Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, July 17, 1873, Image 1

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lewis m:. grist, proprietor, j A? Inbcpcitbeitt Jfainilji ^ttfosjjaptr: Jfor tjjc promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of t|c Sotttjj. {terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. VOI,. 19. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 17, 1873. ISTO. 29. JVu (Dtiipnal | Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. JOHN'S WIFE.! , BY E. VICTORIA LOMAX. CHAPTER XXXI. I occupied myself, as much as possible, about the house. I had many things to attend to; for :n addition to my own arrangements, I had to instruct Mary in the affairs of the J i ?L..1J c:u? o ont nnnil nnrl T I1UUSCUU1U. one v?ao t* IV,!J ujjv soon saw that John would get on as well, if j not better, without his old sister Mattie. Owen had been absent about a week, when I received the following note : "Dkak Mattie Canyon come to me? I am in great affliction, or I would not ask it of you. | Do not mention that you have received this note, 1 but come as soon as you can. Yours truly, Henrietta Howard." i I was very much astonished on reading this., There had been but little intercourse between : \ the families lately. We knew that her little ; child had been born, and that Henrietta con-; tinued very delicate; but beyond this had, heard nothing. I immediately decided to go, j though I was aware my intention would sur-' prise the family. It was a long time before I 1 could get aunt Patsy's consent. She said? | "Child ! there is some mischief at the bottom of this, you may depend upon it. I don't see why Henrietta should send for you now, when she has never taken auy notice of you i before." "But, aunty, she is in trouble; you know I cannot refuse to go to her." "Well! I suppose if it is your duty, you ! will have to do it." Johu took me over on horseback, and prom ised to come for me that evening. I was ta-1 ken up to Henrietta's room, immediately on j my arrival. I was shocked when I saw her j looking so wretchedly. I had not seen her, j for a year, and she was so bright and happy j then, that I could scarcely believe that the \ person I saw now, so ill and woe-begone,, could be the same. As soon as she saw me, | she said? "How can I ever thank you, Mattie, for J coming to me! I do not deserve it at your : hands. I felt sure, when you saw me lying j here, you would forgive me." "I have nothing to forgive you for, Henrietta. You have never injured me in any way.1 Youmustnotletthe remembrance of anything that has happened annoy you now. You ought to try and dismiss all disagreeable thoughts from your mind, while you are sick, I and only admit those which are pleasant." "Oh ! I wish I could. But you have come j1 to stay with me, have you not?" | "No, I did not intend doing so; John is coming for me this evening." "You must not go then, Mattie. Let me 1 a - ?*ah mill of o tr o rln v : seuu ;i note over, suyiug juu nm on?j ?* v.??j , or two. Indeed you ought to doit; you will j! render me s ich great service by remaining." |' "Very well, then, if it will be any comfort! to you, I will not go. But you must let me ( write a note to Mary, for I am afraid they might be anxious about me." It did not occur to me until I commenced I writing, that I could not tell them why I had been sent for. I tried to get over it as well as I could, and asked John to come for me a day or two later. I then returned to Henrietta's room. I found her sitting up with her baby on her lap. It was the first time I had seen it, and the contrast between Mattie and the poor little child lying before me, struck me most forcibly. It was very small, and seemed to he suffering from disease of some kind, for it had an unnatural appearance. As I drew near, i Henrietta said: "You have never seen my poor little baby, I have you ?" "No ; has it been sick? It looks delicate." ....... i "It has never been well, ana yesteruay me doctor discovered a tumor which must be removed at once, or it will cause its death. ^ This is why I sent for you, Mattie. Will you stay with my little child while the operation is being performed?" For a moment, my heart failed me, and I thought I should have to say no. But when I looked at the child, and then at the mother, and saw how perfectly unfit she was to be present at anything of that kind, I determined I would consent. And then, too, was I not , to be a doctor's wife soon ? I surely ought not to shrink from the sight of suffering, when it lay in the path of duty, if lie did nut. I turned to Henrietta, and said? .! "I am willing to do all that I can. If you think I can be of service, I will remain.! When is the operation to be performed ?" "To-morrow morning. Doctor Green and Doctor Hanson will both be here. I am sorry Doctor Morris is not in the neighbor- . hood ; I hear he is such a good physician." , "Yes, I regret it, too. Do the physicians apprehend any danger?" "Yes ; they tell me it is doubtful whether ** the baby will havestrength to stand it. They would wait until he is older; but Doctor Green says there is no time to be lost. There is a chance of its life being saved, and none if j the oDeration is not performed." "How much anxiety you must have suffered. We did not know you were in so much sorrow, or I should have been over before." "I did not send for you, because I knew you were all so happy, preparing for your I wedding, I disliked to intrude my affliction on you. Oh ! Mattie, life seems so different to me since I have been lying here weak and lonely. I havcaSo many things to regret and to auswer for." "You must not exaggerate your offenses, Henrietta. Wait until you are well and strong, and can make reparation. Do not let the past worry you now." ^ "I cannot help it, Mattie, when I remember how much I did which was wrong, in trying to make you suspect Mary's love for John ; mid then about those letters." "But no harm came from them. It caused us all suffering; but we have forgiven you for that, long ago." "I sometimes think it a judgment upon me? my present unhappiness. And now that my baby may be taken from me, too! Surely that suffering ought to compensate for all I have ever caused." "You have never