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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j ^n fitbtptnbcirf Jfamilg ftetospajitr: Jfor f|t |)romofion of t|)t political, facial, ^gricnlinral anb Commercial Interests of tjje j$ont|. | TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. ' -- ' ' ? ' ' ? ' ? "VOL. 23. YOBKVILLE, S. C., THUESDAY, JTJJS'E 7. 1877. STO. 33. h Original foetrg. For the Yorkville Enquirer. FLOW ON, S^EET STREAM. BY WHO. Flow on, sweet stream, forever flow, Through shady groves and fragrant vales; I like to list to the songs so low, You inurmar to the evening gales. It grew quite familiar to mine ear While wandering oft with a dear friend here! Flow on, dear stream, and never tire; Aye! glide on, rejoicing every day, Till the fountains at your head expire, Or all have passed from earth away. Thus sped the life of my heart's best friend, Who found heaven at her journey's end. Flow on, loyed stream, make no delay, But ever singing, forward move In gentle sweetness by night and day, Dispensing new life where'r you rove. So passed through earth and away from care, The one I loved above all others dear. Flow on, bright stream, forever now ; Your sad, sweet song delights mine ear, As hastening on through time you go, Unburdened by one thought of care. Nor is there ajoy more dear to me Than to muse and wander along with thee. Flow on, lone stream, your evening star ^ Shall light the pathway that you roam, And when you've crossed the earth's last bar, Then smile you to your ocean home. But I must mourn, by your waters blue, The loss of her who to my own heart grew ! Flow on, flow on, brave stream, in pride; There is no power in thy waves That can bear off on thy glimmering tide, The spell that memory's hand engraves. The record of one so pure and true Shall ever last while run thy waters blue. Yes, flow gently to thy ocean grave, And whisper to the yearning sea, While echo chants it from each wave, No joy on earth from sin more free, Than that, here, two loving hearts onoe knew, When plighted first by thy waters blue! Flow on, then, constant stream, flow on, That I, in your bright waves, may see Reflected back the graceful form Of her I loved so tenderlyGlowing with life in every part As fondniem'ry keeps her in my heart! Flow with my blessings on thy breast; The hand that guides thee to the main Shall lead me to a land of rest Where hearts shall meet with hearts again? My home, whence shadowy forms I view, Now reflected in thy waters blue. Yes, glide onward, forever flow, T> Klnm nf fhft invs ahnVfl. Lll i^UV VIUWIVtM V4 VMV ? . -y Where hopes to full fruition grow And ever exposed in purest love By life's sweet stream that's ever new And purer than thy waters blue! jtn Anginal JFtorjr. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. JULIAN MORTILLE'S BRIDE; OR, THE POWER OF LOVE. CHAPTER XIX. CONCLUSION. While the events last recorded were taking place, Major Lyndhurst's health had been improving ; and feeling great anxiety concerning Evelyn, from whom he had not heard for a considerable time, be determined, though he could not travel himself, to dispense with Roger's attendance, and sent him to inquire after her welfare. Roger gladly undertook the journey ; and arrived at the door of Evelyn's quondam residence on the very day af -- n ? i it_ J__ _ I ter her disappearance, to nna ner muuiauy in i a state of much disturbance, aud quite una- | ble to give him any information concerning her. "She went off to the jail yesterday evening, sir, in a carriage. It was quite uncommon, for she's always been in the habit of going there in the morning, which she did every Thursday, regular, poor dear, never missing the privilege of seeing her husband, as was natural ; but last night she didn't come back, and I got awful worried about it, and sat up until eleven, expecting her, though I knew the jail was locked up at nine. I couldn't go to see after her, sir, because I darseu't leave ray little children alone in the house ; and so I've just been tormented in my mind ever since, not knowing any more than a babe unborn what's become of her?and a nicer young lady, I'm sure, was never seen." Martin hurried offto the jail in great alarm. ? ' . t t / J .1 - . T I When he got mere ne iouna mat uunau | had escaped, that Lindsay was missing, and j that suspicion attached to the latter of having ; |HB abetted the prisoner's flight. He also learned that Evelyn had been discovered making her way out of the jail yard in the night, and had been tracked to her residence on the next street, where she was at present under arrest. "Under arrest!" exclaimed Roger. "Why I've just been to her residence and she's not there. Nobody knows anything at all about her." "I reckon you went to the wrong place," was the reply; and being directed to the house where Evelyn had actually gone, the old man set off anew on his quest. Perceiving the guard at the door, he merely inquired, when hia knock was answered, for the mistress of the house, and being admitted into the parlor, and making sure that he could not be overheard, he proceeded to question Dick's sister, who finding him a friend, told him all she knew of the circumstances of Evelyn's escape. "I can't at all inform you where they're gone," she said, "for my brother kept very dark about it, which was all right, of course, lest I might be questioned ; and if they come to search for her, which I'm expecting now every minute, and find her off, I'm to know nothing about it when I'm asked. You see they think she's all safe here, so they're easy enough about her. My brother said he thought he'd be back in ten days or a couple of weeks. I wanted him to stay away longer, for fear he'd be arrested, too ; but he said I should never j fear, he knew well enough what he was about, i Do you think he'd be imprisoned, if they ! found what he'd done?" On this point Roger could give her no in- j formation, and indeed he was too much tor* mented by anxiety about Evelyn to be able i to think of anything else. That she had | gone to join her husband he felt