Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I levvis m. grist, proprietor, j ^ii Jnhejjenbent Jantilii ftetospper: Jfor % promotion of t|e ^olifital, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Soafj;. TERMS?$2.50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 26. YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, JANUARY 1880. NO. 4. ' - - I - ... * AO>AA LAL X- -L Jta Anginal Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE THREAD OF FATE. BT TICTOK VERNON. / CHAPTER VI. It may be readily imagined that Edward waited, with no small degree of impatience, for the revelation which Charity had promised him to make. By ten o'clock, Mrs. Thorndale and Jenuie were in bed ; and a few minutes later, he found himself closeted with the sewing woman, in her own apartment, which was so far removed from all the other sleeping-rooms as to preclude the possibility of their conversation being overheard by any ? k/vnoAk/\1r] tnkft mmkf nhflnno lUCIWUCl Ul UIC UVUKUVIU) ITUV luiguii vxuvx to be awake. "Sit down," said Charity, drawing forward a chair, as hard .and uncompromising-looking as herself. Edward, as he mechanically obeyed her, felt as though he were about to go through some terrible ordeal. And, indeed, his companion, with her forbidding countei nance, and steely eyes glittering with a sort M of subdued yet malignant triumph in their 0f glance, as if she exulted at the thought of the paiu she was about to inflict upon him, lookedmot unlike some agent of the Inquisition ready to gloat over the sufferings of the poor wretch within her grasp. There was a short silence; then Edward exclaimed impatiently, "Well!" "Well," said Charity coolly. "You've come, I suppose, pepared to hear some account of your mother?her that your friend, Mrs. Thorndale, has been so careful never to speak to you about." "Go on," said her listener. "Do you want me to tell you everything f" pursued Charity. "You won't shriuk from learning the truth, nor blame me for telling it to you ?" "I shall not blame you ; I want you to tell me all that you know." "Good. Then remember, if you hear what you don't like, it's your own fault, and I'm taarr rcannnoililo fnr thft fnnBPnnfinPM Thfi <IV ?? MJ I VO^VUU?W?V *VT? kMV only thing is, I fear I may get into trouble with Mrs. Thorndale?she may likely turn me away for meddling with other people's affairs, and then what will I do ?" She need not know that you told me. I shall not get you into trouble." "Doyou promise me that?" "Yes, I promise. For Heaven's sake, put an end to this mystery and suspense," exclaimed Edward. "You make me feel as though some dreadful secret,'some story of blood or crime, were about to be revealed to me. "There's no story of bloodshed, Master Edward. As to crime, people's idea on that point may differ. ' Well, tc come to the point; your mother, Helen Dudley, was the daughter of your grandfather, who used to own this farm; and if things had gone as they should, you'd be master here now. But Helen, unluckily, made a false step; and this was how it came about. You see she was au only child, and very much petted ; her moth er was dead, and her father, your grandfather Dudley, that was, didn't cros9 her in anything. He worshipped the very ground she trod upon. So, naturally, she thought she ought always to have>her way in everything. Farmer Thorndale and his wife lived then at the next place, that Bradford owus now. You know the old tumble-down house, and the field with the broken fence ?" non ron f lrnniv rrr\ An " ! V/I VVUIO^ A OUW1I f gv Ull. "Well, of course it looked very different then. Your uncle kept it in pretty good repair, though he wasn't rich like your grandfather." "My uncle!" "Yes, farmer Thorndale was your uncle, or your graud uncle, rather, by marriage; Mrs. Thorndale being your mother's own aunt." "I don't understand," said poor Edward, confusedly. "I never heard of all this relationship before." "Of course not," said Charity, with a sardonic smile. "Your friends had good reasons for not letting you know, as I'll show you presently. I'm going on now to tell you about your mother. She was reckoned to be very handsome; a good deal handsomer than JeDnie is now ; in fact a different style altogether. She had plenty of beaux when she was only fourteen or fifteen years old; and I dare say tbey turned her head. She was always being invited to pic-uics, and May-parties, aud quilting-parties, and so forth; and she'd dress up as gay as you please, and go off with a lot of girls and young men as gay as hftrsftlf often with no on-own nn norson to mi perintend them, which was certainly not very wise in your good aunt?Mrs. Thorndale, I mean?considering she had the control of Helen, in a great degree, and shouldn't have let her run herself in danger in that way. "It happened, by and-by, that there came along a young spark by the name of Eustace?Hal Eustace, he was called. What he first came to these parts for, I can't tell you, because I don't know; but I reckon he was just traveling around for his amusement. Anyhow, he seemed to have plenty of leisure, and plenty of money to amuse himself with. Your mother met him, at some frolic or another, and the first thing was he fell in love with her, or pretended to, and she was overpleased at his attentions, and took them all in earnest, though I believe now he had no serious thoughts about her at all. "Well, her father and the Thorndales got wind of the aflair; and your grandfather made some inquiries about the young man, and not being satisfied with what be could find out about him?which was not much ? he forbade Helen having any more to say to him. But she, having always had her own way in other things, naturally expected to do the same in this. So as she and Eustace were forbidden to have intercourse with one an o.tner, ana were atraid to meet openly, they began to have secret meetings in the woods and elsewhere. I suppose opposition strengthened Helen's fancy for her lover, and he, no doubt, was pushed to go to greater lengths by his desire to spite the old man. So between them they arranged an elopement,,and would hate been off together, if the scheme hadn't been discovered in time by some one who had watched and overheard them privately, and told Mr. Dudley all about it. He was dreadfully cut up, of course, and reproached Helen for her disobedient behavior. Eustace went off, nobody knew where, and she promised better