caused any one as great suffering as that would be to you, Henrietta. But we will not anticipate any ill results; only hope your child's life may be spared. Is Mr. Howard at home?" "No ; he has been absent for some time. | Perhaps it is just as well he is away now. It would only annoy him to be here." I knew then that Richard Howard did not love his wife. How could he, and leave her at such a time as this! CHAPTER XXXII. The next morning the physician arrived at the appointed time. Henrietta was sitting in her room, and calling rae, she put her child in my arms, kissing it as she did so, and saying? "Good-bye my darling! May your angel spirit watch over and comfort your poor heartbroken mother if you are taken from her!" It seemed almost a mere frame that I held in mv arms, so fragile and delicate was the * -' V little child. It did not cry or even whimper, but lay in my arms, its large blue eyes fastened on my face, with an unearthly stare. I carried it down stairs, and gave it to Doctor Green, and then?well, I will not tell of what j happened ! It was soon over ; the baby was laid on a i sofa in the room, and I was told to watch it I closely, and let the doctor know if any change ' took place. They were engaged in another | part of the room. What a multitude of thoughts passed through my mind as I sat there?the sudden change in Henrietta's character and manner , among them ! I pitied her most sincerely, j and the great love with which God had blessed my life, made her lot seem all the more deso-! late. I thought of Owen ; how I should feel , if he were to leave me when he knew I was "sick and sorrowful," and then I thought of! our future. My attention was then attracted j by aslight movement made by the little pa- J tient. I called the doctor; he came, and pla-; cing his finger on the tiny wrist, said? "It cannot live many more minutes." nT -i. ?~ ' 1 T-Ti-invinffo " T ciiicl nnir>lflv. I -IJL'L me uan jiivuiiv/bii?) A . "It is too late?the child is dead !" Henrietta bore her loss ranch better than I j expected ; at least, her outward signs of grief, j were not great; yet she must have felt it t keenly. I was a poor comforter; but I re- j mained with her as long as I could. We had several conversations before I left,, aud I felt that I tfas becoming quite fond of her. I did not know there was so much good 1 in her character, and can well understand how ! excessive indulgence and ill advice, while young, made her what she was in the earlier j part of this history. I promised to see her j again before I was married, aud then I left j her. John came for me, and though I had been j absent only a few days, he was delighted to see j me. It was a great relief to be at home j again. I had been through so much excite ment, and seen so much suffering, that it was j like reaching a haven of rest, to be at Elm-1 wood. I did not reach home until late in the oven ing, and 09 going to my room I saw another j note lying on my table. For the first time I fouud myself conjecturing, how the notes | were put there. No one had access to my I room except members of the family. Could that man, Stone, be tampering with some of the servants ? Hut then I remembered that it was not probable, as a man of that kind could not be about the place without John knowing something of it. The more I i thought of it, the more bewildered I became. ! I opened the note and read : 'You ?liil not meet me at the chestnut grove, as | I told you. It is now too late to com promise. I j shall take my revenge. If you should wish to communicate with me, after reading this, address , i 11 W.>1 n.M till, V* ?/v/? w. I saw through this epistle at once. He j wished to intimidate me by threatening re-! venge. I did not fear that. He could not: harm, though he might annoy me. Still determining to adhere to mv former resolution " . . i and remain silent, I went down stairs. On opening the door of the dining-room I saw a gentleman standing before the fire. It was dusk, and his back was toward me, so that I had approached quite near, before I discovered that it was Owen Morris. How happy it made me to see him again ! 1 All care and anxiety vanished in his presence, and I forgot the sad scenes I had just wit-1 nessed, on remembering that he was with me. While we were conversing that night, I told him of the notes I had received. He said, after listening to me? "I am glad you mentioned this, Mattie. I ! suppose the man has some foolish idea that you have deprived him of his property ; but that is not the case. I know Walker would never have left Kim wood to him, even though lie did promise it. The ill feeling which Stone already had for you, on account of the j wound you gave him, has been increased by Walker's act. I will get out a warrant for Stone, and have him arrested." "I)o be careful, Owen ; he must be a very ; desperate man, and would not hesitate to in-1 jure you." "I do not intend to give him a chance. I 1 ' * xi-..i. u..: wish we couiu ascertain who it is unit umijja these notes to your room. I)o you suspect any of the servants?" "Xo; the only one who ever comes in my room is Ellen, the chambermaid. She seems perfectly quiet and inoffensive." "Has she been living with you for any length of time?" "She came about three or four months since." "That was just about the time of Walker's death, was it not ?" "Yes." "Then she is the one. This man Stone has acquired an influence over her, and she is doing this for him. This is only a suspicion on my part, but it would lie well to watch her." "1 will try to do it. You will not be obliged to leave home again, will you ?" "Not until I take you with me. Are you almost ready to go?" "I was just about to ask you to wait another , month." "Another month ! What for? I am now more determined than ever to be married on the appointed day. It is bad luck, you know, my darling, to change your wedding-day?so that settles the question." "I suppose I shall have to submit; but I fear I shall not be quite as light-hearted as I had hoped to be on the occasion, as Nellie would say." CHAPTER XXXIII. It is rather a difficult task to tell of your own wedding?isn't it? All brides arc supposed to be so much overcome, either with their feelings or their finery, that