Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, May 16, 1878, Image 1
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_______ __ YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, M AY 16, 1878.
Jin ?rigiual j^torg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
MARY EUSTACE;
OR,
TRUST BETRAYED.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Some six weeks later, a pale, cadaverous
looking gentleman, in the uniform of a Confederate
Colonel, might have been seen, one
autumn afternoon, slowly riding towards the
MrtoolonHa through the loner avenue
gC*WC VI 4UVuoiwuuw| ?<H. v ? 0
of oaks which waved their giaut branches |
over him, as if to bid him welcome home.
A look of deep care rested oo his face,
which, added to the ravages of illness and
suffering, gave him the appearauce of being
many years older than when, in the flush of
health and strength, we parted from him
, last.
It was the master of Mosslands, whose
ears, on bis release from prison, had been
saluted by a tale which had quelled his new
born exultation, and cast a gloom over his
return to the spot to which his heart had
~ turned as the centre of all hie happiness, all
his hopes.
There was a rush, an outcry of delight, as
two or three of bis faithful slaves, suddenly
espying his approach, dashed forward to meet
him and surround him with loud and heart* -'?
;?nf molnorriB A faint smile
it5ic eiUIBIllaVIUIID VI nuivvu..
lit up the Colonel's haggard face, as he yielded
his hands te their rough, but hoDest, clasp.
It was sometbiDg to find these bumble friends
true to him, and joyful at bis return.
The news spread like wildfire over the
place: "Master's come?master's come home!"
and by the time he reached the bouse, a large
group of domestics bad assembled to receive
hirn. He had a shake of the hand and a
kind word for each, briefly answering their
eager in quiries and exclamations at his changed
looks.
"I have been in prison. My wounds were
very bad, but are nearly well uow. I will
speak to you all after a while. At present I
need rest. Caesar, is Mr. Cleveland in the
house?" Au involuutary sternness marked
his tone as he asked this question of the boy,
to whom he threw his bridle-rein.
"Mass Maurice, sir??yes, sir. There he
comes uow, masterand as he spoke Maurice
appeared at tbe door. The Colouel slowly
ascended the steps, the weakness and langour
of his movements denotiug how far he was
from having regained his customary health.
Maurice approached to offer him his support.
He waved him aside without a word, and
entered the hall alone. Having reached the
library, he sank upon a sofa, and remained,
' of,11 .Tuffrnu I
lor a lew mouieuu), ouu.
the faithful butler, who had followed him
with anxious looks, hastened to offer him some
wine, which he took with a shaking hand.
"Anything else, master??some biscuits?
some cold meat?" I'll have a nice supper
ready for you in a little while."
"Not just yet, Jeff. I am not hungry ; only
a little.worn out by my long ride. I want
nothing at all at present. If I need you I
will ring the bell." *
"Very well, sir." Jeffrey took the hint
and withdrew, leaving his master aloue with
Maurice, who had come into the room and
now stood on the hearth-rug, calmly regarding
the new comer. Whatever emotions the
unexpected appearance of the latter might
have awakened, were not visible iu the young
man's countenance, which was carefully composed.
Colonel Dacre raised his eyes and fixed
them searchingly on his cousin's face. "You
are, no doubt, surprised to see me here," he
coldly remarked. Up to this moment, not a
syllable of greeting had been exchanged between
them.
"I confess that I am, rather," replied Maurice.
"I thought you were in Fort Delaware."
"And likely to remain there. Such, at
least, was probably your hope. It would
have been gratified, but for an unlooked-for
exchange of prisoners, by which I benefited,
in consideration of my shattered health. As
it is, I have come home, to ask you to render
an account of the trust which I confided to
your charge when I went away."
"Well, I believe things ou the place have
gone on much as usual," said Maurice, sitting >
down with a busiuees-like air. "There have ;
been no Yaukees in the neighborhood, aud i
the negroes have gone on with their work undisturbed.
I think you will find the planta- j
tion in good order."
"We will leave those details, if you please,
for another time," said the Colonel, sternly.
"I was not alluding to plantation affairs,
which, at present, I feel little interest in ; butI
to a far more sacred and important trust left
in your keeping. Where is ray ward, Mary I
* Eustace?"
"Miss Eustace," replied Maurice, chang- J
ing color in spite of himself, ' was, when I last
heard of her, in Richmond, Virginia."
"In Richmond !" repeated the Colonel.
"Yes ; so she wrote Mrs. Blandiug, just be- j
fore that lady left here."
"With whom was she?under whose care?"
"Under the care of a Mrs. Stanley, a per-!
son she met there."
"This is news to me," said the Colonel. "I !
understood that she was staying with Mr. i
Clive's family, in one of the upper districts of
this State."
"She was for a time," rejoined Maurice.
"And will you inform me what was the
cause of her leaving Mosslauds?"
"Perhaps," said Maurice, with effrontery,!
"you may have already informed yourself on !
that subject. If so, it is unnecessary to cate- 1
chise me any farther."
"Audacious boy !" exclaimed the Colonel, j
"I do not wonder that you evade answering
my question?that you shrink from exposing
your own perfidy. I have heard the reason of;
Mary's departure. I have learned that she i
went away from here to escape from your '
unmanly and dishonorable persecution ; your j
persistent attempts to shake her faith in me, j
to destroy the boud between us, and induce j
her to accept your hand instead of mine. Can
you deny this?"
