Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. Christ, Proprietor.I 21 tt $ni>cjmtknt Jamilg ftcfosppcr: Jfor tjje promotion of tjje political, ?ocial, ^griettltaral anir Commercial Interests of % Stntjj. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 19. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY '24, 1873. NO. 30. T i 7 7 . . ? . ~,~7T ^elected ffffthg. DON'T BK IN A HORKY TO GO. Come, boys, I have something to tell you ; Conjfp here, I would whisper it low; You're thinking of leaving the homestead, Don't be in a hurry to go. The city has many attractions, But think of the vices and sins, When once in the vortex of fashion, How soon the course downward begins. Vo., toll.- <-vf tlin mi HOC nf Australia. They're wealthy in treasures, no doubt, But ah, there is gold in the l'arm, boys, If only you'll shovel it out. The mercantile life is a hazard, The goods are first high and then low, Better risk the old farm awhile longer? Don't be in a hurry to go. The great busy West has inducements, And so has the busiest mart, And wealth is not made in a day, boys, Don't be in a hurry to start. The banker and broker are wealthy, They take in their thousands or so? Ah, think of their frauds and deceptions ? Don't be in a hurry to go. The farm is the safest and surest; The orchards are loaded to-day; You are free as the air of the mountain, And monarch of all you survey. But stay on the farm awhile longer, Though profits come in rather slow, Remember you've nothing to risk, boys? Don't be in a hurry to go. J\tt (Original Jftntg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. JOHN'S WIFE. BY E. "VICTORIA LOMAX. CHAPTER XXXIV. We left home th'e next morning, on our bridal tour, expecting to travel for several months; but, "mac proposes and God disposes." I received the following letter from Nellie, soon after our departure: "Dear Mattie:?I must commence my letter by saying, 'home is not home without thee.' I know this sounds rather sentimental for me, but it is, nevertheless, a fact. John and Mary are as kind and atfectiouate as possible, and are evidently doing their utmost to make my time pass pleasantly. I appreciate their efforts,'though fruitless. You will perceive I amadoptingthe laconic mode of expression, having just finished reading a novel writteu in that style, and admiring it excessively, I give you the benefit of my first attempt. "There nave'been few changes in our neighborhood since you left. The Howard excitement has died a natural death. Poor Henrietta is dying of consumption, and, I think, will not live many more days. I shall go to see her to-morrow, and write you more fully, after my visit, as regards her condition. I hope most sincerely that my dear cousin Richard may not be at homo, for it will be a trial, which I feel my lovely and amiahle disnosition is not caDable of sustaining, to treat him with politeness/ You may judge from the above remark that, as of old, I hate him most cordially. "Miss Nancy Turner was here yesterday. I think the pattern of that tunic, with pockets, won her heart. I hear she wears the dress on all state occasions, and invariably mentions that it was made exactly by one of your wedding dresses. The old lady was in quite bad spirits, for her, the last time I saw her. The Wethereds were friends again with the congregation, so she had no longer their affairs to talk about, and I thought she would pay the visit without giving us one item; but I was mistaken. Old Mrs. Travers was yet to have her benefit. Miss Nancy commenced by saying: 'I suppose you have heard all about Mrs. Travers ?' No, we had not heard anything; even if we had, we would not acknowledge it and thus lose Miss Nancy's story. 'What do you think of her going to Mrs. Lewis and telling Mr. Howard that he was a forgerer, and something else?I have forgotten the other word?but it was something dreadful ?' " 'I never heard him accused of that before. Dili you, Marv?' I asked. "'She said lie was a forgerer,'continued Miss Nancy, 'because he had sworn at the altar to take care of Henrietta, and he had never done it.' "'You must have misunderstood her, Miss Nancy,' said Mary. 'I expect she said he had perjured himself.' "'May be so, child; you know T am no ways particular sis to words, "just so I get the sense of it. Mrs. Travers has a mighty bitter tongue when she talks, and I know she gave it to him well.' "'And what did cousin Richard say?' asked Mary. " 'Bless me, child! I always Jforget he is your cousin ; but it is too late to remember it now. I might just as well tell you what he said. He told ' 1 1 - t ? nor that a man maae ion tnousaim uuuam wm-c, | and when she asked him how, he said by attending to his own business.' 44 4I suppose that ended it,' I remarked. 44 4No, indeed; old Mrs. Traverssaid she should have thought he made more. Rut I am overstay- J ing mv time. You and Marv are always so agreeable!'' 44I have written you the foregoing in order that you may see for yourself, that your absence has I not altered the surroundings of Klmwood. Everything is going on as you left it?not excepting Miss >.ancy Turner's tongue. "I hope Owen and yourself are having a pleas- j ant time; but of course you are. Come home as | soon as you can. Little Mattie sends a kiss, and John, Mary and Harry send love. Yours affectionately, Nellie Woktkinuton." "I have quite* treat for you to-day, Mattie," said Owen, coming into the room hurriedly, as he spoke. "What can it be?" I asked. "1 thought we had exhausted the sights of New York, for I j am sure we have seen all that is worth seeing , in the city already." "Yes; but what we are to enjoy to-day is j not open to the public. Mr. has kindly | offered to show us his private gallery of paintings. Would you like to go ?" "I should be delighted. Can you wait a moment until I write a few lines to Nellie, acknowledging the receipt of her letter ?" "Certainly; as long as you please." We were soon on our way to the gallery. Mr. showed us the paintings himself, aud I am sure added