Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, July 08, 1869, Image 1
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"VOL.-, 15. : ~ YORKYILLE, S. G., THURSDAY, JULY 8, 1869. . : NO. 272
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I **"* fr*
w GREY HAIRS.
How well I lovo those*"whitening lock*
Which crown my father dear T
I see them turning gref er still With
every passing year ;
They tell of'trials, toils and cares
That none of us have proved;
They speak of years of anxious hopes
And tears for those he loved.
May these last days be far the best,
Till* Jesus calls, "Come home to rest."
We sang of golden locks, 'tis true?
Of tresses auburn, black, and brown;
Inspired with reverence and love,
TV e honor most age's silvery crown.
"God bless thee, father," is my prayer,
"And spare thee many years;
Thy pleasant face, thy cheerful voice,
Thy child's heart ever cheers;
For, oh! far distant be the day
When from our sight they'll pass away.
Threescore and ten the years draw nigh f
Long, nobly hast thou striven,
By precepts and examples blest,
TV, mi id a na on tn heaven.
Long will thy loving voice be heard
\Vnen thou hast passed away;
Thy admonition melt our hearts
Which now seem cold as clay;
May each soul prove a brilliant gem
t T adorn the heavenly diadem.
[ Mv mother, too, may blessiugs rest
k tjpon thv precious head ;
f Old Time has gallant been to thee,
' For here ana there a thread
Of silver in thy silken hair
He only dares to place,
And lightly has he left hlsline3
Upon thy still fair face:
And it is right it should be thus, .
Though fair 'tWoilld ever be to us.
A father's God, a mother's too,
How oft have we been taught,
Would bless us withhis priceless love, .
If but the boon we sought,
Conldst thou his rich reward receive
In answer to thy prayers,
To see thy children alf believe,
How blest then thy grey hairs 1
Dear Saviour, grant that this may be;
All things are possible with Thee".
IpsctUattfims grading.
THE ESCAPED CONVICT.
"Will you ever give up these trips, Terence? It
is so lonely staying here at nights; and besides, I
am fearful that some one will break in and rob the
^ house and murder us all I never say my prayers
and go to bed without trembling for my own life
and that of the children and the little woman
? hum* nnnn the arm of the strong man, and begged
m o t - -him,
with tearful eyes, to give up his wandering
life, (that of a peddler,) and settle down.
41 As soon as I have gathered enough together to
buy me a bit of ground, or what would be better
still, to emigrate to America, that blessed land
where, as the song says, There's bread and work
for all," and the bright sun is always shining, I'll
gladly give up the pack, for it is no easy work at
the best."
"Only think of the money you have in the
house now, husband, dear. Surely there is enough
to take us across the sea; you and me and the
children ; and Bridget, too, if she likes to go."
Bridget was the servant girl, who helped the
wife of the peddler, and was her solo companion
when he was away; and her eyes snapped with
apparent delight when she heard the proposition.
But she said nothing, and the "master" continued:
"It is true for you, KathleeD, that I have a
matter of ?100 or so, which I will leave for you to
take care of, and, if I have good luck this trip, I
promise you to remain either at home, or go to
America, bless her. It's a good friend she has
been to Ireland, and many is the poor soul she has
kept from starving. So take good care of the gold
and the children, Kathleen, you and Bridget, until
I come back," and he kissed his wife and brighteyed,
curly headed babies, gave Bridget the goodr
^ bye, shouldered his pack, and strode lightly away,
whistling merrily.
His heart was light, his form strong, he had
none of the fears of his wife, and was looking forward
joyfully to the time when he would have a
little home, "a pig and a sow and a patch of pratees,"
that would belong to himself alone, and
over which no hard-hearted steward or non-resident
landlord would claim control, although he
would willingly pay his tithes to the church.
Terence O'Brien was a peddler by profession,
and what was called a "forehanded" man. His
family consisted of wife, two children, a boy scarcely
three years, a babe, and the girl of all work,
Bridget. At the start of his married life, he had
rented a little cottage that stood in a homely, outof-the-way
place; although he had increased his
stores, he had retained possession of it on the soore
of economy.
A brave, athletic man, and one who feared nothing
human, he could not understand the terrors of
his wife, Kathleen?in fact, gave them but little
thought. Besides, robbery was a thing almost unknown
among the peasantry, and who would ever
dream of his having a large amount of money in
his wretched cabin ? But it was not his custom to
^ do so; usually he deposited it in a secure place.
~ So he gave the matter no further thought than to
promise himself that this should be his last journey,
if he did as well as he anticipated, and tugged
around, flattering the rosy-cheeked girls into purchasing
finery with which to dazzle the eyes of
their beaux at the next fair.
With Kathleen, however, it was different. As
the night began to draw near, and the wind to
creep round the corners of the chimney with a
mournful sound, she bethought herself of the sovereizns
her husband had left, and taking the bag
in which they were kept from the cupboard over
the fire-place, she carefully tucked it between the
beds, remarking at the same time to Bridget,
"that no one would ever think of looking for it
there."
"No," was the reply. "It would be a smart
man, shure, that would be looking under the childer
to find gould."
The tea over?they were early sleepers, as well
as early risers?the girl requested that she might
be allowed to pass the evening with her sister, whc
resided about a mile distant, and the anxious
wife and mother, although sorely loth to do so, at
k length consented, insisting upon an early return.
"But you will be back early, Bridget?"
f "Av coorse I will that same. But don't be after
fretting." And the girl departed.
The lone woman busied herself as best shecould
until a late hour, but the girl did not return. In
a fever of anxiety, she watched until fully anothei
sixty minutes had passed, although it appeared tc
her like half a day; and then, considering it useless
to remain any longer, sought her owu pillow,
after commending herself to Hiin who is the protector
of the widow and the father of the fatherless.
But she had not closed hereyes before there
was a loud rap upon the door.
