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-^^__^____ct_^____mnilu-ll . = , uuujmuIII L I juiwii Mil mill nirrn ^ ' \ ^ '?? "? kw'"i^ ^ ^ j J lewis m. grist, proprietor. | ^it |nbrjirntal Jamila Betospapcr: jfor tjtc ^rtjinotiorn of tju political, Social, Agricultural anO domntercial Interests of t|t Sontb. |TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, is ADVANCE. VOL. 28. YORKYILLE. S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1882. ISTO. 45. lite Ston) Idler. A STRANGE RELEASE? In 1880 Charles Page was in old Mexico, en gaged in herding cattle. Not from the love o: wild life, but because he could earn hard dol Jars, and later on, because his heart had gone out to Zareta Hernandez, the daughter of olt Hernandez on the Mexos. That he loved the girl was no wonder, foi she was a noted beauty, even among the roanj beautiful Spanish women who lived in thai section, but that he, poor Charlie Page, the American, should have won Zareta's love it return, when a score of the richest rancheros. both Mexican and Spanish, were literally al her feet, might have been thought strange. Such, however, was the condition of affairs, and despite the objections of her family, and the positive interference of some other lovers; the girl had become solemnly engaged to Charlie, and promised to marry him in the fall. And those who knew her best were satisfied that at this point opposition must cease, for ii Page lived Zareta would be his bride at the time agreed, or in her grave. The mat?h was consequently considered in the best light possible by Zareta's family, and Charlie allowed the freedom of a future sonin-law. As the old man put it: "Ze "boy is no ze Spaniard, and not as I choose; but, Santa Maria! ze girl is ze Spaniard, and she choose!" That told the whole story. Zareta was a Spanish maid, and would do as she would do, let those oppose who might dare. The Rubicon once passed, matters moved on more smoothly, and nothing seemed to fret the course of true love except?there is always an except?the implacability and ugliness of one of the girl's discarded lovers, who would not consent to be cast aside after the manner of men, but raged and threatened, daily growing worse. This man was Dion Combra, a half-breed, but a man of wealth?a i>erson of a ruinou9 and ungovernable temper, who swore the match should not go on. Page occasionally met this scowler, but no words had passed between them, until one evening late in August, when he surprised his persistent rival delivering a passionate lecture to the mother of Zareta, a quiet little woman, who could only tremble before the profane rage of the half-breed. Instantly conceiving the cause of the scene, Charlie sprang forward, and thrusting himself before the other, cried: "Draw back, you hound ! Why do you frighten a woman ? I am here to answer for Zareta Hernandez, and her mother is my mother. Another insulting word and I'll fling you into the river yonder!" For an instant the half-crazed Combra stood sjjeechless; then shrieking out an oath he tore a knife from his bosom, and tluughimself upon the American, only to l>e met with a sudden blow, that hurled him senseless to the ground, * " 1 A I\!Q C llViQt _ wniie i'age tooKine unit; ujuuici ui mo om pvheart quickly from the scene. Impressing Madam Hernandez with the necessity of secrecy with regard to this unpleasant transaction, the young lover himself forgot it for the next three hours, within the sweet shelter of two warm arms, ar d gazing into liquid eyes that were filled with yielding love ; but the matter was suddenly brought to mind again as he rode homeward through the misty moonlight, by the whiz of a knife hurled from a chaparral by the roadside, and the sight of a dim figure leaping down the river bank toward a waiting boat. With a sudden touch of the spur the young man followed, but too late. The light skiff fled from the shore like a shadow. "That coward!" muttered Charlie, as he Hi-pw rein at the water's edtre. "he would have killed me again in good old Spanish style?a knife in the dark. I must look out for this bravo. That cursed blade came close!" From that time on the American found it necessary to guard himself constantly, for the jealousy and hatred of the half-breed, now thoroughly aroused, was terrible ; and his attempts on the life of the other were so frequent that Page became at last convinced that the world was not wide enough for his enemy and himself, and he determined to go armed at all moments, and to preserve his own safety, even at the expense of the life of Combra. A bond to keep the peace would have been as waste paper to the infuriated ranchero, and Page knew it. His only safety lay in eternal vigilance. The days were drawing toward fall, and the coming of her wedding festivities now tilled the heart of Zareta; but in the midst of it all she saw and felt the some tithe of the danger that threatened her lover, and it made her warm blood run cold. Once she spoke to the young American of it, but he scoffed, and as much as slfe loved him the girl could not endure that, so she determined to say nothing, but to watch. Even though Charlie denied the danger, she felt assured of it. The fierce rush of passion in her own heart taught it better than could her lover what Combra must feel. "Ife'll kill my darling, if he can!" Zareta whispered to herself. 'T must guard him !" Unknown to Page, the girl planned and contrived to protect him. At times trusted servants of her own followed him to and fro and frightened away any roadside lurkers ; at other times, by various excuses, the maid met her lover in unexpected paths, and prevented his appearance near her own home ; and yet again bv outside business, she managed to draw the blood-thirsty Combni away from the Mexos valley for days at a time. Still the danger continued, and both the American and his sweetheart knew it. The disappearance of the half-breed put off the day of flnal reckoning, and Page never rode without his pistols. Notwithstanding all these fears and troubles, the lovers were much together, and the wedding day drew on apace. And even as it approached the dread of the murderous Combra increased. Overcome by love and fear, Zareta had begged her promised husband not to ride aftei dark, and he had given his word. For tliis reason his visits to the house of old Hernan dez were now made in the afternoon, and as the sun touched the crowns of the far-a-waj mountains he each day bade hisSpnaish sweet heart good-bye, and rode three miles across the country to his own home, where he re \ mained out of sight until morning. A Man-like the young American chafed at A being thus separated from the queen of his ? heart, and locked within adobe walls froir sundown to sun-rise ; but with clinging caress es and tearful eyes poor Zareta begged that it should be so. "Only until our marriage, my beloved When we are one, irrevocably, then this woli will leave us. Then once more you will b< free." "Pehaps," replied Page. "But suppose tin prosecution continues V" "Then," said the girl, with the dark bloot llaming in her cheek?"then, when I am youi wife, you may kill him !" "It's agreed," said Charlie. "I will say n< more of this Combra until after our wedding Vint if hd then nnntinues to trouble VOU ail( threaten me, let him have a care.'' It was at last Sunday, and the ceremon; was to be on Tuesday. Twice