Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 24, 1867, Image 1
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YOL. 12. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 24,1867. " , ]S~Q. 39.
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Far the York vllle Enquirer.
"PITY IT WAS SO."
BY WILLIE LIGHTHEART,
She met him in the balmy June?
0 pity it was so!
While wand'ring o'er the meadows sweet,
Where the meek-eyed daisies grow.
And the tell-tale blush came o'er her face,
And the yearning heart beat high,
As the stranger passed, with a courtly bow,
The fair young maiden by.
She hastened home with tearful eye?
O pity it was so! ?
To the little cottage by the brook,
m'otnro aatl*
*? UCIO tuc yutlij H UWA o UVII )
And the light within her heart went out,
And the song of life grew still;
And the spring-time warmth of t^e sunny soul
Was changed to the winter's chill.
She loved the youth of the hazel eye ?
0 pity it was so! ?
That kissed his hand as he passed her by
Where the lowly daisies grow;
And, all the live-long summer day,
All the long, long winter night,
There bloomed no flow'r within her heart,
No star for departed light.
The weeks went by like drifting clouds?
O pity it was so!?
And the maiden's cheek grew pale and wan
'Neath the spirit's secret woe
And, the silvery laugh, that oft of yore
Kang clear in me coiiag? uume,
Was hushed, like the broken chord of lute
In midst of a dulcet tone.
By a grassy mound in the old church-yard?
0 pity it is so! ?
There's a snowy slab with the simple name
Of the one ihat sleeps below;
And the trav'ler stops by the cottage gate
To hear of her tale of woe;
And, brushing his sleeve across his eyes,
Says, "Pity it was so!"
Jtn Original ftowriette.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
SPECTRE OF THE FIRESIDE.
BY JOHN WITHERSPOON ERVIN.
CHAPTER V.
The chamber into which Guiscard entered, was in
. the upper story of the north-west wing, quite retired
" - - * 1*1 _
from the rest of the building. The mansion ? luce
man}' at the South in the present day?contained
many apartments seldom or ever used by the family,
and only brought into requisition upon rare occasions
of festivity, when many guests partook of
the hospitality of its masters. The chamber of
which we are speaking overlooked the delightful
pleasure garden of which we spoke in a preceding
chapter. The furniture was all of an antique patr
tern and seemed to belong to a past generation.
There were four or five heavy oaken chairs, the
high backs of which, rising a foot at least above the
head of one seated in them, consisted of a number
of arches in the gothic style, surmounted by a curved
head-board, exquisitely carved into fruits and flowers.
They were thickly cushioned with red velvet,
somewhat faded, but otherwise seemingly in a state
of good preservation. Near the middle of the apartment,
against the wall and immediately opposite
the fire-place, was a bedstead of solid and massive
mahogany, curiously carved and wrought, to
the heavy posts of which were looped the full folds
of rose-colored silk curtains. The high but narrow
windows were shaded by curtains of the same color
and texture. The floor was covered by a thick
carpet of antique pattern, the ground color being
of a dark brown, interspersed with livelier colors
representing combats between Crusaders and Sara|
cens. To the left of the fire-place, hung upon
brackets, an ancient fire-lock, and by its side hung
a long heavy sword in its steel scabbard, its hilt
blazing with starry diamonds as the light from the
lamp which Guiscard carried, fell upon it
Over the mantle-board was hung a painting so
life-like that no one could pass it by with a hasty
glance. It was that of a man apparently "in the
sere and yellow leaf,*' and, from his dress, evidently
belonging to a past generation. His 1 Randal shoon
and cockle shell," as well as the palmer's staff that
he bore, seemed to point him out as one who had
sought ease of coascience by weeks of weary pilgrimage,
but the expression of his eye seemed to
.<.-11 -c dnnii nnrl nilfrriiuaire nerfonned in
icii ui |;ruuttiiw v&vsi*%s MMV. x'?o c- r
vain. Alas! of what avail is it to one whose heart
is itself a sepulchre of ruined hopes and blasted
opportunities, to make weary pilgrimages to a sepulchre
in a far off land ? Peace for a troubled
conscience and a desolated heart comes not from
bowing before holy relics in a distant land, but from
holy thoughts that spring up in the ruined heart
and cluster around it as ivy around the broken altar.
Though the dress and insignia were badges of a
palmer, the attitude and stem but melancholy brow
belonged to one who had lived in the camp rather
| than in the cloister. The portrait bore a striking
resemblance to one in the gallery below, but there
was the resemblance that one traces between a noble
edifice in its newness and splendor, and that of
the same when it has become a dilapidated aud
tottering ruin, where the owl hoots at midnight
aud the ivy clings to the broken wall. It was, in
truth, a picture of Count Robert, the founder of
his family, taken at a period when the joy of life
had become ashes and dust.
Guiscard placed his lamp upon a table at the foot
of the bedstead, and his eye fell sadly ? perhaps
accusingly?on the portrait of his ancestor. He
sighed aloud and the hollow echo of the walls gave
it back as if repeated by some unearthly being.
Guiscard's nerves were strong and steady, yet a
gloom came over him, and he felt strangely disquieted
as he entered the large and sombre chamber
where the darkness seemed to retire from his lamp,
rather than to be dissipated by it. The strange
story to which he had just listened confirmed the
life-long impression that similar narratives had
made upon his mind, that a peculiar fate followed
all of his family, and that in a few brief hours he
would stand face to face with his destiny. It was
^ hard to give up the love and companionship of the
/ beautiful creature whom he loved as only the unfortunate
and isolated can love, yet harder still was
it to subject her to the fate which seemed to attach
to all who intermarried with his family. Without
her there could be no happiness or content, and yet
if she were doomed to die as others had died, what
was left for him but a broken heart and a life-time
of poignant but unavailing regret ? He was too
firm a bcliver in the fate that relentlessly pursued
all of his blood, to hope for an exemption from the
sad lot that had attended them all. No wonder
that he sighed as he disrobed himself. Where on
earth could he look for happiness, or rather how
fortify himself to bear his fate?