behavior iu the future, and as her father easily forgave her, things went on smoothly again lor a while. Helen seemed pretty much the same as before, but I could see she was not satisfied, and many a time I used to think some harm would come of it yet. Some weeks passed?and then, all of a sudden, she went. "Where?" asked Edward, iu a husky tone. "Well, she just disappeared. Nobody could trace her at all, and the only thing that made us know why she had left, was a little note she had written to her father, saying that there was no happiness for her now except in being with one who loved her more than anybody else in the world, and asking him to forgive her for leaving home. She did not say who she had gone with, but it was easy enough to guess that Eustace must be the one. "\nd they were married?" asked Edward with parched lips. "J guess not," said Charity, slowly. "For a long time we could hear nothing at all; then at last we heard, in a roundabout way, of their having gone to some place out West. Your grandfather started .to go there, but he got ill and had to turn back. He was terribly broken down by what had happened, and looked i nearly twenty years older than before. Then j Farmer Thorudale went, but could not find them. He only heard that a couple answering their description had been there, but nobody could tell what had become of them ; only he heard?." "Well!" said Edward as she'stopped. "I don't like to say it.*' "You must and shall go on," exclaimed the boy, whose young face had grown hard and stern with the intensity of his feeling, and the effort it cost him not betray it. "Well, he heard enough to confirm him in the fear, which they had felt, all along, that there had been no marriage at all. A letter came to Mr. Dudley too, telling him the same thing; but it was anonymous, and they couldn't trace the writer. Altogether there seemed to be a good deal of mystery about the .affair; but enough was heard to make it pretty evident that Eustace was a rascal and had de ceived your mother throughout." "But there was no proof, after all, that she had gone with him." "No proof?no; but after what had hap pened before, who could doubt it?" Edward sat "with folded arras, as still as a statue, only his white face and compressed iips affording some hint of the conflict that was going on in his breast. What that conflict was, poor lad, it is not difficult to iramagine. But with sternest resolution he refrained from giving expression to it by word or sign. In the last ten minutes he seemed to have grown old. If they had been ages instead of minutes,, they could hardly have laid a heavier weight of care and anguish upon him. "And that is all ?" he asked presently. "Nearly all. Your grandfather died, broken-hearted. Her conduct was a blow that crushed him too completely for him ever to recover from it. Then his sister, Mrs. Thorndale, and her husbaud, came into possession of the farm and all his other property. Between two and three years later, as Farmer Thorndale was coming home from Rockford one bitter cold, snowy night, he discovered your mother and yourself, then a baby under a year old, out on the moor, and brought you both in. Of course you've heard all about that before." "Was there?had she proof about her? nothing to show that rumor had been false?" Charity looked down. Her features worked for an instant, as if with some inward scruple or doubt; then she raised her eyes again and fixed them steadily on his face. "There was one proof," she answered in a low deleberate tpue, "that rumor had not played her false. There was no toedding ring on her hand." "That can not be considered a proof," quickly rejoined Edward. "She may have been forced, through necessity, to pawn or sell it." "A woman would pawn or sell all the clothes she had on her back, before parting with her wedding-ring," rejoined Charity. "Her culpability seems to have been a mere matter of conjecture, from beginning to end," said Edward, rising from his chair. "I, for one, do not accept it as a fact, and never shall, without some stronger evidence of it than you have brough^forward yet." "Oh ! you don't believe it, don't you ?" asked Charity wi h a vindictive-sneer. She also arose, and stood confronting him, with a look of suppressed hate and rage that he had never seen on her face, or any other face, before. It absolutely made him shudder. "No, I don't believe a syllable of it?not ouesyllable," he replied. "And what is more, I shall devote myself, in future, to the task of clearing up all doubt and mystery on the subject, and of tracing out the proofs of my mother's innocence." "You don't believe she ran away from home at all, do you ?" "She may have been persuaded into taking that step bv the fear of encountering farther opposition at home; but that she would willingly Ho evil, I cannot believe." "Understand me, Master Edward," continued Charity, more smoothly, "I didn't say, nor wish to insinuate, that I thought she had done evil toillingly. I said she had been deceived, and that's just what everybody else always supposed. She was very young, and knew nothing of the world. As likely as not there was a false marriage, though we never heard of it." "If she was deceived," rejoined Edward, "the vHlain who called himself her lover should have been followed to the ends of the earth, and punished for his crime. I cau't imagine how he could have been allowed to escape." "What were folks to do? Your grandfather was old, and nearly driven out of his wits by trouble. Farmer Thorndale, as J told you, went to the only place where he had any tidings from, and there he was baffled in his search. They took great pains, I fancy, to conceal themselves; though I admit it does seem singular they should have succeeded so well." "I wonder why Mrs. Thorndale never told me of all this," said Edward, half-inaudioly. "Well, it's easy enough to imagine why. In the first place, she's fond of you, and didn't want to cause you pain by the knowledge of what was past remedying. In the second, she felt, no doubt, that it would be a hard thing for you to feel yourself in a sort of way entitled to all this property, and yet be cut out of it except through her bounty. In the third, I believe, in my heart, she wants you to marry Jennie, and knows well enough that with your sense of honor you never would compromise the girl by asking her to marry you, under the circumstances." This speech stung her hearer like thorns and nettles; but it was with the same forced outward composure that he remarked? "I cannot doubt that her reasons, whatever they may be, have been prompted by her af: fpnfinn fnr mp cinpo ihnf h?Q nlwnvQ hppn tin i bounded. I should like to know your motives I for teljing me the secret she has so long carej fully concealed ?" "My motives? Oh, they are plain enough. 