"I deny nothing, and say nothing," answer-!
ed Maurice," until I find out who has been !
your informant."
"My informant was a young lady who was
a guest in this bouse, at the time when this j
scheme of yours was being carried out?Miss
St. Maur."
"Miss St. Maur?and where on earth did
you see herf" jxclaimed Maurice, in genuiue
astonishment.
i
"In New York, where she is staying with
some people to whose house I was carried, on
my release from the Fort, to rest awhile before
starting on my journey South. From her
I obtained a full account?quite full enough,
at least, to satisfy me?of what transpired
here, at a time when I fondly believed all
was going on well."
"She was not an impartial or unprejudiced
witness," sneered Maurice. "Her own feelings
were considerably interested, inasmuch j
as there happened to be, formerly, a little
affaire du coeur betwixt us two, which I don't
think she has quite gotten over yet."
"How dare you speak to me in that trifling
manner?" asked the Colonel, with a glance of
Are. "But enough of this. It sickens me to
find how basely I have been deceived; how entirely
I have misunderstood your whole character.
Your unworthy betrayal of my confidence
has been enough to sink you very low
in my estimation. But your manifestation
now of total indifference, of the entire absence
of any compunction for what you have
doue, places you, if possible, on a lower level
still."
"I am much obliged to you for your good
opinion, and your candor in expressing it,"
rejoined Maurice. He rose from bis seat as
be spoke, and walked toward the window.
Notwithstanding bis outward show of unconcern,
a fierce tumult was raging in bis breast.
Anger, disappoinment, hatred, baffled hope,
a wild desire to annihilate anything and
everything that stood between him and the
object of his desires, combined to excite him
almost to fever heat. And as he stood looking
out into the gathering twilight, clenching
his bauds fiercely to repress his agitation, and
drawing his breath quick and hard, so maddening
were his sensations that if with one
blow he could have crushed out his kinsman's
life, thus destroying, as he thought, the one
obstacle that stood in the way of his winning
Mary for his own, he would have turned and
struck it then and there.
Colonel Dacre leaned back in his chair,
staring gloomily at the fire. He had thought
so well of Maurice?had loved him as a son ;
and the bitterness of his feelings arose almost
as much from wounded confidence, from grief
and disappointment at the return which his
misplaced affection had met with, as from
mere anger, though the latter emotion was
very strong. Had Maurice, even then, showed
any token of contrition?had be come forward
and said, "I have been led away by an
ungovernable impulse, which I regret; I
have injured you, but I crave your forgiveness,
and will err no more," he could not
have done otherwise than forgive him, and
*? ->?
wouia nave maae hijuwhuuc, wnu mo uou*i
generosity, for the hot headedness of youth,
and the greatness of the temptation which he
himself had unthinkingly placed in his way.
But the recklessness and hardihood with which
his reproaches were met, prevented any such
softening on his part, and the just indignation
roused by such behavior predominated over
every other sentiment.
After a considerable pause, during which
Maurice had, by a severe struggle, succeeded j
in so far roasteriug his excitement as to refrain
from the betraying it to view, the latter turned
around from the window, and in a tone of
forced calmness, said?
"Since you have now returned to resume
the responsibility of your own affairs, and
since my presence here is not only unnecessary,
but unwelcome, there is no reason why I
should remain longer under your roof. It is
rather late tonight to set out; but at daylight
to-morrow I shall take my departure, if
that will suit you as well."
""You speak very lightly of taking your departure,"
returned his cousin, "as if it were a
matter of little or no moment under what circumstances
you thus leave ray house. I
might, if so disposed, call you much more
strictly to account than I have done, for your
dishonorable conduct; but past ties are not
quite cancelled, and the remembrance of them
makes me foolishly lenient. Before we part,
however, I demand from you a full account
of Miss Eustace's movements, and information
in regard to her present whereabouts, as I
desire t.n communicate with her at once."
"That is her address," said Maurice, tossing j
a card towards him. "All I know of her !
movements is that she went off to Virginia in !
search of you, hearing some how or other that |
you were in one of the hospitals there, and j
not finding you, went into a sort of partner- j
ship with this Mrs. Stanley to superintend a
hospital or something of that kind. A very
independent style of proceeding, altogether,
as it appears."
Colonel Dacre took no notice of this re- i
mark. He merely copied the address from
Maurice's card, on a slip of paper, and then,
as if wishing to avoid farther conversation on
a trying subject, rang the bell for lights.
Jeffrey answering the summons, the lamps
were lit, the fire was replenished, and supper
presently brought in. But though for form's
sake the two men sat down to table together, j
the meal was only a pretence; the Colonel j
haviog but scanty appetite, and Maurice not j
even touching a morsel. It was a dull enough j
return home for the former, whose heart j
yearned for the presence which had once cast j
such a brightness over everything around j
him. In his lonely hours of captivity and ill- |
ness, how often had he pictured to himself i
the welcome which would greet him, should he j
ever go back to Mosslands ; and how different
was the present reality from that fond antici- I
pation!
True to his word, Maurice started the next j
morning before the household was astir, only !
Jeffrey, who, by his master's order, got an ear- j
ly breakfast ready for him, and the boy who i
brought his horse to the door, bidding him
farewell. No parting words had passed be- i
tween his kinsman and himself. For how j
could one bid the other God-speed, when
separating under such circumstances as these?
