Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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mm??????-j??? i ?^????1^^? ?? i i ...... . . . ...... .. lewis m. grist, proprietor. | Jitittpcnlmtt Jitmlj} ^jtospaptr: Jfor tjjt promotion of t|{ ^dttital, Social, ^gricttltnral anit Commercial interests ef t|c ?<ral(j. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 38. YORKVILLE. S. C., THTJE8DAY. ATJGIJST 34, 1883. NO. 34. Ibe ftarg ?eUer. JOHN GEDNETSCHILDT They were taking down the gallows in the jail yard of old Henchley, one gray October evening?the evening of Friday, which, has been set apart for executions from time immemorial. That morning there had been the strange and awful procession from the jail; the last good-byes of jailers and keepers; the last words of the condemned man; tlie clergyman's prayer; the terrible end. Amidst it no woman's sobs, no terrible parting from a shrieking wife, as happens often in such cases. Nobody knew whether John Gedney's wife was dead or not. He never spoke of her. But he had said, just before they put the black cap on his head : "May God raise up a friend for my little Ruth I Poor little Ruth! And let her always t feel that I die innocent." Now a eoffin lay in the prison dead-house, I and the murderer, with peaceful white face and peaceful crossed hands, awaited burial; and the clergyman, going home across the fields, thought what a sad, bad, cruel world this is, and remembered, too, the dead man's last worfls. "Poor little Ruth! I think I'll stop and speak to her tefore I go home," he said. "The child knows nothing of what has happened to her, but it has happened nevertheless." And with this the good man turned down a certain street, passed certain neglected cottages, inhere ducks and dirty children paddled together in the puddles before the doors, and paused at one near which a group of slatternly gossips had gathered. They looked at him as he approached, and there was a little smoothing of aprons and " 1 - -- rni- ~ a.??!* IOOQCn/1 fn twisting up or n&ir* mt tun^uco v&twvu w wag for a moment, and the minister heard from within the voice of a child, lifted in a loud, sharp cry, and then the words, "You tell a story !" in the same voice. In a minute more a little girl, with her bright hair all about her face, rushed out of the door, followed by a woman, who looked half angry and half terrified. "Such a temper 1" she said ; but no wonder. What else can you expect ?" "Oh Mr. Martin, she said papa was a wicked man ; a bad man," cried the child. "She said?I dont know what she said about my papa. Has papa done anything like?like? Oh ! I know it's a wicked story." "What have you been saying to this child, Mrs. Chalmers ?" asked the minister. "Well, sir," said Mrs. Chalmers, "she shows her temper and I thought it was my duty to warn her?" "Against temjjer ? Very proper, Mrs. Chalmers," said the minister. "There is nothing more dangerous." The woman flushed a little and was silent. "Tell them my papa is good," cried the child. "You said you would see him every day where he had to go and live. Tell them. Oh Mr. Martin, when is papa coming back ?" "My child," said the minister, "your father will not come back, but you shall one day go w:.v. vnf rot >,,,? ;n firvl's time. A little IrU mill. l^UV J VvU? au V.V?. _ while ago I was with him." He looked around upon the group of woman. "We were alone. He knelt beside me and prayed as a child might. When we parted this was what he said : 'May God raise up a friend for little Ruth. Poor little Ruth !'" "God has answered his prayer. Mrs. Chalmers, get the child's hat and such clothes as she may have. I will take her home with me and keep her there." "She ought to be very thankful, I'm sure, sir," said Mrs. Chalmers, with a very red face ; "for otherwise, as 3he has no kin, she'd go to the poor-house ; and little Andy shall bring the clothes to your house after her. It's not much a parcel, though I have cut up two old gowns to make her aprons, and given her a cape of my little Sally's to keep her warm." And Mrs. Chalmers looked around at her neighbors for praise of her benevolence, which they gave in nods and hand-liftings; and in a moment more the little Shaker hood was on the child's head, and she was walking over the field with her new protector. . The minister's good, kind wife welcomed the child heartily, and under their roof she grew to be healthy and strong and pretty, her principles were formed, her faults corrected. She was at sixteen as fine and well-mannered a young girl as could be seen in a year's journey. She loved her adopted father and mother, and honored them, and she was friendly and kind to all. Bat malice and ignorance are never to be trusted. Although the best people in Henchley called Rutli a lovely girl, the gossips down in the hollow, envious of the fact that her education and dress were better than their own children's, and that she walked up the aisle and sat in the minister's pew every Sunday, was called "my child" by his wife and "Miss" by his servants, were always speaking to each other of the fact that her father was hung, and taught the story "to the younger ones, with the additional precept that such folks' children never came to good? that the minister would be sOrry some day, and that Ruth Gedney never would turn out well in the end. Unconscious of this, good Mrs. Martin often sent the young girl into that quarter of the towri with glasses of jelly or loaves of nice bread for the poor old women, a little tea and sugar, and with a charge to read a chapter before she came back. Ruth Gedney accomplished the tasK, out sometimes with repugnance. More than once cruel things were said to her, and once when she was reading to old Auuty Markham, who had a drunken son and a miserable puny grandson who was not quite full witted, the latter danced on the floor before her, calling out: "Your father was hung, and you'll come to be hung too, Miss Ruth; everybody says so." Mrs. Chalmers, the very parson who had "said so," boxed the boy's ears and said something apologetic ; but Ruth was too angry to stay ; she went home forgetting to give old Aunty Markham her