Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 12, 1874, Image 1
lewis grist, proprietor. | fnbtptnbtnl Jfamiln ^ttfospaptr: Jfor % promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural arrb Commercial Interests of % Sontjj. jTERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE.
VOL. 20. YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1874. NO. 46.
j - - 3 - - ? ^ |
?he J>taru ?cllcr. !
THE SHELMIRE WILL CASE.
r >
FROM AN OLD LAWYER'S DIARY.
* :
I do not remember a case in which I ever {
succeeded so unexpectedly, and, I might add, i
by the use of such very simple means, as in
the celebrated Shelmire Will Case. The
principal credit of this success was not due to ]
me, however, but to a young man, almost a
boy, who was at the time a clerk in my office. 1
He was admitted to the bar soon after, and I
has now got a flourishing practice. His name '
was William Wayman.
Jacob Shelmire, whose will was in contro- ;
yersy, was an old man of eighty and upward,
who had lived many years in the city, doing j
a small mercantile business. He was a thrifty j
en/} ppnnnmicdl r?1d fftllow. and the Value of :
his estate had grown to about twenty-five
thousand pounds. The old man had lived in
a humble way, known only by the few with
whom he did business?a harmless, unimportant
old body, with nothing noticeable about
him except his thrift; and, therefore, his death
was an event which, in such a city as this, !
was not calculated to attract much attention. j
I had known old Mr. Shelmire, merely as a
passing acquaintance, for some years ; but I;
first became aware of his death upon the visit I
of a young lady, dressed in mourning, to my
office, to consult me about the estate. She
was a pretty, thoughtful-looking girl, of twenty
or thereabouts, but an entire stranger to
me. She mentioned her business; and as I
was much engaged at the moment with other
clients, I asked her to be seated for half an
hour, and told Wayman to find a chair. During
my conversation with the men with whom
I was occupied, I looked occasionally into the
next room, the door being open, and saw that
my clerk had, for once, broken through his ;
i __j ? ?J:? u..
habitual reserve, aim was stuuuiug uj mc ;
young girl, talking iu a low tone with her. |
But then I did not kuow that Will had an ,
acquaintance with her of some weeks' standing,
and that the present call wa3 pursuant to
his advice.
At last the office was cleared of all but us
three, and I approached the two young people.
"Now, Mr. Wayraan," I said, "you have
been talking with this young lady, and have
probably ascertained her business; and as
' time is likely to be valuable to us to-day, perhaps
you can tell me what she wishes a great
deal quicker than she can."
I shouldn't have ventured to say as much
as that before an elderly lady, who might have
felt called upon to resent my words as an imputation
to her garrulity; but I could see
that there was not the least danger of that
there.
The young lady smiled, giving me to understand
that she understood my meaning; and
Will explained that she was the grand-daughter
of the late Mr. Shelmire, and, therefore,
entitled to his estate; and she desired to take
such legal steps as were necessary to secure it.
This, as I have said, was my first intimation
of the old man's death ; and it was also
my first intimation that he had had auy fara
ily. A few moments' talk with the girl put
me right about the facts. Her name was
Virginia Garvin ; her mother had been Mr.
Shelmiie's only daughter. The old man's
wife died years before, and the daughter, Virginia's
mother, also died, in a distant town, a
widow, when Virginia was buteightyears old.
Left in poverty, without relatives and almost |
without friends, she resolved to seek her grand- i
father, whom she had never seen, but of whom I
she had often heard her mother speak. She I
found him, and he welcomed her warmly to |
his home. Virginia knew that he had pur-1
chased several adjacent houses very cheaply, J
aud they had increased in value; and she
supposed that he had deposited in the bank,
in his own name, several thousand pounds.
In short, the total value of the estate, as I afterward
discovered, was rather above than
hplnw twentv-five thousand pounds.
Virginia stated that she did not know of'
another living relative of the deceased, beside
herself, and believed there was noue. She
said her grandfather had very often told her
that she should have the whole of that when !
he died, and that he had given her the same J
assurance when he was in his last sickness.
"But was there a will ?"
She said, in answer to this question, that he
had never said a word on this subject, and
she was sure he would have mentioned it had
he made one, as he had no secrets from her.
I bade her go home and-make careful search
for such an instrument, and return to me
when she had done so.
She was back the same afternoon. She had
searched the house thoroughly, and particularly
the little desk where her grandfather
kept his papers, and she brought to me all she
stnulrl firwl in bis hjindwritinc*. There was
Wu.u - ?
nothing more than a single book of accounts,
three bills of goods sold, and some unimportant
memoranda about his business, hastily
scrawled upon slips of paper of uneven sizes.
In lookiug these things over, I observed that
the handwriting of the deceased was very eccentric
in its character. The up-strokes of
almost every letter were very heavy, and the
down-stroke light; the writing sometimes
closely followed the line, and again went
above or below it for several inches ; its general
appearance was angular and unfinished,
and the whole struck me at first as au oddity
in the way of chirography.
"Did he always write like this?" I carelessly
asked the girl.
"Yes, sir; always," she replied. And then
I told her to accompany me to the proctor's
office, where I would take the preliminary
steps to secure the estate to her. Virginia,
being under age, could not be appointed administrator
of Jacob Shelmire's estate; and it
was ray purpose to consult with the proctor,
aud procure the appointment of some honest,
trustworthy man who would discharge the
trust with fidelity to the girl, and all others
interested. These latter would be few or
none, as the girl had informed me that her
grandfather never contracted any debts that
she knew of, and that no bills had been sent
to the house since his death some weeks before.
The office of the proctor was approached
V... n nf norrniv ctoiro h l> 1 f. U.' U V lin tt'lliph
uy a lugiib ui unuwiT gvuuo^ UM*? ??-?
we met a man descending. I noticed nothing
about him, except that he had a thick black
beard and moustache, a keen eye, and was
dressed in a suit of fashionable cut and make,
and sported a large glittering watch-chain.
He looked carelessly at us, ami passed down ;
and just behind him came another, a slim, elderly
man, whose face seemed familiar to me.
