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I . ?>rf' LSi.t~Y> - - n?w-\-?-r-- * , ?.- ? - ' -? - ? . . : 1" ?; jZ?l J bb^g=gg=i ? -bb?g gg ggg =g - ^ ^ t^^SSSSS! -g^^?? ? ?- ^ lewis m. grist, proprietor, j gut $nkpenbcnt Jarnilg JUtospajjer: Jfcr % ^rantotion of t|e political, Social Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Sonfj;. |terms--$2.50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCe!^H 1 "VOL. 25. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 187SC NO. 5C>7~ 1 ~ * " ' ' " ' " ' ' * 1 1 *' -? *l 1 i rv.? a /.<, ?p/MiMMFa noar*a and fan is n."vw ?he ftorg leUet. ADVENTURE WITH A LUNATIC. AN ENGLISH STORY. ?!?. Alf. Dixon, Tom Giffard and I had gone up the river camping out; we had done our second day's work. It was early morning on r the third day, glorious weather. I was in the [ boat,getting the steering lines in order; Gif fard and Dixon were on the bank, talking to Dr. Rawle. As I understood it, he was at the head of a private asylum for lunatics. He was Giffard's friend, not mine. He had been taking a constitutional when he happened to fall in vsitb us just as we were sitting down to our open air breakfast; the chance meeting led to Giffard inviting him to share our gypsy meal. He did. He was a pleasant fellow, not too old and not too young. I liked him exceedingly. We talked of things io peneral..and of lunatics in particular. Something led to his mentioning?I think it was speaking of the cunning of a certain class * of lunatics, and the difficulty of keeping fhera within four walls?the fact that one of his inmates had escaped a day or two previously, and had not yet been retaken. This was the more singular, as it was tolerably certain he had not gone far, and search had been made for him in every direction. As GifFard and Dixon were saying good-by, preparatory to getting into the boat, the doctor laughingly said, "Should you happen to come across him, 1 shall consider you bound to bring him back safe and sound. He's a man of forty-four or five, tall and bony, irongray hair, and has a curious habit of showing his teeth and winking his left eye. Don't look out for a raving lunatic, for, on most points, he's as right as you and I. He's wrong in two things. Whatever you do, don't let him lose his temper, for whenever he does, though ever so slightly, he invariably goes in for murder; he's all but done for two keepers already. And don't talk to him of England or Englishmen, for if he should get upon his native land, he'll favor you with some observations which will make you open your eyes." We laughed. Alf and Tom shook hands with him and got into the boat. We promised if we should happen to me^t with him, we would certainly see him returned to safe custody. Alf stood up and shoved us from the shore,* we sang out a last good-by, and left the doctor standing on the bank. * It was a beautiful morning. The river was " delicious, clear as crystal; we could see the bottom, and every stone and pebble on it; just a gentle breeze, fanning the surface of the waters into a ripple. We lit our pipes and took it easily. I am a good bit of a traveler, know many lovely nooks and crannies in foreign lauds. I have lived abroad as much as at home; but I will match the higher reaches of our own Father Thames for beauty and for charm against any scenery in Europe; and on an early summer morning, after a spell of glorious weather, it is in all its prime; the ?otoi? Iq nnnl an nWr the hanks so irreen. so T*UVVt IU VVV4) W V?V?v> J ? ^ # charming; the stately trees on either side; the mansions seen over the meadows, or peeping out among the tree3. You may choose your Rhine, Garda, or your Maggoire, or your golden Bay of Naples, but leave Cookham and old Father Thames to me. Presumably, wil had dome for river beauties and the camping out. Presumably ; but as a matter of fact, there was a young lady living not so far ahead, a mutual friend, Lilian Travers. Separately and jointly we had a - high opinion of Miss Travers, not only of her beauty, but of other things as well; and hav ing come so far, we hoped we should not have to return until, at least, we had a peep at her. Unfortunately, though we knew Miss Travers, we had no acquaintance with Mister?there was no Missis. We had met the young lady at several dances, and such like; but on each f occasion she was under the chaperonage of old Mrs. Mackenzie. Apparently, Mr. Travers wa3 not a party man. But Lilian had promised to introduce us to him whenever she got ' a chance, and we were not unhopeful she would get that chance now. So, you see, that little excursion riverward had more in it than met the eye. We went lazily on, just dipping the oars in and out, smoking and watching the smoke circling through the clear air. All thoughts of the doctor and his parting words had gone from our minds. We talked little and that little was of Lilian, and the chances of our meetiug. We had gone some two or three hundred yards; we were close to the shore; f A If could almost reach it by stretching oui his oar. We were dreaming and lazing, when suddenly some one stepped out from among the trees. He was close to us?not a dozen feet away. * fs. He was a tall man, rather over than under \8ix feet. He was dressed in a dark brown suit of Oxford mixture; he had a stick in his hand, wore a billy-cock hat,aud his coat was \ buttoned right up to his throat. He had I light whiskers, a heavy, drooping moustache, Viair unusually long, iron-gray in color. He lijight be a soldier, retired from his profession, or^an artist out painting; he certainly looked L likye a gentleman. V V^e were passing on, when he raised his ' stick\and shouted out, "Stop!" It was a regular shout, as though we were half a mile from him. We stopped, although it was an unusual mode of calling attentiun. "Gentlemen," he said, still at the top of his voice, "I should be obliged if you could give me a seat. I have a long way to go and I am tired:" We looked at him and at each other. It was a free and easy way of asking a favor; but he seemed a gentleman, and an elderly one, too. Common politeness dictated civility. "I am afraid," said Alf, "we have hardly room ; she is only built for three." "O, that doesn't matter," he said ; "you can put me anywhere, or I'll take an oar for one * of you." I was on the point of advising a point-blank refusal, not appreciating his off-hand manner; but Alf thought differently. "All right," said he; "we don't mind, if you don't. Steer