He drew up the table by the side of his bed. and
leaving his lain]) still burning, committed himsell
to his couch, with many a sad thought crowding
upon his mind. Every slight noise disquieted and
disturbed him. The settling of the timbers of the
old mansion, the starting of a board, or the nolst
of the rats in the wainscot, came to him with start
ling distinctness. The chimes of the old fhinilj
clock, in a lower chamber, telling the hours of th<
night, did not fall unheeded upon his ears. A1
last it struck the hour of twelve, and he raised himself
upon his elbow and listened as if for the coming
of some ghostly visitant, but the echoes died
away and all was again still. With a smile at his
own weakness, he turned in bed and composed himself
to sleep.
An hour passed on, and by a nervous shock, he
was suddenly startled, and was, or believed himself,
entirely awake. The first portion of the chamber
upon which his glance fell, was the place over the
mantel-board where the portrait of Count Robert
hung. To his surprise and horror only the bare
canvass met his eyes, and the figure painted there, i
no longer appeared. He sat upright in bed and
a clammy sweat burst from his forehead. Hearing ;
a rustling of the curtains at his side, he directed i
his glance thither, and he felt his nerves tingle i
anew with painful excitement as he beheld Count 1
Robert, in flesh and blood as it seemed, standing i
? ? TT ,
mere leaning upoo ills sum. uc wo9auuui.iuji^, ,
but the figure motioned to him to remain quiet,
and tottering along, with difficulty mauaged to draw
near the bed one of those quaintly wrought highbacked
chairs, of which mention has already been
made. This done, Count Robert seated himself by
the bed-side and let his staff rest between his
knees. He fixed his gaze upon his descendant as
if striving to read his inmost thoughts before he
addressed him.
"You, my descendant, are a Guiscard," said the
figure, "and yet you have dared to build your happiness
upon the love of a woman."
"Have not all your descendants done the same
thing?" Guiscard ventured to say.
4 'And what did itavail them ?'' asked this visitor.
"Hid they find the happiness for which they sought,
or did it not flee before them, leading them astray,
and plunge them into yet greater misery ? And do
you venture to seek for happiness where so many
of your race have only found accumulated miser}'?"
"I seek it not," answered Guiscard; "I know
it is but a phantom as you are."
"You mistake, my son," replied his interlocutor,
heaving a profound sigh. "Phantoms are of the
earth; realities only are found in the world to
which I belong. Love, friendship, honor, wealth
and beauty, what are they but Phantoms ? Agony,
conscience, sorrow and Remorse?know you the
meaning of that word ?? these and the beings with
whom they are most busy, ah! no phantoms are
they! And yet, with the fate of all your forefathers
before you, you seek this phantom ? the love of
woman?"
"Alas! I seek it not," replied Guiscard, as if
communing with himself. "I would avoid it as I
would a calamity that will crush myself and another
dearer to me than life; I would bar my heart
against it, as I would my house against the plague,
but what avails it ? It is a necessity of our nature
to love; and the purer and better the beings that
surround us, the stronger the bond that unites us
to tnem. i
"And yet," said the shade, "to see them perish
so soon?so suddenly! This is the curse that fol- {
lows all my house. Have you remembered that <
this must be your portion, and do you realize what ^
it is to stand by the cold clay of one that you loved ^
better than life, to take the rigid hand in your own ,
and call vainly upon the dead for one glance of r
recognition?" f
"It is painful to think of," answered Guiscard, ^
"yet thousands have endured it and lived." }
"Aye but lived ? if they were not clods?with c
a dark shadow upon the heart that shut out half ]
the light of life;" said Count Robert's shade. "I
have felt ? but let that pass ; a mortal could not f
understand me. Earth has' no words to compass i
the thought. I have stood face to face with ten
generations of my descendants, as with you this f
night; I felt all that they felt and all that they were s
doomed to feel after the avenger of my guilt had ,
visited their firesides. Much was their suffering, <
more was mine. There is a day when the curse ]
shall come to an end. I long for that hour? Then (
would I rest and my spirit be at peace in the
grave!" f
"Unhappy spirit of my ancestor! would to God,
for thy sake and that of thy descendants, that the (
hour were come,'' responded Guiscard. 1 'But how
know you the coming of that blessed hour? and
may he who inherits this sad legacy also know
when the curse is lifted from your house, or shall
he still fear? still tremble and shrink from each
coming day, as the day of doom!"
"Listen, and you shall hear," replied his ghostly ?
visitant. "When I visited the Holy City to expi- ,
ate my guilt, I turned aside to visit a wise seer ^
who lived on the side of Lebanon. I told him of }
my crime, of the curse which it entailed upon my s
house, and besought him to tell me when it would
pass away. At the end of three days, he gave me (
a scroll of parchment on which were traced a few ]
verses in Arabic."
"And what were they?" demanded Guiscard 1
eagerly. ,
"Unhappy mortal! I tremble to tell you," said
the apparition in sad, low tones, "I read them eager- ,
ly; they told me all I desired to know. But how
shall I tell them to you ? I have seen others of
my descendants stretch forward the ear to drink
them in eagerly and draw back disappointed and (
hopeless. Must I dash your hopes, also, to the
ground? Bitter anguish will also be mine?as ,
deep as your own?if I find the curse still rests
upon my ill-fated race."
"I can bear to face my destiny," returned Guiscard,
striving to appear calm. "It may equal my |
apprehensions but it cannot surpass them."
"Listen, then, "continued Count Robert." Oth- ]
ers of my line have harkened as eargerly ? may the i
hour be a more blessed one to you! The lines, in ]
Arabic, are upon a parchment hidden in the scabbard (
of my sword that hangs on the wall of this chain- ;
ber. I carefully treasured it up; I remember the i
burden but too well. It is this:?
"The curse with him shall end, who perils life to save i
His destined bride, snatched by the angry wave;
Who dearly loves, yet would her hand resign I
'Ere make that fate her own which blasted aii his line."
Unhappy Spirit! you may well rest now," exclaimed
Guiscard joyfully. There is peace for us
both. If there be truth in the prediction of the
seer, the curse ends with me."
"The fate is thenremoved," said Count Robert's
ghosts, solemnly; "but remember, the Spectre of
the Fireside will still come to your hearth, as he
comes to all. It may be in youth, it may not be
till your locks are white and your frame bowed
with years; come he will, come he must. Be therefore
kind, patient and loving to all whom the Creator
may give you. Farewell, now. I shall walk the
earth no more! There is rest for me, and content
? such as mortals have ? for my race. Sleep you,
now, deeply, quietly, as one on whom a brighter
sun will rise to-morrow!"