they are not capable of giving an authentic account of anything that transpires. Of course, I wore j white; and of course, no one bad eirr seen me | look so well; and every one said, as is usual on such occasions, that I behaved beautifully! If this means behaving as you always do, then I did it for I was not at all embarrassed. The solemnity and the happiness made me forget all about myself, and I could remember only that thedreatn of my youth was realized, and I was Owen Morris' wife. Very nearly the same party attended our wedding that had been present at John's and ( Mary's reception, with the exception of the Lewises. Poor Henrietta! Even in my happiness I thought of her! Miss Nancy Turner was present and in "foil blast." if I mav be allowed the expres I "" "" ! sion. Imagine our astonishment and arnuse! ment when we found she had taken advantage of Nellie's remarks and patterns, and now appeared in a tunic with large pockets ! Nellie brought her up to me as soon as she came in, saying? ! "Here, Mattie, is your old fiiend and playmate, Miss Nancy Turner. She has come to congratulate you, and hopes Aer time may not be far off." "Now, Nellie, you know I did not say that! I only said, Mattie, that now you were married, there was no telling but what / might be one of these days." "You don't mean to say you have been waiting all this time for Mattie, do you, Miss Nancy? If I had known that, I should certainly have had her married long ago. But you have no excuse now ; so I shall inform every one that you are 'in the market.' But what a beautiful dress you have on ! and cut a Id Cuba, too! How clever you were to nnttann T c?Anf !" (iiUtvc It uv liic [;aiiciu jl ouuv . "I am glad you like it, Nellie. I hesitated about wearing my pockets to a wedding; but: I am glad I did now, for my dress is different j from all the others ; and you know I like to 1 be utray." I could scarcely keep my countenance, at j Miss Nancy's attempt at French; her pronunciation certainly was outre, if her appearance was not. She seemed in her element, as j she passed from one guest to another. So 1 long as she looked well pleased and smiling, I was satisfied ; it was only when she put on j the consequential air of having something j "very important" to communicate, that I was ! afraid of her. Later in the evening, I overheard her say- j ing? "Now, Mary, you must stand up for your rights, and not be imposed upon. The servants will all know you are a young housekeeper, and try to get the better of you if they can." "I have seen no signs of it, so far, Miss Nancy. I have been keeping house for the j last three months, and find that I get on very well." "Ah! yes, child ; but Mattie was here. Just wait until she is gone. By the way, I hear one of your servants is to be married." "Ah! indeed?" said Mary; "I have heard nothing of it." "At least, I suppose she is. My maid tells me she is out walking, every evening after j dark, with a very nice looking man. I j thought you knew about it." "No, this is the first I have heard of it." j "Which of our servants was it, Miss Nan- | cy?" I asked, thinking I might learn some-1 thing about my notes. "It was your servant, Ellen, I think?that i good looking Irish girl. I suppose she thought 'like mistress, like maid.' " "Did you hear who the man was?" "No, only that he was a stranger." I had not time for longer conversation ; but: I thought I would enquire more about it when we returned from our trip. Just as the guests were leaving, Nellie n ortioll nnnlrnnii 1,1 linr (JililiU UJ IJIC, ?ltll U Oiuail j/uvniigi. 111 Jivi lmnd. "Here is something Henrietta Howard has sent you, Mattie. Do open it; I am all cariosity to see what it is." I unfolded the wrappings which were around a small box, and took from it a beautiful pearl j cross. On the gold facing at the back of it was written the date of my wedding day, and then the word "Mizpah." While we were looking at it, Miss Nancy ' Turner came up to take leave of nie. "What is that you have there, Mattie ? Another present! Do let me see it?" I placed it in her hands, and after trying in vain to decipher the inscription she said? "Do pray, Nellie, tell me what this word is. I never could read French without my 1 spectacles." I saw that Nellie was about to mystify her still more, so I said? "It is not French, Miss Nancy, but a He brew word, taken from the iJible, and means? 'The Lord watch between me and thee, when ' we are absent the one from the other.'" "Well, who would have thought that one little word could meau so much ! I should like to know what put that into Henrietta's head." "You see she has become very fund of my sister, Miss Nancy, and knowing that Mattie was going to marry a gentleman from Cuba, she thought a foreign inscription would suit her best." "Oh ! that is it. Doctor Morris, how do you like my dress ? Does it remind you of the 'old country ?'" "Very much indeed, Miss Nancy. I can almost ianey myself back there again." "Thank you. I consider that quite a compliment." And with a satisfied expression of countenance, Miss Nancv took her leave, not supposing for one instant, that she had made an Irish blunder. [TO JiK CONTINUED XKXT WUUK.] Layix<; nv Conx.?More or less of this uHl lv> <lonn rlnrimr the nresent month. In " "v o I ? ? case corn has had proper cultivation, and the land is clean and in good tilth, it may receive its last plowing when in the "bunch." It is well to throw some dirt to the plants, that the "spur roots" may be well buried in the soil. These roots play a very important part in the final development of the plant?penetrating the soil to considerable depths, and sending immense quantities of fibrous roots to act as feeders. Late, deep and close plowings injure many of these, and do a great harm. Canned Fruits and Vegetables.?All fruits contain more or less of vegetable acids, and others that are highly corrosive arc often formed by fermentation, and the metalic vessels are considerably acted upon. Tin cans are held together by solder, an alloy into which lead enters largely. This metal is easily corroded by vegetable acids, and poisonous salts are formed. Undoubtedly many persons are greatly injured by eating fruits, put up in cans, and we advise all who