her in, Jack." T ofiaorprl her in. No sooner were we near the shore, than quite unexpectedly he stepped almost on ray toes, rocking the boat from side to side. "Hang it!" I said ; "take care, or you'll have us over." "What if I do?" he returned. "It'll only be a swim ; and who minds a swira in weathci like this?" We stared at him ; the coolness, not to say impertinence, of the remark was amazing, Begging a seat in our boat, knowing it was full, and then telling us he didn't care if he spilt us into the river! He seated himself by me, setting the boat seesawing again, crushing me into a corner; and, without asking your leave, or by your leave, took the steering-lines from my hauds and slipped them over his shoulders. "Excuse me," I said, making a snatch al them ; "but if you'll allow me." "Not at all," he said ; "I always like some thing to do, and I expect you've had enough of it." His coolness was amusing; he was irapene trable. I know I for one regretted we were such mules as to have anything to do with him. We waited in silence a moment or two "Come," he said, "when are you going tc start ?" ^ ? ^^^^said Alf, a*bit nettled, as you're in our bofci a self-invited guest, you'll let us choose our oT*ji time." The stranger .said nothing; he sat stolid and silent. Tom'and Alf set off/owing; the stranger steered right across the stream. "Where are you going ?" said Alf. "Keep us in." "I am going into the shade; the sun's too strong." He had the lines ; we could hardly insist -on his keeping one side if he preferred the other ; he took us right to the opposite bank, under the shadow of the willow trees. For some minutes neither of us spoke. With him cramming me on my seat and ramming his elbows into ray side, my position was not pleasant. At last I let him know it. "I don't know if you are aware you are occupying all my seat." He turned on me short and sharp. All at once I noticed his left eye going up and down like a blinking owl; his mouth was wide open, disclosing as ugly a set of teeth as I should care to see. Like a flash Dr. Kawle's words^ crossed my mind; tall, strong, about fortyfive, iron-gray hair, and a habit of chewing his teeth ayd winking his left eye. Gracious powers! was it possible we had a lunatic with us unawares? I know the possibility, nay, the probability of such a thing made me feel more than queer. If there is anything in the world I instinctively fear, it is mad persons. I know little of them ; have never been in their company. Possibly my ignorance explains my dread; but the idea of sitting in the same boat and on the same seat with a man who? Dr. Rawle's warning, "Don't let him lose his temper, or murder will ensue," made me bound from my seat like Jack-in-the-box. The boat tipped right out of the water, but I didn't care. The man was glaring at me with cruel eyes; my muscles were strung, my fists clenched ; every moment I expected him at my throat ? "What in the dickens are you up to ?" said Alf. "What's the matter with you ?" "0, excitable temperament, hot-blooded youth !" said the stranger. I could have said something had I chosen, but I preferred discretion ; I did not like his eyes. "N-o thing," I said. "I think I'll sit in the bow." I didn't wait to learn if any one had an objection, but swinging round, I scrambled past Alf, and tripped full length on to Tom's knees. The boat went up and down like a swing; it was a miracle Jie wasn't over. "To fko ^OIIATO moA 9" rAoro/1 A IF JLO 1/11*2 loiiun 1UUU i ivwiutt A* At the word "mad," the stranger rose up straight as a post. "Mad !" he said ; "do you know, fair?" He checked himself and sat down. "Pooh ! he's only a boy." In passing Tom, I whispered in his ear. "The lunatic," I said. "What!" said Tom, right out loud. "How your row, you confounded donkey! It's the man from Dr. Rawle's!" "The?" He was going to say something naughty?I know he was; but he stopped short, and stared at him with all his eyes. Either Alf overheard me, or ebe the same idea occurred to him at the same moment, for he stopped dead in the middle of a stroke and inspected the man on the steering seat. Tom and Alf went ou staring at him for a minute or more. I kept my head turned the other way to avoid his eyes. All at once I felt the boat give a great throb. I turned ; there was the stranger leaning half out his seat, looking at Alf in a way I shouldn't have cared to have him look at me. . "What's the meaning of this insolence?" he said. The question was not unwarranted; it could not have been pleasant to have been stared at as Alf and Tom werestariug at him. "I beg your pardon," said Alf, cool as a cucumber. "To what iusolence do you refer ?" Tom actually chuckled ; I couldn't have chuckled for a good deal; it seemed to me not only impudent, but risky; I couldn't forget i r> i_? .1. _i A i_;_ i * ur. rvawie s worus auoui ins uuiuiuiuai tendencies. He turned red as a lobster ; I never saw such an expression come over a man's face before?perfectly demoniacal. To ray surprise, he sat down and spoke as calmly and deliberately as possible. "Thank you," he said, "I shall not forget this." There was a sound about his "I shall not forget this," I did not relish. Alf said nothing. Tom and he set off rowing as coolly as though nothing had happened. I extemporized a seat in the bow, and tried to make things as comfortable as possible. I noticed, although Alf and Tom were so cool, they hardly took their eyes off him for more than a second at a time. His behavior before their furtive glances was peculiar; he saw he was being watched; he couldn't sit still; he looked first at one bank, then at the other; his eyes traveled everywhere, resting nowhere; his hauds fidgeted and trembled ; he seemed all of a quiver. I expected him to break into a paroxysm every second. If I hadn't called out, he would have run us right into the shore; when I called, he clutched the other string violently, jerking the boat almost round. I heartily wished him at Jericho before he had come near us. No one spoke. We went slowly, along, watching each other. At last he said something. "I?I will get out," he said, in an odd, nervous way. "With pleasure," said Alf, "in a few rain| utes." "Why not now? Why not now, sir?" he , said, seeming to shake from head to foot. "Where are you going to get?into the river ?" I admired Alf's coolness, I envied hira. I oniy hoped he wouldn't let it carry him too far. The man glowered at him ; for a moment he looked him full in the face. I