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lewis m. grist, proprietor.j ^it Jnbepenbent Jfamilji ftctospajjer: Jfor fjjc promotion of t|e political, Social, Agricultural anb Contntercial Interests of tjje Soutjj. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. SO. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, A.IJG-TJST 27, 1874. NO. 35. ?hc J>tovi) idler. ^ A BROKEN BRIDGE. A THRILLING STORY FROM CHAMBERS' JOURNAL. I reached the little Welsh town of Abermaw one boisterous afternoon in Autumn, at about four o'clock, after a long tramp over the mountains. Abermaw, as its name implies, is situated at the mouth of the river Maw, j which here forms an estuary about a mile broad. The town itself faces the open sea ; the harbor lies about half a mile up the estuary ; whilst between the town and the bridge ! was the outline of a huge bridge, then in j course of construction. Abermaw is a little j bit of a place, consisting of a hotel, a few -i _ o I.linnol nf n<lca oik! llfllf ft SIHJpS, a UllUlUI, Cfc v/& vuwv, ...... _ | dozen lodging houses, which are built on a platform of sand, the work of the sea and ; river in concert or in conflict. The old fishing village is perched upon the rocks above, j tier upon tier, the lintel stone of one house looking down the chimney of the house below, ! and is reached by rude rocky steps, where the children of the village swarm up and dowu,; and yet rarely coutrive to break their necks. The farther shore of the estuary was a tri- j angular spit of sand, across which was a track that joined the high road at a point where it ! commenced to mount the shoulder of a wavebeaten cliff ou the fence of which it was ter-1 raced; for on the farther or southern side of J the estuary the sea washed up to the very base of the rocks that formed the rugged fringe of this iron-bound coast. There was a ferry from the Abermaw side to the spit of sand, and thence, by a detour of several miles, i you could make your way along the southern j bank of the river to the town of Dolbadarn. i As the crow flies, Dolbadarn was not more than seven miles distant from Abermaw, but it could not be reached by any practicable j track in less than from ten to eleven miles ;. for the river took a wide sweep to the north, j and, in additiou to the detour thus caused, the first bridge where the road crossed the river vuoo at a nrnnt a ornnd 1VSLV wide of Dolbadai'I). b so that, altogether, the distance was lengthened to that above mentioned. On the other hand, if you crossed the fery, and made your way across the sand to the highway, the distance was much the same, and this latter! route was of course only practicable to foot passengers. Although I had reached xYbermaw in the t guise of a free and independent pedestrian, yet my liberty was of a restricted nature. My wife and children had gone by the regular coach route to Dolbadarn, and I had j crossed the mountains by a wild foot-track, promising to join them that night at Dolbadarn, in time for dinner ; for I had intended to take the coach at Aberinaw, which would have brought me to the end of my journey in good time. This coach, however, I had j missed just five minutes. My walk that day had been a long one, and I was rather fagged, and should probably have hired a conveyance for the l^mainder of the distauce; but the manner of the landlord of the hotel was so abruDt. and. as I thought, offensive, in an ST -9 w o ? swer to my inquiries, that I resolved, come j what might, he should not be a sixpence ' richer for me. I walked on till I came to a little public ; house at the further end of the town, close to j the rough quarry that bordered the estuary j aud turned'in there for a glass of beer and a crust of bread and cheese, as well as for the . purpose of making a few inquiries as to my route. "Well, indeed," said Evan Rowlands, the , landlord, "there's no possible way to get to i Dolbadarn, to-night, not unless you take a car from Mr. Jones's." "I shan't have a ear from Mr. Jones," I j said. "Can I hire ouc anywhere else ?" Evan shook his head; there was no horse i or car in Abermaw except the horses and j cars owned by Mr. Jones. "Very well, theu," I said, I would walk. | "Not possible," said Evaus; "it's more than i ten miles." "I wouldn't mind the distance, only I've walked five and twenty miles already." "Dear me! said Evans; you're very strong!" j "Can't I get a boat part of the way ?" I suggested. Evan put his head out at the door. "No!" , he cried ; "the tide has just turned ; it is run- j ning down very strong." "Then there is nothing for it but walking," j T said "T must fro round bv Linn fair Bridge. ** ~ ? - ~y o ? ? -j ? - t ? o But I didn't like the idea of this ten miles i walk through the mist and gatheriug gloom. "Stop !" said Evan. "Why shouldn't you go over the bridge?the railroad bridge?" "Is the bridge passable,, then ? Can I get across!" "O dear, yes. The gentlemen from the railway come over very often and, to-day, j Hugh Pugh and David Morris did come over from the Dolbrith quarry." "And what distance will that save me?" j "Four or five miles ; yes, sure?" "And the bridge is quite safe?" i "Oh ! it is very strong and safe, indeed ; or how should Hugh Pugh ami David Morris come over, and the railway gentlemen, too ; yes, sure." "And the railway people won't object to my going over?" "They've all knocked off for the day, and there won't be a soul near the bridge but yourself." "Then of course I'll go over it." But I found that there were certain difficulties in the way. The railway bridge cross- i ed the estuary at a point about a quarter of a j mile from the little inn that formed the extremity of the town, at a spot where its channel was narrowed to a distance of about three quarters of a mile. The unfinished bridge was constructed of piles firmly driven into , the bed of the river, from which rose huge j pier3 of timber to the height of about forty | A !/???. a.