Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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/ ? lewis m. grist, proprietor. J Jnitptnhnf Jfamiln |tttospaptr: Jfor % ^rmnotion of % |MtftcaI, Social, ^gritnlhtral anb Ctrntmtrrial interests of f|e 5ont|. |terms--$2.50 a tear, in advance. VOL. 27. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 25, 1881. ISTO. 34. $he Jdartr IcUct. THE FIRST SHAD0W7 Ida was a bride. Ouward through a whole ' year of patient waiting, had she moved to-,! ward this blessed estate, all her thoughts golden over, all her fancies radiant with love and beauty. And now she was a bride?a happy bride. He who had won her, was worthy to wear her as a crown. Kind, honorable and gifted?his praise was on the lips J of all men. ? Yes, Ida was a happy bride. It was the blooming, .fragrant spring-time. Singing birds were in all the trees, musical waters glided through the peaceful landscape; and a cloudless sky bending over all. The blessedness of this new life was greater than she had ever imagined, in all the warmth of her j maiden fancies. A moon had waxed and waned since the lover became the husband ; a moon dropping the sweets of Mount Hybla. It was evening, ' ' * 11 1 rvrvL'?t\cr nilf and stood oy tuc umuun, v through the dusky air, waiting and wishing for the return of her husband, who was later than usual from his home. At last, her giad eyes caught a glimpse of his well-known form, and starting back from the wiudow, she went with springing steps to meet him at the door ; opening it ere his hand could ring the bell. "Dear Edward!" What a gushing love was in her voice! She raised her lips for a kiss, and a kiss was given. But somehow, its warmth did not go down to her heart. "Are you not well, dear ?" she asked, very tenderly, as they entered their pleasant little parlor; and she looked up into his face and tried to read its expression. But the twilight was too deep. "Quite as well a3 usual, love," The voice of her husband was low and gentle; but it had a new and changed sound for the young wife's ears?a sound that made her heart tremble. And yet, his arm was around her, and he held one of her hands, tightly compressing it within his own. It grew dark in the room before the gas was lighted. When the strong rays fell suddenly upon the face of her husband, Ida saw a change there also. It was* clouded. Not heavily clouded?but still in shadow. Steadily and earnestly she looked at him, until he turned his face partly away, to escape the ' searching scrutiny. "You are not well, Edward." Ida looked serious?almost concerned. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm very well." He smiled, and patted her cheek, playfully or rather, with an attempt at playfulness. Ida was not deceived. A chauge had passed 1 i 1 ,noi! lurnnor Hp I over ner nusoauu. ouiucunug h?j ? was not as he had been. In due time tea was announced, and the little family party of two gathered around the table in the neat breakfast room. "Burnt toast and dish water tea, as usual!" These were the first words spoken by the youug husband, after sitting down to the table; aud the manner in which they were i uttered, left Ida in no doubt as to his state of feeling, How suddenly was the fine gold i dimmed. < . A few hours earlier the young husband had called in to see his mother, an orderly, industrious woman, and a notable housekeep- i er. As usual, he was full of the praise of i his beautiful young wife, in whom he had seen nothing to blame?nothing below per- i fection. But his mother had looked on her i with different eyes. Living in the world was, I with her, no holiday affair, aud marriage no j honeymoon. She was too serious in all her views aud feelings to have much patience with what she esteemed mere playday life, i A little jealous of her son's affection, she < was, withal ; and it going forth to another, 1 with au ardor so different from what it had < ever gone forth to herself made her feel cold i toward the dear little wife of Edward, who I was its favored object. I "It is time," she said, with a distance of I manner that surprised her son, "for you and < Ida to be a little more serious. The honeymoon is over, and the quicker you come down I to sober realities the better. There is one 1 thing about Ida that rather disappoints me." I - Edward was too much surprised at this I unexpected annunciation to speak. His i mother went on, i "She's no housekeeper " i * "She's young, mother. She'll learn," he said. interrupting her. "She had no right to marry until she knew j how to make a cup of tea !" The old lady j spoke with considerable asperity. i "Mother !" "I say just what I mean. Not a single cup of tea have I yet tasted in your house, that was fit to driuk ! I don't know how you can put up with such stuff. You wouldn't; have doue it at my table, I'm very sure." "Please, mother, don't talk so auy more ! about Ida ! I can't bear to bear it." "You can't bear to hear the truth, Ed- I ward. I speak for Ida's good and your own, I too. She's a wife, now ; not a mere sweet-! heart. And she's your housekeeper besides, with something more to do and to care for, | than dress, music, party going and enjoy- j raent. I must say, as I said a little while | ago, that I am disappointed in her. What j are girls thinking about now-a-days, when j they get married ?" Surely, not of their hus- ! bands' household comforts." ' "If you please, mother, we will change the ! subject," said the young man, who was exceedingly pained by the strong language he had heard. He spoke so firmly that the mat- i ter was dropped, aud not again alluded to at the time. We have, now, an explanation of the change in the young husband's state of mind. : There were some truths in what his mother ' had said, and this made it so much the har- j der to bear. The first shadow had fallen, i that dimmed the brightness of his new and happy life. Still the defects in Ida?very small to his j eyes, even after they were pointed out by his , mother?were things of no moment. He had not intended her for a household drudge. Was she not loving hearted, accomplished and beautiful ? What more could he ask ? True, he had intended her for the presiding genius of his home ; and there were sober, matter of-fact things to be done in all homes. But her devotion to these would come in good time. How Edward came to speak as he did nhnnt the tea and toast, was. almost on the instant he had given utterance to his words, a mystery to himself. He started with the ^ start