1 I thought you were anxious to know your family history, and as I consider you old j enough and wise enough to act for yourself ! now, I have told you all this so that you may shape out your future course accordingly. Do ! you wish that I had refrained from doing | so?" "I wish nothing," replied Edward, "except to be alone now and have a little leisure to think. You have, at any rate, given me : enough to think about." "Good-night," said Charity, as he moved towards the door. Something in her tone | grated mockingly on his ear. He turned and ; confronted her quickly, meeting her eyes fixed i upon him again with that vindictive, trij umphaut look?a smile even was on her lips; a smile of malice that an evil angel might wear. "Woman!" he cried fiercely, stung by the look almost beyond endurance, "is your heart as black as night, that you rejoice in this story of woe aud shame ? Can it be that J you revel in the thought of giving me pain ? Have you been my enemy all along without j my knowing it?" "Your enemy! and why should I be?" j was her cool rejoinder. "1 have tried to act i the part of a friend to you in this?have done ; nothing but tell you the truth, which I thought you desired to know. Perhaps il would be better if I had left it uusaid?bul it is too late for that now." "Yes, it is too late?too late!" he passion ately replied. "What you have told me can never be unsaid or forgotten?but I will move heaven and earth to find out the truth 01 slander of your tale." "Don't forget your promise, Master Edward ! Remember, you said you would not betray me." "I never forget a promise," rejoined Edward, as turning from her with a loathing impossible to describe, he walked out of the room. Agitated beyond measure, he sought his own chamber, and locked himself in, to spend the greater portion 01 me nignt in sleepless and bitter reflection. He was half beside himself, poor lad, with grief, and shame, and uncertainty how to act. At one moment he resolved to Quit the farm, and never return until he had traced out, as he had declared he would, the story of his mother's wrongs to its foundation. Then the hopelessness, almost impossibility, of such an undertaking occurred to him, and seemed to point out the uselessness of attempting it. More than twenty-one years had passed since Helen Dudley had listened to the treacherous voice which beguiled her from her borne. Nearly eighteen years.ago she had expiated her folly and weakness by her sorrowful death. And how could he. after so long a lapse of time, hope to discover a secret which had baffled the search of others when there was most likelihood of finding it out ? That Charity bore him malice for some reason or other, seemed beyond a doubt; and this gave him some faint hope that her story might, in some particulars, be false. Oh, for some magic power of divination, some gift like those of the wizards and enchanters of fairy lore, to penetrate the mystery of the past, to rend away the veil that hid the truth from his eyes ! But vain and childish indeed was such a thought. Rather than indulge in idle fantasies, it would be far more expedient for him to map out some plan of action, to lay resolves for the future, which might enaable him to make for himself a name and position, since the misfortune of his birth had denied him both. In the midst of other thoughts, the recollection of what Charity had said in regard to Jennie recurred persistently to his mind. Did he love her now, except as a sister ? He hnr/tlv irnpu? CWf.ainlv. in anv case, he was too young to entertain the idea, as yet, to win her love. But of the future he had sometimes dreamed, vaguely, indefinitely, as boys will. He felt that such dreams, at least so far as she might figure in them, must be now put aside. What was he, that he should look forward to ever aspiring to her hand ? [to be continued ] Ipscdliittcsus fteadwij. A DETECTIVE'S ADVENTURE. One pleasant evening recently, two men were seated in a cosy little room not far from St. Louis, engaged in conversation concerning criminals. One was a detective connected with a Chicago agency. "Well," remarked the detective, after a pause in the conversation, "I will tell you a peculiar little incident that happened several years ago to a brother detective, which will illustrate how luck sometimes assists us in accomplishing an object, which might otherwise be unattainable. Several years ago," he continued, as he ejected a cloud of smoke from his mouth, "a noted forger was wanted very badly at Chicago where he had been indulging in such crookedness as rendered him liable to occupy the penitentiary for a term of years if he were caught. The case was placed in Pinkerton's hands and one of his men detailed to work it up. He was fortunate enough to obtain a clew to the much wanted individual's whereabouts, and following it up, he at length spotted his man at Toronto, Canada, which you know is on Lake Ontario. The detective threw himself in the wftv of the foreer. became acquainted with him under an assumed name, and gradually ingratiated himself in his favor. Forgery not being an extraditable offense, it was impossible to make the arrest in Canada, so the detective was obliged to adopt another line of tactics. He made known his intention of crossing over into the States, and the forger determined to go to the boat to see him off Once on board, the detective kept him engrossed in interesting conversation, and with such consumate tact did he play his part, that the crooked gentleman did not notice that the boat had started until it was far out in the lake, for they had gone below to take a social glass at parting. When the forger found the boat gradually receding from the Canada shore, with no possibility of getting back immediately, he fumed and swore for a time, but seeing that did not better matters in the least, cooled down and de. termined to make the best of a bad job. ?s soon as that imraaginary line in the middle of the lake which divides the two countries had been passed, the detective