Nor was his the only departure from Moss- ,
lands that day. To Jeffrey's amazement and
utter discomfiture, the Colonel informed him
that he himself intended to set out immediately
for Richmond, as he wished to bring
Miss Mary home.
"You going to travel right off agaiu, master,
when you ain't fit for anything, but to stay
at home and rest 1 You'll kill yourself, i
if you ain't careful," was Jeffrey's earnest
expostulation. But his master, though
truly much in need of rest, felt that there
was no rest for him until he should have [
Mary with him again. There was a lingering,
tormenting shade of anxiety iu his heart, an
unacknowledged craving to satisfy himself
whether her feelings were quite unchanged,
quite unshaken, by all she had gone through,
which made him, over and above his desire
to Bee her, especially eager to haBten their reunion.
So, promising to return, if nothing
unforeseen should happen, within ten days or
a fortnight, and charging Jeffrey to take
good care of everything during his absence,
he set off by the afternoon train, wishing that
some swifter locomotive power were available,
to transport him to the goal of his hopes.
Little did Mary guess, as she sadly but patiently
pursued her usual round of occupations,
assisting the ever-buBy Mrs. Stanley in
her various labors, which she followed up as
zealously as ever, what the next few hours
had in store for her. Hope, though not quite
extinguished in her heart, had waxed very
faint, as the weary weeks, dragging along,
brought her no tidings. And a sort of dull resignation
had taken possession of her ; a feeling
that Fate was too strong for her to fight
against, aDd that it was wisest and best to do
what she could to make the present endura?
? -
Die, oy giving nerseu up iu hu uuaciuou nw>&ing
for others, and laying, as far as possible,
thoughts of everything else aside.
Mrs. Stanley's hospital had proved a great
success. Enough patients were continually on
hand to give her all the occupation she desired.
And very grateful were they for her
ministrations, and those of heryouDg assistant,
who kept, however, as much as she could in
the background.
CHAPTER XIX.
"A visitor for you, Miss Mary," said Mrs.
Stanley's trim little maid servant, Dolly, as
she entered Mary's room with a card in her
hand. On it was neatly written in pencil?
card-engraviug being expensive in those
days?the name, "Miss St. Maur."
"Adelia 1 Ask her in the parlor, Dolly,"
said Mary, wondering from whence her friend
had thus unexpectedly sprung. And going
down stairs, she presently found berselfeufolded
in Miss St. Maur's embrace.
"My dearest, darliDg Mary! Are you not
surprised to see me ? I just found out where
you were, and as I wanted to come to Richmond,
anyhow, for a few days, I determined to
come to see you at the same time. I had no
idea that you had left the Clives, until a day
or two ago. You know I am in New York
for the present."
"In the enemy's country!" said Mary, smiling.
"Yes?are you shocked? Well, I dare
say it seems horrid ; but I'm staying with
some warm Southern sympathizers there.
And it was so awful at home, when Mrs. Scott
asked me to go as governess to her girls, I
couldn't resist it. It enables me to help
mother, you know.
"How did you come through the lines?"
"By flag of truce. To tell you the truth,
Mr. Scott's brother is in the Northern array,
and so I can get help either way. Now don't
look as if you thought me a traitor, Mary !?
I hear, by the way, that you have become
a red-hot patriot. That you spend your
whole time nursing wounded soldiers?have
turned into a complete Florence Nightingale.
I never would have suspected you of having
such proclivities."
"I help Mrs. Stanley a good deal, aud she
: ?ij ?? ??;,i \,f???
m very euuu tu tin? ouiuicio, ooui yioi j
"Did you come all tbe way here for that
purpose ?"
"No. I came for another purpose; but I
met Mrs. Stanley afterwards, and she proposed
that I should stay with her."
"Where did you ever know her?"
"I did not kuow her before I came here."
"How funny I" Adelia elevated her eyebrows.
"And is this arrangement to be permanent?"
"I have no idea how long I shall be here."
"I don't think you'll be here very long,"
said Adelia, with an arch look, "after you
have heard the news which I am going to tell
you."
"What news are you going to tell me?"
asked Mary, quickly.
"First answer me one question. Have you
heard anything of Colonel Dacre lately ?"
"No. Have you? Oh ! Adelia, dou't keep
cue in suspense," cried Mary, with rising agita
tiou iu her face and tone. "I am so longing to
hear somethiug. I have been waiting for such
a weary time!"
"Well, you poor little thing, I won't keep
you in suspeuse. I have heard of your lover,
and very lately, too."
"Have you ? When ??how?" The bright
color swept in a rich wave over Mary's fair
face as she spoke.
"I have not only heard of him, but seen
and spoken to him myself. He came to Mrs.
Scott's when he left Fort Delaware. Did you
know he had been in prison ?"
"No. I know nothing, except that he was
wounded. Tell me all, Adelia, quick!"
"Well, he was released, being sick and unlikely
to fight again?don't look alarmed,
his wounds were dreadful, but he is much
better now?aud came to Mrs. Scott's before
setting out for home. As I told you, she is a
Southern sympathizer, having a great many
friends at the South, and she gives all the
help she can to any of our men that need it.
She heard that your Colonel was ill, aud had
him brought right to her house, aud there
she nursed him for a week, and wanted him
to stay longer, but he was in a terrible hurry
to go home. So he was sent through the
lines, and that's the last we've beard of hira.