->a ima?ia mnoaSim Koll/e nc? _ lUCb. IllUUg bllt'SC nuc iUUOO 1?C uaiao, uw I tined to support the platform of the bridge, whilst each pier was strengthened and supported its neighbor, by arrangement of cross beams and ties. When I reached the bank of the river with my guide, Evan Rowlands, I found that there was a considerable hiatus between the shore and the nearest pier?about a hundred yards. Evan, however, was prepared with a plan for reaching it. A friend of his was tin- master of the little sloop, the Ann Jones, which was lying in the tiny brook above. lie and his mote was now on board her, and they had got their little dingy with them. Evan would borrow the boat, ami drop down with the stream, and deposit me at the foot of the nearest pier. "But why not ferry me right over the river?" I asked. "Not possible," said Evan. There were shallows and quicksands at the other side, which, at this time of the tide, were very dangerous. o So we made our way along the road which overlooks the estuary, till we came to the little harbor. Evan had no difficulty in borrowing the dingy; and we were soon afloat, shooting quickly down the stream. It was almost dark now, for although the sun was not yet down, the storm that was gathering up in the horizon obscured his light. Great volumes of cloud and vapor were driven up before the wind, which howled and moaned intermittently, as blast succeeded blast, and died away again. The wind and the tide in opposition made the water pretty rough, and our boat danced up and down in 0 a very lively way. Presently the black ske eton of the bridge loomed up as through th mist, and Evan dexterously brought up hi boat in the little eddy that was formed by th abutments of the piers, then he called to m to jump from the stern of the dingy on to cross piece that formed a sort of platform foot or so from the water's edge. I jumped, and landed safely on the ball) and then I found that my way upward wa by climbing the nearest pier, across whiei were nailed rough, irregular staves, whicl constituted what is called a workman's lad der. I had no intention of undertaking an; acrobatic feats, aud the idea of climbing uj to that giddy height by such rough, unrelia ble supports was distasteful enough, would go back in the boat to dry land one Kr\of VtnrJ cniin nwnv nn fly IIII'IC* UUU ttic UUMV wwu U|/UM M ' V.J ?? Xti tide, and was now far out of earshot, or indeei eyeshot either. There I stood, then, in th midst of a rushing, raging sea, upon a ball of timber, embracing a huge black pier, th head of which was lost in the gloom and mis overhead. I couldn't stay here ; I must ge across the bridge at all hazards, and my onl; way was upward. , Up I went slowly, step by step, testing eacl frail splintered stave ere I trusted my weigh to it. More than one broke away in m; hands and fell into the sea below. But wliei I reached the top, I thought, then all thi danger would be over. I should find a firm secure platform?a rail, or at least, a rope fo the hand. When 1 came to the top of the pier, I sav stretched out before me a beam, suspended as it seemed, in mid air, a narrow beammore like a rope, it seemed to me?stretchec over this wild abyss of raging waves?that and nothing else. There were footprints it the narrow ridge of limber. It was not mor< than two feet wide at the broadest?and tin sight of them gave me courage. Men hat passed over here before me; I would pass too And so, without giving myself a moment inori to think, I stepped ; and the moment whei letting go with my hands, I stood upon tha topmost round of the ladder, aud balancer mvself for au instant, as I placed my fdo upou the plauk?that moment in which ] seemed to quiver ; and sway to and fro, higf up on this giddy perch, beyond the ken of anj human eye?moment of dizzy terror, of strangi whirling thoughts, of instincts to cast mysel headlong into the sea, was my sensation as anj ordinary weak or placid being; and yet i came aud went like any other moment, and J stood erect upon the beam, and began mj perilous way. I heard the wind afar off, bellowing amonj the breakers on the bar; I heard it, screech ing and howling over the flats. I felt a mo ment's calm, the strange, unnatural hush, anc then the rush and leap of the storm, as if hurled by me. Dashing the salt spray int( my eyes, it came seizing all the loose corner.' of my apparel, and crackling them like whij lashes r-nrrvincr awav rav feeble breath ill it! t ? J "'O J ?J wild course, but leaving me?yes, thank God? leaving me still balanced on ray plank. The gusts had cleared the mists for a space and I could now see before me, though indistinctly enough, but I could see that there wa; ouly another length of unprotected balk ; be yond that was a broad, safe platform of tira ber, stretched from pier to pier. Oh ! to fee that platform safe under ray feet! I traversec the balk almost on a run. I must reach safe ty before there came another gust of tha fierce wind. I heard it coming now, but I was almos home?yes, home, for that rough, unshelteret platform, on this rude night, seemed like s home to me. I was stepping firmly and quick ly along. Suddenly a chasm seemed to oper under my feet?a horrible chasm. The bean on which I stood came suddenly to an end For some eight feet of it had been cut away and there was nothing to help me over this dreadful gap. Without wings, it was impos ciKlo tn nncQ All hope left me. I knew that to retrac< my steps was impossible. Even if I reachet the end from which I had started, I should be no better off than here, and the hopeless uess of the position weakened my every nerve Once more I heard the wind rising and hurl ing along toward me. I would cling to life aj long as I could. I knelt down on the wet slippery balk, clasped it with my arms, sal astride it. The gust came up fierce and strong passed over rac once more?once more sparec me. But I felt that I could not survive anothei such attack ; I should be blown away like t leaf. And yet there was 110 hope of escapenone. It was only a question of moments how long, with stiffening limbs, I could cling to this rough beam ; then a plunge into dark ness. Still I had time to think. What were inj thoughts! A helpless sense of cruelty, of th< horrible unfeelingness and malignity of tin hurling wind, of these raging waters. A sac mortification, too, and sense of injustice, thai I should lose my life for nothing ; a pleasan ramble turned to such an evil end. Of tin past I thought nothing ; it was nothing to m< now?a tale that was told ; that was all. O the future, nothing either, except a dim anc awful wonder. But plainly, vividly before my eyes I saw the figure of my wife, sitting at work by the fire, waiting and watching foi ft.