during the las; week, even in the daytime, Page had beer followed by Indians through the timber, red skins hired by this implacable enemy, anc on this very morning, an old friend of th< American's sent him word at his ranche no to venture forth that day at all, or if he di( to remain at the home of his lady-love unti the wedding ceremony. The brow of the young man grew dark a; this message was communicated to him. "Hide from that dog ! Never! By heaven I'll ride as I will and where I will, and let air man. beware bow he seeks to detain me 1 am my own master!" The vow was perhaps a rash one, but Pag buckeled a pair of heavy pistols at his belt threw his repeating rifle across his saddle bow and put spurs to his horse with all tin determination of a soldier. He was thoroughly aroused, and had hi rival appeared a duel to the death would mos certainly have ensued. j But the journey to Hernandez's ranche was i | without incident, and all day with his love | ; seemed to cool the anger of the man, so that' : when, an hour before sundown, he bade Za-1 i reta good-bye and turned his horse homeward, ; he had almost forgotten the danger of which .! he had that morning been warned, f The road or trail ran westward, and after traversing the highland for a couple of miles, ? descended to the bottoms of the Mexos. [ The young lover had riden as far as tliis j point, dreaming, and it was not until the i r; hoarse bellow of the cattle all arouud him j r' attracted his attention that he aroused him-: . self from his reverie. Then, however, he | \ looked sharply around him and stuck spurs to ; t his horse. I uBy heavens! A strange herd ! I wonder ! | how they came here ? ft will be well to move ' J on. Some of those steers have ugly eyes and j horns." And indeed they had. The cattle were I strays, a half hundred or more, and were [ .frightened. When in that state they are often dangerous, and sometimes attack even mountI ed men. j Page knew this, and rode both rapidly and , carefully across the bottom land toward the ford, ready at any moment to make a run for i it should the cattle choose to attack him. He was almost to the river's edge ; a bit of I ; chapparel alone separated him from the How- j, ing water, when suddenly with a hoarse cry, ] he reined his horse sharply back u|>on his I haunches, and clutched wildly at his pistol i holster, then as suddenly was dragged from his j saddle to the ground, half strangled by a tight- | ening lariat about his throat, and the same i instant his bloodthirsty enemy, Don Combra, < knelt above him, knife in hand ! ; With swift and nervous strength he bound I the half-stunned American, and then drag- ] ged liim towar the liver's brink. "Carramba !" hissed the furious half-breed, 1 ! glaring into the eyes of his victim, "ze end has 1 , come! You would not mind ze warn, ze deb- ( bil gets you now ! See! I will cut ze t'roat, < an' tie stones to heels an' dround !" ? The man's words rang dully in the ears of 1 his captive, but the gleam of his eyes and 1 knife, and the gurgle of the river close at 1 hand, told Page his fate. 1 To cry out was worse than useless. If he i he must die let it be like a man. I The madman drew closer to him, unwinding ] from his waist the scarlet scarf which he wore, i I uRed on ze heels, red at ze t'roat eh V" he 1 said, grinning horribly. "Ze lady love will 1 not marry so soon!" i He had tied poor Charlie's feet, and was I now engaged in wrapping a large stone in his ] red scarf; his knife was between his teeth. ; "Pray, dog," he snarled. "Ze end 1ms i come!" He waved one end of his scarf belt above 1 his head. < There was a sudden angry roar, a deep i bellow, a rush?and as Page turned he saw 1 the place where his would-be murderer had 1 UUCII} Viupij. A wild steer had transfixed him and swept < headlong with him into the river. The Amercan was saved ! ] The wedding took place on time, but the fate of Don Combra is known to but one man in the Mexos country. THE DOCTOR'S STORY. It was Christmas Eve, and a dreary night it was, dismal enough, with drifting sleet and snow to drive away all thoughts of pleasure, except to those who were comfortably gathered around their own firesides. I was just closing my ottice-shutters, and preparing to leave for home, when there came a loud ringing at the bell, and a man rushed in, who stated, in almost unintelligible language, from the breathless state that he was in, that a man had nearly murdered himself at the Chester House, and that I was wanted immediately. Taking my case of instruments in my hand, I buttoned my coat tight around me and hurried out into the storm, inwardly wishing that some other physician had been called, so I could have spent my bachelor Christmas Eve in j>eace. The remembrance that the poor man was probably lying at the point of death soon drove all such thoughts from my head, and I hurried ' on and soon reached the hotel. I was shown 1 immediately to the room of the wounded man | and found him lying on the bed just breathing, and such a sight as would make a man's blood 1 run cold. The landlord said he was a stranger, who had been stopping at the house but a short time, and the night before he had come J in intoxicated, and gone to his room. In the morning when the girl came to the room she ' had found the door locked on the inside, and ] no one answered to her knock. In the after- ' noon his door was tried again, with no better 1 success, and when evening came, and there 1 j were no signs of any one moving in his room, j they burst open the door, and found the occuJ pant lying on the floor in such a state as made j j them start back with horror. He had tried to I eut his throat, but his hand was so unsteady ' | that he had only succeeded in horribly mutila- j ! ting himself. j lie had fallen on the floor, his head was in ; I such a position that the blood from the wound j in his neck had flowed over his face, making a [ j ghastly spectacle. Finding that he still lived, ' I they placed him on the bed, and sent for me 1 and when I arrived he was just breathing. 1 Had it not been forthe congealing of the blood ' on the wound, the man could never have lived ! I half the time lie did, and it was very evident ! , from the faint and irregular beating of his i ! pulse that lie could not possibly last longer i j than a few hours. 