"Is that you, Bridget?" she asked hopefully.
"No," was the answer; and her heart sunk like
lead within her. "No, I am a stranger; have losl
my way; you must let me in."
"I cannot, I cannot ! I am a poor, lone woman.
I dare not let you in."
"You need have no fear. As there is a God it
Heaven, I will not harm you. I am an escaped
convict?an innocent one?and as you have merc>
in your heart, open the door."
When was such an appeal made to an Irist
i heart in vain ? An escaped convict, and wanting
f euocor ? That is the talisman to open every door?
! to have the potatoe or bite of bread forced into the
I mouth. Yes, it is truly the open sesame to an
Irish heart, and it happened so in this cascv
The woman arose, opened the door, gave the
fugitive food, and, having again received the assurance
that he would do her no harm, but, on the
contrary, protect her: and, having seen him stretch
himself upon the floor before the remnant of the
peat fire, she again sought the side of her sleeping
children.
But even then she was not allowed to rest At
first her fears kept her awake. Then came another
loud rap for admission, and both she and her
strange visitor arose.
"Is this part of your gang," she asked, in trembling
whispers.
"I call on Heaven to witness," he answered solemnly,
"that such was not the case. Ask them
what tbey want."
She did so, and was told that they knew she had
money in the house, and were determined to have
it
"Tell them," whispered the stranger, "that you
have a friend with you, and that it will be dangerous
for them to enter."
"I have a friend here," she said, going close to
the door, "a man who,will protect me, and you
had better not try to get in."
"I know better," laughed a female voice?that
of Bridget, the servant girl. "I know that there
is nobody there but the children."
"What shall I?shall I do?" asked the poor
woman, wringing their hands.
"Tell them," again said the stranger, "that I
have pistols, and will shoot the first one that dares
to step within the door. God help me! I would
I not have blood upon my hands; but I promised to
pidtect you with my life, and I will. Warn them
once more."
"Bridget," shouted Mrs. O'Brien, "the friend I
have here has pistols, and will certainly kill you.
I warn you to go away."
Again the bold, bad laugh of the servant girl
rftng out, and her voice could be distinctly heard,
UTging them on.
"It's only talking they are. Divil a one is there!
in the cabin but the children. Break down the'
door and be done with it I tell you there's mor'n
a ?100 hidden between the beds."
"Stand back," whispered the convict to his hostess
; "their blood be upon their own heads."
Scarcely had the words been uttered, before
heavy blows fell upon the hinges. The self-appointed
protector stood a little one side, calm and
firm. In either hand he held a pistol, and his
manner showed that he was no stranger to their i
use.
"Down with the door?" shouted Bridget, "or1
else stand aside and give me the axe."
A shower of blows, and it fell. The false servant
girl entered, and fell dead with a bullet buried
in her brain. The foremost of the men met the
same fate, and the others fled. They had quite
enough of bloodshed.
To leave the helpless woman thus was not to be
thought of by the kind-hearted stranger; and,
though prison or transportation stared him in the
face, he comforted her as well as possible, straightened
the corpses, and then hastening to the nearest
magistrate, told the story, not even denying
who and what he was.
The facts were too evident to even bear questioning
; and, as a reward for his bravery, the convict
was pardoned?subsequently found to have J
been convicted innocently?and when the husband
and father returned, was readily persuaded to emigrate
with the family to "land of the free and the
home of the brave."
Now, in one of the Western States, Terence O'Brien
has a house by the side of a beautiful river,
and not far from it is another, where the once fugitive
convict has a wife and children of his own
to protect, and both families will give as an heirloom
to their descendants the little but true story of
how a pardon was won.
?- ? -o
THE DIFFICULTY ABOUT THAT DOG.
This was the cause of all the trouble.
Lost.?On the 10th instant, a small Terrier dog,
with a brass collar upon his neck, and the tip of
his tail eone. Answers to the name of "Jack."
Five dollars reward will be given to the person who
returns him to John Quill No. 84 Rickety Row.
I inserted the above in the Daily Flipflap, in
the hope that I might recover the animal, to which
I was much attached. The Flipflap goes to press
at 5 A. M. At half-past six I was awakened by
a pull at my door-bell. I got out and opened the
window. As I looked out I saw a man standing
in my front yard with a mongrel dog tied to a rope.
He gazed up and observed:
"Hello! are you the fellow who lost a dorg?"
"Yes I am."
"Well, then, I've fetched him," said the man.
I then explained to this wretched human being
that my dog was terrier, while his looked more
like a log of wood with half the bark off and propped
up on four sticks, than a dog of any kind.
"Well, ain't you a going to take him ?"
"I wouldn't have him as a gift. And I want you
to move off now, or I'll call the police."
"Now, I guess you think you're smart, don't
you ? I'd bust you over the jaw for five cents. I
would. You don't know a good dorg when you see
him, you don't," and he went out, after ripping
the palings off the fence.
In about half an hour there was another ring at
the bell. I went down. There was a man with six
dogs of a variety of breeds.
"Wh-wh-which of em's him, b-b-boss," said
this fellow, for he stuttered as if he would strangle
on a small syllable.
"Neither of them."
"Y-you said his n-na-name was J-Jack, d-didn't
you?"
"Yes, that's it"
"W-well then, wh-wh-what d'ye call th-that?"
says he, as he sung out "Jack," and the whole six
dogs looked up and wagged their tails like a lot of
spavined oxen in fly time.
"Why, I call it confounded nonsense to expect
I me to take the whole six dogs because they're
named Jack. I don't want to start a sausage mill,
| you understand. Mince meat isn't in my line."
. "W-w-w-well ain't you going to take him ?"
"Certainly not, do you suppose I am a gibbering
idiot?"
"W-w-w-well, you sh-shant have him now if
you want him. I w-w-w-wouldn't trust a decent
d-d-dog with a m-m-man like you, anyway."
