Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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LEWIS M. GMST.j ~ ^it |nbfjifnbfiit jfamiin^ ittospaptr: jfor % |roniotioit of % foliiical, foetal, Hgriculiural ;tnb tL*cimitcrdal lutcrtsts of tjjt fotrij). ^ VOL. 15. YQEKVILLE, S. P., THURSDAY, JULY 29, 1869. . 3STO. 3Q. ftorg tEttlfr. A SENSATION STORY^ I. THE ARRIVAL. An August evening at Savannah, that strange, souabre town of Georgia; eight men, the sons of rich Carolina planters, four of them lately returned from the West Indies, were sitting drinking Burgundy in the balcony of the first floor of the Muscogee House in Bay street; the fashionable hotel of that city at the period of our story?the year preceding the war of Independence. The grave and mysterious city was, that August evening, quieter and more silent than usual. The broad, unpaved streets were deep with soft sand, that muffled the wheels of the cetlon-bale wagons and the carts laden with bags of rice, just arrived* from Augusta. The long avenues of that not very rejoicing tree, the Pride of India, scarcely moved a leaf?not a twi/f* stirred to show that they even, breathed in their sleep. Htte &ad there 4 negttr 1 dozed upon a door step, or chatted twith some goscin in n afo<iUV>v rcov of a e/wnw indeed the whole city would have seemed as a cetflfiery, but for the wild mockitig ltoghier that rose from the balcony, wherelB3Ch?ftahpochiofor ?eath'sHead) Club wag 'holding Jte.' ul^htly revel. The laughter was an exasperating laughter, loud, tipsy and defiant, twinting aa8- ibsbtent?the sort of laughter that wotfidh^ve'inade'a high-spirited man passing by, slip his Band to^hissword, and look up to discover froth whence the jarring sound had come. - f> " Arsuddetl gleam of light through the open folding-doors of an inner room, that showed the diningHrpom and sanctum of the Duelists' Club ready for their reception, seemed to act as a mute signal for the men to return to the table for more wine, and to rally more round the chairman. The room was decorated in a way that could only have been ! carried'out by men of wealth, who had grafted on their natural vices the morbid farouche, and fantas- 1 tic extravagance peculiar at that time to Spanish 1 and French voluptuaries in the West Indies. Pleasure among these men had none of the French gaiety about it. They were wanton, arrogant, ruthless, quarrelsome and overbearing?conscious of being the dread of half of Georgia, and proud of the fear they had excited. Tt wnc cwironlrt o wnndpp fhnf fhp mvfltP.PV and I terror with which they had surrounded their iniqui- ' flius association, together with the frequency of 1 their deadly duels?nearly always fatal to their ad- 1 versaries?had roused the fear and hatred of the . citizens of Savannah to a pitch which can only be compared to the horror excited by the even still more infamous Fire Club of our country. Their club-room was horrible aBd ghastly in its decorations; yet, but for the crimes of those who { sat there, and the fact of their bragadocia, being ' hacked by their daring, it would have appeared . mere puerile and theatrical, fit only to alarm per- ' sons whose blood could be chilled by the sham hor- ! rors of Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. The room was hung with blaek cloth, on which was worked in silver thread the names of all per- ' sons who had fallen by the sword or pistols of the members, and the date of each death. Over the mantle-piece was a large star, composed of death's head moths, and a long rack full of swords and , saw handled pistols; each locked in its place like ' the favorite cues in a billiard room. The cups were human skulls, lined with silver, in the man- ^ ner Byron afterward perpetuated in England; and t a bleached skull projected from the ghastly pinna cle of the black dais that spread above the chair- ^ man's seat. Everything that could be blaok was ' black, but the chairs, and they were covered with red velvet, and studded with silver nails?in a way ( to horibly remind one of state coffins. Beside every group of wine cups lay a pistol, to , be employed in case of an immediate duel springing up from any sudden disagreement between two , members. It was no wonder that exaggerated re- ] ports of the mysterious and unhallowed orgies of these young rakes had invested in tneir meetings an atmosphere of almost supernatural horror. The vice of these troubled times was as defiant and reckless as it was heartless and cruel. Two members of the Death's Head Club, more lazy, more drunken, or more contemplative than the others, remained in the out room leaning over the balcony, watching night darken down the street where the fitful lamps, now grew momentarily brighter; the one a dark, handsome young fellow, with cold, keen eyes and a malign mouth, was rapping the balcony rail with his sword hilt; the other a red, flushed, swaggering, dissolute looking old officer, whose blood-shot eyes seemed staring out of his head, was carefully shuffling a pack of cards with the practiced air of an inveterate gambler. Heated with wine, the two revelers seemed to bathe themselves in the cool evening air, that blew freshened from the river. It had been a burning day; and the very houses seemed calmly enjoying the cool twilight breeze. All at once there was a sound of wheels, a furious crack of whips, loud as pistol shots, and a large, dusty traveling carriage swept round the corner of Broad street. It Was drawn by four foaming, black horses; and the two negro postilions, who shouted at the tired animals to urge them on, were dressed in showy scarlet and yellow jackets. The vehicle drew up at the door of the Muscogee Hotel. The carriage door instantly opened, and out stepped a tall gaunt officer in French uniform, who handed out his traveling companion. The lady, evidently his daughter, was a young girl about eighteen, and a beauty of the rarest and most perfect type. Some fire-flies that the servant had caught for her in the course of the journey glistened 1:1? i,?;? nnA n.> 11 My uiaiuuiiuo iu 11 vt uai i\ uau, auu ^ui v an v/??