greatly to our appreciation and enjoyment of them, by doing so. It is considered the finest collection, either public or private, in the city, and I would not have missed seeing it for a great deal. There was one picture that enchained my attention from the first. It seemed to possess a peculiar fascination for me; and even at this late day, when what was the future then has become a fearful past, I feel that perhaps the sensations I experienced were but a premonition of what was to be. The picture was called "Desolation." A female figure was kneeling alone on a bleak and barren spot; there were no trees nor flowers to brighten the scene?only a desert met the eye. Her face was partially raised, and you could see that she was gazing intently into the dreary waste stretching before her; gazing, but seeing nothing. The whole figure was inexpressibly beautiful, and the utter absence of all the usual surroundings in landscape scenery made her loveliness all the more striking. There was no need for the name to be eiven. Desolation was written on every feature. "This is rather a strange subject to attract the attentiou of a bride. Do you not think so, Mr. ?" said Owen, smiling. "I hope it is the great contrast between her life aud the representation of loneliness of the one before her, which makes it so attractive to Mrs. Morris," said Mr , kindly. "I don't know why it is," I said, trying to throw off the glamour which the sight of that face caused. "I never saw anything that affected me as this has done. Is there any story connected with it, Mr. ?" "None that I know of. I believe to all who see it, it tells a different tale. Perhaps this is what the artist intended. But let me show you something more pleasant." We remained several hours in the gallery, and enjoyed every moment. Just before leaving, I asked Owen to let me see once more the picture which I had been observing so closely. He did so, and I took my last look at it until? ______? CHAPTER XXXV. We had been absent about three weeks, j when one morning as I was sitting in my room, resting from "sight seeing," Owen came j in. He held a note in his hand, and I thought seemed distressed. "Ihaveiust received this telegram from home, Mattie," he said, giving me the paper I as he spoke. "Is any thing the matter, Owen ?" "Aunt Patsy is very ill. If you would like | to go home at once, I can make arrangements : for us to leave in a few hours." "Yes; do let us go on as soon as we can." i The telegram was as follows: "Aunt Patsy is very ill; come as soon as possible." It j was signed with John's name. I felt, from the first, that this was to be her last illness, and I almost reproached myself | for our absence; but she was as well as usual I when we left home. What a long and anxious night that was to me! And when the morrow came it brought no comfort. John met us at the depot. He said aunt Patsy was a little better, but the physicians still considered her very ill. She had pneuj monia, and as she had become delirious, they [ were afraid she would not recover. She had ! been calling incessantly for me, and they hoped, after I arrived, she would not be so restless. As soon as I had taken off my wrappings, I went immediately to her room. As I api proached the bed, she said? "Mattie, don't let-Nellie be out in the rain ; she will certainly take cold. You ought to be more careful of that child." I saw she was thinking of the time when Nellie had been left a poor, motherless child in ray charge, and said? "Aunty, don't you know me ?" "Of course I do. You are Miss Nancy Turner. Have you got on your pockets ?" I saw the attempt to make her recognize me was useless; so I took my seat by herside, hoping she would know me after a while. "How was aunt Patsy taken, Mary ?" I asked. "It was the most sudden attack I ever knew, Mattie. She was sitting in her chair, with little Mattie in her lap, when she complained of feeling cold. I put a shawl around her, hut still sue aia not seem to got any ' warmer. I advised her to go to bed, which she did, and I thought she was asleep, when she called to me? "Raise me up, Mary; I feel as if I could not breathe." I called John, and he lifted her up. She seemed a little easier then ; but I knew she was very ill. "We seut for the doctor," he said; "she had pneumonia, and we telegraphed at once for you." "I am glad you did. I should never have forgiven myself, had I been away at this time." Just then aunt Patsy called me. "Mattie," she said, "I am glad yon have come, child ; I have missed you. Where is Owen ?" "He is in the next room, aunty ; shall I call him in ?" "Yes; I wish you would all come in now ; I have something to say to you." Mary went out, and in a few moments all the family were standing near her bed. j "Children," she said, feebly, "I have sent for you to take leave of you. I am dying. 11 am very grateful to you for your kindness I to me, and if my prayers will avail, you and ! yours will surely be blessed in this life. Rej member that my dying request is, that you always love each other. Mary, are you here?" I "Yes, aunty," said Mary, coming forward. The old lady put her hand on Mary's head, as-she knelt by the side of the bed, and said, "God bless you, my child! You are very I dear to me. You must be good to her, John, for she has brought a blessing on this house." c.mi? a v,of JL Here id IHJ UUII^CI Ul HI J IJV I* iv/nu^ IIVI enough, aunty; she is the joy of my life," said John, feelingly. Aunt Patsy remained silent for several moments, when she said? "Mattie, I leave you in good hands, child. I know Owen will take care of you, and Harry will protect Nellie. I am glad I leave you all so happy, children ! Bring the baby to me, Nellie; let mc give her my blessing before I go." Shall I ever forget the contrast between the pale, sunken cheek on which death had set its seal?the thin, wasted form of the dear old lady?and the bright, innocent, happy face of the little child we placed in her arms? Mattie did not seem to be frightened ; she put out her hands