1 sewed up and bandaged the wound, and gave him a strong stimulant, ( I and in a short time he began to show signs of ( i returning consciousness. As soon as his sen- { , j ses returned he called me to his bedside, and , j in a feeble voice asked me if I thought lie i i would live. I told him that there was no : . i knowing, but he might, though in all human | I probability, he could not possibly survive till : , i morning. , j Contrary to my expectation, for I feared I 11 had done wrong in speaking so plainly, he ' | seemed pleased and told me to sit down by his . i bedside, as he had a long story to tell me, and I if he could but live and have strength to finish | | { it, it would relieve his mind of a burden that ' , i had borne down upon him for many a weary ' year, and he could be happy. Sending all from the room, I sat down beside him to listen to ; the story of his life, for such it proved to be, and I will now repeat it, only in my own lan" guage, and supplying one or two facts with J regard to the personal appearance and social standing that came out after It was known . who he was. j His name he said was Boyden?John Boy, den?and he was born in Boston. Ilis father _ j was a wealthy ship-builder, also owning sever[. ! al ships, trading between this port and several j j cities in Europe, daily adding to his large for- i t j tune, to which John was the only heir. At! j { eighteen he entered college, and his handsome ,! face, line form, and plenty of money always ' j at command, made him a pet of the class. At ,; twenty-two he started with a party of wealthy : " j young men for Europe. Everything that I i ; money could buy was theirs ; they traveled in j rj the most expensive manner, and had the best j ! of everything. At Baden they visited, as all: , i do, the gambling rooms, and here it was that j ' | Boyden acquired that taste for play that ruined j } him. Every day and night found him at the ta- j i bles, and always fortunate. But the princely j t j way in which he lived, fairly throwing away j i | money, did not leave him much on hand, when j .) one of his friends induced him to leave Baden, j 1 [ and both of them continued their travels, j ?j They remained in Europe two years, and, re- i t I turning to America, Boyden was taken into j j j partnership with his father, and settled down ! 1 i as a business man. The highest society was j j open to him, and no entertainment, however | s j elegant and fashionable, was complete without! . the presence of the rich and handsome John j ? | Boyden. jr | A year passed in this way, when the old ! I j fever of travel and excitement came over him, j and as one of their ships was then about to : q ! sail for Cuba, he resolved to go in her. The j business acquaintance of the firm with some ' I of the largest houses of Cuba gave him sulli- j e cient introduction to its best society. It was J | at a grand fete at the house of one of the best s ! families that Boyden met a young Cuban lady, II with whom he became desperately in love. I The attachment was mutual, and though he intended to stay in Cuba but a short time, he lingered along until four months had passed away, and found him still loth to return to home and business. Having obtained the consent of her father, it was decided that he should return home first, to prepare for her reception and the wedding, and she and her father were to follow on the next steamer. Everything passed off as intended, the familywere delighted at their son's cho:ce, and gave both her and her father a hearty welcome. The wedding took place a short time after their arrival, and the bride's father again returned to Cuba, though not until Mr. and Mrs. Boyden, senior, had promised to visit him at his home. An elegant mansion had been prepared near the homestead for the reception of the newly married couple, who now took possession of it. For a long time the attractions of his new home kept Boyden away from his former associates and pleasures; but at last the old love of gambling came over him, and he was less frequently at home evenings and more at his club. One night, about a year after they had been married he went as usual to the gambling rooms of the club, and commenced playing with a young man, a member, who had been admitted on account of his wealth. They played heavily, John winning steadily from the first, until his opponent, maddened at his ill luck, and the loss of a large sum of money, accused Hoyden of cheating. The words had scarcely passetWiis lips when a pistol ball closed them forever. Everyone rushed forward to the wounded man, thus giving lloyden a good chance to escape unnoticed, which he did, and rushing to the iepot saw a train just leaving, and juni]>ed iboard, bound he knew not whither. Hid ing, till the train reached its destination, he found liiiuself in a city some ninety miles from home. lie suiyfu uiere umiiijj me ua), oiiaviu^ ?uo beard and moustache, and otherwise disguising himself, and the next day took steamer for California. Here he engaged in every kind ?f low dissipation, trying in vain to drive iway the remembrance of his former life, and to forget the act that caused him to fly from home. He did not dare to read the palters, Tearing he should read something regarding himself. A common gambler, and with his usual good luck, there was 110 lack of money to carry on his life of debauchery. Drink, play and dissipate as he might, he could not still his conscience, and at hist, resolved to travel, hoping in vain to leave his sin behind liim. lie went to England and France, visiting those scenes he remembered to have seen first when full of life and hope. No gambling place, however low, but knew his face, md he soon became the terror of all professionals, and the wonder of unlucky amateurs. One day in Paris, some ten years after he had left home, he was eating his dinner at a safe, when he noticed a" merican paper lying near, and thought he saw his old name (he had assumed one while away), in print, and taking it up he read : "Died?In this city, Majy, the wife of Francis Boyden." The paper dropped from his hands, and the man who had left home ten years ago, in the prime of life, now bent down and grown prematurely old by dissipation, bent his head upon his hands, and wept as he had not done since a little child. Resolved that he would end his Jays in' the land of his birth, he sailed for America, and arriving, went straight to his native city. Here, by adroit questionings, he managed to obtain, unsuspected, the history of his family since he had left them. His father had been so shocked when the news was brought to him of the act his son had committed that his mind was unsettled from that day. Ilis business, for want of his eld tact and judgment, became involved, and he finally failed so badly that, after settling with his creditors, there was scarcely enough left for the family to live upon. This final blow made him totally insane, so that, from the time of his failure until his death, which occurred about two years after he had been an inmate of a insane asylum, his mother had lived upon what had been saved from the wreck of her husband's fortune, a brokenhearted woman, whose only hope was in the hereafter, and she had died a short time before, is he had seen in the paper. Ilis wife had returned to her former home, and after waiting five years for his return, or any news of his whereabouts, had given him up for dead, and married a wealthy Cuban, with whom she was then living in the happy possession of a kind husband and one lovely child. Kach new particular of the dreadful story only added to the weight of remorse that bore down upon the mnscienee-st.ricken man. After first hearing the truth lie had wandered about the streets, tlwavs intoxicated, in his endeavor to silence the still small voice that was continually repeating : ''You did it! You did it!" Crazed at last by the terrible visions of the past, that were continually haunting him, he had resolved upon taking his own life, but >?'