~ i dine sort of character to her pale, sensitive and intellectual face, and seemed to cast such sparkles on , her large Italian eyes, as stray stars cast upon a river at midnight. She was dressed in black; and , that sombre color, so jarring with youth, seemed only to spiritualize the tender beauty of her face and the delicate symmetry of her form. "Clisson! it's that Colonel's daughter you made love to at Guadaloupe!" said the eldest of the men , on the balcony. "May I never sweep the board again, if it isn't Miss Dolores Massard! O, you lucky dog! Egad, you must propose to her again; and if she won't have you. carry her off, and we'll stand by you. " "You are right. Johnson ; it is Dolores," said the younger man, leaning eagerly over the balcony. "Yes, it is; how beautiful she looks! And there's that sour beggar of a father, whom the General would not let me fight with though he refused me Dolores. Now I'll have my revenge. He shall tight me now. or give me his daughter's hand. I know she still loves me?I know that?" "The Colonel refused to fight members of our club at Guadaloupe!" said the other savagely. "He called us gamblers and assassins; but we'll try him now. Here, you men, come here." Clisson and Johnson ran into the other room. The elder explained matters; the younger laid down his cruel scheme in a few hasty sentences. i "The fighting member of the night has a right to a kiss from every lady that enters this house. He must demand his right?he will be refused ; he must then force his claims and fight the Colonel. I shall pretend to interfere to carry out a certain plan of my own against the lady, but that is nothing to any of you. If the Colonel wounds the man of tJie night, the next member iu rotation fights him. He will not pass two of us. John son's lunge at the armpit is pretty sure. 1 killed a man last week; but I am last on the "list now. Yon know I don't fear fighting; but We must take our turns. You have all sworn to carry out the schemes of your brother members.,1 "We are ready,'' cried the men. The fighting member?the bravo on the balcony? hesitated a moment he took down his cocked hat and sword from a nail behind the door. "I have taken rather too much Burgundy," he said, "to be very steady ; but I think 1 could run a house-fly through the head at the second pass. Come, let us feel the fellow's pulse." The.men put on their swords and descended in a noisy body to the private apartments to which the waiter had just ushered the Colonel and his daughter. "Hot fools," said Clisson tohimsclf; "they little know that the Colonel has an incomparable parry, and a return thrust which he plants just under the l^ft coHar bone; that no duelist in France who ever crossed swords with him ha? escaped ifertStifrnsJ^i and that two outuf three it has killed." As the deputation of the Death's Head Club pressed into the room, the Colonel met them sternly at the door. "Gentlemen, you mistake ; this is a private room." t Captain Johnson. the fighting member, advanced at ence in an insolent manner to Colonel Massard and his daughter, who had come "from an inner room, and was now clinging to his arm, alarmed at the menacing and dissolute faces of the intruders. "It is the custom at the Muscogee House," said the bully, "in our club for the fighting member of the night to demand a kiss from every lady guest who arrives here. For that we have now come. I am the fighting member. My dear Mademoiselle, allow me." He laid one large, red hand on the shoulder of the shrinking girl. The next moment he lay half stunned on the floor. The Colonel stood with one foot on Johnson, and waved his drawn sword in his hand. The club drew baok. "Kill him," cried the prostrate Jjully. Three or four men drew their swords and advanced ; but the Colonel struck one in the arm, the rest fell back before the furious charge. At that moment Clissou forced his way to the iroBt. "Gentlemen," he said, with assumed indignation, "this is unmanly, this is unworthy of brave men, you are six to one. The Colonel is no doubt ready to give any of you satisfaction.". Dolores recognized him, and looking up, thanked bim silently with a faint smile. "Young man," said the Colonel, sternly, "I can protect myself against even a dozen of such ruf5ans. I have long ago learned how to guard my 3wn head. I have heard before of your association )f murderers; I vowed to check it as I did atGuaialoupe. You have hurried on your own doom. [ did it there by the law; here I will do it by the sword. I will fight you one by one, in your own >rder, and in your own place.. If I fall, there are ir? fnrrn mVin mill fol'n nnrn nP inv >ii vuu9 in i>ii\/ lunii iiuv it 111 uiav/ vuii< vi mj laughter." CKsson advanced and offered his hand. "No," he said; "I remember you; you are a gambler and a duelist. I refhsed you Dolores then ind I refuse her -bow. ' She needs no protection of pours. I see other old friends here too, no less unwelcome than yourself; Captain Johnson drummed out of his regiment for selling information to :he enemy. Mr. Thornton, a detected gambler, sent to prison in New Orleans for using loaded dice. Mr. Clisson, you need give me no other proof of pour reformation, I see it by your companions." ii. tuf. rencounter. "The rqles of the Death's Head Club required their duels to be by candle-light, without seconds; the combatants were locked in the club-room till the viotor gave the signal for the doors to be opened. The Colonel made no objection to these restrictions. He only smiled haughtily when he saw the theatrical horror of the room. "Good to frighten children," he said, "but good for nothing else. I prefer fighting without seconds. One can devote himself more thoroughly to the work on hand; besides there is less interruption. Have you a surgeon ready, gentlemen ?" "There is no need of a surgeon," said his antagonist, the red-faced captain he had trodden under foot the night before. My sword generally saves iny expense that way." The doors were locked. There was a heavy stamping of feet as Captain Johnson advanced to the attack ; then a sound of shivered steel, a gasping cry, and a heavy fall upon the floor. "You may open the door, gentlemen," said a poice. The door was opened, and there lay the jhampion of the club, wounded to death. His broken sword was at the farther end of the room, rhe Colonel, as they entered horror-stricken, took off his hat, sheathed his sword, bowed, and retired, rhe club was astonished and dumb-founded. The oaptain had been run through the lungs, just under the left oollar-bone. There was little hope of his life. The second and third days, the Colonel dangerously wounded his man in an equally short space of time, and with equally cold and formal gravity. iii. tiie secret. The evening of the third day, as .Dolores Massard sat in her room at her tambour-frame, in the ?hcpnr?o nf her father. whn had onuie on a secret jommission from the French government to some >f the large planters near Savannah, disaffected with the English government, her black nurse sudienly entering