- ...l... T"U? iiiu iwi me, wiiv ut vci cuvjuiu uwiiiu. jl nu was the bitterness of it. And yet withal I was not unconscious of ) certain vague sense of the ludicrous?of my self, that I should be thus stuck up astride i bean), like some lad at play, a sport for tin bufferings of the elements. With this, too, a) unspeakable, a kind of crushed defiance,) revolt against the doom which was imminent a revolt which felt itself hopeless and useles from its beginning. Whilst all this storm of conflicting thought was whirling through my brain, the turmoi outside was diminishing. The wind ha< hushed for awhile, and across my face for j moment with a sort of ruddy glow, the las beams of the sun setting rapidly into the sea The vapors divided for a moment, the hug dark mass of a mountain frowned down upoi me?for a moment only?then the clouds en compassed me once more?the glow die* away?the awful gloomy gray of night begai to gather in upon me like a net. Should I drop into the sen and end it all To die in the dark would be more horribh than anything eise. r-ven on :ne quieiesi most resigned death bed, the loss of light i the most disquieting trouble to the departinj soul. Light, more light, is the last cry of th spirit in extremity. And now it seemed tba nature had determined to spare nie no panj of all the gathering horrors of my doou Darkness and despair were settling down upo mv soul. Then came the storm once more with a rus of gathered rain, a howl, a shout, a roar triumph, as the shrill wind trumpeted pas precursor of a more furious blast. I eouli " bear no more. A sapless, nervous form I wa , swept from the beam like a withered ler ' from a branch, and I fell?catching at som cross beams as I fell, but losing my hold in moment, and dropping helplessly down. Once more consciousness returned, i vague silvery light was diffused about mi above were stars shining, huge bulks of timbt glimmered overhead. I was stretched upo a bed of wet sand, lying on my back, lookin up into the sky. I was not dead then. No! Was I maimei crushed ? I drew up one limb after anothe fearing lest a sudden shout of agony woul j betray some grievous hurt. But no ! I wt I sound in limb; and as I raised myself an I- ; looked about, I felt that, except the dizzines e and a wonderful ringing that was ceaselessl; s | going on in my head, I was unhurt. And e 1 was saved ? That was as it might happen, e When I rose and stood upon my feet, ! a j looked around me, and found that I ba< a fallen upon a little island, a narrow spit o sand that had formed in the eddy caused bj ;, the pile of the bridge. On each side of it rai s i a strong and rapid current, h i All this I saw by the light of the moon li j sometimes bright, sometimes obscure, as sin I- parted her way among the fast driving clouds y ' Distantly across the waters shone the light p j of the little town. It had its gas lamps which sparkled brilliantly in the night; anc I i from out of the black rocks which showec p jie&inst the skv line, here and there the sof w "p J ' e j light of a candle in a cottage window gleamec 1 like a fairy lamp. e I On the other side of the estuary there weri < ! no lights; but the straining eye might disceri e I the gloom of high hills, that seemed, indeed t! only like darksome chasms in the sky ; bu t; as I watched, I saw a tiny star that was glid y ing among the rocks. Now seen, now lost, ] ; followed it with longing eyes; and listening i I intently I heard the clatter of horse's hoofs t1 and the murmur of wheels rising and falling y j as the road wound in and out among therocki ti ; further or nearer. It was some carriage roll s | ing rapidly toward home?toward my home i,; and here was I, a castaway, r ; I shouted, but my voice seemed lost in the ! great space. The wind carried it up the river v j blew it away into stifled fragments. It was , j useless to cry. No one would hear me. How - long should I have to live? Was there anj 1 chance that I might yet escape? I could noi ,,! swim ; the channel on either side was, there i fore, an impassable barrier. Uven had 1 beet 3 i an excellent swimmer, I doubt if in my en 3 feebled state I could have won the furthei 1 ! bank of the channel, where the current was i. ; running the least swiftly. How long would 3 j my islaud remain uncovered by the sea? i j Six or eight feet above my head tangled t i masses of seaweed, hanging in the interstices 1 of the woodwork, showed the highest reach ol t the ebb had commenced , an hour before 1 [ started from Abermaw. Allowing an houi i ' for my subsequent adventures, the ebb would f still have three hours to run ; and then an3 other three hour's flood would elapse before f the tide would once more reach me. I re r I membered that I had a flask of metal in raj t pocket which still contained a dram of bran [ dy, and that I had a few fragments of biscuil j 1 in my pocket, remaining of some that raj : wife had packed up for my use a couple ol I j days before. I drank the brandy and munch j ed the biscuits, and again felt hopeful. Si> - hours! Why, in that time help might come 1 Death was no longer imminent. ' ; But I was entirely wrong. The strong > southwesterly gales had piled up the waters > about the mouth of the estuary, so that the > ebb was checked, and the flood increased *; and the tide rau out only some three hours - I must have been longer lyiug on the sand too, than I had calculated, for, as I watchec } the waters hurrying down on each side of me I noticed that the current seemed to slacker i> - -JJ-. l\? :4 1 ,|.?t < 9 1 ail 01 a Sliuueu ; Mieil 11 SIU|>JJCU, b\i mm, i i fragment of bleached wood that was floating - downward came to a rest, then moved slowl) I once more upward. The tide had turned. ' 1 In a very short time the vast expanse oi ; waters before me, that had just now seemed t, a broad river outlet, scored and marked with ! sand banks, assumed the appearance of an ag t itated sea. Short waves hurried along, theii 1 white crests gleaming in the moonlight; thej i came in serried lines, tier over tier; the hoars( - roar of the advancing tide reverberated in the i , air, mingling in my brain with the strange i ; rattle as of bells that would never cease to . j jingle therein. ?| How remorseless they seemed, those waves ' i hurrying up, like hounds who view theii j prey ! And yet it was a solemn scene; anci j what there was of dignity and grandeur it J! the sight, half reconciled me to the thought I , that my life would be swallowed up, ere long ' ' in these advancing battalions of serried waves j lor now the bitterness of death was past; its terrors had vanished; I felt a profound sad I ness?that was all. ', How far could I climb up the slimy, slip i pery posts and buttresses, that seemed tc t inock me with their lying proffers of safety 5 ! A couple of cross beams or ties which bound I together the lower ends of the piers afforded ' at their intersection a sort of angular resting r place, where I could, for a time, perhaps, find 1 a refuge from the waves. This was far below i high water mark, so that to reach it would ?! only give me a short respite from my final \, agony ; but for all that I determined to at tempt it. As soon as the water covered the little island on which I stood I would try to r climb that slippery beam that rose from the i sand, in which it was partly buried, nt an } angle of ubout forty-five degrees. 1 ; With the tide rose the wind ; with the wind t came rain and fog. The moon, blurred and t indistinct, shone faintly for a while, and then i' vanished altogether, although her diffused i light still made everything darkly visible, f' Soon the waves were dashing at my feet, the 1 sand a pulp beneath. Now was 'the time tc i make my last effort for a little more life, j But I found that I had overrated my own .. nniLom T orowlnil a f?