No doubt he is at Mosslands now. What a j
pity you are not there."
"Oh ! why did I come away ?" cried Mary,
rising and clasping her hands. "He may be
suffering now?and Mrs. Blanding is not I
there. There is no one to take care of him ! i
How forlorn it must be for him there! Tell j
me, Adelia, was he very, very ill ?"
"Not when he left. He couldn't be, you
know, if he was able to travel. You will
hear from hirn very soon, I don't doubt.
Perhaps this very day."
"Do you think so? If I were only sure?
if I only knew what to do? I must speak
to Mrs. Stanley. She will advise rae," said !
Mary, looking greatly troubled and excited. ]
"One thing is certain?unless he is desper-1
ately ill, you can't go posting down to Moss- j
lauds now," said Adelia. "You forget that;
you are engaged to be married to him. He
isn't simply your guardian, you know."
"I never thought of that," eaid Mary, the >
color deepening to crimson on her cheek. "I
only feel as if it were wrong to be away
wheu he may need me so much. He has beeu I
so good to me always, t don't waut bira to 1
think me ungrateful."
"You 11 have plenty of opportunity to show I
your gratitude, never fear," said Adelia.
"Just take my advice and keep quiet. It's
the best thing you can do. What has become
of Maurice Cleveland?"
"I suppose he is at home," said Mary.
"Hasn't he committed suicide, or anything
of that sort yet? He'll get a nice scolding
from the Colonel. I told him all about his
behavior."
"You did?" exclaimed Mary, in a horrified
tone.
"Of course; wasn't it proper for him to
I know ?" You'd have had to tell him, you
i know ; and I only saved you the trouble."
"And now they will quarrel, perhaps ; and
Colonel Dacre will be miserable. I wish you
had said nothing, Adelia I Besides, how did
you know ?"
Adelia laughed. "Do you take me for a
simpleton, my dear 1 Remember, I've known
Maurice a long time; and it didn't take me
very long to find out what game he was playing.
Don't worry yourself about him. He
deserves ail that be will get, and more too.
Well, I have told you enough news now for
one day, and I suppose I had better go now,
and give you a chance to get over your excitement
a little. I may not see you again.
Probably, I shall have to return to-morrow,
and then I shall keep quiet for a while. And
you?I shall hear of you next at Mosslands, I
suppose.
Mary's thoughts were in a whirl. She scarcely
heeded Adelia's partiug words. When the
latter bad taken leave, she went to her room,
and sat there for an hour, trying to plan something
to steady her nerves, so as to be able to
reflect calmly ; to decide on what it was best
for her to do. Mrs. Stanley came in at last,
to ask her some question about a certain kind
of nourishment she was preparing. She saw,
at once, that something had happened, and
Mary, on being asked, was quite ready to tell
her all.
"My dear girl, how glad I ought to be!
And I am glad, for your sake, though it is a
great blow to me to And that I will have to
give you up," said Mrs. Stanley, affectionately
kissing her. "I began to think you were
ray own daughter, almost. And you are so
clever and so helpful, )ou are quite like my
right hand. But, of course, you won't take
any steps just yet. You will wait to hear
from him first."
"I wanted you to tell me what to do," said
Mary.
"Why, remain quietly here, of course. He
will send or write at once, when he finds out
where you are. Dear, dear, this is news, indeed
! I know how happy you must feel.
Look here, my child, I want you to taste this
before I add any more pepper or salt. It's
for young Jenkins, and I don't believe it ought
to be too highly seasoned ; do you ?"
Mary's thoughts were far enough just then
from young Jenkins and bis broth. But she
tasted the contents of the silver porringer?a
vessel with which Mrs. Stanley continually
went armed?with a very good grace, and gave
her opiuion in regard to theseasoniug as well
as she could. Mrs. Stanley was in a great
hurry just then, for she had left another delicate
mess on the stove in a critical state, aud
it was a proof of the interest she felt in Mary
and her news, that she had paused so long in
L?_ ftiamiaa the anhipot. whip.h t.hfi
IJCI wpciouiuuo lu Uigvuuu Vt.v w-.-j-w.
latter had at heart. So she kissed her again,
murmured something in the same breath
about blanc-mange, and an unfailing blessing
on all those who wait patiently and do their
dnf.v wftll. and then hastened off with her little
porringer to return to the duties of the cuisine.
Mary's heart was brimming over. The
more she pondered on the tidings she bad
heard, the more wonderful they seemed?too
wonderful, almost, to realize. Yet she could
not reasonably doubt that they were true,
coming from so direct a source. She was far
too agitated to give her mind to any of her
accustomed duties, and spent the day in a
kind of dreamy abstraction, happy yet restless,
full of eager yearnings, yet beyond measure
thankful for the blessing of the knowledge
that had come to her. It was perhaps a
fortunate thing for her that she was forced,
late in the evening, to give her attention to a
poor, suffering, wounded man, just brought
from one of the hospitals to be placed under
Mrs. Stanley's care, and who, coming at a
moment when the latter was out, having been
obliged to go on some errand in the neighborhood,
fell, for the time, under her supervision,
and could not but enlist her sympathy and
compassion. She had to see that the right
bed was prepared for him, that he had everything
placed near him that he would need, to
give him some cooling drink, and afterward
bathe his feverish head, aching and distracted
from the motion of the hospital ambulance.
And in performing these duties, she was gradually
relieved from the nervous pressure on
her own heart and brain, which had made
her happiness almost painful to her.