the room, whispered in a low frightjned tone. "Young gentleman, dear! old friend, to sec missy!" The woman had been bribed by Clisson, who aow entering the room threw himself at the feet of Dolores, and seizing her hand covered it with pasdonate kisses. "Dear Dolores," he said, "my life, my soul, do you love me no longer ?" "0, Frank, you must not see me here. My father has forbidden me to see you. "Dolores, you loved me once. Do you remember that night by the sea-shore, when we exchanged those vows of eternal love?" "Ask your own heart, Frank?ask it if 1 can forget that on the death bed of my mother, I swore never to give my hand to you. And that vow T will keep." "Dolores, you do me wrong. You think 1 am one of those wild, reckless men who insulted your father. I am not one of those men. I tried in vain to repress their insolence. L come to you as a suppliant. To morrow tuy father fights yours. I know he must die. I know that nothing can save him from that irresistible swordsmanship that has already struck down man after man. 1 would willingly die for my father; but he will not let me take his place because I aui not one of this band of professional assassins. 0, Dolores, does not your heart bleed for me? l'ity me, pity me, Dolores; tormented by this terrible fear, and helpless before this cruel destiny. " "Frairk, my heart does bleed for you : but how can I help you ? I have no power.'' The perfidious lover clasping her in his arms, tears rose to his eyes. "You have the power," he cried. "Tell me your father's secret of success. My father, knowing this, can bathe and disarm liitn. As I hope for succor in my last hour, it is only to save my father I ask this." Dolores sank her head for a moment; then she flung her arms around Clisson's neck and kissed his forehead. "Frank," she said, "though we may never more see each other in tins world, I cannot refuse this request, for I know how dear a father's life is. I can trust you, Frank, I know, with the secret that guards the life that is bound up with mine. My father, years ago, lost his left arm at a siege in India ; it was replaced by one of wood, skilfully made working with metal springs, and strengthened below the elbow by metal bands. On this he receives his adversaries' first thrust: then quick as thought he breaks in two his enemy's blade with a heavy side blow, and delivers his heavy thrust under the left collardjonc." Clisson's lips were pressed to hers, when a warning from the black nurse, ol the Colonel's carriage stopping at the hotel door, disturbed the lovers, and they parted with a hurried and passionate erabrace. The same night, to the astonishment of the club and the no great sorrow of the ncxl combatant? Clisson announced his intention of being the next nnyi tairoif^sytfords with the Colonel "T have ray reasons," he said ; "And to-night I carry off the girl." "Rnf flinf nrmtmiiiiloil fhrilvstV" sllfrCPStod the chairman. "0, leave that to me. I did not learn fencing of Destouches for nothing; never you fear me." "Clifton has got some mischief in hand." said one of the men ; "his eyes sparkle so, and he is in such mad spirits. Well, I'd just as soon he fought this Colonel before inc. I'd rather the old fellow got a thrust or two in his sword arm before my turn came." The duel took place the next morning. The Colonel paused when lie saw Clisson. The doors closed, and they were left alone. "Young man," he said, "we have old grudges, and it is well wo meet. Have you not taken warning by your companions ? Will nothing teach you wisdom? I thought ill of you atGuadaloupe. and refused you my daughter, and here I find you a member of a club of assassins. Come, draw, sir." "Colonel Massard," said Clisson, biting his under lip till the blood almost came, "you owe more to good fortune than to skill and courage, I too have been fortunate with the sword. Luck may turn this time. I have my companions to revenge, and your insults, old and new, to repay threefold." The Colonel threw his hat behind him, and drew his sword, "Young man," he said, "I am told that in your club priority goes according to the number of homcides you have effected. In that case you have not made, I presume, more than two or three widows. Now, sir, oome, death waits for you." The Colonel was cold and sternly resolute; but tliAm was no pacrerness fnr blood in the manner in which he advanced to the attack. There was more of the judge than the executioner about him as he looked round the dim, ghastly room. He seemed as confident of victory as if lie had been sent from Heaven io perform a punishment that had been prophesied. He stood there a frame of stoelj his sword feeling along his Adversary's blade, sensitive of the finest vibration and thirsting for the thrust . Clisson also stoed keen of eye and watchful. Suddenly the Colonel dashed the left arm at his point. The wooden fingers opened to clutch the blade. Clisson saw the moment had arrived. He passed his point to the "right, threw off his adversary's sword, and then, with a swift, clinging pressure towards the. hilt, bent it to the floor. The Colonel drew back astonished ; but careless of his life, he did not retire from the threatening sword that was raised to strike him to the heart. Clisson ' delayed his vengeance only to taste it the lunger. He had pierced his adversary's left shoulder, and the sword* was raised for the coup (It; grace, when the folding-doors of the inner room leading to the balcony wore dashed open ; it was Dolores who rushed in, drawing a pistol, fired at her cruel and faithless lover, who fell to the floor, pierced by a bullet. The brave girl, a soldier's daughter, perfectly reliant on her lover's truth, yet still, she knew not why, apprehensive of the result of the duel, had concealed herself, armed, in the inner room of the club, with the co-operation of her faithful black nurse. The first word spoken by Clisson proved to her thut she had been betrayed; and hearing her father in danger, she at once appeared on the scene as an avenging angel, to save her father, and punish her worthless and lying lover. "Gentlemen," said the Colonel, who had heard all from Dolores, as he threw open the door and admitted the now terrified club, "it was my daughter who struck down this man, not I. He was a liar and a scoundrel: he broke his word, and he , has deserved liis fate even if it be instant death. Take up your champion ; I have punished you now enough. To-night my daughter, and myself depart for New Orleans, where I can be heard of by any of your club still wishing to cross swords." Clisson