A heaviness came upon the lids of Guiscard, and
he struggled, but in vain, to shake off the drowsiness
that weighed him down. He still, as slumber
stole upon his senses, endeavored to keep his eyes
opened and fixed upon the spot where his ghostly
visitant sat Insensibly the figure faded away, becoming
more and more indistinct until it had melted
into thin air. No longer able to keep awake,
I Guiscard'.s eye-lids closed and a gentle but deep
r slumber locked ever}' sense in repose.
; When Guiscard awoke the next morning, the sun
I was blaxiiie brishtlv upon the rose-colored curtains
! of his chamber, flooding the whole apartment with
; glorious light. It no longer seemed a dreary and
- gloomy chamber but cheerful and pleasant. The
r events of the night confounded him; he passed his
i hand across his eyes, doubtful if he were yet awake,
t The portrait of Count Robert still looked down up
on him from its place over the mantel as on th
preceding evening. Was it a vision or was it onl
a dream, was the question which he asked himse
and which he felt really unable to solve. The chai
in which his spectral visitant had seemed to sit
was really in the very place which in his vision i
had appeared to occupy. But how could he be cei
tain that he had not himself placed it there ? Hi
first sensation when he awoke was that of a ma
from whom some impending calamity has been re
moved, but as he began seriously to reflect upo:
the mystery in which he was involved, the conclu
sion forced itself upon his mind that he had bee:
mocked by a pleasant but delusive dream. "Am
yet'' ? such was his next thought ?' 'why may no
dreams reveal to us all that beings from the landc
spirits can tell us ? I will at least examine the scab
bard of Count Robert's sword, and see if there 1>
any truth in the statement which was made me ii
my dream. If the parchment with the Arabic vei
ses really be there, the mystery will begin to deepen
and my dream, if such it was, may be reliable a
to the future, after all."
Guiscard arose and, taking down the antiqu
sword, drew out the finely tempered blade. In
verting the scabbard and striking it a few times up
on the floor, a small scrap of parchment slided dowi
Prom within, but it was so mildewed that it affor
^ ' ^ InTTT
JCU 111 III UUl lltUU k)dtii3IiK/LlUUi xuw iwn vuuiuvwi
that could still be traced upon it, were evidentl;
those of the Arabic alphabet, but there were too fe\
)f them to enable, even an expert oriental schola
X) determine whether or not the inscription corres
ponded with the verses, which were still distinct!;
mpressed upon his memory. .
At all events, liis fears for the future were some
ivhat diminished. It removed no slight burdei
iom his mind to have presented to him, evei
through the doubtful medium of a dream, thi
sossibility that the destiny which had involved hi
'amily for so many generations, was now accom
alished, and that the avenger was satisfied. H<
Iressed himself and descended to the chamber be
ow, where breakfast was awaiting him.
Phillipe met him in the hall with a look in whicl
:uriosity and awe were strangely blended. Guis
ard saluted the old man kindly, and with mori
han ordinary cheerfulness and gayety. The ok
nan lifted his brows with astonishment, but asket
lo.questions.
"He is the first I ever saw come from sleeping ii
Dount Robert's chamber with a merry face," sai(
he old man to himself. "I wonder if? but neve
nind; he will tell me all about it after he ha
ireakfasted; and I can well wait till then. I neve
aw one of the family before, who did not brinj
Vein that old room, a sad and troubled face. Bu
vhy Count Robert's ghost should have followed thi
amily from France, and met every one of his lin<
'ace to face, unless he could give good news at last
s more than I can guess. I shall know it all, whei
naster Robert has dispatched his breakfast.
When Guiscard took his seat at the table, witl
he cordial greeting of Aunt Agatha, he reoeive(
t questioning glance, that told him that curiosity
vas also busy at her heart There was minglet
vith curiosity, too, an anxious solicitude, to knov
vhat revelations bad been made to him during th<
light; for, well versed in the traditions of th<
'amily, and informed by Philiipe, of the converse
ion of the preceding evening, she felt assured the
lis future life had, in some manner, been foreshad
>wed to him during the hours spent in Coun
Robert's chamber.
But Guiscard was unusually shunt and thought
ul. The events of the night furnished him witl
ibundant material for thought and reflection.
"Aunt Agatha." said he, as he was about rising
rom the table, the thought of what Helen Roth
say had said to him the previous evening, occur
ingto him suddenly, in connection with his dream
'Do you remember any couplet, which has beei
landed down, in relation to the brides of the Guis
sards?"
The old dame shook her head, doubtingly, am
seemed to be reflecting.
"Do you remember these lines?" asked Guis
jard?
"The curse with him shall end ?"
"Aye! now I remember it," said the old woman
juickly; and she repeated:
"The curse with him shall end, who perils life to save
His destined bride snatched by the angry wave."
"It is an old couplet," said she in explanation
'about the ending of the ill-fate of the Guiscard
arith their wives. I learned it when I was a littli
girl, hardly in my teens, and she who taught it t<
lie, toid me that the ill-luck of the house woult
some day, come to an end."
"I think there are two more lines," said Guis
jard, closely watching the features of the old housi
keeper.
"I believe there maybe more," replied Agatha
"but if there is, I have forgotten it this many lonj
pears."
"Would you remember the additional lines, i
you heard them repeated?" asked Guiscard, cu
riously.
"Perhaps I might," answered dame Agatha
"when the memory is jogged, we remember man;
things that were forgotten."
"Do you think it was something like this?'
isked Guiscard ?
"Who dearly loves yet would her hand resign,
Ere make that fate her own which blasted all his line."
Agatha paused a moment in thought, repeatinj
the verses to herself.
' 'Those are the very words! I remember to hav
heard them when I was a child,0 exclaimed she
suddenly setting down the tea-pot and raising he
hands in wonder; "But how, Robert, did the;
Borne to your ears? I had forgotten them, fortyyes.
nearly fifty years by-gone, and there is no on
" * ' -1 xl X 1...X M
could nave repeated tneni to you, uui, mo.
,:I will tell you who it was, Aunt Agatha," sail
Guiscard, laughing; "but it must be kept a deai
secret; no one must know it but Phillipe, and yoi
must swear him, on your pondrous bunch of keys
to carry it with him to the grave. Now?believ
it or not ? I had this quutrain from my ancestor
Count Robert; but ? remember you ? it was al
in a dream."
