Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis >i. <>rist, l'roprietor. j Jttbtjiettiient /amiln Hetospajitr: Jor % ^promolian of % polifital, Social, ^griraltural antt Contmercia! Interests of t|e ?ontl>. jTERMS--$2.50 a tear, in advance. YOL. 26. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JrNE 3, 188Q. ISTO. 28." 5 fUwaiw flf ELLEN' Gi o: KING S M BY MRS. MAR' CHAPTER XXIII. If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient reason for offence, I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer As e'er I did commit. Shakspeare. Herbert found his mother in such a state of convalescence, that he was almost tempted to doubt the imminency of the danger that had recalled him. He had been home many days and yet no word of the faraway Leonora had passed his lips. His father's sternness, as well as his mother's love, had kept bim silent. They never spoke of the remote hints of his letters, and a strange timidity forbade him to speak of what so deeply concerned him. As day succeeded day, his difficulties increased, and each one proved more conclusively Leonora's unfitness for the domestic life that made his happiness. He recalled her haughty pride?the arrogance he had called independence ; and her bold defiance of what she called conventional prejudice?what he now saw was principle. The very fierceness of her love startled him, and he shrank from bringing her in contact with his firm but gentle mother. But this was ungenerous, unkind. He would meet the fate which he now felt had been thrust upon him. Love, honor, and duty commanded, and such calls his parents would not bid him slight, nor would they re ject when offered. He sought his mother. Boylike, he would make her his friend first. "Mother," said he, I have a secret I want to tell you." "And so have I one for you, Herbert," she smilingly answered ; "and to day you will see my secret, and own mine is the sweetest and best. Hush," said she, as he would have spoken, "not a word ; wait till you see Ellen Campbell." "A day does not matter," he thought. "Ellen Campbell can be nothing to me, and where i3 there a beauty like my Leonora?" He had written to Mr. Monckton, but not to Leonora; waiting till he could give her the joyful news of a daughter's welcome. It was evening when Ellen Campbell came. Herbert had roamed listlessly all day, dis satisfied and dispirited. He wished tbostranger was not coming. "Had it not been for her, my mind would now be unburdened," he said fretfully. He heard her answer to his mother's greeting; frank, cordial, earnest. Not in musical musing, nor yet high toned or sharp; but clear, decided, tuneful, with a vibration of melody peculiarly sweet A faint color Hushed to her fair cheek, as modestly raising her eyes, she acknowledged his welcome. Such modesty was very sweet, and he could not forbear longing again to rouse that fleetiug color, again to look into the untroubled azure of her eyes. The golden flow of her hair, the sweet arch ex predion of the little graceful figure, were all beautiful, but not so beautiful as the soul looking from that lovely face?womanly, pure, strong and true. Oh ! bow he rested in the cool, calm, grateful atmosphere of her presence. It was like breathing a strong wind after being enervated by a warm and unwholesome air. I And now, painting and poetry gave place to J freedom and morals; passion and frivolity, to dignity and virtue. In this school he learnt the highest destiny of woman is the fulfillment of domestic duties, and the peace which accrues from the faithful discharge of them, the basis of public welfare. How the honest, fearless spirit roused him ; how the good, true, cheerful heart encouraged him ! It was no enthusiasm, no passion he felt for her, but an intense reality which grasped and struggled with his inmost heart. He never thought of love. He could not, would not so insult her; but the bitter, bitter fate, that had so separated them ! Her quiet unobtrusive habits, her womanly tastes, her winning affections, her maidenly modesty, her dignity, her gen tleness, were as so many stars in the crown of her woman's worth. Aud how tender she was with the pale, dreaming student; how gently would she correct the mystical theories; how patiently lead the restless soul in holy faith to the rock that never fails the tried and tossed; how sweet such woman counsel,even when man'sstem reason smiles on it, and even as he smiles listens and sighs for such perfect trust! Herbert's nature, so vascillating, so impulsive, rested in her cool judgment, her inflexible will. She won witliout awiug him ; she guided without restraining. She was as the fountain to the river of his nature, answering all demands? equal to all emergencies. She was the dew to the flower, drooping so kindly, so gently, resting so sweetlv. so softlv. and extracting - 0 J J ? I o as silently and surely the perfumes of his mind and heart. How that heart aud hand sprung to the great duties of life under her earnest purpose; how hi3 mind, now active for good, nobly, actively strove under such impulse, and how his whole nature rested and reposed in such companionship ! Sometimes the question would startle him, does she love me? And he would tremblingly hush the quietly thing, while a spasm of intense agony would wring his heart. She had taught him to battle with reality, to struggle against temptation ; and bravely did he answer her teachings. He set a seal on his lips, a band upon his heart, and the one should be silent in death, the other burst ere he would forget himself. Yet day after day his mind revolted more from speaking of Lenora. \Yould he could bury the memory! His dream of passion?how he loathed it! What are the memories of imagination, to a man encircled by all the realities of social life, founded in pure and holy affection ? He would rest a while, gain a little mere courage, and then he would calmly tell them all, and forever leave the home of his boyhood, the spot dearer than ever now, and bury his wretchedness and his grief in the land that had so beguiled him. One evening he had been exercising with a wild and unmanageable horse, the art iu which he delighted, and in which we have said he excelled. He had just subdued him, as