On reaching the top of the stairs, I saw that
my companion looked after them, and I asked
her if she knew them.
"I don't know the first," she replied. "The
other is Mr. Passraore, who used to help my
grandfather sometimes in the warehouse. He
has been selling off the stock since grandfather
died. But I thought it so queer that he
shouldn't speak to me. Pie knows me just as
well as any one can ; but when he saw my face
he looked quite the other way."
The incident did not disturb me at the
time, although I did not fail to remember it
^ afterward, and to attach deep meaning to it.
L We found the proctor alone in his office, and
fit I stated our business. The good man looked
first incredulous, and then puzzled, and exfin
claimed, "Well, this is strange. Did you
Bfi meet any one on the stairs?"
j^r "Yes," 1 replied; "Mr. Passmore and a
stranger."
"Well, sir, that stranger is called Rufus
Bledsoe. He states to me that he was a dis
tant relative of the late Shelmire's wife, and J
that he has the last will and testament of Mr. !
Shelmire himself in his possession. He has
applied for probate upon it, and I have grant- J
ed him a citation, returnable on the nineteenth j
of the present month. There was only one ;
person to be cited, and she lives in this city." i
"Virginia Garvin ?" I suggested.
"Yes; that's the name."
This, of course, was all the information that j
the proctor had to give.
* * * * * *
I attended before the surrogate at the hour !
named in the citation with ray clieut. There j
were also present Passmore, .Bledsoe, and a
distinguished member of our bar, whom the ;
latter had obtained to assist him. The man j
Bledsoe produced an instrument which pur- j
ported to be, and which he declared was, the
last will and testament of Jacob Shelmire. It
was very brief, giving to Rufus Bledsoe all
the property, both real and personal, of which !
he should die possessed. It was dated, I ob- j
served, about a year previous to the time that |
Virginia had come to live with her grandfath- j
er; it was signed with the full name, Jacob '
Shelmire, written apparently in the same hand ,
with the body of the instrument (and the
handwriting was marvellously like that of Ja-'
cob himself,) and it was witnessed, or purported
to be, by Thomas Drake and Peter Lamed,
both merchants of the city. And as he j
read their names, I happened to know that
both of them had been dead several years.
The will was proved by Bledsoe and Passmore,
both of them testifying to the genuineness
of the signatures of both the testator and
witnesses. Aud Bledsoe, in addition, swore
that he had received the will from Jacob Shelmire
personally, upon the day after its date.
That the man had lied from beginning to
end I could not have the least doubt. I saw
deliberate, determined perjury in his snakylooking
eye. For two hours did I cross-examine
him, endeavoring to find a weak spot in
his story ; but he had thoroughly fortified
himself, and delivered his evidence with all
the coolness and nonchalance of an expert.
As for Pa3smore, he swore quite as plumply as
Bledsoe that he was well acquainted with the
writing of all the parties whose names were on
till fkof tkow trAro oil rr^n nino ci or.
LIIO uilij auu umb HIVJ ??*>**> MA* gvuuiuv .
natures.
I could make nothing more of them than ;
this; and the surrogate admitted the will to !
probate, when the examination was fin- j
ished. From this decision I took an appeal ,
to the highest court.
******
I entered the court on the morning of the
trial with a strange feeling of nopelessness.
Except the assertion of fraud and conspiracy
that I could make for my client, I knew nothing
that promised to tell in her favor. Virginia
took her seat at the counsel table by
ras, and looked with interest and curiosity
upon the accustomed scene. She was looking
very handsome, notwithstanding the anxiety
in her face; and there were others present
besides Will Wayman who thought so too. I
had almost forgot to mention the deep interest
that Master Will had taken in the case since
its commencement. I wanted somebody to
whom I could talk in confidence about it, and
so he had become thoroughly posted in all its
details. I knew that he pondered over them
considerably; but I was far from thinking
that he had worked out any thing that could
be of any practical use in the case. I understood
him better before the day was over.
The case was called, and a jury impannelled.
The respondent's counsel opened the
case in an address of half an hour, giving all
the details, and telling minutely what he could j
prove. Then followed the evidence of Bled- j
soe and Passmore, given as audaciously and j
completely as before the surrogate. My coun- j
sel's cross-examination failed to entrap either
of them into any inconsistency, or to shake
their wonderful self-possession in the slightest.
At the conclusion of the respondent's case,
ray counsel addressed the jury in behalf of
my client. He roundly charged perjury and
fraud upon the two men who had occupied
the witness-box all the morning, pointing out
the suspicious circumstance that both witnesses
to the pretended will were dead, and
the difficulty of finding any one who knew i
TT . i ,i , ,L. i :.j
their writing. lie insisted mat me preienueu ,
will was a base fabrication, and that the whole j
story of these men was a lie, coined and ut- j
tered for the purpose of defrauding a poor j
girl of her patrimony.
| Virgiuia told her story in brief. She told I
i who she was, how long she had lived with Mr. |
| Shelmire, and what her relations with hira |
| had been. The point of her evidence was, !
j that he had often declared that she should be ;
! his heir; that he never mentioned the subject J
| of a will to her, and that she never heard
him speak of Rufus Bledsoe.
The jury was evidently interested in the
; girl, and, I thought, sympathized with her;
| but I well knew that this could not prevail ,
! against the strong affirmative evidence of the j
! respondent.
Will Wayraan had sat quietly by the table .
I folrittrr miniifoa a#' tlia ouirlonpp T"Tp TlfiW !
handed me a scrap of paper, folded, torn and
soiled, with the following written upon it:
"July the 9th, 18?.
"Mb. John Gkkoo : Please send me two bar'ls
flour, Harlow Mills. Jacob Shklmikk."
The person to whom this was addressed had
long been a large operator in Hour, and supplied
many of the dealers in the city. The !
handwriting of this order seemed to me iden- J
tical with that in which the will was written; |
and the date was the same year.
I looked inquiringly at Will.
| "Recall LHedsoe," he said, in a whisper, j
; "and let our counsel ask him whose writing i
I that is."