"It wa<3 no dream, my child," said the old dame
solemnly shaking her head. "Your are the firs
though, I fear, who ever had reason to rejoice a
meeting him. I fear he was a man who went fa
astray, and left a curse hanging over all his pos
terity."
"I will tell you my dream," said Guiscard.
"I tell you it was no dream," returned Agatha
with increasing seriousness; "but I will be glad t
hear what the old Count had to say for himseli
and what he could have done to make you so cheer
ful this morning ? He never brought comfort t
the house before."
Guiscard related every circumstance that occurrei
to him, during the night he passed in Count Rob
ert's chamber ? a room so denominated from th
picture that hung there. Agatha was all attentio
and wonder, and she frequently broke in upon th
narrative, with her pithy comments and cxclama
tions of surprise.
"It would be all very good, son Robert, if ther
was anything in the verses that could apply to you
But Robert?said the good dame, suddenly intei
rupting herself as a new thought occurred to lier"I
have been to your chamber this morning, an
find the clothes that you wore yesterday, all soake
with water. How comes that?"
"It came of swimming the Santce for my bride,'
said Guiscard, with a cheerful smile. "I save
her, yet would not have married her for the work
e but for the verses which I heard for the first time
y last night."
If Dame Agatha waited to hear no more. In her
ir exultant joy, she threw herself upon Guiscard's
t, neck, regardless of the tea-pot, which her arm
it overturned and dashed broken upon the floor. In
- her excess of joy, she laughed and wept by turns.
8 She at once adopted the conclusion, as an inconn
trovertible article of faith, that the evil destiny,
i- which had rested upon the family so long, was now
n removed, and that the descendants of the line so
i- dear to her, might now take to their hearts and
n homes the beautiful and young, undismayed by the
J fate that had rested upon them so long,
t "I shall be glad to welcome the bride now, Robf
ert," said she, at length, composing herself. "I
h shall no more think of the coffin and the shroud,
e when the bride of a Guiscard crosses his threshold;
n but of long, happy years passing lightly over her
1 ^ vAvMAmk/m TTA11 on/1 oil rwliA
- ueau , uuo ever icuieiuuei jyu, uuu au nuu nuiv,
i, wives they have sworn to love and cherish, should
s remember it with you, thot, even where no curse
hangs over the house, the Spectre of the Fireside
e will come at last, and part those whom God has
i- joined together; so live every hour, that Remorse
- may not add his bitterness to the tears of Grief,
a when they fall upon the cold clay that never wea -
ried in its love and duty."
s Kind and gentle reader, our story has come to
y its close. Guiscard married the beautiful Helen
v Rothsav, whom he loved so well. Long and hapr
py years endeared them to each other, and a nui
merous progeny blessed them.
y Count Robert's ghost walked the earth no more.
The curse which his sin had plucked down upon
- his descendants, was remembered among them only
n as we remember a storm when its clouds and thuni
ders are gQne and the bow of peace Bhines in the
e sky.
; fpsceUatttous fUitdiag.
From the Charlotte Democrat.
1 ROCK ISLAND WOOLEN MILLS. -
We paid a visit to this establishment a few
i days since, and found it to be what the Company
j claim for it, one of the best Wool Factories in the
j South, if not in the United States. -We found it
perfect in all its parts, and the several apartments
so admirably arranged that the whole works like
1 the machinery of a clock.
1 The goods produced in this establishment are of
r a very superior order, so much so that the Norths
ernr Commission Merchants say they are too honestly
made to come in competition with the New
r England fabrics, or a large proportion of imported
I goods. The Company will be compelled to look to
t the South for a support, and culpably guilty will
? our people be if sucn enterprises are not fostered
s and encouraged. We have examined the goods
and can truly say, that they are the best we ever
' saw made, and our people ought to wear them ;
1 and we respectfully insist on Southern Merchants
placing'ftie productions of this Factory upon their
i coufttife, and giving the consumers an opportunity
} of testing their qualities. This is all the Company
ask, and they feel satisfied that when the durabih,
ty of these goods is tried, that the enterprise is be1
yond a failure.
T We will endeavor to give a description of this
; mammoth establishment, but we feel that we shall
> fall far short of conveying a correct idea of its pro.
portions. It must be seen to be appreciated.
. - The Factory is situated immediately on the N.
Carolina Railroad and almost in the heart of our
thriving little city. It is four stories high, each of
t which is filled to its utmost capacity with machinery.
The ground floor of the building is 84x100
. feet, divided into three apartments. The first,
50x1 (X) feet, is allotted exclusively to the finishing
of the goods. We there saw the machinery at
work that requires a good mechanic to appreciate.
I The second appartment of the ground floor, 20x100
. feet, is used tor drying purposes, which is done entirely
by steam. The tnira is for dying. Here wc
found large vats for this purpose, so arranged chat
' water can be heated to any temperature, and regu1
lated with as much precision as it is possible for
- anything of the kind to be done. The manner in
which the heating is done we will speak of more
1 particularly hereafter.
The second floor is divided into two apartments.
The first, 50x100 feet is filled with looms for weaving
; and here, for the first time, we witnessed the
manufacture of fancy goods, but to describe the
manner we will not even attemnt. for it is beyond
our comprehension"? those large and magnificent
looms working like creatures of intelligence, throwing
up first one color, and then another, and with
such mathematical precision that it is almost impossible
to make a mistake. The second apart,
mentofthis story is used for warping, beaming
s and sizing the warps; all of which is aone by mae
chinery of the latest and most improved patterns.
5 The third floor is a counterpart of the second,
, divided into two apartments, but used for very different
purposes. The first, 50x100 feet, contains
six setts or cards, three in a sett, making eighteen
- cards, and two wool pickers. We have often in
3 childhood sat in wonder at the use of the old hand
card aud thought it was the height of perfection;
. but who can visit this room and see these cards at
' work but will forever loose sight of the old hand
5 cards, and wonder that they ever were used. We
witnessed the entire operation of carding from the
f feeding of the wool on the first breaker and finish.
er; it is then spread upon an apron that works upon
the priuciple of an endless chain, passing through
. rollers cleansing it of burrs and other iuipurities,
' thence on and through the cards, until its is combY
ed off and passes on to a roll, from which it is conveyed
to the "second breaker," and is taken from
' it in a similar manner; from thence it passes to
the third card or finisher, from which it is taken
off on a spool and is ready for spinning. All of
this operation we witnessed with much pleasure.