? > -L . _ : c.n i: ..,1
I A11U me SIX. UUllllJCSieu 1UUJ uug uuu nuwuuunu
, the street after him.
I had not got fairly into the house before there
, was another ring. Seedy looking man with a
semi-decayed yellow dog. His ribs stuck out so,
that he looked as if he had gorged himself with a
spiral spring.
"You advertise for a dog, I believe. Well, I
, caught him around here in the ally, after a desperate
struggle. Fine dog, sir."
"Well, I don't think he is. He looks to me as
. if he wasn't well. He is too ethereal for this world,
t young man, depend upon it"
"Not at all, sir. Only shedding his coat, sir; all
, good dogs do at this time of the year. See that,
sir," said this seedy Caucasian, holding the dog
i by the cuff of the neck. "See how he yelps;
| that's a sign of pluck; that dog would fight a milr
lion wild cats, he would, and lick 'em too, sir."
"Get out!" I exclaimed, and the dog put his
i tail between his legs and ran for the gate.
; "See that, sir? see that ?" said the man, as he
seized him, "that's a sign he's well trained; no
raw dog behaves like that, I want you to know.
Now s'pose you fork over that five."
"Not much! I don't want him, my friend."
"You won't do it? Well then take him for
seventy-five cents, and say no more about it He's
a valuable animal. You'll never get another such
a chance."
"1 tell you I won't have him."
"Well, don't then," said the man, as he kicked
the animal over on my flower-pots and broke three
of them, while the brute dashed madly down the
middle of the street.
Just then a big roffian in a slouch hat eame up
with a bull-dog, sprung in the knees, and lamenting
the entire loss of his tail. When the ruffian
spQke to him he wagged the whole of the last half
ofhim.
"I've brought that there dog," was the observation
made by the ruffian, "and I'll finger them
there stamps, I reckon."
"My friend," said I, "that is not my dog."
"Yes, it is, though."
"Tin* it in nnL"
"Don't I tell you it is? Didn't you say the tip
of his tail was gone? Well, just look at him, will
you?"
"Well, I won't have him anyhow."
"You want to cheat me, do you? I'll fix you.
S-sick him, Bull?" said this outrageous ruffian, as
the dog flew at me, giving me barely time to get
inside and shut the door on his frontispice. I guess
I squeezed the nose off of that dog. But the man
cursed me about five minutes, and then flung a
brick at the door and went away.
In less then twenty minutes another ring. Small
pock-marked man in a red shirt, this time. And
a speckled dog that looked as if he had been out
without an umbrella when it was raining ink. Says
this victim of the small-pox:
"You know that dog you advertised for? Well,
here he is." .
"0 pshaw!" said I, "you know that isn't my
dog."
"Your name's Quill, ain't it?"
"1^ is," said L
"Well, then, this here is the dog. He's the best
ratter you ever seen. Sling them around like he
was amusin' hisself, he does, and-?"
"But he is not my dog."
" * ? i * i * t_; i
"And he's a bully watcn aog. ixk>k ac mini
Look atbim now?he's watching now! Why,-he'll
sit there and watch and watch, until he goes stone
blind, he will. You never see a watcher like him.
I'll just chain hira up while you go in and get the
V."
"No, you needn't," said I, "I'll blow his brains
oat if you don't take hiui away.
"Well, say, stranger, I'm a little strapped today
; jest lend me five on him this morning, will
you? I'll pay you to-morrow."
"See hero, now, you jest get out of here, or I'll
take the hide off of you," I said, fori began to get
excited you know.
"Aw! you ain't worth a cent, youactuallyain't,"
said the pock-marked man, as he walked off, after
clipping the dog over the head with one of my
fence palings, and then patting his fingers up to
his nose.
Not a minute after up comes a man with a
mastiff as big as a small horse.
"Say, boss, I want that five," was all he remarked
by way of introducing the subject.
"Well, you can't get it, and if you don't leave
I'll call the police," I exclaimed in despair.
"Watch him Zip!".said the man instai. ly, and
the dog flew at me, threw me down, and bit a slice
of muscle out of my leg, and disfigured my nose
for life. Then the assassin who owned him called
him off and went away laughing.
I didn't answer any more rings that day, but
about four o'clock in the afternoon I looked oat of
the second story window, and the yard was full of
men with all kinds of dogs. Black dogs, white
dogs, yellow dogs, variegated dogs, flea-bitten dogs,
dogs with tails, dogs without tails, rat terriers, bull
pups, poodles, fox hounds, spaniels, Newfoundlands,
mixed breeds, pointers, setters, and a
multitude of other varieties, all growling, yelping,
barking, snapping and jumping about, until there
wasn't a flower-pot left in the place, and the noise
was worse than a menagerie at meal time.
I havn't got my dog yet. ' 1 don't want him,
either. I don't care if I never see another dog
between this and the silent grave. I only wish
that all the dogs from here to Russian America
were collected into a convention, and had hold of
that man with mastiff, the that they might gnaw
on him until he hadn't a morsel of meat left on his
I skeleton. That is all I want in the dog line in this
world.
???
AGONIES OF AN ANGLER.
BY JOHN QUILL.
This thing of going a fishing and calling it sport
is ridiculous. Old Izaac Walton was a deceiver,
and his "Complete Angler" is calculated to pervert
public morals, and lead the unsuspecting
astray. In my opinion it's an overrated book, and
ought to be suppressed. It encourages the idea
that fishing is a genteel pastime, which affords
time for meditation, and cultivates a love for the
beautiful in nature.
That this is all nonsense, every man knows who
ever went a fishing in his life. I leave it to the
sufferers if it isn't.
Don't you know that you go out and nearly burst
a blood vessel digging worms for bait, and then
you have to dig a hole as big as a rifle-pit before
you can lay your hands on a single solitary worm ?