?inl tnfAvJnoffl/1 ltn lio/l cn/inoorlo/1 ISCIII?; (1.1 U.IUrtl IIHUAILCHCU, IJC JlrtAl OlIVV/UUVU siily to the extent mentioned. The poor wretch had hardly strength enough to linish the sad story ere iie breathed his last. The next day, when his death appeared in the newspapers, And it became known who lie was, hundreds who had known him in his pride, came and begged to see his face, hut humanity demanded that he should not thus he made a show of, ind he was buried by the side of his father And mother, the stone bearing the simple inscription, ".John Hoyden." HMBHMNHM WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. The intluence of woman has been often discussed and variously estimated. Often and often the moralist, having nothing better to do, descants learnedly upon this theme. Nearly always is woman consigned to the hearthstone to make home pleasant for her lord and master. Heyoml this she is not allowed to go. All her loving, gentle, pure virtues go for nothing?all is taken for granted. Men are, at best, faulty as compared with women. The women who counsel men to do wrong are too few to merit serious consideration. Even the fallen woman will advise man for good. There are exceptions, it is true, but so rare are they that, as said before, calm consideration is not due, nor ought to be given them. It is nearly always the fault of the man if he persists in wrong-doing. A woman with half a heart was never known to deliberly advise a man to do wrong. lint, to cease moralizing, let us change the scene. Look in upon a happy home. What do you see ? A chaste, loving wife, children, innocent and happy in the love of a rough man they know as and call father. The father is enraptured by the honest love of wife and babies, for with all his ruggedncss, his children are always babies to him. He comes in with a troubled mien. Trials and disappointments have been unexpectedly met with, and the sorest wound of all, trusted and tried friends were found wanting when most needed. There is anguish in his heart. He anticipates the joying welcome he knows full well he will receive, and in the bitterness of his sorely tried soul lie endeavors to steel himself against it. At the door he is met, if not by the loving wife, by a little cherub whose childish voice articulates the magic word "papa," and two arms are held out for an embrace, and a winsome face is held up for a kiss. The strong man relents. He clasps his darling to his bosom with force enough to cruelly hurt it. He makes believe he is talking to the child for a moment or two, and really thinks he is. But what is he doing V He is gaining time to allow all the hardness and bitterness of the day to leave him, and when lie meets the other members of bis happy family all cares have been forgotten for the time. lie tries hard, and generally succeeds in hiding his troubles from bis wife, and through the intluence of meeting at the door, be softens and is so kind and gentle that the little woman becomes ru disuit with pleasure and soon the soothing inHuence of her loving smile accomplishes sill, unknown to her, whsit could not be done otherwise. The wrinkles on the brow of the hard-worked, tired man relax ; he looks happy, and is happy. Oh, womsm ! blessed is thy influence. What a learned physician of New Albsmy, Ind., pronounced to be a cancer in a boy's throat, wsis discovered by the mother to be a beard of wheat three inches long and containing eight grains of the cereal. misKfllatteous POCAHONTAS. j From Iter first meeting with Smith she be- < ! came edvotedly attaciied to the English, and i ; rendered the settlers many services. She ofj ten secured supplies for them, and indeed seems to have haunted the fort, utterly naked ' as she was, after, the manner of little girls 1 ! among her people, who wore no clothes and ' showed no modesty until they were twelve or 1 ! thirteen years of age, at which time they put i on a deerskin apron, and were very careful | l not to be seen without it. The agile little < | barbarian would persuade the English lads to I : make wheels of themselves by turning upon 1 ! their hands and feet, whereupon she would < | follow them, wheeling as they did, all through 1 i the fort. j i Her real name was Matoax ; but by order 11 of Powhatan, this was carefully concealed I from the whites, lest by their supernatural en- chantments they should work her some harm. When Richard Wyffiu was sent from Jamestown to apprise the ehdangered Captain Smith, ' environed by foesamong Powhatan's ]>eople, 1 of the death of hkil^ujjy., Mr. .Scrivener, and 1 his ten companions, fry drowning, Pocahontas ^ hid him, misdirected those who sought him, ' and, by extraordinary bribes and maneuvres ' brought him safely to Smith, after three days' ( travel in the midst of extreme peril. So, also, 1 when Ratclitle was cut off with thirty men, 1 who saved the lad Spilman, who was then liv- 1 ing with Powhatan, and sent him to the Po- ( tomacs. But the most touching story of all 1 precedes in order of time the other two. In * the same difficult adventure among Powhat- 1 an's people, in which Captain Smith was en- ' gaged when Scrivener was drowned, the f treacherous chief had arranged to surprise y Smith at supper, and cut off the whole party, when Pocahontas, the "dearest jewel and ' daughter"' of the aged chief, "in that dark s night came through the irksome woods" to c warn the captain of Powhatan's design. Cap- s tain Smith offered to repay her kindness with * such trinkets as the heart of an Indian maiden / delights in ; "but, with the tears running down her cheeks, she said she durst not be 1 seen to have any, for, if Powhatan should 1 know it, she were but dead : and so she ran c away by herself as she came." 1 In 1(513 Pocahontas was among the Potomac 1 Indians. Captain Argall, a man of much 8 shrewdness and executive force, but infamous for his dishonest practices, happened to be I trading in the river at that time. lie quickly 1 saw the advantage the English would gain in ? negotiations with Powhatan for the return of * the white prisoners held by him, if he could se- \ cure so valuable a hostage as the chief's daugh- ; ter. With a copper kettle he bribed Japazaws, I the chief with whom she was staying, to entice 1 her on board the vessel, where he detained her, t much to the sorrow of the daughter of the * wilderness, whose life hitherto had been as j1 free as that of the wild creatures of the woods. ' To Jamestown, where she frolicked as a child, 1 and whither she had so often come as a friend * with food, she was now carried as an enemy 1 and a prisoner. She had refused to enter the A town since the departure of Captain Smith. This transaction, not very creditable to the 1 gratitude of the English, accomplished its pur- 1 pose in causing Powhatan to return the white * men held in slavery by him, with the least { useful of the stolen arms. But lie still contrived to evade some of the demands of the English, who therefore retained his daughter until the affair took a new turn. John Itolfe, ? who seems to have been a widower, became j amored of Pocahontas, now growing to wo- . manhood, and wrote a formal letter to Sir . Thomas Dale, proposing to convert her to Christianity and marry her, which pleased the * governor, as tending to promote peace with ' the Indians, and was likewise acceptable to j Powhatan. The chief sent an old uncle of Pocahontas and two of her brothers to witness 1 the marriage. J This marriage brought about peace during . the life of Powhatan, who, on one occasion at { least, sent a present of buckskins to his daugh- j ter and her husband. A free intermingling of c the two races took place, and Englishmen were ( accustomed to hire Indians to live in their ( houses and hunt for them. This amity lasted eight years. i. In 1016, more