawk na- ; tion, and obliged to pay an annual assess- j ment of wampum and dried clams. Re- i fusing to do tliis on one occasion, they i i were wiped from existence by the Mo- j ! hawks. It may have been this affair ( which induced the other tribes of the , , island to appeal to the white man for pro- i I tection ; in 1664, however, the chiefs of j | all the Eastern tribes placed themselves i under the control of the commissioners ; i of the colonies of New England for coun- j i sel and protection. It is probable that i i the ravages of a terrible disease in 1656, I which destroyed nearly two-thirds of the i Indians of Loug Island, was the cause of ! ! this movement. These Indians had, how- j | ever, from the very first, been on friendly J j terms with the whites, which is attributed | j by the several writers of histories of : ! Long Island to tlie kind and just course ; I invariably pursued toward them by tlie ] Europeans. Tliey were very little interj fered with by the whites, the Duke's law, [ | made in 1665, which prohibited the pa ft'-! ' paw, a form of worship to the devil, \ j being the only interference recorded in , j early history of their dealing with tlie i ; white men. Civilization among them ; ; was thus made a comparatively easy mat-; ter, and from the first, tlie tribes at the , ! eastern end of the island exhibited in-; j dustrious liabits, noue more so than this : 1 poor tribe, tlie Shinnecocks, who innabitj ed the barren hills anil adjacent country j in what is now the township of Southj amptou, Suffolk county. On the sixteenth of* August, 1703, the ' people of Southampton purchased of this i {tribe the land they occupied, and gave \ j them a thousand years' lease of what was i called Shinnecock tract, and which in- i ; eluded the hills, with the neck of land | j adjoining 011 the southeast. By the terms j of this lease they were "allowed the j ; privilege of plowing, planting and cut- j ting timber for fencing and fuel; also to , I cut flags, bulrushes, and such grasses as j i they use in making mats and houses."! ; The township reserved to itself meadows, j marshes, grass, herbage, feeding pastur! age, timber, stone and convenient high-; I ways. That the poor Shinneeock tribe ; improved itself, even under these disad- , ! vantages, is proved by their subsequent i history and by the rising up among them i i of men endowed with no interior 'talents. ; i Somewhere about 1750 Eev. Peter John, I ! a native of the tribe, went forth to labor J among his Indian brethren, and suc| ceeded in establishing churches at Wadj ing river, Poosepatuck and Islip. Peter ' John was follovod in 1790 by the famous i Paul Cuffee, also a fcikinnecock. | After one hundred and fifty years of j living under the embarrassing terms of this leroe the Shinneeocks sought for I better terms, and on March 15, 1859, , i there was a change made in the lease, i ! and they were given the absolute owneri ship of that portion of Shinnecock neck j ; which lies on the southeast boundary of j the hills. I The last census put their number at j i ! 187 men, women and children, the proportions being about the same as with ! i white people. Five children in each 1 family is the average. The majority are ; 1 partly African; but one family is pure ; , Indian, tliat of John Walker, who per- i : ished in the wreck. ?He left a wife and eight children. His father was a Slxinue| cocd and liiB mother a Montauk. His , wife is pure Indian. The men are mainly employed in fish- j ing and whaling, a few hiring as farm j Immlu Tim ffrrmpr iuv> rmtnrl n.s ! lent cooks, .oinl furnish most of the (lo- ! . inostic service of that region. The tribal; organization is very simple. They are 1 | governed by three trustees, who are elected annually at the "regular township j meetings, The three last elected trusti ees, including John Walker, weae lost in ' the wreck. The home lots and farms i vary faom a small garden to twenty-fivo ! acres. Their allotment rests entirely with i the trustees, who may, at any time, increase or decrease the amount of laud in j the possession of any person. ; The lease9 not being perpetual, when i , a Shinnecock dies all the improvements ; ; in the shape of cultivation, clearing, | fencing and buililing revert to the tribe, and the trustees may reallot them to per| sons who are utter strangers to the dead man. Moreover, an Indian cannot lease or sub-let the land alloted to him. These , facts have had a very depressing influence upon the attempts of the aborigines to i cultivate the reservation, and have driven ; them to settle outside. Numbers of them j are now scattered all over the United States. They have at their Long Island home two "ordinary district schools and two churches. One of the latter is