I did so. Bledsoe took the paper in his
hand, ran his eye keenly over it, and in an- ;
I swer to the questiou, said that this was undoubtedly
Jacob Shelmire's handwriting.
I looked again at my clerk.
"Ask him," he whispered, "if he is assure
: of' it as lie is that the writing in the will is
i Mr. Shelmire's."
I made our counsel ask the question, and
the lip of the witness curled under his mous- j
tache. "Certainly he was," he replied, "there
j could be no doubt of either."
; I looked at Will again.
"Let him go," he whispered, "and go
through the same with Passinore."
I did so; and Mr. Passmore clinched the
1 evidence of Bledsoe. He said that the wri- j
ting in the order that I had produced was I
Mr. Shelmire's beyond question. He would !
1 know that writing anywhere. And Mr. Shelmire
often wrote such orders and sent them by
turn. Had he ever taken any to i\ir. uregg :
Yes, very often. Might have taken this?!
' Very easily ; in fact, he remembered this particular
order.
Mr. Passmore went down with an air of
easy insolence; and Will, his eyes beaming
with delight, leaned over and whispered again 1
in my ear. He did not utter more than four I
words, but they operated upon me almostlike
the shock of an electric battery, and the
weight that had lain at my heart for six
weeks was rolled away. In one instant our
victory was ensured.
I whispered to our counsel, and he called
the name of William Waymau.
Disposing of the preliminary questions, as
to whom he was, his occupation, &c., our
counsel asked, "Was this paper in your possession
before I exhibited it here, just now?"
"It was."
"I)o you know who wrote the order?"
"I do."
j "Tell us about it."
I "I wrote it myself last night, for the purpose
I of drawing these two gentlemen into the trap
they have so cleverly walked into. And 1
believe that if you look close, you'll find my
imitation of poor old Jacob Shelmire's writing
a great deal better than their's."
This was virtually the end of the case. The
jury began to cast indignant looks at Mr
Bledsoe and his companion, both of whom
turned white and red, and looked very uncomfortable.
The judge simply told the jury that
it remained for them to say, from the evidence
whether Jacob Shelmire had executed the
will in dispute; and without leaving their
seats, they found that he had not.
One of the most remarkable things connected
with this trial was the sudden disappearance
of Bledsoe and Passraore. Within fif
teen minutes after the verdict, I had a war
rant for their arrest, on a charge of perjury
and forgery, in the hands of the police ; but
they never found them.
Some days after the trial, I said to ray
clerk, "Well, Will, our client, Virginia Garvin,
will not be of age for some months yet,
and it is necessary to have an administratoi
and a guardian appointed. Do you know
whom she would prefer?"
"I have no doubt, sir," Will solemnly replied,
"that she would prefer me. And as 1
am to become her husband in two weeks, you
will concede the propriety of the suggestion.'
I did more ; I shook the splendid fellow by
the hand, and wished him a whole century o]
happiness. And I was not above acknowl
edging to him, then and there, that his adroit
ness had saved Virginia's case, and that then
was a peculiar fituess in her choosing him foi
her life-guardian.
HJiscelhwrous Heading
BETTER MECHANICS.
It is a matter of serious consideration foi
statesmen and others to consider, what is tc
become of our bovs. Every man who ha?
been compelled to work for a living, seeing
that he is classed a grade below the clerk
book-keeper, or genteel idler, seeks some othei
occupation for his sons. He saves monej
from his hard earnings, to pay for the educa
tion of his boys, and to train them for some
more supposed respectable calling than thai
of a mechanic. The result is that we have a
large surplus of clerks already, and they an
on the increase, while, as mechanics die, then
are none, comparatively speaking, to fill theii
places. For this there must be a remedy, oi
we shall degenerate into a weak, pale-facec
nation of effeminate males, or, as Professoi
Fowler calls them, a race of "female men/
instead of strong, robust Farmers and Me
chanics.
The man who will take pains to inquire, wih
find that there are few young men now work
ing at the heavier mechanical avocations
and the smaller the number, the more young
people and their parents try to avoid contacl
with hard work. This is a great evil, and il
permitted to continue, in a few generations we
should go back to educated barbarism ; foi
we should have no one to manufacture the ar
tides of civilization or stimulate progress ir
scientific attainment. We cannot force met
to change their opinions, or boys to resist the
will of their parents, for, under the circum
stances, they will continue to agree as to the
standard of respectability.
Employment for boys and young men musl
be attractive, if we would have them excel
at least, their occupation must not be repulsive
to them. To effect this we must not pul
others down to make the man who labors at
equal with the man who does not. Before w<
attempt a change we must understand th<
cause of inequality, if it really exists. Tha
men do not associate with each other in famil
iar every-day life, is not evidence of different
in respectability. Lawyers and doctorsjhavf
only a passing acquaintance with each other
Ministers of different denominations and th<
members of the various churches are not familiar
associates. The difference in occupa
tion diminishes intercourse among men, thougl
their education be equal.
Virtue and vice are found among men o
eoual educational attainments. The nrofes
sional gambler and prudent business man maj
have graduated at the same college; and th<
gambler may have graduated higher thau hii
schoolmate; their unlike natural dispositior
has made the difference; or training after the
diploma was issued, may have turned thei:
heads in different directions. Then it is no:
education that always makes the differenci
among men, but the method of obtaining it
and the directing of the thoughts and aspira
tions after the mind has been impressed witl
the rules of grammar, or the lines and figure;
necessary iu geometry. But education is ne
cessary for all occupations. So* is the plov
necessary in breaking the ground for the crop
but if no seed is sown and harrowed in then
will be no harvest.
It is not learning a trade that fixes the sta
tus of respectability, but it is being a mechan
ic without education that makes the dif
forence in our social standing. If the trad<
and learning are combined, the man is fit foi
any society ; the one admits him to the shoj
under favorable circumstances, while the oth
er secures him admission to the parlor and t(
the best society. If we can teach the boy anc
make him as proud of his trade as a man ii
of his profession, there will be no difference ii
the standing of the two. If educated alike ir
branches of study necessary for the occupatior
of each, a trade and profession would b<
sought with equal pride and pleasure, accord
ingto the instinctive leanings of the mind 01
phrenological developments of the brain.