he gave his young wife, and trembled for the effect of his uukindly uttered words. He would have given much could he have recalled them. But they were said beyond any power of unsaying. The reference of his mother to the indifferent tea with which she had beeu served at his table, had not only mortified him, but made some things distinct in his memory, which before, were only seen dimly, and as matters of indifference. Where all was so bright, why should he turn his eyes upon a few fragments of clouds skirting the fair hor- j izou ? He would not have done so if left to ! himself. The clouds might have spread un-i til very much larger than a man's hand, before their murky aspect would have drawn his happy vision from the all pervading happiness. Ida's hand, which was raising a cup to her lips, fell almost as suddenly as if palsied ; a paleness overspread her countenance; her lips had a motion between a quiver and a spasm. From her eyes, which seemed bound, as by a spell, to her husband's face, tears rolled out and fell in large drops over her cheeks. Never before, siuce Edward had lookec upon that der r, young face, had he seen its brightness so veiled. Never before, had a word of his -een auswered by anything but smiles and love responses. "I'm sorry. Edward." How the sad, tremulous voice of Ida rebuked the young husband's unkindness. "It shall not be so agaiu." And she kept her word. Suddenly he had awakened her from a bright, dreamy illusion. She had been in a kind of fairy land. The hard, every-day working world, with its common working day wants, by an unlooked-for shifting of machinery, had struck with an unlovely aspect upon her startled vision; the jagged edges of the real wounding painfully her soft ideal. But once awakened, she never slept again. It was the first shadow that fell dimly and coldly upon her married heart; the first, and to the life-experienced, we need not say the last. Burnt toast and bad tea ! To think that common things like these should have power to shadow a young heart basking in the sunlight of love ! Ida had thought of her husband as almost indifferent to the vulgar wants his words made mauifest. She saw clearer now. He was but flesh and blood like the rest. Very?very tenderly spoken were all the words of Edward to his young wife, during -1? nnnnln tk.it- fnllnwdrt this first. IUO DIiaUUTTCU CTCUIIig I.IIMW wv .. -V. dimming of their home light. And Ida who felt the kindness of his heart, tried, to smile and to seem as of old. But, somehow, she could not force into existence the smiles she wished to send out as tokens of forgiveness. Thoughts of the bad tea and burnt toast, the "usual"?ah ! there lay the smart!?evening entertainment she had provided ; or, rather, suffered to be provided by unskillful hands? were her own any more skillful ? for her returning husband haunted her all the while. "It shall not be so again !" Not idly uttered were these words. All the evening she kept repeating them to herself, with a steadily increasing purpose and a clearer vision. "Edward shall never have another occasion for rebuke." Several times during the evening, the young husband was tempted to refer to the conversation held with his mother, fn explanation of his own conduct, but he wisely kept his own counsel. Of all things he dreaded an estrangement between his wife and mother. On the next morning, Edward noticed that his young wife left their chamber earlier than usual, and weut down stairs. Not, however, to fill their home with music, as she had often done. Her matinee was the singing tea-, kettle, not the stringed piano. She had a heightened color, when she took her place at the breakfast table, and poured for her husband the fragrant coffee, made by her own hands, because she had discovered that her indifferent cook was ignorant of her art. How did she know the art ? It was almost | accidental; the recollection of some good housewife's talk had served her iu the right time. The warm praise bestowed by Edward on the coffee was ample reward. Ida boughs a cook book during the day. That sounds romantic. But it was even so ; and she studied it for hours. During the afternoon her mother-in-law came in ; and Ida urged her to stay to tea. The old lady accepted the invitation ; not, we are sorry to say, in the very best spirit. She had opened the war on Edward's "butterfly" youug wife and she meant to follow it up. When Edward came home and found that his mother was there his spirits fell. He saw, by the corners of her mouth, that she bad not forgotten their interview of the preceding day, and that her state of mind was not a whit more charitable. Ida's face was a little shadowed ; but she was cheerful, and very attentive to his mother?and, happily, ignorant of her true feelings. She came and went from the breakfast room to the parlor, frequently, evidently with household cares upon her mind. Tea was at length jmuounced. Edward's heart trembled. His mother arose, and with rather a cold air, accompanied her children lo me room vuiere log ocumg uitai unauvu them. The table had an attractive look, now to the eyes of both Edward and his mother. It was plain that another hand besides the servant's had been there. Ida poured the tea, and Edward served the hot biscuit and cream toast. The eyes of the latter were on his mother, as she lifted, with an air which he understood to say, "Poor stuff!" the cup of tea to her lips. She tasted the fragrant beverage?set the cup down? lifted and tasted again. The infusion was faultless! Yes, even to her critical taste. Next the biscuit, and next the toast were tried. Mrs. Gocdfellow herself could not have surpassed them. "Have you changed your cook ?" The old lady looked across the table, curiously at Ida. "No, mother," answered the young wife, smiling. "Only the cook has found a mistress." "Is all this your work, Ida?" The old lady spoke in half incredulous tone. "Yes, it is all my work. Don't you think, if I try hard, I'll make a housekeer in time ?" This wa9 so unexpected, that the husband's j mother was delighted. Ida had gone right home to her matter of-fact, every-day heart. "Why, yes, you precious little darling!" she answered, with an enthusiasm almost foreign to her character. "I couldn't have done better myself." The shadow passed from the heart of Ida, i as her eyes rested on the pleased countenance ! of her husband. It was the first shadow that | had fallen since their happy wedding day, j and moved on quickly; but its memory was ; left behind. It was