>vv fppt nn t.ho siinnerv i . |>i>?vts. x " -r , t timber ; then I fell back. Again I tried, and again ; but it was of no use. Strength does i not come of eager desire to be strong. All - that I could do was to clasp my arms round i the beam and stand upright, awaiting the e coming of the waters. 1 The water rose, not gradually, but in pub 1 ses. Smaller waves came and went, and left * i no change of level; but every now and then * some heavier, fiercer billow would come in with a devouring sweep, covering me with its s foam and spray, receding again, but at each 1 recession leaving a greater depth of swaying J life-like water. These attacks, like buffers * from the hand of some skilled boxer, left me t weaker and weaker at every blow. And it was so treacherous, too, the water. It would e draw away for a time, leaving me free from i almost to my knees; and then, as if driven by some sudden impulse, it would gather itscll 1 up and return in a great seething swathe ol i water that would swallow me up from head to foot. ? The end was fast coming now. I had ceas e ed to feel anything. Only a dogged deter ruination to stick to life to the last kept mt 3 clinging to my beam, g But, what was that sound ? A long and e piercing scream, a roar, and a rumble, and t a rattle?it was an engine! g An engine coming along the completed i. 1 part of the bridge, shrieking and screaming n and dashing out great wafts of white steaa into the stormy air. The sound gave mefresl: h life and vigor. Human creatures were with >f in reach, at all events. If I could make then: t, hear me I might yet be saved. 1 The engine catne slowly along, and I heard s the voice of men shouting to one another d Why, then,should they not hear me? I tried c too, to shout, but my voice stuck in mj a throat. I couldn't make a sound louder thai a whisper; no, not with all the good will ] \ had to shout like an archangel. ?, I The engine came so near at last that ] ;r could see the glow of her fires through the in n terstices of the flooring of the bridge. Ant g now there were men standing with lauterm at the very extremity of the bridge; and stil 1, I could not make them hear, r, For an instant the glad thought had strucl d i me that I had been missed, aud that thesi is ; men had come to look for me; but the nex d i moment I saw the folly of the idea. Day s might elapse before my fate was known. It! t y j was not even yet beyond the time I had fixed e 11 for reaching home. No; the men were rail- t way workmen, perhaps going to do a night's g [ shift of work on the bridge ; and I couldn't; I 11 make them hear. r f j Suddenly I heard a sharp, quick bark, and J {j then a growl as of anger or inquiry, and I! 'J 11 was conscious that there was a dog with the t i men above. The dog's faculties were keeuer ; c ,, than the men's, perhaps it was possible I' r e might make him hear; so I barked a shrill, j t snapping bark, with which I had often de-! ^ s ceived my own terrier, Jock. The dog ac- v ? knowledged the challenge, and replied furi- J ? 1 : ously. Then I heard the voice of a man t 1 ! shouting to the dog to be quiet, but the dog .1 t; barked still more furiously, standing at the 1 1 very verge of the platform, as though it would g , throw itself over. Then some men came to , s i the edge of the platform, too, and peered over,:* ) ; and then in my extremity I gave a cry?a 1 , j wild, despairing cry. Then a huge, hoarse ! t j wave dashed over me. I " - j If it had not been for the consciousness 1 [ j that help was near, I could not have held on 11 j1 against that furious rush of water; but I did h , | hold on, at least I think so ; and when the ] 1 , I wave receded, a bright, dazzling light shone j a s i into my eyes, a light from the bridge, where j c -; some oue was holding what seemed to be a j , [ portable sun, but which was actually a piece ! v of burning magnesium wire. Then everything j b } j disappeared in the blackest darkness. ,! "Did you see anything?" cried a voice. ! s 3! "I'm not sure; I thought; I thought I saw t 11 something move." I t ' j A couple of lamps from the engine were ; s 11 now brought, and placed at the edge of the I t i platform ; they lit up the beams and rafters of1 ? i i the bridge ; but the light seemed to be lost in t j the dark waters! Ah ! they would never see v . me! |v i i Once more I had strength to cry. j f ! | "Ah ! it's a man down there," I heard some- I 1 body shout. b I j A loug plank was run over the gap in the 'j i bridge; then another; along the two a porta- j C f ble windlass was quickly wheeled; a bucket e ' descended, in it a man with a lantern. "; "Halloa, mate!" he cried, as he caught sight i1 1 "of my white face in the focus of his lamp ; j1 j "what the deuce are you doing here ?" ' in another moment I was standing in safe- b ! ty on the farther side of the bridge. I owed b ' I my rescue to the unexpected visit of the chief | engineer of the line, who had come down to i b ^ j see with his own eyes the manner in which the j ^ ': bridge behaved in a heavy gale, and had j * : driven with the engine to the farthest accessi- v j ble point of the platform. j 1 : j. What a comforting glass of brandy and j b , water that was of which I partook by the | r | warmth of the engine furnace, and how ex- j b {j hilarating the run homeward on the swift, | 3 j shrieking engine ! r 3 I was at Dolhadarn in time for dinner, after i P , I all. As I sat down to the cheerful meal with j v . | friends who were discussing the light, ordina- a , | ry topics of the day, I looked upon me, won- j 1 I j deriug if I were really here iu actual corpo- j ,1 real presence, or if my life had ended in that u i j last rush of water, and I were only dreaming, i b i! "for in that sleep of death what dreams may ! ; come !" j r! - e rI ^Hisccllancows gkatliujj. j 'j LETTER FROM MR. CHAMBERLAIN.; I I * J 0 r : *^To the Public:?It is now nearly two years b ? T tn ko a Rtqto nffippp TTlirinor I tl ' ! OUIUC; X WUMCUU kV WV u ww . ^ , > ! this interval I have closely followed ray pro- j c s j fession, taking no part whatever in public or j 81 1 j political affairs, and seeking no return to of- j | ficial position. No man living has ever heard e: , ! me, directly or indirectly, solicit office ; nor , is j can a single act of mine during the last two h I I years be pointed out which could reasonably " i j indicate that I sought any office in this State, tl ; j Notwithstanding ray constant and studious P , i avoidance of politics, many friends have, from | si ; | time to time, expressed their desire that 11 h II should be a candidate for the office