To effect this object, it is high time we har
adopted a Labor School System in the com
mon school of our country. A trade Ieamec
in this way would be the pride of parents
and a noble calling for the son. Such me
chanics would astonish the world with theii
inventive skill, by making labor-saving ma
chinery do the drudgery of toil and establish
the fact that our powers of improvement ex
tend to tradesmen as well as to fruit trees auc
other vegetation.?New Jersey Mechanic.
A Dismal Tragedy.?Miss Cross, a gir
19 years of age, was teaching school in Stark
N. H. Her classes fell into confusion am
disorder, and the teacher was summoned bj
the committee, who gave her the alternativi
of improving the discipline or resigning. Tin
girl committed suicide by drowning. She lef
a note to her sister merely stating that tin
curse was being fulfilled. A careful inquin
into her history was made, and the riddle wai
solved. Her father, Amos K. Cross, of Wa
terford, Maine, was separated from his firs
wife and married again. His own mothei
was greatly incensed against him, and, in i
fit of rage, cursed his children, saying tha
"his sons should die in infancy, and hi:
daughters in sorrow, if not in shame, befon
they were twenty." The curse has been ful
filled so far as the sons were concerned, ant
this coincidence confirmed the belief of tin
unfortunate girl in the curse. As she nearec
her twentieth birthday the gloom of approach
ing death unfitted her for her work, and the
circumstances which followed urged her to tlx
dreadful step which developed the mystery
She leaves one younger sister, whose future
will be watched with care and interest by ai
awe-stricken community. With such a histo
ry to look back upon, it would require a mine
of no average strength to combat the melan
choly and superstition which caused her sis
ter's death. But what could be the remorse
of the wretched woman who had wrought tlx
ruin ? Let us hope she is dead, and beyonc
the knowledge of the verification of her fear
ful curse.
[ I COURTSHIP AFTER MARRIAGE.
r j There was much more than a mere witti;
ciarn in the remark of the old bachelor, who
! had paid attentions to a maiden lady for twen-1
ty years, visiting her regularly every night,
>, when rallied for not marrying: "If I were
i married I should have nobody to court, and I
no place to go at night."
' | He had felt deeply the contrast between
?| his own delicate and ethereal enjoyments, and
* j the hard, discontented, fretted life of too many
' | married people ; and his answer was irony.
1 He saw there was something in courtship
j which too often exhales and expires after
I marriage, leaving a cold, dull, monotonous
- j burden, where all was beauty and buoyancy
! before.
' Let us see what that something is. In
' courtship nothing is taken for granted. Both
1 parties are put on their good behavior. Love
' i keeps itself fresh and active by constant ex
I pression in word and act. But, strange to
, i say, courtship usually ends with marriage.
" j Very soon both parties yield to the sense of
' | possession, and the feeling of security robs
1 gallantry of motive, and extracts the poetry
; J from the mind. The beautiful attentions,
j which were so pleasing before marriage, are
i j too often forgotten afterward. The'gifts cease,
or come only with the asking. The music
r dies out of the voice?everything is taken for
* granted, and the love, like the silver jet of the
| fountain that leaped to heaven and, denied its
natural outlet, ceases to flow altogether. Then
s | come dull, heavy, hard days, with two unhap*!
pily tied together, and wishing themselves
apart, and not always content with merely
! wishing.
This is unnatural and wrong. What married
life wants to give it new tone and sweetness,
is more of the manner as well as the
spirit of the courtship, which comes from the
. constant attentions of the parties to each oth(
er. Their affection voices itself in all possible
j ways?every sentence is edged with corapli.
raent, and spoken in tender tones. Every
look is a confession. Every act is a new word
[ in the exhaustles3 vocabulary of love. Iviss
r and caress are parenthetic clauses and gestures
in the dialect of love. Gifts and sacri,
fices are the most emphatic expressions of the
k spirit, no language can fully articulate and
' no devotion declare. And it is the fact that
, affection confesses itself continually, in look,
' and word, and act, making the voice musical
. and the fingers poetic in their touch, and doing
1 that makes experience so beautiful, the only
I Eden many a woman ever has on earth.
Love must have expression, or it will die.
> It can be kept forever beautiful and blessed,
as at first, by giving it constant utterance in
word and act. The more it is allowed to flow
I out in delicate attentions and noble service,
the stronger and more satisfying, and more
. blessed it will be.
' The house becomes home only when love
' drops its heavenly manna in it fresh every
p day, and the true marriage vow is made not
, once for all at the altar, but by loving words,
. and helpful service, and delicate attentions to
the end.
1 ADVANTAGES OF THE "NO FENCE LAW."
' The "no fence law" is in operation in four
' townships in this (Mecklenburg) county. The
[ law went into effect in March, when the peo'
pie were busy preparing to plant the present
crop. Nearly all succeeded in getting sufficient
pasture fenced for the stock kept on
' their premises.
j The law works admirably. The thought of
never again having to scratch our hands with
' ! briars and thorns, and tangle our feet with
" i itinM mliilo mandinn nnp aIH illlflniflntprl
1 OjJt YI1JGO nui.w liH.uxu.ig v.v.1 1
' fences, is too good to entertain one moment
without almost shouting for joy. While those
* who work on the old plan of fencing up their
[ fields, will be busy this winter making rails,
' hauling and building them on their crazy fen^
ces, we will be clearing up our rich fence rows
' for a luxuriant crop another year. And while
they are paying out their money for these repairs,
we are spending the same in compost
1 heaps, clover lots, and fall and winter ploughf
ingr
Instead of being a disadvantage to croppers,
it has proved the very reverse. The land
r owner sees it is to his advantage to provide
5 his croppers with a sufficient amount of pas3
ture for all their stock. If, however, any one
1 should fail to do this, his more just and wise
5 neighbor will have the refusal of his hands.
r When this law first went into effect, many
t of the freedmen threatened to leave the town3
ship; but they are here yet, and until it can
? be clearly shown that the negro has an unconI
Jaa'ma i^ lyiil knilrl r?oi1a
' ijueiauic ucaue iu uittui, naui auu uunu iui.u,
1 we thiuk he will very likely remain where he
3 is. Nearly all the trouble we had was on the
line. Some said the fence would be burned
' down; others that it would be thrown down
? and not allowed to stand ; but, as far as we
| kuow, not a single trespass on it has been
j made. Outsiders keep up the fence to save
I their stock from the penalties of the inside
j law. Insiders keep it up to save their crops
! from the depredations of outside stock.