than two years after their f marriage, Rolfe and Pocahontas went to Eng- r land with Sir Thomas. Dale. Powhatan sent s some inumns witn ms aaugnier, one 01 wiiom was commissioned to count the number of the . English. Tlie arrival of lady Rebecca, as Pocahontas was called after her baptism, produced a great sensation. She was received by the king and many distinguished i>eople, went to see a play, and. by help of her natural quick wit, bore herself very well. But it became necessary to desist from calling her the wife of John Rolfe, for the king was very jealous, and it was seriously debated in the privy council whether, bv marrying the daughter of a foreign potentate without the king's consent, I Rolfe had not committed treason. I The climate of London, and, perhaps, also ; the uncongenial habits of civilization, affected Pocahontas very unfavorably, and she was taken to Brentford, where Smith, then busy with his preparations to sail for New England, visited her. In the successful efforts of Rolfe and others to win her to the Christian faith and to marriage, they had not scrupled to deceive her by telling her that Captain j Smith was dead, probably because they knew i she would not marry another white man while j she believed that great warrior to be alive, i When, therefore, she saw the "brave" who ! had been the object of her maidenly admiration, she turned her face away and refused to speak for the space of two or three hours. When she did, it was to claim the privilege of calling him father, which Smith granted only after importunity, afraid, perhaps, of incurring the king's displeasure. Pocahontas went to Gravesend to take ship for her return to America, much against her will, for she had become weaned from her savage life and great ly attached to the English. At Gravesend '' I she died of smallpox three years after her marI riage, leaving one son, from whom some of f I the most promising Virginia families trace j their descent.?Century. j ^ THE FAMILY. J The family is the oldest and niost important t of all institutions, designed for the perpetua- 11 tion, regulation, government, and happiness t of the human race. It is the oldest in regard 1 to time, and the most important as to benefits j 1 and influences. All other institutions are, j r more or less, dependent on it for their exist- j ence, perpetuity, success, and happiness. It is founded in the constitution of human ! p nature, and was instituted in Paradise, by the ! 1 All-wise Creator of heaven and earth. All t ! the blessings and safeguards necessary for its c maintenance and perpetuity have been thrown c around it, by the Creator himself. Without c this institution, man could not be in a normal c condition. For "it is not good for man to be ; 7 alone." j i The family is a distinct and peculiar institu- j J tion, standing by itself, as it were?a distant j e organic community, complete within itself, j P It lias its rights, privileges and laws, as well j 1 as its own peculiar interests and duties. It is I I blessed, perhaps, above all other institutions, c as Divine Revelation shows, especially in a ( temporal point of view. r The family is really the foundation of So- l ciety, the Church, and the State. Upon it t J tliey are dependent lor tneir existence, peipe- i -i tuity ami success. The Church and State as r j well as Society, are composed rather of faini-! c1 | lies than of individuals. It is the source and i 1 I nursery of all our literary institutions, as well j \ j as of our ecclesiastical and civil. Where and j i j when the family is properly and judiciously j t j reared, cultivated, managed and governed, all f* ; other institutions will prove successful and s harmonious. It is in the family, that the foundation of morality, religion, sobriety, virtue, and energy should be laid. This would t prevent the necessity for little reform societies, \ to which people resort so much now-a-days, t and which, at best, are little more than chaff. < The family is really a little Society, a Church \ and a State. It possesses all the powers, | rights and authority of Society, the Church, i and State. Its powers are inherent, while f those of Society and the State are delegated, t The latter derive their powers chiefly fjom the { former. "Wherever the family and its relations I are not properly respected and protected, Society, the Church, and the State, will be impaired and degraded. Hence, the necessity for maintaining it in its purity andsacredness. In view of these facts, indicating the sphere of the family, its duties are high and responsible. These may be divided into two classes, the parental and the filial, and should be faithfully observed and performed. All necessary, reasonable provision for physical want must be made, good discipline and order, be maintained ; proper culture attended to, both as to the physical and mental natures. There should always be a view to neatness, cleanliness, gracefulness, health and vigor. The judicious cultivation of the mind, the morals, and religious element, should receive prayerful and timely attention. Principles of industry, honesty, integrity, fidelity, and energy, should be faithfully inculcated. Obedience, docility, reverence and respect should be enforced, whilst the development of filial affection and gratitude is kept full in view.?Our Church Paper. A Good Many Years Aoo.?A cashier ;ook a little lad from jvneighboringpoorhouse. uid when the boy had become a youth he was jiven a responsible position in the bank of which his patron was practically the head. Later the cashier stole more than ?10,000 from ;lie bank. Exposure was threatened every lay, and the guilty officer,-in a period of degression confessed to the youth that he pro>osed to kill himself. Young Ray, the proege, was smitten with horror as he thought )f the terrible turn in affairs, but having veighed the matter the next day lie threw himself into the breach. He suggested, and the :ashier eagerly accepted the suggestion, that le should fasten the guilt upon himself and ibscond, thus leaving his patron honest in the .vorld's eyes, though blackened in his own. iVhat the public heard of the Westport 10b>ery was that a bank clerk named Ray had itolen $15,000. Detectives found several dues, but not until years afterwards was the lecret disclosed. One of the detectives who lad been employed in the case came up with lay under still more romantic circumstances, flie detective, according to his reminiscenses mblished last week in a San Francisco paper, vas called recently to a Western city to ferret >ut the person who had robbed a private house >f two hundred gold eagles. The only man mder arrest was one Henry Martin. As soon is the detective saw Martin the former said : 'You are Dallas Ray, who robbed the West>ortbank." Ray then told the true story of he robbery, and the story has been verified lince. Ray claimed that he was innocent of lie gold eagle burglary and asked the detective to take a note to his sweetheart, a Miss dorse. When the latter heard of her lover's iredicament she threw her whole soul into chaining proof of his innocence. She went to lie house where the robbery had been conunited. Having asked if the burglar had left mything in his flight, she was given a handcerchief that had been dropped by the intruler. She put the handkerchief to her nose ind exclaimed : "Find the thief who uses this