eventually recovered, and fled to South America; he re-appeared during the war of Independence, but sank lower and lower in infamy, till a pistol-shot over a gambling-table at Calloa, final- , ly rid the world of a hopeless villain. As for Col. Massard, he settled after the peace, in Arkansas and mainly helped to reclaim the wild territory from the Indians. The facts of this story, even to the minutest detail, may be depended on as strictly true. Dolores ' Massard, three years after the downfall of the 1 lWh'?.lff?nil rink nmrricil a nenhew of General 11 Washington. Iler descendants are now wealthy people in Louisiana, and have large estates a few ' miles from Baton Rouge, ou the banks of flic Wis- 1 sissippi. - i A QUAKER WEDDING. ( {Few indeed have had the privilege of witness- i ing a Quaker wedding. To most of our readers the following description will prove a revelation :] 1 Beneath the mirror, in a front parlor, a sofa had been placed for the bride and groom, and upon ] either were chairs for the best man and woman. ] The friends and relatives being assembled, the best \ man and woman entered the back-parlor, followed < by the bridal pair. They walked the entire length ; of the parlors, and amid a profound silence took j the scats designed for them. For about five min- j utcs, during which a silent prayer is supposed to i have been offered, no one spoke or moved. The ] bride sat like a statue, with downcast eyes, but i blushing perceptibly. The whole scene appeared : more like a tableau than an ordinary wedding cere- 1 Aftno ll.n olUnnn no no onn?, 1 mujn . ?xuui tiiviui iiIq uil ."in iiv.u uo iuiiq m lutiir I ed desirable, tbe bridegroom and bride aro.se, ta- king each other by the right hand, when the bride- 1 groom said : j "In the presence of the Lord aud these people, ( 1 take thee, Amy, to be my wife, promising, by 1 divine assistance, to be unto thee a loving and \ faithful husband until death doth part us." t Then Amy ?uml the same words to Eugene, ' stumbling a little at the word "husband." At the ( conclusion of this part of the ceremony the com- pany was again seated, and silence reigned pro- c found. The bride was dressed after the ordinary fashion, in a white cashmere, and train, trimmed 1 with white satin, pompadour waist, lace under- i waist, vail, orange flowers, etc., etc. c During the silence succeeding the ceremony, an ? opportunity was offered for any of the friends to i address the couplo if the spirit moved. After s waiting some time a quiet motherly looking lady made the following ejaculation: c ' This is indeed a very solemn ceremony, and we i all need the Divine assistance in living up to its a requirements," I Another period of silence, and the bride-groom 1 arose and kissed the bride^whereupon the best I man and woman did the same thing. At this stage of the proceedings the best man, with an assistant, brought a small table into the room, upon which was a marriage certificate in the shape of a scroll, a pen and inkstand, and placed it in front of the bridegroom. He signed his name to the contract, and then the bride assumed for the first time the name of her husband. Immediately after the signatures had been affixed to the document, a gentleman took the certificate and read it aloud to the company. The contract having heen signed and read, it was now taken to the back?parlor, where it remain cd throughout the evening, during which time the signatures of all who witnessed the marriage were affixed.* The people now pressed toward the newly-married pair, the neai^st relatives going first, and others following in their appropriate order. As the lfncles and elderly gentlemen relatives kissed the bride, they slipped a fifty-dollar bill into her hand as part payment for the kiss! Immediately after the congratulations, the diningroom was thrown open, and the wedding-supper announced. This was much like that at any other wedding, only the bridal cake was not cut. The whole ceremony consumed about one hour. Between fifty and sixty signatures of the relatives of the bride and bridegroom were appended to tho parchment. This is a good custom, and serves to call to mind each one present at the wedding. It is a little curious that the marriage certificate has to be procured in Philadelphia. It is afforded at the reasonable price of $5. A new gold pen and case is always purchased for the signing of the contract. This may be presented by the husband to his wife. tka ?nn1 nni<fi\rmonnn fVlA JL/ClUlb tUV> uuui |;viiviiuuuvv va vuv w* v?mwmj ] several rehearsals are gone through in private. The friends receive presents like other people, but no cards are issued. Besides the usual presents of silver-ware, jewels, laces, etc., they give household goods, such as blankets, counterpanes, linen, etc. These Are displayed with the rest. fpewttaaMUS flcatling. From Ihc Charleston Courier. THE LAND COMMISSION. A TALK WITH THE COMMISSIONER. The-passage of an Act by the Legislature at its last session, creating an advisory Board to eonsist of the Governor, Attorney-General, Secretary of State, Treasurer, and Comptroller General, and the subsequent appointment of C. P. Leslie, Senator from Barnwell, as Land Commissioner, did not at first attract much attention. But since the matter has been bruited abroad, the people began to enquire into this same Land Commission. It was ascertained that the State had"Appropriated $200,000 in bonds for the purpose of buying lands, and the question naturally arose for whom and for what? Our reporter hashad a "talk" with the irrepressible Senator from Barnwell, and the Con-1 rier publishes the result of that talk, for the benefit of those who may have a curiosity to know something about this new machine, called the Land Commission. A SOUND MAN. Said Mr. Leslie: "I am sound, and I intend to work this Commission for the benefit of the poor man." In reply to the question what was the object of the Legislature in establishing the Commission, he said: "To increase the number of landowners, to introduce the small farm sj'stem. That body expects thereby to stimulate the productive industry and the thrift of our working people; to bring under cultivation the tens of thousands of waste and wasting lands of our fertile State; to auerment her wealth and revenue, and enhance the prosperity and happiness of all our people. That which the Republican party aspires to do in South Carolina may be seen by looking Westward. That party put in operation the homestead system, perfected the pre-emption laws, and moulded the present land policy of the Government. In