i? The Beaufort Republican. ? tr ,tm AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER, DEVOTED TO POLITICS, LITERATURE AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE, OUR MOTTO IS?TRUTH WITHOUT FEAR. ;u?.irrf;L.^ci;:v,L . . VOL. TIL NO. 38. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1873. {S&'&VSS: U i VI i /n 1 i Ji ?? ?* NEW SPRING GOODS. Jas. C. BAILIE & BRO., ' T> Biracrmur ask tocr aitkn9 JtVion to th? following DRSIBABLE GOODS ofI fered by them for sale: S | Vi<- > ' ' 5 f ISGUIH A-\D A.MKRICAN FLOOR OIL -I CLOTHS. J ^ 34 feet wid<^ end of the best quality of goods manufactured. Do yeu want a real good Oil Cloth ? If so, come now and get the very best. Oil Cloths out any site and laid promptly. A fuB Sue of cheap I FLOOR OIL CLOTHS, from ?c. a yard np. I Table. cloths all widths and colors. ' ^ CARPETS. Brussels, three-ply and ingrain Carpets of new designs. A full stock of low-prioed earpets from} 80c. a yard up. Carpets measured for, made and laid with dispatch. LACK CVRTAIN9. French Tambourd Lace, " Exquisites." Nottingham Lace, " Beautiful." Tamboured Muslin, durable and cheap, from $2.80 ir a pair and upwards. ' a< CORNICKS AND BANDS. Rosewood and Gilt, Plain Gilt, Walnut and Gilt Cornices, with or without centres. t f Curtain Bands, Pins and Loops, V Cornices cut and made to At windows and pnt np. WIS DOW SHADES. r 1,000 Window Shades in all the new tints of color. Beautiful Gold BaxV Shades, *1.60, with all trimmings. Beautiful Shades 20c. each. Store Window Shades any color and any size. Window Shades squared and put up promptly. _ Walnut and painted wood Shades. RUGS AND DOOR MATS. ^ New and beautiful Rugs. L Door Mats, from 80o. up to the beat English Cocoa, that wear three years. 100 sets Table Hats, assorted. MATTINGS. j New Matting, Plain and Fancy, in all the different widths made. Mattings laid with dispatqb. WALL PAPERS AND BORDERS. V 3,000 Rolls Wall Papers and Borders in now pat- 1 terns, in gold, panels, hall, oaks, marbles, chintzes, Ac., in every variety of colors? bouutiful, good and cheap. Psper hung if desired. HAtrt. CLOTHS In all widths required lor Upholstering. Buttons, ? Gimps and Tacks for lamb. * X CURTAIN DAMASKS. Plain and 8triped French Terrys for Curtains and Upholstering purposes. Gimps, Fringe, Tassels, Loops and Buttons. Moreens and Table Damasks. Curtains and lAmbraqulos made and pnt np. ' PIANO AND TABLE COVERS. English Embroidered-Cloth and Piano Table Covers. EmlioHurd Felt Piano and Tallin f!nvpr? F Plain and gold band Flocked Piano Cover*. German Fringed Table Coven. CRUMB CLOTHS AND DRUGGETS. New patterns In any size or width wanted. pi To all of which we ask your attention. All work done well and in season, by James G. Bailie & Brothers, AUGUSTA, GA. apl-17-ly. ' ' H. M. Stuart, M. D., Corner of Bay and Eighth Streets, T Beaufort, S. C. nastM i* ? W DRUGS AXD CHEMICALS, FAMILYMEDJCIXqS,J J j ^ s 5 FAXCY AXD TOILET ARTICLES. ST A TIOXER r. PERF UMER Y, J BRUSHES, JtCs, BL Commission Merchant, Bfl BEAUFORT, S. C. ?r iepti tb The Savannah Independent, A FAMILY NEWSPAPER, n< staMished on the chkap cash plan, at the low rate jj1 of only g ONE DOLLAR A YEAR: p, Addreee, iD INDEPENDENT, ]|J P. O. Box 888. Savannah, Qa. W. G. CAPERS, " Upholsterer and Repairer, 2 Ul Old Furniture put In good order, Picture Frame* tad*. Matt ranees stuffed at the shortest notice. Corner Bay and Ninth Street*. h; febl>-ly 01 Disappointed. ot I thought, to-night, to see thy face, And mourn not for the eun gone down ; But now the shadow in his place Hangs on my cheated heart its frown. ^ I could not doubt that thy dear voice ht Would cheer me more than bird or lute? tb How can my heart to-night rejoioe, ' wi With bird and string and voice all mute ? tb ol The breath of June upon my cheek m I bore, impatient for thy kiss; F Hy fainting lips their anguish speak, p< The sweeetnees of thy breath to miss. Oh, why did thy sweet steps delay, ^ Sines bird and song and breeze are gone ? Slichted for hope of thee, the day! v,. Without thee night puts sackcloth on! Were I away, thou ehouldst not chide I One heedless moment of delay; ^ I seek my sunshine at thy side? Thy voice my song, thy smile my day. _ OUR SCHOOLMISTRESS. 