Then when you get to the water, you very likely
sit down on some blackberry bush or other, and
undergo nearly as much physical suffering as you
do when you stick the fish-hook into your cuticle
when you are trying to put the bait on.
When you once throw in you begin to watch the
cork, and you look at it hour after hour, until you
nearly go blind, and you think you see about twen,
ty corks, and as it never budges one inch all the
time, you conclude that there ain't any fish about,
until you pull up, when you find that some wellbalanced
and insidious member of the finny tribe
has sucked your bait off.
After enough patient endurance to start eight or
nine Christian martyrs into life, you get a nibble.
Yes, the cork moves slightly, and you think you
I arc at last aoinc to get a fish.
You watch it closely, while your mind runs over
the big fish you have heard of. You think of Jonah,
of whaling voyages, and of the sturgeons you
have seen around on the waves.
Perhaps this is one of large size, and you wonder
if you hadn't better go home and get a dray to
fetch it.
Suppose you were to catch the sea serpent or a
thousand pound snapper? and you involuntarily
suggest soup to yourself, while all the time the
cork keeps bobbing up and down, until at last she
gives one jerk and goes under. Got him, by jing!
Pull up, and there's a wretched little fish on the
hook, that wouldn't satisfy the appetite of a sick
1 sardine, and he cost you just fourteen worms?
enough to bait a school of mackerel.
Throw in again, wait for an hour, and you don't
' get a single nibble.
Then you think you are safe to let go and light
' your pipe. No sooner do you get the match lit,
and you can't throw it down because it's the last
one you've got, than you get a splendid bite ; the
cork goes clear out of sight, and before you have a
i chance to pick up the rod the fish gets off".
Any man who says this isn't aggravating ought
i to die; he isn't fit to associate with ordinary hu>
man beings. I
But you try to encourage yourself by saying that i
while there's life there's hope, sod that persever- I
ance and patience overcome all tilings, and by get- i
ting off a lot more of old second-class falsehoods, 1
you throw in again. (
Wait for several centuries, if you calculate ac- i
cording to your sufferings, and never get any bites 1
but one on the calf of your leg from a sixty-legged s
spider, who has been on an exploring expedition up t
your pantaloons. <
Then you pull out and spit on the bajt for luck; '
may be you blow on it, if you are superstitious, and i
you throw in and get a bite. You pull up. several 1
hundred times and never catch him. i
Then you get road; you neueve n is an eei, ana i
you swear to catch that eel or die. You feel that i
life wiD be perfectly joyless and destitute of* hap- !
piness unleas you get a chance to put your grip on (
that eel. i
At last yon hooked him and drew him cut He <
is active and playful and vivacious. He is a wrig- <
gler, and combines himself into letters S and C and S
X, and runs through the alphabet generally, and t
slaps you in the face, and gets around your legs, 1
and oovers you ?J1; over with slime. 1
Then he tangles your line into a hard knot, and i
when you get your foot on him you find he has I
swallowed the hook, fndjust as likely as hot you've <
got to rip that eel olear open from head to tail to i
get it out, and when you do be will wriggle away 1
from you and annoy you as long as you stay there.
Eels never die; immortality is their strong point,
and they lay themselves out to make you abjectly
miserable.
When you get all straightened out and throw in t
again you wait for an hour, but you only get about j
one first-class bite during that time. You pull up 1
and you have on an enormous fiah, and before you c
get him near the shore he quickly lets go his hbld i
and drops back again into his native element. c
It is rough on you, I admit, but when you go a ]
fishing you've got to take it as it comes without 1
growling. ' * f
How interesting it is when you have dropped t
the last one off, and yon get another bite, to make r
up your mind to get thia one anyhow, and then to a
concentrate all your strength and pull up with a t
violent jerk, and sling your line bock on to a tree, t
and have it wind around the branches as tight as f
if it had been pulled by a steam engine, and in |
such a bewildering condition that you can't get it f
loose in a week. v
This is calculated to make you use hard expres- 1
sious, but not any more so than it is to have your s
cork drawn undergently and steadily, and go down, i
down, down until it is out of sight. i
"A catfish, moet probably," you say; "they al- 1
ways pull in this manner." You draw your line in e
gently, and the catty tugs at the other end. "Tbey j
always do this," you observe.
You pull up slowly, so as to keep him on the s
hook, and when you get your line out you most pro- a
bably find an old snag with more branches than the f
Pennsylvania railroad, and covered with muo^and
not a solitary fish in the neighborhood, while all j
the time there is a boy with a pin-book and au old s
hank of twine who is catching them so fast that he r
can't bait his hook, and the ground is white with t
them all around him. f
I don't advocate violent language; but if. there ]
ever is an occasion when the ten commandments r
are temporarily suspended, this is it f
A man is legally entitled to relieve his pent-up y
feelings, and the more so because when he gets up {
to go home he finds that his fish-hook has caught f
him by the shirt, and that there is a puddle deep }
enough to float a canal boot just where he has been j
sitting. c
Of course you can 't go home without fish, to be s
laughed at; so you go over and try to buy them of ,
the boy, who not only tries tfl insult yoif by asking t
you if you "ketched any?" but feels that he has t
you in his power, and makes you pay more money a
than you could buy out a whole oyster-sloop for. t
No, I don't see any sport in it, and if I wanted
to make a man utterly wretched; if I wanted to t
hurt his feelings and break down his spirits and (
ruin his morals, I would get him to go a fishing j
about once a week. I approve of abolishing peni- \
tentiaries and jails, and making convicts fish for
the benefit of the State. j
JERUSALEM. 1
The subterranean explorations which have been 1*
carried on at Jerusalem Dy lieutenant warren, on
behalf of the British Association known as the
Palestine Exploration Society, leaves no doubt
that the city which was hallowed by the feet of the
Saviour of mankind, and which was the scene of
the most solemn events in the history of the world,
still exists, buried beneath the modern Jerusalem,
as Pompeii and Herculaneum lie buried beneath
the lava and ashes of Vesuvius. Lieutenant Warren
commenced his explorations in February,
1868, and reports of the results of his investigations
up to February of this year has been published.