Just a minute after Mrs. Stanley had come
in and relieved her from her post, there came
a ring at the bell. It was near bed time,
and she hoped that it might not be another
new patient, arriving at so late an hour.
Presently, Dolly came up with the tidings that
"somebody" was in the parlor. "I told Mis'
Stanley, ma'am, aud she asked me to let you
know, 'cause she's busy with the sick gentle
mau. one inius.8 11 ia a message iiulu me
dispensary."
"Very well, I'll attend to it," said Mary.
She went rather slowly down to the parlor,
which was but dimly lighted with a candle,
which Dolly had placed in a hurry on a table
just inside the door. A weary looking, gaunt
figure rose up from a sofa opposite. It was
no wonder that at the first she did not recognize
its identity. But it needed only a step
forward, a single word in the well-known
voice, to awaken her to a sense of the truth ;
and uttering her guardian's name, she ran toUirv*
nn/1 moo nr^Qaa/1 fn Kia hpflrL
VV UI u IJ1 lliy UUU fiww |/?vwu?. M WW ?..w MVW.n
"Mary?" was all he had said, and the meeting
was too full of deep and grateful joy to
admit of many words. Besides, the Colonel's
physical weakness, nearly overcoming him
after his too severe and prolonged exertion,
seemed to make it necessary for them both to
preserve their calmness and self-control. Mary
was frightened when she got a distinct view
of his face, to see how very ill and worn he
looked, and all her ecstasy seemed to die out
iu a sudden sickening fear. She rang the
bell quickly for Dolly to bring some wine
from the sick-room stores, and entreated him
to lie down and rest; he must be so dreadfully
tired, so exhausted, after his jouruey. He
acknowledged that he was tired, but said he
would feel well again in a little while, especially
with the sight of her to revive him.
Then the wine came, Mrs. Stanley bringing
it instead of Dolly, though not in the least
suspecting for whom it was intended. And
when she found out that this was Mary's Colonel
Dacre, and that be was almost as much
in need of nursing, at present, as the majority
of her patients, she insisted on his staying
there, in a vacant room which she would get
ready immediately, for his use, quite apart
from the hospital ward, where he could be
entirely private, and obtain all the quiet and
repose which he so much required.
[to be continued.]
|jp3ttUat($au0 finding.
IMMIGRATION AND DEVELOPMENT.
[D. Wyatt Aiken, In News and Courier.]
What the resources of South Carolina are,
few men have an adequate conception, but every
one knows that those resources may as
well not exist as to remain undeveloped. It
ia evident, too, that development will never
come unless we have an increase of population,
and we shall never have a perceptible increase
except through immigration.
Few neraona have, a nrnner PAnnpnfcinn. t.on.
?.. ? *w 7 r-71? 7?- ?*
of what is meant by immigration. One farmer
brings a foreign family to his farm, and
a machinist picks up a roving mechanic, and
this feeble effort at an increase is then spoken
of as immigration; whilst the scattered new
comers are not sufficiently numerous to do
more than fill up the vacant places caused by
the migratory disposition of our people. Immigration
will never become general, or a
potent factor in the development of our State,
we very much fear, until State legislation conduces
somewhat towards attracting it. How
or when this will be done, we do not propose
to suggest; we only hope it will be done, and
to remind our law makers that it has not
heretofore been done.
A fortnight ago we had the pleasure of
spending a few days in company with a distinguished
Northern man in several parts of
our State, and whilst we were somewhat
amused at his inquisitiveness, we were mortified
at the utter failure of our people to reply
satisfactorily to his various interrogatories.
He expressed himself somewhat surprised
that we had no signal service station at our
capital. It is perhaps the only capital, he
thought, in the Union where there was not
one. He inquired about everything, from the
geological formation, the mineralogical deposits,
the altitude of our courthouses above the
sea,(and asked scores of such questions,) down
to the price of a pound of bacon or a bushel
of corn, and as he told us, he discovered that
our people knew more about the difference
between the credit and cash price of such articles
as they should grow upon their farms,
but which many of them bought, than they
did about anything else.
When intelligent immigrants are prospecting
through a country into which they propose
moving, their first inquiry is as to health,
and this is generally estimated by the altitude
of a country above the level of the sea. This
gentleman told us he had made that inquiry
whilst in the State of almost hundreds of citizens,
and to his astonishment he never met a
man that could tell him except in a sort of
conjectural way, the altitude of his locality.
This is only one of the many points upon
which information is always wanted by immigrants,
and of which the citizen will be
ignorant unless the State takes steps to enlighten
him. While we are yet too poor to
have established those various boards from
which all such information could be easily
obtained, there is no question hut that if we
had an efficient State Board of Agriculture, it
would in a great measure supply the means of
properly educating our people upon these and
all kindred topics upon which they should be
posted.
All classes of immigrants, whether they be
farmers or artisans, prefer colonizing to moving
in isolated families into new countries.
They have their peculiar likes and dislikes ;
their diet may be peculiar; their ideas ot social,
educational aud religious commingling
may differ materially from the established
usages of an old country where society has
become staid and settled. For these and other
reasons the better classes of immigrants
generally move in colonies, and this is the
clas9 that we so much need in South Carolina,
fiut our citizens should know and remember
that this class of immigrants will not go into
any country previously occupied unless by invitation
of the inhabitants, or unlesssome tangible
inducement can be presented them.