any territory of the United States an actual settler may choose one hundred and sixty acres of unoccupied land, set his bounds, and build bis cabin. The land is his for the taking. He may then preempt or select as many acres more around him as he can pay for at one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre. The first settler gets the first chance, the second the second, and so on. Since 18G2 more than 9,000,000 of acres have been given away to immigrants, and 0,000,000 pre-empted and sold. To make paths into the new territories, Congress has freely given millions of acres to railroad Companies, and along the iron paths thus secured immigrants have pushed Westwurd in hosts. To help in building Schools and Colleges, land has been freely granted, and the sums from its sale have aided in establishing large and noble institutions of learning. During the year, frpm June 30th, 1867, to June 30th, 1868, 7,071,114 acres of public land were disposed of. Of these, but 756,619 were sold; 1,788,040 acres were given away for homesteads; 2,420,072 were donated for Colleges and Schools, and the rest granted in various ways for the benefit of settlers. The total amount of cash for sales of land and fees was $1,447,862.50? a little more than enough to pay the expenses of surveying and the land offices. To pay these expenses by sales of land is all the Government seeks to do. It aims to enrich itself not by cash for lands sold, but by the rapid growth of an industrious population of small farmers; the augmented value of taxable property and the vast increase of agricultural productions. The almost incredible multiplication of inhabitants and of wealth in the great West demonstrates the practical wisdom of this broad aud generous policy. Chicago has. in thirty years, grown from a vil lage of a dozen tamiiies to a magmuceni city 01 ui least 325,000 residents, and Illinois, from 200,000 to 2,000,000. White between 1850 and 1800 the luantity of improved land roso from 5,039,545 icrcs to 13,251,573 acres; the cash value of farms from ?90,133,290 to ?432,531,072. Between 1800 md 1808 the has trebled, being now more ilian ?1,250,000,000. To-day the worth of the improved farm machinery in Illinois is ?00,000,000 ivhich is more than one-third the assessed value of ill the property, real and personal, in South Caroina. Meanwhile, the population of Charleston :ias merely risen fVom 30,000 to a little more than 10,000, and of South Carolina from 580,000 to a ittle more than 700,600. The quantity of improved lands increased from 1850 to ISG0, from 4.)75,551 acres to 4,572,060 acres, and the value of arms from ?S2,431,684 to ?139,652,508, while the ( ,'alue of farming implements is not one-twelfth , hose of Illinois. Why this astonishing contrast ? , Hie fundamental reason is the land policy and the :lass of men that policy brings in and devclopes. | To bo sure, Illinois is a new State, but in other , :ircumstances South Carolina has the advantage. . Our planters repelled immigrants by grasping ] amis and working slaves. But this was the land md labor policy of South Carolina. And to this i :hiefly must be ascribed the prosperity of Illinois, < md the comparative decadence of South Carolina. < 111 other things are but circumstances?this is the < iubstantial cause. I If then a jand policy resembling that of Illinois i :ould be adopted in South Carolina, why should i lot Charleston double its population in ten years > tnd leap forward it) thirty years to four times its i irosont'sige? tyhy should not fteauforf, Colum* )ia. Greenville, Aiken, Blackville, Sumter. York- t ville, Florence, Georgetown and other villages expand into enterprising cities and our State boast a population of two millions? Why should not our acreage of improved land be augmented to 12,000,000, the value of farms from $1.19,000,000 to $600,000, and our annual commerce from $20,000,000 to $80,000,000? Surely there is no reason in soil, climate, or location?all these favor us. These things are clearly attainable by a like system. To inaugurate a similar policy was the purpose of our General Assembly in establishing the present Land Commission. They sought to accomplish this desirable end by means adapted to the different circumstances in which we are. South Carolina is not a territory or new State. She has, therefore, no public lands to give way. Whatever she furnishes to actual settlers, whether citizens or immigrants, she must first purchase. But by purchasing in large tracts she may get land much cheaper for settlers, and by interposing her credit, may give such time anil terms of payraant as will enable thousands to purchase who otherwise could not. . Other provisions of the faw are framed to meet other special circumstances of our case. How wisely the law was drawn, its workings will indicate. That its purpose was beneficent must be clear to all. who will consider carefully and fairly." WHO ARE TO QET LANDS. The Commissioner was quite emphatic in his assertions and seemed to have carefully looked up the land statistics of the General Government and the Western States. The next question asked was in reference to the class of people intended to be be benefited by the Act. "Is it not intended, we asked, that none but negroes and Republicans shall receive the benefits of the Act, or is there a really bona fide intention to treat the poor of all classes alike?" And we inquired in the same breath, "Is it not true that the Act is intended to strengthen the political power of the party, and did not its movers project it mainly with that view?" The Commissioner seemed a little puzzled at first, but quickly recovering that sarcastic smile which, it has been said, invariably frightened his enemies in a debate, he answered: "Of course the General Assembly did believe that the Act would strengthen the Republican party. They believed it would do so because its operations would benefit the people, and thus secure their approval and support. The primary motive was to help the people; a secondary motive, and perhaps a strong one, to help the party. We hold that every man and every party has a full and legitimate right to all the popularity and all the power which can be gained by doing good. We insist that to do this, in part, to gain such strength is praiseworthy?particularly if new strength is to be further used for further good. The Republican leaders expect personal advantage in the triumph of the party, but they can remain leaders only by subserving, in public action, the best interests of all the people. In our party corrupt