he thought, and was pacing him around the house to prove his docility, when a careless servant sprung a ratau he held in his hand. It struck the fiery animal, and Herbert, off his guard at the moment, was thrown with such violence, as to lie senseless and bleeding?to all appearances dead. His first consciousness was a sound of hurried and conflicting orders, a mother's tears upon his face and his father's voice, sterner thau usual, trembled in strange tremor. He slowly opened his eyes, a vision of a face unearthly pale bending over him with unutterable agony of expression passed before him, and eveu as he strove to smile, he relapsed into unconsciousuess. For days after that he lay in dreamy languor, with that one vision ever present. One day being more than usually alone, excited by the memory of the past, and the hopelessness of the future, he determined to make the.attempt and seek the family. In considerable weakness, he managed to reach thf fUMfetifln. WiELL; R, OUNTAIN. Y A, EWAKT. the parlor. Ellen .was there and alone. She turned as he eutered. Oh! he could not mistake the joy of that look. His own heart trembling in sweet echoiogs, was the too faithful interpreter. The warm blood dyed her cheek to crimson, and the soft humid eyes seemed melting in their liquid depths. The happy knowledge was too much for him. His soul was flooded in the fond ecstacy, and pale and trembling, he would have fallen had she not assisted him. He leant his head on her shoulder for one sweet moment; then feebly walking to a seat, still supported by her fair arm, he drew her to him. "This is as it should be, Ellen," he said, as tiio hoftH rested on her shoulder. "Your support, your encouragement. God knows I need it, Ellen. Life of my life, health of all that is holy in my nature, tell me you love me. His head fell upon her bosom, his arm was around her, as trembling in his nature's impassioned impulse, he awaited the reply that he felt was to give not only happiness but life. Gently raising him from his position, silently unclasping the arms that were around her, Ellen tenderly laid his head on the pillows of the lounge, and taking her 6eat by his side, she said : "Now, we will talk Herbert; what do you want of me?" She called him Herbert, and ah ! she could not raise those earnest truthful eyes to his face. "I want you to be my guide, my stay, my hope of heaven, ray soul's salvation, Ellen," he said vehemently. "Hush, Herbert; don't talk so wildly. That I can never be, sinful and erring as I am; but your solace, your comfort, your sympathizing friend, your loving counsellor, your help-meet Herbert, I will be?so help God. Her calmness, her solemnity awed him. He shuddered and covered his face with his hands. "Do not think I do not love you Herbert. You are very, very dear to me. Your gentle affection, your truth, your nobleness, all commend it; but this is not all. I love you for an inner self that I do not as yet understand ; a fastidiousness of feeling, a reserve, shy and proud, a hidden mystery of character that has fascinated and enthralled me. Do I speak too boldly ! Believe I would practice more reserve did I not think you needed protestation to assure you." "Boldly, Ellen ! You bold ? Oh ! if you knew?if you could see ray heart!" "1 will yet see it and understand it all, shall I not ?" she asked sweetly. "God forbid" he cried, in strong emotion. ""Plllon" Bald he trrasnin^ her hand and ?> o 1?o - drawing her with irresistible force towards him, "let me tell you how madly, how passionately I love you. How I would dare defy earth and hell to win you ; how I would risk my hope of heaven for your sweet sake. Oh! Ellen, to claim you, pure angel, as my wife, is a joy I never dared to hope, and now, angels and devils do their worst, you are mine, and as mine I will hold you." There was a 6re in his eyes, a flush on his cheek, a burning fever in his bounding pulse, that startled and pained her. "Herbert," she said reproachfully, withdrawing herself from his detaining arm, "This is unseemly and, forgive me?cruel." Tears trembled in her soft blue eyes and her lip quivered. "Forgive me, Ellen, dearest, best; I am beside myself. I know not what I say. I but know I love, heaven knows how wildly? and am beloved. Kiss me my own, my peerless Ellen, and with that kiss, grant forgiveness." She drew coldly, proudly from him. "Betrothal is too pure and holy to be contaminated by baser passions. Your kiss is for a wife, not a maiden. I will not tell you mn/tk Vtrn irnnn/lo^ mo> Kllf T HPOT nun iuuv/ii juu it*?nvuuuvu iuvj you not to repeat it." "Good heavens, Ellen, how have I offended ? What do you mean ? "Oh ! do not withdraw the sweet boon of your love from me. Deprived of that, I am indeed wretched. He buried his face in the cushion. His tone was hopeless and sad in the extreme. Strange mystery he was ; so cold, so shy, so passionate, so tender. What should she do ? If she encouraged him, he was all wildness ; if she frowned, he was all hopelessness. "You are yet ill ; you are feverish. Herbert?you must be calm ; when you are better we will tulk of this." Her composure, her dignity, awed him. H, was as a docile child before her. She would not listen to his passionate vows, nor suffer his lover like caresses, and when she found he sought occasion for these, she would not meet him alone, but contrived a third person should be always a party to their meetings. If he was passionate and tender, she was cold and shy. If he was warm and eager, she was proud and reserved. If he was reckless and pleading, she was calm and firm ; till he was fain to believe her cold as the TV inrin k In t~\ TT Im r\n f IrvnrtA ?n r?A/1 k ah jL/iaua ilia aiigi jr itupauicii^c uaiucu uci. One day, after iu vain striving to warm her into something like sympathy for his passionate feelings, he said : "I do not believe you know what love is, Ellen." "You do not!" she replied, with that arch smile, that he so loved. "No," said he, angrily, "else you could not be so firm, so cold." She watched him a moment as he stood looking moodily from her. "The mountain glacier, Herbert, that you so often tell me of, is cold, firm, impassive, while held by its icy bands; but bursting its chains an