He has sunken twenty-four shafts in differents
parts of the city, besides making excavations
at the Pool of Bethesda and at Siloam, and
has driven galleries from these shafts to the distance
of many hundred feet. Until these investigations
had been commenced, the belief was general
that not only had the ancient Jerusalem been
razed to the ground, but that it had been cleared
away from its site so that not even a vestige of it
could be found. Innumerable explorations of the
modern city above the ground hsve been made;
and it was supposed that all the notable propor- .
tions of the new city had been correctly identified !
with the corresponding portions of the ancient ]
one. But now it seems to be shown that the greater
part of these supposed identifications have been
based upon fallaoies. The disappearance of the '
old city is, in fact, one of the most marvellous J
things in history. Here was a city famous for its
size, magnificence and beauty, "the joy of the nations
of the earth," the history of whiob, from its 1
foundation up to the period of its capture by the '
Romans, was known and recorded with unparal- 1
lcled minuteness, suddenly wiped out from the face 1
of the earth, with nothingleft to mark its site but '
gigantic heaps of ruins, on which, after the lapse '
of centuries, a small and ugly looking town was 1
built. From the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus 1
down to the fourth century, the history of the city 1
is blank; but, from the latter period until now, 1
descriptions of it have been numerous and detailed. 1
i Curious enough, however, no one before Lieuicn-1
ant Warren seems to have noticed that, while the 1
correctness of the description given by Joseph us '
of the ancient city is unquestionable, the fact that
the appearance and comparative height of the hill, 1
and especially the height of the temple wall, are so 1
different?the discrepancy pointed out the fact that
the surface of the modern city is one hundred feet 1
or more above what was the surface of the ancient !
city. Thus, Josephus speaks of the dizzy height 1
from the southern cloister of the temple to the bot- 1
torn of Kedron Valley. At present the height is '
anything but a dizzy one; but Lieutenant Warren I
has ascertained that the wall of the temple, from 1
its foundation to the floor of this cloister, was 133
feet; the cloister was itself 90 feet high; and the 1
bottom of the valley of 'the Kedron, which is now '
123 feet below the wall, was in fact 225 feet deep; '
so that "dizzy height" was really 448 feet, or just 1
about the distance of the three hundred cubits
mentioned by Josephus. i
Lieutenant Warren commenced his excavation <
at the southeast corner of the harem inclosure, a 1
spot where the wall is remarkable for the size of '
the stone and its height, which is seventy feet <
I above the present surface. The result of this ex
imination was the discovery of the trae surface o;
;he rock, ou which this portioo of the temple wal
jtands, at a distance of sixty feet below the innei
evel of the platform of the harem. The next ex
savation was at the opposite end of the south wall
md here, after exposing the wall to the dopth 01
orty-five feet, a pavement was found consisting oi
itones one foot square, polished by the tread of feel
iearly two thousand years ago. The workmanship
)f the wall was beautiful, the lower course bein?
'rusticated," but the upper ones finished on the
ace, with joints so exquisitely fitted as to be hard
y visible. The "rebating," is from four to sia
nches wide, and set in black about three inches k
?"- - J j ,:lii : 1
;ne upper or oresseu siones, una eiguuwu muuut
a those not dressed. This shaft was continued
itill deeper, and at the depth of eighty-live feet s
gallery was found running north and south, which
vas.explored to a distance of 380. feet. By another
excavation a series of vaults was found undei
:hose which have been known as the "atables.oi
Solomon.'1 The masonry of the passage leading
jo those vaults "is of the first order of megalibic
nasonry, with stones upwards of fifteen feet ir
ength, beautifully worked, and with the characterstic
rebatiDg." The roof is of large stones, related
and laid flat. The discoveries made by oth)r
excavations are equally important and decisive,
md they show, beyond all cavil, that the old Je usalem
still exists beneath the modem town.
READING NEWSPAPERS.
BY HENRY WARD BEECHER,
In the United States every worthy citizen reads
i newspaper, and owns the paper which hp reads,
i newspaper is a window through which men
ook out on all that is going on in the world. With>ut
a newspaper a man is shut up in a small room,
md knows little or nothing of what is happening
rntside of himself. In our day newspapers keep
)ace with history, and record it. Nothing can
ong be kept secret where newspapers are allowed
reedom in expression and enterprise. They range
he world of materials. They unlock the most secet
rooms, and pry into the portfolios of ministers
ind diplomatists. They proclaim the king's words,
he acts of Parliament, the laws of Congress, and
he deliberations of the Courts of Justice. They
ollow in the wake of ships of discovery, and re>ort
all new things found out TMy brine back
rom the wilderness the scout's report. They go
vith armies, and report the details of murders,
tattles, and the whole campaign. They are the
ervanta of commerce, of manufactures, and of all
ndustrial enterprise. They are full of thediscoveres
of science. They record the progress of art
Phey catch up the wisdom hidden with skill and
uperience, and spread it abroad to all the peotie.
A good newspaper will keep a sensible man in
ympathy with the world's current history. It is
in ever unfolding encyclopedia; an unbound book,
orever issuing and never finished.
But not half the world knows the luxury of readng
a newspaper. We see too many of them. We
ire glutted with news. Go into banishment Renove
far out into the country, to some point where
he mail comes but twice or thrice a week; where
ew 6trangers break in, and where the few neighbors
ive in primeval simplicity! Now let the day come
ouod for the newspaper 1 That day is reserved
or errands, and the father is always at the store
vhen the mail arrves. He takes the weeldy pajer,
fresh and moist from the bundle, and hastens
lome with his treasure. It is Saturday. All the
louse knows that the paper has come. After sup>er,
all gather around the fire. The father puts
in his spectacles and reads the secular news, and
ome of the amusing items, stopping to join the
narch of events to last week's knowledge. Qnesions
are put, paragraphs are re-read. Oalculaions
are made. Domestic or industrial questions
ire discussed. The whole family are alive. New
houghts stir them.