revealed himself, and, clapping on the nippers, arrested his man. They arrived on the other shore at length without adventure, and, boarding the lightning express on the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern that night, %iey started on their journey. There happened to be a few persons in the car in which the two sat. The detective was almost completely worn out from loss of sleep, and, as it was a through train, he determined to obtain a little Morpheus. Placing the prisoner on the inner side of the seat, he so disposd himself next him that he imagined the slightest move would awake him. The arrangements completed, he fell asleep in an easy state of mind. He does not know how loug he slept until be awoke suddenly with a start, and found to his chagrin that the forger was gone. It is a rule of our agency that if a man is sent upon the trail of a depradator, aud fails in bringing him back, he loses his place on the force, so that you see his reputation as well as his positi<Jn depended upon his prompt action. He quickly decided upon his line-of action, and, walking with assumed carelessness through the entire train, he examined every nook and corner that the prisoner could possibly be stowed away in. His search was fruitless. On his return, he was accosted by the brakeman, who inquired: " 'Are you in search of your friend ?' "The detective answered in the affirmative. " 'Oh/ said the brakeman, he got off at the last station where we stopped for water. He seemed as if he didn't want to disturb your sleep, for he got over the back of the seat.' "The detective then made known who he was, and inquired of the brakeman whether there was any possible chance of his getting back to the town that night. Very fortunately the train stopped a short distance ahead, on a siding, in order to allow a freight train going in the direction of that particular town, to pass them. The conductor signalled it to stop, the detective got aboard, and in the course of an hour or so was standing in the little village where he desired to be. It was a primitive Ohio hamlet, and the only alleged hotel it could boast of was of the most wretched description. The detective concluded that he could do nothing at that late hour and in his exhausted condition ; so he determined to obtain a little sleep and scour the country in the morning. With infinite difficulty he succeeded in arousing the sleqpy landlord of the hostelry. 'There, were no accommodations,' he said, in reply to the detective's questions, 'unites he was willing to occupy the^same room and bed with another man.' v V t "The detective thought it was better than t sleeping out, so he asked to be shown the room. He had just unrobed, and was about to extinguish the tallow dip, when something i prompted him to take a look at his bedfellow, i He did so, and what was his surprise to find his whilom prisoner snuggled up in the bedclothes. Accustomed as he was to repressing his feelings upon all occasions, he coula ; scarcely restrain a joyful shout at his good fortune, and it was some time before he recovered sufficient calmness to act with coolness. After much self-congratulation he secured the forger's clothing to a piece of twine and suspended them from the window. He then resumed a portion of his own clothing, and hid the remainder, locked the door, and placed the key in his pocket, and getting into bed he placed his revolver in such a position that although out of sight, it was within easy reach, and sank into a peaceful slumber. In the morning he was awakened by the sound of some one talking in the room, and peering cautiously around, he noticed the forger rum maging about, clothed only in an aooreviatea under garment and endeavoring manfully to give proper vent to his feelings in choice but emphatic expletives. ? His search for his clothing proving unavailing, he approached the bed opposite to investigate. As he did, 'click' went the revolver, and the detective stood revealed to his astonished gaze. He started as if he had been struck, and before he could recover from his astonishment, he was properly handcuffed and at the detective's mercy. "He was soon assisted into his clothing; the next passing train was hailed and tbey arrived at their destination without further adventure." "What became of the forger?" inquired the reporter, as the detective applied a lighted match to his cigar. "Oh, he was tried soon afterwa.rd," was the reply, "and the evidence against him was of such an overwhelming character that he was convicted and sent up for a long term." THE KING'S MOUNTAIN CENTENNIAL. The scene of the Battle of King's Mountain, fought between the Americans and the British with their Tory allies, on October 7, 1780, is in the northern part of York County in this State, but very near the North Carolina line and the Station of King's Mountain on the Richmond and Atlanta Air Line Railroad. It is of itself a most suitable place for a friendly gathering of the citizens of the contiguous States, and the Centennial celebration of so important an event in the history of the Republic as the Battle of King's Mountain, is a matter of National importance. As a battle, King's Mountain has been dwarfed by the Titantic struggles of our latter history, but its bearing on the events of its time is not open to dispute. It should, therefore, be a source of congratula ? ? ' it 1 ? tion to those who tatce a pnae in me eariy history of the United States, that earnest, thoughtful and able men have come together for the purpose of securing a fitting commemoration of the one hundredth anniversary of so glorious an event. On the 25th of July last, a meeting was held at King's Mountain, N. C., and a thorough organization effected, with that sterling soldier and practical man, Col. Asbury Coward, Principal of the King's Mountain Military School of Yorkville, as the head. Since then the various committees have been busily at work, and on New Year's Day a meeting was held at Yorkville, at which results were reported. Owing to the peculiar situation of the Southern State Governments, the idea, which was at first entertained of obtaining aid from the several States more particularly interested, had to be abandoned, and new arrangements were made for securing the necessary funds by popular subscription. The report of the Committee on Transportation was especially encouraging, as showing the interest taken by the railroads