medicine, and her flushed face and red eyes attracted the minister's attention. The good wife could not explain it, so Ruth was questioned. She told the truth. "I knew my poor father met with that shameful death," she said, "but certainly, even if he was guilty, it was not iny fault. I have heard spiteful things before, but this time it made me furious ; oh ! so furious. I hated the child?I hated Mrs. Chalmers ; I could have killed them both. Oh, yes, I was angry enough for that. And I came away with the chapter half finished, and I forgot to leave the powders?forgot until I was half way home. Then I would not go back ; I never will go down there again." "My child," said the minister, "the first thing a Christian should do is to forgive his enemies. You are a professing Christian ; you must set an example. Go to your room and pray for power to do this." "And then," said Mrs. Martin, "go back to the poor old woman's home, read her chapter ^through, and give her her medicine. Think how much evil speech Jesus bore, and we are his followers." Ruth went to her room ; when she returned to the study her adopted mother again advised her to go back to old Aunty Markham. She gave her a jar of jelly to take with her, and Ruth put it in a little basket on her arm. Ah ! what bitter reason the good woman soon had to repent of what she did with the best and highest motives. As Ruth passed out of the gate the old servant ran after her. "Please, Miss Ruth, be you going past the hardware man's ?" she asked. "Yes, Phooebe," said Ruth. "Then won't you leave my bread-knife to be sharpened ?" said Phceebe ; "it's getting dull." Ruth nodded, and took the knife in her basket and departed. She was gone along while. The tea-table was set, the sun setting in the sky, and still no glimpse cf her simple blue muslin and broad shade hat was seen along the road ; and at last the old minister put on his hat and declared that he would go to meet her. The street seemed very quiet; he did not meet the usual people standing about ; but at last he saw them all gathered together in a portion of the road that divided the lower town from the "heights." On the "heights" lived the gentry; down in the "hollow" lay the poorer dwellings. A bit of road led under a great rock, over a bridge which crossed a stream which made 1 their boundary line. Here was the crowd. With a great foreboding of evil the minister pressed into its midst, and saw old Aunty Markham standing uttering curses loud and deep as she shook her shriveled fist toward the sky; a group of women bending over something that lay on the bank; and, standing like one petrified, his own adopted daughter, Ruth Geduey, in the midst of a rude, insulting crowd. "Oh, papa!" she cried, when she saw him ; and he hurried to her, and took her hand. "Don't tremble so, my dear," he said. "What does this mean ?" It was Mrs. Chalmers who arose and with her strong arms pushed away those who interposed between the minister and what the crowd had gathered about. "It means that the girl that calls you papa, the daughter of John Gedney, that we all know was hanged, has followed him to the gate of the gallows," she said. And now Mr. Martin saw lying on the ground a little dead boy covered with blood, staring upward with his terrible dead eyes. "Who is it?" he cried. "What does this mean ?" "It is my poor little grandson that she has killed for telling her the truth," shrieked Aunty Markham. "She threatened to do it. She said : "I could kill you for that!" and off she went. I was looking up the child for his supper, and I found him here, and her, with her knife, beside him. I'll hang her! IM1 honn tior ' Ob ! nnnr little Sam !" Uttering a shriek the old woman fell down on her face in a sort of a fit. "Papa," cried Ruth?"oh, papa, I did say "I could kill you," but I was not even angry when I went out of the house. I came down the road to cross the bridge, and there under the bushes I saw poor little Sam lying dead. I shrieked and my basket fell out of my hand. I could not speak or take a step. 1 held by the rails of the bridge and everything was blank before me. Then Mrs. Markham came, and other people. They said I killed Sam. I? I, oh, papa!" . "They are all mad, my child," said the poor clergyman; but what he said and thought was of little avail. The sheriff appeared upon the scene and took the poor girl in custody. Her adopted father went with her to jail, and alas! left there and went home with the awful news to his wife. He believed Ruth's story, but alas I the little basket, the knife, the package of medicine had rolled into the pool of blood at the boy's side. All were bedaubed with it. It was certain to him that Ruth had fainted and that she did not know how time had passed ; but oonn lior rrr\ fruunrH f.hp hriflfffi loilf? pcvpic liau OtCII 11V1 {jV vviimv* vmw -x. ?o before, and evidence was against her. Three or four swore to her threat to kill Sara for his speech, and their own old servant had heard her say that she had felt like killing him.^ The poor girl, beside herself with shame, still never doubted that her innocence could be proved. But the trial came. All the malice of years and all the indignation- that was inspired by the evil deed they really believed the girl to have committed had its full influence. The young creature, with her blonde hair, who looked liked an angel, was declared guilty by a jury who thought themselves unbiased by prejudice, but who all remembered that John Gedney was hung, and the girl was condemned to death. The murder was premeditated. She had a knife with her. Vainly old Phoebe swore that she never would have taken j it but for her. No one believed her. | Ruth lay in prison. The dreadful day drew near. But she was strangely calm. Her adopted parents believed her word and she asked no more. "I was so afraid," she used to say, "that you might come to think I killed the poor little boy. But I was wicked to feel so?you who 1 *1 are aiwa^s ?u ^unu. Mrs. Martin never left the prison, and was with the girl day and night? Mr. Martin came often.. Their hearts were well nigh broken. Every effort was being made to obtain a pardon, but so far