contemplate putting up fruits this season to use only glass jars for the purpose. ! ^listcUattfOMS Reading. ADDRESS OF GEN. G. T. BEAUREGARD. I Fellow-Citizens of Louisiana:?I luive been ' 1 made the subject of ungracious and illiberal ! observations here and elsewhere, because of! my support of resolutions recommending a closer union of all the members of the permaI nent population of the State, to promote faith-. ; ful administration and wise and provident legislation. The ends proposed are not only unobjectionable, but patriotic aud praise wor- J thy. The complaint is of the means. Those j means consist in a candid and frank acknowl; edgmeut of constitutional and legal facts, j which none can deny, and the conforming of our conduct to those provisions of the existing \ Constitution of the State of Louisiana, which ! are as follows: "Art. 13. All persons shall enjoy equal j ; rights and privileges upon any conveyance of i ! a public character ; and all places of business j or public resort, or for which a license is rej quired by either State, parish or municipal authority, shall be deemed nlaces of a public ' ; character, and shall cc opened to the nccom- 1 i modation and patronage of all persons, with- j i out distinction or discrimination on account ] of color." "Art. 135. All children of this State, be-1 j tween the ages of six and twenty-one, shall be ! admitted to the public schools or other places ! j of learning, sustained or established by the! State, in common, without distinction of race,I j color or previous condition." These articles have been enforced by legis- j I lation, which gives to any party whose rights j i thereunder have been denied, "a right of ac-; tion to recover any damages, exemplary as' j well as actual, which he may sustain, before any court of competent jurisdiction." It can-! , not, then, be denied that all the citizens of the j State have been placed upon terms of equality ; in their civil and political relations. No | preference is given on account of complexion, j capacity, employment, pursuits or the holding ; of property to any individual or class. The ; superiority that the possession of these may : attain, depends upon the voluntary recogni-1 tion by persons differing in complexion and j canacitv. and of different employments and degrees of education. The suffrage of every ' man of lawful age is to be counted at every i election as of the same value. My proposi- j tion is, if possible, to unite these various (Jon- j ditions of men into a common effort to im-1 prove the condition of the State; to remove,; if it can be done, all questions that are special to any of these conditions from the contest, j and to fix the hearts of all upon higher and I more important aim. The strife, hostility, I distrust and estrangement that have followed from such questions, have placed our State > under the control of the depraved, dishonest, ; over-reaching and corrupt. The reputation | of the State has suffered, its credit blasted, its finances disordered, its honor stained, and public and private prosperity retarded under the influence of the strife and the use made of it by the artful and selfish adventurers, who have employed power to accomplish these disastrous results. In our distracted condition, after the general elections of last November, we appealed in vain to Congress for relief; the Administration has, moreover, thrown its powerful influence on the side of our corrupt, usurping State Government, and we can evidently hope for no assistance from our sister i States. We must, therefore, look only to ourselves for salvation, which can only be secured by making a firm alliance with all classes of our population, to rid us of those vam- j pires who are sucking the very life-blood of j our people, whites and blacks. It is manifest that nothing but the forbear- j ance of the colored people prevents them \ from subjecting common carriers, and all. keepers of places of public resort, to such losses j and annoyances as would speedily compel the ; practical acknowledgment of their rights or the abandonment of business. A multiplicity of suits, the result of which (so far as our 1 State courts are concerned) could not be doubtful, would soon exhaust the endurance of the most violent prejudice. Meanwhile,!1 during a series of years, the obstinate denial : of these claims of our colored fellow-citizens j by the whites has been the means of arraying ! whites and blacks, almost solidly, in bitter ! political hostility against each other. It has i driven the blacks into an unnatural coalition t with n linrdo of unserunulons adventurers.;. who have thus secured the political power of; the commonwealth. How have they used it? [ To what a sad condition have they not reduced ; the State. It is an oft told tale, which I, a| son of Lousiana, holding her honor dearer j than "the ruddy drops which visit this sad i heart," have no disposition to repeat. I may he mistaken in supposing that a j frank and cordial concession of absolute and ; practical civil, as well as political equality : between all citizens, without discrimination, j on account of race or color, as proposed in ! this movement, would remove the last barrier , which opposes the political co-operation of j good men, of whatever color, or for the regen- j eration of the State ; but I am earnest in my conviction that I am not mistaken. Ex peri- j ence seems, at all events, to have demonstrated two propositions quite conclusively, viz: 1. That without such cooperation the redemption of the State is impracticable. 2. That I such cooperation cannot be secured on- any j -tl i T ! Uiuer LCI 111?