But the best part of the paper to them is "saved
ill to-morrow." There is but one service in the
;ountry-church. After that, and after dinner, the
raper comes forth again, and all the Sunday readng
is gone through with.
The whole of it attracts the grown folks, and
lalf of it the children. "It's enough sight better
han the catechism," says a rolicking boy whose
institution does not seem to have suffered from
io much catechism. But dull or sprightly, every
vord of it is listened to. On Monday the adverisements
are read; and many of them several times.
Everv dav the tonic comes ud at meal-time. The
tonversation goes on id the shop, in the barn, in
;he dairy.
It enlivens the whole week. And, so, when city
blks in summer go out into this pleasant village,
:hey find that the people know more about citj
ife than they themselves do. They are surprised
iy questions about concerts, lectures, public men.
jonventions and literary transactions, which thej
tannot answer. All over the land there are intelligent
families with good newspapers, who knov
nore about the goings-on in the world than they
lo who live among the events recorded. And so il
aas passed to a proverb?"You must go into the
sountry to find out what has happened in the city.
THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN.
In 1853, Lieutenant Brooke obtained mud froiE
;he bottom of the North Atlantic, between New
bundland and the Azores, at a depth of more that
10,000 feet, or two miles, by the help of his sound
ng apparatus. The specimens were sent for exam
nation to Ehrenberg, of Berlin, and to Bailey, o1
HVesc Point, and those able microscopists founc
:hat this deep sea mud was almost entirely com
posed of the skeletons of living organisms, the
greater proportions of these being just like the
Grlobigerinae, already known to occur in the chalk,
Thus far the work had been carried on simply ir
lie interests of science, but Lieutenant Brooke'i
method of sounding acquired a high commercia
value when the enterprise of laying down the tele
graphic cable between Great Britain and the Unit
;d States was undertaken. For it became a mat
ter of immense importance to know not onlj
the depth of the sea over the whole line alonf
which the cable was to be laid, but the exact na
ture of the bottom, so as to guard against chance!
if cutting or fraying the strands of that costlj
rr? ? t 1._ il.. J J rt
rope, ine Admiralty cuuscqueuiiy urucreu v?p
tain Dayman, an old friend and shipmate of mine
to ascertain the depth of the whole line of the ca
ble, and to bring back specimens of the bottom
En former days such a command as this might hav<
sounded veiy much like one of the impossibli
things which the young prince in the Fairy Talei
is ordered to do before he can obtain the hand o
the princess. However, in the months of Jum
and July, 1857, my friend performed the task as
rigned to him, with great precision, without, so fai
as I know, having met with any reward of thai
kind. The specimens of Atlantic mud which h<
procured, were sent to me to be examined and reported
upon.
The results of these operations is that we kno*
the contour and nature of the surface-soil covered
by the North Atlantic for a distance of 1,700 mile*
from East to West, as well as we all know that o!
any part of the dry land.
It is a prodigious plain?one of the widest and
most even plains in the world. If the sea wen
drained off, you might drive a wagon all the waj
from Valentia, on the West coast of Ireland, tc
rrinity Bay, in Newfoundland. And, except upon
one sharp incline, about two hundred miles from
Valentia, I am not quite sure that it would b(
f even necessary-to put the skid on, so gentle are the
1 ascents and desoents on that long route. From
r Valestia the road would lie down hill for about 300
- miles, to the point at which the bottom vis now
i covert by'T,70t) "fathoms of sea-wafer" Th$n
f would come the eentnd plain, more than 1,000
f miles wide, the inequalities of the surfaoe of which
t would be hardly peroeptible, though the depth of
> the water upon it variee from 10,000 to 15,000
; feet, and there are places in which Mount Blanc
! might be sunk without showing its peak above
water. Beyond this, the ascent on the American
; side commences, and gradually leads, for about
i 300 miles, to the Newfoundland shore.
i Almost the whole bCt'am -of this central plain
1 (which extends for many hundred miles in a North
i and South direction) is covered by a fine mud,
< * . . f
i wnicn, wnen nrougot to tne sunace, anes into a
grayish white friable substance. You can write
r with this on a blackboard, if you are so inclined,
P and to the eye it is quite like very soft grayish
j chalk. Examined chemically, it proved to becom:
posed almost wholly of carbonate of lime; and if 1
i you make a section of it in the same way as that
of a piece of chalk was made, and view it with a '
microscope, it presents innumerable Globigerincc
imbedded in the granular matrix. Thus the deep <
, sea mud is substantially cEali.?Prof. Huxley.
' THE LATE JOSEPH DIXON.
The New York Exprm says:
Joseph Dixon, who died in J ersey City on Mon
day, aged 71, was a most remarkable, not to say ex- i
i traordinary man. He made a machine to cut fifes <
before he attained his majority, learned the print-:
, er's trade, afterwards that of wood engraving, then !