never saw a look in a man's eyes like that in his. Alf ! returned him look for look. Slightly, almost | imperceptibly, he quickened his stroke. A j little down was a little hamlet with a well| known inn and a capital landing stage. ! When we came alongside, the stranger said : ' | "This will do; I'll get out here." We turned tne Doat inenore. i>o sooner were we near enough, than he rose in his seat and sprang on to the beach. There were sevi eral people about, watermen and others. Alf | was after him in an instant; he rose almost simultaneously and leaped on shore; he i touched him on the shoulder. J "Now come," he said, "don't be foolish; ; we know all about it." I The other turned on him like a flasfi of lightning. "What do you mean?" But Tom was too quick for him ; he was i on the other side, and took his arm. "Come," '; he said, "don't let us have a row." ; The strauger raised himself to his full height and shook off Tom with ease. He ; | then hit out right and left in splendid style. ; Tom and Alf went down like ninepins. But i j my blood was up. I scrambled 011 shore and ran into him, dodged his blows, and closed. ;' I am pretty strong. He was old enough to , be my father; but I found I had met my ! match, and more. I was like a baby in his 1 arms; he lifted me clean off my feet and j threw me straight into the river. It was a splendid exhibition of strength. ; Tom and Alf, finding their feet, made for 1 him together; aud scrambling out as best I . could, I followed suit. You never saw such > a set-out. We clung to him like leeches. The language he used was awful; his strength j magnificent: though we were three to one, he v was a match for all of us. Of course the bystanders, seeing a row, came up; they interfered, and pulled us off. "Here's a pretty go?" said one. "What's all this?" "Stop him! lay hold of him !" said Alf. "He's a lunatic !" "A what?" said the man. "He's a lunatic escaped from Dr. Rawle's asylum!" Instead of lending a hand, the man went off into a roar of laughter, and the others joined. The stranger looked literally frantic with rage. A gentlemau stepped out from the crowd. wrn. , l> 1 :A . cwk.'o " mere a some misuse, uc saiu, uno gentleman is Mr. Travers, of Tollhurst Hall." You could have knocked us all three down with a feather, I do believe. Could it be pos sible ? Could we have been such consummate idiots as to have mistaken a sane man for a lunatic ? and that was Lilian Travers' father! I could have shr&nk into my boots, I could have run away and hid myself in bed. To think that we should have dogged and watched and insulted and assaulted the man of all others in whose good looks we wished to stand?Lilian Travers' father! Never did three men look such fools as we did then. We were so confoundedly in earnest about it, that was the worst of all. I don't care what you say; you may think it a first-rate joke; but he must have been an eccentric sort of elderly gentleman. If he had behaved sensibly, if he had made one sensible remark, he would have blown our delusion to the winds. We tendered our apologies as best we could to the man whom we had so insulted; but he treated us and them with the loftiest scorn ; and we got one after another into the boat amidst the gibes and jeers of an unsympathetic crowd. And as we rowed from the wretched place as fast as our oars would take us, we each in our secret heart declared that we never would forget our adventure up the river with a lunatic. And we haven't. From that day to this I have never seen Lilian < Travers, nor do I wish to. IpSttUitw flits ftradiuij. HOME AGAIN FROM LIBERIA. The bark Monrovia, Capt. Richardson, which arrived from Liberia last week, having left Monrovia September 21, brought eighteen colored passengers. They were a part of ! the ill-starred ship load of emigrants which ft f! fXr t.Vip liiherian Re 1CI (J VUAliVOVUII) way ?V? *> W . ? public on Easter Sunday, 1878, in the bark . Azor. As soon as the returning pilgrims : arrived in New York they were transferred , to the cars and started for their homes in South Carolina. Yesterday Capt. Richard- j son gave a reporter many details of their . long story of suffering and unhappiness, only ( the opening chapters of which have been pub- , lished in this country. The returning party , included three families and several single ( adults. Their friends in this country sent them money with which to pay their passage back ( to their old homes. They say there's not one ; of the Azor'a party that would not gladly come back if they could raise funds for the , journey. A more discontented, miserable ( lot of people can hardly be imagined than ] those unfortunates, who have found many more graves than homes in the young colored ] republic. It will be remembered that of the 370 exo- j dists who started on the Azor, twenty-nine died for lack of proper provision for their , health and comfort before they reached Monrovia. Some thirty or forty have been able ' to return to this country. Of the three hun- ' dred and over remaining there are now only about sixty persons alive. The climate fever, j which attacks all strangers in the country, is ( seldom fatal if the patient has proper treatment and is fairly supplied with the essentials ( of comfort. But these poor wretches were , most of them paupers when they landed in Liberia. They had no food, shelter nor medicine, except what was inadequately doled out by the government or by the poor set tiers of Monrovia. The result is that they , have perished by scores until only a remnant j of the band remains. The survivors are now inured to the climate, and the most of them . are at last self-supporting. But none of them are earning more than the scantiest subsistence. , Their troubles have been so incessant and overpowering that they have had no strength , nor means to carry out the plans with which | thev left America. They expected to go to , Bapora, a settlement on the St. Paul's River, 1 some twenty miles in the interior, where they hoped to open up small coffee farms. But when they reached Monrovia they found themselves, through mismanagement and probable criminality of the agents who had , them in charge, wholly dependent upon the charity of the Liberiaus, and they have not been able to stir outside of Monrovia, although , the residents of the capital would gladly have been rid of them long ago. The emigrants charge that the Exodus Association of the 1 South shamefully swindled them, and, justly or not, they