Many persons feared that in fencing up
| pastures, country roads would be obstructed
I by gates; but, on the contrary, it has almost
totally annihilated the gate system. No wise
j man will make his pasture on both sides of
' the road, knowing that the first careless trav3
i eler may cause stock to run at large on his
) 1 Co.-r?
| uvrix iaiiu.
1 Country roads can be so arranged by the
1 generosity of land owners, as to shorten the
5 former routes of travel at least one-third.
"When a farmer wishes to drive his wagon
over his premises, he is not troubled with the
old system of laying down and puttiug up
I fences. By cutting a few bushes along some
of those places we call glades (which before
I were not worth fencing up,) he can mow loads
? of hay. Hundreds of acres can now be culti ;
vated, which before could not be profitably
r j fenced. A poor man can now buy a piece of
* I laud and Jive comfortably on it, aJtliougb
[ ; there may not be a rail tree upon it.?Char';
lotte (N,. C.) Democrat.
1 j
The Southern Planter.?There must,
i and will be, a radical change in the conduct
I of the next generation of planters. The
, : younger men are, I think, convinced that it
j is a mistake to depend on Western and Northr
I ern markets for their daily consumption, and
3: for nearly everything which goes to make life
31 tolerable. But the elders, grounded by a lifet
time of habit in the methods which served
3' them well under a slave regime, but which are
r ruiuous now-a-days, will never correct theras
selves. They will continue to bewail the un
fortunate fate to which they think themselves
t condemned?or will rest assured that they
r: can do very well in the present chaotic conII
dition of things, provided Providence docs not
t! allow their crops to Jail. They cannot be
3 brought to see that their only safety lies in
i making cotton their surplus crop ; mat iney
- must absolutely dig their sustenance, as well
1 as their riches, out of the ground. Before the
2 I war, a planter who owned a plantation of two
1 j thousand acres, and two hundred negroes
-: upon it, would, when he came to make his
2 i Jauuary settlement with his merchant in town,
2 invest whatever there was to his credit in
. more land and more negroes. Now the more
2 land he buys the worse he is off, because he
i finds it very hard to get it worked up to the
-; old standard, and unless he does, he can ill
1 afford to buy supplies from the world at the
- heavy prices charged for them?or if he can
! do that, lie can accomplish little else. As
2 most of his capital was taken from him by
2 the series of events which liberated his slaves,
1 he has been compelled, since the war, to un
dertake his planting operations on borrowed
capital, or, in other words, has relied on a mer
| chant or middle man to furnish food and ! i
clothing for his laborers and all the means j1
necessary to get his crop, baled and weighed, j i
to the market. The failure of his crop would, 11
of course, cover him with liabilities; but such j 1
has been his fatal persistence in this false sys- j <
tern that he has been able to struggle through,, 1
as in Alabama, three successive crop failutes.;
The merchant, somewhat reconciled to the; i
: anomalous condition of affairs by the large j 1
| profits he can make on coarse goods brought j ]
' long distances, has himself pushed endurance j i
and courage to an extreme point, and when t
he dare give credit no longer, hosts of plant-1 <
I ers are often placed in the most painful and j I
i embarrassing po litions. So they gather up <
the wrecks of th< ir fortunes, pack their Lares [ <
and Penates in an emigrant wagon or car, and j <
doggedly work their way to Texas.?Scrib- ner's
Monthly.
THE DEFECTIVE Si'OJE. m
I "Don't put iu that stone," said oue mason !'
I to another as they were working together on J
the rear wall of a church. "Can't you see !
I it's of a poor quality, all flakey, and will scale to
pieces?" '
"It isn't a very good grade I see, but it fits \
| in here, and I don't want to wait for another.
Besides, you can't see it from the ground, and 1
nobody will take the trouble to climb up here 1
to look at it." 1
"You'd better send for another block. That j
isn't for the wall. It won't stand the weather, '
and if it should go to pieces, it would damage 1
the whole building."
"I guess it won't damage me nor you either,
so here it goes."
And he lifted the loose-grained, flakey free- 1
stone into its bed, though the outer shell
cracked and the shell sloughed off. He 1
dashed over it a trowelful of mortar, and 1
went on with the next tier. Nobody could
see the defective stone, for it was covered by ,
a projecting buttress, and only the two masons
were present when it was laid. But 1
though unseen it was unsafe, and time brought
about its own results. Every sunbeam loosened
its texture a little, every storm helped to 1
crumble off a minute fragment, and little by j
little, after many years, the stone crumbled
away. This was bad enough, but that was '
* T1 ' kaoma rJt ^
[ DOC &!! JLC CD&HU6U LUUt iiju gicau uv-uuju v*
the church rested a few tiers directly over the J
defective block, and as the stoue decayed the
beam sank a little. Presently a crack opened
in the ceiling, disfiguring the frescoe painting, 1
and the crack led to a leak, letting in the rain. 1
And then at last the worthless block fell out, !
the beam dropped down, the roof sank in, J
and the church was no longer fit for use, until '
after the loss of much time, and the expenditure
of much money, a new roof was built,
and a new block inserted in the wall. It was
only a small defect, but it did much damage 1
in the end.