Con! gregational and the other is of the Sec' oiul Advent denomination. The singular organization of the Long Island Indians seems to have been effected with but little help from the whites. The Montauks on the end of tim iclnml vnfnin flioir n!il tribal svsteiu intact, but only twelve of them remain, mill one of these is King Pharaoh. He holds as a perquisite the right of pasturage on the Montauk hills, and persons :, wishing to pasture have to " see" the king. When Pliaraoh's father died, ton or twelve years ago, the uncle of the pres1 ent king succeeded to "the throne, hut Pharaoh, made courageous and vicious i by whisky, gathered hi-! familiars and so ( terrified his uncle by threats that the i latter resigned, and "Pharach reigned i in his stead." These Montauks were j always known as a warlike tribe, but they were crippled and most of them slain in . 1770 by the Peqnot* of Connecticut, ' i against whom they were marching, and i 1 ?>kn *Viam fn <1o<trm?fuin hv ?in ' ambuscade. An attempt was made about five years ' . ago by the Oneida Indians of New York 11 to institute intermarriage between their i : tribe and the Shinnecocks. A depuia- < i tion of Oneidas came to Long Island, ] bringing with them some specimens of ! their young women. But the big Indians of Long Island turned up their noses at these damsels, and they departed. Until about thirty years ago this tribe used the aucient thatched lodges. The last of these was burnt at tliat time, with its occupant, Mary Tut, who. was over eighty years old. Their homes are now small, one and two story peaked roof clapboard houses. The tribe dressed in the traditional blanket up to ten years ago. They own no boats but fishing Bmacks. There is only one basket maker among them. One woman, Kitty Walker, still carries the " back basket"?a long, narrow wicker affair, supported by a strap passing around the forehead. Business Prospects for 1877. The New York Financial Bulletin says: We enter upon 1877 with this backing in our favor. It comprises several facts : First. It is reasonable to assume that the process of weeding out insolvent firms has been well nigh com pkited ; for although tlie failures of the first niue months were unprecedented in number and amount, yet during the last quarter there has been a marked abatement, and it is very generally taken for granted that, in the nature of the ease, this declension will be continued. Second. The clearing out of a large number of firms who, for the most part, have been competing for business in an illegitimate way, leaves the better chance for those who remain. Third. We have had generally good crops during the past year. Fourth. Prices of merchandise, after a protracted and very severe decline, appear to have touched bottom. At least it may be said of the general rnnge of articles that not only are they no longer declining, but, on the contrary, show a decided steadiness and in some cases an upward tendency. This is important not only as implying that the reactionary tendency that set in with the panic has about exhausted itself, but also because it lays a basis for confidence in handling commodities. It may be that the process of decline has not yet culminated in respect to real estate, and the same may be true in respect to a class of products least essential in the general consumption 01 me cuuuiry , this remains to be tested ; but, in respect to the more staple articles which constitute the bulk of our commerce, this position may be maintained with apparent safety. Fifth. As a rule, the fall in wages appears to have reached the lowest point of depression ; this may be inferred from the fact that, for some mouths past, we have ceased to witness reductions of this kind. The importance of this fact is that a basis has been reached upon which commodities can be produced cheaply enough to meet the diminished purchasing ability of the community, which is one of the first conditions precedent to ft revival of productive"" operations. Sixth. Stocks of merchandise are generally hi a very low condition. Even if this were not commonly reported to be the case, we might safely infer it as an inevitable consequence of the state of tilings existing for the last three years. Nor does this rule apply to mere mercantile stocks. In all the households and wardrobes of the country there is a comparative exhaustion of accumulated supplies. In our productive establishments, factories, workshops, etc., there has been three years of postponement of renovations and replacements of machines, tooLs and instruments ; and on all our railroads also the old appliances have been used, nq fnr ns rvnssihle in lien of introducing new ones. This process of using the old instead of procuring the new cannot well bo carried much further. There