and said?"aunty," "aunty." Aunt Patsy was, for the first time, over: come by emotion, aud fearing it might do her - ' . i >r I harm, I saiu?,-.Liet me taae .uaiue, now, ' aunty, while you rest." She murmured a blessing, but we could Dot catch the words, and then I took the baby ' and gave her to Nellie. None of us had left the room. Aunt Patsy I was lying quiet; but we knew not how soon , the end might come. At length I heard her | speak in a low tone. I approached the bed ! immediately, and on looking on her pale face I saw it was lighted up with a happy smile. "Such sweet dreams, child, I have had ! It must be that I am near my home. I saw j your mother, Mattie; and she said she had been waiting for me, and?now?I?" The sentence was never finished. Our dear old aunty lay dead in my arms! | "O what were life, if life were all! Thine eyes Art blinded by their tears, or thou oould'st see | Thy treasures wait thee in the lar-oif skies, i And Death, thy friend, will give them ail to thee.'" CHAPTER XXXVI. It was a great trial to me. I had had the ; care of aunt Patsy for so long, that it made a li -i- l?.i. e..? i.?. ????? OiUIlK III ILiy 1UC, LU 1UU1S. 1>JI JICI 111 UCl ttuuoi tomed place, and find her gone ! If I had been at all superstitious, I should have thought a death occurring so soon after my weddingday foreboded misfortune to me in ray married life. But I was not superstitious, and I do not think I could have borne aunt Patsy's death even as I did, but for the comforting j presence of my husband. My husband! How strange it seemed to me after all the past years of pain and sorrow, j and of patient waiting, that our dream of hap! piness should be at last realized. For we i were happy?too much so, perhaps ; for we T . , " ~ . ." | gave not a thought to any care or anxiety in j the future, and when it came* it was all the ; harder to bear. 1 It was about a mouth after the funeral, J 1 that I found another note from Stone, lying I on my table. It was as follows? "Owing to the affliction in your family, I have ' not insisted 011 your keeping the appointment I made for you. As T hear you expect soon to go to j Columbia, I ask you, for* the last time, will you ' 1 make out a paper*relinquishing your right to the i Elmwood estate? If you do not grant this re- j j quest, the consequence will rest on you. I shall ! I proceed tocarry out my threat. Thomas Stone." I called Owen and put this note in his ; hand. "It is time this annoyance should cease," I said Owen, indignantly. "I shall proceed at ! once to have a warrant issued against him. j j Have you said anything to Ellen ?" "No ; I think I will send for her now and question her." "Very well. I will send her up to you, and , j then return and await the result of your inves- 1 j ligation." i In a few moments Ellen entered, j "Did you send for me, Miss Mattie?" j "Yes, Ellen. I wish to ask you if you j ! know who placed these notes on my table." "Notes, ma'am ! I haven't seen any lying i there." Her manner convinced me beyond a doubt j that she was guilty; but I said very quiet-1 ly"It is not worth while for you to deny it, Ellen. I know perfectly well, you put those , notes on that table, and they were given you * Y\rr n mnn nomoi^ ftf ATIO " j 1UI LUUb |IUl|iUOC) uj a tiiiti-i uuiuvu v?vuv. | "Indeed, ma'am, you are mistaken; his j I name is Smith?Thomas Smith." i I could scarcely keep from smiling, as I j j heard the poor girl commit herself so inno- j j cently. After I had once ascertained the fact j I from her, that the notes had been brought in ; J by herself, and had been given her by a man,! j I felt that I could easily prove "Thomas , ( Smith" to be Thomas Stone. I said? "Yes, I know he calls himself'Smith but: his real name is Stone. Do you know why > he did not bring the notes himself, Ellen?" j "He was afraid some one might find it out, | ma'am ; so he asked me to bring them. I hope it's caused no barm, ma'am, to you?" "No, none whatever; I wish I could feel as i safe about you as I do about myself. It is | not in his power to injure me; but he may 1 cause your ruin. Has he asked you to marry him ?" "Yes, ma'am." "You may rest assured, Ellen, he never intends to do it. I know him to be a great rascal. If you will give him up, I will ask Mary to let you go to Columbia with me, and I shall be glad to have you as ray servant." ! "I am much obliged to you, ma'am ; but I cannot cive up my sweet-heart for all the pla j ces in the world." "Then you cannot remain here, Ellen." "I know it ma'am, but he'll see that I don't suffer." She left the room after saying this, and in a few moments Owen entered. I told him all that I had heard. He sat ; silent for some time, and then said? "There is but one thing to do, Mattie ; and I that is, to watch for this man, and when he ; comes to visit Ellen, have him arrested." "But you know I have told Ellen she must leave." "Ah ! I forgot that; but perhaps her time will not be up for a day or two, and we may be able to catch Stone in the interval. You must not worry about it, my darling. I have seen too many shadows resting on your dear face lately; let me see some sunshine there He bent over and kissed me, and then left i j with the sunshine on my face, but tears in my ! | eyes. ! CHAPTER XXXVII. I little thought the time would ever come j j when I should be glad to see Miss Nancy j I Turner; but such was the case that morning, j I I had so much sorrow and anxiety, that I 1 was glad to have my thoughts diverted. And | then Nellie always made something for us to . laugh at out of Miss Nancy's visits ; though sometimes I did think she carried the matter j ; a little too far. "Well, girls,!" she said, "I thought you J I would all have the blues at the idea of Mattie leaving you so soon. I have come to cheer j you up." "Thank you, Miss Nancy," said Nellie; "you are just the very person I wished to see. I have been so anxious to hear the result of j your visit to Mrs. Wethered. Of course you j . weut there." j "Yes, indeed, and a"spicy time I had of