avalanche thunders down, the streams become torrents, and nature itself is startled by the mighty fall." "And your love is like this! Tell me, Ellen," said he, suddenly turning and grasping her hand. "Hush, Herbert. A maiden's love will not be questioned," she replied, the rosy color deepening on neck and brow, as she withdrew her hands from him. "Suffice it, you have the exchange of my love's faithful vow." "Yes ; butI would hear it again and yet again, and never weary of the hearing, that this bud of love, by constant breath, might prove a beauteous flower," said he. "You would mar and destroy it by constant handling," she replied, "even as flowers will not brook a warm and rough pressure." "You are right, Ellen," said he. "In spite of my impatience, I feel you are right, and in the very coldness that I so censure, my better nature finds sweet repose and rest. But, Ellen, tell me?for you have taught me that I do not know it?what love is? I call it a passion?you would make it an affection ; tell me and teach me how to purify and elevate it." "Love is a passion, it is true, Herbert, but a holy one; it is an affection, too?but a noble one. It is, I think," said she, though blushing deeply, as she always did when speaking on the forbidden theme, "a perfect delight and repose in the object of our affections, with the knowledge that he has the same delight and repose in us, and though time or change might discover many or grievous faults, yet we know no knowledge will ever make us falter or doubt in our calm trust?" "No knowledge, Ellen ?" said he, eagerly. "What, not if honor, if principle were concerned ?" Her clear eyes met his wonderingly. "Honor and principle! That were impossible." "But if it were so, Ellen ; if you had been deceived ?" "Then would I wipe him from the page of I my heart. I could not love one destitute of either. My ideal would still be there, but he would no longer give it life." "And you would love again ?*' he almost whispered. "Yes, when the marble of my petrified ideal decayed." "And that would be?Ellen ?"? "In the grave," she answered, iu her clear, firm tones. And from that moment every thought of righting Leonora died in his heart, crushed back by the more terrible grief of Ellen's widowed sorrow. He did not again vex her by his patience, or startle her with his passion, but firmly and calmly, he insisted on a speedy union. Every objection was overruled, and though Ellen was sometimes provoked with the urgency, she could not but respect the cool determination that would not suffer her to gainsay him. Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby, too, urged it, and were his warm advocates, so that scarcely three months after his return, Ellen Campbell became his wife. If delirium was happiness, he was for awhile happy, but only to be racked by the fiercest torture when calm reason regained her seat. His only hope now was in Mr. Monckton, and the preservation of the secret which made him to Leonora still, as only "Howard, the Englishman." He wrote to Monckton immediately, detailing the violent opposition of his parents, and charging him to cherish the secret, and not to attempt a passage until he warned him. For awhile tbtse letters satisfied Mr. Monckton, but Herbert was at length al most maddened by receiving one from him informing him of the birth of an inl'ant son, and Leonora's determination at once to seek i him ; of his acknowledgement of Herbert's being in America, though still preserving the secret of his name and of his home. Frantic with terror though he was, he could yet calmly deliberate on the means for preventing the dreadful and shameful discovery. While yet arranging these plans, news of Mr. Mockton's death reached him, and he gave way to the wildest emotion. He upbraided himself with perfidy, with cruelty, nay even with murder, and Ellen, shocked and pained at the wild grief, found it necessary to rebuke him with a harshness she had never before ventured. Stung to the heart by her scorn of an unmanliness she could understand, he strove to check his passionate self-reproach. But his secret and bitter repentance he could not so easily subdue, nor the inteuse longing to see his only child. His life had been indeed one of misery, not the least of which was his knowledge that Ellen had suspected a secret and hidden cause of misery, and though too generous, too trusting ever to seek to divine the cause, yet he knew his want of confidence had embittered her life. ***** Respect for her memory had sternly forbid him seeking his child after her death, as the knowledge of the discovery of it, involving her in shame, had forbidden it during her life. So the years had passed, till Graham had been brought, pale and wounded, to his house. The dread of retribution had haunted him like a fearful ghost, during all these years, and when Graham appeared so suddenly before him, he at once recognized the wronged Leonora's child, and bowed to a judgment he had long considered inevitable. He was not long in discovering the young Englishman's love for Ellen, and immediately his heart greeted this as atonement for his sin, and he vowed to accomplish the union. Graham's impetuosity?his ardent love?carried him back, in fearful reality, to his own passionate youth. He sympathized with every emotion, and Ellen's coldness maddened him as much as it did Graham. Every taste, every fancy of the boy, was his own. How he loved the proud, passionate, impulsive youth ; how he yearned to claim him as his child. Alas! it was part of his punishment that he should not. Every thoughtless word of the highsouled boy forbade it; every emotion, every tone, taught him how he should be despised. It was a bitter punishment, day after day, to watch the youth, who never gave a thought to the old man, save as the uncle of Ellen ; to know that his yearning love, his almost wor ship, was accepted in careless courtesy, which courtesy grew sometimes impatient at a scrutiny he could not understand, a tenderness often deemed officious. And more bitter than all, to have his deep sympathy, his eager interest, his paternal love, construed by his boy into an incipient madness where caprice chose him as its subject. And now he was dead? and the old