The land-grant corporations and railroad
companies of the Northwest offered to immigrants
fertile lands at wonderfully low prices
and upon most reasonable terms, and these
inducements created, prior to 1873, a flow of
immigration into that country that was sim- i
ply marvellous. The lack of confldeuce in
those companies, consequent upon the panic
of 1873, has somewhat checked this tide from
foreign lands ; but, as we have said in a previous
article, farmers in the older Eastern
States are taking advantage of the reduced
cost of liviug, and are selling their homes and
moving to the West by the thousands. This
will rekindle the enthusiasm of the producers
in foreign lands to emigrate to America, and
we anticipate hearing of as great an influx
by next fall as we had prior to 1873. The
vital question with us is, can we not change
that curreut, and induce it to flow in this direction
?
We can if we will, and if we will, we must
l A 1 1 T?
determine 10 oner mem eneap uuinea. jcjvery
real estate owner should be an agent in behalf
of immigration, and contribute his mite,
be it ever so small. We repeat what we
have previously written, that there are hundreds
of our citizens owning acres of land
that are to them a burden, and from which
they realize not a cent, perhaps, beyond a
living. These men must be instrumental, and
chiefly so, in turning the tide of immigration
southward. They must organize themselves
into clubs or societies of co-operation and for
co-operation.
We therefore suggest to any and all citizens
of the State, who own from 2,000 to
3,000 or 5,000 acres of cultivatable lands,
(and there are many such,) to visit their neighbors
and consult among themselves, and de
termine whether they cannot throw upon the |
market from 6,000 to 10,000 acres of land at I
a mere nominal price, provided they will be j
settled up by a thrifty, energetic and eoonorai- j
cal colony of producers. If there be in such j
communities farmers who own tracts of but
100 or 200 or 500 acres of land, they are not>
to be ousted nor overlooked, but let them, too, i
join the organization, and reduce their area j
to enough to make a living upon ; sell a por-!
tion of the remainder to the colony, and hold !
the balance for sale at a future time. When j
such an organization is formed they should at
once advertise the fact, and if they are unwilling
to do so, if they will submit to us the
terms of the organization and the conditions
upon whioh they will sell to oolonies, we will
guarantee them a wide circulation of their
proposition ; and if it is made with a liberal
spirit, we will almost ensure them a colony of
worthy settlers, And we here earnestly insist
that if these real estate owners are anxious
to see our State rehabilitated and prosper- j
ity smiling upon every farm and homestead,
they must themselves be up and doing, and
not wait for others to act for them. Let them
go to work and organize; not sit back upon
the ragged-edged fiuery of ante bellum days
and lament the flesh pots of the past, but stir
around, visit neighbors, unite, paganize, co-operate,
and let the world know that they hftve
valuable estates that will be sol<j for ft eopg
for certain purposes. If simple homesteads
be reserved in such landed estates, they will
in ten years be worth double as much in market
as the entire estate is to day.
That our future lawmakers may know that
thoy should do something, too, in this line, we
publish the following letter received while in
South Carolina a fortnight ago, and is from
the editor of the Southern Guide, a quarterly,
published in Washington City, for Northern
readers, advising them where they can find
the most desirable homes in the South. To
this gentleman we had given a dozen or more
letters of introduction to citizens and officials
in South Carolina. His letter speaks for itself:
"Dear Sir?Returning a day or two ago
from my two months' sojourn in the South, I
learned from Col. Evins that you were at
home, and would not return until the last of
this week. May I beg that you will stir up
your State officers and publio spirited citizens
to the importance of properly placing the present
condition and natural resources of their
State before the public ? With the exception
of two or three of the smaller cotton mills of
Oi.i ? i j :?r?
LUG OlttLC, tujr JClLtJIO UUVO CJJUllCU UU luiuiuintioD,
and in most instances have not even been
responded to. I have even been unable to
procure State documents from Governor
Hampton or anj of the officials. You will, I
think, admit that this is not very encouraging
to further effort on my part. I started to visit
South Carolina the first of this month, but
was recalled from Greensboro by a death in
my family. Shall go South again, however,
before the 1st proximo."
TRAINING LIONS AND TIGERS.
THE METHODS EMPLOYED BY THF LION
TAMER.
When you want to train lions, or tigers, or
leopards, or hyenas, the preparatory steps in
all cases are the same. You first get them
used to you from the outside of the cage,
feeding and watering them, speaking to them
and sometimes touching them through the
bars when they are in such positions that they
cannot readily get hold of you. Then you
go into the cage to sweep it out. Keep your
broom going?never let them get near enough
to you to smell of you, or they will snatch you
the instant after?and make them pass you,
driving them about with a whip. When you
have them thoroughly familiarized with your
presence, you may begin their education.
Some trainers in old times used to clip their
claws and put muzzles on them, but I never
did, and never considered it any use, except,
perhaps, in the case of a leopard that you are
training to jump on your back. Whether
you clip their claws or not, a tiger or a lion,
especially the lion, has force enough in his
arm to mash a man down almost as you would
a fly. And it isn't right, for the animal
needs his claws. They are his forks to hold
his meat when he eats. As for the muzzle.
be knows whether he has it on or not, just as
well as you do, and the memory of it has no
influence on him when it is not on.