little doubt; j but knowing nothing of the measures taken j for her safety, he could not judge whether or 1 not it was probable that she would be able to attain her object To endure the suspense he now felt, for ten days or a fortnight longer, seemed an impossibility; yet there was absolutely nothing else to be done. He felt it to be his duty to let Major Lyndhurst know the i state of affairs ; but, unwilling to agitate him in his still feeble condition, he wrote to Rose, in whose discretion he knew he could confide, telling her all that he had learned, and leaving her to impart to her father as much or as little of this information as she should judge him able to bear. * * * * * * To return now to Julian, whom we last parted from at the door of his cell, in the arms of his friend, Lindsay. So effectually had the chloroform employed by the latter j done its work, that it was some hours before ! he recovered consciousness. When he did so, j he found himself still in his strange dress, be- | ing driven rapidly along in a close carriage in compkny with a man whom he recognized as having once or twice before seen him, though he could not remember where. "Feel better now, sir?" asked this individual, whose name was Burton, as he perceived that his charge had opened his eyes. "Wheream I?" was Julian's counter-inquiry. He tried to raise himself to a more erect posture as he spoke, but feeling dizzy and confused, sank back again directly. "In a carriage, sir, which is taking you and me to a safe place, as fast as it can. We are not more than ten miles now from the coast, and by sunrise we will be aboard a steamer, and off to Sail LMego. uo you rememiwr nothing of last night, sir ?" "I remember," said Julian, pressing his band to his brow, "something of a visit from ray wife?and from Lindsay, at au unusual hour. Tell me," he added suddenly, "is my wife safe ? Where is she ?" "Oh ! she's safe, never fear," said Burton, confidently. "She stopped in your place a little while, you know, till you were well out of the way; then Lindsay had it all fixed for ber to get off, too. She will join us in San Diego, where I mean to stay with you till she comes, and see you both safely off somewhere. If you take ray advice, you will embark on a China ship and go to Australia?it's your safest plan." "This dress !" said Julian, giving it an impatient jerk. "Can't I get rid of it uow ? If I had kept ray senses, I never would have had it put on." "Everybody knew that," said Burton, "and that's why you were chloroformed. Just be patient a little longer, if you can. This disguise has been your salvation, and you ought not to be so anxious to get rid of it. When we come to a place that I consider safe, I'll consent to your putting it off." "I'm not going on any vessel with it on? that you may rest assured of," said Julian, positively. Hi9 anxiety and discomfort were so great that as yet he could feel no sentiment of joy at his deliverance, or gratitude to those who had been the instruments of accomplishing it. He was distracted by fears for Eve lyu, and asked hiscorapanion a hundred ques-1 tions concerning her, which the latter partly evaded, partly answered at random, since he could really give him no definite information. Burton was rejoiced at last when they reached their stopping place, a little lonely, uninhabited bouse which had once been a sort of inn, but now stood empty and deserted, looking out from a nook in a wall of rock over the blue ocean, which beat upon a strip of shelly beach about twenty yards off. Here they alighted, and here, to Julian's relief, he was allowed to divest himself of his inconveuient attire, which, for prudence sake, Burton rolled up in a bundle and buried iu the sand. He then drew from his overcoat pocket a smaller parcel, which he opened, and half laughing, showed Julian the coutents. "Disguise No. 2," he said, holding up a browu curly wig, with a flowing beard attached to it. "With this on, I doubt if Lindsay, himself, could recognize you." "I will uot put it on," said Julian. "I am sick and ashamed of traveling over the country in masquerading dress. It makes me feel too cowardly." "Nonsense! mv dear sir. It is not a aues tion of cowardice, but simple precaution," said Burton. "Recollect all you have is at stake. It is your duty to provide for your safety on your wife's account, if not on your own. Think what her situation would be if you were re-captured, and all for a piece of obstinacy on your part." This argument had the desired effect, and Julian submitted, without farther opposition, to his companion's will. So completely was he transformed hy the disguise, which Burton arranged so as to have the most natural effect, that it only needed the addition, which was also at hand, of a pair of near-sighted glasses, to make it utterly impossible that his most intimate friends should discover his identity. They then walked about a mile farther, and came, just as the sun was rising, to a cove where a small steamer lay at anchor, waiting for them. On this they embarked, and, after a voyage of the ordinary length, arrived safely at their destination?San Diego. "Where do we go now ?" asked Julian. "To a certain hotel with which I am ac?1:~J D.. quainieu, icpweu uunuu. voncu a iiuici, at least, though the accommodations are of the most primitive kind. I dare say you will not mind being a little uncomfortable for a few days, since the end to be attained will more than justify the means." "If the end is ever attained," said Julian. "Still doubting!" said Burton. "Well, Mrs. Morville will appear on the scene in a day or two, and then everything will be right." "Heaven grant she may! But tell me, how will she find me out?" "I'll arrange that," said Burton. "Just you make yourself easy, and have no fears." To make himself easy was to Julian an impossibility. But he did his best to appear j tranquil during the period of suspense and ' inactivity thus forced upon him. It proved ; longer than he had anticipated; and when ! several days had elapsed, and still no tidings ! reached him of his wife, he