lithography, and afterwards studied medicine, and i
in that connection became interested in chemistry, <
; becoming finally one of the most accomplished and i
i comprehensive chemists in the country. He was i
i a thorough optician, and had noequaT in his knowl- i
edge of photography. He took up the experiments <
i of Daguerre in 1830, and was prob&Ely the first (
person to take a portrait by the camera. He <
showed Professor Morse how to take portraits by ]
means of a reflector, so that the subject should not ;
appear reversed. Morse tried to get the plan pat- <
ented in Europe. Mr. Dixon built the first loco- '
motive, with wooden wheels, but "with the same 1
double crank now used; it caused a sneer at the i
time, but when it became demonstrated that a t
steam engine could run on wheels and perform the i
services of beasts of burden, his double crank was i
| adopted. He originated the process of transfer ]
ring on stone, now used the world over by litho- i
irmnborfl Tfd orioinatpd the nmeess of Tlhoto- 1
L lithography, and published it years Before it "was
believed to be useful. By his process of transferring,
the old bank-notes were easily counterfeited,
, and it was to guard against the abuse of his own
i process that he broughtout the system of printing
in colors on the*bills, and had the method patented,
but never received any benefit from the patent, all
the banks having used it without pay. Many of
, o\ir readers will remember the original "red dog,"
, money, and the present process used by the govI
eminent, for printing in colors, for which a large
> amount is paid to patentees, is the old j>rooess of
, Mr. Dixon, for which his patent had expired long i
t before, and the present patents are therefore un- 1
tenable. He perfected the system of making col- ?
| lodion for the photographers, and assisted Mr. I
Harrison in getting a true system for grinding the <
, lenses for camera tubes. He originated the anti- <
friction metal, that has been for a great many years
known as "Babbitt metal," and he is the father |
, of the steel melting business in this country. He i
originated a vast number of machines and process- i
es that, do not occur to us at this moment, but he <
is most widely known among manufacturers as the |
originator of the plumbago crucible as now made. <
t He started the business in 1827, in Salem, Mass., j
r and brought it to Jersey City in 1847. His name |
had become known in all civilized countries as a' |
crucible maker, and bis establishment in Jersey <
( City is the lifgest of the kind in the world. He i
, was singularly self-reliant*.never failed in bis me- t
chanical undertakings, even in the last, that of the (
great orchestrion, that occupied his time for near- ,
I ly eleven years, but which stood before him perfect j
at last, aDd still stands?a monument to bis great
skill, pati?jace and perseverance. He was self-ed- (
, ucated. .. ,
THE CARE OF BABIES. "
The only valuable work we ever saw on infancy
was written by a man, Andrew Combe," of Scot1
land, a close observer, a sound thinker, and a learn1
ed physiologist We shall never forget how tempest-tossed
we were when we first found ourselves
the happy possessor of a male child, without the
> slightest knowledge of what to do for his comfort
' * - * . i?l J
' and protection. An ignorant nurse nagecea arouna
1 the room day and night, sang melancholy ditties,
' and rocked vehemently, while the child cried con'
tinoally with a loud voice, and we wept, prayed
' and philosophized by turns. Reasoning on gener
' al principles, we at last came to the conclusion, ,
' that inasmuch as the child was strong and vigor:
ous, there must be some mistake on the part of the
' nurse that he was not quiet and comfortable, and i
fortified ourselves in that opinion by a faithful reading
of what Mr. Combe had to say on babies in
general. The result of this consideration of his
1 opinions was a prompt revolution of the whole nursery
department, and a transfer of pain from the
' baby to the nurse, who stood humbled and chagrined
as she saw her time-honored system sum'
raarily set aside?the pins, paregoric, catnip and
cradle driven out, while pure air, sunlight and
common sense walked in. Oh ! what sighs, what
groans, what double shaking of the head, what
1 suppressed laughter and whisperings in the hall,
! we heard during the first few days after the inauguration
of that dynasty of health, happiness and
1 rest to the new-bom babe.
J When the three hours' cry began that day, whioh
' ancient dames assured us was a custom that had
' been faithfully kept by all the sons of Adam from
' time immemorial, we ordered the litU#BUfierer to
' be promptly stripped to the skin and put in a
' warm bath. That brought instant relief, after
r which he was dressed in a few light garments hung
' on the shoulders, with no swaddling hands, no
J pressure on the lungs or bowels, and laid down to
1 sleep. He was fed (aocording to Combe) every
" two houraby day, and but once daring the night
' After that wo had peace, though eternal vigilance I
" on our part was its price. The custom of pinning
' babies up as tight as a drum is both cruel and ah- i
3 surd. We asked the antiquarian who tortured our
J (W hnm in that way?why she did it? "The i
3 bones of young babes are so soft, and their flesh 1
f so tender,'; said she, "that they are in constant j
5 danger of dissolution unless tightly pinioned to"
gether.'' We soothed her fears by pointing to the
r fact that colts and calves, poppies and kittens, all j
t lived and flourished without bandages, and for this <
' reason we said we would make the experiment on i
' one of the human family. If babies are regularly <
fed, bathed and comfortably dressed, and in a pure i
| atmosphere, they will be quiet and healthy. I
J How to Retain a Good Face.?A newspaper i
f correspondent has some good ideas on the importance
of mental activity in retaining a good face, j
1 He says'"We were speaking of handsome men ,
s the other evening, and I was wondering why K. |
' had so lost the beauty for which, five years ago, he (
) was so famous. 'Oh, it's because he never did
anything,' said B.; 'he never worked, thought, or
i suffered. You must have the mind chiseling away
) at the features, if you want handsome middle-aged I
men.' Since bearing that remark, I have been on
the watch to see whether it ia generally true?and
if it. A handsome man who does nothing but oat
and drink grows flabby, and the fine linos of his
features are lost; but the hard thnkentaa an admirable
sculptor at work, keeping his floe lw? in
repair, and constantly going over his face to im- *
prove the. original design."
FORBEARANCE.
When we aball consider fully all the ipnoying
trials and vexations which beset our feQofr-mortals,
we shall learn to make aUbmneeeand forbear. A
young mother is kept awake night aftermght with
her crying and sleepless babe. How can she be
expected to be happy, joyous, and all serene, 'as
formerly, when there' was' nothing to disturb her
spirits ? A merchant meets with unexpected losses,
and cannot meet his engagements. This makes
him anxious for his credit sod reputation. A
physician stakes his hopes offline and fortune on
the reoovery of a patient Thepataent dies, aad
the physician is deeply grieved. A young man
placed his affections on a lady before finding whether
she entertained a serious interest in himself.