* AJCSIUC?, i. lllll IM UIUUIIUIJ VWIIviuced that no sound and lasting system of ' political philosophy can be constructed under existing facts in Louisiana, at least which ' does not recognize such equality. Every such < system must square itself so as to consist in j i all its expressions and implications with the J i fundamental fact of impartial suffrage. When j < we are asked why we refuse to admit colored j people to the enjoyment of public privileges J ( on a footing of equality with other citizens, it I is not sufficient to say that in so doing we i j merely exercise a right for which we arc com- j pelled to give a reason, There must be some i reason or motive at the foundation of all hu- j man conduct. And if at the basis of this j i course of conduct participated in by the mass ?I of the white people of the State, there does lie ] a reason so powerful as to defy the provisions 11 of the constitution and laws and the decrees \ I of courts, it certainly concerns the colored , i man to inquire whether, carried to its logical < consequences, it does not threaten other rights, i of which he already has the full enjoyment, j 1 Yet I would ask any one to state why a col- j s ored man should not participate in these pub- j 1 lie privileges, which would not be a better j < reason why he should not serve on a jury,. i why he should not hold responsible offices, I now ii'liir l,n alinnlfl nnt Tinesnss tllA riorlit nf ( ?.V ..V, C..,Vl..v. J. --ft"- --- j suffrage itself. We are bound to give this < gfcut experiment of republican self-govern- I ment, on the basis of impartial suffrage, a fair < trial; and as long as we assume a position antagonistic in principle to his rights, and there-.; by drive the colored man into opposition to j i us, if harm results, we must lay the blame upon ourselves, rather than on the system. ] i I am persuaded that the natural relation I between the white and colored people is .that of friendship. I am persuaded that their in- ! tcrests are identical; that their destinies in ( this State, where the two races are equally di- s vidcd, are linked together; and that there is i no prosperity for Louisiana which must not i be the result of their cooperation. I am equal- I ly convinced that the evils anticipated by i some from the practical enforcement of equal I rights arc mostly imaginary, and that the re- ' lations of the races in the exercise of these i rights will speedily adjust themselves to the i satisfaction of all. I take it that nothing but I malice or stupidity could find anything either i i in the letter or spirit of the unification resolutions, which contemplate any interference or dictation in the private social relations of the people. These lie entirely outside the do-! main of legislation and politics. It would j not be denied that, in traveling aud at places of public resort, we often share these privi- j leges in common with thieves, prostitutes,; gamblers and others who have worse sins to answer for than the accident of color; but no one ever supposed that we thereby assented to , the social equality of those people. I, there- | fore, say, that participation in these public j privileges involves no question of social equal- j ity. By the enjoyment iu common of such j privileges, neither whites nor blacks assert, or , assent to, social equality, either with each j other, or even between individuals of the same j ?. 1 n _-l race. 1 have not proposed to mysen any au-1 vantages from the resolutions referred to. I j do not seek or desire office or emoluments. I have in view but the restoration of Louisiana to the place of honor from which she has fallen. I surrender no principle, nor do I separate from any friends. I unite with those who, upon a candid consideration of the circumstances they do uot control, have to extract. from them the greatest amount of good that they allow of. If there be any one who can propose other and better means, I shall not be backward in adopting them. But it is very clear to ray mind that the strength of a State consists in the harmonious, cordial, contented union of all the good men in the community in honest efforts for the improvement and progress of the whole. It is equally clear that strife, discord, disunion and distracted efforts and pursuits will produce nothing but weakness and disappointment. The base, selfish, unscrupulous and mercenary, always profit from confusion, disorder and the disintegration of socieTMo io n full nnrl nur nn'tul \jj AIXIO 10 a iuiiy uaii\?a\4) uuuj bv mj u?iu\?) accurate view of the situation, and I shall regulate my conduct accordingly so as to free ourselves from "carpet-bag" rule, and the improper interference of the Federal Government in our State affairs. G. T. BEAUREGARD. New Orleans, July 1, 1873. Note.?By "carpet-baggers," I refer to those corrupt and unscrupulous individuals who come here only to occupy office and despoil our people. JOHN VAN BUREN'S LITTLE JOKE. Nearly a quarter of a century ago the Legislature of New York enacted a law imposing a capitation tax on immigrants arriving from Europe and landing at Quarantine. A question was raised in respect to the constitutionality of this law, and the case was subsequently taken to the Supreme Court of the United States. Mr. Seward made the argument on one side, and John Van Buren on the other. The trial attracted considerable interest, not so much from the importance of the question involved, as from the reputation and political , position of the opposing counsel. Mr. Seward was a Senator iu Congress, and the great Whig leader of the State; while Van Buren was the most brilliant orator and most popular man on the Democratic side. They were rivals at the bar, having then recently been engaged in the trial of the murderer Freeman, at Auburn, during which there had beeu much sharp altercation between them. The Whigs in Congress warmly sympathized with Seward, while the Democrats were equally active and zealous in encouraging Van Buren. The arguments were elaborate and able, the resulting impression being that the Senator was more of a statesman than a lawyer, but that Van Buren was one of the most entertaining, impressive and effective advocates that had ever been heard in the court. Judge Taney presided. He was the impersonation of one's idea of the genius of jurisprudence. He was shy, reserved in his manner, ascetic in his habits, a gloomy, forbidding-looking man, resembling a monk of the middle ages; but uuder this cold and repulsive exterior there beat a warm, sympathetic heart. He was a literal man, with no idea of a joke; was never satirical or ironical, and detested a pun as much as Dr. Johnson. The day the argument was closed, Van Buren contrived to fall in company with the Chief Justice, in coming down the avenue from the capitol. John had a degree of