lay most of their misfortunes at the door of this concern. They say that every passenger of the Azor paid, beside his or her passage money, for provisions for a month's voyage, and for six months' provisions after landing in Liberia. The money was paid to the association before the emigrants embarked at Charleston, and they still show receipts for it. When they landed at Monrovia the provisions were distributed, and there was found to be only a scant three weeks' supply. The unfortunate strangers, in a far-off land, have been too poor and miserable to trumpet their wrongs or to make investigation, and none has been attempted by their friends on this side of the water. But they claim that there has been foul play somewhere, aud that their money has been misappropriated. They were promised shelter for six months, and they had paid for six months' food. By that time they expected to have worn out the ill effects of the climate and accustom themselves to the surroundings and found some steady means of support. Instead of this they were thrown in the bad season of the year, upon the charity of the residents, who had only a few days' notice of their coming, and who have well-nigh supported them ever since, not without grumbling loudly on account of the irksomeness of the burden. The Azov's party landed at Monrovia in the beginning of the rainy season. No shelter had been prepared for them, and so the three hundred and forty-odd souls were of necessity crowded into a lot of dilapidated and abandoned houses near the beach. The Liberian Government, contrary to its nractice. took some measures for their relief, and some money was taken from the treasury to buy them food and medicines The only aid which the Government, as a rule, extends to immigrants is to give twenty-five acres of land to the head of every family, and to every male adult ten acres. Capt. Richardson says this Government grant has been to most immigrants of no advantage whatever, as it takes some capital to improve the land, and very few of the new comers have money enough to buy implements with which to develop the smallest coffee farm. Capt. Richardson says that immigrants | fresh from this country have little or no chance of employment in Monrovia. Fourfifths of the resident populace are laborers themselves, and the town has no need to import manual labor. Besides this, the Kross, a native tribe, who, the Captain says, lack only civilization to make them much sharper and more enterprising and prosperous than the average of their imported brethren, will work well for a shilling a day, which is less than the American negro, with two or three to provide for, requirep. The American emigrants have not been able to go to the country and the able-bodied among them have supplied no element of strength that the town needed. There were very few artisans in their number, and the most were drawn from the commonest ranks of Southern field hands. They have done nothing yet to identify them with the country or (he interests of its people, and the only hope they cherish is that some happy chance will enable them to come back to America. There ars quite a number of women and children, widowed and orphaned, who are still dependent for the little they have upon the kind offices of their neighbors. A few men are emplcyed by the Liberian Government, others work with the Kroos, unloading the vessels that now and then anchor off the shore, and others make the scantiest sort of living as hired men on coffee farms within a few miles of town. Naturedly enough they can see no bright side to Liberia, -1"1 -*? >* nanininna an/1 Violnlosari/KJS auu men uuiiotauu iv^iuiugo uuu nv.j/*ww?..Ww have made them no filends among the people, who have about all they can do take care of themselves. The emigrants which the American Colonization Society have sent out within the past two years are doing better, although there is considerable discontent among them. Very few of them have moved into the iuterior, as was the original purpose of the majority. They hang about Monrovia or work on the farms a few miles from the town. The Monrovia, which has been lying at the Empire Stores, in Brooklyn, will be placed in a dry dock this week and thoroughly overhauled. She will then be loaded for another voyage, and will start for Liberia December 15. The Colonization Society hss already applied for accommodations for sixty emigrants, and the number will probably be increased to eighty or one hundred before the day of sailiug. A clergyman will go out to join the Episcopal mission.?N. Y. Herald. A RUSSIAN LEGEND. There was once a young Russian .prince who was cruel as Russian princes alone can be. He made nothing of insulting and abusing any one; he would ruthlessly lead the chase across the fields of young corn which were the peasants' only hope of subsistence, and made nothing of trampling down women, feeble old men, or children, if they were in his way. On one occasion, being more than half intoxicated, he saw a beautiful child playing in the road before the door of a peasant's hut and rode deliberately over it, and when its mother, with frantic cries, rushed forth and lifted it from the ground, it was quite dead. The poor woman's grief was so great, the dead child was so beautiful, and the wrath of those who witnessed the scene was so intense, ' that even the cruel prince could not be quite indifferent to what he had done. Having watched the womaa for awhile he drew bis purse from a pocket add approached her. "Here," said he, dropping it into her lap, "here is money enough to make you rich amongst other peasants. Doubtless you have more children, or will have. They are always plenty, one more or less, what does it matter ? See, now, you are rich, stop crying." But as he spoke the woman lifted the purse in her hand ami flung it in his face. "Take back your blood money," she said. "My child was worth more to ra i than all the gold in Russia. But listen, insolent prince. A. poor peasant woman can do no harm, but die can see the harm that is coming.. My mother was a wise woman. I also can see into eternity. The horse that has iaeen the death of my darling will be the cause: of yours ere long. Yes, he will rid the world of you, thank heaven. It is written. I read it. Go, and leave me with my dead." As the woman spoke the prince turned pale. He was very superstitious, and the belief in prophecy was strong in those days. Without making answer he rode away. His followers