of Gover- j si ; nor. Within the last few months a large j h j number of prominent gentlemen of the Re-1 : publican party have urged that candidacy j is ?j upon me as a matter of grave and urgent duty ; ci ' which I owed to the State as well as to my r< ! political party. I have laid before them my j "< ! reasons for not wishing to share in political | ii ;! affairs at the present time, and have earnestly ; endeavored to show them that others could j tl J serve the public better than I in the office of | o; I Governor. jb Their judgment has apparently remained v | unchanged, and I have, up to the present! b i: time, simply maintained this position : that if n: i: the Republican party should, when duly as- j r< i j sembled in State Convention, tender me its nomination for Governor, I should not decline fi it. ci In that sense, and to that extent only, I am b a candidate now. I have not sought or de- c; sired the office. It is a burden from which I fi shrink, and which 1 shall take up only at tne j n ; unsolicited call of the best men of my party d i as expressed in the coming State Convention. J a | Such being my unvarying attitude toward : tl , this question, I have, as I think reasonably, | ti i | felt no solicitude to repel adverse criticisms, w or to deny or disprove charges made against' ti 11 me for the purpose of defeating my nomiua- h i j tion. I have now lived in this State for nine I ; years, and for the last six years this commu- j it I nity has had full opportunity to note my per-! fi sonal character and to estimate my worth as a G ' man and a citizen. I nm one of those who 'I I still believe, amidst the fiercest storms of de- tl ,i traction, that an honorable and correct per- j tl i sonal life is the best answer to all such charges e. i 1 as are now hurled at me. Of this I have con-1 ei i stant and touching evidence in the numberless I a i j assurances which come to me from those who n , are in strenous political opposition to me, that j a i the charges now made against me and the at- si s j tempt to drag me down to the level of others ii ; whom I might name, are regarded by all I f< ! who know me as a temporary expedient to u accomplish a political end. Personally, I am t< i wholly indifferent to the charges recently ; c' f made against me. Those who care to examine ci I<i i t tlietn will nud them 10 ue oaseiess, auu muse I ; who do not care to examine them are not ob-1 a jects of anxiety to me. I am sufficiently an ! p | egotist to firmly believe that no man who I - knows me believes that I am, in politic or pri- a j' vate affairs, a dishonest man. i v I have yielded to the wishes of my friends i 0 I in this case, however, to the extent of now set- j b I ting forth, briefly and emphatically, my an-j p ; ewer to the charges which have recently been i I put forth against me as a candidate. tl he charges, so far as they have taken an ft > j answerable shape, concern my actions as a ' w > j member of various public boards or commis- I sions from 1868 to 1872. During that period o i I was, ex officio, a member of the financial : tl board, of the board known as the commis- j tl I; sioners of the sinking fund, of the advisory ; o . board of the land commission, and of the j ii , board to take charge of the congressional land p r scrip for an agricultural college. n i I In connection with the first-named board, d [ one of the charges most constantly repeated is,1 d | that I was specially responsible for the ap- j [ pointment of Mr. Kimpton as the financial n - agent of the State in New York. Beyond ; tl 1 the single fact that Mr. Kimpton was a col- w s lege classmate of mine, there is not the slight- c I est ground forsuch a statement. Mr. Kimp- e i ton came to this State without my knowledge, v c : and without any reference to me or to any h e employment by the State. I had not seen t t; him nor communicated with him since leaving j h s I college. He brought his own recommenda-1 s ions, made his own impressions, and was nevr urged by me upon the other members of, he board. Acting upon what I regarded as ;ood evidence of his capacity and character,! voted for him, in common with the other ; nembers of the board, and that is the full ex- ! entof ray responsibility for his appointment. I That the financial board acted reasonably iu ; his matter can now be shown by numerous omruendations of Mr. Kimptou's manage-j nent during the first three yearsof his agency, >y the highest financial authorities in New j fork, as well as by the very great success j fhicli he certainly achieved in many respects luring those years. I am not called upon, in j his connection, to defend the entire transac- i ions of the financial agent, but I do affirm1 hat the financial board were warranted, by ' ;ood and sufficient evidence, in the appointment of Mr. Kimpton, and that I had no arger share of influence in his appointment ban each of the members of the board. Another charge made against me is, that as . member of the financial board, and as Atorney-General, I am specially responsible for be issue of what are known as "conversion" >ouds. This charge seems to rest chiefly on he fact that I was a member of that board, ? " 3" t If .L? I nd it js, tnereiore, neeaiui 10 reier iu wjc > (institution and powers of that board. The financial board were never charged ; /ith any duty iu connection with the issue of j onds of any kind. By the act of the General Assembly to is-, ue bonds to redeem the "bills receivable," 1 he Governor was authorized to borrow a ceraiu sum of money. The bonds were to be igned by the Governor and countersigned by 1 he Treasurer, and sealed with the seal of the 1 itate. The only duty placed by this act upon ! he Attorney-General was to fix, together /ith the Governor and Treasurer, the price at 1 /hich the bonds should be sold, and the time or the redemption of the "bills receivable." 