man was desolate and heart, broken. No other one could fill the void that had ached for so many weary years to grasp the child who perished in the possession. His days, he knew, were numbered, and he but asked to see the child he had so long loved? whom a merciful God had prevented his making her also miserable?happy and blessed, and he would welcome the death that he had so long waited for. Thus ended the unhappy record ; and Ellen no longer wondered at the fierce passion that would have sacrificed her, nor at the mute despair, the shuddering terror, they had sometimes called?madness! CHAPTER XXIV. "Stand Firm for your country and become a man Honor'd and lov'd." Johnson. "There, Ellen, you have dressed that for the last time, as Ellen Campbell," said Davie, a few days after reading the above record. "Are you tired of my surgery ?" she replied, smiling as she drew the unseemly bandage away, and laid the clustering hair tenderly over the wound. "No, only tired of my maiden nurse. Do you know, Ellen, I fancy a wife's hands are much softer and sweeter," said the bold trooper, throwing his arm around her. "Do you ?" she archly replied. "How can you tell but experience will prove the fancy as deceitful as other airy castles? Then how j will vou redeem the independence so slight-1 ed ?" "I will not attempt it, dear girl; but pay the forfeit of ray rash desire, by the devotion of my life. But you beg the question. Answer?what says my Ellen ? Must I suffer for my surgeon ?" "You are not in earnest, Henry?" said Ellen, deeply blushing. "By this kiss, I swear," said he, snatching ! a kiss from her cheek ere her startled and proud "why, Davie!" could prevent. He laughed at the pouting chagrin of her face. "Come, dearest; must I swear again. Remember you are responsible for these oaths. Of course, I am not now a free agent, or will I conclude that my Ellen not only believes what I have said, but will perform it?" "You are mystical, Henry," she replied, turning her blushing face from him. "I dc not understand you." "Heaven defend me from the un-Americar character! Now if my speech should be Anglo-Saxon, not only in brevity but in aimplicity, remember you urged me to it and tempted a plainness of utterance I oftenei admire than dare. "No, Davie, I will not listen," she laughed, as she arose to leave him ; but he would not allow it. "I know something of the Anglo-Saxon you so admire," said she, "which you profess your modesty does not allow you to dare, but which I never knew to delay its utterance. I will hear more of its bold pleadings." "Then it shall not speak a word?but three, Ellen. Be my wife!" said he. "You asked me that long ago, dear Henry, and I said "yes," she replied, her pure, clear eves meeting his. "But to-day, Ellen?now," "Now? Do you wish it?" She had no need to ask again. She almost regretted she had so questioned. Davie was not often demonstrative, but when her loosed the strong curb of bis will, he was is ardently impetuous as most Carolinians. "The truth is, Ellen, I cannot accept no. It is a coin that never would pass with me. Now an honest yes, I appreciate and love, and my Ellen's yes?shy trembler, that it is, that so fears its best friend?I will welcome to my warm beart, and nurse it to a life that will never plead for recall." "Yes?but yet," said Ellen, hesitatingly. "I'll accept the 'yes,' without the 'but yet.' 'But yet,' is a jailor to let out some monstrous malefactor. And seriously, Elleni if you distinctly understand that I wish it?I think you do, do you not?" he questioned mischievously. "Quite satisfied," said she, drawing shily away from him. He laughed, "I do not object to repeat the protestation." "But I do, and seriously, Davie," said she gravely. "Well, Ellen, don't tempt me with that innocent look of wonder in your bhie eyes, or I'll forget myself and swear again. But, seriously, your uncle urges this, and I think u/o oliniilii orrfltifir liim " "But now, Henry?so sudden?" "Do you not know me well enough?" said he gravely. "Davie!" she cried, reproachfully. "Nor trust me, Ellen ?" Her hand sought his iu earnest entreaty. "Then, why hesitate ? Come love, be generous." "How?" she whispered ; and Davie knew he had conquered. "Say Henry?I love you," said he, drawing the dear form to his heart. "But you know it," she whispered, her glowing cheek resting againt his. "Then say?Henry I will be your wife." "Ah ! Henry you know that, too," said tii? I? i?a ? u:? XLtfiitr 119 uiuiug uci ucuu uii ma auuumci. "God bless you, Ellen. Now for weal or woe !" he cried triumphantly, as he hastened to Mr. Willoughby with the joyful tidings. Mr. Willoughby had not allowed Mr. Adams to leave them, so there was nothing to hinder the ceremony. There were no fashionable friends to call, no bride cake to make, none of the thousand and one contrivances to tantalize and disturb the sacred peace of a newly wedded pair. In after years, Davie often saw his wife more richly attired, as glittering in jewels, courted and caressed, she moved in gay throngs, the cynosure of all eyes, but never was she so lovely to him, as on that quiet winter night, with her dark blue dress buttoned close to the fair white throat, and relieved by its delicate lace collar, her rich golden hair shining in glossy waves, bound as a proud coronal around her head, a sweet, coy smile trembling around the parted lips, and love's liquid light melting her blue eyes to violet lustre, she answered his tender and eager vows with a whispered, "my dear husband !" One word more and we have done. In process of time, four marble slabs were erected in the quiet country graveyard of that mountain church, where first we heard the voice of liberty! One was inscribed to Herbert Willoughby? " Judge not, that ye be not judged." Another to Francis Edward Graham? "My Son !" Poor Mr. Willoughby, he could not claim him in life?he would in death. Another to Alexander Bowen and Bessie Craig? " They loved in life?in death they were not divided." Another to Andrew Craig? it A w y? *1 /"T n/J'.. In a i nurwl* " ?a'* uu/iDot- //iuh?uvu o fiuuioob ww? ?. Mr. Adams lived to see the liberty he had so prayed for bless the land he loved, and his children's children yet live to reverence the integrity