8? Jt An Kngllsh Story. ^ I am a middle-aged lady, living quite D y myself in the little town of St. at ridget's, where it happened, and I (4j iow the whole story from beginning > end, and the beginning was this: ed J was paying a morning visit to dear wl d Mrs. Ambrose, our vicar's wife, hen the vicar himself marched into te room with his wideawake on, and id?" Bother!" aB I will do him the justice to say that 3 took off his wideawake as soon as he ^ ,w me, and met the requirements of ro ie occasion by addressing me. " Mrs. Action, here's a bother!" all "What!" we exclaimed hurriedly, r we Baw there was something Berious. "That?that ' prig' of an inspector ys we must have a certified mistress," plied the vicar; and then he sat v>wn, and we all looked at each other solemn silence for full three minutes. stl A certified mistress at St Bridget's! hat meant turning out the dear old iman who had kept the school for the st five-and-twentv years, and had en ught our girls to hem and stitch and an, trn so beautifully that they got places ^ work-women far and wide! And she "3* id taught both girls and bovs the best anners of any children in Southshire, lo< id had trained them up to be honest, od-fearing men and women, besides " aching them some reading and ^ iting, and the first four rules of P*' itbmetic. Nearly all the children 10 had stayed long enough at the J? hool could read easy words in large "1] int, and several of the clever ones id been known to write out the Lord's ? ayer from memory, and to say the lac ultiplioation table quite perfectly. an hat could anybody want more ? Wo mder Mr. Ambrose called the in- J111 CUI/Ul U ? UttllCU illLU DUlllCbllXlJg ~~ uch worse, but as my thoughts were ?e it put into words they need not be reiated. '1C " Oh, dear! dear!" cried Mrs. Amose, as the full meaning of the in- "r ector's decision broke upon her; no what shall we do ? Poor Mrs. Todns will break her heart." na There was nb little difficulty in sw curing the certified mistress. ?n " I'll write to Dobson," said Mr. Am- *18 ose to his wife. "r And he wrote to Mr. Dobson the it morning as soon as he went into 11 s study. 8a Mr. Dobson was the principal of the 8a eat training college at Hatlev, and an il friend of the vicar'B, so lie might an st as well have written to him sooner, ml ily none of us think of all the right "e ings to be doue just at the right time. "e " If you want a mistress, offer seventy do mndB," said the principal by return post. J}11 And the vicar did offer seventy I11 lunds, though where the money was frc come from I could not tell, and I P< in't think he could either. 1?^ Back came another letter from Mr. 8V obson, to say that he had a mistress ml 10 had just finished training?a dow; exactly the person to suit St. ridget's, anil she would accept the Pe nation on certain conditions. I don't inl low what the conditions were, except at her evenings were to be at her own sa sposal, only I know tiiat it seemed to uo a very odd to Lear of the 6choolmis28s making conditions, and accepting Pe ch an enormous salary, as if she were wn nferring a favor. an The vicar said it was the result of 10 mpetition, the supply not being equal aB the demand ; but I thought it might yv i indirectly referred to strikes and '01 lions, though I did not exactly see >w; but when there are so many eadful things going on in the couu- m. p, they work into each other in a mderful manner. an " It is a comfort that we are to have a t0( (low," I remarked to Mr. Ambrose ; she will be staid and respectable, and ?t such a responsibility as a young f'1 rl." . bu " Oh, I don't know," sighed Mrs. mbrose piteously; "I think I would ther have a young person, even if Pr e did wear chignons and feathers. 1 ( idows are so Pe She stopped suddenly, remembering 8? at I was a widow, and went on to a eBh sentence ; but I wondered what ar( ie was going to say. "I know I shall be afraid of her," she BP id. "And she is going to play the cr^ gan and manage the choir ; she will s sure to want her own way in every- wi ing, and it won't be nice and comfort- P1( >le as it used to be. And then, my ?ar, she is certain to be quite young ; J i middle-aced Derson would have taken J? i6 trouble to train herself, even if she wl the cleverness, which isn't likely. 1 epend upon it, she will be young and retty, and all the shopmen will be fall- ca g in love with her, and people will aD ,1k scandal, and there will be unpleas- . itnesB." r ?