became a prey to ' apprehension of the most painful kind. Burton was sitting one afternoon on the ' beach, in a station which he frequently occupied for the purpose of keeping watch, when he spied a lumbering-looking craft, freighted with merchandise of some sort, slowly making her way iu to the shore. He waited until she was almost within hailing distance, * -i M _ A; M ana tnen, wun a vague expeemuuu stirring within him, rose aud walked forward to watch ; her come into port. Ten minutes more, and she was made fast to the little wharf, where some loungers had | gathered to meet her. Presently appeared a ' stout, ruddy-looking young fellow, coming out J of the cabin with a slim woman's form cling-1 ing to his arm. As Burton's gaze lit on the j pair, he started, aud could scarcely repress an ; exclamation of joy; but remembering the ne- I cessity for caution, he restrained himself, and j waited quietly until they had come on shore. I ???? Then stepping up to the young man's Bide he ( whispered a few words iu his ear. Dick Merton?for it was none other than he?answered in the same tone, and Burton then left them and walked toward the hotel, they going in the same direction, and keeping him in view, though without any appearance of following him. I Julian was pacing his room like a caged < lion ; when his traveling companion entered, | his eager manner and excited look announc- t ing him as the bearer of good news. Julian i sprang forward and clutched him by the arm, 1 exclaiming, incoherently, as he did so? i "What is it? You have beard. Has she | come? Tell me, Burton, quick, for God's | sake!" i "Hush?be composed, my dear boy," said j his protector, kindly pressing his band. "Yes, \ she has come?she will be here in five min- ] "1?' mKof a rn vnil 1 U IBS IILUC. UCUUJI, ^CUUJ nuut HIV JW J about ?" j I "Pulling this confounded thing off," said Julian, tearing at his wig and beard, and flinging them as far from him as the narrow space enclosed by the four walls would permit. "You don't expect me to meet her in them, do you ?" He was ready to fly through the door, the window, anywhere, to meet Evelyn, but Burton restrained him ; and presently the door opened, and the face he loved most in the world smiled in, like an angel's, upoo him. The other faces somehow melted out of view ; and those two, re-united after all their perils, with no eye to intrude upon the sacredness of their meeting, tasted in that supreme moment a joy so perfect, so deep, as more than compensated for the prolonged anguish they had both endured. ********* One more glimpse at the personages who have chiefly figured in this history, and we have done. Two years have passed away. Julian and Evelyn are living peaceably in a lovely Australian home, where they took up their abode when first they sought refuge from pursuit, and which has become so endeared to them that they do not contemplate ever seeking another. With them resides Major Lyndhurst. He has abandoned his once cherished scheme of re-purchasing his English homestead, being content to end his days under the roof of these two whom he so dearly loves. Rose is not with them. She married, about twelve months since, a young Englishman of noble birth, and with him has returned to her ? native land. Old Roger accompanied them, feeling a yearning to see the "old country" once again, since his master needed his services no more, and died a few weeks after he set foot on her soil, being ministered to by Rose, with faithfulness and affection, up to the last hour of his life. A formal pardon was accorded to Julian by the Governor of California, on the presentation of a petition, signed by many influential names, by Major Lyndhurst himself, who succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, in which he aroused the Governor's sympathy by a full account of all the touching circumstances connected with his daughter's marriage and separation from her husband, as well as a more complete history of his son in law's early life than he had yet heard. None of them cared, however, even after all danger was over, to prolong their stay in the scene of their disasters. Evelyn and her husband were already far away, and the rest of the household followed them as soon as the ranch was sold and Major Lyndhurst's business affairs properly settled. Evelyn never knew, until sh^ had been settled for some time in her new home, that her husband's real name was Manvers, not Morville. Nor could she become reconciled to the change, until the birth of a beautiful boy impressed upon her the expediency of no longer adhering to an assumed name, and especially one upon which for a time so dark a shadow had rested. It is a delicious Spring afternoon. Julian and Evelyn are sitting in their verandah, surrounded by a wealth of tropical bloom. ^ Little Leonard (the only one of the two Leon- j ards ever called by the name) sprawls on the soft grass just iu front, guarded by a black r nurse, who watches his frolics with delight. Birds sing in a wild, sweet chorus all around t and about thera. Subtle perfumes float on ( the air, whose languor is tempered by a soft, r light breeze. Every sense is soothed by Nature's aspect. But something more than the charms of flowers and song, and tender breeze, ^ steals into the heart of the young pair, filling them with a peace too J^ep for expres- f sion, a gratitude too profound for speech. In 11 the love they bear each other, and the many a blessings they enjoy, they must have been c happy, even had their happiness not been en- D hanced by contrast with past grief. But it never could have been as supreme as it now is, but for the remembrance of an escaped peril?a doom too dreadful for utterance? 