coolness and self-possession under all circumstances that nothing ever disturbed. With an airy, jaunty manner that would have been offensive in any body else, but which he made winning and attractive, he addressed the aged jurist: "I was much flattered, Mr. Chief Justice, at the graceful attention with which you listened to my poor efforts in behalf of the suffering immigrants at Quarantine." Mr. Taney made a fitting response, and Van Buren coolly proceeded : "Far be it from me to say any thing respecting the decision oftheCourt." ! The Judge started, with a gesture of depreca- I tion, as if he apprehended an indiscretion on \ the part of the lawyer. "I am quite aware of i the apparent indelicacy of saying any thing : that should look like an attempt to influence [ the action of the Court." Here the Chief j Justice gave a dissatisfied shrug of the shoul-! ders, intended as a rebuke to what he regarded j as un impertinence. But John was wholly j unmoved, and went on with his remarks as j though he was saying the most natural and annronriate thines imaginable. "Nor would I I presume to intimate that an early decision of the cose is desirable." The Judge opened his eyes in amazement, but remained silent. "But the truth is, your Honor," continued j John, "the poor devils at Quarantine are per- j ishing daily, and it is of the utmost importance that they should learn whether they are ! dying constitutionally." Appreciating John's waggery ct last, the | Chief Justice, much relieved, gave way to a hearty laugh, and the conversation came to [in end. ARABIAN HORSES. No Arab dreams of tying up a horse by the ! > neck ; a tether replaces the halter, and one of the animal's hind legs is encircled about the : i pastern with a light iron ring, furnished with i a padlock and connected with an iron chain ; < two feet or thereabouts in length, ending in a ] i aJ ? ? *K/\ n/\ n n /I n f n r\ m o , rope WHICH IS IllSluiUJU 111 liiu ^iuuhu >u ounit ; distance by an iron peg ; such is the customa- < ry method. But should the animal be restless and troublesome, a foreleg is put under i similar treatment. It is well known that i horses in Arabia are much less frequently vicious or refractory than in Europe, and this is the reason why geldings are here so rare, : though not unknown. No particular prejudice that I could discover exists against the i operation itself, only it is seldom performed < because not otherwise necessary, and tending i of course, to diminish the value of the animal, j But to return to the horses now before us. I Never had I seen or imagined such a collec- ] tion. Their stature was indeed somewhat low. i I do not think that any came fully up to fit- I teen hands?fourteen appeared to he about t their average?hut they were so exquisitely . i well shaped that want of greater size seemed I hardly, if at all, a defect. ! Remarkably full in the haunches, with a i shoulder of a slope so elegant as to make one, i in the words of an Arabian poet, "go raving < mad about ita little, a very little, saddle- : backed, just the curve which indicates spring- : iness ; ahead broad above, and tapering down i to a nose fiue enough to verify the phrase of i 'drinking from a pint pot," did pint pots ex- * ists in Nedjce; a most intelligent and yet sing- I ularly gentle look, full eye, a sharp, thorn- < like ear, legs fore and hind, that seem as if j i made of hammered iron, so clean, and yet so i I well twisted with sinew; a neat, round hoof, just the requisite for hard ground ; the tail set on, or rather thrown out at a perfect arch ; coat, smooth, shining and light, the mane long, but not overgrown nor heavy, and air and steps that seemed to say, "Look at me, am I not pretty ?" their appearance justified all reputation, all value, all poetry. The prevailing color was chestnut or gray; a light bay, an iron color, white or black were less common ; full bay," flea-bitten or piebald, none. But if asked what are, after all, the specially distinctive poiuts of a Nedjee horse, I should reply, the slope of the shoulders, the extreme cleauness of the shank, and the full, rounded haunch, though every part, too, has a perfection and a harmony unwitnessed, at least, by my eyes, anywhere else. Nedjee horses are especially esteemed for great speed and endurance of fatipue : indeed, in this latter oual 0 - , - / A ity none come up to them. To pass twenty-four hours ou the road without drinking and without flagging is certainly something; but to keep up the same abstinence and labor conjoined under the burning Arabian sky for forty-eight hours at a stretch is, I believe, peculiar to the animals of the breed. Besides, they have a delicacy, I cannot say of the mouth, for it is common to see them without bit or bridle, but of feeling and obedience to the knee and thigh, to the slightest check of the halter and the voice of the rider, far surpassing the most elaborate manege given a European horse, though furnished with snaffle, curb and all. I often mounted them at the invitation of their owners, and, without saddle, rein or stirrup, set them off at a full gallop, wheeled them around, brought them up in mad career at a dead halt, and that without the least difficulty or the smallest want of correspondence between the horse's movement and my own will; the rider on their back really feels himself the man half of a centaur, not a distinct being.?Pal grave'8 Travels in Arabia. JEFFERSON'S SECRETARY OF WAR. Henry Dearborn, of Maine, whom Mr. Jefferson appointed Secretary of War, had been a veritable hero of romance. In 1775, he was a village doctor. For three years, the sign of Dr. Dearborn had hung out in a hamlet of New Hampshire, when a horseman on a panting steed brought the news of the battle of Lexington. Before the sun had set that day, the young doctor, splendid with the glow of perfect health and the elastic grace of twenty-four, led sixty men toward Cambridge, sixty-five miles distant, which he reached soon alter sunrise on the day following. At Bunker Hill, he was a captain; but as there was nothing to do there but to load aud fire, he took a musket, and made one of his company, loading and firing with the rest as long as they had anything to put into their guns. He went