like the drawing of a i veil, which partly conceals, yet beautifies a countenance, revealing the enchanted ex- ! pression. Ida's husbaud was a man, like the rest, with man's common wants and weakness; and her married world one in which hands must! take hold of common duties. But she soon j learned that, in the real world, were real de- j lights, substantial and abiding. Bravely she did walk in the new path that j lay at her feet. She had her reward. Tea ! and toast but expressed her household duties, uone of which were rightly performed during that delicious honeymoon. But she failed in nothing afterward ; and soon learned that the ground in which true happiness takes deepest root, and from which it springs up with strongest branches, is the ground of common, homely duties. Remedy for Weak or Sore Eyes.?A correspondent of an exchange gives the following as a remedy for weak or sore eyes : Get a five cent cake of elder flowers at the j druggist's and steep in one gill of soft water, j It must be steeped iu bright tin or earthen- ; ware. Strain nicely, and add three drops of laudanum ; bottle it tight and keep in a cool ! place. Use as a wash, letting some of it get i into the eyes. Follow this and relief is* certain. If the eyes are painful or much sore, make small, soft compresses, wet them in the mixture and bind over the eyes at might. I ohu warrant the above as harmless and sure, having tried it in a number of cases where other skill and remedies had utterly failed. If the eyes are badly inflamed, use it very freely. A tea made of elder flowers and i drank will help to cleanse the blood. Pure roqk salt and water will strengthen your eyes if you bathe them daily in it. ^HisccUancous ?Uatliftg. A NIGHT WITH "STONEWALL" JACKSON. fA. R. Doteler in the Philadelphia Times.1 While serving on Stonewall Jackson's staff I sometimes shared with him the shelter of his tent, and it was my good fortune to do so j the night of the battle of Fredericksburg, when some little incidents occurred which, though trifling in themselves, were so characteristic of the General's considerate kindness, that perhaps, on that account, they deserve to be recorded. After the fight was over, when The night cloud had lowered And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky, we were riding together near Hamilton's Crossing, on the right of our line, when he turned to me and said : "Colonel, as this has been a fatiguing day and you must be tired, I think you had better return to camp, get your supper and go to bed. fbr we are likely to have a very busy day to morrow." The advice was timely and too good to be neglected ; so with?a grateful appreciation of its fitness I thanked him for the suggestion and promptly turned my horse's head toward the camp, which was about a mile from the Crossing, whereupon he added, as a parting injunction : "Be sure and tell Jim to make you comfortable in my tent to night and not to wait for me. If wanted, I shall probably be at army headquarters." Jim was the General's body servant and faithful factotum, as much identified with him in his campaigns, as was the "Old Sorrel," which his raasternal ways rode in battle, and which, by the way, was as little like the Scriptural war horse described in Job as the General himself resembled the classical representations of Mars in Hebrew mythology. The servant and "Old Sorrel" being about the same color?each having the hue of gingerbread without any of its spiciness?their respective characters were in a concatenation accordingly. For they were equally obedient, patient, easy-going, and reliable ; not given to devious courses nor designing tricks ; more serviceable than showy, and, altogether, as sober-sided a pair of subordinates as any Presbyterian elder, with plain tastes and a practical turn, need desire to have about him. Both man and horse seemed to understand their master thoroughly, and rarely failed to come up fully to all his requirements. So that when I told Jim that his master said he must make me comfortable for the night, I knew very well that nothing farther need be urged to impress him with the comprehensiveness of the order, which he'd be sure to look upon as limited only by the resources of | the camp and his own capacity as a caterer. Consequently, in due time, a substantial supper was served, to which full justice was done, as I had eaten nothing since daylight, and soon thereafter I was asleep on the General's pallet, which appeared to have a coautchouc capability of accommodation when Jim, "on hospitable thoughts in tent" proceeded, as he said, to "widen it out to make it more fitten for two." IN THE TENT WITH JACKSON. About midnight I was awakened by the entrance of the General, who had been, as I learned afterwards, at General Lee's headquarters, hut I did not let him know he had disturbed me, as^hat would have worried him. Lighting a candle and laying aside his great coat, sword, &c., he opened the draught of the little sheet iron stove that warmed the Sibley tent, and seating himself at the table read for a while in his well-worn Testament; then kneeling reverently down, he "bowed himself in prayer." When through with his devotions he drew off his boots, put on a pair of slippers and quietly lying down by my side fell fast asleep almost immediately. By this time I was too wide awake to follow his example. My thoughts reverting to the terrible scenes of the preceding day would not be controlled, and I could not recall them from the bloody battlefield close by, where the dreadful drama had been enacted and where tbere were then, lying so many thousands of brave men who "?had 9unk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep and the wounded to die." I thought of the magnificent spectacle of the morning before, when the "rolling mists" began to rise from the river and revealed the "grand Army of the Potomac," with its hundred and seventy-five thousand men, superbly^ armed and equipped, as it deployed, column after column, on the open plain before us, "in all the pomp and pride and circumstance of war"?one of the grandest sights ever beheld on the Continent. I thought of the splendid advance of its triple lines of battle, marching with the precision of regulars on dress parade and preserving their alignment perfectly along our front, as far as the eye could reach, until coming within point-blank range of our position, when?with three hundred cannon roaring around thein and the air filled with the merciless missiles of death?they