at his bidding scattered the contents of his purse amongst the crowd, who at once changed their curses to cheers, and the broken-hearted woman was left alone. As for the prince, he rode home as fast as he could, and so great was the impression made by the words the poor peasant mother had uttered, that he at once ordered the horse, a great favorite, of which he had been fonder than he ever was of any living being, to be sent away to a distant portion of the country. The animal was to be cared for as though it were a human being; a house was to be built for him, and he was to be closely confined in it, if he, the prince, himself, ever visited that portion of the country. Of course, these orders were strictly obeyed. The favorite steed went into a sort of royal exile, and the prince used to ride other horses, when he trampled down other peasant's corn. People remembered the prophecy, however, and .many secretly hoped for its fulfilment. The unhappy mother had the reputation for a sort of second sight, believed in by those of her nation. "However, time passed <Jn. A year went by?two?three?four. The fifth came. During all this time the prince had heard no tidings of his banished favorite. At last he inquired about him, and heard that he had been dead for a long time. Laziness and over feeding had killed him. "So cried the prince, "he will not be my death, at last! A dead horse can kill nobody." And then, as though the creature were an enemy who had been thwarted in some evil intent, the desire to see his dead body and triumph over it, seized upon its master. Attended by a great train, he set out for the place where the horse had lived and died. The remains had been laid, with respect, in a sort of tomb built for the purpose. "Let mesee thefn," cried the prince. His word was law. The tomb was opened. Only a skeleton of the poor beast remained, but beside this the prince stood with an absurd look of triumph upon his countenance.. "So ! cried he. "You were to be my death, were you?" Ah, ah! you cannot runaway with me now, nor throw me. See how quietly you allow me to kick you !" As he spoke he bestowed upon the skull of the dead animal a disdainful kick. But, on the instant, his laughter turned to a cry of anguish, and his couriers saw him writhing on the ground in agony; close about his legs was twisted a black and hideous object with fierce eyes and darting head. It was a vo?nr?Alia Dfl?*non t which had coiled itself I V tUVJIUVUO OWijfVOv ?? _ withiu the hollow of the dead horse, and which the kick the prince had given aroused to wrath. The sting proved deadly. In a few hours the prince was dead. They bore him home to be buried in the tomb of his father. No one grieved for him; and at her door stood the peasant whose prophecy had been fulfilled. Other children now play at her knee, but she has not forgotten her murdered little one. WaT Has a parent or guardian the right to dictate what branch of study a child or ward shall omit in a public school course? The Judge of a Court in Pomeroy, Ohio, thinks this right exists. William Tucker sued the Board of Education and recovered $35 damages, for depriving his daughter of the privileges of the pubic schools. The Board had decided that all the pupils should learn drawing. Tucker gave notice to the teacher that his daughter must not study that branch, and the vBoard, in consequence, expelled her. \ f THE CLEMENT ATTACHMENT AttAlN. I Henry W. Grady writes from Atlanta to the Philadelphia Times: The unexpected and artificial rise in the price of cotton has added fully two cents a pound to the ordinary price of this staple. This surplus of $10 per bale, which strikes the farmers as happily as did the fairy godmother's gift to Cinderella, and which comes quite as gratuitously, has given'everything a I boom. The cotton is being rushed to market as rapidly as possible. Just upon this boom comes the discussion of a little machine that is already famous over the continent and that promises the grandest results, the Clement attachment. This machine, the invention of a Memphis mechanic, who died of yellow fever, provides for the spinning of yarns from seed cotton. At present, the.cotton is picked from the boll and taken to a gin which simply separates the lint from the seed. The lint is then baled and sent North for manufacturing. With the Clement mill the lint is not only separated from the seed, but it is spun into varn. The difference iu value is enormous. - * * * 1 _ I * Hie lint cotton is worm oniy uuouteignt eeuus a pound 011 the plantation ; the yarn is worth seventeen cents a pound. It will "be Been therefore, that every pound of cotton spun is DOUBLED IN VALUE. A bale of cotton ginned by the old process is worth say $50 ; the same cotton run through the new process is worth $100. Of this added value fully $15 is clear profit. A crop of 5,000,000 bales spun into yarn would, therefore, leave $500,000,000 in the South, while it now leaves only $250,000,000. Of this surplus of $250,000,000 there would be $75,000,000 profit. The rest would be kept on the farms in the way of wages, &c. It looks unreasonable to apply these figures to the whole crop, and yet it would require no more capital to spin the crop into yarns by the new process than it does to gin it by the old. One Clement mill will do the work of three gins and cost about one third as much. It is believed they will rapidly take the place of gins on the plantations and that a thorough revolution will be effected. There are six of these little mills in operation in Georgia and the Carolinas. Each of them is visited daily by crowds of sight-seers and farmers and capitalists. Letters are received from all parts of the country, and samples of the yarn have been sent for by Liverpool capitalists. The yards .made by this process are superior to any others and took the premiums at all the fairs. The little mills could not, all combined, supply a fraction of the demand that comes from Philadelphia alone for the yarns. One point that commends the Clementmills to the South is that they will make AN ESSENTIALLY 80UTHERN INDUSTRY. The cotton seed cannot be carried away from the plantations. It must be spun there just as completely as it is now ginned there. Tko m! 11 q vflp? Rimnlfl. It is simnlv the *"v ",v ' w"J 1 ? ?r .1 connection of a gin with a spindle by means of carding cylinders. In the old system the fibre is chopped and torn from the seed by lightning-like saws and then thrown all tangled