of his character, and his noble struggle for truth and justice. The impetuous, but warm hearted and generous Sevier, found one "that would be wooed and not unsought be won," till he was fain to declare that the devil spoke an accidental truth when he said "there was a terror in love and beauty." Nevertheless, his "pleaded reason" was at length approved, and he wrote to Davie that he was at length privileged to guard her, or with her, endure the worst. His descendants yet live to be proud of their ^1- Pfl KnlinQ fXn/llv ptlbl iut iiaiuC) auu 11 wi in vatviiuw avajviaj cherishes the memory of her Cleveland, her Shelby, and her faithful Sevier. And Davie and Ellen?fearless patriot? pure woman ; they were, indeed, help-meets for each other. His work was not yet done. He hacj yet battles to fight for his country, and nobly did he perform his duty, and so well did he and his compatriots fight, that in less than one year from that well-fought field of the Cowpens, the King of Great Britain acknowledged the States to be "free, sovereign and independent." It was a glorious heritage to leave his children, and the proud father in after years fought many a bloodstained field o'er pgain, as he charged his boys to guard well the holy legacy, bought with the blood of a Williams, of a Campbell, of a Bowen ; or whispered to his daughters of the bitter wrongs of Bessie Craig, and in prouder accents of the noble heroism of Ellen Campbell. the end. Freaks of a Needle.?A few weeks ago, as a young lady of Salisbury, Md., was getting into a carriage, a sewing needle was by some means forced into her thigh, but being considered a trifling matter, little or no attention was paid to it at the time. Several days after this occurrence, however, her ankle pained her very much, and, on examination, it was found that the needle was the cause of it. In her efforts to get it out it broke, and she only succeeded in getting one part "(the eye half) of it out. The point part remained, and two days after she felt that just below the knee, but was still unable to get it out. Two weeks then elapsed, and she felt something in her throat, but the obstruction was supposed to be a fish bone. After several efforts to remove it she at last succeeded, and it proved to be the point part of the needle. Thus, in a few weeks time, a common sewing needle enters a person at the thigh, makes its way down to the ankle, then retraces its steps and goes up the body and comes out at the throat.. This may appear to be an incredible story, but it is true nevertheless. It is vouched for by a gentleman of unquestioned veracity. ' | Miscellaneous fading. i ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. [ MAY 19, 1780, THE DARK DAY IN NEW ENGLAND. It was May 19, 1780, when darkness was at noonday over all New England. The pheI nomenon has never been explained. Dr, ' Tenney, in 1785, wrote to the Historical Society that the ability of the land had endeavored to present a cause, but, said he, "you will agree with me that no satisfactory solution has appeared." In similar language wrote Dr. Noah Webster, in 1843. The theory of some that it was smoke and ashes from forest fires, extensively rancriner. was disproved. No fires in the forests could have been sufficient to spread a dense cloud over the whole of New England, and even some parts of the Middle States. It came too suddenly, with no wind to carry it from one point to another. It was a darkness that settled down over an area of more than 300,000 square miles at the same time. We publish a condeused account of this remarkable phenomenon, forwarded to us by D. T. Taylor, of Rouse's Point, N. Y., who wrote it for the Boston Journal in 1871: The year 1780 was celebrated for its numerous auroral exhibitions in this latitude. They covered the midnight heavens with corruscations of red and silver, and streamed out like lightning, seeming, says one writer, fairly to flash warmth into the face. The winter preceding was marked by extraordinary severity. Snow lay on the ground from the middle of November to the middle of April. In December and January a storm continued for seven successive days, and the snow fell to a depth of four feet on a level in this single storm, and with drifts eight and ten feet high. Sheep were buried in the drifts for many days and even men and animals perished with the cold. Long Island Sound was crossed by heavy artillery on the ice. Narragansett Bay froze over so hard that men traversed the ice from Providence to Newport in skating parties, and from Fall River to Newport loads of wood were conveyed on the ice through Bristol ferry. Previous to the 19th a vapor filled the air for several days. There was a smell of sulphur. The morning of the 19th was overcast with some clouds, and rain fell over the country, with lightning and thunder. Scarcely any motion was in the air; what wind there wa9 came from the southwest. By 9 o'clock in the forenoon, without previous warning, the darkness stole gradually on, with a luminous appearance near the horizon, as if the obscuring cloud had dropped down from overhead. There was a yellowness of the atmosphere that made clear silver assume a grass green hue. Then a dense, undefinable vapor settled rapidly and without serial movement overall the land and ocean from Pennsylvania to the Gulf of St." Lawrence, the darkness it caused sinking by degrees until the sun light was effectually shut out. Ordinary cloud it was not The rapidity with which so large an extent of country was enveloped, precludes the possibility of supposing this to have been a natural cloud moving laterally. Besides this, the day was too calm to imagine such a thing. Down came the darkness thicker and thicker. By ten o'clock the air was loaded with a thick gloom. The heavens were tinged with a yellowish or faiut red ; the rffhrid look increased ; few, if any, ordinary clouds were visible. The sun, in disappearing, took on a brassy hue. The lurid, brassy color spread everywhere, above and below. The grass assumed the color of the sky, and all out doors wore a sickly, weird and melancholy aspect?a dusky appearance as if seen through a smoked glass. By eleven o'clock it was as night itself, and from this time until