fruitlessly, and the end was hard at hand. "Papa," Ruth said, "I have one comfort out of this : I believe my own father was innocent, too, and when I shall meet him in Heaven I shall be glad. You- see any one can be hung who is innocent, if I must be." The poor clergyman burst into tears for the first time, but Ruth soothed him and kissed him, and bade him good night. On the morrow the-dreadful end would come. Mr. Martin walked out of the prison door with his head bent down, but as he would have passed the prison door a jailer stopped him. "There's a man inside dying," he said. "The policeman shot him in self-defence. lie wants to set* you ^uie uum&iei, juu miuh.; He's got a confession to make." Mr. Martin turned slowly back, and went with his heavy heart into the prison again. The wounded man lay upon a cot. He had been taken in the act of burglary, and his breath was fast leaving him. "You don't know me, parson," lie gasped. "You used to years ago. I am Setli Markham, Granny Markham's son, and the father of little Sam who was killed. I am going fast, and I don't want to hurt a girl that has been good to my old mother, and that I've done harm enough, to any way. Let them all come and hear, so as to swear to it. I killed Sam myself. He was a troublesome, half-witted brat, and he came in my way when I was going to do a good trick?pick a pocket, if you must know?and called "Paddy." I kicked him, but he followed me to the bridge. I was in a rage, and I always have a knife handy ; I cut his throat. Then I went off, and I swear that the police would never have got me, if seeing that bloody little face over my shoulder, hadn't put me in such a state. He's haunted me, that little wretch, ever since that. Have I said enough to clear her ? Yes, there's an-. other thing, too. John Gedney?I?did the : deed he was hung for years ago?I swear to that. Is it any good praying for me ?" lie was gone, and they carried the poor minister away in a dead faint. But Ruth was saved?Ruth was cleared, and, moreover, the father who had been her shame, had become a martyr. ""It was worth it all," she often said, with tears in her eyes, "worth all the agony, and terror, and disgrace. It would have been ,1.frsr. it 4-1i.it liorl VlOOTI UPA^flll \VU1 til UYlliK 1U1 U UIIUV ?iuu ..VW..V... Mary Kyle Dallas. An Old Time Outlaw.?The deatli of Jessse James in Missouri, and the frequent reference to his robberies and to his notoriety as "the most conspicuous and formidable" scoundrel of the Schinderannesand Cartouche type ever known in this country, may suggest to some of the News readers, with long memories, that forty years ago or more there was a robber and a band organized and directed by him in the lower Mississippi, more famous than Jesse or Frank James, or the "Blue Cut" gang, more dreaded, more wide reaching in crime, and far more bloody, for they made it a rule to leave no victim to become a witness. John A. Murrell was a name of terror from the mouth of the Ohio to the Yazoo, and far back into the interior of the States bordering the Mississippi, on the east side. The west " J- *?A 1 side was too wna a woous iui iraveicia ui iuubers in tliose days, but the east was beset for hundreds of miles along the roads leading northward from New Orleans, which were largely traveled by dealers from the North, who had taken down droves of horses or flatboat loads of grain or pork or whisky. The depredations were not confined to the land, by any means, but unsuspecting "broad horns" were captured and pillaged and their crews fed to fish, while tied up at night out of the wake of steamers and rafts that might sink them in a fog. It is said that the Murrell gang had hiding places in caves and stored their plunder in them. Western Tennessee was said to be their favorite ground, but they ranged from the mouth of the Mississppi to the Ohio. Many efforts were made to capture their leader and break up the gang but without effect, till an adventurous young fellow named Virgil Stewart undertook it of his own motion, partly to clear the country of a terror, and partly to employ his superabundant enenergy and daring. He became a member of the gang and continued so for some considerable time?a year or two, possisibly more, and finally trapped the greatest villain ever known on the American Continent since the days of the buccaneer chiefs, Montbass and Morgan. He was sent to the penitentiary at Nashville for a long term on conviction of robberv. it is to be presumed, as a conviction of murder would have hung him. It may be that no legal evidence of direct participation could be advanced even by his captor, however complete might have been the moral certainty of his guilt. Stewart published an account of his adventures in a large pamphlet forty years ago or thereabouts. The robber chief died in the penitentiary, or, at all events before he got the chance to resume his old career, even if he had been so disposed. There are, no doubt, persons in this city who retain accurate recollection of the man's adventures and notoriety.?Indianapolis Xews. - . - _ ? ? ? Texas Archaeology.?Evidence of the existence of man at a very remote age is found in many locations in this portion of Western Texas. On the dividing ridge, between Cherokee Creek and San Saba River i Valley, there is, covering a space of 10,000 acres or more, evidence of the whole of this tract having been occupied by the dwellings of an ancient people, who probably thatched with straw or covered by the skins of animals. Thousands of circular elevations exist of a size almost uniform, being twenty-five feet in diameter across from the out line of circum- i ference at the base of the mounds?the elevations at the highest point do not average more than two and a half feet above the surrounding planes?instead of being mound shaped, round on top, they have in centre a depression about six feet in diameter. This depression never exceeds in depth one-third the height of the mound. The material of which the circular ridge is composed is geneally small broken stones or gravel taken from the surrounding deposits, intermixed with earth. The material of which the central part is composed