lerfume (naming the peculiar brand) and you vill find your eagles." It was found that ony one drug store in the city sold that kind of lerfumery and that one bottle only had been lought within the preceding month. Need it ie added that the purchaser was traced, the sagles regained, the lovers married ? A New Mexico Plantation'.?This great istate is like the patriarchal plantations that sxisted before the war. Here is the mansion >f the owner resembling an old Virginia lomestead, a spacious two-story adobe over DO feet long and some 25 feet wide, with iroad verandas on each story. Each room is tntered by a door from without or from the idjoining room. There is only one hallway, hat running across the main wing of the louse from the chief door of entrance. The ooms of remarkable size, indeed my bed-room, vhich I entered from the first floor veranda, nust be some forty feet long by 25 wide, and >robablv 15 feet in heicrht. As in all adobe louses, the massive walls, two or three feet n thickness, render the interior delicious]}* :ool in summer and warm in winter. The >dd rounded adobe fireplaces are found sulli:ient for purposes of heating in cold weather. In the rear of the house is a carfully irrigaed garden of about an acre in size, surrotindid by a high adobe wall, and filled with luxuiant beds of vegetable, peach and pear trees md small fruits. Opposite this mansion, vhich stands just at the head of the valley, is i church, built by Don Vincente, Don. Itaael's father, whose tomb is within its walls. Vcross the road from the garden is a store for upplying Don Rafael's colony with goods, ielow in his large flouring mill, furnished vith water by a mill race from the Mora iver. The corral near by is surrounded by mildings, which include a barn over one litinIred feet long, storage and warehouses, granaries, a butcher shop and slaughter-house, a j loultry house, a blacksmith shop, and a tool { tnd repair shops. These, as well as the teuenents of Don Rafael's eighty employes, who | vith their families make up a population of' marly three hundred, are all of adobe. Gen. Bittlkr on Fort Fisher.?In a re:ent speech in Boston Gen. Butler explained lis campaign against Fort Fisher as follows: 'Oivlaviul 1 r\ Waft- Pialiav nml fn nmlfp ill) lit. Vim iCU VV/ 1 "l l1 1 IUIIV1 UIIV? I.v aek upon it after a bombardment of tlie | enemy, I landed a portion of my troops, recon-1 loitered, and first came to the conclusion that j t could be captured, but thought it would be j it the expense of <>,000 or 7.(KK> of my soldiers. : reflected that the only advantage of the 'ort to the enemy was the protection of a few ilpckade-runners, and I also reflected that General Sherman was then marching to the j ;ea, about to go there, and when he got to savannah, as he did shortly afterwards, the ort would be of no use to the enemy, and vould have to be evacuated. Under these circumstances I came to the conclusion to save he lives of my men and withdrew from the issault. I took them home with me. Other counsels prevailed. It was thought to be necessary for the glory of the American army bat the assault should be made. The fort vas captured and 7,OIK) killed, maimed and vounded men were the result. The dead are n their graves. The maimed and wounded ire calling for their pensions and the bounty >f the government. I thank God, and that ilways, that in the retrospect of my life for lie last twenty years, whatever may have been ny demerits as a general, I have no large mtcher's bill on my mind to settle between ny conscience and my God." Manilla.?Manilla, the scene of the recent rreat typhoon disaster, by which the business inrfimi of t liri /?i t v mm <1 |i?f rnVPfl llllll nilK'll llf v"" -"'V ...... -he shipping in harbor, contains a population >f nearly three hundred thousand. It is the apital of the Phillipine Islands and residence if the Spanish viceroy, or governor of the Arihipelago, and is situated in the Island of Lu;on, on the bay of Manilla. It is divided by ts river into Manilla proper and Binando. danilla proper, or the city, consisting of seventeen spacious streets, crossing at right angles, contains the cathedral; the palace was milt in l(>bO ; the Archiepiscopal Palace, the lull of Audience, eleven churches and three onvents, besides public offices, barracks, and ther military establishments. Beyond the amparts of the east side is the Calzada or uiblic promenade. The trade is chielly with he United States, Great Britain, China and j Australia. Manilla is, by law, the only empo-1 iuin of foreign trade in the Spanish East In- j lies. Its principal exports are sugar, Manilla j lemp, cigars, leaf tobacco, coffee, rice and fine , voods. Earthquakes, typhoons and other nat-! iral convulsions are of frequent occurrence i here, but it never has any election troubles? ! State, city or national?which fully compen- j ates for all other annoyances. The polygamous Mormons seem to he do- j ermiued to provoke I'ncle Sam into what; vill be a very unhealthy frame of miiul for j hem. About half of the officials in lTtah are | lisqualified under the Edmunds Bill, and yet I vhen the Governor of the Territory appoints ! jersons to till their places they refuse to give ip their otlices to them. Therefore there is a air prospect of the penitentiary, and perhaps he gallows for many of the Saints after the jatience of the government is entirely exuiusted. CAPTAIN MAINE REID. j < The announcement that a pension of $15 a ' j month has been granted to Cupt. Mayne Reid, J i the Irish novelist, now residing in England, for services rendered and wounds received in the Mexican war, has called out a number j! of interesting notices of Reid's life, as well as j some romantic incidents connected with his j career as a soldier in the American army in Mexico. No one will regret that the name of a Mexican veteran has been placed on the pen- j sion rolls. The names of hundreds of other Mexican veterans ought to be there. They j are old now, and the diseases they contracted in Mexico render them unable to earn a livelihood. They served their country well, and they deserve this reward from their country. There is one incident in Reid's Mexican ( soldier life that has never appeared in print, 1 and as it is remembered by many of Reid's ' comrades 111 uie .Mexican war it nut uc uninteresting to recall it. Reid was a lieu- [ tenant in a New York regiment of volunteers, 5 which was commanded by Col. Ward Burnett. I This regiment formed a part of Shield's bri- \ gade of Quitman's division. Scott's army occupied Puebla from the 14th of May, 1847, until about the middle of August of the same ] year, and then moved from the mountains , into the valley of Mexico. A few days before j the army began this forward movement, Reid ( being officer of the guard at the barracks of , his regiment, and having among the prisoners j one who was very unruly and insurbordinate, , in a moment of passion, and for some great , and unusual provocation, struck the prisoner J with his sword. The blow was more severe ] than he propably intended that it should be. j The wound inflicted was so serious that the j man died in a very few minutes. Reid was full of conceit and very vain. He was fond . of dress and gloried in his uniform, which | was always a little beyond the regulations in ( the matter of gold lace and buttons. His , general good nature, lively Irish