and selfish leaders soon go down. It will be in South Carolina as it has always been in the Northern States." ITS OBJECTS. Tint \vn nnrcicffxi irna if nnf intnnrl/irl flint. t.Viis popularity that you speak of was to be acquired among the negroes by giving them lands? The Act (replied Mr. Leslie) is not intended for the benefit of colored men or Republicans alone. It is not intended for this year, but to exist through a period of years; so long as it con be operated without loss to the State, with advantage to the people of moderate means, of whatever color, race, nativity, religion or politics. Comparatively few families can this year be put on lands of their own. Next year a greater number can ; the third year a still greater number, and so on, till all, so far as possible, are provided for. * I could not make this, in its operations, a party measure if I would, and would not if I could. I fully answered this question in a recent letter to some "landless moneyless Confederate soldiers'" who asked a similar question. HOW TO GET LANDS. In what manner, we asked, will this benefit the poor people. Xou say the State will purchase lands and sell them out. Can this be done at so low a rate as will make its benefits apparent? And if so, what are the terms upon which lands will be sold out to tlie poor? Said the Commissioner, the Act will benefit poor men, white and colored, by enabling thousands to secure lands of their own, who otherwise could not do so. The State proposes to sell tracts as-ll^v as it can be bought in large tracts. Ordinary buyers sell small parcels at a largo advance. The State does not wish to make anything on such sales. The purchaser (unless he wishes to pay more) pays in advance only the cost of survey, and for the first two years ho pays only enough to liquidate the interest on the bonds, so that he can put nearly all of what little capital he has and of the avails of the labor of the first two years into tools and im provements. Payments on the principal begin the third year, to be completed at the end of the fifth. Is it not plain that these terms are what private persons will not offer to the poor man? But added to this fundamental advantage in purchase, there arc other vital benefits of a general character. The moment a man owns land he feels responsibility and dignity, the consciousness makes him more manly. The necessity of thought and calculation strengthens and improves the mind. The stimulus of self-dependence makes him work better, and so, in due time, more work and better work is done, and the laborer is educated and developed. THE FORTY ACRES. The allusion to the forty acres, the old Badical argument by which many an honest "cullud" voter has beep inveigled in going it blind in the ballotbox, brought a smile to our countenance, and we asked if the mule which was traditionally connected with "do 40 acres" was to be thrown in. This disconcerted the Imperturbable Senator, but only for a moment. lie quickly continued? "You may smile at the application of this principle to our laborors. But see what it has wrought in the great West. It will surely do the same in South Carolina. Our workingmen may gain slowly, but all will surely gain and when free common schools are everywhere established, and good examples frequent, they will surprise many of us by the rapidity of their advance. It may be fifty years ere South Carolina is transformed into Eastern Pennsylvania or Illinois, but we have faith to believe it will be, and to begin the work. We labor not simply to secure food and clothing to our work ing people, but to educate and elevate them." IIOW THE .MONEY IS TO BE RAISED. It will take considerable money to carry out this v - a - 1 TT J. , _ scnemc, we suggesieu. now uo you propose 10 raise the funds to purchase lands ? The funds with which to purchase lands, said he, are to be raised by a special issue of bonds for the purpose, These bonds will bo sold, or money borrowed on them as collaterals. The condition of the money market, rnd the advantago of tho State, will determine the particular method. The State will not be called upon to pay a dollar ]>y taxation, the money for lands is to be paid in five fears, while the bonds need not be paid until the expiration of twenty. If, therefore, the first purchaser fail to meet his obligations, a second and third at least will have an opportunity tq try. Anlual payment sufficient 10 meet the interest will be ei|uircd in advance on all lands sold- Lands unsold are steadily increasing in value and apprecjqtng; last year an average of thifty-tftrep per cent Whether the lands purchased are sqld qr not, he State ci|nqot be the loser, nor can the people receive any additional burden of taxation from the experiment. On the other hand the State will gain by all improvements made on the land?by increasing value of property and production, and by the steady rise in value of real estate. That capitalists believe in the project is proved by the fact of active inquiry in the New York Stock market for these Agricultural Bonds. While some men have stood sneering, the present State Administration has raised South Carolina State bonds from 27 to 70 cents on the dollar, with a steady advance. THE COMMISSIONER'S FEES. We then called the Commissioner's attention to his own immediate participation in the speculation, and read to him a paragraph that has been going the rounds of the press, in reference to hi." fees in the matter. He admitted that the position was one in which a great deal 01 money couia De maae uisnonesuy, but very emphatically asserted that he intended to act squarely. Said he: "The fees of the Land Commissioner are payable when the title of the lands is transferred from the State to the purchaser. The Commissioner must examine the land and superintend its purchase? sub-division and sale?must attend to the annual payment of interest and instalments on the principal?for five years and receive therefor not to exceed ten doHars for each title issued. That this is extravagant compensation for such responsibility and care through a term of five years, few will asi sert. Butifitbeeltravagant, the Advisory Board i has full power to fix it at five dollars, or three or , one dollar, if they choose. The clamor on this i point is inconsiderate and totally unfounded." THE COMMENCEMENT OP THE WORK. "When does the Commission propose to go to work?" we asked. Said Mr. Leslie: "I am al ready at work, gathering information and scarch; ing for lands, which are at once cheap and suitable. The operations for {his year will be commenced