(' ??I don't see that it follows," I said an kther sharplv ; but I did not like the ay she spoke of widows. It is very id; but women whose husbands are bi ive always give themselves airs about in s_ J think it is because they are jeal- th as of 0" power of marrying again, fo a Ting, M ^ were, two chances to their ve ae; at least, I cannot discover any h? ;her reason, but, of course, there may 3 one that I don't know of. . ******* In a fortnight Mrs. Henry arrived. > was a long journey from Hatley to L Bridget's, and the last four miles id to bo done by road, in an omnibus lat jolted a good deal, so that people ere apt to be tired when they reached is town. Mr. Ambrose, like the courtly d gentleman he was, went down to eet the new mistress at th6 Silver ish, where the omnibus always stopid. "Now they are coming," cried the >or lady, as we heard the garden door >en. "I sha'nt know what to say to >r, Mrs. Acton ; I wish I hadn't asked sr to come." "It's no matter, for the vicar is alone," replied, looking out of the window, lience I could see that gentleman raply approaching the house. He came straight into us* but his face Dre an expression of dismay. "Well?" we cried as he entered; then, eing his face, his wife exclaimed, "O istin, what is it ? Is she so very bad ?" "Bad!" cried the vicar, standing in ^ '*TTTLnA Annl/? JUL UI un, TT 11Ub i,iio iuvacuo wuiu odson send her here for ? I wrote for schoolmistress, didn't I, Mrs. Acton ?" "I believe so," I replied meekly; lasn't he sent one ?" "Oh, do tell us what she is," entreat1 Mrs. Ambrose, wringing her little jite fingers. "Do tell us what she is." "My dear, she is a lady," said the car; and then he sat down and looked us, and we looked at him. For a few moments we were too much tonished to speak. "A ladv! what shall we do with her ?" sped Mrs. Ambrose presently, as all e social complications of the position Be before her. * "That's the bother of it; I foresee ! sorts of difficulties," sighed the vicar; >ut it can't be helped, and," he added, ightening, "perhaps otherpeople won t id it out if we don't tell them." "How is she dressed ?" I asked eager"All in black, looking small and aight. somehow." "Is she pretty ?" "No." "Then they won't find her out," I said lphatically. "If a woman isn't pretty d well dressed, and does not call herIf a lady, she will only be found out her own class." "How can you know ?" said the vicar, iking at mo. "Never mind how?I do know; and we and Mrs. Henry are wise enough keep our own counsel and our own ices, it will be all right." "But won't she expect to be treated a lady?asked to dinner and all at ?" asked Mrs. Ambrose doubtfully. "I think not," said the vicar; "and ?.v.o .inoo mo A?n1 heln it. Tf she is a ly, she will recognize her position d accept it" I could not tell how.old she wm. She glit have been thirty ; Bhe might have en five-and-forty. I used to watch r for half-hours at a time to try and ttle the question to my own satisfac?n, but I was always puzzled. But she showed her authority at the st sign of disobedience. There was threatening, no talking about how e would punish them if they were ughty, but- the punishment came if tly on the commission of the offence, d in less than a month she had eBtabhed such discipline as had never been earned of under the old rule. And she taught them so wonderfully, lsed to listen in amazement while she ve the lessons, and the children ben to improve rapidly, . We used to wonder, Mrs. Ambrose d I, what Mrs. Henry did in the events. Her dress was so simple that edlework for herself could not occupy r time ; yet she was seldom out of ors, even in the sweet summer events, until it was almost dark, and en she used to walk up and down the tie garden that divided her house >ra the school for an hour at a time, ire for the sake of exercise than enp-meut, it would seem by the rapid >ady pace at which she moved. One ?ht, when I was coming home late, I >pped and spoke to her. " You walk late, Mrs. Henry ; but rliaps it is the pleasantcBt time dur? the hot weather." " It is the cheapest, Mrs. Acton. It res an hour of daylight to come out w instead of earlier." It struck mo all of a heap, as the ople say, to hear this woman, who is earning seventy pounds perannum, d appeared to have no one but herself caro for, ^alk of "saving daylight" if the cost of a candle were someing to bq^avoided. I felt very sorry r lier. I don't Know wny it came er mc all