There is a structure which everybody is
building, young and old, each for himself. It 1
is called character, and in every act of life is ;
a stone. If day by day we are careful to
build our lives with pure, noble, upright deeds,
at the end will stand a fair temple, honored '
by God and man. But as one leak will sink
a ship, and one flaw break a chain, so one
mean, dishonored, untruthful act or word will
^ ' a? ? ?mim /\Un no /lfofo
iorever jeave ius lunueuue uu uui tuaiui>mo.
Then let the several deeds unite to form a
perfect day, add one by one as the days grow
into noble years, and the years, as they pass,
will raise at last into a beautiful edifice, ending
forever to our praise.?Land Mark.
True Pride.?A young man named Parks,
from Worcester, entered the store of the Lawrences
in Boston, and found Amos in the office.
He represented himself as having just
commenced business, and desired to purchase
a lot of goods. He had recommendations as
to character from several influential citizens
of Worcester, but none touching his business
standing or capacity. The merchant listened
to bis story, and at its close shook his head.
I have no doubt, he said kindly, that you
have full taitn in your aDiniy 10 promptly
meet the obligations you would now assume ;
I have no knowledge of your tact or capacity,
as you are just launching out on the sea of
business, and I should be doing you a great
injustice toallow you to contract a debt which
I did not feel assured you could pay at the
proper time.
But Mr. Lawrence liked the appearance of
the young man, and finally told him that he
would let him have what goods he could pay
for at the cost of manufacture, about ten per
cent less than the regular wholesale price.
The bill was made out and paid, and the clerk
asked where the goods should be sent.
I will take them myself, said the purchaser.
You will find them rather heavy, suggested
; the clerk, smiling.
Never mind; 1 am strong, and the stage
! .-.ffina i'q nnt forowqu nnH he^idpH T have noth
I UIUV-V/ ig UUU iMi <1 Km J J V... V. .
ing else to occupy my time.
But, said the clerk, expostulating, it is
hardly in keeping with your position to be
shouldering such ponderous bodies through
the city.
There you mistake, replied the young man,
with simple candor. My position just now is
one in which I must help myself, if I would
be helped at all. I am not ashamed to carry
anything which I honestly possess, nor am I
ashamed of the strength which enables me to
bear this heavy burden.
Thus speaking, he shouldered a large bun/llo
anrl VinH tnrnpd tnwjird the outer door
| when Mr. Lawrence, who from his office had
I overheard the conversation, called him back.
Mr. Parks, I have concluded to let you
' have what goods you want on time. Select
! at your pleasure.
You have the true pride for a successful
merchant, sir, pursued Lawrence, aud I shall
I be much disappointed if you do not prosper.
| Amos Lawrence was not disappointed.
| Within fifteen years from that time Samuel
! Parks was himself established on Milk street, |
| one of the most enterprising and successful
j merchants in Boston.
Don't?Pj.ease Don't.?Don't tell the j
! little one, who may be slightly willful, that j
i "the black man will come out of the dark j
! ,m,i niii-rv ir off if it. does not mind." ,
' Don't create a needless fear to go with the j
; child through all the stages of its existence. ]
Don't tell the little five-year old Jimmy i
| "the school ma'am will cutoff his ears"?"pull I
j out his teeth"?"tie him up"?or any of the ]
! horrible stories that are commouly presented i
I to the childish imagination. Think you the \
I little one will believe anything you tell him
| after he becomes acquainted with the gentle i
: teacher who has not the least idea of putting j i
! those terrible threats into execution ?
Don't tell the children they must not drink j
tea because it will make them black, while (
you continue the use of it daily. Your exam- i
pie is more to them than precept; and while .
your face is as fair as a June morning, they j
j will scarcely credit the oft-told tale. Either j
give up drinking the pleasant beverage or | ]
, give your children a better reason for its nou- ]
use. ! j
Don't tell them they must not eat sugar or j
. t. ?:ii I.
sweei-meais, uucuuse n win iui iuch tc^ui. ( j
Pure sugar does not cause the teeth to decay; j (
' and sugar with fruits is nutritious and healthy, j
1 notwithstanding the "old saw" to the contrary.,
The case of city children is often cited as if the i
j cause of their pale faces and slight constitu-1 1
tion were an over amount of sweetmeats with t
their diet, when the actual cause is want of i i
pure air and proper exercise. i
Don't tell the sick one that the medicine is )
not bad to take, when you can hardly keep I
I your own stomach from turning "inside out" j
it the smell of it. Better by far to tell him i
;he simple truth, that it is disagreeable, but i
accessary for his health, and you desire him 1 s
;o take it at once. Ten to one he will swal- j i
low it with half the trouble of coaxing and ; <
worry of words, and love you better for your j i
irra, decided manner.
Don't teach the children by example to tell 1
white lies to each other and to their neigh- i
aors. Guard lips and bridle your tongue if i
pou desire to have the coming generation <
;ruthful. Truthfulness is one of the founda- s
;ion stones of heaven. Remember the old, f \
)ld Book says, "no liar" shall enter within (
;he gates of the beautiful city. There is no j
distinction between white lies and those of a i
lark hue. The falsehood is an untruth, (
11 n ? .
whether the matter tie great or sman.?iwtui,
New Yorker.
A Stratagem on the Scaffold.?A Paris
jorrespondent relates the following story about
;he great-grandmother of the Polish Prince
Lubomirski, "who writes so cleverly and
shatters so incessantly"This unfortunate
Princess remained in Paris during the Reign
)f Terror, imagining that her foregin nationality
would save her from the guillotine.
The unhappy lady, who was very beautiful,
made a mistake. She had been the intimate
Friend of Princess Lamballe, and was arrested
3n a groundless suspicion of being in correspondence
with the Austrian Government, and
hurried off to execution on the day following
that which saw Madame Roland perish.
Princess Lubomirski had one little daughter,
which she wished to embrace before she died.