and concluded in abundaut time for the crops of next season. In performing the responsible duties of my office, I shall endeavor to act with the same independence, impartiality and fidelity which I have tried to exhibit in my puMic duties in the Senate." Upon the whole, this great political machine, when viewed from a Republican stand-point, is a good thing for the State. Administered as it is proposed by Mr. Leslie, it cannot fail to benefit the nnnr nf the State. Whether its benefits will be extended to the white man?in other words, i the Democrat?remains to be seen. We can only i await the developments of the future. In his conversation the irrepressible Senator was very vehei ment, and reiterated the assertion that he intended to act squarely in the matter. We' give his statements for what they may be worth. Time will prove whether the Land Commission will make ' South Carolina "an Illinois or an Eastern Pennsylvania.". THE JttAN WITH FIFTEEN WIVES. At a meeting held recently in the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, Brigham Young delivered himself to the following effect: I have thought a great many times I would like to ask the sisters a question upon another subject entirely?that subject they are always thinking about, namely, plurality of wives.' I have thought a thousand times I would ask the female portion of our community whether, if it were left to their r opinion, they would retain the practice of this principle in our midst, or whether they would have it obliterated. I want to tell them a little about it?namely, it is a principle that always has existed and that always will. LOOK AT NEW YORK. An argument used by men and women against plurality of wives is, that there are no more women than men, and that every man should have a wife. What of it? men will not be righteous, and women Ia(V Ia /IaoaIoIiaa nn/1 rldotvii/ifiAn *Raa/1 iLo ?4ic iciu IU ucguiauuu auu uuouuuuuii. 4W/au IUV statistics of such matters in our Eastern cities. In New York for instance, from eleven to fourteen thousand young women, from sixteen to twentyone years of age, perish annually in the gutters, on the sidewalks, on door-steps, or in the hovels around. This is no worse than it is in other places where prostitution prevails. Many would like to , prostitute the women of Utah, but 1 pray they may never be able to do it. So far as the mere number ; of wives is concerned, I do not care whether I have one, a dozen, or forty. HE THINKS HE HAS A DOZEN OK FIFTEEN WIVES. , A great many ask me how many wives I have, , but to tell the honest truth I never thought enough about it to stop and think. But I will get up the facts of the case and tell everybody so thitf they may stop asking these questions. I suppose that I have a doaen or fifteen that: am taking care of; , perhaps a few more?I do not know, and I care nothing about it. I try to do good, and try to save , the people, and 1 say do not let any lady come to destruction. It is grievous to me to think that, ( right in this city, there should be any necessity for ladies to marry wloked men, which they should not do if the "Mormon" elders would do their duty, i It looks as though our young men are indolent and j slothful, and do not understand the principles of j life. As an excuse, however, they will say, "My | dear friend and Brother Brigham, I cannot get j married; why, if I got a wiffe she wants a carriage ] to ride in, a hired girl to wait upon her, and a pi- , ano to thump upon when she pleases, and I cannot | sustain it." I am sorry to say there is too much ) truth in this. Now, you young women, tell the { men you will work and help them to live; tell them j so that they marry you. I SOMETHING WRONG SOMEWHERE. ( There are a great many single men in our midst ( who ought to have wives, and a great many young > women who ought to have husbands. There is a <. radical wrong somewhere. c Young man go and get you a partner; got you a little house, then plant out your shade trees and . fruit trees. Land is plenty here, you can get it J "without money or without price." You have the privilege now, if you are a citizen of the United States, of taking up one hundred and sixty acres, * and it will only cost you ten or fiftocu dollars. Can c you not get a home? Yes, you can, right here in c the midst of the saints. Then go and do it, and do c not neglect the first commandment given to Adam * and Eve?to replenish, subdue and beautify the . earth: 1 WHAT SHALL UK DONE ? Now, sisters, what shall we do? Shall we take more wives than one, or shall we not? If we do * not it will not help the case with those who do not ? take any; they will not get any because we have only one, and we should see hundreds and tbous- e' ands of ojur females with no homes, nobody tQ prQr u tect them, nobody that they can call husband and ^ they would wander off. Shall we do this or not ? ^ If the men will be righteous, all will be right. rA CHALLENGE TO THE YANKEES. * They have said a great deal in Washington with regard to our having more wives than one. w I have said in public, and have written, that if w they will cease their wickedness, and each one get ri a wife, and be true to her, anc| strictly vinous, u and then will cause the naliqq to take tho same w course, we ufil] suhrpit to their wishes, and will y< have hut que wife. Here is a bargain?if you will d have not more than one woman, we will not. But m the thing is hero?they want women, but no wives, a W? tyke many Women, but we make wives and Si mothers of them, and they are not cast and 0 their children have the privilege of hearing the fV names of thqjr fathatyj instead of being oast off. fr I say God will damn the man and the nation that will act so, God will damn the nation in which women, with no arm to shield and protect them, are seduced, and left to mourn over their lost, fallen and degraded condition. God bless you. Amen. THE ISLE OF PATMOS. Patmos now known by the name of Patmo, or Patmosa, is a Greek Island situated in the ^Egean Sea, and forms one of the Sporades. It is fifteen miles in circumference, and contains between four and five thousand inhabitants. Its principal productions are maize and barley. Its wine is the best flavored of any of those islands. It is very sterile, and presents a rugged appearance. It is thus described: "On approaching the Island, the coast is found to be high, and to consist of a succession of capes, which form as many ports, some of which are excellent. The only one in use, however, is a deep bay, sheltered by high mountains on every side but one, where