three in the afternoon the darkness was extraordinary and frightful. The extent of the darkness was greater iknvi in wnln f n/1 S~\ P Ann AM n! mil n ! nllAnAmfl. luau X9 iciaicu ui aujr uliici auuiiai jiucuuuicDon on record, not excepting the celebrated dark days over Egypt and Judea. It reached south to the northern half of Pennsylvania, and from ihence along the coast northeast to the wilds of Maine, eastward to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and out at sea 120 miles southeast of Boston, and undoubtedly much farther ; w?st to the valleys of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River, and north into undefined regions in Canada. Portland, Boston, Hartford,.New York, West Point and Albany were affected by it. But the degrees of darkness differed in different places, the deepest night settling over New England. A tract of land and sea 800 miles in length and 400 miles in breadth, embracing an area of 320,000 square miles, was known to be covered by the cloud, and so far as can be ascertained a population of 700,000 souls sat for a portion of the day and night in a gloom more or leas profound and inexplicable. Just how dark the day was is attested by indisputable evidence. The hour and minute could not be discovered on the face of a clock or watcL, _ persons of unimpaired eyesight. Candles became an absolute necessity both out of doors and in, as it was impossible to transact business without them. Fires on the hearthstone shone as brightly as on a moonless November evening, and all dinner tables were set with lighted candles upon them as if it were the evening repast. The keenest eyes in doors could not see to read the common print. So far beyond any ordinary fog was the effect, that stages on the road either put up at the nearest hotel during the mid day hours, or carried candles or lanterns to enable the perplexed driver to well see his way. And all the brute and feathered creation seemed puzzled and agitated. The birds ceased to fly, and hid themselves in the branches of the trees. As the darkness increased they sang their evening songs as they do at twilight, and then became silent. Pigeons on the wiDg took to the shelter of the forest as they do at night. The whipcon/* Viie armr* tjifAllffh vuxniun; b~ the gloomy hours. "Woodcocks, which are night birds, whistled as they only do in the night time. Bats came out of their hiding places and flew about. The fowls marched solemnly to their roosts as they do only at nightfall, and, after cackling for a while over the mystery of so short a day, became still. Cocks crowed as is their custom at nightly intervals and the early breaking of day. Frogs piped their evening concert, and dogs whined or howled and ran away as on the approach of an earthquake. The herds of cattle ou New England's thousand hills sought the shelter of the shed or barn-yard, lowing as they came to the gate, and sheep huddled around the circle with their heads inward? the invariable token of apprehended danger. On the human family the effect was still more curious and terrifying. The mechanic left his tools in the shop, the farmer his plow in the furrow, and each moved in silent and marveling mood. On the home threshold they were met by pale and anxious women, who tremblingly inquired, "What is coming?" The alarmed traveler, seeking the sympathy of his fellow man as one impressed with a sense of impending peril, put up at the nearest house, and mingled his anxious questionings and forebodings, with those of the family. Strong men met and spoke with surprise on their countenances, and little children peered timidly into the deepening gloom, and then sought the sheltering parental arms. Schools broke up in affright, and the wondering pupils scampered homeward with many expressions of childish fear. The inevitable candle shone out of the windows of all dwellings? every countenance gathered blackness?all hearts were filled with fear of an approaching, unparalleled storm, or the occurrence of a 1 terrestial convulsion; but it was not the blackness of the storm cloud* such as sometimes, with frightful agitation, breaks over a single city; it was the silent spreading of the pall cloth over the earth by strong, invisible hands. Many anecdotes of terror are related. ! In Boston, from the hours of 11 or 1 till .3 o'clock, business, was generally suspended ' and shops were closed. At Groton, a court was in session in a meeting-house full of large windows, as was the old style of houses of worship; but at half past eleven all faces began to wear a sombre hue, whereupon magistrate and people followed suit with all New England and called for lighted candles. Connecticut went totally under the cloud. The journal of her House of Representatives put on record the fact that "None could see to read or write in the House, or even at a small distance, or perceive any distinctioq ol dress, Ac., in the circle of attendants. Therefore, at eleven o'clock adjourned the House till two o'clock, afternoon." Amid the deepening gloom that wrapped about the city, darkened the rooms of the State House, and set the lawgivers trembling with the apprehension that the Day of Judgment was at hand, when the motion for adjournment was made, Colonel Abraham Davenport, afterward Judge of Stamford, Conn., and State Councilor in the Legislative Chamber, at Hartford, said: "I am against the adjournment. Either the Day of Judgment is at hand or it is not If it is not, there is no cause for adjournment If it is, I wish to be found in the line of my duty. I wish candles to be brought." The darkness of the day having been succeeded an hour or two before evening by a partially clear sky, and the shining of the sun, still obscured by the black and vapory mist, this interval was followed by a return of the obscuration with greater density, that rendered the first half of the night hideously dark beyond all former experience of probably a million of people who saw it. WISDOM AMONG STATESMEN. Wade Hampton is not only the first citizen of South Carolina, but he is the first soldier also. No South Carolinian has so much reputation abroad, or exerts so much influence. He is a man of broad views and exalted patrotiBm. He is a wise man and