in the celebration, particularly the Air Line Railroad, which has already announced that it will present to the Centennial Association a monster flag, to be unfurled on Washington's Birthday, from an immense pole, which the Company will erect on the summit of King's Mountain. The Committee ou Monuments reported that the}' examined a great number of designs, and recommended one which they thought most suitable, consisting of five blocks of slate gradually diminishing in size from eight feet square by four feet high to two feet square and by four feet high, the names of those who fell to be placed on panels in the block next to the top, and the whole to be surmouuted by the figure of a Continental soldier, the total height to be twenty-five or twenty-six feet. The cost of this monument is estimated at about $3,000. The report was recommitted. The Committee on Grounds recommended that seventeen acres be cleared for military evolutions, the Adjutant Generul of North Carolina having said that he believed that he could secure the attendance of * 1 Ul? loi'ty companies, ana 11 ueing pruumnc mat this turn-out would be very largely increased from other States. They also recommend that land be cleared for booths, and they say, in regard to the suitableness of the place for a large assemblage, that the roads are good, water abundant, and the ground, although rough, easily accessible. In regard to diffusing information about the celebration, it appeared from various speeches made at the meeting that the press generally exhibited a marked interest in the Centennial, and that Rev. Robert Lathan was preparing sketches of the incidents and characters connected with the battle. A committee was appointed to arrange for a proper celebration of Washington's birthday, and throwing the monster United States flag to the breeze from the top of King's Mountain on that occasion, and the Association then adjourned, to meet again at King's Mountain on the 21st of February. The Yorkville Enquirer pronounces the success of the celebration assured, and the prospects are undoubtedly very flattering. What part Charleston will take in the movement it is too soon yet to determine, but that 1 she will do her bent to add eclat to the occasion, 1 no one need doubt.?News and Courier. "Kiss Me, Too."?In the paint shop of the Michigan State Prison, is a man called Jim, i doing a life sentence. Up to last spring he < was regarded as a desperate, dangerous man, ready for rebellion at any hour. He planned a general outbreak and was "given away" by one of the conspirators. He plotted a general mutiny or rebellion, and was again betrayed. He then kept his own counsel,and while | never refusing to obey orders, he obeyed them like a man who only needed backing to make him refuse. One day, in June a party of strangers came to visit the institution. One was an old gentleman, the others ladies, and two of the ladies had small children. The guide took one of the children on his arm, and the other walked until the party began climbing the stairs. Jim was working near by, sul o ? ky and morose as ever, when the guide said: "Jim, won't you help this little girl up stairs ?" The convict hesitated, a scowl on his face, and the little girl held out her hands to him and said: "If you will I guess I'll kiss you!" His scowl banished in an instant, and he lifted the child a3 tenderlyas a fathe^. Half way up the stairs she kissed him. At the head of the stairs she said : "Now you've got to kiss me, too!" He blushed like a woman, looked into her innocent face and then kissed her cheek, and before he reached the foot of the stairs again he had tears in his eyes. Ever siuce that day he has been a changed man, and no one in the place gives less trouble. Maybe in his faraway Western home he has a little Katie of his own. No one knows, for he never reveals his inner life; but the change so quickly wrought by a child proves that he has a heart and gives hope that he may forsake his evil ways. A DARE-DEVIL JEIID. HOW HE SHOOK UP A PARTY OF GRUMBLING ENGLI8H TOURISTS. [Washington Capitol.] Buffalo Bill tells a good story about a partv of Englishmen traveling on the plains be -J ? r?o?m . v * rri I for^the Pacific Railroad was finished. They came rambling into Laramie, abusing the driver and the coach and the "blarsted country" generally, because, they averred, "there was no coaching outside of England." Their contempt of all things American was shown in the most offensive manner to all the people standing around as they alighted. It happened that Boh Scott, the finest driver and the most reckless dare devil on the plains, was to take the coach to the next station, eight .miles westward from Laramie, and as that gay Jehu heard the remarks of the Britishers, be slowly made up his miud to give them a specimen of purely American coaching. The stable hoys led out six colts that looked as if they had never heard of a stage before ; they reared and snorted, plunged and kicked until the noble Britons were quite delighted with the anticipation of a fine drive. "Now, driver, you know, just give 'em their 'eads and let 'era go; don't you be afraid." "Yes," says another encouragingly, "my dear fellow, just go ahead." Bob mounted the box slowly while a man held each horse: he gathered the reins and said quickly : "Let 'em go !" And they did ; and the colts plunged and reared, but Bob's iron grasp held them in. With the aid of the California brakes he held them down to a walk for three miles, while the passengers blasphemed at him, for a "cad" and a sneak. At the end of that three miles they got to the top of a hill, and one Briton poked his head out of the window and began to say something, but as he did, a wild unearthly yell waked that vicinity, and at the same time Bob threw all six lines down. The coach seemed to lift from the ground, and chose six colts started at the very best speed they could make. Another yell from Bob, and they seemed to increase it; then to help the matters he drew his revolver and began firing over the horses' heads. "Great God," cried the Britons, "we've gotten into the hands of a blarsted lunatic." "Stop! Stop!" they shouted; but the mad team and crazy driver tore on faster and faster, while the stage went bouncing over the rocky road in a way that threatened to pound the passengers to pieces. Bob craned his neck over and jrelled into the window: "Gents, I'm just getting 'em