The second apartment on this floor is divided off in?
to bins for the reception of wool as it comes from
the pickers. We could have spent hours in this
e apartment where we only spent minutes, and left
it with reluctance, but soon found ourselves amply
' repaid by ascending to
The fourth story, 50x100 feet, where we inspectY
ed the spinning operation. When we heard the
~ humming noise our thoughts ran back to childhood,
e but when we viewed the workings of the spinning
machinery technically called by tne manufacturers,
j "Mules" aud "Jacks," (of which there were seven
in number,) our mind naturally turned in wonder
* at the inventions of man. These seven "Mules"
i and "Jacks" have about two thousand two huni,
dred spindles, and we were informed that they
e could perform what would be equivalent to the
, labor of at least four thousand females, and do it
a great deal better. Here we could have stood for
hours, but our guide beckoned us to return and
examine the motive power which moves this vast
i, quantity of machinery. To do this, we had to de;t
scend to the ground "floor and were taken into the
1 engine and boiler rooms.
The Engine works as beautifully as any we ever
1 saw, and looks almost as bright as when it was
pronounced "completed by tne maker. The boiler
is certainly a Curiosity, it being composed of a
succession or cast iron globes, each of wnich holds
,, about one gallon of water, and each globe is wrapt
0 in fiery flames, thus giving more heat and gene?
rating steam faster t lan the old style boiler.?
' This ooiler, of one hundred horse capacity, furnishes
the steam for the Engine, for tne dye vats,
o for the dry room and for heating the entire building.
No fire is allowed inside, and the heating ard
rangement is certainly very perfect There is also
h a pump constantly at work while the Engine is in
motion, which throws water into all the rooms of
e the Factor}', thus supplying the operatives with
n water to drink and also a safeguard in case of aoe
cident by fire. We have never spent an hour more
i- profitably than we did in looking through this magnificent
establishment
The establishment works about ninety hands,
and gives support to no less than two hundred ana
' fifty persons, all of whom are dependent upon the
*- success of the Company for subsistence. It is
- managed by General John A. Young, as President,
d and James Earnshaw, Superintendent. General
d Young hiis been closely identified with the manufacture
of woolen goods for the last eighteen years;
? indeed he is one of the original founders of 'Rock
Island," and we may say the father of the enterd
prise. As for Mr. Earnshaw, his labors speak for
I, themselves. Who can look at these beautiful
Cassimeres and not see that a master mind has
been employd there ?
The present proprietors of the Factory are J. A.
Young, M. L. Wnston, John Wilkes, Jas. Eamshaw.
The two former have been connected with
Rock Island Factory for 12 or 15 years.
In concluding this article we must urge upon the
people of the South the great necessity of supporting
enterprises of this kind. There are numbers
of them. We must encourage our capitalists to
invest their surplus means in manufacturing and
let us learn a lesson from the Yankees. Look at
their manufacturing towns and villages, the capital
invested, and tne profits they are realizing off
our people. Why not keep it at home? Look to
it, tnat our only salvation is in our sustaining each
other and keeping our capital at home.
A VICTIM FORGOTTEN BY THE SOUTH.
We published two days ago, a paragraph concerning
Colonel St Leger Grenfell, now a prisoner
for life, by virtue of the sentence of a court martial,
on the worse than St Helena Island?the
"Dry Tortugas." ' .
Tt Vins Vwpn nnr i?nod nr ha/1 llinlc tnlmve heen the
first Confederate officer that became acquainted
with Col. Grenfell, and that, in this very city of
Mobile, and to have been the cause of his connection
with the gallant and unfortunate Morgan.
It was about the latter part of May or early in
June, 1862, that we happened to visit Mobile on
leave, and as the Battle House was much crowded,
we had to share the rt>om of a tall, military-looking
gentleman, who had iust succeeded in running the
lockade from New Orleans into our lines. Prom
the first we became very intimate with our roommate,
who abruptly addressed us in French, and
soon displayed before us all the charms of a mind
well stored with facts and experience and highly
cultivated by education and reading. We soon
found that he had served with marked distinction
in the Crimean war as Brigade Major of the celebrated
brigade to which Belonged the immortal
Six Hundred sung by Tennyson.
He showed us the warmest letters of introduction
to General Beauregard, whom it was his original
design to join in any capacity; but, as the retreat
from Corinth was then progressing, we agreed
together to delay for a few days our visit to the
General.
The next day we took dinner at Jourdan's, on
St. Michael street, and at the next table sat Col.
Morgan, just then rising into that brilliant fame
which no time will ever obscure. Having known
the gallant raider's father in Kentucky, years ago,
we exchanged a few brief words, and then proceeded
to relate, in French, to Col. Grenfell, the nature,
character and extent of the romantic exploits
of that daring youth.
The Colonel could hardly wait till he had concluded
our enthusiastic account, but exclaimed, at
once, "c'est mon heros! c est mon heros!" and insisted
upon an immediate introduction.
This being cheerfully done, the two tables were
soon joined, and the veterap of India, Crimea, Italy,
Algiers and Syria, for Major Grenfell had shed
nia Vil/vul nn ovonr knwitlnn tViirtv vpnrs
past, was soon lost in his admiration of the simple,
yet grand recital of the many dangers and escapes
of a partizan's life on the border.
General Beauregard was at once given up, and
in less than an hour afterwards Colonel Grenfell
was officially attached to Colonel Morgan as Aidde-Camp
or Adjutant, we forget which.
The English soldier, who belongs to one of the
best families of Great Britain, had with him a large
quantity of gold which Col. Morgan and ourselves
advised him to leave in the hands of the British or
French Consul, and only provide himself with a
moderate sum of Confederate money.
This was accordingly done, when suddenly Col.
Grenfell remarked that he would hardly have enough
left to buy a horse. "Buy ahorse," answered
Morgan, laughing, "dear Colonel, in a month
you'll have horses for sale, I am going into Kentucky."