so gallantly rushed to the charge, on the right hand and on the left, and were so remorselessly repulsed by the concentrated fire of the Confederates, which sent them reeling back beyond the river road, to reform their ranks for a fresh assault, while the intervening ground, covered with their killed and wounded, was so torn up by shot and shell that it looked in places as if it had been ploughed. I thought of young Pelhara's daring feat?how, dashing forward far into the open field upon the federal flank, he so raked the advancing lines with au enfilading fire from two pieces of his horse artillery as to compel them to pause, and not only to confront him with a whole division of infantry, thrown into crochet at right angles with their main lines of battle, but likewise, to concentrate upon him the fire of four batteries, besides the heavy guns on Stafford Heights ; and how, notwithstanding these combined attacks, the boy artillerist maintained the unequal duel for more than an hour, and until he was recalled by positive orders from his perilous position. Well might General Lee exclaim, as he did to Jackson, in regard to Pelham's prowess: "It is inspiriting to see such glorious courage in one so j young and well might Jackson say of him, as he did to me that day : "He's the best ar- j tillerist for his age I ever saw." I thought of j the furious assaults made early in the afternoon upon our right, when again under cover j of a terrible cannonade, "three lines of battle ; advanced to the charge, preceded by clouds j of skirmishers" and strengthened by ten bat- | teries of field guns upon their flanks ; of how they broke through a portion of the Confederate line, forcing two of A. P. Hill's brigades to fall back on their supports, and of the temporary confusion, which was caused thereby, for fear our flank should be turned and position taken in reverse ; of how grandly the lion-hearted Gregg flung himself into the fight that was fated to be his last; of how that staunch old soldier, Jubal Early, came to the rescue, regaining the lost ground and re-establishing our line, and of how the Federals were finally compelled to seek safety in flight, while a terrible fire of canister and grape | made fearful havoc among the fugitives. I | thought too of the last desperate efforts that [ were made in the evening upon our left, as described to me by those who saw them when j the enemy so insanely assaulted Lee's position on Marye's Hill, which was impregnable, i and where so mauy gallant men were cruelly | sacrificed in vain attempts to achieve an impossibility. stonewall's odd habits. Thus the principal events of the momentous day of successive excitements passed in review before me in the order of their occur rence, like the pictures of a moviug panorama, with all the horrible details of a battlefield, so that, of course, there was no more sleep for me that night. But this was not the case with the General by my side, who was more fortunate, I was glad to see, in securing for himself the benefit of "tired nature's sweet re| storer," which I knew he greatly needed. Jackson, however, had the happy faculty of sleeping when he wanted to do so, and of taking naps under circumstances that certainly, were not calculated to lull the senses in oblivion. For not only have I frequently seen him nodding by the camp-fire, with his staff laughing and talking around him, and sleeping in the saddle amid the dust, confusion and discomforts of a march, but, likewise, on ? ??? AA/*nomn tukon nnrlor fipfl OQ Iliuie li j mi uuc utlaomu, tvii^u uijuw m*w, was notably the case at Halltown in May, 1862, when I made a pencil sketch of him as he reclined on the ground against a tree in the rear of a battery not more than thirty feet from the guns, and was slumbering as placidly as an infant in his mother's arms, while the cannon were firing rapidly, and their reports were as loud as "the live thunder" itself. But to resume the (bread of my narrative. It was about 2 o'clock when the General awakened, and he did so suddenly, as if by his own volition, at the expiration of the time he had previously allotted for his nap. He got up carefully, making as little noise as possible, for he evidently thought I was still asleep?an impression on his part which I did not think proper to correct. Relighting the candle he began to write at the table, which stood near the foot of the bed and in a position that enabled me as he sat by it to study his handsome profile, to which, by the way, none of his pictures do justice. After being thus engaged" for some little time bo tnrnod rnwnrd mp. and seeing that the ""* ** vv" ?"? ? ' D light of the caudle shone in my face he softly arose from the opposite side of the tent, which he carefully adjusted on the table between the candle and myself, so as to shield my eyes completely from the light. It was a little thiug, indeed, but at the same time it was sufficient to indicate to me the thoughtful goodness of that great heart of his, which was as bold as a lion's and as gentle as a lamb's. JACKSON AND GREGG. While I laid there looking at him through my half closed eyelids I heard some one gallop up to our quarters and inquire of?the orderly if the General was in and presently an aide of Gen. Maxey Gregg's was ushered into the tent, who came with a verbal message from his dying chief. "General," said he, "Gen. Gregg has sent me to say that he will be glad to see you before he leaves us. We fear that he will not live until morning and he wishes to tell you that be regrets having sent you that note he did day before yesterday, as he has since discovered that you were right and he mistaken." "Pnnr follntu I" cvnloiniod thp Oprmml in & tone of deepest feeling, "I feared his wound was mortul, but did Dot think the end so near. Give my love to hira and say that I will see bira as soon as I can get there. Whereupon the young officer took his leave, and the General, accompanying him outside gave orders for Jim to saddle the "Old Sorrel," for him at once. When he re entered the tent I took occasion to speak to him to let him know I was awake, and after some little conversation about Gregg, whom ?0 referred to in emphatic terms of praise, affection and regret, I asked him what was his idea of the situation at the front and whether he thought the attack would be renewed. "Yes," said he, "and I think upon our right; so I have given orders to strengthen our position there by entrenching. Burnside has doubtless discovered by this time