0 which might have been theirs, but which, 0 through the mercy of Heaven, has passed c away out of their lives. g [the end.] c v Cossack Cavalry.?What part the fa- f moua Cossack cavalry will take in the present { war remains to be seen, but they have always cut an important figure in all of Russia's wars for the last 200 years. It is not unlikely that if the Russian military system is developed, v and stricter discipline is introduced, the Cossacks of the Don will gradually lose their dis- g tinctive military character. They seem to c hold some such relation to the Russian army c that the Bashi Bazourks do to the Turkish forces?a kind of irregular troop. Their 8 warfare is of the guerrilla order, they being * invaluable as scouts, annoying an array, pick- ^ ing off stragglers, and doing the "bummer" a business of fighting. The Cossacks are as a t general thing small men, dressed in heavy shirts, loose, baggy trousers, cloaks and sheep- j skin cap3, and armed with pikes, swords and 1 carbines. They are mounted on small horses,!8 with short stirrups, bringing the knees well ! ^ up. Their appearance is anything but mar-11 tial, and their discipline is nominal; but they j 1 sometimes do terrible execution, as the bro-1 r ken fragments of Napoleon's army on its re- j t treat from Moscow so fearfully realized. The ^ horses ot these troopers are capaoie or great : endurance, their pace being a gallop, which , c they are able to maintain even over ground almost impassible to other kinds of horses, for e an incredible length of time. Besides, they | will subsist upon the merest trifle of suste-1 nance. It makes little difference to the Cos-: r sacks whether they are advancing or retreat- i 1 ing. Appeariug now on the flank, now at s the rear of the enemy, they improve the j a slightest advantage, and then quickly disap-! c pear. Whoever has read of the manner in ' s which our plain Indians fight on horseback,! \ may get some idea of the mode in which the ! s Cossack cavalry fight. I ? IgfcctHxiefNji ffUadittg. For the Torkville Enquirer. AN INCIDENT OF THE OLDEN TIME. CHARLEY POLK. Among the families that came South from .he northern colonies, was one by the name )f Polk. This family bore a conspicuous part during the Revolutionary war. It is a lomewhat general opinion that the Polk famly, or families, settled in what is now Mecklenburg county, North Carolina. This adxiits of a doubt. It is true that for sometime previous to the commencement of actual hos;ilities, several of the Polks had been residing n what was afterward called, very appropriitely, the "Hornet nest region." They took in active part in what is known as the "Meekeuburg Convention" movement. Thomas Polk was a member of the "Mecklenburg Committee." It is more than probable, after all, that the Polks 6rst settled in York county, South Car )lina, in what has, for more than a century, seen known as the Bethel settlement. We ake it that the Polks were Scotch-Irish, or it least, in some way linked up with the Scotch-Irish settlers of Mecklenburg, North Carolina, and the Bethel settlement in South Carolina. Here, it may be said, that the Bethel settlement once was very extensive, [t embraced nearly the wholr* of the present :ounty of York, north of Yorkville. In fact, t extended below Yorkville. From the Ca;awba, it extended westward to the spurs of King's Mountain. On the road leading from Yorkville to King's Mountain, nine miles from the former ilace, Ezekiel Polk once lived. The land low belongs, in part at least, to the heirs of William McGill, deceased. Traces of the >ld homestead are still visible. It is in a duster of pines to the right of the road, four >r five hundred yards north of the residence >f Thad. McMackin. Col. Thos. Polk lived >n Fishing creek, in York county, the precise pot we have thus far been unable to ferret >ut with accuracy. Another of the Polks lettled in the north-west corner of York couny, on Buffalo. Amongst the Polks, there was one called Charley. What relation he bore to President Polk, or rather what relation the President >ore to him, we are unable to say, nor does it natter very materially. Possibly, had the President known Charley, it is very probable le would have denied that they were related it all. Charley was known all over the comnuuity by the ugly name of "Devil Charley." tiowever rough and uncouth this name may lound, it was, if all accounts of Charley are rue, very appropriate. One, and only one, incident in his life will >e given to justify the wisdom of those who lick-named Charley. On one occasion Charey and an acquaintance were walking ilong the road, engaged in social conversation. 5oon a traveler was seen a short distance ihead, meeting them. The gentleman was riling in what was then called a gig?a vehicle esembling a modern sulky, but more roomy ind more clumsy. Charley, on getting a ;limps of the man approaching him, said to lis companion, "I am going to make that felow get out and dance." "Do you know lim?" inquired his companion. "No," was the eply, "hut I am going to make him dance my how." "Oh! I would not. Let the man jo on," expostulated his friend. "No," said Charley, "I said I would make him dance, ind I will do it." By this time the traveler had arrived withn the distance when meeting travelers salute a?h other. The gentleman spoke very poitely, and so did both Charley and his com>anioo. "Stop," said Charley, to the man in the jig. "I said I would make you get out of hat gig and dance, and now I am going to do t." The gentleman, in a pleasing and coureous manner, begged that he might be pernitted to continue his journey. "No," said Charley, "you shall dance, and he sooner you get out and go at it the better t will be for you." "Well," said the traveler, "I am in a hury and am a poor dancer, and, besides, I ee you have no music; but if you will pernit me to take off my heavy shoes and pat in a pair of slippers, l nave in tne seal or ny gig, I will gratify you." Unthoughtedly, Charley told him he bad 10 objection to his putting on his slippers. Charley now felt as a man feels on the eve of i grand triumph. He began to laugh witha himself at the ludicrous sight in prospect? , man, with a light pair of slippers on, daning with all his might, without music, in the niddle of the public highway. The gentleman got out of his gig and quitly raised the seat of his vehicle, and instead f taking out a pair of light slippers, he took iut a pair of heavy pistols. The