and torn, into the lint pile, then packed into bales, taken to the factories, picked out and foggled again and then carded into rolls and spun. In the new process, the gin moves slower, pulls the fibVe from the seed instead of tearing or cutting it, transfers it carefully to a carding cylinder, instead of throwing it into the lint pile, and spins it at once, instead of packing it, compressing it and picking it out again. In the process of converting seed cotton into thread no less than four machines used in the old process are eliminated in the new process, and a profit of nearly two cents a pound is gained. This is an enormous margin of profit. It is proved also, that by the superior gins used in the Clement mills eight per cent, more of lint is taken from the seed than by the old gins. This eight per cent, has heretofore been wasted. From the lint to the thread there is another five per cent, of wastage saved. THE FURORE OVER THESE MILLS is wonderful. They drive out all thought of politics. It is estimated that over one hundred will be put to work in Georgia within the next year. A prominent cotton factory man predicted to me that the time would come when the old factories would scatter their spindles among these plantation mills and supply their places with looms to weave the yarns sent in from the farms. The profits of these mills are a large per centage. The six mills in operation average from thirty to sixty per cent. A mill that cost $3,500 has made $1,869 clear in one year, and it will do better next year. A double mill that cost $6,000 is making from $8 to $10 a day, and is safe for Artrt _ mi i. oo.uuu a year. iney are siuipie, ouug hujc structures, looking like the ordinary country grist mills. A six-horse power will run one of them. Several Northern capitalists have visited the mills, and several companies are being formed to put them up. The Southern papers are full of enthusiastic articles concerning them. - ? POINTS OF A GOOD HORSE. "I can't explain what a real good horse is," said one of the best najured dealers in the New York market, to a writer in Scribner's MTonthly. "They are as different as men. In buying a horse you must look first to his head and eyes, for sight of intelligence, temper, courage and honesty. Unless a horse has brains you can't teach him anything, any more than you can a half-witted child. See that tall bay there?fine-looking animal, fifteen hands high.. You can't teach that horse anything. Why ? Well, I'll show you a difference in heads; but have a care of his heels. Look at the brute's head, that rounding nose, that tapering forehead, that broad, full place below the eyes. You can't trust him. Kick? Well, I guess so ! Put him in a ten-acre lot, where he's got plenty of swing, and he'll kick the horn off' the moon." "That's an awful good mare," he added. "She's as true as the sun. You can see breadth, and fullness between the ears and eyes. You couldn't hire that mare to act mean or to hurt anybody. The eye should be full, aud hazel is a good color. I like a small, thin ear, and want a horse to throw his ears well forward. Look out for the brute that wants to listen to all the conversation going on behind him. The horse that turns back his ears till they almost meet at the points, take my word for it, is almost sure to do something wrong. See the straight, elegant face. A horse with a dishing face is cowardly, and a cowardly brute is usually vicious. Then I like a square muzzle, with large nostrils to let in plenty of air to the lungs. For the underside of the head, a good horse should be well cut under the jowl, with jawbone broad and wide apart under the throttle. "So much for the head," he continued. "The next thing to consider is the build of the animal. Never buy a long-legged, stilty horse. Let him have a short, straight back, and a straight rump, and you've got a gentleman's horse. The withers should be high, and the shoulders well set back and broad ; but don't get them too deep in the chest. The fore-leg should be short. Give me a pretty straight hind leg, with the hock low down, short pastern joint, and a round, mulish foot. There are all kinds of horses, but the animal that has these points is almost sure to le sightly, graceful, good-natured and serviceable. As to color, taste differs. Bays, browns and chestnut are the best. Roans are very fashionable at present. A great many grays and sorrels are brought here for shipment to Mexico and Cuba. They do well in a hot climate, under a tropical sun? for the same reasot. that you ' / unci lignt coiorea cioimng me most serviceable in Summer. That circus horse behind you is what many people call a calico horse. Now, I call him a genuine piebald. It's a freak of nature, and may happen anywhere." THE STREAMLET. i A streamlet started forth from a spring fa the side of a mountain, and, after an infancy of gay leaps in bright cascades, spread out < iuto a more quiet and steady movement. It began then to dream and meditate on the object for which it existed. While in this gra ve inood a Will-o'-wisp darted out and danced over its waters. 1 "Ah," cried the streamlet, "this is a heaven- ' ly light sent to tell me what I wish to know, and to guide my course." * 1 But the Will-o'-wisp soon flitted away, and vanished, leaving the streamlet more perplexed than before. Its first creed was ?? TI*An o i?aow aIaii/1 flno fori in flio clrxr I j^KJUXjm XUCU a 1VOJ viuuu Iivuwu <u vmv and mirrored itself iu the bosom of the stream. "This," it cried, "is a token of Paradise!" But a wind ruffled the water, and the tinted cloud was mirrored no more; and when the streamlet became still aguin the rosy cloud had passed from the sky. Then a water lily expanded on its waters. "Behold !" said the streamlet; "to nourish this beauty is the eud and aim of my life." 1 But the lily presently folded up and perished. The streamlet moved on. Presently it came to a spot where men had thrown hard stones in its way, obstructed itB course, 1 turned it aside through a narrow channel and forced it to rush in a confused, perilous way over a wheel. "Alas!" cried the streamlet; "is it then for this agony I was born ?" 