comes a point at which necessity compels replacement ; that point is being reached ; and, once its demands begin to be responded to, a very important stimulus to all kinds of industry must result. A New Court. Senator Wright's bill, in the United States Senate, presented some weeks ago, looks to the settlement of the Presidential question by the establishment of a court to decide all such contests as that now pending. The bill provides in substance that " the court shall consist of the chief justice and six judges of the circuit or district courts of the United States, to be elected by the said chief justice from those of different political parties, and who shall not be interested in the particular contest, nor in any manner related thereto. The court shall me6t in Washington and the chief justice shall preside. Before acting the judges shall take a special oath for the occasion. The court sliall have power to make and enforce all regulations not contrary to law. The court shall have power to allow amendments to pleadings, but there sliall be no unnecessary delay in the hearings. Ea^h of the judges shall have power to administer oaths, and the court sliall have power to send for persons or papers and " * i - "i 4 * ,.1. ~11 eniorce atrenuaucu. a umjuruv mihu ut? competent to decide all questions and shall keep a record." A Wicked Enemy. The wickedest and most audacious fish of all that preys on the oyster is the drumlisli. "\Vhen he lights 011 an oyster bed he isn't satisfied with eating the inside, but chews the oyster shell up also. He is a great, coarse fish like a sheep's head, and has big teeth. Ho mashes an oyster up the same a small boy eats peanuts. Drum fish come in schools, and Princes bay is their favorite resort, East river and the bays in the sound being comparatively free from them. They don't come every year, and it is five years since a large school jjnid its respects to Princes bay. They make a noise like a drum, and a large school feeding would beat a drum corps. When they have gone through an oyster bed they will tackle the bottom of an oyster schooner, and eat the barnacles off. Drumfish pay their visits generally in the months of September and October. They have destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of oysters in years gone by. In two weeks one linn lost ?2,000 worth of oysters through them. A. Ghastly Record. The New York Herald's special report nf deaths from unnatural causes in that city is one which calls for more than or? ilinary attention. During 1876 more than 11 thousand persons died from violence, iind there is an excess of more than a hundred over the similar record of 1875. A. peculiar feature of this exhibit is that the increase is due to accidental causes; the increase of deaths from sunstrokes find drowning more than account for the total excess over la;>t year's casualties. In spite of law and precaution the hideous roll of homicides and infanticides is is large as 1875, and that of suicides is considerably greater. The increase of hydrophobia is alarming, five deaths having occurred, against none last year ; Items of Interest. Never postpone happiness. No conflict is so severe as liio who laqors to subdue liimself. " . To confide too much i? to put your | lemons in another man's squeezer. There are 14,007,522 school going chil! dren in the United States and Terrii tories. " Man proposes"? but there are still , 13,000 more women than men in Massachusetts. i A man at a church fair the other night cried out: " I've got the oyster. Gimme the prize." The art of living easily as to money is to pitch your scale of living one degree below your means. " Tite boots," says Josh Billings, " is a luxury, in that they make a man forget all liis other miseries.'' I It was scurvy that prevented the Eng lislx expedition from reaching the north pole. A scurvy excuse is better than none. Scoop the core out of baked apple, j fill the hole with milk and sugar, and set j out doors to freeze. Then go out al't?r coal, step on the apple, and take a slide | down the step and over three old knots j and two aahpans. 