eyes of the nild-voiced stranger now flashed with ven;eance. Charley and his companion were inarmed. The stranger saw this, for both rere in their shirt sleeves. The stalwart rame of "Devil Charley" Polk began to remble. He saw that he had made a fatal Qistake. "Now," said the stranger, "you dance, or I rill blow your brains out." Charley discovered, by the fire of the stran;er's eye and by the vehemence of the tones ?f his voice, that he was not in fun. He neant every word he said. Charley never topped to parley or make excuses, but that le might prevent the stranger from putting lis threat into execution, went to skipping ibout and shaking his feet as briskly as if he tad been at a Christmas frolic. iNo one laughed, no one smnen, no one poke. How the thing would end did not ippear. The brow of the stranger was knit vith indiguation, and with two cocked pistols eveled upon Charley, he stood watching that lis orders were faithfully and to the letter caried out. Charley sweated and danced until he stranger was satisfied. This accomplished, te mounted upon the seat of his gig and Irore off. "Devil Charley" was well pleased that he iscaped with his life. The Dead Sea op America.?There are 10 fishes in the Great Salt Lake. The only iving thing beneath its waters is a worm ibout a quarter of an inch long. This worm hows up beautifully under the lens of a miiroscope. Wheu a storm arises, the worms ire driven ashore by the thousands and de* mured by the black gulls. We found a pure tream pouring into the lake. It was filled ?ith chubs and shiners, ^be became frightened, and were driven down the brook into the briny lake. The instant they touched the waters they came to the surface, belly upward, and died without a gasp. The water is remarkably buoyant. Eggs and potatoes float on it like corks. Mr. Hood and myself stripped and went in swimming. I dived into the lake from a long pier, which had been built for the use of a small steamboat that formerly plied upon the waters. The sensation was novel. The water was so salty that my eyes and ears began to smart, but so buoyant that I found no difficulty in floating, even when the air was exhausted in my lungs. As I struck out on the beach I felt as light as a feather. In spite of all that I could do my head would fly out of the water. The lightness of the water and surging of the waves forced my feet from under me. A person who could not swim might be easily drowned in five feet of water. His head would go down like a lump of lead, while his feet would fly up like a pair of ducks. The water is as clear as Seneca lake?so clear that the bottom could It. . - j?..L i wUn oe seen at a uepiu ui lwculjt iccu ?? ucu no reached the shore and crawled out upon the sand in the light of the sun, our bodies were thickly covered with salt. We were compelled to go to the small stream from which we had driven the chubs and shiners, and wash off in fresh water before we could put on our clothes. Our hair was filled with grains of salt that could not be washed out The Mormons occasionally visit the lake in droves for the purpose of bathing. Many say their health is improved by leaving the salt upon their bodies and dressing without wiping themselves. HOW TO GET FACTORIES. It is an universal belief in the Southern States that the thing they most need is capital. The people of those States are incessantly telling the world about their exhaustless stores of rudimentary wealth, and of the marvellous facility with which it can be worked up into actual, available wealth. They have a great deal to say about the amount of low middling cotton, at 12 cents a pound, that can be raised on an acre of their bottom lands, and of the amount of wheat that can be produced on their uplands; they boast that this cotton can be manufactured into yarns and cloth, by means of ample water power, in sight of the fields where it is raised, far more cheaply than it can be manufactured in New England. They tell us?and they prove the assertion?that pig iron can be made at Birmingham, Alabama, or Chattanooga, Tennessee, or at Rome, Georgia, $8 per ton cheaper than in Ohio or Pennsylva Dia. JLbey point witn parnonaoie priue, iu the fact that the cotton mills at Augusta, Macon, Graniteville and Greenville, are working steadily along, and making good profits, through the present depression of trade, while those v>f Massachusetts and New Hampshire are running at half time, and losing money at that; and they declare that the mildness of their climate, and the great cheapness of raw materials, labor and living with them, demonstrate the superior advantages of their region over the rigorous regions of the north-east, where the laborer's family have to live on a winter's footing half the year. It is impossible to deny these statements, and, indeed, nobody attempts to deny them. The world admits them. Still, the capital which the fascinating picture is intended to invite, does not come. Boston money clings to the granite ribs of New England, and refuses to migrate to Georgia, where it can earn ten to fifteen per cent, more per annum ; every foot of Massachusetts water power is harnessed to machinery, while that of the Chattahooche and Congaree runs to waste; and the iron mongers of Pennsylvania continue to buy ore, at 88 a ton, and make it into iron, at 824 a ton, instead of going to Alabama, where they can get ore for 81 a ton, and make it into iron, at 814 a ton. The people of the South have tried, again and again, to understaud this mystery, without success, aud they seem to have settled down to the belief that capital, labor and trade in the North are too blind to take advantage of the opportunities that the South presents. But the matter is not so difficult of comprehension, after all. It is the people of the South, not the capitalists of the North, who do not appreciate these boasted advantages. If there are such superior facilities for manufacturing, in Georgia and South Carolina, why don't the Georgians and South Carolinians avail themseves of them ? If there are fortunes to be made in cotton-spinning