1 But after some wild splashes the streamlet 1 found itself at peace again, and went on i widening. And now a glorious moon came out and showered gold all over it. "How wealthy I am!" cried the streamlet ^ The moon waned. But the stars came out, 1 and the ripple caught them as bright mar- 1 vels; they hinted deeper steader, glories yet 1 to be revealed. But the stars set 1 At length a poet reclined on its bank and 1 sang to it < "Sweet streamlet! What a bright life I must have been yours! What flowers must' have fringed your gilded way, what rosy clouds ' you must have reflected, what lillies you have 1 nourished, what stars have risen to tell you \ their secrets ere they have set! You have J done brave work, too. You have watered * the meadow and made it wave with grain; ' you have conspired with the sun to ripen the < harvest, and when matured, you have helped 1 to turn it into bread. Not for one of these * joys and uses were you made but for all! ' So may the stream of life run on, with varied 1 happiness and helpfulness, not axious about 1 the unknown sea to which thou and I, fair ' stream, are tending." 1 As the streamlef listened, all the beauties it 1 had known shone out again, and they all f clustered?dancing light, rosy cloud, golden 1 moon and serene stars?around the sorrow it ? had encountered, the obstruction which had ' ground grain for man; for that transfigured < in the poet's song, seemed the happiest expe* ) rience of all.?Moncuke D. Conway, SL Nicholas for October. j Shot Making.?A shot tower is certainly 1 aourioua place -to the uninitiated-Tiaitoi, and \ the process of manufacturing the leaden mis- . siles is most interesting. Of course it is nec- 1 essary that the shot should fall from a considerable elevation, and many of the towers are over 200 feet. As pure lead will pot 1 make perfect globules, it is necessarily "tern- 1 pered." This "temper" is prepared by the ' addition of ingredients, of which arsenic is ( the main property. It is run into bars con- 1 venient for use, and, with pig lead hoisted to < the top of the tower. Here are two small ' rooms, one about 12 feet below the other, and J each containing two huge kettles in which the pig lead and "temper" are melted. From 1 one of the two kettles in both rooms?as each f room has a separate shaft?streams of shot ( are constantly flowing. At the bottom of ' each kettle themolten stuff pours into square 1 pans perforated at one side. These perfora- ' tions are large or small according to the size of shot desired, and separate the mass into 1 distinct, delicate, gleaming streams, which, in < turn, as they come in contact with the atmos- 1 phere, separate into globules or shot, which 1 are cooled in their 200 feet journey and the water into which they fall below. 1 Out of the shot pit, up through the water, 1 an endless belt, with cups attached, carries 1 the wet shot, depositing it in a huge revolv- 1 ing heated cylinder, where the globules are e thoroughly dried. From this they pass out J upon a descending series of slightly inclined 1 tables, the lower edge of each one being a ( few inches above and distant from the succeeding table. The perfect globules, from their specific gravity, go bounding over these j spaces; but the imperfect shot are gradually > forced along until they reach them, when f they fall into receptacles, and being remolten 3 go over the same journey again. From these 1 sorting tables the shot are carried to a series < of sizing seives, with perforated sheet-brass * bottoms. Moved back and forth by machine- 1 ? *1." oUrtf nf a omollai* oi<?n rtosa tVirnilOrV) 1 I y f tUC OUUb U1 U DUIHilVt UAUv |/MVW WM* ? these perforations, larger shot of different ] sizes, from the motion of the sieves, and from their weight, gradually sorting themselves 1 with absolute perfection. From the sorting j sieves the shot pass into polishing barrels, > containing a prepafation, the main constit- ' uent of which is plumbago, and, emerging from these, burnished like silver, find their way into repositories in the story below, to < the mouth of each of which there is attached 1 a delicately adjusted automatic scale, which 1 will discharge precisely 25 pounds of shot 1 into the bags beneath. ( ? ? ? Our Receipt for Curing Meat.?-As i the season has arrived when curing meat is } in order, we republish as of old, our famous l receipt for curing beef, pork, mutton, hams, < &c., as follows: I To one gallon of water, < Take 1J pounds of salt, j i pound of sugar, i i ounce of saltpetre, . i ounce of potash. I In this ratio the pickle can be increased to any quantity desired. Let these be boiled together until all the dirt from the sugar rises ? to the top and is skimmed off". Then throw 1 it into a tub to cool, and when cold, pour it ' over your beef or pork. The meat must be 1 well-covered with pickle, and should not be j put down for at least two days after killing, during which time it should be slightly ' sprinkled with powdered saltpetre, which re- 1 moves all the surface-blood, &c., leaving the ] meat fresh and clean. Some omit boiling the 1 pickle, and find it to answer well, though the ] operation of boiling purifies the pickle by ' throwing off the dirt always to be found in ( salt and sugar. If this receipt is strictly fol- 1 lowed, it will require only a single trial to prove its superiority over the common way, or most ways of putting down meat, and will 5 not soon be abandoned for any other. The 1 meat is unsurpassed for sweetness, delicacy * and freshness of color.?Gennantovm Tele- < graph. * S&~ Did you ever notice that there is some- 1 thing really musical in the pitiful weeping of your own baby?God bless it I?and something, everything fiendishly discordant in the 1 squalling of your neighbor's howling young t one ? How is it, anyhow, that it always is f that way ? < i i KJLjV iXUfi?"~r uuiovvtv jviMw uuv* the general term of human existence. With women the fiftieth, and with men the sixtieth year, may generally be considered that in which they begin to exhibit signs of infirmity and decrepitude. Disease incidental to this _ stage of life then come into play, and their effect upon the habit and constitution is soon manifest. Especially do such diseases as gout, rheumatism, apoplexy and paralysis arise to make a wreck of the constitution; and cancer, more particularly in woman, commits ravages, destroying its victims with deadly certainty. Now it is, that any'excess * 1 JL !!A. es committed in tne earner penoas 01 me, any habitual infringements of t^'hrr nf "m~'? health, are found to have told upon the constitution, although this was not apparent in the full vigor of manhood. Now it is, that we find impaired powers of respiration, of secretion, and of digestion, rendering it necessary to be careful of- the air we breathe, the exercise we take, and the food we eat. Early to bed, but not early to rise, is the rule at this period of life; or, at all events, must rest Exercise should be taken by the aged, but of a passive character and not carried to fatigue ; warmth is essential to their comfort; cleanliness, though often neglected bv the aged, is very necessary to the preservation of life; and with these requisites, amusements should not be overlooked, though it should be of a quiet, unexciting nature.