You can't teach wild beasts any great variety
of tricks. You make them rear up in
the corners of the cage, jump over your whip,
through a hoop or balloon, or over you, or
each other, and you sit down on them, and
that about exhausts their capabilities for
learning. To make them jump, you hold a
stick and drive them over it with your whip,
holding it low at first and gradually raising
it. If you want them to go through a hoop,
hold it up, with a gate set in under it so they
can't go beneath, and whip them through.
If you want an animal to rear up, it may be
necessary to have a rope or chain through
the roof of the cage and either swung about
I. __ ! _ I i _ II-- J
lis ueca ur lusieueu iu a uuuar, nuu vtiicu
you whip it and order it to stand up, have a
couple of men above to haul up and make it
stand on its hind legs. After a few times the ;
rope will not be necessary. See my splendid
tigresses, how they stand up. They were
trained that way. You must always make
them, do the same thing in the same place?
that is, in the same corner or in the centre of
the cage. If you want to sit on a lion or tiger,
get the animal trained to remain quiet
in one place while you stroke it gently, at
first with the whip, uext with your band, and
finally you can press on it, and at last sit
down on its haunches, but never cease te keep
a sharp lookout upon it for the slightest sign
of treachery. The old Van Amburg feat of
a man putting his head in a lion's mouth is
safest done with a very docih.old lion, well
fed and toothless as possible, but it may be
done?with some risk, of course?to a young
brute if he is very good natured, and you
work up to it by gradual familiarities about
his head, opening bis mouth, and so on. With
a tiger the best plan is to?let it alone.
When you feed them ecraps of meat while
you are in the cage, never take in mueh, aud
of that you have, see that it is free from bones
and cut in such small chunks that one of
them may be swallowed at a single schloop.
Toss it to them. Don't hold it in your hand,
or they'll take hand and all, without noticing
the difference, perhaps. Firing guns and pistols
always excites them, but I c$n't say that
I think it frightens them at all after they
have found out once that it does not hurt
them. You must watch them all the time.
Never trust them for an instant. If you
study them as you pbould, and know your
business properly, you will understand their
every look and motion, every curl of the lip,
switch of the tail, tremor of the muscles, and
quiver of the cruel claws. All those things
are the animal's language, and if it is strange
to you, so much the worse for you. For instance,
you may whip a lion for five minutes,
when it is sulking in a corner, without any
danger, and.then suddenly vou see the look
warning you that one more blow will bring'
him on you with the force of a thunderbolt
and the mad fury pf a demon. No, it is not
a threatening look at you, and it isn't emphasized
with any growl. He just sits up and
seems to gaze off into the distance, with a
far-away, dreamy look in his eyes. Strike
him then and you will have to battle for your
life in a seoond after. Affect to disregard
him and turn your whip to another beast,
and in a few moments his fear of you may
return to him, and his desperate courage will
have gone. ?ut you must be able to see
when that time comes again. A lion is a bad
animal to have any misunderstandings with.
Wishing fob Money.?"I wish that I
had his money," said a young, hearty-looking
man as a millionaire passed him in the
street. Aud so has wished many a youth before
him, who devotes so much time to wishing,
but too little to working. But never
does one of these draw a comparison between
their several fortunes. The rich man's money
looms up like a balloon before them, hiding
uncounted cares and anxieties, from which
they are free; keeping out of sight those bodily
ills that luxury breeds, and all the mental
horrors of ennui and satiety, and the fear of
deAth that wealth fosters the iphIouhv of life
" * 7 J J
and love from which it is inseparable.
Let none wish for unearned gold. The
sweat by which it is gathered is the only
sweat by which it is preserved for enjoyment.
Wish for no man's money. The health,
strength, freshness, and sweet sleep of youth
are yours. Young love, by day and night,
encircles you. Hearts unsoiled by the deep
sin of covetousness beat fondly with your own,
None, ghoul-like, listen for the death-lick In
your chamber; your shoe? have value in
men's eyes qnly whep you tread in them.
4 he smiles no wealth can purchase greet you?
living; apc| tears that rarely drop op rosewood
coffins, will fall from pitying eyes upon
you?dying. You h&Y9 tQ eat, to drink, to
wear enough?then you have all the rich man
hath. What though be fares more sumptuously
? He shortens life, increase pains and
aches, impairs his health thereby. What if
bis rainmeot be more costly ? God loves him
none the more, and man's respect in such
regard comes ever mingled with his envy.
Nature is yours in all her glory; her ever
varying and forever beautiful face smiles
peace upon you. Her hills and valleys, fields
and flowers, rocks and streams, and holy
places know no desecration in the step of
poverty, but welcome ever to their wealth of
beauty, rich and poor alike.
The Doctor's Fee.?A physician attended
a wealthy banker's very sick child, which
recovered, to the great joy of the parents.