in Tennesse, why don't the Tennesseans make them, instead of inviting somebody else to come and get them? It is the people of Alabama who ought to be making cheap iron at Birmingham, and the people of Tennessee who ought to be making cheap iron at Chattanooga and that vicinity. The reply to this is that the people of the South have not the capital. But why, then, do not the people of the South go to work and make the capital ? This incessant appeal to foreign capital to come into the South is like the prayer of the wagoner to Hercules to come and lift his wheels outof the mud. The strong god's answer was that he helped those only who helped themselves; if the wagoner would put his own shoulder to the wheel, Hercules would supply all the power he lacked. This answer embodies the whole philosophy of our situation. The South does not need capital as much as it needs willing labor?and this it has, in abundance. Capital is nothing but a concrete form of labor, now dead, and a very serviceable and efficient substitute for it is living labor. This, united with industry and economy, in the midst of such favorable conditions as mild climate, cheap living, accesaable materials and water power, accumulates capital with surprising rapidity. A man, nilift a?mg J1 fifl # upar more than ha snends per annum, makes that much capital every year ; a hundred men in a community, doing the same thing, make 810,000 capital in a single year; and a thousand men, working and saving at the same rate, and investing their earnings, would, in seven years, produce 81,000,000?a sura large enough to start ten manufacturing establishments. But it is said that the South has not enough of either labor or capital. This is a mistake. It cannot be said that there is a deficiency of labor in a community, as long as there is any considerable number of idlers in it, and it is an undeniable fact that there are a great many idlers in the South ; more, in fact, than in those regions from which immigration is invited. There are, proportionately, more unemployed persons in Tennessee than in Connecticut. Of the 425,000 males and females, over ten years of age, in Connecticut, 193,000, or nearly half, are engaged in some occupation, 86,344 ol tnem Deiog engaged in jnecnamcai and manufacturing vocations, while, of the 890,000 males and females, over ten years of age, in Tennessee, only 367,000 are engaged in occupation, and only 29,000 of these are employed in mechanical and manufacturing vocations. Of the 412,665 females, over ten years of age, in Virginia, only 75,000 are engaged in occupations, and nearly all these are oolored females, while, of the 209,000 females, over ten years of age, in Connecticut, 159,460 have occupations. Those figures largely explain the abundance of capital in the New England States, and the soarcity of it in the South. If the South wants capital, it must work for it; it must earn more than it spends, and invest the surplus, year after year, in manufactures. If 5,000 idle persons in South Carolina were to engage steadily and industrially in product- i ive employment, it would be worth more to the State than the investment of $5,000,000 I of Boston capital in it. Besides, there is a I magical sympathy in labor that attracts its I kind from all quarters. i If the people of South Carolina were to i help themselves with all their might and main, they would be surprised to find bow ' many others would come to help them. If 1 all the idle persons in the State were to go to I work, resolved to make their own capita], 1 thousands of intelligent laborers, and millions of vigilant capital, would flow in o^on them, eager to seek employment and investment in the midst of an industrious and inde- . pendent people, and to share in the profits of < cheap manufacturing. But as long as the ( people of a Southern State invite somebody , else to come and do the work which they ; themselves will not do, dig the ore which , they will not dig, spin the cotton which they will not spin, and build the shops which they "* Ml .? i* M / i1._A will not build, ao long win tney ran 01 mat power which wealth alone can bring. OLD TIMES IN NEW ORLEANS. THE LANDLORD OF THE 8T. CHARLES HOTEL DESCRIBES THE FLU8H DAYS IN LOUISIANA. "In those days Northern people did not < come to New Orleans, and our principal pat- ' ronage was from the sugar and cotton plant- i era of Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas and Georgia. In fact, the whole cotton and sugar belt of the South was well represented. The i planters would come shortly after Christmas and stay till the end of March, whole families of them, each gentleman having his valet and i each lady her maid. Individual bills of gentlemen would run from $500 to $1,000 per month. Ah I" said the Colonel, pathetically, j "those were the days when people drank wine, j The stock of wines carried by the house was i never less than $75,000. Everybody drank < wine?white wines for breakfast, red wines i and champagne for dinner. Why, our bills 1 for wine alone would often foot up to $1,000 1 a slatr The looHincr nhvsioinnH wnilld ftlw&Vfl " - e i? ? j send to us for choice wioes for medical purposes. Now, if we sell twenty dollars' worth of wine a day at our table we think we are doing very well. Oh I such gay times. Levees in parlors every night and hops twice a week. Our billiard tables were never unoccupied. We had opera from the 15th of December to the 1st of April ; a performance every other night, with the best stock company, the members of which were brought from Italy, France and Spain, regardless of expense. At the end of the season, if there was any loss it was cheerfully made up by the merchants. The young bloods always kept their own exclusive bottles of brandy on ice in the bar-roomsFrench brandy generally, at ten dollars per bottle. The planters always settled their bills monthly. They never disputed a bill. They never paid the money, but would give an order on their factors. Neither the planters, their wives, their sons or their daughters, carried money about them. What they