1 After the sham battle at Princeton, X. \ J., the troops partook of an elegant collation and had a good time. If the sliade of any old Continental viewed the pro; ceedings after the battle he must have longed to come back and re-enlist. " A woman," remarked a Norwich official, " first loves a fast man, then a good ftian, and finally any man." Hi en his | wife appeared in the doorway, and he ; went back into the cellar and began to i split up kindlings in an abject manner. It seems there never was so dull a ' time among the theaters. "Whether the Brooklyn fire has anything to do with it not the attendance at theaters is a i pretty good test of how "flush" the i community feele, and the general feeling . of hard times is doubtless the main ele; ment in the situation. If any good resolutions respecting the ' conduct of life during the new year have been floating through any young mau's head, this is the time to enter upon the determination to keep them and to begin ! to carry them out. Put them down on paper, if that will strengthen the mind's | purpose in regard to ' hem. ; The census takers of the Young Men's ; Christian Association of Jersey City re: port that there are " thirty-five saloons to each church in that city." Whereupon I the Norristown Ilcrald says : " Why a j church should have so many r-aloous we ! can't understand. We should think ten j would suffice for the largest church in the city." It is now ascertained beyond a doubt j tliat two young ladies of Rondout, N. i Y., sisters, named Charlotte and Miirtlia j Smith, who left intending to visit their I uncle at Bloomington, 111., were among the victims of the Ashtabula railroad disaster. They were the daughters of a I widow recently reduced from affluence to 1 poverty, and the blows falLs upon her j with crushing weight. { A sad example of the fatal nature of ! diphtheria has just occurred in Paris. A ; whole family, consisting ot miner imu , mother and two children, were attacked with it, and carried off in n short time. I Dr. Rsgnault, who attended them, , caught the malady, and in spite of the ' care of one of his colleagues, Dr. Biset, i died also in twentv-four hours. Dr. I Biset was then attacked in his turn, and i ho expired. A man and his wife were found in i their dwelling in San Francisco, both with bullet wounds, from which they | have probably since died. The husband ; said, as his dying testimony, that his J wife shot him, and then accidentally shot herself. The wife said, as her dying testimony, that her husband shot her, j and then accidentally shot himself. Each j gave jealousy as the inciting cuusa^of i the other's crime. Nobody else saw the | shooting, and the police had no means : of reaching the truth. A Change of Life. About six years ago two robbers lying in wait in a ravine near Nashville, Tenn., ! accosted a Mr. Demsey Weaver, took him | from his buggy, gagged and tied him, | carried him into a dense thicket, robbed j him of ?15, and left him to free himself i oo i,aof ^nnlil "Rv desmerata exertion i be freed himself. One of the robbers was arrested and identified, and subsei quently the other was captured. Both ! men were convicted and sentenced to ten i or fifteen years' imprisonment. Some | time after he was sent to the penitentiary, one became a class leader in the. convict ] Sunday-school, nud seemed determined I to lead ? better life. Just before Christj mas, 1875, friends of the reformed convict applied to Mr. "Weaver for his acquiescence hi the pardon of the man that ! Christmas. Mr. Weaver consented, and the convict that Christmas morning walked out of the prison doors a free man. He desired to see Mr. Weaver for the purpose of asking his forgiveness for the rough manner in wliieh he had treat! ed him, and to return the money of ! which they had robbed him, with infcer: est. Mr. Weaver being sick at the time, ; liis son went to see the convict, who , made the same proposition. J?ut the ! money was refused, and nothing more i has been heard of the man until a short time ago, when it was ascertained that he had become a pastor of a church and was leading a pious, useful life. It is said that this reformed convict received his education at Bethany College, and was really a man of much mental eapa city. Another eonvjet, who una parnci2>uto?l in the penitentiary Sunday-school work, upon leaving the penitentiary was ordained a minister at Lebanon, and is now in cliarge of a congregation out West. A Poor Constable. Stonewall Jackson, at sixteen, was a constable of the county of Lewis, Va., with his uncle Cnmmings Jackson as his security. The first execution that c::iu? under his hands was against a widow living some twelve miles from the court 1,..Tonl-?..ii tmmmmi..,! ?1 m ill Charlie Post to accompany him and to assist him in driving away the cattle which he proposed to levy upon. When he arrived there he found that the old woman had but one cow. the principal means of her support. So soon :t? he learned this he turned to his companion and said: " Charlie, I will not levy this execution upon that poor woman's row; an poor as I am I would rather work night mid day and pay the debt myself." Upon that he left there and stated the facts to his uncle, his security in his official bond. Ho listened to his narrative and then said : " Tom, I see you were never born to be a constable, my boy; resign your office at once and I will pay Hie execution,"