is of somewhat different nature, being earth and ashes intermixed with small fragments of stones, which show unmistakable evidences of having been submitted to frequent heatings?the earth shows to have been baked. Fragments of the shells of mollusks, principally mussels, of a species differing little from those found in neighboring creeks at the present time, are common. The writer has had several of these mounds thoroughly searched for human remains or deposits of implements used by the ancient, people who constructed them, but without result.?San Saba Xews. Outwitting tiik Lawyers.?A wealthy peasant, who felt that his hours were numbered, called his sons around his bedside, and began, "James, you are the eldest, and I bequeath you my blessing." The second son came forward, with bowed head, and the father said "John Henry, you have been a good boy, and I bequeath you my good name." The third son showed up, and the old man kindly remarked, "Andrew Jackson, you are my youngest, and I bequeath you the care of my grave. Good-by, my dear sons. Each of you press my hands for the last time and then skip to the field, for this is glorious weather tor corn." "uut, uaa, you are wurui 820,000!" they protested, in chorus. "That is true, boys, but I have tried to make an equal division. I have left all the honor to you and all the money to the lawyers. They would have got the sugar, anyhow, and, in the getting, would have left you nothing, and proved your mother a fool and your father a lunatic, beside. I die happy and full of peace. Bury me just to the left of the old cow shed and pay for my tombstone on the monthly ini stalment system." Moral?The lawyers were, j of course, dissatisfied with the will, and carried the case into court.?Detroit Free Press. "I say, Robert, what is it that is dearer than life, and freer than air; the rich man wants it, the poor man has it, the miser spends it, the spend-thrift saves it ?" "Give it up. What is it ?" "It's nothing. Nothing is dearer than life, j nothing is freer than air. The rich man I wants nothing, the poor man has nothing, the miser spends nothing, and the spend thrift saves nothing." gg" More hearts pine away in secret anguish from the want of kindness from those who should be their comforters, than from any other calamity in life. miscellaneous Reading. Correspondence of the Yorkville Enquirer. NOTES OF TRAVEL. Prescott, Ontario, Canada, August 10, 1882.?When we had Satisfied our curiosity at the bridges, we were next driven to the group of islands, the principal one of which is known as Goat Island. While on our way there, we learned that the water is always much higher at this season of the year than at any other , time, which.fact is accounted for by the way the wind blows on the lakes in the summer and winter taken in connection with the terrible freezes that occur in this region from early in the fall until late in the spring. But our team moved in aouuie quicn nine ; so ill n lew iuuments after leaving the place last named, we were landed in the park, and truly a beautiful place it is. It is well laid off and ornamented with trees and shrubbery of all kinds indigenous to this latitude. It contains something more than sixty acrest embracing a beautiful ( cluster of islands well oiled with little groves and unique rustic seats wherein the weary and , tender in heart may rest and hold social chat. Goat Island is much the largest of all the , group. Bath Island, Luna Island, Terrapin | Rocks and the Sister Islands compose the cluster, that have from time to time been , bridged, so that they can be conveniently and safely reached from land at all times and any season of the year. Besides these, however, ( there are others known as the Bird islands, and on none of tliese has the foot of man ever yet , trod. Goat Island is situated at the briuk of the great Falls, and has separated the current , of the river, for ages past, as it will for ages , yet to come, near its centre, into two great , and strong currents, making what is known , as the American and the Canadian Falls?one J on each side of Goat Island and the river. This famous island acquired its name from the following circumstance : One John Stead- ( man having cleared a portion of the upper end , of the island, in the year 1797, placed a Hock ' of goats upon it; but subsequently the winter , proved so exceedingly inclement that the own- . er of the goats found it impossible to convey j any sort of provender to them, and they all perished. From that day to the present the island has gone by the name of Goat Island, , notwithstanding many earnest efforts have j been made at various times, and by different . parties, to give to it a more poetical and beautiful name, more in harmony with the roman- | tic surroundings. This lovely island, I was informed, was long used by the Indians as a j burying ground, and in its soil many of that , race now lie entombed?their graves unmark- j ed by stone or tree, as is the spot where Stead- j man's goats perished. All the islands above named are entirely , surrounded by water and separated from each . other. And as I have before observed, all of them but the Bird Islands have been made | easily accessible from land, both to pedestrians and carriages, by the construction of iron t bridges firmly secured by large bolts, chains | and bars of wrought iron, deeply sunk and t firmly fastened into large, and immovable j rocks in the bed of the river. These bridges j are all well and neatly floored and strongly banistered, rendering them perfectly safe, and j making it impossibterior a person to fall from . one of them into the water ; and it is surely ( well that it is so, for under most of those ' bridges go dashing, bounding and wildly leaping strong and resistless currents, forcing their way over and between enormous boulders as if the divided river on each side of the i island was running a race to see which of the j streams would first reach the Falls and have 1 the courage to take a leap over them from a height of one hundred and sixty-five feet, l which they soon do after they pass under the \ bridges into the Rapids. Any one falling a from