it. | ! I only thought she was impertinent before; but j I know it now." "She wasn't impertinent to you, surely." "Indeed she was ; and I think it was very sinful in her to get angry with me, when I j only gave her good advice." "What about?" ' "Well, you see everybody in the congrega- { tion is talking about how fine Mrs. Wethered dresses herself and her children, so I thought i I would tell her about it." "And what did she say, Miss Nancy?" "Nothing, except that her religion did not depend on the clothes she wore, and so long : as they were all paid for, she did not care 1 what people said. I was in hopes she would ask me what they did say." "And what do they say?" "That Mrs. Wethered is 'pressing on to sanctification through loads of finery.' Now, what do you think of that f" ; "It was a severe thing to say of any one. It must have been hard for you to tell, too, Miss Nancy." "Bless you, child ! I don't mind saying ! auvthing, if 1 think its going to do good, you j know." ! "But do you always do good?" "Yes; that is?I haven't made more than ! , a dozen or two people mad with me ; and even then, it don't last long. But have you all heard about thedoings at the Court House last week ?" ! "No," said Nellie, "there hasn't been an- j other circus there, has there ?" "Worse than that! The Odd Fellows gave a ball, and of all the behaviour you ever heard of in your life, that exceeded." "Whose behaviour?the Odd Fellows? I thought they were always propriety itself." j "No, it wasn't the young men, it was the young ladies." j "What did they do?" i "It is so awful that I don't like to speak of it, even to you ; but they do say three of them I were dead drunk, and six were staggering." "Good heavens! Miss Nancy, can that be true ?" "It is a fact, indeed. But that is not the worst of it," "Can anything be worse!" exclaimed Nellie, in a tragic manner. "Yes; the young men who brought them the juleps had not the money to pay for them, and were obliged to have them charged ; and not one of those young men could afford it." "It is too shocking? But, Miss Nancy, haven't you heard any other news ?" "Nothing but about Henrietta Lewis and Mr. Howard. I suppose you have heard of that?" J >> "in o, not a woru. "Well they are going to be divorced. Some say it is owing to her high temper, and others say that it is because he is in love with some one else." "Oh ! Miss Nancy, please don't say that," said Mary; "I know that is false." "If you know be.tter than I do, Mary, of course I have nothing more to say ; but I heard it directly from old Mrs. Travers, who met Mr. Howard at the Springs, and he had a lady with him then." "But I know who that lady was," said Mary ; "it was a cousin of his and of mine." "Well, I'm glad to hear that explained. Then it must be Henrietta's temper. I thought it was that all the time." "And I know, Miss Nancy," said I, that, that is not so. I have seen Henrietta very often lately, and I never saw a more subdued or altered character than hers. If they are going to be divorced?which I very much doubt?it must be for some other reason." "I suppose, then, I will have to give it up; but I know there is something wrong in that family. By the way, Mattie, I heard yesterJ? *1.-i. T7M1 ? ?-? 1/Mtr vnnr ov. uay iuhl xjiicu wius nuuui iu ample. My servant tells me she is going to he married to Mr. Smith to-morrow night." "Ah! indeed! I have heard nothing of it. Have you, Mary ?" "Sheasked permission to be absent a day or two; but she did not say it was because she wished to be married." "I suspect she thought you might object. But I must leave you. Good morning." As soon as she left the room, Nellie said? "I do think there ought to be a law passed by the Legislature, imposing a fine on every gossiping old maid iu the State. If Miss Nancy had to pay five dollars every time she told a piece of scandal, she would have less news of other people." "I must say, Nellie, I think you encourage her; you always ask her the news." "Yes, I have an insane desire to see how far she will go ; but here come the gentlemen." When I told Owen of Ellen's marriage, he said? "Then I can easily have him arrested. Ellen is to be married at her aunt's I suppose?" "Yes, I believe so; but you will not have to go, too, will you ?" "No, I think not. I fancy there is no mistaking the groom on such an occasion as that. But I think he is going to give them the slip and will not be there." "I wish we were safe in our new home, Owen." "I am glad you are so anxious to go, Mattie; but why do you say 'safe,' as if you thought you were not snfehere?" "Yes, I know I am; but I have a presentiment that something is going to happen. I do not now feel as if we would ever see our home." "Why, darling 1" said Owen, in astonishment, "is this ray brave little wife, who is talking such nonsense? I have a great mind to take you there to-morrow just to show you it can be done." "I wish you would. I know I am very silly; but, Owen, it would kill me if any thing were to happen to you now." "Nothiugis going to happeu, darling," said lie, smiling. It was a day or two after, that Owen said? "Did I tell you, Mattie, that I heard yesterday that Richard Howard and his wife were certainly to be divorced?" "How terrible that would be! Perhaps it would be well for rae to go over and see Henrietta. I fear she meets with but little sympathy from her own family." "And what is to become of me during your absence ?" "I will leave you in Mary's care. I know you will not suffer then." "I am glad you have thought of providing for me ; though I must say I do not like the idea of your going. If there is any difficulty between Richard Howard and his wife, I do not wish you to give advice in the matter." "I did not ti.'nk of giving advice, Owen ; though if my opiniou is asked, I shall consider it but right ;o express it. My visit is intended more for the purpose of showing her sympathy. But if you object, of course I will not go." "Oh ! no, I do not object to it seriously. Knowing her as well as you do, you are a