She loves another. This leaves him in a mpod
any thing hot amiable. The aspirant for office
fails toreaehthe coveted plaoe; be may hava bee*
defrauded by corrupt men; and henoa bsaotnsa
much "exercised about it
Bat let as come down to those lessef antjpyjmoes
which try th. patienoe of the most amiable. We
sometimes find our food badly seasoned and poedf
cooked; oar books, tools, or other things mm.,
placed, or loaned aad net returned. Through*
hole in a pocket weHreloe* owr keys, or some valuable
keepsake. Our buttons ire missing?rubbed
off in a laundry?Hind just when we arum a hoot
to dress, for meeting! Our boat, the hegd
family, has resolved to atop chewing or pmokiog
tobacoo, and thU is his thiad-d*/. He is almost
delirious, acts like a eraxy man. Ia it auaprawng
that be i? irritable, orojs, and ready to accuse
others ? Here is a case for real forbearanop. Be
patient with him, encourage him, assure him of
poor sympathy and.support He is .fighting the
devil, whoisoonstaoitly teasing and tempting him.
The poor, jaded teaoher, shut up m a cleeeroeta
with half a hundred swaying, nugiag, perpetwd
motions, breathing over and over mgiiirthe foetid
sir, trying to maintain order and otfeBence, and A
bear a hundred fralf-lekrned lessons every day?is
it surprising that such persons become impatient ?
Perhaps our servant has been up at a "wake" last
ajght, and will have to attend the funeral to-day,
paying a high price for hocflBS and a carriage, so
is to make a "respectable" appearand when the
money can ill be spared* the thought of which is
inything but happifying. Let us not by cross
vords or looks add to the burden that is already
grievous and hard to be borne. The fact is, we do
aot any of ua make sufficient allowance for the inirmities
of our fellows. Let uswS try to be mosr
forbearing with the imperfectioqs of mankind. Let
is be slow to condemn, and quick to forgive.
A TRUTH FOR HI9TORT.
At the dedication of a monument erected in
memory of the Confederate dead, Qe$? Breekinridge,
of Kentucky, lately delivered a very eloquent
iddress, from which the following passage is worthy
of being preserved, not only in memory of the
Confederate dead, but "in perpetuam menioriam"
if the dead Confederacy :
The contest was a most unequal one?the South
'ought: at every disadvantage. With a white popilation
of less than five millions and a half; with
in arms-bearing population of less than nine Iranircd
thousand; Maryland, Missouri, Teuuesssee,
Kentucky, and Virginia divided; without a ship
)r a navy yard; with but few guns and they of inferior
quality, and not a manufactory where any
part of a gun or any part of its ammunition could
be made; without money or organised credit; cut
iff from all the world, in whose market she was
not allowed to purchase even the medicine for the
sick; isolated from all mankind, and even thrust
autirom all sympathy, encompassed with "vastly
outnumbering foes, whose armies, daily recruited
from every nation under the sun, were supplied
with every appliance of warfare and every ssible
comfort, as well as necessaries; every hqftL closed
by watching war vessels, and every stream occupied
by hostile gunboats; her soldiers hungry, ragged
and barefooted, she yet fought with such tremendous
power, and was wielded with such drill-, that
the expenditure of money to oonquer her was more
than would have purchased every foot of her land,
every house in her cities and viflkges, every slave
on her plantations, and all her property of every
kind; and the killed and permanently disabled of
her enemies amounted to more than her entire armies
during the whole struggle. You may search
history in vain for a parallel.
A Woman Confined to her Bed for ThirQw
Vw?na aHfnnwp /inlnmna TToatci>^axf
I I "UiA X liAOO, VUi VWVUW/ WtUHUID J^VWIVIUJ
contained a notice of the death of Miss Sarah T.
Lovell, at the ago of sixty-seven yean. Her case
is one for which a parallel can haglly be found in
the whole country, for long and lingering sickness.
For forty years she has been out of health and for
thirty-six bed-ridden. A friend informs us that
thirty-six years ago she called to see her, and she
was confined to her bed, Co all appearances in the
last stages of consumption, and apparently with
but a few weeks, at most, to live. Yet she has
been lingering on, and what is most remarkahle,
has beeg afflicted with almost every disease, contageous
or epidemic, with which onr city has been
afflicted. During the prevalence of the cholera,
she was one of its subjects, but while others, hearty
and robust, were cut down, she, upon as it were
the very brink of the grave, lived.?Banger [Me.)
Whig, June 17,
The Air-Line Railroad.?We learn that our
City Council has derided to subscribe one hundred
thousand dollars towards the Air-Line Railroad,
provided the line runs through the city of Greenville.
This is the utmost limit of the power conferred
by their charter. Liberal subscriptions are
also being made on the part of several of the citizens,
and vigorous efforts are otherwise being used
for securing the accomplishment of the object
The committee of sixteen were to hold a meeting
last night in reference to the matter, but we have
not heard the result of their deliberations. We
have reason for believing that the private subscriptions
will amount to one hundred thousand dollars
?thus making a subscription of two hundred thousand
dollars from this community; all of which
will be returned manifold, should the desired object
be attained.?Greenville Mountaineer.
Read an Hour a Day.?There was a lad who,
it fourteen, was apprenticed to a soap-boiler. One
of his resolutions was to read one hour a day, or
it least at that rate, and he timed himself by an
old silver watch left him by his ancle. He stayed
seven years with his master, and when he was twenty-one
he knew as much as the yoong squire did.
Now let us see how mnch time he had to read in
the seven years, at the rate of one hour each day.
[t would be two thousand five hundred and fiftyfive
hours, whioh, at the rate of eight reading hours
per day, would be equal to three hundred and
nineteen days; equal to forty-five weeks; equal to
eleven months?nearly a year's reading.
Do the best you can, whatever you undertake.
If you are only a street-sweeper, sweep the
best you can.