1 Cvery bond issued under this act was signed 1 iy the Governor and Treasurer, and sealed iy the Secretary of State, and the Attorney- 1 Jeuera) had no part or duty iu the issue or j! xecutiou of a single bond. 1 The same is true of the bonds issued under ' he act to authorize a loan to pay interest on j1 he public debt. By this act the sole duty of j he financial board in connection with the ' - i t ^ t 1J I onds was to nx tne price at wmcn luey anumu i e sold. The next act which authorized the issue of onds was the "Act for the relief of the 1 Yeasury." Under this act the sole duty of' he Attorney-General was, in conjunction j dth the Governor, Comptroller-General and Yeasurer, to give directions for the use of the onds issued under this act as collateral secuity, and to fix the price at which they should ' ie sold. The "Act for the conversion of State secu- 1 ities" imposed no duty and conferred no tower on any officer except the Treasurer, dio was charged with the work of conversion, nd the Governor, who was to sign, and the Yeasurer to countersign the conversion bonds. The four acts now specified are all the acts nder which it is pretended that the fiuancial oard had any powers, or has exercised any uiir>tinn<i The Attorney-General had no duty or powr in the issuing of bonds; neither had the nancial board. But it has been said that I gave an opinion, s Attorney-General, to Mr. Cardozo, then iecretary of State, in which I claimed author;y for the financial board to issue bouds with- 1 ut limit. As this alleged opinion has recentf been made the ground for fixing upon me 1 tie "sole responsibility for the issue" of the 1 on version bonds, it is necessary for me to ' tate precisely what that opinion contained. : Mr. Cardozo applied to me to know wheth- 1 r his action in sealing bonds was merely rain- ' iterial or not, and whether by sealing bonds ' e incurred any legal responsibility for the se made of such bonds by the Treasurer or 1 le financial agent. To those inquiries I relied that I thought his duty in the matter of 1 baling bonds was merely ministerial, and that 1 e was not in any way responsible for the is- > je of bonds to the financial agent, or the use e mieht make of them. In that opinion I ' sserted no authority in the financial board to 5 sue bonds at all, nor did I say a word which Duld be construed into a claim as has been jcently charged, that it was Mr. Cardozo's duty to seal as many bonds as the Treasurer, istructed by the financial board, requested." lean further say that I believe from all le knowledge which I possess that the action f the other members of the financial board, oth as members of that board and as indiidual State officers, in connection with the onds of the State, was dictated by honest i lotives, and was intended to avoid the very j jsults which finally took place. Another charge is that, as a member of the nancial board, I joined in directing the finan- j J ial ageut to make fictitious entries in his! ooks so as to disguise the affuirs of the agen- i y. I take it upon myself to say that the ! nancial board never gave such instructions, or any instructions which were intended to ! . eceive or mislead the public in regard to the 1 ffairs of the agency. So far as I am aware, i 1 le books of the fiuancial agent have, at all ' ; mes, been truly and faithfully kept. If they ere not, it did not arise from any instruc- j ons to which I was a party, or of which I | ad any knowledge. j In connection with the sinking fund board, , , has bean charged that I was a party to a ? audulent sale of the State stock in the t rreenville and Columbia Railroad Company. ( 'his charge I deny in every particular. In 1 le first place, there was no fraudulent sale of lat stock, so far as my knowledge or belief xtends. The sale was made at a price fully :jual to the value of the stock at that time, ud was made to a party wholly without couection with me, or, so far as I kuow, with ny member of the sinking fund board. The ;atement, by whomsoever made, that I joined i 1 a sale of that stock to any person who acted I >r me, or under any arrangement or agree- j lent with me, tacit or expressed, that I was ! ) have any interest in the stock when pur- j hased by him, is wholly false, and utterly inupable of being sustained by any evidence, j Another charge is that I engaged in a dis-: strous sale of the State stock in the Blue | tidge Railroad Compauy. The truth is that | was not present when that sale was made, nd never in auy manner took part in it. My iews as to the proper terms and conditions ; f a sale of that stock were laid before the oard in writing, but they were not adopted ; y the board. ' The purchases of bonds made by order of, :ie sinking fund board were made in good [ iith, and the funds in the hands of the board 1 'ere applied in the payment of such purposes, j t is true, I think, that the second purchase j f 8100,000 of State bonds was ordered before l le funds were in the hands'of the board ; but liis was done in the expectation, on the part: f the board, that sntfi?ieut funds would come j ito the hands of the board to pay for the | urchase as rapidly as payment would be ecessary. This may have been an impru-! ent act, but it certainly has no element of ishonesty or fraud in it. ! To all other statements which impute to ie any improper action iu connection with i liis board, I give an unqualiBed denial. I ?as never a party to any note given for purbases made from this board. 1 never receivd a fee for any service done in connection nth this board or as a member of it; and I ave never been a party to any disposition of 1 he proceeds of sales, either in money or s onds, made by this board, which was not ] trictly in accordance with law. If any ille- 1 gal disposition has been made of any property in the hands of this board, it was not done with my consent, as the present AttorneyGeneral, who was directed to institute legal proceedings to recover property illegally disposed of by the sinking fund commissioners, can testify. I am charged with responsibilities for the losses arising to the State from the transactions of the land commission. Upon this point I frankly say that I have always regretted exceedingly the action which I was led to take in some instances, as a member of the advisory board of that commission, but I deny that in any instance I acted carelessly or dishonestly. I was, as a member of that board, charged with the duty of consenting to the purchases of land recommended by the land commissioner. Of course, I could have no personal knowledge of the lands. I never in a single instance had a personal knowledge of any tract of land purchased for the State. I acted, from the necessity of the case, solely upon the information and representations of others. Subsequently I learned that some of the lands purchased were not worth the price paid, but no member of that board can be charged with dereliction of duty on that account, unless it can be shown that he had some knowledge, or had some reason i to believe or suspect, that the information J ?">? rvr f h a f fhp ' jjieseutcu iu ijiiu >tao iuuuik.^^ w^wv ?..v purchases were improper or undesirable at the time they were made. In the case, for in- 1 stance, of the Schley purchases, so-called, the i board was informed by persons who were certainly competent to judge, and who were i directed by the board to make inquiries con- 1 cerning those lands, that those lands were de- ; sirable. In that case I acted upon evidence i which I was as well warranted in trusting as 1 any evidence for any other purchase. 