wit and the ( exuberance of his animal spirits were so great, j however, that he was a boon companion and j a favorite with all who knew him. The killinir of the prisoner could not be { justified, of course, but Reid was so generally liked that there was a great deal of sympathy felt for him. The forward movement of the army began about this time, and but for this fact, probably, a general court-martial would have been convened, and Reid, perhaps, would have been dismissed from the army. Soon after Scott's army reached the Valley of Mexico the battles of Contreras and Cherubusco were fought, in both of which Reid's regiment took part. Then followed an armistice on the expiration of which the battles of Molina del Roy, and subsequently Chapultepec occurred. Among the officers of the regular army who knew Reid, was Lieut. Wilcox, junior aid-tiecamp to Major Gen. Quitman. Wilcox was fresh from West Point and found considerable pleasure in lteid's society. A day or two before the attack upon Chepultepc, Wilcox, learning that it would be assaulted with two columns, each led by a storming party made up of volunteers, rode over to the camp of the New York regiment, called upon Lieut. Reid, informed him of the probable disposition of troops for the attack upon Chepuitepec, and suggested that he should volunteer for the storming party, because if he should volunteer and survive that service, the unfortunate incident at Puebla would in all probability l>e overlooked and forgotten. Ried seized Wilcox's hand and thanked him warmly for being so mindful of him. lie said he would certainly volunteer for the storming party and would regard it as a great misfortune if his services were not accented. The following night Wilcox heard at head- I quarters that there would be no volunteer t troops in the storming parties, but the men 1 composing them would be taken from the i regulars of the divisions of Worth and Twiggs, i The next morning Wilcox visited Reid and i notified him of the change of programme. 1 Reid was greatly depressed at the news, because he had set his heart on wiping the Puebfa stain off his name at Chepultepec. Wilcocx, ] who sympathized with him, told him that i there was still a chance for him. "There 1 will be a guard," said Wilcox, "detailed to be i near the heavy battery which will open fire on 1 Chepultepec early in the morning. A part of ? these guards will come from Quitman's di- i vision and I will try to have your company de- ( tailed for that duty." At this time Reid was ( in command of his company. Wilcox then , gave Reid the following advice: "When the { infantry advance to the assault, our artillery j will be forced to suspend its lire. Your com- ( pany will no longer be required as a guard t in the rear. You must rush forward at a t run, take the shortest route and make every i possible effort to reach the very front of the r charging troops and l)e among the first to' j enter Chepultepec." This plan revived Reid's spirits. Ilis face 1 flushed with excitement. With glistening and t grateful eyes lie seized uotu 01 wiicoxs nanus i and thanked him for his advice and his effort 1 to serve him. Keid's company was detailed t as a guard to one of the heavy batteries and i t when the attack was made, the artillery ceased to lire, Reid ran like a deer down across the sloping hills of Molina del Iiey and reach- i ed the advance column as it was ascending c the heights of Chepultepee. lie was conspic- ?i uous for his daring and was among the fore- s most when shot in the thigh. His wound i s compelled him to use a crutch for a month j ( or more. ' ! c As Wilcox predicted, the Puebla offence i was passed over in silence. Reid enjoyed to } the fullest extent the notoriety and i>opularity r which his conduct at Chepultepee gave him. 1 He suffered considerahle pain from his wound f for awhile, but he could afford to bear the c pain with equanimity in view of the fact that \ he had escaped being court-martialed. After l the war he went to England, where he won 1 quite a name as a writer of fiction. Lieut, i Wilcox remained in the army, and in the civil war cast his fortunes with the South. By his courage and ability he rose to the rank I of Major General. After the war he was for c several years in business in New Orleans. c . ^ c ABOUT NEWSPAPERS. [ The following is from an article by A. II. J Deakins, in the Metuchen, New .Jersey En- c quiver: 1 The country newspaper holds a very differ- 1 ent positron to that of its more pretentious t rival, the city sheet. One is to be found in s the mart, the counting house, and at the busy r mercliat's elbow for ready reference. The 1 other circulates amongst the quieter rural ? districts, and supplies the reading matter for j I the farmer and artisan when the day's work ; is done. A country newspapers has its peculiar; I sphere ; a sphere which the city press can not, | t and cares not to evade. The little local items i s gathered by the reporter, from the different 11 news retailers as he journeys along, interests j only the people of particular localities. These i t locals unless they were sensational or of great j a importance, would never be published by a j \ city editor. f No man understands this fact better than <s the country editor, and he scours the neigh-1 J borhood far and near for current events. He 11 knows that it is to his advantage to publish j t what may be termed a news letter. The j s planting: of crops, harvesting and otherlabo-| rious work takes up so much time that people in suburban districts want all the rest 8 they can get to refresh and strengthen their !l weary bodies. 8 As a consequence having but little oppor- ,s tunity for writing they depend upon their paper J for a convenient and easy method of conveying the news of the neighborhood to far away ^ friends and relatives. Thus the country news- c pai>er performs a misson which no other jour- s mil does or can. ] A city editor having a picked staff of well i trained salaried journalists at his command, ; f does not, as a rule, care to introduce the efforts of occasional contributors; being too busy to return rejected manuscripts, many a happy I little effort is consigned to the tiarues by him. ( With his country editorial brother the case is o quite the reverse : having but immediate help- v ers, he gladly welcomes the effusions of out- v siders. h To this fact we are indebted for the publica- a tion of many a literary gem, which lirst a sparkled forth its brilliance in some little out- c jf-the-way country sheet. The author of the jem has been introduced to the reading world, rind perhaps, as in many instances, another has been starred along the rough high road which leads to honor and wealth. Kvery day the country is learning that poets, writers, do not live in the same city, Grub street. Thus country newspapers offer a wide field for the cultivation of home talent. Suggestions are received from subscribers in a kindly spirit by the editor, and he becomes through tliat custodian of many a precious secret. As ? Im li.it; tn 1 u. ? Irinrl nf annum*. :i? uiatici ul lawi nv^ n?o wu v\> ? ??t?v? w? wrv..0.