much better judge of what is right than I am. How long will you remaiD ?" "Only a few hours. I would not be willing to stay longer than that, even if she should wish me to do so." "There isoue thing I desire to impress upon you, Mattie, and that is, not to judge of Henrietta's feelings to her husband by yours for me. Your characters are so unlike, that it would be impossible for you to understand the motives by which she is actuated. I do not T> ! o *./! T-T Ainn i a nanoKlo nf UClieve Mint J.C1UII111U Jiiunaiu w Wjiuuiv VI uny true and deep feeling, and am disposed to think, he is the one to blame in this affair." "But Henrietta must have had faith in his love for her, or she would never have married him." "Perhaps so, Mattic ; but licr faith is not like yours; so take care what you say to her." "You make me feel quite nervous about my visit, Owen. I begin to doubt whether it would be best for me to go." "You must not let my opinion deter you. It may be that she will not mention the subject to you, which I think would be much the wisest plan." "Very well, then, I think I shall go." [conclusion next week.] One of Prince de Joinville's reminiscences has an interest for our own public. "One day," he says, "at the height of that terrible crisis of secession, when the existence of the American republic was most in peril, I asked Mr. Lincoln what was his policy. 'I have none,' he replied, 'I pass my life in preventing the storm from blowing down the tent and I drive in the pegs as fast as they are ! pulled up.'" I ffflistrUancoMS leading. From the Kichmnnd Correspondence of the Courier-Journal. RICHMOND TO ATLANTA. The near approach of the completion of the 1 Richmond and Atlanta Air-Line is in itself j an event of paramount importance not only to the city of Richmond, but to the whole country. Connected with the history of the road there are some incidents, never before i made public, which cannot fail to interest the | readers of the Courier-Journal, and, indeed, every cultivated person in the Republic. ; Do you know that JOHN C. CALHOUN IS THE FATIIEK ' Of this Richmond and Atlanta road? It is even so ! In the month of January, 1832, Mr. Thomas T. Giles, the son of Governor Wm. B.Giles, and Mr. Gustavus A. Myers, both young men, entering the carriage of the ; latter drove to Hanover court house. There I they entered the stage for Aquia creek, having | engaged seats before leaving home. Among | the passengers was a gentleman who kept his j head bowed down upon the leathern strap > ' -? j -- - u__i. q ono f ! wmco serveu us u uiiu& iu uic uuuuiw o^ui. He was evidently plunged in deep thought, and, though he spoke not a word, the occasional convulsive clenching of his hands showed internal agitation of no ordinary kind. Mr. Giles having observed him attentively, said to his friend, Mr. Myers: "That is John C. Calhoun." "I thiuk not," was the reply. "I know it, and will prove it." Mr. Giles then began to talk in rather a loud tone about the resolutions in favor of nullification which John Randolph had but a short time since induced the citizens of Charlotte county to pass, expressing his dissent from them. Mr. Calhoun, for he it was, at once raised ' his head. "Do you know Mr. Randolph, sir?" "Yes, sir, I know him quite well." "Do you live in his district." J "No, sir ; but in the one adjoining it." "I am surprised, sir, that one who knows ! that great man so well, and who live3 so near I him, should disapprove his course." Mr. Giles, in order to draw the eminent Carolinian out, defined his position as best he could, and Mr. Calhoun waxed eloquent in defense of his own views. When the stage stopped in Fredericksburg, a great number of citizens called on Mr. Calhoun at the hotel, and in the course of conversation, Mr. C. asked who that young man was, pointing to Giles. Hearing his name, he at once stepped I up to him, offered his hand, said that he knew his father, Gov. Giles, well, and expressed his regret at having spoken perhaps with too much warmth. "No," said Giles, "it is I who should apologize, which I now do most sincerely. To be frank with you, the discussion was the result of a plot on the part of my friend Myers and myself to draw you out." "Well," said Mr. Calhoun, laughing, "I must confess that I was fairly caught." i On re-entering the stage, conversation was resumed, and the subject of railroads was brought up, Mr. Giles saying that he expected to go from Ellicott's mills to Baltimore on perhaps the only railroad then existing in America. Mr. Giles did go that distance by rail, but the motive power was a mule. Mr. Calhoun, addressing his young auditor, said : DID YOU EVER HEAR OF ATLANTA ?" . "Never in my life," said Giles. "You will not find it on any map of the United States. It is hardly to be called a village ; there is a tavern there and little else, but that place is destined to become one of the great railroad centres of the United j States." He then explained at length the peculiar geographical situation of Atlanta, just where the Appalachian range, terminating abruptly, | afforded a natural gateway for the products j of the Southwest to the waters of the Atlantic, I and to the great markets on its coast, j "Now," he continued, "if you will take a , large map of Georgia, find Atlanta, make a I dot defying its position on the map of the | United States, and place one end of a string ] at Richmond and the other at Atlanta, you i will see the natural route of an important I railroad, and you will see not ouly where it i ought to go, but where it actually will go. You, Mr. Giles, will live to see that road i built; I may not. It will pass your own ! residence, Amelia court house; it will pass j Burke's Tavern (now called Burkeville June' *ii i r> mi_ 1 r\ l Hon ; it will go oy L/anvuie, uy vjrrecusuuru, by Charlotte, N. 0., and thence to Atlanta, ; Georgia." This, in substance, and almost in words, was Mr. Calhoun's REMARKABLE PREDICTION, Made one January night forty years ago. ! Mr. Giles was so impressed by it that