wanted they orJcred, and the bills were sent to their factors. The factors imported dresses and jewelry for the ladies direct from Europe. There were several Barrow Brothers who owned between them nine sugar plantations, with thousands of slaves. They, with their families, would occupy as much as a third of the house with private parlors, etc., and their ordinary hotel bill would be fourorfive thousand dollars per month. Time did not hang heavy on the hands of our guests. When they did not have their hops at the hotel they were the recipients of social courtesies at the hands of the merchants and bankers. There were dancing receptions every night at the j mansions of some of the elite, and with the t opera every other night there was no lack of amusement and recreation. Then there were tVio drirmn nn? tn tVio Intra nvar thfl ahpll mod the lunches at the lake, the yachting parties, | and I don't know what all. The guests nev- ' er got up before noon. The time between ? breakfast and dinner would be occupied by f the ladies, after a short lounge in the parlors 1 with dressing, and from three to four hours J was always taken up at dinner. Desperate 1 flirtations were always in order, and the con- 1 sequences very often were bitter rivalries and ( jealousies between the youDg men, termina- f ting in duels at "The Oaks." The duels were J almost always fought with swords, and were ' only occasionally attended with fatal results. f A young Creole who was invited to dinner j by a friend declined because of a prior en- ' gagement, and said, "My book is full; I fight at teu, breakfast at twelve and dine at six." r It was sometimes the case that the encounters } between hot-headed young men were serious, i In 1859, two young men, named Harris and i Peck, had some words while standing in the < rotunda about a lady in whom they were mu- 1 tually interested, and exchanged shots on the * spot. The next day they met in the bar-room; v the difficulty was renewed, Peck fired at Har- v ris, and then drawing his knife cut him in 8 several places, killing him instantly. t "Our bar-rooms," said Colonel Rivers, "do ? not do more than one half of the business done ( before the war. Two thirds of our guests now 8 are northern people, whereas, before the ? war they were all Southern people. Many of ' our large plantations are now owned by nor- t thern and western men. Some of our best f young men are now overseers on the planta- ii A- ?1-i-L L. ?1 J T MABT V UUIJS WHICH UCIUUgCU LU tucn laiiucm. a uun know of a gentleman who used to spend piles D of money in this hotel, who never put a sad- 6 die on his own horse, but who is now glad to ii hire on his own place, which, with its 'nig? a gers,' was worth $800,000, for sixty dollars a a month.?New Orleans Correspondence Balii- t more Sun. c ? 8 HORSE-SHOEING. a On an average, horses require shoeing once D a month. The length of time a shoe will wear depends much on the kind of service a horse is doing and on the kind of road he 8 is daily traveling. A team horse in heavy ? draught does not wear out as many shoes as 11 one used in a hack ; quick motion grinds shoes f down more rapidly than slow use. Some 11 pavement is harder on shoes than an ordinary c road, while the friction of a gravelly road I wears them away rapidly. Wooden pave- ? ment is but a little saving to the wear and 11 tear of shoes, for the grit and dust which be- ^ come impacted in the interstices of the wooden 0 block, grind away shoes like the friction of an d emery wheel. The hind shoes wear out first, a and there is more strain and frictfon on them b than on the forward shoes. It is impossible and improper tor a noree to wear snoes more 11 than six weeks, for the growth of foot short- ? ens the shoe, as well as changes the shape oth- ? erwise. The neglect will cause the shoe to c encroach upon the soft textures of the foot and produce lameness. a There are but few practical mechanics who P have sufficiently studied the foot of the horse, " It is not enough to know the anatomy of the " foot, and where to insert a nail, not to cause P pain, but the foot should be studied in the " state of nature, before the mechanism of man has, by artificial appliances, distorted It. The shape of the hoof of the wild horse, of one b which has never heen shod, should be taken h as a model. The foot is then properly bal- r\ anced, neither too long nor too broad, but it s< has adjusted itself to nature, and the muscle k and tendons are not strained by travel. Con- y finement and unskillful shoeing change the a anatomical relations of the foot, and the best p judgment of the mechanic is often taxed to n correct the growing deformity?from unskill- 1 Ail shoeing. When a reasoning, skillful me- b chanic is found, the horse is safe in his hands, t! for he only preserves the qgrm*! $h?|>e of the ( hoof, and adjusts the shoe so as to protect it. The frog in the hoof of the horse is placed there for a particular purpose, and should not be cut by the shoer. If this is allowed, contractions and lameness will follow. The shape and weight of the shoe should be accommodated to the purposes for which they are designed. The track horse requires a shoe lighter and without corks, while the draught horse must have a heavy, broad shoe, with corks, to enable him to obtain footing and travel with the least possible strain. ? ? ? THE ASTOR FAMILY. Speaking of the dissipation of our first families, it is to be noticed that an exception is found in the Astors. This house has nevBr bad a fast young man. The special weak * H I. > J *_ _| ess 10 mis ramuy ib iouua 10 lis iuiouc cimracter. Wm. B. As tor's youngest son, Henry, was recently mulcted in $20,000 for an assault on a child. Henry is partially idiotic. He was kept at the farm at Rhinebeck, but contrived to get away, and married into a queer family. He was in the habit of "preaching" in the kitchen, and on one occasion a- child laughed at him, whereupon he struck her in a violent manner. 