A faithful nurse brought the child in her
arms, and, at the risk of her own life, to the
very foot of the scaffold. The wretched
mother, wishing that her little one should be
recognized in after years by the Lubomirski
family, and not being allowed to write to i
them, imagined the following means of ident- ;
ifying her orphan daughter: Stooping down,
she dipped her finger in tne Diooa 01 a victim i
who had just perished, and wrote these words
in big letters on a scrap of her linen: 'The
child with the letters L. B. scratched on its
arm is ray daughter, Princess Lubomirski.' '
Then taking a pin she scratched the initials i
on the arm of her child, embraced it, and a <
few moments afterward laid her head under i
the knife. The nurse, when the Reign of
Terror was over, took the child to Poland,
where, being recognized by her mother's i
family, in the course of years she married her <
cousin, Prince Ladislas Lubomirski. The present
Prince has often seen the initial scar on
his grand-mother's arm. The old lady only
iied a few years ago."
A Suggestion for the Lunch Fiends.?
An enterprising genius recently perpetrated a :
mean but clever trick on the Parisian restau
^ 1 !
rateurs. He set out to get a nrst-ciass dinner
without paying for it. Having procured a
quantity of cockroaches he killed them by i
immersing them in boiling .water, and with
the lifeless remains of his victims tied up in >
his handkerchief he sallied forth in quest of
a dinner. Entering the Cafe Brebant he took ?
a seat and ordered some soup. The soup was
brought in its neat little plated tureen, and
the hungry customer proceeded to ladle out
a plateful of it, which he consumed with
much appetite. Having nearly finished his
soup he watched his opportunity, popped one
fKn fnroon flipn
Ui II19 UUUlfcl uauuco lUbU nuv VUIVVU) ...VM
screamed for the waiter. The waiter came,
and with speechless indignation the rascal
pointed to the defunct insect. "Bring the
proprietor!" at last he gasped. "I will complain?I?."
For Heaven's sake, be silent,
sir," whispered the waiter; "you will ruin the
reputation of the house. Of course we will
charge you nothing for the dish, and if you
will only say nothing?." "Ah?well?in
that case?but I can eat nothing more here.
I am too sick. Good morning!" So off
went the gentleman, followed by a storm of
apologies from the repentant waiter. He
proceeded to the Maison Doree, and ordered
a dish of fish, which he obtained on the like
cheap terras. The Cafe Anglaise supplied
him a roast, the Cafe Riche with fowl and
salad, and he wound up his day's campaign
with some ices and cakes at the Cafe Neapolitaine.
When the waiters of the different
cafes began to compare notes, of course, the
trick was discovered, but it was then too late
to punish the adroit swindler.
Frightening Children.?The greatest
difficulty in the way of properly rearing children
is that their elders forget that they were
ever children themselves. Parents, with all j
their love and tenderness, are often so unmindful
of the extreme sensibility of their offspring
that they think to amuse by frightening
them. This is like tickling them with a needle;
it is all pain and no pleasure. Because
a fright is intended to be a joke, it is no reason
that it is so understood, especially by the
little folks, who are altogether literalists.
Nothing can be worse for a child than to
frighten it. The effect of the scare it is
slow to recover from; it remains sometimes
until maturity, as is shown by many instances
of morbid sensitiveness and excessive nervousness.
Not unfrequently, fear is employed as a
means of discipline. Children are controlled
by being made to believe that something terrible
will happen to them ; are punished by
being shut up in dark rooms, or by being put i
in places they stand in dread of. No one,
without vivid memory of his own childhood
can comprehend how entirely cruel such things
are. We have often heard grown persons tell
of the suffering they have endured, as children, 1
under like circumstances, and recount the ir- 1
reparable injury which they are sure they '
then received. No parent, no nurse, capable (
of alarming the young, is fitted for her posi- '
tion. Children, as near as possible, should
be trained not to know the sense of fear, which, '
above everything else, is to be feared, in their '
l I- -.L 1? _ _ J (
education ootn cany mm mie.
Don't be Too Sensitive.?There are some <
people, yes, many people, always looking out 1
for slights. They cannot carry on the daily
intercourse of the family without some offense i
is designed. They are as touchy as hair-trig- i
gers. If they meet an acquaintance in the ]
street who happens to be preoccupied with ;
business, they attribute his abstraction to some i
mode personal to themselves, and take um-! i
brage accordingly. They lay on others the ''
fact of their irritability. A fit of indigestion 1
makes them see impertinence in every one i
they come in contact with. Innocent persons j.
who never dreamed of giving offense are as- j
tonished to find some unfortunate word or j <
momentary taciturnity mistaken for an insult. ' <
To say the least, the habit is unfortunate. It ] is
far wiser to take a more charitable view of i
3ur fellow-beings, and not suppose a slight in- '
tended unless the neglect is open and direct, j '
After all, too, life takes its hues in a great de-!?
^ree, from the color of our mind. If we are
frank and generous the world treats us kindly, j
[f, on the contrary, we are suspicious, men j ]
learn to be cold and cautious to us. Let a J
person get the reputation of being touchy, 1
ind everybody is under more or less constraint 1
uid in this way the chances of an imaginary (
jfleuse are vastly increased.
The Sweetness of Home.?He who has
10 home has not the sweetest pleasure of life; j
lefeels not the endearments cluster around 1
hat hallowed spot to fill the void of his ach- j i
ng heart, and while away his leisure moments ; i
u the sweetest of life's joys. Is misfortune j 1
rour lot, you will find a friendly welcome from
learts beating true to your own. The chosen
lartner to your toil has a smile of approbation i:
,vhen others have deserted, a nana 01 nope h
vhen all others refuse, and a heart to feel your
lorrows as her own. Perhaps a smiling cher- 9
ip with prattling glee and joyous laugh, will 9
Irive all sorrow from your brow, and inclose
t in the wreaths of domestic bliss. I
No matter how humble that home may be, I
?? 1
low destitute its stores, or now puuriy iw mn?es
are clad ; if true hearts dwell there, it
s yet a home?a cheerful, prudent wife, obclient
and affectionate children, will give poslessors
more real joy than bags of gold and
vindy honors. The home of a temperate, inlustrious
and honest man will be his greatest
oy. He comes to it weary and worn, but the
nusic of the merry laugh and the happy voices
>f childhood cheer him. A plain but healthy
neal awaits him. Envy, ambition and strife
lave no place there, and with a clear conicience
he lays his weary limbs down to rest
n the bosom of his family, and under the proecting
care of the poor man's friend and
lelper.