the bridge, would, *in a few minutes, be dashes to pieces over the Falls. Many persons ( have been known to come here for the express j purpose of committing suicide. It is said that c but one human being has ever passed over the ^ Falls alive, and he was an Indian brave who ^ was so skilled in managing his canoe that he \ proposed to pass over the Falls on a wager, c which he won ; but no one since has ever pass- f ed over and reached the shore alive. I am \ sure the hazard he run was greater than the i amount he received, and I imagine if W. II. Vanderbilt's estate was offered as a bounty to -,\ any one who would now undertake to perform 1 a similar feat, with or without a canoe, few, I if any, could be found willing to take the risk. ; From the islands can be obtained decidedly 1 the best view both of the American aud Cana- i dian Falls, as also all the Rapids, as well as i the famous gorge, and what is known as the c Whirlpool Rapids, to say nothing of manyoth- r er splendid views not obtainable elsewhere. \ Xo poet or artist, however gifted, can ever portray to life any one of those enchanting 1 views that can be readily obtained from al- I most any one of these islands, the beauty of \ the scenery being beyond description. Rut as c to what is to be seen, heard and felt from the t Bird Islands, will be left for the reader to im- j: aginc until a way has been made to reach them t with the same convenience and safety as the i other islands. These islands are thickly situ- 1 ated in the midst of the strongest of the Rapids, and appear to be floating there as so many i great green bubbles roughly tossed on the ] foaming surface of the infuriated waves as 1 they go apparently recklessly sweeping under c them. 1 On these ten uninhabitable islands the birds s of various wings have found a safe and quiet resting-place, and there do they resort in < great numbers, morning, noon and night, at . all seasons of the year?in the spring to coo, woo and wed and build and rear their young; 1 in the warm, leafy summer months to rest and < sing; and in the winter to find shelter from I the howling storms and cold, piercing blasts < or tne cneeriess season. i Here, too, from the Three Sister Islands, < situated in the midst of the Upper Rapids, ! can be had unsurpassed views of the river as it comes sweeping down for miles above them, > and every now and then bounding high over ] great boulders and lofty ledges of rock, where the merry white caps sun and dance a cotillion < to the music of the waves. Nor are the little cascades under some of the bridges least of all the curiosities here to be seen. From one of these can easily be seen how : the bar, extending up the river for more than i a quarter of a mile, divides the river into two i great channels until it unites again below the i Falls. The average depth of the river above them is twenty feet; below them, one hundred feet. But at the Lower Rapids, as I have be- i fore stated, the river is known to be four bun- i dred feet deep. The channel of the river, from the surface to the water, from the Falls down to Lake Ontario, is narrow and deep, averaging, I should say, at least one hundred and fifty feet, and has been cut through solid slate rock and as straight as would fall a plumb line. We now move to the foot of the main island and descend a stairway to the water's edge, where a foot-bridge leads over to Luna Island. From this island, situated at the verge and in front of the Falls, is had the nearest and grandest view of the mighty, descending flood of waters, as it comes leaping down with a roaring sound like oft-repeated peals of distant thunder, yet passes on, harmless and in silence at my feet. It is an awfully grand sight, and one which once seen will never be forgotten. From this point may be seen to advantage, the river for a great distance below, as also the beautiful rainbow bedded in the gray clouds of light mist formed from the ever ascending and descending spray that falls so thick ai>d fast tlmt nature seems ever weeping over the troubled scene copious tears like falling showers of rain. Here, too, all have to come who wish to visit the Cave of Winds, or go behind the Falls. Behind the descending flood will l>e found a mammoth cave one hundred and sixty feet long and one hundred wide, and one hundred high. Near by is the burning spring, which I was warned not to visit. The sun was now fast sinking beneath the western horizon, and entering our carriage the driver soon returned us to the hotel. After tea, in company of a friend, 1 returned to the park to enjoy the cool and invigorating breezes ever breathing health and musicthrough the many groves that there abound. On entering, we found the entire park beautifully illuminated with electricity generated Iiv a machine located near the centre of the J ? ? park and propelled by a turbine water wlieel driven by water conveyed from above, the Falls, by means of subterraneous canals through the entire length of the park. This canal opens into an oblong square, well walled with hewn stone, and situated not far from the centre of the grounds. In tliis pool may be seen red, black and purple fish, of all sizes and various kinds. And immediately in front of this never failing pool of water stands * large glass house in which is beautifully arranged several large fountains constantly throwing large jets of water to a considerable ieight. These large jets are tastefully surrounded by numerous smaller ones which fairly cause the spray to dance above and iround them, creating a thin cloud of humid nist, in which I noticed a number of gosamer wheels so arranged that they were kept conjtantly rapidly revolving by the spray from ;he jets. The park was thronged with visitors if all ages and sexes, not a few being bridal couples enjoying their honeymoon," while there was a goodly number of belles and beaux, chaffing as glibly as if their hearts were overtlowng with pure delight. As twilight deepened into night the electric ights were turned directly on the fountains ind both the great Falls, which, viewed through jlassos provided for the purpose, transmitted ill the rays of color in the