as soon as he returned home he began to agitate in favor of it, amrto solicit subscriptions for a : road from Richmond to Danville, that being ' a sufficiently great undertaking to be attempted at the outset. Nearly every one ascribes to the late Whitewell P. Tunstall the paternity of the Danville road, but the truth is that, while he fought it through with indomitable courage and rare tact, to Mr. Calhoun first, and afterward to Mr. Giles, Lewis E. Harvie, Benjamin M. Jones, an engineer, and Mr. Gifford, an Englishman, the people of Richmond are indebted for a highway which has proved more valuable to her than any other, and without which her proud position as the capital of the Southern Confederacy could not have been maintained a year. The gen; tlemen just named called a meeting at Farmville, but the friends of other lines assembled there in such numbers that the meeting was ; adjourned to Charlotte court house. Thither came Tunstall and Vincent Witcher to oppose j it, but they were converted into its warmest champions. Tunstall and his road were much derided while in progress, but no sooner had ' it touched the fertile valley of Dan river than j such a volume of trade was poured into Richi mond that satire was silenced forever. Dan' ville was reached, but the OBJECTIVE POINT WAS ATLANTA, And from that the friends of the road never swerved. North Carolina opposed the extension to Greensboro, but the war came and made it a military necessity. After the war ; the struggle was to get possession or to obtain j a lease of the road to Charlotte, and to raise the means to build the prolongation to Atlanta. Colonel Buford, who succeeded Mr. Lew.I is E. Harvie as President, devoted himself to this by 110 means easy task with such assiduij ty and incessant labor as to break down his I health for a long time, and almost to destroy i his life. His health is restored, and he will be a happy man some day this month, per1 haps not a week hence, when the last rail is j laid, the last spike is driven and the Rich1 moud and Atlanta Air-Line is cm fait accompli. Richmond, too, will have additional 1 cause to rejoice, for TIIK ADVANTAGES OF THIS KOAD Can hardly be overestimated. Unless your ; correspondent is much mistaken, they will | rival if they do not surpass the advantages of the Chesapeake and Ohio road, and be second | only to those of the James River and Kana- j wha Canal, whenever thatshall be completed, j This much is certaiu, that every through pas- j senger and every ounce of through freight over this road must pass immediately through Richmond, and even if the connection be ; made between Burkeville and Hanover Junction, both trade and travel must pass right hy the door of Richmond, and at both she J will have, as the first large Southern city, the ' | first and best chance. Mr. Garrett, by means j of the Lynchburg and Danville road, may | for a while draw off some of the travel, but j in process of time, when all the connections 1 of the Air-Line are perfected, Richmond will | have nothing to fear from Garrett or any one ! else. I This road, by easy grades, passes through j Piedmont, a rolling, pastoral, beautiful and j fertile country. There is no danger to be ! feared from the slides in deep cuts or the falls from high embankments, and the traveler, I from the moment he leaves Richmond, may bid defiance to frost and snow. SALT* j Common salt, common though it be, is one j of the most curious and interesting of substan| ces. It consists of a solid and a gas. The I solid is a shining metal with such powerful | chemical affinity that it decomposes water : with violente, taking fire in the operation; [ and this is combined with an aerial, corrosive, ! suffocating, poisonous gas, equally violent in its chemical energy. These two elements com: bine with enormous force. Thus twenty-four ; parts by measure of common salt contain about j twenty-six of metallic sodium, and thirty by I measure of liquid chlorine. Yet the space occupied by the whole is le3s than that of the j metal alone. No known mechauical force j could have produced so great a condensation, I and yet chemical energy does it, and at the same time yields a bland and savory substance, , which crystallizes in cubes more transparent j than glass. This substance is equally remarkable for j its wide diffusion in nature aud its intimate I relation to universal human instincts. It | abounds in nature both in a liquid and solid j state. Every gallon of sea-water contains ! about four ounces of it. Should it rise to the | surface and separate, it would form an icy layer over all the acres of the world 140 feet thick on the average. The New York springs ; alone furnish six or eight million bushels of it annually, while one salt bed in Poland is 500 j miles long, 20 broad, and 1,200 feet thick. Its physiological offices seem as important :is its distribution is extensive. It is a large constituent of every one of the secretions, and forms almost half the total weight of the saline matter of the blood. It differs from the phosphatic salts however in this, that it does not enter into the composition of the tissues. It seems rather to be the medium of absorption and secretion, and so necessary is it for these and probably other purposes that it is not j possible to alter to any large extent its proportion in the blood. It results from many experiments, that if we drink water with a little common salt in solution, it does not permanently dilute the blood, but passes off immediately by the kidneys; and if we try to increase "the amount in the blood by drinking solutions of salt, as sea-water, it refuses to be ahsorbed. Hence the normal Dronortion of it in the .blood is without doubt a physiological necessity, and is clearly involved with the essential processes of absorption and diffusion. It is an interesting fact that common salt "has the faculty of forming crystallizable compounds with most of the unorganized effete constituents of the body." It thus becomes an active medium of transference