that it's useless for hira to make any further attempts on the left and centre of our line, and that his only chance for effecting anything will be to concentrate his force upon our right near Hamilton's Crossing, making a feint in the direction of his assault near Fredericksburg. But, Colonel," he added, as he drew on his boot, "we'll be ready for hira, and, with God's help, we'll gain another victory." MASTER AND MAN. When he went out to mount his horse there was a somewhat amusing colloquy between himself, and Jim, which, though characteristic of master and man, showed how the latter failed for once in obedience to orders and the former, likewise in efiforcing his own command. Jim, it seems, had put the saddle on the wrong horse, which caused the General, as he discovered it, to ask him : "Why, what does this mean? Didn't I send you word to saddle the "Old Sorrel?" "Vou oir rnn rllrl " eoi/T .Tim JL V.Jj Oil | j v/u uiU| guiu u iui? "Then why have you brought me this animal?" was the next inquiry. "Well, sir, I tell you," said Jim. "You see, sir, when you come back last night it was most midnight and the 'Ole Sorrel' was that dead tired 'cause you'd been a riding of him all day long that I sort o' promised him some rest befo' he should be rid agin, sir. Thurfo', sir, I's done fotch the young sorrel for you this time, sir." "But Jim," replied the General, "I always prefer to ride the 'Old Sorrel' in battle." "I know that, sir," responded Jim, "and if there's gwine to be another battle I tell you what I do. Soon as I hear the first gun go bang I'll fotch the 'Ole Sorrel' down to the front for you, sir, and then, you see, sir, he'll, be fresl^ sir." That assurance seemed to satisfy the General, as he rode of without further remonstrance. Whereupon, calling Jim into the tent, I asked him what it was his master was saying about another battle, and his reply showed that he was by no means deficient in capacity, "For," said he "the General, sir, he thinks there's gwine to be another battle here ; maybe this morning. But, sir I don't believe it?for it stands to reason, sir, that the powerful lickin'we done give the Yankees yisterday is a gwine to last 'em a good long while. Leastwise they won't want any mo' doin's of that sort to day. No, sir ee they's too smart for that?them thar Yankess is, sir." Jim was right in his prognostication, for though the morning disclosed the Federals still drawn upon the plain in full array, aud their commander, Gen. Burnside, was anxious torene\wthe engagement, he received no enourageraent to do 60, it is said, from either his officers or men, and the following morning passed without any demonstration, except eotne artillery practice at loDg range and a continual skirmishing of sharpshooters, until a temporary truce was granted to enable the Federals to relieve their wounded on the field, many of whom had been lying for twenty-four hours on the freezing grounds where they had fallen, and some poor fellows for two days and nights, unattended from the time that they had been stricken down in the primary skirmishing of the day before the memorable battle of December 13, which closed the campaign of 1862. Suggested Change in tiie Constitution.? Hon. Galusha A. Grow, ex-Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, through an interview in the New York Tribune, suggests a change in the Constitution in order to relieve the President of the enormous and growing load of executive duties devolved upon him. Mr. Grow would limit the ap pointing power of the President to his cabinet, the foreign ministers and the judges of the United States courts, placing the task of making selections for the subordinate offices of the government in the hands of the heads of departments. Still further to relieve the President, the ex-Speaker would make the Vice Presicent a member of the cabinet and put upon him the duty of deciding a large class of comparatively minor questions coming up'for executive decision. This, Mr.-Grow suggests, would give the President time to attend to our foreign relations, and study important national questions upon which he has to make recommendations to Congress with much more care than he can possibly give to them under the existing system. ALL FOR LOVING A PRINCESS. Why a Swiss Professor was Sent as an Exile To Siberia. Occupying humble furnished lodgings in one of tbe large buildings in the heart of Chicago, and earning a modest income as a teacder or music and languages, is a gentleman who, if he be not a full-blown Nihilist, has at least good reason for sympathizing with the objects and aims of the nihilistic organization. He is now an old man, counting by j years, though his eye is so bright, his frame so robust and his step so firrar that a stranger meeting him for the first time would never suspect that be had passed middle life. But he comes of a hardy race?the Swiss?and was nurtured in the life giving atmosphere of the Alps. In his youth he must have had a constitution of iron, else he could not have survived the sufferings and privations which have been his lot. Although sociable in the highest degree, he rarely, in the course of conversation, touches upon his past. The subject is a painful one, and it is only when he is deeply moved that his reticence gives way. Little by little in the last four or five years a Chicago Herald reporter has learned much of his history ; but there is doubtlesS much more which has never been told. The assassination of the Czar was an event which had the effect of looseuing his tongue, and during a discussion of the causes of the tragedy he narrated the following interesting incident of his life : "I was a soldier in my youth, and served in many parts of the world. In my last engagement I was severely wounded. It is nothing now ; but for a time I was incapacitated for active military service. I had al ways had a taste for music, aud had received a good musical education. Wheu I retired from the army, therefore, I sought to support myself by teaching. St. Petersburg seemed to present a good field, so I went there. I was well supplied with letters of introduction, which procured for me the influence of some of the most important personages in Russia, and I had no difficulty in obtaining pupils of high rank. At first I taught music only, but I soon found that I could materially add to my income by teaching the English, French, and Italian languages, of which I had a thorough knowledge. Within a year I was well established and bad