at once, as it did, that her e was a very hard one. But I put 7 wrinkled old hand on the little firm lite fingers which rested on the gate, d said?" My dear you must not work > hard." I was frightened when I had done it. le was so self-possessed and reserved, at I thought she would be angry ; it, instead of that, the steady little igers began to tremble and twined emselves round mine with a clinging asp, and then I found she was crying, lidn't say a word more to her. When ople are as old' as I am, and hare ne through a great deal of trouble, ey know what poor weak things words e, and how often thcv do more harm an good. So I held her hand without eaking, and presently she stopped "Sometimes-I feel so lonely," she lispered, " and you are so kind ; ease forget it, Mrs. Acton." "Yes," for I quite understand her. But is not your life too hard? Can't u let an old woman help you, my ar ?" She took my band, and kissed it. " No, it is not too hard, and no one n help me ; but it will be easier by d by. Good night. And then she slipped away, as if raid of saying more, and I went home d thought my thoughts in silence. ******* St. 'Bridget's was all alive, for the shop was coming to hold a visitation the town. No bishop had ever come ere before within the memory of man; r the last one had been old and ill for tars before his death, and the shepsrds of those days had not thought it needful to go about among their flocks c so much as is considered right in the c present time, and sheep living, in re- \ mote towns had to make long journeys when they attended Episcopal gather- j ings. . r But that was all to be changed under I the new reign ; for our bishop was not only a great scholar and a great divine, ' but a strong man also, who would go into every.corner of his diocese, and see with his own eves how matters were E going on. He had only filled the throne E for two years, and this was his primary * visitation, and it was to be held in I twelve towns instead of two. St. Bridget's was one among the E twelve, and Mrs. Ambrose had been v thinking about her luncheon for weeks, a when it occurred to the vicar that the ^ bishop might find it convenient to sleep d at St. Bridget's for anight either before 0 or after the vesitation. He was asked, and accepted by return v of post. He would be glad to stay at t St. Bridget's vicarage on the niglit of the 26th, which was the date of the i visitation. * Mrs. Ambrose was delighted with the * honor, but bewildered with the responsibility ; and we had many consulta- ^ tions about his lordshin's comfort, and the proper mode of entertaining him, and were very nervous lest something ^ had been omitted or forgotten at the d last moment. c But when he came, we forgot our anxiety; he was so pleasant and genial, 1 and took everything so easily, that ! I thought he was much less formidable than hit chaplain?a dignified personage ?who seemed oppressed by the dignity 8 of his office. It all went off nicely : the luncheon 8 was charming ; the bishop affable, the . clergy in full attendance. Only one ; disappointment occurred. Our singing in church was not up to the mark. Mrs. Henry's voice was not j heard once during the service ; and at ? luncheon some of the visitors noticed L the Omission. 1 41 Have you lost your lovely contralto, Mrs. Ambrose," inquired -the rural c dean ; 441 did not hear her to-day." . 44 Oh, no, our mistress is still with !' us. I don't know why she did not sing; ' perhaps she has a cold," replied Mrs. j Ambrose. ? Then the conversation drifted into , educational channels, and Mrs. Henry ? was forgotten. f But I knew that she had not a cold, j I had heard her singing magnificently, E as I passed the church when the choir were practicing an hour before service, j and her silence puzzled me. Presently the bishop's courteous voice was heard saying: 441 hear your school a is doing remarkably well, Mrs. Am- j brose; will you take me to see it pres- _ ently?" 