- If unable to read, themselves, they should be read to; for one of the greatest pleasures of the aged consist in old memories and associations. Aged persons live very much in a world of the past, and if sometimes tediously garrulous, it should be remembered, that from them this world, with ii* exciting hopes and depressing . _ cares, is rapidly passing away; that we may not hereafter have cause for regret, let us gently smooth the pathway of deolining age. JSrThe Commissioner of Internal Revenue has handed in his annual report to the Secre-. tary of the Treasury, for the past year. The table embodied therein shows that during the '; past three years and four months, 3,117 illicit ; distilleries have been seized, 6,363 persons arrested for illicit distilling, and 27 officers and / 3mploy& killed and 48 wounded wfyile en- j jaged in enforcing the internal reveaacTfites- _ Ihe commissioner says that the State Court^ y have taking cognizance of these murders anb^ " issaults only in a few cases, and that they iot be reliecl upon to punish such oSensesi H*. mnnmRlAndo tllO enoptmflnt. bvV L&U, tUGlGIVAO) A VWUiuivuuu wuv ? j . Dongress of a law authorizing the UnitedC States Courts to try and punish persons cbaraf :d with assaults upon United States^offio^n while the latter are engaged in th^ptfjftrmince of their official duties. ThejnU^faK hat 5,448 distilleries were regi^^MpdupS. ;he past fiscal year, and 5,347 opel^R^d. Turing the special tax year, ending AKprU 30th, ;here were forty-nine millien gail^fna 0f spirits ectified, and during the fiscal ySLr the tax?6 Jaid on spirits withdrawn from * jregated $46,778,000. Discussing l^^niclon of the tax on tobacco, the Commissioner lays during the four months of the present iscal year the decrease in receipts from tobac:o and snufif, as compared with the corres3onding period, last year, was $2,336,600. These figures indicate a decrease for the whole* fear of $7,000,000. The total production of obacco and snuff in the United States during lie year, was 131,000,000 pounds, an increase^^^^ >?-12,000,000 ponnda ovar-tlin prmiicma y? The total amount of collections from tobacco; n all forms, was $40,000,000. 4 ? WSf A Dr. M. M. Griffith, of Bradford, Pa., reports that he has attained some astonishing results by the administration of crude petroeum to consumptives. In twenty-five cases if well-marked tuberculosis, he claims that ;wenty are* cured, so far as any outward signs >f disease are concerned, and the rest have seen materially benefitted, none having been inder treatment for more than four months. The nausea attending the use of ordinary petroleum led Dr. Griffith to use the' semiiolid oil that forms on the casing and tubing >f wells. This is made into pills of three to 5ve grains each by incorporating any inert vegetable matter, and administered in doses if one pill each, from three to five times a low TKa first. he cavs. is the disan* pearance of the cough, night sweats are reliev- ' id, appetite improves and weight is rapidly gained. But there have beeD so manyvcure- . ills for pulmonary disease which have utterly ^ ^ -ailed,that it is likely the medical facult^&JJtf^Mfl aasten slowly before they consent lize Dr. Griffith's remedy asj?e longvH^t janacea. Yet there can/fee", no doubt^hat ^ ;here have been mapy oily and fatty subitances that haye-^iven relief to consump;ives, aHeflsTluding to sustain them for varyng periods, according to the constitution of lifferent patients. + ? t&" Next year will see the grand cathedral at' Cologne completed. The first stone of this mmense church was laid on the 14th of August, 1248. The choir was consecrated in 1332. The south tower was completed in 1437. In 1810 the parchment containing the iriginal design of the building was found, tnd the work of the building stimulated. Ip 1825 the Prussian Government took the mater in hand, and in 1880 the cathedral will ie completed at the mature age of 632 years."*rhe church is in the form of a cross and is 511 eet long by 231 feet wide. The roof is supported by 100 columns, the centre ones beng 30 feet in circumference. The towers are )40 feet high. \ The intelligence cornea from .Washington ;hat the proposal to put Grant at the head of ;he army, with a salary of fifty thousand dolare a year, is generally approved by mem3ers of Congress. 80 enthusiastic are some of ;hem in behalf of it that it is proposed to luspend the rules and press the bill at once, f possible, and the belief is general that it ivould go through by a vote in every sense ion-partisan. Everybody takes it as a matter )f course that Grant will be delighted with ;his arrangement, and prefer it to any number >f terms as President He has often spoken ibout the sacrifices he made when he gave up [lis life position as General of the Army to become President The report of the Philadelphia board of 1 team vessel inspectors, concerning the collision on the 7th ultimo, between the steamer Champion and the British ship Lady Octavia, declares that the disaster was wholly due jo the absence of a proper lookout on the Champion. The board is of opinion that the ault rests mainly with K. H. Leonard, first, nate of the Champion, and if he had survived, his action should have been condemned n severe terms. The evidence shows that it imo tlia T.n^o rWnwia that ran intn the ITMQ VliU v/vm??*w """ Champion, but that under the evidence, the ifficers of the Octavia should be exempt from, ill blame. Stuffed Chicken.?"Well, my man," laid a* military doctor to a patient who had >een on a "low diet" for a long time, "how ire you ?" "Much better, sir." "Could you i&t a small chicken to day ?" "That I could, lir." "What would you like it stuffed with ?" 'Please your Honor," replied the hungry parent, "I would like it stuffed with another.'* "They are both scoundrels," said a felow-member of Congress to Thad Stevens ibout two applicants for a seat. "I suppose 10," said old Thad, "but which is our scoun* Irel?" ^ m