bright and gorgeous ;ints of the loveliest rainbow. All that was acking to render everything lovely in the lighest degree was a band of good music, which, were this park and its fine accessories n the South, would be speedily furnished to gratify the demands of our music loving people. The place was fanned by such delightful freezes, and the stars shone so brightly overlead, that many of the large crowd lingered ;here until the wee sma' hours, in social, riendly and earnest conversation. When I eft the grounds, many parties were still occu>ying rustic seats, taking their rest after a ong promenade in the early part of the evenng. But here I mi st take my leave of the >ark and its gay and henpy visitors. Guilford. THE GIRL WHO SAVED THE GENERAL. Far down the Carolina coast lies the lovely sland of St John, where stood, one hundred 'ears ago, a noble brick-built mansion, with, ofty portico and broad piazza. It was the home of Mr. Robert Gibbes and lis beautiful young wife, and the great house vas full at all seasons. Eight children had ilready come to this couple, and seven little idopted cousins were their playmates?the irphan children of Mrs. Fenwick, sister to dr. Gibbes. He himself was a cripple and iould not walk. In a chair which ran on vheels he was drawn daily over the pleasant >aths, sometimes by the faithful black servants, sometimes by the still more devoted ihildren who tugged at the rope like so many risky colts. The loveliness of the spot suited veil its name, "Peaceful Retreat," by which t- wnc L-nnwn t.hrniicrh Jill the COUIltlW. V *' ?*" ""v T' " ?o * But in those troublous times it could not ihvays remain "peaceful." In the spring of 770 the British took possession of all the sea)ord. General Prevost marched up from savannah and laid siege to Charleston. But learing that General Lincoln was approachng, he struck his tents in the night, and etreated rapidly towards Savannah. He irossed the Stone Ferry, and fortified himself m John's island, as the island of St. John's vas often called. For weeks now the noise of musketry and leavy guns destroyed the joy at "Peaceful itetreat." The children in the midst of play ivould hear the dreadful booming, and sudlenly grow still and pale. The eldest dauglier, Mary Anna, was a sprightly, courageous jirl of thirteen. She had the care of the litle ones, for her mother's hands were full n managing the great estate and caring for It5l IlliauaiHl. After a time the enemy determined to take ossession of this beautiful place. A body of British and Ilessians quietly captured the anding one midnight, and creeping stealthily inward, tilled the park and surrounded the louse. At daybreak the inmates found themselves prisoners. Then came trying days for the family. The illicers took up their quarters in the mansion, illowing the family to occupy the upper story. John's Island was less than thirty miles from Charleston, and when the American ifficers in the city heard that "Peaceful Hetreat" had been captured by the British, they letermined to rescue it from the enemy. Two large galleys were immediately manned and 3quipped and sent to the plantation, with -i...: 4-^v HKA tinrkn nvincian Strict OHIIU3 liwt UU llio lif'iru nn, UIUHU1U... Sailing noiselessly up the Stono liver, at lead of night, the vessel anchored abreast the plantation. Suddenly out of the thick darkness burst a tlame and roar, and the shot came crashing through the British encampment. The whole place was instantly in an uproai. The officers in the house sprang from bed, and hastily dressed and armed. The family, rudely awakened, rushed to the windows. A cold rain was falling, and the soldiers half-clad, were running hither and thither, while the officers were frantically calling them to arms. Mary woke at the first terrible roar and tied to her mother's room. The excited negro servants uttered most piercing shrieks. The poor little children were too frightened to scream, but clung, trembling to Mary. Mrs. Gibbes was in great distress. She knew not at first, whether it was an attack by friends on the camp, or an assault on the house by the enemy. She ordered the servants to cease their wailing and dress themselves. Then her husband and the children were prepared ; and while the cannon bellowed in quick succession and the noise around the house grew louder, the father and mother consulted what was best to do. It was now evident that the attack was by their own friends, and its object was to dislodge the enemy. But Mr. Gibbes ! did not know but that the house would be fired ! on, and he advised instant flight. lie was carri- 1 edto his chair, and the whole household sallied forth from the back door. The scene was terrific. The night was pitchy dark, and when, just as they stepped out, a sheet of flame belched forth from the vessels, it seemed to be almost against their faces. The roar shook the ground. The troops were too busy saving themselves to notice the fugitives ; and they pushed 011 as rapidly as possible. No one was sufficiently protected from the | rain. Little Mary had the hardest part, for j nearly all the children were in her care. The ! mud was deep. Some of the little ones could walk but a short distance at a time, and had to be carried?Mary having always one, sometimes two in her aims. Several of the servants were near her, but none of them seemed to notice her or her burdens. The last horse had been carried off that very day ; there was no escape but on foot. Suddenly a ball came crashing through the trees. Then a charge of grape shot cut the boughs overhead. They were exactly in the range of the guns. It was evident they had taken the worst direction, but there was no help for it now?it was too late to turn back. In her agony the mother cried aloud on God to protect her family. Mary hugged closer the child in her arms, and trembled so she could hardly keep up. Another crash ! The shot shrieked past them, striking the trees in every direction. The assault was fierce ; the roar ;n/>aoonnt TUo fpinrlitonpH family rushed n iJ lOLooan u. -?. ^ . 