44Certainly, my lord." And as Boon as the general gathering had dispersed, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose s and myself accompanied tho bishop to a the school-house. Neither the chaplain c nor the rural dean came with us, for t which we were afterwards thankful. I e entered with the vicar, the bishop hav- I ing lingered a moment at the door with o Mrs. Ambrose to admire the view of the ? Southsiro Wolds, with the sea glitter- e ing beyond them in the distance. e 44 Here is the bishop come to see the b school, Mrs. Henry," said the vicar n bianuiy. As he spoke, he glanced round the u room, to see that all was in order. I, not thinking of the school, was looking j" at Mrs. Henry. She flushed crimson, and then turned white to the lips. With a hasty movement, she passed round to * the other side of the great black board on which she had been drawing a map, * and the strango thought came into my " head : "Is she trying to conceal her- " self ?" 1 But the bishop was in the school by j, this time, and the children stood at attention, and stared at his apron and silk T stockings with round-eyed amazement. He turned to the mistress with a civil -v littlo speech of congratulation. Half- t hidden behind the board, she swept a ^ courtesy, but did not raise her eyes; and the lower part of her face was covered, as if accidentally, by her handkerchief. His lordship walked about among the children, and the Ambroses c were delighted ; but ever as he moved, Mrs. Henry kept behind him. ? " Would you like to hear them sing, jj my lord ?" inquired _ Mrs. Ambrose i cheerfully. t What could the bishop do but say that he Bhould like it ? a " A short song, please Mrs. Henry," said the vicar, as he ranged up to the j] fireplace, where the bishop stood with his hands behind him. Mrs. Henry, still on the other side of ' the great black board, made a sign to j the children, who put their hands be1,1'r.j (L.im Horo trprA nuiet as usual. mum. tuvm. -l , , c but they were trembling. The song |. begun : only some common school mel- ; ^ ody, but it startled the bishop. " God bless me!" ho cried hurriedly, J stepping forward, and looking round t the blaok board. Mrs. Henry had not sung ten notes. Once started, the children went on by themselves, and her voice was silent; but the bishop had heard enough. Straight round the black board ho went with long eager strides, and in another minute he had hiB hands on Mrs. Henry's shoulders, forcing her to look , up. t " I knew it," he said emphatically, while Mrs. Ambrose and I and the vicar j stared, and the children Bang on noisily. r He was holding her hand in both of ^ his now, as if he never meant to let it r go again. . r " My lord, you forget J" she said, trying to escape. r " Hester Murray, I remember /" was all he said, but her eyes sank, and the T rnte after that little speech. " But now are you going to be hap?y?" I asked. "Yes, I hopo so," she whispered tutting her arms round my neck. " I ;new him years ago, before I was maried, and?and?he says he never forgot _ If Q6. " Of course not. How could he ?" I eplied, and kissed her again. " When I am gone, and it is over, (T rill send you a newspaper,) will you tell Ur. and Mrs. Ambrose all about it? hey have been so kind ?" I promised to do what she wished, rnd with another kiss on her little face, ind a glance at the shabby dress and [uaint cap whioh I should never see igain, I went home, and the next day he was gone. In four days a Timet arrived by post. The following was marked: " On the 23d, at St. John's Church, Jeorge street, the Bishop of Southahire o Hester, widow of the late Captain Jhampneys." I took it up to the vicarage, and said: "I told jou it tu all the bishop." " What do you mean, Mrs. Acton, eh Our bishop married t Who is she, I wonder ?" "She teat Mrs. Henry," I replied, calmly. " Who ?" cried the vicar. "Mrs. Henry?our schoolmistress." And then I gave her message, and told them all about it. "Mind, we must say nothirg," said Mr. Ambrose. "It is their secret, not ours." To which we assented, and therefor* it is that no one has known the rights of the story till now, though it happened full six months ago. A Remedy for Rhenmatism. It has long been commonly believed that the water in which unpeeled potatoes have been boiled is poisonous. It is now said to have been disoovered that this poison, like many others, possesses certain remedial properties. The disease for which it is particularly recommended is rheumatism, aDd there is some evidence which goes to show that the belief in its efficacy is not wilhont beneficial effect. A laborer, while in a state of perspiration, a few days ago, became chilled by a sadden fall of rain. This bronght on an attack of rheumatism, which made him so lame that he was quite