'Die result was an action for assault, and the jury, in view of the wealth of the family, gave a verdict of $20,000. This is the heaviest damages on record for such an offence in this country. The Astors at first, as it is said, determined not to pay it, but on second thought they reached a different conclusion, and the judgment was satisisfied. The great Astor estate is now in the hands of William's other sons, John Jacob and William. The former is a leading proprietor and director of the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company, which is the heaviest of our coal corporations. It is now in great trouble, its stock having declined $63 (per share of $100) since last March. As a director Astor has to bear part of this difficulty, and the decline in the market value of bis stock is estimated at nearly a million. The company is now threatened with bankruptcy. John Jacob's brother William has been spending the winter in Florida, but will re turn as soon as the Northern qlimate is saUt ciently mild. He has improved his Southern opportunities by joining a Masonic lodge at Jacksonville. m aoing tnis ne iouows toe example of his grandfather (the original John Jacob), who was in his day a noted member if the fraternity. Old John Jacob was of a social turn, and was fond of both billiards ind theatricals. He loved to attend the Park theatre, of which he was the owner. His brother Henry, the noted batcher, >wned the Bowery, and thas the sole theatrical establishments of that day were in the iands of this pair. John Jacob's son William differed in these points from the old aan. He was not social, and I never heard >f his giving even a dinner party. He was lot a theatre goer, while, far from joining a odge, it may be said he never joined any;hing except the ranks of married life. He lever was a member of a political party, nor >f a club, nor of a lodge of any kind. He lever joined a fire company nor a church. He never was director in a bank or insurance company; never was in the militia; never lid jury duty, and never had any marked Headships. The fact is he was the most itrikiog negation this city ever produced, kll he did was to collect rents and invest his noney. Only as tenants could mankind besome of any value to him. As a matter of 'amilv ni>irln Ka trv tkn on^ninnnnYif nf ? *** j pi iuv| uw nuuvu nv vuu vuuunu?vuv v* he library, and his sods are now (as another natter of family pride) erecting a grand alar in Trinity Church to his memory.?Cinrinnati Oazetis. ?. . Humming Bird's Nest.?Burroughs, in lis charming little book, entitled "Wake Robin," says it is an event in one's life to find i humming bird's nest. The event happened o me without any effort on my part. Lookng up from a seat in the grove, I saw the uby-throat drop down on its nest, like a shinng emerald from the clouds; it did not pause lpon the edge of the nest, but dropped immeliately upon it. The nest was situated upon in oak twig, and was about the size of a ilack walnut, and where I sat it looked more ike an excrescence than a nest. It was situited in the fork of two twigs; it is firmly atached at the base to the lower, but is not astened to the upper twig. I waited for the tiny occupant to leave the lest, and then with the aid of a step-ladder lad no difficulty in looking into it I found t contained two eggs about as large as medilm sized peas. Sometimes the male would Irop upon the nest when the female left. I lever disturbed them while they were sitting ipon it; but often before I could get away, vhen I thought them out of sight the male ?ould suddenly appear, and greater demontration of anger I never saw manifested by a >ird. He would ruffle up bis tiny feather*, md seem nearly twice as large, and dash alcost into my face, making a squeaking noise? colding and threatening until he had driven oe quite a distance. He soon learned that I ?as very much afraid of him, so he turned yrant, and often drove me from my seat in he grove when I had not been near his dwellog. I always submitted to the tyrant, for irhat business had I to be prying into his dooestic affairs ? When the young were hatchd they were not larger than bumble bees, but n a week they had nown. I cut the twig off, nd found the nest was composed of the same oft downy substance whioh 1 had noticed in he wood pewee's nest, but it is matted so loscly together that it is almost as firm as the ofter kinds of felt. It is a marvel of skill nd beauty, and is completely covered exterally with lichens. ISr For dust in the eyes, avoid rubbing, nd dash water into them. Remove cinders nth the round point of a lead pencil. Reaove insects from the ear by tepid water, orced in with a syringe. Never put a hard ostrument Into the ear. If an artery is cut, ompress above; if a vein, compress below, f choked, get upon all fours, and cough. <V>r light burns, dip the part in cold water; f the skin is destroyed, cover with varnish, imother a fire with carnets. etc.: water will ften spread burning oil and increase the langer. Before passing through smoke, take full breath, and then stoop low; but if earon is suspected, then walk erect. Buck poion wounds unless your mouth is sore. Enarge the wonnd, or, better, cut oat part withut delay. Hold the wound as long as can e borne, to a hot coal, or end of a cigar. In ase of poisoning, excite vomiting by tickling be throat, or by water or mustard. For cid poisons, give alkalies; in case of opium oisoning, giv e strong coffee and keep movig. If in w ater, float on the back, with be nose and mouth projecting. For apolexy, raise the head and body; for fainting, ly the jiereon flat. Fbee Papers.?There is hardly a mail ut we receive applications from some library, ospital, young men's Christian association, sading-romi, or sewing society, a request to and the Sun to their institution free, to be ept on file for every body to read. A few ears ago we used to take such application as compliment, and hastened to send our paer free, because we thought it was a mighty lean man that couldn't give away a paper, tut when otir friends got us out of ihe poorowe the last time, they made us promise lat we would quit that sort of business.?La trow Sun,