The next day they left together for one of those
daring expeditions which was finally to end by the
murder, while a prisoner, of one of the boldest,
greatest, bravest and kindest of modern leaders.
Colonel Grenfell's career soon became a theme
for the admiration of the South, and the terror of
its enemies, and his name is as familiar to the Kentucky
border as that of the Black Douglass to the
Lowlands.
It seems, however, owing to some technical difficulties
in the way of his promotion, that he subsequently
left, or, as his, enemies allege, pretended to
nave left General Morgan, and resumed the life
of a private English tourist and sportsman on the
Erairies of Illinois, when suddenly the world was
orrified at the news of his arrest, with circumstances
of atrocious cruelty, under the vague and
unmeaning charge of having attempted to release
the Confederate prisoners at camp Douglas and to
burn Chicago!
The absurdity of the first, and the magnitude of
the second charge should nave been sufficient to
prove their utter groundlessness; but the hate and
rancor which burned in the breasts of his captors,
who had so often trembled at the mere mention of
his name, could not be satisfied, until dragged before
some obscure military court, and on tne evidence
of his own enemies, he was speedilv convicted
and sentenced to be snot in a few days.
It is a remarkable fact that this sentence was passed
on a foreigner, who had not been taken in arms,
who could, as a foreigner, commit no treason, ana
under the treaties with England, could not be diverted
from the natural judges of the land.
The man who had dared death on a thousand
battle fields, received without emotion the notification
of his approaching fate; but even tbe executioners
pausea and hesitated, applying themselves,
and witnout his knowledge, for a respite, and then
a commutation of the awful decree.
* ? i if. T
With that nonchalance cnaracrenzmg iur. jjincoln,
and without much inquiry, he only saw there
a chance to save a man's life, and, not being bloodily
inclined, he seized it with alacrity, changing it
only to imprisonment for life on the Tortugas?and
now for over three years has the heroic Englishman
lingered away his fast declining days!
And not a voice has been raised by his own countrymen,
asking at least for a revision of the odious
trial, or the return to legitimate jurisdiction of an
accused, who, not having been taken in arms, could
not, by the laws of nations, be held accountable before
a military tribunal! and while proud Albion
was allowing one of her boldest children to perish
under this most unjustifiable breach of law, sne was
most courteously and attentively listening to and
coinnlying with every application, for mercy made
by the United States Government in behalf of her
own betrayed Fenians!
And even the South did not listen to the sounds
of agony brought over the way from the inhospitable
sands of the Tortugas, until the gallant little
State of Florida took the lead in this mission of
mercy, and adopted resolutions calling the attention
of the General Government to the detention of
Col. Greufell. We sincerely hope that the President
will listen to those just representations, and
not allow himself to be influenced by the report
lately made by General Sheridan as to the condition
of the prisoners on those islands.
It is a strange fact that this descendant of the
Irish race, and one who has at last exhibited personal
valor, if not elevated militaiy talents, should
be so unrelenting in his vindictive feelings, even
after success, as to attribute to the ill-nature of
Col. Grenfell the complaints made about the treatr
ment of political prisoners in America, a treatment
before which the name of Sir Hudson Lowe, the
jailor at St Helena, has almost been redemed from
eternal infamy.?Mobile Times.
The London Newspapers.?It is stated by a
London correspondent that the circulation of the
London Times is about 60,000, and itsprofits last
year were about $250,000 in gold. The London
Telegraph, a penny paper, has the lagest circulation
of any daily newspaper in the world, about
160,000, and its profits are about $260,000. It is
a Reform paper, whilst the Standard, also a penny
paper, and the organ of the Derby Ministry,
circulates 85,000 copies, and makes $125,000 a
year. The London Herald, which is also a Ministerial
organ, and is owned by the same proprietor
as the Standard, circulates 1000 copies, though it
pays $ 10,0000 profit. The Dady News, the Liberal
organ, prints 5000 daily, and nas an annual profit
of $25,000 ; whilst the Star, which is the organ
of Mr. Bright, he being reported to be a part owner
and occasional contributor, circulates 3(1000 copies,
and last year made over $40,000. These are
the chief London dailies, and they are all large
eight page newspapers, excepting the Times, the
daily edition of which is never less than twelve
pages, and has been as high as twenty-four pages. I
Its customary issue is sixteen pages, and its annual
receipts and expenditures are probably as large as
those of all the other London daily journals combined.
A GENERAL BANKRUPT LAW.
The New York Herald, of the 7th, has the following
article on a United States general bankrupt
law:
The Constitution of the United States empowers
Congress to pass uniform laws on the subject of
bankruptcies. This power has only been twice exercised
? once in 1800, when a bankrupt law limited
to five years was passed, which was repealed
before the expiration of the term, at the close of
the year 1803, and again in August, 1841, when a
general insolvent law was enacted, whicn was so
loose in its provisions and so available for the fraudulent
debtor as to excite a storm of popular disfavor.
The latter law was pushed through Congress
by questionable means, and among the first
who availed themselves of its provisions was the
Chevalier James Watson Webb, who after making
a great fuss over the passage of the law, coolly
wiped out some half a million dollars ot dents by
ifo oi/1 tT? rtarimH nn ruarmftnenf'. Ivnefit, from
the white-washing process, however, since he could
have resorted to it again in a few years afterwards,
on a smaller scale, to his own advantage. The law
of 1841 had less thaD two year's existence, a bill
for its repeal having received the President's signature
on March 3, 1843. During the period it
remained in operation, it was calculated that some
40,000 persons availed themselves of its provisions,
whose aggregate debts must have been in the neighborhood
of $200; 000,000.
Notwithstanding the failure of former experimentSj
it has long been the opinion of the ablest
financiers and the most honorable business men in
the United States, that a general bankrupt law,
fair and liberal in its provisions, and containing
strict safeguards against fraud, would be at once a
protection to the honest debtor, and advantage to
the business community. Congress alone has
power to pass such a law, which would be binding
upon all creditors in the U. States, and all descriptions
of debts. The insolvent laws of a State can
only reach its own citizens, unless creditors from
other States, by voluntary recognizing the insolvency
and accepting dividends from the estate, put
themselves within the pale of their operation.?
The close and intimate commercial relations between
the States render it very desirable that a
uniform system of laws relating to bankruptcy,
which all understand, and by which all alike are
bound, should exist; and it was a wise provision
of the Constitution which vested the power to make
such laws in the Congress of the United States.