and secretion and absorptive change. As albumen and fibrine, which are colloidal substances, cannot pass through the walls of the intestines and blood-vessels, it is highly probable that, through the agency of common salt and the free acids of the gastric and muscular juices, they temporarily take on a crystalloid condition, and are thus enabled to pass the membranes. . We need not be surprised that a substance involving so deeply the processess of life should be highly prized by all tribes of men, and even have its sacred significance and history. Dr. Letheby says: "Animals, in fact, j will travel long distances and brave the greatest dangers to obtain it. Men will barter gold for it; indeed, among the Gallas and on the coast of Sierra Leone, brothers will sell their sisters, husbands their wives, and parents their children, for salt. In the district of Accra, on the Gold Coast of Africa, a handful of salt is the most valuable thing upon earth after gold, and will purchase a slave or two. Mungo Park tells us that with the Mandingoes and Bambaras the use of salt is such a luxury that to say of a man that he flavors his food with salt, is to imply that he is rich; and children will suck a piece of rock salt as if it were sugar. No stronger mark of respect or affection can be shown in Muscovy than the sending of salt from the tables of the rich to their poorer friends. In point of fact, the value of salt in a dietetical and sanitary point of view has been recognized from the earliest time. In the book of Leviticus it is expressly commanded as one of the ordinances of Moses, that every oblation of meat upon the altar shall be seasoned with salt, without lacking; and hence it is called the salt of the covenant of God. The Greeks and Romans also used salt in their sacrificial cakes; and it is still used in the services of the Latin Church, the parva mica, or pinch of salt, being, in the ceremony of baptism, put into the child's mouth, while the priest says, 'Receive the salt of wisdom, and may it be a propitiation to thee for eternal life.' Everywhere, and almost always indeed, it has been regarded as emblematical of wisdom, wit and immortality. To taste of a man's salt was to be bound by the rites of hospitality ; and no oath was more solemn than that which was sworn on bread and salt. To sprinkle the meat with salt was' to drive away the devil, for in the quaint language of an old divine, "He loveth no salt on his meat, for that is a sign of immutability and to this day nothing is more unlucky than to spill the salt. ORIGIN OF FAMILIAR WORDS. The father of the great orator and statesman, Iiichard Brinsley Sheridan, when lessee j of old Crow street theatre, Dublin, was the I "manager" alluded to in the origin of the word "quiz." The word 'quiz,' to make fun of or to poke fun at a person, was the coinage of a theatrical m inager in Dublin, who, at a drinking ' party with his friends on Saturday night, | where the conversation turned upon the sub! ject of words, offered to bet the wine that he | could then and there coin a word which would ; be in the mouths of all Dublin next day. The ; bet being taken and the party dispersed, the ! manager called boys and runners, gave them pieces of chalk, and ordered them to run all over the city chalking the word 'quiz' on eveI ry door, shutter and fence they came to. This j was done, and as a matter of course the new i word was in everybody's mouth the next day. ! The manager wou his bet, and the word is now in all respectauie uicuonaries. "The slang expression for death, 'kicking the bucket,' had its origin from one Bolsover, who, in England, a great while ago, committed suicide by standing on a bucket till he kicked the bucket from under him. "The word 'bumper,' meaning a full drink when friends are drinking, is a corruption of the toast offered in French to the Pope when j the Catholic religion was in the ascendant in : England?'au bon pere.' "To 'dunn,' to press for money due, comes from one Joe Dunn, a famous bailiff of Liucoin, in England, during the reign of Henry ; VII. He was so commonly successful in collecting money that when a man refused to pay, the creditor was asked why he didn't Dunn him. "'Hunibug'is a corruption of the Irish words 'uim bog,' pronounced oombug, signifying soft copper, or pewter, or brass, or worthless money, such as was made by James II at the Dublin mint?twenty shillings of which was worth only two pence sterling. At nrst appnea to worthless coin the word became the general title of anything false or counterfeit "The sign 'viz.,' signifying to wit, or namei ly, is an abbreviation of 'videlicetbut the third letter was not originally z; it was the mark used in medicine for a drachm, which in writing much resembles z, and in viz was simply used as a mark or sign of abbreviation." COTTON FOOD*-SOMETHING NEW. An ingenious yankee, who possesses more J impudence than common sense, and greater ; fertility of the brain than may be pleasant to : communicate, recently paid a prospecting visit to Warren, Granville, Franklin and Wake j counties, North Carolina, and thus writes to a gentleman in Raleigh after his return home, j Hear him and take a lesson from his plans and surmises, as published in one of the Ral! eigh papers: i A XT V AT 19 1 070 nsiuuiAj xi i.y iuftv iu, IUIU. Dear /Sir:?Since my return from the Old North State, I have made a discovery, put it into practical demonstration and taken out a | patent for the same. And without some un* | foreseen accident, I anticipate working up wonders. I claim to have successfully accomplished what no other man has ever attempted or even thought of viz: converting cotton, your North Carolina staple, into one of the most nutritious articles of food ever used. Two years since the idea would have been ridiculous and the mere suggestion of such a thing consigned its author to a seat among the tools. But I care nothing for the past and only look to the present and future, and will, to your entire satisfaction, prove all that I