1 If there be a man anywhere who can say ( that I ever had any personal connection of any sort with any purchase made by this 1 board, or that I communicated or acted with ' any party to any sale, with a view to promote j such sale, or that I was ever remotely interest- j J ed ip, any sale of land to this board, let him : I be named. Once for all, I say there is no | ] shadow of foundation for such charges or in-; 1 sinuations. No man can prove them, and no j' man will undertake to prove them. ! t Of the charges made against me in connec- * tion with the board appointed to take charge I( of the agricultural laud scrip, little need be said. Every act of that board was in strict, < accordance with law. The sale of the scrip j1 was made at a full and fair price, aud after j | careful consideration and inquiry by the j board. The proceeds were immediately in- j vested in State bonds as directed by law. i Subsequently, those bonds, while in the hands ! of the agent of the board, were pledged fori State loans, and are still held in New York j as collateral security for about 857,000 lent to the State. Of the legality of this use of i these bonds it is not now necessary to speak, > They were pledged by the agent under a claim of authority conferred by an act of the General Assembly. The board were not consult- . ed in this matter, and never in any way con- ; Hented to the nledciner of these bonds. _ ? I 0 0 The thousand other idle tales, born of the j personal and political malice and mendacity |1 with which this community is ?o remarkably j afflicted?such as my reported partnership j with Mr. Kimpton ; ray present or past pecu-1 niary interest in various schemes which were | intended to draw money from the treasury, j and the pecuniary benefit derived by me from ' my connection with the State government? j rlo not deserve even a denial. They are, each : and all, false in every particular and every 1 sense. Not only have I not received pecunia-1, ry profit from any transaction in which I ! ' 1 l- J 11 nave naa au uiiicmi uutjr lu puiuuu, auu uvb i , snly have I never been interested in any . scheme which was hostile to public interests, I -j but I can say, with honest pride, that no man j j jver yet in South Carolina approached rae i with a bribe in any form, or solicited my of- j Eicial or personal consent or cooperation in ^ my dishonest measure or action. Such a decree of respect has at least been shown me. . VVhile denouncing rae in public as a corrupt official, my detainers have never ventured to ! solicit the aid which they would now convince j ;he public I have been swift to extend to all corrupt and fraudulent measures. The little j 1 property which I now possess I have acquired | 1 neither by corruption nor speculation ; but I :5 lave earned it by honest and honorable la- I* Dor, and I defy the world to produce |! jvidence sufficient to excite a shadow of ! i presumption to the contrary. I acknowl- j ! :dge mistakes, and I regret the consequences j )f some acts in my official career. I desire to ' ! see those consequences repaired ; and I desire ; t all the more because they have resulted in : mrtfrom my acts; but to every specific and , 1 :very general charge involving moral delin-' 1 juency or conscious wrong in any official ac-1 ( ,ion in this State, I give my absolute and sol- j ! mm denial. D. H. CHAMBERLAIN^ j1 Columbia, August 19, 1874. j | The Air-Line Railroad.?It is known I hat the Richmond and Atlanta Air-Line 1 Railroad became involved at the time of the : 1 ate panic. It is stated that the line was only ! ust completed, and possessed no rolling stock, i ior had it any earnings made. In conse- ! jnence, the Pennsylvania Railroad Company,; ,vhich held a majority of the stock, failed to ; Day the interest due last January. The first I nortgagc bondholders at once formed them- | lelves into a sort of mutual protective society j ind deposited 84,100,000 worth of bonds out 11 )f the whole $4,248,000 issued iu the Farm- js ;rs' Loan and Trust Company. They held a : neeting in New York on Friday last, and it j ippears now that the Pennsylvania Railroad ' Company has agreed to transfer the majority j1 )f stock which they hold to three trustees, s ,vhoshall have power to electa majority of 1 ;he directors. The meeting appointed Mr. j 1 VIoses Taylor, Judge 0. H. Palmer, and Mr. | R. A. Lancaster, trusteess, and determined on '( he following course of action : A supple-! 1 neutary mortgage is to be issued explanatory | ' >f the first mortgage, and calculated to facili-;1 ,ate a foreclosure if such should at any time ( De necessary. The present second mortgage I >f $2,000,000 is to be canceled, and the hold-1 1 irs of bouds to be recouped with preferred I( itock to the same amount, of which stock the } Pennsylvania Railroad Company will put up j J >1,250,000. A new second mortgage to tne 1 iame amount, $1,250,000, is to be issued, and j ( ;he bonds sold with the stock mentioned above ! or a bonus, and their proceeds invested in I oiling stock and the building of machine ' .hops, Ac. Six coupons on the first mortgage I jonds, beginning with last January, are to be I? unded in the form of an income bond, bear-11 ng seven per cent, interest, aud payable in ? ,eu years from date, aud will be secured by a : 1 leposit of the coupons in the Farmers' Loan j 1 md Trust Company. . j > Compulsory Kissing.?Everybody smokes , c u Paraguay, aud every female, above thirteen r fears of age, chews. I am wrong. They do u lot chew, but put tobacco in their mouths, 1 seep it there constantly, except when eating, J i ind instead of chewing it, roll it about with I heir tongue and suck it. Only imagine yourself about to salute the -ed lips of a magnificent little Hebe, arrayed ' \ ivith satin and flashing with diamonds she !1 nits you back with one delicate hand, while s ivith the fair taper fingers of the other she t Iraws forth from her mouth a brownish black ( roll of tobacco quite two inches long, looking 1 ike a monster grub, and then depositing the i savory lozenge on the rim of your sombrero, i puts up her face and is ready for a salute. I 1 iiave sometimes seen an over-delicate foreign- 1 er turn away with a shudder of loathing under such circumstances, and get the epithet el aalvabo (the savage) applied to hira by the offended beauty for his sensitive squeamishness. However, one soon gets used to this in Paraguay, where you are, per force of custom, obliged to kiss every lady you are introduced to; and one-half you meet are really tempting enough to render you regardless of consequences, and you would sip the dew of the proffered lip in the face of a tobacco factory? even in the double distilled "honest dew" of old Virginia. Distance to the Stars.?Of the thousand$ of stars which have been studied, we know the distance of only twenty. Among these we may signalize Si/ius, a sun 2688 times larger than our own, surrounded by a system of heavenly bodies several of which are already known, and distant from us 82,000,000,000,000 miles, the Polar star, which is a double star, distant 292,000,000,000,000 miles; and Capella, distant 425,000,000,000,000 miles?a space which is traversed by light ? 