with Arnold's thousand men on that march through an untrodden wilderness to join Montgomery in an attack upon Quebec. The wonder was, that a man of them escaped starvation. Captain Dearborn had with him a magnificent dog, the favorite of all the company, aud to himself most dear; but he could not resist the entreaties of starving comrades, and gave him up, at length, to some soldiers, who took the dog to their quarters, and divided his flesh, with fine Yankee self-control, among the men who could least help themselves, who were nearest perishing. "They ate every part of him," wrote his master, "not cxceptiug his entrails; and, after finishing their meal, they collected the bones and carried them to be pounded up, and to make broth for another meal." The only other dog attached to the expedition, a small one, had been privately killed and eeaten before. Men sacrificed their "old breeches" made of moosehide ; boiled them long, and then cut them into slices, and broiled them on the coals. A barber's powder-bag was made iuto soup at last. It excited the wonder of the doctorcaptain to see men keep up with their company until they were so near exhaustion that they would breathe their last, four or five minutes after sitting down. Dearborn himself gave out at length, and lay in a hut for ten days at the point of death. But he rallied, trudged after the army, and went to the assault at the head of his command. In this spirit and in this manner, Henry Dearborn served till the surrender of Cornwallis, which he witnessed. On Gen. Washington's staff as quartermaster-general, he acquired that familiarity with military business which made him at home in the office in which Mr. Jefferson placed him. President Washington had appointed him marshal of the district. nf Maine end the nennle hnd elected him ? ? - I?I? ?7 ' twice to the House of Representatives. He was a large, handsome man, of erect, graceful military bearing; a striking figure in the circles of the city that was rising in the primeval wilderness. He was, perhaps, the only public man iu the country who united all the qualities desirable for his post; being a soldier, a Republican, a man of science, and a mau of business.?James Parton in July Atlantic. 4 4 THE WORKERS OF THE UNITED STATES. The Scientific American has been investigating the census returns, with a view of ascertaining the number of working people in the : United States and their specific pursuits. The results of ihis investigation show that we have 12,505,823 workers out of a total population of 38,558,371, of which 10,669,436 are males, and 1,839,487 females. The number of females industriously employed is probably much greater than those figures indicate, many women and girls being put down in the census tables as having no occupation who i are constantly engaged in domestic or house- j hold duties. If these returns were correct j they would indicate that only about one-third of our people have a regular industrial pursuit. Making a reasonable addition for female workers, the industrial classes may, perhaps, number one-half the entire population, j Attention is called to the fact that the accuracy of the census returns, however, has been seriously questioned by the "Massachusetts Bureau of Labor Statistics," which finds gross I discrepancies in the census returns for that State, the number of workers in the table of occupations being four times as great as the number of the table of manufacturers, whereas in a manufacturing community that difference should be comparatively small. We must, therefore, have more reliable returns than those at present furnished before we can correctly judge of that division of labor by which the material wants of the American people are supplied. The great army of j people devoted to agricultural pursuits is re turned by the census, and in this respect it undoubtedly makes a reasonable approach to correctness. The number given is 5,1)92,471; ! the number-engaged in manufacturing, mining and mechanical pursuits is set down at 3,707,421, while those who arc not rendering personal and professional services arc stated it 2,784,793, leaving 1,119,228 engaged in trade, traffic and transportation. Among the , trades, carpenters take the lead, next come in regular order, tailors, miners and blacksmiths; then milliners, masons, painters, machinists, jaw mill tenders, butchers, cabinet makers, millers, printers, harness makers, tinners, cigar makers, bakers and fishermen. Of sailors there are 56,064 ; of canalraen, 7,388; of jteamboatmen, 8,975. There arc 62,382 physicians, 43,847 clergymen, 40,736 lawyers, ind 136,066 teachers. Hotels aud restaurants require 94,170 attendants, and livery jtahlcs 26,000. The office holders number '>7,912; barbers, 23,953; professional musicians, 9,519; journalists, 5,286; army and! oavy officers, 2,286. Of the entire working force, 9,802,038 were born in this country, i 949,161 in Ireland, 836,502 in Germany, 301,779 in England and Wales, 189,307 in British America, 109,681 in Sweden, Denmark and Norway, 71,993 in Scotland, 58,197 in France, and 46,300 in China and Japan. Kerosene and its Abuse.?In view of , the many accidents resulting either through J carelessness or ignorance, in the use of kerosene, we give the following rules and sugges. tions as furnished by a correspondent of the I Savannah Advertiser : | 1. Do not buy kerosene below the governj ment standard, which is 110 degrees. 2. Do not use a wick that is too narrow for ! the burner. 3. Never turn down the bnrning wick when I you want to extinguish the light, but blow it ; out without disturbing the wick, blowing dij agonally into the top of the chimney, or use a i palm leaf fan at arm's length. 4. Do not use your lamp as a night-lamp ; by turning down the wick to lessen the flame. The reasons for the foregoing rules are: 1. The government has fixed the standard I at which kerosene may be sold at 110 degrees; j because there is danger of its vaporising in an ' JP if in KaI an? f V* a f n f o a JnwJ uiuiunij lauifj 11 it 10 utiun buai obauuaiu? The inducement to sell it below that standard is, that it can be produced for less money. 