even laid by a little money. I had every reason to congratulate myself upon ray position. "But an evil day came. I was sitting alone in my little library one evening, when two agents of the police entered and placed me under arrest." "For what cause?" "For what cause ? That was the question I myself asked, but it was many a long day before it was answered. The police would tell me nothing. They simply hurried me off to prison. No formal charge was preferred against me; there was no trial, but in two weeks I was on the way to Siberia. It was winter, and the journey was a terrible one. Think of it! Thousands of miles in an open sledge ! I was taken to the Oukboul mine, and there in the dark, breathing poisonous exhalations, I worked with convicts of the lowest class, while a guard, armed with a whip, stood ready to lash us if we relaxed our efforts. This lasted for six months. I could not have stood it much longer. Already my strength was beginning to fail, although when I entered the mine I was as strong as three men. I determined to escape, but before I had decided how or when 1 was transferred to Irkoutak. The government was building roads and needed laborers. It was hard work in the burning sun, but child's play as compared to the mine. After a while they found I was an engineer, and that they could make better use of my head than of my hands. From that time my situation was much pleasanter. "One day I found an opportunity to escape. It was in winter?my second winter in Siberia. A courier was to be sent to the Czar. He was going in a sledge, and was to be ac-* companied part of the way by a guide. I had made good use of my time in the engineering department, and knew the route from Irkou^sk to the frontier as well as it could be learned from maps. I resolved, if possible, to take the place of the guide. Fortune favored me. The courier was to start early in the morning. The night before I found the guide, plied him with brandy and left hira iu a drunken stupor. Before daybreak I returned and aroused him. He was still intoxicated and very thirsty. A few more drinks of brandy sufficed to again stupefy him. Then I took his clothes, his horse and his sledge, weut for the courier, and in an hour we had left Irkoutsk far behind us. The courier suspected nothing. He had never seen the real guide, and had therefore no reason to suppose j I was an imposter. I accompanied him as far as Omsk, where he procured another guide and another vehicle. You may be sure I was not sorry to part with him, for at every posting house since we left Irkoutsk I had expected arrest. I felt that I would be safer i without him. There was no difficulty, however. I had very little money?scarcely enough to keep m.e in food until I should reach the froutier. But fortune again favored me. A merchant bound for Perm required a conveyance and a guide, and as I professed to know the country, he employed me. It would take too long to tell you all the incidents of the journey. We arrived at Perm, not without some difficulty, to be sure, (for I was very uncertain of the route,) and I was well paid for my services. From Perm I proceeded, alone, and, although I was without passports or papers of any kind, I mauaged to complete my journey. "1 shall never forget the day I arrived in St. Petersburg. It was still winter, and I | was penniless, hungry and in rags ; but I was happv. I formed the intention of presenting myself at the Swiss Consulate and claimiug j the protection of the Swiss government. I : was on my way thither when I was accosted j by two policemen. Not satisfied with my re- j plies to their questions, they arrested me. An ; attempt had been made the day before to as- j sassinate a high official, and all suspicious : characters were being taken into custody, i What there was in my appearance to excite ; suspicion I know not, for there were thousands j in St. Petersburg as ragged and dirty as I.; The thought of returning to prison, perhaps j to Siberia, maddened me ; I resisted, but? was ' overpowered, and in a few minutes was once j more in a dungeon. For a time I gave way ; to despair. I fancied myself again in the j mines, dying a lingering death. The thought j was so terrible that had I not been chained i to the floor I should have contrived to killj myself. "I had been in prison five days, and had j had time for reflection. I was convinced that j nobody had recognizeJ me, and that my ar-! rest had no connection whatever with ray escape from Siberia. This gave me hope and j with hope came the determination to make another eff >rt for liberty. I should have appealed to the Swiss Consul, but I knew that no message that I might dictate or write, ! would be conveyed to him. At last an idea struck rae, and I acted upon it. "Among my pupils in former days had been a niece of Prince Gortschakoff. She i was a beautiful creature, young, accomplished and with a heart of gold. We had become very good frieuds, considering the difference in station between a Princess and a music teacher. I knew'that if I could communicate with her, she would assist me, but how could I communicate with her? I had no money to bribe the jail attendant, and without bribery I had nothing to expect. However, I concluded to appeal to him, and at the ; next opportunity I asked him if he knew the Princess. 'Yes,'he replied,'she is visiting I the prison to day.' | " 'Visiting the prison !' I exclaimed. 'Do they, then, admit visitors?' '"It is against the rules,' said he; 'but *"^A A A DmnflflOfl ?iAonl nca f A OOO wiicu a wumau auu a x uulcco icouiwo iv aw the prison, who can prevent her? She will have her own way, rules or no rules." " 'Do you think she will come here?' " 'Who knows ? If she wishes to come she will come.' "At this moment I heard the voice of a prison official explaining that this was the department of the 'suspected.' " 'She is here,' said the attendant, and at that moment she appeared at the door, which had not been closed. " 'Princess,' I cried, 'will you not save me ?' " 'Who are you ?' she asked, evidently not recognizing me through my involuntary dis- i guise of rags, dirt and chains. ! " 'Have you forgotten your old music teach- < er? Do you not know me ?' " 'My God ! is it possible ? No, Professor, I I have not forgotten you, and I will help you. ' What must I do to procure your release ?' < " 'Tell the Swiss Consul that I, the son of < - f t??:j x _ / .u . o : r> ui:? a lormer jrresiueoi ui intj owisa ucjjuuih;, am imprisoned on suspicion. He will