claim for this wonderful discovery, and will keep pace with the rapid strides to improvement, and supply your people's wants or die ; in the attempt. Cotton has heretofore been j worked only into fabrics for the back, and in many instances, as you well know, leaving the ; stomach empty, showing among your good peo' pie an uncontrollable prejudice to the making aud havingsomethingtoeat. Now ifthey will, in the future, as they have in the past, rigidly stick to this plan, then my fortune is made, and in a few years I can count ray wealth by the million, if not by billions. While honorably enriching me and mine, I can save from certain starvation and famine, thousands of the best people on God's green earth. My assertions are broad and may appear to you overdrawn, but let rae ask you, can a people live and flourish, who have entirely ignored the making of anything in the way of food for man and beast, and will hunt down and destroy the last stalk of clover or blade of grass like they would a poisonous serpent? Every acre of land, poor or rich, is now spread in this one article, cotton; your ruin and my saviour. On this folly I propose making ray fortune, and will again be among you before the coming Fall. Having had my process patented, I feel no hesitancy in giving it to you, and you are at liberty to use it in any way you may deem best to further my interest. In brief I give you my formulae, then you can better judge for yourself: Best picked cotton 100 lbs. Molasses (common black) 6 gal. Flaxseed meal 20 lbs. Palina Christi seed (Powdered) i i lb. Salt 2 lbs. Soda (Bi-Carb) 21 lbs. Gum Arabic (Powdered) 5 lbs. Boiling water 5 gal. Mix the whole in a vat and let it stand six or eight hours. Then run it through a machine similar to that used for carding wool. This thoroughly mixes the mass, and prepares it for the press. It next goes through asmaller machine, which cuts it into one lb. rolls, and sends it into the press at a lightning speed. In the press it is packed and shaped into loaves much resembling baker's bread and about the size, shape and color. It is now ready for use, hot or cold, and will keep in any climate, and under any circumstances. At Castle Garden, N. Y., last week, I fed several hundred half starved Chinese emigrants, who are all now living, well and hearty. Their interpreter tells me that they like the cotton food much, saying it is good, sweet and lasting, but a little too binding. To remedy the binding part I have added the Palma Christi seed and it now acts like a charm. I would here say that these poor dev ils not having ate any thing in thirty-six hours, ate an over allowance-rbut it did them no harm?many of them went to sleep and required nothing else to eat in three or four days. I have contracted with the department to start a small factory out west to ratiou the Indian prisoners, but this will not in any way interfere with my operations in Carolina, and before ninety days go by I will have a big factory running in or near the city of Raleigh, knowing that the time is fast approaching when the cotton food in North Carolina will be in great demand; all of which I respectfully submit for your kind consideration and api proval, always relying on your judgment in ! such matters. If I am premature in my plans you will please feel no hesitancy in saying so, as I shall never act contrary to your advice. Write me in full and believe me one ever ready to further the advancement of science, alleviate human suffering, and last, but not least, advauce the interest of your FRIEND. Remarks.?We give a genuine (?) letter received by a gentleman in this city from a man near the city of New York. Whether he really has on foot the plans he mentions or attempts to ridicule our insane desire to make cotton, we are at a loss to tell. Be it as it may, we advise every farmer to run over the article and judge for himself. While we have been raised in a cotton country, and feel the importance of making it, we deprecate the ex; elusion of all other products, and feel no hesj itancy in saying that if we stick to cotton and j cotton alone, it will result in our ruin, it mat! ters not what price it brings. Life in New York.?Under the most fqvnrnhle pirpiimntflnoes one-half the world is not said to know how the other half lives. Certain it is that to most of the New York world, say nine-tenths of it, the published discoveries of the Sanitary Squad who have been exploring the underground dwellings of the Sixth and Fourth wards bring revelations ofsqualor,filth and degradation hardly possible to believe. We are told of people living in cellars unfit for the habitation of the meanest i brutes, and of heavy rentals for these dens J flowing into the pockets of people who perj chance dwell in brown stone fronts, wear I costly clothes, and, mayhap, echo the Pharij saic self-laudatory thanks to the Diety that they are not as the sinner and the laboring I man. There were found rooms below the i street level, seven feet by five, where one hunj dred and sixty cubic feet of such poisoned air | as only could penetrate thither was all that each lodger could get, while above ground three thousand cubic feet is only deemed a ! fair allowance. One man was found bur 1 _ n l\ I*. .A. 1_ _1 iL. ; rowing at a uepin 01 niieen jeei ueiow me | surface, and, out of respect to the inalienable rights of man, he wa3 left undisturbed. He took no lodgers; had a free man's privilege to suffocate himself; and to-day he enjoys his independence in his hole, as a woodchuck possibly might. Where these noxious cellars were used for lodgings, as was the common case, they were emptied and closed by the police, and the inmates enjoined to find more wholesome quarters somewhere else, usually very much to their disgust and amid loud and profane protests against their ejectment. This action of the health officers has long been needed. Only actual force will prevent the owners of the rat holes in the lower part of the city from letting them as human habitations.?iV. Y. Herald.