started ; they'll do better after awhile!" And he took out the lamps and hurled them at the leaders with a wild Comanche war whoop. The affrighted passengers presently saw the station in full view; the question was how that team was to be stopped. T^ey gave themselves up for goue, and hung on despairingly to the seats. It seems that the horses were accustomed to go right into the stables, coach and all, and up they came to the open door at full speed. There was a yell from the assembled stable attendants and tavern loafers, then a frightful crash as the whole top of the coach weut off, throwing three Britons out and breaking two arms and a leg, besides other slighter accidents. Bob came out of the stable smiling, picked up an Englishman, and says: "Never mind sir; we'll have a real nice drive to the next station. I was obliged to take 'em along slowly over that there bad road. Boys, put in the other team in a fresh coach and give me a couple of cocktails. It's dull driving so dog-gone slow, and I'm powerful dry." Those Englishmen waited and sent for a doctor, but they did not put down anything in their note book about American driving. GEN. BRADDOCK'S GRAYE. The place of Braddock's sepulchre was " within a few yards of a small stream, the banks of which abruptly sloped down to the water, and distant about two miles?westwardly?from Fort Necessity. The grave was made immediately in the road, about a stone's throw from the present National road. When the march was resumed, the horses, wagons and troops passed over the grave, the purpose being to prevent discovery and desecration hv thff erip.mv. "* About 1824. a nartv v-*?vM ~j j * |"f" ' " r Y of workmen, engaged in repairing the old road, came upon the remains of a human skeleton which was supposed to be that of firaddock. Numerous insignia of rank were found with it, and there was no knowledge of the burial of any other officer in that vicinity. Those who were present on the occasion, carried away with them as souvenirs, the buttons and other metal articles which had not been destroyed by corrosion. Some of the party even went so far in the gratification of their passion for relics, as to make way with several of the small bones of the hands. Mr. James Matthews, a blacksmith, who lived at Mount Washington, as Fort Necessity has since been called, was present on the occasion referred to and witnessed the disinterment of these remains. They were carried to a point about one hundred and fifty yards eastward and buried in a field at the foot of a large oak tree, some twenty-five yards from the National Road. In order to mark the spot more clearly to strangers, Hon. Andrew Stewart had prepared a board on which was inscribed the fact that this was the last resting place ofMajor-General Edward Braddock.and this board was nailed to the tree. For twentyfive years the National Road was the great highway between the^East and West, and thousands of persons passed over it. The writer can well remember how, when a boy, each morning and evening, long trains of stage coaches arrived at and left Cumberland over this great highway. Braddock's grave was one of the great points of attraction on the road, and every day the stages were Btopped in order that the passengers might disembark for a few minutes to inspect the place. The old oak tree, ten years since, fell a victim to the imperious hand of time, and during the prevalence of a storm was blown down, * * i nr* . i? xl_ - tne truna Dressing on some ieei irom me ground, leaving only a stripped and shivered trunk to mark 'the sacred spot. The stump has now entirely disappeared and no mark of the old tree remains. In 1871. a party of gentlemen from England visited the place and before leaving it they inclosed it, with a fence of boards, securely built, and thus it remains to-day. A foot note in De Hass' "History of the Indian Wars in West Virginia," states that "many years since the remains of General Braddock were removed to England aud now rest with the quiet sleepers in Westminster Abbey." Whence this information was derived has not transpired. Hqwever, it is certainly erroneous. Those remains still undoubtedly lie in the place above described, and no inhabitant of that locality has ever heard of their removal to England. Those bones, which were carried away as souvenirs by desecratiug curiosity seekers, were afterwards gathered together by Mr. Stewart and are supposed to have 'ieen deposited in Peale's Museum, Philadelphia. It was Washington's intention, when he buried Braddock, to return at some future day and erect a monument to his memory, but hia I time was so occupied by the events of the years following, that it was not until after the close of the Revolutionary War that he was able to undertake the self imposed task. In 1784 he visited the place for the purpose indicated, and "made a dilligent search for the grave, but the road had been so much turned and the cleared land so extended that it could not be found." The British Government is not wont to neglect her soldiers, but she never took the slighest notice of the resting place of Braddock, and it was left for a stranger's hand to mark the spot where he lay .more than half a century after he fell. LAWS OF THE STATE. An Act to provide for Funding the Bills of the Bank of the State in Consolidated Bonds or Stock. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the State of South Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assem bly, aud by the authority of the same: . Section 3. That*the Act entitled, "An Act to reduce the volume of the public debt and to provide for the payment of the same," approved December 22, 1873, be, and the same is hereby, amended, so as to include among the bonds and stock authorized to be consolidated, the obligations of the corporation known as "The president aud directors of the Bank of the State of South Carolina," commonly known as the bills of the Bank of the State. Sec. 2. That all persons holding such bills, before they shall be entitled to the benefits of said Act, shall present them for examination before the 1st of July, 1880, to the Hon. James C. Coit, who is hereby appointed a commissioner to examine the same, and who, if he shall find them genuine issues of said bank, and in all respects valid obligations of the State, shall so report to the State treasurer, who is hereby authorized and directed, upon the surrender of such bills, to issue in exchange therefor to said holders, consolidation bonds or certificates of Stock equal to 50 per cent, of the face value thereof, thefirst interest whereof shall fall due and be payable on the 1st of January, 1881. Approved December 24,1879. An Act to require the County Treasurers of the . respective Counties within this State to attend at certain places for the Collection of Taxes. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of j Representatives of the State of 8outh Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assembly, i ' .* 'i r *1 ana Dy cne aumomy 01 me ?aiue; Sec. 1. That the County Treasurer of each county be, and is hereby required, for the purpose of collecting taxes, to attend at some convenient point in each township-in his county one or more days, if necessary, and for the balance of. the time allowed by law for the collection of taxes shall be and remain at the County seat Sec. 2. The said Treasurer shall give thirty days' public notice of the days upon which he will be at the places designated in the first Section of this Act. Sec. 3. 'All Acts or parts of Acts inconsistent with this Act, are hereby repealed. Approved December 23, 1879. A RICH MAN "ON RICHES. The following story is told of Jacob Ridgway, a-wealthy citizen of Philadelphia, who died many years ago, leaving a fortune of five or six million dollars. "Mr. Ridgway," said a young man with whom the millionaire was conversing, "you are more to be envied than any gentleman I know." "Why so?" responded Mr. Ridgway, "I am not aware of any cause for which 1 should be particularly envied." "What,8ir!" exclaimed the young man, in astonishment. "Why you are a millionaire! mi i a ,1,1 j. t- nir. ididkoi ine mousanus your mcuiutj unugs you every raoDth." "Well, what of that?" replied Dr. Ridgway. "All I get out of it is my victuals and clothes, and I can't eat more than one man's allowance, or wear more than one suit at a time. Pray, can't you do as much ?" "Ah, but," said the youth, "think of the hundreds of fine houses you own, and the rentals they bring you!" "What better am I off for that?" replied the rich man. "I can only live in one house at a time; as for the money I receive for rents why, I can't eat it or wear it; I can only use it to buy other houses for other people to live in; they are the beneficiaries, not I." "But you can buy splendid furniture, and costly pictures, and fine carriages and horses'? in fact anything you desire." "And after I had bought them," responded Mr. Ridgway, "what then ? I can only look at the furniture and pictures, and the poorest man who is not blind can do the same* I can ride no easier in a fine carriage than you can in an omnibus for five cents, without the trouble of attending to drivers, footmen and hostlers; and as to anything I 'desire,' I can tell you young man, that,the less we desire in this world the happier we shall be. All my wealth cannot buy me a single day more of life?cannot buy back my youth?cannot purchase exemption from sickness and pain? cannot procure me power to keep afar off the hour of death and then, what will all avail when in a dew short years at most, I lie down in the grave and leave it all forever ? Young man, you have no cause to envy me?" Additional Advice to a Young Man.? You can probably be rich, my son, if you will be. If you make up your mind now that you will be a rich man, and stick to it, there is very little doubt that you will be very wealthy, tolerably mean, loved a little, hated a great deal, have a big funeral, be blessed by the relatives to whom you leave the most, reviled by those to whom you leave nothing. But rrtMaf now fnn if mv onn YVpalt.h 19 an JUU UJ UQl 1V1 < Vj wwMt ?* ?? expensive thing. It costs all it is worth. If you want to be worth a million dollars, it will cost you just a million dollars to get its Broken friendship, intellectual starvation, loss of social enjoyment, deprivation of generous impulses, the smothering of manly aspir- . ations, a limited wardrobe and a scanty table, a lonely home because you. fear a lovely wife * and a beautiful home would be expensive, a hatred of the heathen, a dread of the contribution box, a haunting fear of the Woman's r Aid Society, a fretful dislike for poor people, 1 because they won't keep their misery out of y your sight, a little sham benevolence that is worse than none; oh, you can be rich, young man, if you are willing to pay the price. t Any man can get rich who doesn't think it t too expensive. True, you may be rich and be j a man among men, noble and Christian, and / grand and true, serving God and blessing humanity, but that will be in spite of your wealth t and not as a result of it. It will be because you were always that kind of a man. But if * you want to bo rich merely to be rich, if that is the breadth and height of your ambition, you can be rich, if you will pay the price. a And when you are rich, son, call around at t this office and pay for this advice. We'll let ? the interest compound from this date.?.Bur- B lington Hautkeye. # j How Buffalo Bill Got His Name.? ] "How did you get the title of 'Buffalo Bill,' v Mr. Cody?" . 5 "In 1867, when the Kansas Pacific road was being built, I was in the service of the 0 government. One of the managers of the ? road came to me and said the men were out of meat, and asked me what I would contract e to furnish twenty-five buffaloes a day for. I 5 told him I was in the service of the govern- " meat and could not work for him at any ii price. The company, however, made an ar- I r&ngeraent with the government so I got off, a and be bired me at gouu a monm w suuul buffaloes. I thought $500 per'month was the biggest salary any man ever received. I went to work and in eighteen months I killed 4,280 buffaloes. The 'Paddys' employed on the road, as a consequence, became very tired of buffalo meat. When they saw me poming they knew my appearance heralded a new supply of tough buffalo meat, and they said one to another, 'Bedad, here comes Buffalo Bill again; sharpen your grinders, we'll have more now.' I soon became known along the entire line of the Kansas Pacific as 'Buffalo Bill'" _ Never Do It.?Never be too warm in your praises of a lady's lady friends. Friendship should be encouraged, not discouraged. Never tell all'you know to a stranger, even if he reeale you ever so copiously with his affaire. Think you he would be more careful of your