1 * a. id seventy-one years ana eigne momus au that the luminous ray which reaches us from this fine star in 1874, must have started out in 1803. Capella might have been extinguished in 1804, but we should see it still. It might go out, to-day, and yet the inhabitants of the earth would continue to admire it in their heavens until 1946. Conversely, if there existed on the planets gravitating round Capella, minds whose transcendent vision could thence descry our little earth, lost as it is amid the sun's rays, they would now see the earth of the year 1803, and would be seventy-one years and eight months behind hand in its history. These are the stars that are nearest to us. The others are incomparably more remote. There are stars whose light cannot reach us in less than 100, 1000, or 10,000 years, though light travels at the rate cf 185,000 miles per second. To traverse the sidereal world of which we form a part, (the Milkyway) light takes 15,000 years. To reach us from certain of the nebulae, it must travel for 300 times that period, or 5,000,000 pears. Let the imagination, that is not appalled by these immensities, strive to conceive >f them. If it does not experience the "ver - * - ' M , . ? 1- A 1.1a ;igo of the infinite," Jet it caimjy coniempiuie ;hese abysses, and realize the position of the ;arth and of man in the presence of them, rhus will it gain some conception of the discoveries made by sidereal astronomy. Such ire the dimensions actually measured in the general constitution of the universe. As yet we are only at the vestibule of the edifice, on the edge of the abyss of infinitude; and we shall never penetrate very far beyond. _ Camille Flammarion. The Best Position for Sleep?E. D. Babbitt, M. D., in his new book, the "Health Guide," thus gives his views on the best position for the body during the hours of sleep: Baron Reicheubach, by a large number of experiments with sensitive and feeble persous, found that they would be thrown into a very uncomfortable or spasmodic condition when they lay with their heads to the south, and still worse when their heads were to the west; but that when he turned them with their heads to the north and their feet to the south, they were quiet and comfortable. This har * ?Ii.l_ *1* ? A momiafin raouizes Willi IIIC luca ui a luoguwuv vauucurrent going from north to south, or at least in the direction of the needle, thus throwing the warm principle toward the feet when the head points northward, while the distress occasioned by lying with the head to the west may be accounted for on the supposition of an electric current moving from west to east, at right angles with the magnetic current, thus throwing the cool element to the feet, iust where it should not be. This last direction must be particularly injurious to delicate ladies, in whom the electrical element already predominates too much, especially at the ex;reraities: and these were the class of persons with whom Reichenbach experimented. I would recommend the northeast as a still letter direction for the head than the north, is it throws both the cool current toward the lead and the warm current toward the feet. The observance of these rules of position would save a vast amount of headache, neuralgia and distress of the brain and nervous lystem generally. I lay down these rules, not is a mere theory, but a fact established by my >wn experience as well as that of others, and t is high time our physicians began to look nto these important health laws, which, if halitually violated, will imperceptibly undernine many a delicate constitution. Gold and Glitter.?A correspondent .vriting trom the city or iviexico says: 1 caniot pretend to give a description of the catheIral. I never saw so much gold and silver ised as ornaments in the interior of the buildng in all my life?solid silver columns, ten >r twelve feet high, supporting golden canilesticks, around every altar; bronze railings protect the precious decorations from the cu-iosity of the devout worshippers. In every ecess was an altar, at some of which, during ny visit, ladies, gorgeously attired, were tneeling on the bare floor beside the filthy Indian saying mass, and each alike dropped ler fee?much or little, as the case may be? nto the golden box which the attendants held >ut. Paintings on the walls, gold wrappings iround the sacred alcoves, and burnished gold md silver in great masses behind the grindoal aiiaire, make the interior one scene of splendor." Not a Candidate.?An Evansville man las proved himself a satirist, though probably it the time he uttered the words which have lince made him famous he was unconscious of hestingiDg sarcasm contained in the few sylables referring to a prominent feature of American life. He had fallen into a ditch )u the outskirts of the town in such a manner hat he was unable to extricate himself. A iind-hearted pedestrian helped him to his feet, ind after the thing had been accomplished, )ur hero said, "All right?hie?I'll vote for fou." The stranger looked at him doubtfuly, and wished to know what for. "Wha' )ffice ye running for?" "I? None at all," ivas the answer. "Not a candidate ?" "No; vhy?" "Why?hie?why? 'Cause I don't inow as any man'd?hie?help 'nother as you lid 'thout bein' a candidate." Give the Child a Light.?If a child vants a light to go to sleep by, give it one. Hie sort of Spartan firmness which walks off ind takes away the candle, and shuts all the loors between the household cheer and warmth ind the pleasant stir of evening mirth, and caves a little son or daughter to hide its head inder the bedclo^es, and get to sleep as best t can, is not at all admirable. Not that the nother means to be cruel, when she tries this >r that hardening process, and treats human lature as if it were clay to be moulded into tny shape she may please. Very likely she ias no idea whatever of the injury and sufferng she causes, or perhaps her heart aches; )ut she perseveres, thinking she is doing right. At the Well.?While manipulating the vindlass of a well, a party, who had been aying in a stock of whisky before it could be seized by the police, let the handle slip when he bucket was half way up, and naturally mough received a chuck under the chin that inocked him over a neighboring fence. "Sold igain," he muttered, as he climbed to his eet; "might a node?hie?better thau to? lie?go foolin' roun' so much water. Betcher loots I'll stick to whisky after this. > i