^ taking a great deal in and requiring a very fiard squeeze to bring anything out. The power which a good country newspaper wields has never been estimated. It is a recognized educator of the country masses, and in times of civil commotion its utterances are carefully weighed. That power will never depart from it as long as it keeps a high stanlard of morality, so that its pages can be scanned without fear of moral taint by all who read them. Long may its power continue unbroken, and its honor unsullied by contact with rings or other corporate forces. The IIaiiit of Saving.?Children who liave a little money ought to practice saving something. Many boys and girls (if to-day hardly know a higher use for any money that comes into their hands than sending it for some foolish things as quickly as possible. To ntch a lesson in self-denial and economy is very important. As goes tiie boy's pennies ind dimes, so, very likely will go the man's lollars and hundreds by and by. Without laving the spirit of a miser, the person accustomed to save has more pleasure in laying up than a spendthrift ever knows. The way to keep money is to earn it fairly md honestly. Money so obtained is pretty certain to abide with its possessor. But money that is inherited, or that in any way comes without a fair and just equivalent, is almost certain to go as it caine. The young man who jegins by saving a few dollars a month and thriftily increases his store?every coin being i representative of good, solid work, honestly ind manfully done?stands a better chance to ipend the last half of his life in affluence and comfort, than he who, in his haste to become *ich, obtains money by dashing speculations, >r the devious means which abound in the !oggy region lying between fair dealing and ictual fraud. Among the wisest and most ihrifty men of wealth, the current proverb is, noiiey goes as it conies. ijvt uic ^uung man i note of tliis, and see that their money comes 'airlv, that it may long abide with them.? Kx'hanye. IIow WeaponsFirstCame to be Used.? The idea of employing weapons for assault or lefenee was a logical result of the first con;est that took place between man and man. 11 these contests the strongest man, with his uitive weapon?his fists?was unconsciously lie father of all arms and all armed strength, or his weaker antagonist would early seek o restore the balance of power lietween them iv use of some sort of weapon. The shorter irmed man lengthened his striking power by he use of a stick, and found, after a time, the lelp its leverage and weight afforded him. Hie first case in which the chance-selected, leavy-ended staff or club showed that weight >r hardness had it value, was a first step tovard furnishing it with a strong head. Hence, lie blow of the fist was the forerunner of the :rusliing weapon. In the same way the point'd stick became the lance or dagger; and the hrown shaft, helped, as knowledge increased, >y the bow or "throwing stick," was the irecusor of the dart and arrow. The charac;erof the first weapons was lagely determined >y the nature of the material from which hey were derived, and their shape partly from ;his and partly by copying the forms of the veajions possessed by the animals the primeval nen slew. Hence arises the general similarity 11 character and shape of the earliest tools :rom all parts of the world. The Last or the Irish Kings.?1''This oom" said Hon. A. II. Stephens, whirling nto a bedroom adjoining the library of his louse at Liberty Ilall, "was occupied the light it was finished by Smith O'Brien, the ast of the line of Irish kings of Minister. lie (pent a week with me and was the grandest nan in some respects I ever knew. His book in representative government is the profoundfst work I ever read, except Mr. Calhoun's, md is much more elaborate. He was the 'oremost of tne Irish patriots in dignity and lower. I had Toombs here to meet him frepieiitly, and it was interesting to see them ogether. Mr. Toombs was then very ex aeme?it was in 185!), and I had resigned n view of the coming storm?and was fond if painting to O'Brien what a magnificent reitiblic we could make out of the South if we vere only cut off from the body of death, as le called the North. In his quiet but posiive way O'Brien would insist that the jierletuity of the American union was the only lojie for true representative government on ;arth. I never entertained a greater man rluin this brave and saddened Irishman. The Violin.?Of all the musical instrunents the violin is the most enduring. Plants wear out; wind instruments get battered md old-fashioued; the pipes of organs become cattered, and the original construction is lost ight of. All kinds of novelties are introluced into flutes, but the sturdy violin stands >11 its own merits. Age and use only improve t, and instead of new ones commanding the lighest prices, as in the case with other instrunents, it is the violins of the few Italian maters of the hist three centuries that command abulous prices. It is impossible to handle an Id violin without a feeling of veneration, vlien one reflects on the number of people who lave probably played on it, tbe weary hours it uis beguiled, the source of enjoyment it lias >een. and how well it has been loved. . ^ . (j&T Two recent paragraphs which have np>earedin the press furnish striking illustrations if the uncertainty of riches. One is the case if Joseph Woodworth of California, one of the iwners of the Ophir mine, who was the first nillionaire on the Pacific coast, and who died ecently in destitute ciacumstances, caused by nining speculations ; and the other was the :ase of a French countess under the old Einiire, whose husband, after tbe fall of Napoeon. lost his fortune of $(100,000 in speculaion, and died of a broken heart, whereupon the took up teaching music, French and Oernati for a living, failed at it, went to the poor louse at the age of 04, remained there 30 years ind was recently buried at the age of '.?4 in the mtter's field. Sunshine.?Many a child goes astray, not jecause there is a want of prayer or virtue in he house, hut simply because home lacks suniliine. A child needs smiles as much as flowirs need sunbeams. Children look little be'ond the present moment. If a thing pleases hey are apt to seek it; if it displeases they ire prone to avoid it. If home is the place - Iind UTiii*/1i2 harsl) tind YJierc litUW ?lic DUHi IIIIU "WIUM , ault-finding is ever in the ascendant, they will pend as many hours as possible elsewhere. ..ct every father and mother, then, try to be iappy. Let them look happy. Let them talk o their children, especially the little ones, in ueh a way as to make them happy. Dull Boys.?Do not be discouraged. -.Slow ;rowth is often sure growth. Some minds ,re like Norwegian pines?they are slow in ;rowth, but they are striking their roots deep, lome of the greatest men have been dull boys. )ryder. and Swift were dull as boys. So was iibbon. So was Goldsmith. So was Walter icott. Napoleon at school had so much ditliulty in learning his Latin that the master aid it would need a gimlet to get a word into lis head. Douglas .lerrold was so backward n his boyhood that at nine he was hardly able o read. 63$*The biggest blast ever undertaken on the 'acific coast was exploded on the Oregon and California railway track. Nearly 0,000 pounds f blasting powder were used, and the shock ras so tremendous that an adjacent stream ..oo r.c it? hpd fnr ;i distance of van tiuwu 11 I/MV iv? ?vx. ? uvll' a mile ; the highway was badly damaged ,nd effectually blocked for the same distance, nd damage was indicted in the workmen's amp tHHt yards away.