? +
Type in a Newspaper.?The Poughkeeplie
Eagle, in an article on "how mistakes happen
in newspapers," figures up the number of
type used in a newspaper the size of the Eagle
it 600,000, i. e., the actual number of bits of
netal arranged and rearranged every day in
preparing a newspaper of that size for the
press.
In making type, variations that might be
illowed in the finest machinery would render
the type useless. It is very rare that type
furnished by two separate foundries can be
jsed together without a great deal of trouble,
though they try to make it after the same
standard.
We read, once in a while, of a wonderful
piece of cabinet work, or mosaic work, containing
ten, twenty, or fifty thousand pieces,
the maker of which hasspent months or even
years of labor in producing it; and people go
to see it as a great curiosity ; out tne raosi k
elaborate and carefully-fitted piece of work of I
this kind ever made does not compare with 1
that which the' printer does every day, for I
minuteness of detail and accuracy of fitting. 1
The man who does the first is looked upon as I
an artist?a marvel of skill?and if a hun- I
dred of his pieces are put in wrong side up, I
or turned the wrong way, it is not oDserved in I
the general effect; but if the printer, in fit- I
ting ten times as many pieces together in a I
single day, puts one where another should be, I
or turns one the wrong way, everybody sees it, I
and is amazed at the stupid carelessness of I
Ihose printers." I
Look After the Eyes.?Multitudes of I
men and women have made their eyes weak I
for life by the too free use of eyesight, read- I
ing too fine print and doing fine sewing. In I
view of these things it is well to observe the I
following rules in the use of the eyes: I
Avoid all sudden changes between light and I
darkness. I
Never read by twilight or on a very cloudy I
day. I
Never sleep so that on waking the eyes shall I
open on the light of the window. I
Do not use eyesight by light so scaDt that I
it requires an effort to discriminate. |
Never read or sew directly in front of the I
light of the window. I
It is best to have the light from above, or I
obliquely, or over the left shoulder. I
Too much light creates a glare, and pains I
and confuses the sight. The moment you are I
sensible of an effort to distinguish, that mo- I
ment stop and talk, walk or ride. a
As the sky is blue and the earth green, it I
would seem that the ceiling should be of a I
bluish tinge, the carpet green, and the walls I
of some mellow tint. |
The moment you are instinctively inclined I
to rub the eyes, that moment cease to use I
them. |
If the eyelids are glued together on waking I
do not forcibly open them ; but apply saliva I
with the finger, and then wash your eyes and I
face with warm water. I
A Truthful Sketch.?Let a man fail in I
business, what an effect it has on his former I
creditors ! Men who have taken him by the I
arm, laughed and chatted with him by the I
hour, shrug their shoulders and pass on with 1
a cold "?low do you ao r
Every trifle of a bill is hunted up and presented
that would not have seen light for
months to come, but for the misfortunes of
the debtor. If it is paid, well and good ; if
not, the scowl of the Sheriff, perhaps, meets
him at the corner. A man that has never
failed knows but little of human nature.
In prosperity he sails along gently, wafted
by favoring smiles and kind words from everybody.
He prides himself on his name and
spotless character, and makes his boast that
hp has rmt an enemv in the world. Alas I the
change. He looks at the world in a different
light when reverses come upon him. He reads
suspicion on every brow. He hardly knows
how to move; or to do this thing or the other;
there are spies about him, a writ is ready for
his back. To know what kind of stuff the
world is made of, a person must be unfortunate,
and stop paying once in his lifetime.
If he has kind friends, then they are made
manifest. A failure is a moral seive; it brings
out the wheat and shows the chaff. A man
thus learns that words and pretended good
will are not and do not constitute real friendship.
?
Explanation of Blushing.?An emotion?sometimes
pleasurable, sometimes painful?takes
possession of the mind, and thereupon
a hot flush is felt, the skin grows hot,
a/tstrtrrlinr* tVio l'nfonqifv nf t.llfl emotion.
!?.!? "VW.Umg ?vr *?w j ,
these changes are confined to the cheek only,
or extend to the "roots of the hair," or "all
aver."
What is the cause of these changes ? The
blood is a red and hot fluid; the skin reddens
and grows hot because its vessels suddenly
contain an increased quantity of this red and
hot fluid; and its vessels contain more because
the small arteries suddenly dilate, the natural
contraction of their muscles being superseded
by a state of relaxation. On the other hand,
in many people extreme terror causes the skin
to grow cold, and the face to appear pale and
pinched. Under these circumstances the supply
of blood to the skin is greatly diminished
in consequence of an excessive stimulation of
the nerves of the small arteries, which causes
them to contract, and so cut off the supply of
blood.
Refusing a Large Fee.?Velpeau, the
French surgeon, had successfully performed,
Dn a little child five years old, a most perilous
jperation^ The mother, says the New York
Medical Record, came to mm ana saia :
"Monsieur, my sou is saved, aud I really
know not bow to express my gratitude. Allow
me, however, to present this pocket-book,
jmbroidered by my own hands."
"Oh, madame," replied Velpeau, sharply,
'my art is not merely a question of feeling.
My life has its requirements like yours.
Dress, even, which is a luxury to you, is
lecessary for me. Allow me, therefore, to 1
efuse your charming little present in exihange
for a more substantial remuneration."
"But, monsieur, what remuneration do you
lesire ? Fix the fee yourself."
"Five thousand francs, madame."
The lady very quietly opened the pocket)ook,
which contained ten thousand francs in
- ?j _A. k.Mi.
loies, counted oui nve, uuu unci jjuiucijt uauung
them over to Velpeau, retired. Imagine
lis feeling !
J6T The grace of God in the heart of man
s a tender plant in a strange, unkindly soil. V