reputation than he is of his dwn ? Never jam your finger in the door; for to swear is neither brave, polite nor wise. Never ask a lady to play upon the piano, unless you intend to be polite enough to listen to her playing. After having talked incessantly during her performance? Never add hypocrisy to boorishness, by seeming to be pleased with what you thought more contemptible than your contemptible prattle. Own up that you .only asked her to play out of politeness, and failed to listen out of impoliteness. , * Never put the mucilage brush in your inkstand. True, the temptation is great;.but remember that cleanliness is next to godliness. Never attempt to write an original article . unless your scissors are sharp. Everybody likes an incisive writer. Never talk of yourself in a country where forty-odd millions of people are bent on talking of themselves. Never ask a question unless you intend to pay attention to- the answer. There is no pleasure in life comparable to the joy of airing our knowledge. Give your friend a chance to air his. He will love you with a love surpassing that of woman. Never say that you have beard before what your friend has evidently taken great pleasure in telling you. His delight at finding you equally well informed with himself may oot be so great as you had imagined. Never look a gift horse in the mouth while the donor is present. After he is gone it is a duty. The proper study for the horseman is the horse. Never tell a secret to a woman. If you san't keep it yourself, why expect she will be able to keep it??Boston Transcript JJ6T The New York Tablet says the majority }f the people imagine that it is the simplest thing in the world to edit a newspaper. A nan may have grave doubts about his talents for public speaking; may freely admit that be cannot turn a tune or recognize one turned 1 v .1 / aL.i y anyooay eise; may comeaa iuai ue ia uu poet, not much of a scholar, and nothing of in artist; but there is no creature so poor spirited as to avow his incapacity to edit a newspaper. On the contrary, this is a work to which every man seems to have a manifest nail. No matter what his actual business in . * life may be?preacher, lawyer, physician, butcher, baker, or candlestick-maker?he has a secret fancy that if he only had a chance, he could make a newspaper a little bit spicier and livelier than any thing in the shape of a public journal that has ever come in his way. fhis jp one of the most amusing and univer-. sal weaknesses of modern times. The num*. * ber of people who are injected by it is known only to publishers, just as the extent to which cpiumeating is practiced is realized only by druggists and physicians. The drawers and waste-baskets of every newspaper office in the' country overflow wfth evidences of the ambition and harmless vanity of the vast public, who scribble by stealth and patiently toil over reams of compositions which nobody can be induced to print. Take a Paper.?Nothing presents a sadler commentary upon the present condition of society, than the large number of families, kntVi in tntnn on/1 tha /ifttinfjPV hilt. mOI-A MtA. Jl/bll III wnu MUM ?UW I www W>w>? uially the latter, that subscribe to no paper of toy kind. Hundreds and thousands of families are thus growing up utterly ignorant of what is transpiring in the world around them?ignorant of the mighty events of the lay. But who can tell the vast amount of injury that is being inflicted on the rising generation?those who are to take our place in the busy world at no distant day?growing up without knowledge of the present or the past; this ignorance, too, being imbued into them by the sanction of those who should, ind doubtless do know better, did they only think of the injurious efleots of their insane 20urse. Let the head of every family think if this and place in the hands of those for whom he is responsible, the means of acquiring jome knowledge of the moving panorama in which weactour different parts.?'Sood Words. He was the Fiddler.-*-A Spanish curate [laving preached with eloquence against the ieadly sin of gluttony, his housekeeper was >o impressed by his discourse that she slipped )ut and ran to the parsonage, and threw the mcculent breakfast she had prepared for her naster into the pig-pen, and spread tae table with herbs and such savory messes. The good priest, returning from the church, complained of the Spartan simplicity of the are, whereupon the housekeeper recalled to lis mind the position he had taken in his ser non. "Junatia," says the good old clergyman, 'you have gone to the plaza of a Sunday ifiternoon to see them dance, haven't you ?" "Certainly, your reverence." "Did you ever see the fiddler dance ?" " "Never, your reverence; of course not." "Well, Junatia, I am the fiddler." Latent Electricity.?An electrician of Virginia (Nev.) asserts that the engines oh ;he Comstock, in the mere act of running, generate sufficient electricity to not only light ill the mines, but also the whole town, proviled said engines were so insulated, that the dectricity could be stored up and utilized.: rhere is a good deal of electrical disturbance o be observed pbout the machinery of mills. iVhere there are large rubber belts running, vhen the hand is held near one of them, teady and beautiful streams of electricity are; o be seen. These do not pass from the belt o the hand, but from the hand to the belt' 't is rather a strange thing to see a stream of ire darting from the end of every finger on tne's hand without feeling the slightest sensaion : vet it is real fire, and would blow up a >owder magazine as readily as would a spark * truck by flint and steel. ? ? The Immensity of Texas.?Ireland is ibout the size of Maine. France is more han twice as large as England, Wales and Scotland together. Texas is thirty-five times a large as Massachusetts, or as large as daine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode sland, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Ohio and Indiana comlined. The entire population of the United Jtates could be provided for in the State if Texas, allowing each man woman and ihild four acres of land. J6P* Here is a little domestic economy com dy from England : Clergyman?'"So 1 hear -ou've married again, Jaoobs?" Jacobs?? 'Yes, sur; I thought as how winter was comngon, and Betty, she'd got one blanket and got t'other, we might as well make a pair>v ,ud be more comfortable like," % }