The physician, on making his last call, was
asked for his bill, and expecting a large fee,
he proposed to leave it to the good will of the
parents. The mother lett the room, ana soon
returned with a fine knit purse, and handing
it to the physician, said : "We are grateful to
you indeed, doctor; money cannot fully repay
your kindness and skill?allow me to present
this purse, which I have knit with my own
hands, as a token of my gratitude." The
physician spurned the gift, and said : "Madam,
such gifts are nothing to me; time is
money, and I must be recompensed for my
time." The lady felt hurt at bis rude reply
and answered : "Sir, as you despise this gift,
which I had spent many pleasant hours in making
for you as a token of my gratitude, say,
how much money will satisfy you." "My
bill," said he, "is two thousand francs." The
lady immediately opened the puree, took out
five notes of a thousand francs each, unrolled
them, handed ivoo of them to the doctor, rolled
up the other three, replaced them in the
purse, put it in her own pocket, bade the doctor
good morning, and left the room. He
went home, feeling that he had "looked a
gift horse in the mouth." The next time any
of our young readers receive a present they
do not quite like, let them remember the doctor's
fee. ' -if
Disagreeable Habits.?It is easy to
form a disagreable habit, but not so easy to
drop it again. Persisted in, they become a
second nature. Stop and think before you
allow yourself to form them. There are disagreeable
habits of body, like scowling, winking,
twisting the mouth, biting the nails, continually
picking at something, twirling a key,
or fumbling at a chain, drumming with the
fingers, screwing and twisting a chair, or
whatever you can lay your bauds on. Don't
do any of thqge tilings. Cultivate a calm,
quiet manner,? Better be a statue than a
jumping-jack. There are much worse habits
than these, to be sure; but we are speaking
only of very little things that are only annoying
when persisted in. There are habits of
speech, also, such as beginning every speech
with "you see," or "you know," "now-a," "I
don't care," "tell you know " Indistinct ut*
terance, sharp nasal tones, a slow drawl, avoid
them all. Stop and think what you wish to
say, and then let every word drop from your
lips just as smooth and perfect as a new silver
coin. Have a care about your ways of
sitting, and standing, and walking. Before
you know it, you will find your habits have
hardened into a coat of mail that you cannot
get rid of without a terrible effort?habits
which render you obnoxious to all around you.
Silver Mines.?In hia treatise on silver
mines, Fuller says: "Whereverin any 'part
of the world silver mines have been worked,
they are worked now, unless from war, invasion
of Indians, etc. We know of no silver
mining regions in the world that have given
out. Mexican mines, worked by the Aztecs
before the conquest by Cortez, are still worked
as profitably as ever ; the old Spanish mines,
Opened long before Hannibal's time, are still
worked with enormous profits; the South
American mines nave constantly yieiaea tneir
wealth for more than three hundred years, and
are as productive as ever; mines in Hungary
that were worked by the Romans before the
Saviour's time, still yield abundance of ore ;
the silver mines of Freiburg, opened in the
eleventh century and worked continually ever
since, yield their steady increase. So in Norway,
Sweden and Russia, and indeed wherever
silver mines have been opened, we believe
without exception, continue to be worked at
thetiresent day, and generally are more productive
than at any time in their past history."
e ?
Drinking and Drink Making States.?
It appears by official statistics that North
Carolina has the most distilleries, 1,025;
Kentucky next, 754; and Virginia third, 516;
while New York heads the list of breweries
with 379, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin following
with Sfil and 2fifi reanAntivfilv. Rut whan
it comes to saloons, there is a closer ratio to
population. Thus, New York has 13,804 ;
Pennsylvania, 15,105; Ohio, 14,218; Illinois,
10,543. Massachusetts is credited with 6,386,
beating Indiana with its larger population by
over a thousand saloons. The District of
Columbia, in proportion to its population, has
altogether the largest dumber of saloons, 1,?
165, which perhaps, is to be regarded as a
representative fact. How much of this excess
is due to the resident and how much to the
floating population, is an interesting (jttation,
but the statistics throw no light upon it.
* *
How They Make Butter in Brazil.?
There are four native modes of making butter
in the Empire of Brazil. The first is by
putting the milk in a common bowl and beat- /
ting it with a spoon, as you would an egg.
The second, by pouring the milk in a bottle
and shaking it till the butter appears, when
it is removed by breaking off the top of the
bottle. The third, where the dairy is more
extensive, is performed by filling a hide with
milk, which is lustily shaken by an athletic native
at eaoh end until the butter is produced.
The fourth, which is considered to indicate
vast progress over any of the preceding methods,
consists in dragging the hide or leathern
vessel^, filled with milk, on the ground after a
galloping horse until it is supposed the butter
is formed. The milk is never strained and
the butter never washed.
4 ?
Comparative Size of Countries and
Waters.?Greece is about the size of Vermont.
Palestine is about one-fourth the size of
New York,
Hindostan is more than a hundred times
as large as Palestine.
The Great Desert of Africa has nearly the
present dimensions of the United States.
The Red Sea would reach from Washington
frt and if ia f Vi pan timsa aa wi/ln a a
VW V/W4U*?UUj MUU iu AO WUIWV IrltUVO WO TIIUV MO
Lake Ontario.
The English Channel is nearly as large as
Lake Superior.
The Mediterranean, if placed across North
America, would make sea navigation from
San Diego to Baltimore.
Neuralgia and Rheumatism.?A very
simple relief for neuralgia is to boil a small
handful of lobelia in half a pint of water till
the strength is out of the herb, then strain it
off and add a teaspoonful of fine salt. Wring
cloths out of the liquid as hot as possible, and
spread oyer the part affected. It aets like a
charm. Change the cloths as soon as cold
till the pain is all gone; then cover the place
with a soft, dry covering, till the perspiration
is over, to prevent taking cold. Rheumatism
can often be relieved by application, to the
painful parts, of cloths wet in a weak solution
of salsoda water. If there is inflammation
in the joints the cure is very quick. The
wash should be lukewarm,