it is protected by a projecting cape. The town attached to this port is situated upon a high, rocky mountain, rising/immediately from the sea; and this, with the Seara below upon the shore, consistii^ef some shops and houses, forms the only really inhabitable site of the island. The town contains a church, a monastery, and a school." It was once used by th^ Romans as a place of banishment for criminals. It was here that sacred history speaks of the Apostle John being exiled. Thus Patmos is rendered memorable by the associations connected with it. Here John saw the "visions of God," and penned the revelation of them; "for I was in the island called Patmos," he writes, in speaking of them to the churches; before.his enraptured view glistened the jasper walls of the "city of God;" while the angel who hath the keys of life and death, stood and communed with him, and revealed to him the things which must shortly come to pass. And it was here, here in this "sea-girt island," that this mysterious fision, this wonderful revelation, was made known to him. A bare and rugged spot it is, of but little interest to the world, to the multitude; but to the lover of sacred history, Patmas, like Cacmel and Olivet, and-%11 those places visited by our Saviour while upon the earth, that were pressed by the blessed feet of apostle and disciple, of prophet and patriarch, seemed hallowed and awakeu a deep and abiding interest. # ? ? Curious Facts about Water.?The extent to which water mingles with " odies apparently the most solid is very wonderful. The glittering opal wmcn Dcaur.y wears as an ornament is oniy nint and water. Of every twelve hundred tons of earth which a landlord has in his estate four hundred are water. The snow-capped summits of our highest mountains have many million tons of water in a solidified form. In every plaster-of-Paris statue which an Italian carries through our streets for sale there is one pound of water to four pounds of chalk. The air we breathe contains five grains of water to each cubio foot of its bulk. The potatoes aod turnips which are boiled for our dinner have, in their raw state, the one seventy-five per cent, and the other ninety per cent, of water. If a man weighing one hundred and forty pounds were squeezed in a hydraulic press, seventy pounds of water would run out, the balance being solid matter. A man is, chemically speaking, forty-five pounds of carbon and other elements, with nitrogen diffused through five and a half pailsfhl of water. In plants we find water thus mingling no less wonderfully. A sun-flower evaporates one and . a quarter pints of water a day, and a cabbage about the same quantity. A wheat plant exhales in one hundred and seventy-five days about one hundred thousand grains of water. The sap of plants is the medium through which this mass of fluid is conveyed. It forms a delicate pump, up which the watery particles run with the rapidity of a swift stream. By the action of the sap various properties may be communicated to the growing plant. Timber in France is, for instance, dyed with the various oolors mixed with water, and. sprinkled over the roots of the tTee. Dahlias are also colored by a similar process. ? # Shrinkage in Measures.?It is not unusual to hear people boast that they buy things at wholesale, in order to get the benefits of low rates. If the articles are to be consumed in a short time, it is, no doubt, an excellent practice; but if they are to be some timo on hand, it is questionable if much is made by it. This is especially true if the article is to be sold again, instead of kept for one's nwn consumption. Few people have any idea of the great amount of shrinkage in almost every .thing, in a very short time. We have seen one hundred bushels of carefully measured potatoes, whep collared in the fell, yield only eighty in the spring; and we have no douht but that.from ten to twenty per cent, is lost on any farm produoe kept over a few months after maturity. This is the experience of others. A correspondent of the Country Gentleman found the Mowing results in corn. Fie says; "We weighed a large basket of corn when about through husking, November 1st, 1868, and placed it up in the wood-shed till January 15th?two and i half months; then weighed, shelled, and weighed the grain. After computing, we have the following results: 82J pounds of ears at husking, or 811 pounds in the middle of winter, produce a bushel )f corn?56 pounds. The oorn (twelve rowed white lint) was not quite as ripe as usual when stored, leither have we had as drying winds this winter. Seventy pounds of ears of dry corn is the rule for l bushel, and is probably the nearest correct, a* :he cobs were damp when we shelled the oorn. In )rdinary seasons eighty-one pounds would be suffi:ient at husking to make a bushel. A small cob. villi eight rows, would dry much faster and give liffcrent results; so would different varieties of :orn. ? Flowers and Children. ?^lowers and chilIren are of near kin, and too muoh of restraint or oo much of forcing, or too muoh of display, ruins heir chief charms. I love to assooiate them tojether and to win the little ones to a love of flowsrs. Some day they tell me that a violet or tuft ?f lilies is dead; but on a spring morning they omc, radiant with tho story that the very same iolet is blooming swoeter than ever upon some ar away cleft of the hillside. So you, my child, f the Great Master lifts you from us, shall bloom? s God is good?on some richer, sunnier ground*. We talk thus; but if the change really comes. ; is more grievous than the hlight of a thousand owers. She who 'laved their search among the hickets will never search them. She whose glad yes would have opened in pleasant bewilderment pou some bold change of shrubbery or of paths ill never open them again. She whose feet 'Quid have danced along the new wood path, carping joy and merriment into its shady depths, 'ill never set foot upon these walks again, Names of the Months.?.January, from Janus, ho is represented with two (hoes, one looking toard the new year, the other toward the old. Feb wry, named by Romulus, from Februa, the lother of Mars. March, from Mars, the god of ar. April, from Aprlo, signifying to open the ;ar, May from Malo, the mother of Mercury, urw, from Juno, the wife of Jupiter. July was lined by Mark Antony in honor of Julius Caesar, celebrated Roman emperor. September, from epteiu, the seventh month of the Roman year, ctober, from Octo, the eighth month. November, bm Novem, the ninth month; and December, om Decern, the tenth mouth of the Roman yearv