011 as swiftly as possible toward a friend's j plantation, far back from the shore ; but it was soon seen that they would not have strength to reach it even if they were not struck down by the dying shot. The Americans were pouring their fire into these woods, thinking the enemy would seek refuge there. The wretched fugitives expected every moment to be their last. On they pushed through mud and rain and screaming shot. Soon they found they were getting more out of the range of the guns. They began to hope; now and then a ball tore up the trees around them, or rolled fearfully across their path. They reached one of the houses where their field hands lived, with no one hurt; they were over a mile from the mansion, and out of range. The-negroes said no shot had come that way. Unable to flee further, the family determined to stop here. As soon as they entered, Mrs. Gibbes felt her strength leaving her, and sank down upon a low bed. Chilled to the bone, drenched ; trembling with terror and exhaustion, the family gathered around her. She opened her eyes and looked about. She sprang up wildly. "Oh, Mary !" she cried, "where is John ?" The little girl turned pale, and moaned : "Oh mother ! mother ! /ie's left /" She broke into crying. The negroes, quickly sympathetic, began to wring their hands and wail. "Silence 1" said Mr. Gibbes, with stern but trembling voice. The tears were in his own eyes. The little child now missing was very dear to them all, and moreover, was deemed a sacred charge, as he was one of the orphan children of Mr. Gibbes' sister, intrusted to him on her deathbed. The wailing ceased; there was a silence, broken only by sobs and the master asked : "Who is willing to go back for the child ?" No one spoke. Mr. Gibbes turned to his wife for counsel. As the two talked in low tones, Mrs. Gibbes called her husband's attention to Mary, who was kneeling with clas|>ed hands, in prayer at the foot of the bed. In a moment, the little maid rose and came to them, saying calmly : "Mother, I must go back for baby." "Oh, my child." cried the mother, in agony, "I cannot let you !" "But mother, I must," pleaded Mary, "God will care for me." It was a fearful responsibility. The guns yet roared constantly through the darkness; the house might now be in flames; it might be filled with carnage and blood. Mrs. Gibbes turned to her husband. His face was buried in his hands. Plainly she must decide it herself. With streaming eyes, she looked at Mary. "Come, here, my child," she called through her sobs. Mary fell upon her mother's neck. Dnft inner nassionate embrace, in which all a O I mother's love and devotion were poured out and the clinging arms were opened without a word. Mary sprang up, kissed her father's forehead, and sped forth on her dangerous mission of love. The rain had now ceased, but the night was still dark and full of terror, for through the trees she -saw frequent flashes of the great guns. The woods were filled with the booming echoes, so that cannon seemed to be on every hand. She flew 011 with all speed. Soon she heard the crashing trees ahead, and knew that in a moment she would be once more face to face witli death. She did not falter. Now she was again in the fierce whirlwind ! All around her th'e shot howled and shrieked. On every side the branches fell crashing to the earth. A cannon ball plunged into the ground close beside her, cast over her a heap of mud, and threw her down. She sprang up and pressed on with redoubled vigor. Not even that ball could make her turn back. She readied the house. She ran to the room where the little child usually slept. The lied was empty ! Distracted, she flew from chamber to chamber. Suddenly she rememliered that this night, he had been given to another nurse. Up into the third story she hurried, and, as she pushed open the door, the little fellow, sitting up in bed, cooed to her and put out his hands. With tears running down her cheeks, Mary wrapped the balie warmly and started down the stairs. Out into the darkness once more ; onward with her precious burden, through the cannon-roar, through shot and shell. Three times she passed this iron storm. The balls still swept the forest; the terrific boom lllg 11UCU LI1C (111, With the child pressed tightly to her brave, young heart, she lied on. She neither stumbled nor fell. The shot threw the dirt in her face and showered the twigs down upon her head. But she was not struck. In safety she reached the hut, and fell exhausted across the threshold. And the little boy, thus saved by a girl's brave devotion, afterward became General Fenwick, famous in the war of 181*2. New Five Dollar Bills.?It will be necessary to issue new notes now at all banks whose charters expire. The "fives" are to have the vignette of the late President Garfield, executed in the engraver's best style. The scene on the backs of these notes representing the landing of Columbus or in fact any of the pictures on the back of any of the national bank notes, will not appear 011 new notes, but instead, some finely shaded lathe work, and in the center, the charter number of each bank. On the border of the face of the note, instead of numbers and letters to designate the denomination of the note, there will be the charter number of the bank, so that if any part of the note is torn the small pieces can be identified by the number. MUSIC AND MEDICINE. The employment of music in the healing art is certainly as old as the days of the patriarchs, and the singing of David before Saul was only a practical illustration of a theory which had long obtained recognition in Egypt. It is strange, however, that spite of the general acknowledgment of its eflicacy, music has been so seldom employed as au assistant to materia mcdka. Up to the present time the chief use made of medical music (if we may coin the expression) has been among the medicine and mystery men of savage nations, and in this case the instruments employed have been rather of a noisy than a musical nature. In certain species of St. Vitus' dance and tetanus, music has been employed with much success by European physicians. The most celebrated instance of this kind is the employment of lively dance rythms for the cure of the bite of a tarantula. A rather full account of such a cure