an honest man in these times when there is not too much wisdom or honesty. He has enemies at home. There are men in his State of talents and influence who antagonize him _ 1 x1_ TT. _ _ a. J * t_ * 1_ ' viuienuy. ne is not radical enougn m nis views for them. Probably some of them would like to have his place. Some of his constituents wrote to him not long ago inquiring how it was he did not combat "the centralizing tendencies of the Rebublican party, and agitate for the repeal of legislation not agreeable to the Southern idea of the Constitution." The Senator replied of course, and among other things said : "Suppose the Confederacy had succeeded in establishing a separate form of government ; then let us go further and imagine a Union general elected to serve in the Congress at Richmond. How long do you suppose his defence of his course during the war, and what he thought should be done with its logical results, would be tolerated? Not a moment. Our situation at Washington is directly parallel, and when we talk about the war, or make any attempt to change its results, we run counter to the vast North that conquered us." The trouble with Senator Hampton is, he is a statesman. He has eyes, ears and an understanding. He sees the folly of fighting in 1880 on the issues of 1861 or the issues of 1865. He finds that every time a Southern man becomes aggressive in Congress, he only makes capital for the opposition. Senator Hampton knows the power of education and association. Hs knows that much of our Southern opinions and principles are the genuine resultants of the school of politics in which we are educated. He knows that thousands of men who accept, correctly as we most steadfastly believe, the interpretation of the Constitution as given by Jefferson, Madison, Calhoun, Bledsoe and other illustrious Southrons, would have been deceived by the glossings and false theories of Story, Webster and other Northern writers who have attempted to expound the great Instrument, had they been born and reared in some Northern State. Hence he does not hesitate to say that when the North becomes aroused at what it conceives to be a purpose to disturb the results of the war, that it is right from their standpoint. He frankly says: "If I had been on that side, I would never consent that a single one of the logical results of the war should be even threatened. It is the wildest folly on our part to threaten them or to seek to undo them." This the South understands. The number of intelligent men among us who would follow the lead of the extremists is small. The Southern people are far more conservative than the Northern people suppose. They really desire peace, and they do not favor the introduction of anv measures that tend to widen the breach or to intensify angry feelings. Senator Hampton is as true to his people and his section as the needle to the pole, but he has wisdom, sagacity and a high sense of propriety.? Wilmington Star. The Supply of Gold and Silver.?The United States now supplies more gold and silver than all other countries put together. The actual production in 1879 of gold and silver in our Western States and Territories, was of gold 833,000,000, of silver $38,000,000; total $71,000,000. Of course this is exclusive of the yield of the South and East. It was in September, 1847, that the California discovery was made, and in thirty-three years since elapsed we have seen rich finds in various States and territories and energetic communities rise as if by magic where but a few months before was heard nothing but the shriek of the eagle and the cry of the panther. Before 1647 the supply of gold had been obtained chiefly from Siberia, Hungary, Transylvania and Brazil. Taking an average of a considerable number of years, the annual produce seems to have been about $25,000,000. The South American gold mines reached their height of prosperity about 125 years ago, since which time they have declined, the auriferous sands have become less rich, and the quartz rock deposits require more machinery for the extraction of the gold than South American capital has yet been able to supply. The wonders of California were, as we have stated, brought to light in 1847. In the month of September in that year a Mr. Marshall was employed in erecting saw mills on the estate of Captain Sutter, a wealthy settler on the Sacramento River, and observing some glittering particles in the mud, he communicated the intelligence to his employer. An examination was made and it was found that the particles were gold. Immediately on this news getting abroad adventurers rushed to the spot from all parts of the world. Salt.?Nothing that we eat is more valuable than salt, nor could anything, except bread, be more missed. Animals, in fact, will travel great distances and brave great dangers to obtain it. On the coast of Sierra Leone, brothers will sell their sisters, husbands their wives, and parents their children, for salt In the district of Accra, on the gold coast of Africa, a handful of salt is the most valuable thing upon earth after the gold, and will purchase a slave or two: Salt with the Bambaras is such a luxury, that to say of a man, "He flavors his food with salt, is to imply that he is rich. No stronger mark of affeecan be shown in Muscovy than the sending of salt from the tables of the rich to their poorer friends. Spilling salt was held to be an unlucky omen by the Romans, and the superstition has descended to ourselves. Leonardo da Vinci availed himself of this tradition in his famous picture of the "Lord's Supper," to indicate Judas Iscariot by the salt cellar knocked over accidentally by his arm. When we say of a shiftless fellow that he does not "earn his salt," we unconsciously allude to an ancient cdstom among the Romans. Among them a man was said to be in possession of a "salary," who had his "salariuitn," his allowance of salt-money, or of salt, wherewith to savor the food by which he lived. Thus salary comes from salt?and in this view of the word, how many there are roliA nnf ^norn t hoi r DO If " ?MW ?W UVV VH?I U VilWA* UM*IH Advice to a Young Man.?Yes, TelemadiU8, you should use self-control, but at the same time you should be natural. Cultivate self-control