In Europe, bankruptcy laws are of a quasi criminal
character. The proceedings are regarded as
hostile to the bankrupt. Under the French law,
he is arrested and confined in prison, or put under
surveilance, and after an examination into his affairs,
by the Tribunal of Commerce, he can be released
on bail or unconditionally. After the investigation
is completed, he can be condemned to imprisonment,
with Or without labor, if fraud is
proved against him. The English law has some
peculiar features. A bankrupt who obtains his
certificate of discharge, is allowed a per centage to
a limited sum out of the proceedings of his estate,
when the dividends reach a certain amount.?
When fifteen shillings in the pound is realized by
his creditors, he receives ten per cent, on the whole
assets to a sura not exceeding ?600, and so in proportion
for a smaller dividend. This affords a
oankrupt a small capital with which to commence
life anew. One provision" of the English law would
hardly suit the United States. A bankrupt is
not entitled to a discharge if he has lost a certain
amount within the year immediately preceding his
bankruptcy, either at gambling or stock-jobbing.
It is objected by some that bankruptcy laws are
a protection to fraudulent rnd dishonest debtors.
A good law must always be the reverse. Our present
system, without any general law at all, is oppressive
only to the unfortunate and honest debtor,
and affords the rogue every facility he can desire
to cheat his creditors. It is also an incentive to
temptation to men of weak and unstable principles
to become dishonest. When a pereon who is doing
business with an intention ana wish to establish
a good reputation finds misfortune coming upon
him he has now no oportunity to redeem himself,
and will in a large majority of instances, set to
work to put his property out of the reach of his
creditors. If he goes down, he argues, he can never
get up again, and self-preservation is the first
law of nature. A fair bankrupt law would enable
him to stop at once, to put all his property in the
hands of his creditorSj to pay as much as he could,
and to commence again without an incubus of debt
weighing him down. From dishonesty and fraud
no law devised by human wisdom can entirely protect
the creditor. But a good bankrupt law would
afford him more protection than he at present enjoys,
since it would enable him to take immediate
measures for his protection whenever evidence of
intended fraud should make itself apparent.
The lack of a uniform bankruptcy law deprives
the community of some of its best commercial ability
and business enterprise. To keep a man constantly
out of business because he lias once been
unfortunate, or to compel him to resort to all manner
of tricks and subterfuges to conceal his property
and cover up his interests, cannot conduce either
to the good of the creditor or of the State. The
honest debtor, if he should become a bankrupt,
would never fail to pay up his old obligations in
full should he subsequently secure the means to do
so. The dishonest man never would pay a debt at
all if he could avoid it. We have examined with
some care the law which passed the present House
at its first session, and is now before tne Senate. Its
main provisions appear to be fair and just both towards
the creditor aud debtor, and it contains apparently
stringent safeguards against fraud and
dishonesty on the part of a bankrupt. At this pe-'
riod of our life as a nation it is eminently desirable
that some uniform law should be given to the country?
and the subject should claim the early and the
serious attention of the Senate. It is one of the
most important matters that remains before that
body, and should be passed during tne existing
session, so that if any amendments to the bill are
found desirable they may be acted upon by the
present House, which has already maturely considered
and thoroughly debated the subject
ADVERTISING.
It was a shrewd fellow, says a contempoiy, who
first conceived the idea of posting his wares for
sale through the public prints. * It was a philosophical
conception. He knew that more people
would read the paper than would pass beneath nis
signboard; in fact, his resolve was to create for
himself a sort of circulating signboard, which would
r&ch all parts of the kingdom and attract trade to
his house.
The trick of advertising was invented somewhere
over 200 years ago, and of course the first one appeared
in a London newspaper. We can easily conceive
how the beef eating public of London was first
informed through the morning paper that John
Smith would keep, at a certain stall, the best beef
in market What a rush there was for that stall!
What a curiosity to see John Smith, who had immortalized
himself by inserting an advertisement in
a paper. Of course the fashionables ate John
Smith's meat, and for a time he was all the rage in
the metropolis
But others stole John's thunder. Soon there appeared
haberdasher's announcements. Upholsterers
posted their wares and clothiers announced their
claims upon the public patronage. The advantage
of the practice was so apparent that dealers were
not slow in availing themselves of them, and very
soon no newspaper was without its regular advertising
columns. It increased the interest and demand
for newspapers, and gave them influence
and a circulation which they nad not before enjoyed.
Since that time, however, what was then a mere
practice has been reduced to a fine art. The best
skill of the tvpe-founder and the best art of the engraver
are all brought into requsition in order to
produce the best results. Advertisements in newspapers,
upon trees at cross-roads, and at country
blacksmith's shops, on cards, on posters and envelopes,
branded upon walls and fences, all are so
many means adopted by individuals to let the public
know that they make or sell such and such articles.
The man who does not now-a-days advertise
in some shape is a slow-coach, and seldom
known outside the limits of the immediate neighborhood
where he does business.
The advertising columns of a newspaper are a
special portion of the history of the place in which
it is published. No reader of a paper is fully posted
in regard to the news of the day until he has
read the advertisements and learned what goods
are in the market, what firms have dissolved, what
new ones are on foot what new enterprises are being
started, and whatever of other intelligence
comes under this special department The idea
that the advertising columns of a paper are devoid
of interest te all save buyers and sellers is a grossly
mistaken notion. It is history, and as such it interests
every one.
The philosophy of advertising is founded in excellent
reason. A card that will cost a merely nominal
sum tells thousands of people that Mr. Merchant
has a certain article of produce or goods.
Among the3e thousands of readers who are thus
notified, there are always a few who happen to be
in want of the article, and if a sale is not made, it
is no fault in the system which puts it before the
public. If only one merchant is a city ^vertiser,
he would doubtless do about all the foreign trade;
and in the same ratio will the merchant who advertises
most, lilierally be known abroad. The mere
fact of having his name and business in the paper
gives him a circulating signboard, which meets the
eye of numbers of people who could not otherwise
be renehef^ ia prrrfitahlo and -reapeotable,
and in nine cases out of ten produces a fourfold
profit on all money invested in it
The secret of the success of our wealthiest and
most prosperous business men is unoovered by the
fact that they use the newspapers freely, yet judiciously.