was sent to an Italian medical review in 1841, in which the symptoms are vividly described. Although the patient was previously unable to stand on his feet, a lively dance tune g caused him to jump from his bed and dance & for two hours, after which he fell down |j in a profuse perspiration, and slept quietly. A few repetitions of the dose caused a complete cure. It is a question whether any strong sudorific might not have attained the same result without the aid of music, but the fact still remains that music was the only agency capable of rousing the patient from his comatose condition. In the Middle Ages there were many cures of St. Vitus' dance accomplished by music. Strange to say, this disease became epidemic during several years in Western Europe. The practice of vocal music, under the most careful conditions, is to be recommended as a cure for consumption and bronchial affections in their earliest sfages. But here it is not the music but the gentle and regular exercise of the affected parts which brings the cure. Of the hygienic results of playing upon certain instruments, Engel speaks at considerable length in an article on this subject. Quoting from Sundelin's work on the subject, he finds that the piano and stringed instruments are at times hurtfid to the nervous system, the glass harmonica dangerously exciting to the nerves, the clarinet, hurtful to the lungs ; brass instruments similarly hurtful, but in a less degree ; and the harmonium or cabinet organ harrassing to the nerves of the performer. Much of this is of course fanciful, yet it is greatly to be desired that medical authorities should give their attention to studying the effects of the various instruments upon health more closely. It is a notable fact that many excellent musicians and composers have, become deaf. How far this is the result of an extremely sensitive ear has not yet been proved. That it has some connection with the practice of their art can scarcely be doubted. The connection between music and madness a is also a well established one. This connection H is two fold : on the one hand, many compos- I firs have exhibited a nredisnosition toward in- ? sanity ; and on the other music has proved of immense benefit to persons suffering with hypochondria or melancholia. This again is counterbalanced by the fact that in some instances music has caused melancholy and madness in auditors. It is said that when the first church organ was played in Europe (during the reign of Charlemagne) a lady who heard it went raving mad from the unexpected effects of the tone. During the first performance of Haydn's Symphony in D in London, a clergyman present was so touched by the adagio movement that he became impressed with the monomania that it portended Iris death. He left the hall plunged in deepest melancholy, and as a matter of fact, died a few days after. The connection of music with morals is a strong one and would require a volume instead of an article to do it justice. We have said that the Egyptians understood the bond between music and medicine; they certainly understood the moral side of the subject as well. They classified music under two heads. One school of music they held to be elevating and ennobling, the other degrading and sensuous. One class they believed sprang from Ammon Ra, the god of the sun ; the other from the evil deities." Pythagoras studied music in Egypt, and with his sect in latter years it played a most important * part. The Pythagoreans played upon a kithara on rising from slumber, in order to fit them for the tasks of the day. They sang and played at evening to soothe themselves after the excitements of labor, and to fit their minds for tranquil sleep. Confucius is said to have used music in a similar manner, playing upon the Kin (an instrument with silken strings,) whenever agitated. The Greek philosophers have left many essays upon the art of music ; but it must not be forgotten that these refer to the Mowike, which included poetry and other arts. Yet their comments upon the characteristics of the different instruments read very strangely. Plato and Aristotle attacked the ftute as a sensuous aim immoral instrument. Plutarch, on the contrary, defended it, as an instrument which spread peace and tranquility throughout the soul. The union of music and morals was far stronger in ancient times than it is to-day. The tirst songs of Scripture seem to have been devoted to the worship of the Deity, and the whole music of the Hebrews was devoted to that purpose. The first songs of China were simply used as a vehicle to convey the principles of morality and practical life to the people. The songs of ancient Rome under the Republic were devoted to exhorting the young men to stand true to the pure life and simple manners of their ancestors. The songs of ancient Greece were generally laudatory of virtue and the manly qualities. In our own day, the lower .element of what the Egyptians classified as evil music has crept in again ; but this will probably correct itself, and the art again take its place as of old, the twin sister of Religion, Morality and Hygiene.?Louis C. Elson, in Musical Herald. Too Troo, Too Tr.oo.?Man that is married to woman is of many days and full of trouble. In the morning he draws his salary, and in the evening behold it is gone. I^s a I tale that is told, it vanisheth, and 110 one knoweth whither it goeth. lie riseth up clothed in the chilly garments of the night and seeketh the somnolent paregoric wherewith to heal the-colicky bowels of his offspring. He imitateth the horse or ox, and draweth the chariot of his posterity. lie spendeth his sheekels in the purchase of fine linen and purple, to cover the bosom of his family, yet ho himself is seen at the gates of the city with one suspender. lie cometh forth as a Mower, and is cut down. There is hope of a tree when it is cut down that the tender roots thereof will sprout again, but man goeth to his home, and what is he then? Yea, he is altogether wretched. Keep your promise to the letter, be prompt and exact, and it will save'much trouble and care through life, and win for you the resi>ect and trust of your friends.