2. There are four sizes of flat wick burners in general use, their numbers areO, A, Band D, or Mammoth. The wicks measure threeeights, five-eighths, one, and one and a half inches, respectively. This measurement may not be mathematically exact, but it is the size given to them by the Manufacturers, and is near enough for all practical purposes. If you use a wick that is too small a space is left between the edge of the wick and the wick tube, which serves as a passage way for the flame to communicate with the oil in the ; lamp. 3. The nearer a lamp is to being empty the greater the necessity of observing rule 3, because the nearer a lamp is to being empty the more room there is for vapor, and if the burning wick is turned down, ever so slightly, the danger is increased of communicating the flame to any gas that might have been formed I in the lamp, while if the flame is blown out j without disturbing the wick the crust that has r*r> fKn f rvr\ nf fVtn miolr nfTonf n a 11 xt nlofiOtf I IWI IJJV.U UU 1/ilV Wi KUV niVB WUWVVUHIiJ VIVUVU any little opening between the wick and tube, thus preventing the communication of the flame to the gas when you blow down the chimney. 4. All kerosene burners are made to produce perfect combustion as a prerequisite for a good light. If the wick is turned down to lessen the flame materially, the combustion is not perfect, and the burner becomes overheated, which communicates heat to the lamp, causing the air to vaporize more rapidly than it can be consumed by reason of the imperfect combustion, and (under certain circumstances) causing the lamp to explode. If lamps that are intended for illuminating purposes are used as night lamps by turning down the flame to lessen the size of it, a smoky atmosphere is produced that is positively injurious. If these rules are followed, accidents resulting from exploding kerosene lamps, will be far less numerous, and the end will have been attained for which this article was written. Don't Box the Children's Ears?Children's ears ought never to be boxed. We have seen that the passage of the ear is closed by a thin membrane, especially adapted to be influenced by every impulse of the air, and with nothing but the air to support it internally. What, then, can be more likely to injure this membrane than a sudden and forcible compression of the air in front cf it ? If any one designed to break or overstretch the membrane, he could scarcely devise a more effective means than to bring the hand suddenly and forcibly down upon the past, je of the ear, thus driving the air violently before it, with no possibility for it to escape but by the membrane giving way. And far too often it does give way, especially if from any previous disease it has been weakened. Many children are made deaf by boxes on the ear in this wav. Nor is this the only way; if there is one thing which does the nerve of hearing more harm than almost any other, it is a sudden jar or shock. Children and grown persons alike may be entirely deafened by falls or heavy blows upon the head; and boxing the ears.produces a similar effect, though more slowly and in less degree. It tends to dull the sensibility of the nerve, if it does not hurt the membrane. I knew a pitiful case once of a poor youth who died from a terrible disease of the ear. He had had a discharge from it since he was a child. Of course his hearing had been dull; and what happened was that his father had often boxed his ear for inattention! Most likely that boxing on the ear, diseased as it was, had much to do with his dying. And this brings me to the second point: Children should never be blamed for being inattentive until it has been found out whether they are not a little deaf. This is easily done by placing them at a few yards' distance, and trying whether they can understand what is said to them in a low tone of voice. Each ear should be tried while the other is stopped by the finger. I do not say that children are never guilty of inattention, especially to that which they do not particularly wish to hear; but I do say that very many children are blamed and punished for inattention when they really do not hear. And there is nothing at once more cruel and more hurtful to the character of children than to be found fault with for what is really their misfortune. Three things should be remembered here: 1. That slight degrees of deafness, often lasting only for a time, are very common among children, especially during or after colds. 2. That a slight deafness, which does not prevent a person from hearing when he is expecting to be spoken to, will make him very dull to what he is not expecting; and, 3. That there is a kind of deafness in which a person can hear pretty well while listening, Dut is really very nnra of hearing when not listening.?Dr. Hinton in Po])ular Science Monthly. For tiie Last Time.?There is a touch of pathos about doing even the simplest thing "for the last time." It is not alone kissing the lips of the dead that gives you this strange pain. You feel it when you look your last upon some scene which you have loved?when you stand in some quiet city street, where you know that you will never stand again. The actor plays his part for the last time, the singer whose voice is cracked hopelessly, and who after this once will never stand again before the sea of upturned faces, disputing the plaudits with fresher voices and fairer forms, the minister who has preached his last sermon?these all know the hidden bitterness of the two words "never again." How they come to us on birthdays as we grow older. Never again young?always nearer to the very last?the eud which is universal, the "last thing" which shall follow all things and turn them, let us hope, from pain to joy. We put away our boyish toys with an old heartache. We were too old to walk any longer on stilts?too tall to play marbles on the sidewalk. Yet there was a pang when we thought we had played with our merry group for the last time, and life's serious, growu up work was waiting for us. Now we do not want the lost toys back. Life has other and larger play things for us. May it not be that these, too, shall seem in the light of some far-off day as the boyish games seems to our manhood, and we shall learn that death is but the opening of agate into the new land of promise?