do the < rest.' I " 'I will go instantly,' she said, and hurried- | ly left the prison. < "In a few days I was set at liberty, and ] having, with the aid of friends, procured suit- I able garments, I called to thank the Princess i for her kindness. It was then, for the first ' time, that I learned the cause of ray banish- i mgnf. # I " 'You owe me no thanks,' said she, 'It I is I who am the cause of all your misfortunes.' i " 'You, Princess!' I replied, in astonish- < ment; 'how is that possible?' ] "She explained. Her uncle had had in ; view her marriage with a nobleman who was < highly obnoxious to her. It was thought J that her opposition to the alliance was due to a preference for somebody else, and it was ] finally decided that I, her music teacher, j must be the obstacle. Prince Gortschakoflf, i in order to get'rid of me, procured my arrest I and deportation. She had been surprised at i my sudden disappearance and had instituted I inquiries, but had learned nothing nntil quite ] recently, and these only by accident. A masked ball had been given at the residence of a lady of high rank, and while seated in an alcove the Princess had overheard a con- < versation regarding herself. She was about i to interrupt it when one of the speakers cou- i pled my name with hers, and her curiosity 1 overcoming her scruples, she listened. Armed ( with the knowledge thus acquired she had < accused her uncle of the outrage. He admit- < ted it, and defended it as a matter of necessi- < ty. She urged him to secure ray pardon, < but he refused. What was the use of so 1 much trouble over a music teacher? Of 1 course, she could do nothing, but it was the < thought of my unhappy fate that led her to ] visit the prison." , i "Had she really formed an attachment foe you ?" asked the writer. ] "What a foolish question," said the Pro- j fessor. "This is not a love story. You for- ' get that she was a Princess." | STEALING WATER-MELONS. Ab Ashley was real, live Hoosier, notorious for everything in general, and stealing melons in particular. In melon time, he was the dread of the whole neighborhood; for when he visited a patch, he made it a rule never to leave until it was entirely destroyed. This was a singular trait in his character?something unaccountable?for, aside from this, he was crnsidered one of the best fellows in the world. Stealiug melons and plundering patches, seemed to be a part of his nature, for it was evident that it did not arise from any m'ggardly disposition or selfish motives. He was a real open hearted kind of an individual, always growing more melons than any body else, and giving them away more freely than anybody else. They were no object to him, yet he could not resist the temptation to steal from his neighbors, just for the fun of the thing. But, as some one has said, "it is a long lane that has no turn and likewise, had Ab followed up the practice of stealing melons all his life, he would have got to be a melon thief of long standing. But such a state of things was not destined to last always?"A change came o'er the spirit of his dream." I recollect, once, in melon season, some three or four youngsters called at Ab's house, and after telling him of the "fine patch" that Deacon Aikers had, proposed to visit it. Ab was on hand without a moment's hesitancy, and so the company set out as soon as it was fairly dark. Before .proceeding further, I may say, of Ab, in the language of the poet, "He loved whisky," as well as be did melons; and as the boys in whose company he was, had looked to the future and brought along a bountiful supply of the "good critter," he was soon enjoying himself hugely. Bound and round went the black bottle, and on and on went the company. They soon got to be very merry?so much so that apparently they paifl no attention to road or path, but went right i i .1 j- j i L :r i tnrougl) me woous uiy^ orusn, me same t?o u they had been walking on a barn floor. At length, after winding about in various ways, and overcoming many obstacles, such as fallen trees and "worm fences," that lay in their route, they arrived at the patch, and pitched over the enclosure. Ye gods, what a sight! There lay the huge melons, so thick that our adventurers could scarcely walk for them. There they lay, great mealy, "red cores," apparently calling out in their own language, "Arise, slash and eat !" They were none of your little, long, "wizzled up" things, such as find their way to the market stands, and which one would suppose had fallen from the % vine in a fit of the "blue devils ;" but they were great, plump, jolly, good natured fel lows, many of which were already showing t their red inteqor, having, apparently, burst g their sides with laughter. Ab was right in t his glory, and so, hauling out his jack knife, c he fell to slashing around with a vengeance. The others followed his example, and very [ soon there was sad havoc in the melon patch, t Having satisfied his appetite, Ab fell t stamping and crushing open all that came in t his way. The other boys hesitated to par- r ticipate at first, urging that it was really too 1 bad to treat the old Deacon in such a man- i ner ; but Ab swore that it was good enough s for the old hypocrite, and that he would not i leave as long as there was a melon with a c whole hide. Finding there was no stopping r him, they lent a hand to the performance, jj and very soon every melon was destroyed ; and not only that, but the vines were pulled < up and heaped in one corner of the patch. Now, said Ab, mounting the pile, which < was some five or six feet high, give me the j black bottle, and let me drink the old Dea- ] con's health?that good man, in honor of I whom we've just erected this monument. < The bottle was passed up, and Ab begaa? Deacon Aikers?May be live to plant many a patch like this, and may Ab Ashley and his friends have the honor of harvestin' it fur 'em. Hats went round three times, after which the bottle started, and made a like number of revolutions. Now fetch me that pole yonder, till I erect a standard, to show that a man has been to the summit, and then the work will be complete, said Ab. The pole was brought, and after tearing a strip off an old cotton handkerchief and at tacbing it to the end of the pole, Ab stuck it up in the pile of vines, dismounted, and all started for home. In a space of time truly * incredible, they arrived at Ab's residence. Ab pressed his friends to stay til! morning, but they would not hear of it. Some pressing business, of