Thev know when and in what manner to
advertise, and consequently every line they put into
the papers is as Thread cast upon the waters"
? it will return unto them laden with benefits.
IN. C. Weekly Index.
* SNAKES AT DINNER.
. George Guyon, in the Science Gossip, gives a
curious account of the feeding of the snakes in the
London Zoological Gardens:
As probably not many of my readers have witnessed
the operation of feeding the reptiles at the
Zoological Gardens, perhaps a short account of
what was seer, during a visit a few weeks ago may
be interesting.
It was quite by accident that I happened to enter
the reptile-house a few minutes before the feeding
commenced, which was late in the afternoon.
Before beginning, the keeper locked the door, apparently
to prevent persons crowding in, as not
many can see well at the same time. He then
brought supplies of the different kinds of prey, and
cast them into the serpents' dens, the doomed animals
being young rabbits, young mice, white mice,
ducks, fowls, sparrows and frogs, which were distributed
to suit the size of the various snakes, except
the frogs, which were provided for the aquatic
species.
The large boa constrictors, into whose cage thror
rabbits, grown specimens, were introduced, seemed
the principal attraction, but their mightinesses
were in no hurry to dine. As is generally the case
after long watching, I was looking at something
else when there was an exclamation, 'He's got jt!
and I found one of these large snakes was coiled
round a rabbit. The latter, I thought, struggled a
little, but it might be fancy; all remained quiet for
a few minutes, and then the huge reptile uncoiled
himself, and the rabbit lay. perfectly dead. The
boa showed no inclination to eat its victim, but
glided about in a languid manner afrer the other
rabbits, wbo showed litue sense 01 tneir danger.?
It was curious to see them in happy ignorance
siiiffling at their dead companion, or putting up
their noses to a hand held near the glass. Two
ducks were introduced into the den of another large
boa, or rather, I believe it was a python, which is
the boa constrictor of the old world, and similar in
size and habits,
| "He moved slowly after the birds, which showed
more fear thaE. the rabbits, but made no attempt
to seize them. While leaning over the bar, to observe
better, two or three loud thumps sounded on
the glass front near my head, and some bystanders
expressed fear lest the glass should be broken.?
The attack was so sudden, that it was only when
the keeper requested me to keep further back,
that I was conscious that the big snake preferred
me to the ducks. The blows sounded lite those
of a man's fist, and would probably throw a person
down if they took effect By the quick repetition
of the strokes, it seemed the reptile was
slow to learn that the plate-glass was two strong
for its efforts. I regretted afterward not having
estimated the size of this python at the time, but
from memory should imagine it to be nine or ten
feet long.
"Next to these large snakes the venomous kinds
seemed to attract most attention. Some rabbits,
so young as to be almost helpless, were dropped
into the cases of the rattlesnakes and puff adder.
They were soon struck, but the venom was much
slower in its action than I should have expected.?
The bite of both these species is said to be fatal to
man, yet these small animals survived about twenty
minutes# The bites were effectively given, as
in one instance, blood oozed from the punctures,
and in another it flowed from the nose and mouth.
I paid particular attention to the act of striking,
having understood that our English viper does not,
strictly speaking, bite?that is, does not close the
jaws, but with tne mouth wide open drives in the
fangs by a downward stroke of the upper jaw, like
the dIow of a hammer, The puff adder, nowever,
appeared to seize its prey with a momentary grip,
leaving go immediately.
"A half-grown rabbit was given to another venemous
species?I think a horned viperbut,
though the poor little animal was repeatedly pushed
up against tne reptile, the latter would not strike.
Every effort was made to irritate it, and it frequently
turned round vengefuuy, hissing like a small
j steam engine all the time, but it would not use its
weapons. The 'glass snakes' appeared more ready
to feed than most of the others; mice were provided
for their refection, and one of them disposed
of two or three in rapid succession. Shortly after,
happening to pass the python's den, a bang on the
glass apprised me that my Ophidian friend was
still bent on making closer acquaintance.
How False Reports may Originate.?A curious
illustration of this is found in an anecodote
told in the lecture of Mr. Spurgeon: A minister
lived opposite one of the deacons of his church.
A report got abroad that the minister had been seen
to beat his wife and the matter was brought before
a deacon's meet ing. There the minister said he had
traced the spreiahng of the report to the deacon's
daughter. The good man, the deacon, said he
would not have spoken, but his daughter's name
having been mentioned, he must then state he did
see (through the window blind of the lighted room)
the minister beating his wife, and heard ner scream.
The minister was nonplused; but he requested that
his wife might be sent for and questioned. When
she arrived she explained the whole matter. She
said: "Don't you recollect there was a rat in the
room that night, that it got upon my dress, that you
got frightened, and took up the poker; that I could
not stand still, and ran around the room, you running
after me with a poker. This is the explanation
of the who^ affair." Well, then, the lecturer
would remark to his hearers, the next time they
heard a story against a good man, let them say at
once, "There is a rat at the bottom of it, I know^"
and that some simple explanation may account for
the whole thing.
Character is Power.? It is often said that
knowledge is power, and this is true. Skill or faculty
of any kind carries with it superiority. So, to
n nnrtnin extent, wealth is Dower, and genius has a
transcendent gift of mastery over men." But higher,
purer, better than all; more constant in its influence,
more lasting in its way, is the power of
character?that power which emanates from a pure
and lofty mind.
Take any community, who is the man of most
influence? To whom do all look up with reverence?
Not the "smartest" man, not the cleverest politician,
nor the most brilliant talker, but he wno, in
a long course of yean, tried by the extremes of
prosperity and adversity, has approved himself to
the judgment of his neighbors, and of all who have
seen his life, as worthy to be called wise and good.
Treatment op the Aged.?A little thoughtful
attention how happy it makes the old 1 They
have outlived most of the friends of their early
youth. How lonely their hours! Often their
partners in life have long filled silent graves : often
their children they have followed to the tomb.?
They stand solitary, bending on their staff, watching
till the same call reach tnem. How often they
must think of absent, lamented faces; of the lovfe
which cherished them, and the tears of sympathy
that fell with theirs, now all gone 1 Why should
not the young cling around and comfort them,
cheering their gloom with songs and happy smiles I
/
A