unable to pursue his usual avocation. The g>tato water was recommended to him. e tried it in the evening, and much to his surprise, found himself on the following morning as well aa usual. He believed the result was attributable to the use of the potato water. Another case was that of a man who had been drenched by exposure to a cold storm. The second day afterward he was seized with sharp pains of almost unbearable severity, and indicative of inflammatory rheumatism. He used the potato water, and experienced immediate relief from intense suffering. This remedy should bp used only externally. The potatoes should be boiled with the skins on, and the water applied as hot as it can be borne, to the part affected, by rubbing. Of course we know nothing as to whether it would produce any such effect in other cases ' as it seems to have had in these two. Carrying a raw potato in the pocket has a similar effect. Many very serious cases of rheumatism have been effectually cured by this very simple thing. Beauty of Chinese Bridges. Somo of the bridges in China are of extraordinary beauty and magnificence. There is one near Pekin built entirely of white marble, elaborately ornament- ed. Others are found over the canals of still greater magnificence and with a grand triumphal arch at each end ; and some, instead of being built with arches, are flat from one side of the canal to the other, marble flags of great length being laid on piers so narrow and airy that the bridge looks as if it were suspended in the air. From the amazing facilities "?J-J *? nnmowMi. rainnlii for imurueu uj mo transportation of goods by water, these bridges do not require to be built of great strength, for only foot-passengers ? use the bridges, which is the reason they are of such an elegant and fanciful construction. These bridges are built with a number of arches, the central arch being about forty feet wide, and high enough for vessels to pass without striking their masts. The great elevation of these bridges renders steps necessary. They resemble, in this respect, the old bridges of Venice, on which you ascend by steps on one side, and descend on tne other in the same way. Chain bridges were not made in this country for more than eighteen centuries after they were known and used in China. Action Respecting Forests. A very important bill was introduced into the last U. S. Congress by Mr. Haldemon, of Pennsylvania, and has now become a law. It provides that every future sale of government land shall be with the condition that at least ten per cent, of the timbered land shall be kept perpetually as woodland ; and if the land be not timbered, then the natpiifc is to be issued on the condition that ten per cent, of the quantity is to be planted with forest trees within ten years, and kept forever as woodland. If this be done, an abatement of fifty per cent, is to be made on account of the expense of the planting. A violation of this agreement is to be met bj the forfeiture of the land. It is also proposed that any one who may wish to acquire title to the public land, under the homestead act, can do so by proof of the fact that he has had, at the end of three years after taking possession, at least one acre under cultivation with timber for two years, and that this shall be continued until one acre in every ten is planted with trees, in clusters not +V.an airtaon fflat floart. XUVIO kuuu A _ Bad Shots. A California correspondent from the lava beds says it is no disparagement to the soldier to say, " As a rule, they are not good shots," for such is the fact. This, I take it, is owing to two causes : First, they are not drilled enough at taigeirshooting; Second, the guns all shoot too high and wide, especially after being fired a number of rounds. I think I am a pretty good shot with a rifle or a six-shooter; but I know a Modoc would be tolerably safe before me with an army gun?either carbine or Springfield musket. I have tried them, and, while you can shoot fast and at a long distanoe, they will not do for target work; and that is just what shooting at Modocs is?and a very small tar- get they are, too, generally speaking. The safety of our men during the late fight was owing, in 9 great measure, to the fact that the guns used by the Modocs were those captured in the fight of the 17th of January, and almost invariably they shot over their mark.