course, prevented ; 'and so they set out, leaving him to snooze off the bad effects of bad whisky. Early next morning, Ab Ashley was aroused from his sound slumber by one of his little sons running to his bed, and calling out: "Pap, pap, pap ! Get up, quick?quicker! Sorae'n's hooked all er?'er water melyons 1". "What 1" exclaimed Ab. "Why, some?some?some'n hooked all 'er water melyons an?an?an smashed 'era up!" Ab arose cursing and swearing, vowing that he'd find some clue by which to identify the villains, and then they might look out for rough times. He went to the patch?what a sight presented itself 1 Not a whole melon, nor even a vine, was left?all had met a total destruction. "Where'n thunder and lightning could I a been last night, that I didn't hear the infernal villains ? It's lucky for 'em I didn't hear 'em, or seme of 'era'd been dead now. What could they a done with the vines ?" said he. Casting his eyes along the fence, he discovered the vines nicely piled up, like a small bay stack. From the top of the pile stood a pole, with a strip of red flag floating from the 2nd of it. Ab started toward it; but before proceeding many steps, he stopped and began to think. Something seemed to be coming up in his mind. At last he muttered to himself, 'Can it all be a dream ? or, did I actually do it?" Waiting a little longer, be said, "No, by thunder, it's no dream ! Them cussed boys 'a been a playin' off on me. Blast their infernal whisky, I wish they had it all in their mussed in'arda, red hot! Mind, I tell you, ['11 be even with 'era, if it takes me a hundred pears from now," and then came a volley of jurses, such as never could appear in print. He fairly blubbered right out with rage. It was, indeed, true?the boys had been playing off on him?for after getting him a little tight, tbey had brought him back to his awn melon patch ; and under the impression that it was Deacon Aiker's, he had destroyed it. It is said that Ab Ashley was never known to assist in the plundering of a melonpatch after thateventful night. It cured him. Summer Trade in New York.?A New York letter says : "Among the great throng i>f visitors at the Coney Island hotels just now are numerous Western and Southern merchants, who every day manage to com* ? M _1 XT biue more or less business wun pleasure, new Orleans, Galveston, St. Louis, Louisville, Chicago, Pittsburg, Cincinnati, and other trade centres all have their representatives there, and not a few of these come up to the city every morning to make their autumn purchases, returning to the coast in the afternoon. Many heavy purchases have been made by these parties during the present week, including dry goods, ready-made clothing, coffee, hides, foreign fruits, oils and drugs. A. still larger trade is anticipated in the week to come from the same class, of buyers. It is fust here that these newly established nearby watering places are operated as important feeders, so to speak, to New York trade. The broad ocean Is within an hour's sail or ride of "the dry goods district," the board nf brokers, and all the commercial exchanges. With great hotels down there, and with all the ready machinery of telegraph and telephone right at hand, the transaction of business, even within sound of the breakers, is facilitated to a degree that would have been ieeraed quite improbable by the average country merchant a few years ago. "City .rade," the leading merchants say, "has been pretty evenly distributed throughout the lummer months, and the Coney Island hotels', built chiefly by New York, are the cause Karonf inasmuch ns thev have attracted justomers from all parts of the country, who ire discovering now that it is possible to jnite rest and recreation with the ordinary jperations of commerce, and finance, and ipeculation. This does away with the old;ime necessity of deferring the fall trade un,il the fall itself came along." How to Obtain "the Pure Article." 'Give me a little old brandy, Doctor?" replied the reporter. "Very well, sir," replied Dr. Leffinan, who s the State Microscopist for Pennsylvania. 'You shall have a bottle to putin your pock2t. As you see, I take about a half pint of rectified spirits and mix with it a few drops of coloring solution and concentrated essence of 3randy?tfiat is the brandy flavor prepared Dy the druggist, and by brisk agitation the nixture acquires the appearance of Cognac. iTou like a little bead? Very well; I add i little out of this vial, a preparation of nitrojenzoin or artificial oil of bitter almonds. Now, as I pour it out, the bubbles remain for tome time at the ton. However, it does pot taste ripe or full-blooded yet, so I add a ew drops of a preparation principally composed of glycerine and called by the trade age and body.' Another good shake, and ill I need is a label certifying that the article a 'ten year-old Cognac brandy,' and there fou have my"brandy ready for market. Of ;ourse, the experiment has been a very hasty >ne. I simply intended to show you the principle. In practice about half a pound of sach of the substances I have just made use >f would be added to forty gallons of rectiied spirits, and a very respectable and by 10 means injurious brandy is the result. In >rief the adulteration of spirituous liquors, hat is, the artificial production of a few lours by chemical process of a similar result o that attained by nature in the course of nonths, or even years?has every claim to be egarded as a triumph of science."?Philadel>hia Times. Fear of Disease.?It is said that while he plague was raging in Buenos Ayres, the ;rave diggers bore charmed lives. Of the hree hundred men so employed not one died if the disease. It has often been noticed that during the >revalence or pestilential diseases, pnysicians, indertakers, nurses, and grave diggers, whose lusiness compelled constant liability to infecion, have usually escaped in a far greater atio than their numbers would warrant. The "charm" of immunity from the prevailng scourge is very simple. They are not cared. They are positive to the disease, and epel its attacks. Fear is a great ally of leath. Whoever is afraid of disease is in a legative condition, and really invites its ap)roach. And thus it is the world over. The brave lie but once, while cowards die many times. Much unneccessary; alarm exists in every community in regard to many diseases. > We ire, it is true, all liable to sickness and death. But if we are all sober, cleanly, and brave of leart, we need have no fear of disease of body >r mind, 4