until it becomes natural to you. In itself, I think, it sometimes leads to most uncontrolable outbursts. One time I knew one of these men who was accustomed to self repression. He was a quiet soft-spoken man, with the most ungovernable temper that ever tore a huma j passion into rags. But he rarely showed it One day in the autumn he was trying to make a jointofsix inch stove-pipe fit into the end of a five and one-half inch length. And during the struggle he smote his thumb about midway between the nail and the joint, with a round backed hammer. He arose with a sad, sweet smile, laid the hammer down softly on the carpet, changed the lengths of the pipe, fitted them and put the pipe up, and never said a word. But he was pale, and there Teas a glowing light in his eyes. And the next day that man walked out of town, up the B. & M. grade, and stood in the woods and foamed at the mouth and howled and raved about stove-pipes and the people who make them, until he frightened a a thirty-two ton engine off the track. Selfrepression isn't self-control my son. Do you control yourself? Govern yotR- temper, and it will come to expect to be governed. It +* oriwii nn if tvi]] WUAi L UIO ) 11/ W L l^Ulb auu U|J J ?v n??* try you every time, but it will be more easily managed. I don't suppose, Telem&chus, that you can change your disposition, but you can develop your strength. # ? How Battles aee Fought.-?How is a battle fought? With tremendous volleys, the ranks standing firm and steady as on dress parade?with enthusiasm, with deafening cheers, with music and finished by a glorious bayonet charge ? Nothing of the kind. Here are simply some thousands of men on. either side who have been marched out this pleasant day to butcher each other. Modern firearms are terribly effective weapons; a Springfield musket will kill at a thousand yards, and by the time you have drawn these opposing forces to within two hundred yards of each other, or the distance across a good j r-ij il. ? mzeu wueni umu, wie uattic 10 icauivcu juiv ? simple problem?which army can stand the ipost killing and wounding without breaking up? When that question is answered, you cab tell which side will be victorious. The business of the officers is to hold the men to the work, to compel them to load and lire until so many of the enemy are put hors du combat that he is forced to withdraw. Take your regiment into battle as orderly as you raayr before it has been under fire half an hour it will become resolved into knots and groups from the drawing together to fill the places of those stricken down, and the survivors will be lyin^| or kneeling, forced down by the irresistible instinct of self-preservation. ;?, 4. A rkansab or Akansa.?The discussion as regards the proper pronunciation of the name has awakened more than a local interest. Some time ago an article appeared in the Gazette stating that joint committees from the eclectic and historical societies had taken the matter into consideration. In regard to this the following communication was sent this paper: Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of Etiinology, Washington, D. C., March 9,1880. Editors Gazette : If your joint committee wants to hit the correct pronunciation of Arkansas, and to modify its orthography accordingly, the first thing to do is to drop the "r" from the word, and the second, emphasize it on the second syllable.?Akansa. The earliest French chroniclers always write Akansa, and the "r" was put in by ignorants to give the a the continental sound. There are even instances where the word father has been written "farther" for the same reason ; also "terbacker" for tobacco. Yours respectfully, Albert S. Gatschet, Linguist of Bureau of Ethnology. Little Rock (Ark.) Gazette. Eating a Mad Dog.?One Peschka, an innkeeper in Neustadt, in Bohemia, was bitten some weeks ago by his own house dog. Unwilling to slay the animal on bare suspicion of its sanity, he consigned it to the town grave-digger, enjoining that functionary to take care of it until further orders respecting i.? ? i./.i. A.?u u- : lis uiuraaie iaie suuuiu ueimpaiicu tu uiw, A few days later, however, Peschka was attacked by hydrophobia, of which he died in excruciating agony. The sanitary authorities of Neustadi forthwith applied to the grave digger for the mad dog committed to his custody, intending to have it destroyed. Their astonishment may be conceived when the sexton, in answer to their requisition, calmly observed, "The mad dog ? I have?eaten him !" "You have eaten the mad dog ?" incredulously exclaimed a horror-stricken sanitary official. "Better than that he should eat me !" rejoined the philosophical grave-digger. This man of strange appetites not only had swallowed and digested the rabid animal, but it had agreed with him; for, as the story runs, he still enjoys robust health, and pursues his professionalavocations with unabated vigor. Cast-off Friends.?There arc men and women in public life whose pathway is marked by the "remains" of whilom friends whom they have squeezed dry and dropped, like so many sucked oranges. In politics it is said of such a man that he has kicked down the ladders by which he climbed. In literary or othei: walks of life, the human sponge often swells up with the thought that he has "out- 4 grown" his humble friends of other days. In private life, the self conscious soul contents itself with becoming more and more the center of its little circumference, taking none within its orbit who will not content to revolve around it and emit light and warmth forils enjoyment. There have been many and noble definitions of what a friend is. People of real individuality, strength and sensitiveness, doubtless have fewer real friends than they are apt to think, unless they have been cherishing, unconsciously, low ideals. But whatever a > uend may not be, certainly that sweet and noble term is unmerited by one who, however generous in other directions, is selfish of bimsef. S&" A man told his friend that he had joined the army. "What regiment?" his friend asked. "Oh, I don't mean that; I mean the army of the Lord." "Ah, what Church ?" "The Baptist," was the reply. "Sho," rejoined the friend, "that isn't the army ; its tbe> navy,"