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lewis'm. gbist, proprietor. J %n fitbqpbtnf Jfamilg fttfospptr: Jbr % |jroiiiofion of % ^political, Social, ^.gritnlteal aitb Con?rriaI $ntatsfs of fj)t Soflfji. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. "V7"<~kT oq YORKYILLE. S. C., THURSDAY, iAPEIL 5, 1883. ISTO. 14. V WJJ. &J Kj . Original ffltiru. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ; - THE SNOW. SUGGESTED BT THE LAST EASTER STORM. BY COLDMAN. Cold comes the blustering blast, Rushing from' the North-east, Driving with fury fast, Regarding man nor beast; But dashing on its way, Loud muttering as it goes With unabating sway, As a swift torrent flows. The heavens are all o'er cast 11 * 1?? tLnf Inwar witn irowning ciouus umt i?.. , While from them is falling fast A cold and fleecy shower. The streams now cease to run, Fettered by snow- and ice, Deserted by the sun, Stand still as in a vise. All feel the storm's great power, Yet like to see the snowWhirl down from hour to hour, Though earth be covered o'er. The shrubs and trees now groan * Beneath the spiteful storm, And wither and shiver and moan Where they have life or form. Yea, see all that hath breath, Trembling for shelter fly, Fearing that they'll meet death, Before the storm they hie. The kine rush for a stall, The flocks to find a shed, And all that creep or crawl Seek shelter or a bed. Each bird hath found a hedge, Or, crouching In its pain, Beneath some frnnch of sedge, In silence do.h remain, Where they may find repose, Contentment, peape and rest, While the mad tempest goes, ?i haIiI liroilyt OUriWllljJ U CI cai ill a vvtu Remember now the poor, Who've neither food nor tire, And give them, if no more, Of theae what thev desire; < Preserve them all alive, O, God, and keep them warm, While the elements shall strive In this relentless storm. Greensboro, JV. C., $larch 20,18S3. idle*. the convict's child. It was early morning. "Is this the way. sir, to Sing Sing?" "Yes," roughly replied a broad faced country-man, and passed on. It was afternoon. The child was some"Vhat fragile in her appearance. Her bonnet was of broken straw, her shoes were much tornthe sun played hotly on her forehead. She walked on and on an hour longer. "Is this the way to Sing-Sing, sir?" "Yes, little girl, but what are you going there for ?" The child trudged on, her lips quivering, but not deigning to answer the pleasantfaced old man who had stopped the jogging o? his horse to note her hurried manner, and who liked that little face, anxious and sad as .the expression was. The dew was fallen. Katie had fallen, - too, alrtlbst. A rongh stone by the way, imbedded, in moss, received her tired little frame. SKe looked so worn and tired, sitting there, her tangled hair falling on her handsthat were clasped over her face. By the shaking of her frame the tears were coming, too, and she was bravely trying to hold them back. "Whv. what is the dear little girl doing here?" came the exclamation from a pair of young lips. "A curiosity, I declare!" exclaimed a harsher voice,' and Katie, looking up suddenly, cowerea away from the sight of the young lady and her agreeable looking companion. "Whatever are you doing here, little girl ?" asked Nell May wood, moving a little nearer toward the frighted child. "Going, Miss, to Sing Sing," said Kate. "Why, George! this child is going to Sing Sing?ten miles off. Child, did you know it was so far off?" Kate shook her head, arid wiped away the hot and heavy tears. "Why, you little goose, what are you going to Sing Sing for? Have you had your supper?" Katie shook her head. "Have you had any dinner?" Atroin the child shrink her head. "And no breakfast. Why, George, the I poor; thing must be almost starved!" "I should think so," mechanically replied her brother, just recovering from a yawn, and showing signs of sympathy. "Look here, what's your name? Well, girl, you must come up to the house and get something to eat. Follow me, and we'll take care of you to-nitrht somehow, and see about your going to Sing Sing to-morrow." Katie followed. What a glorious vision burst upon her view! The palatial house; the rocKs reddening in the low western sun ; the shining river; the signs of luxury on every hand. "Susan, give this child a good supper; she is hungry and tired, too, I imagine. After that 1 will see what can be dor e l'oi % her." Susan wore a mild face. She looked pleasantly down at the poor tired little 01 e, and taking her hand, which trembled now, led her back into the kitchen. Meanwhile her story, or that brief part of it- which we know, was being told in the drawing-room. The sylph-like figure in white, lounging gracefully in the midst of delicate cusnions: accompanied her narration with expressive gestures, and now and then a little laugh. "I should like to know what she is going to Sing Sing for," she said leaning languidly nonir ?Wp trm^t lnnk her un something to k/ilVft ?? V MAWW -V r 0 wear?a bonnet, a pair of shoes, and then maybe we can manage to carry her some distance. Oh, she's such an odd little thing!" "Who is that, my daughter ?" "Oh, papa, you are come home! Why, I was talking of a little mite of a child; she can't be more than ten, if that. I saw her out here sitting on a moss rock, the most forlorn object. She says she is going to Sing Sing." "I met her on my way," said the pleasant faced old man; "she asked me about it and I would have stopped her but she trudged on. Where is she? It was noon when I saw her." "In the kitchen, papa. Susan is taking good care of her, I think, and when she has ad a hearty supper we will talk with her." A gay trio of young girls came in. The nettings were put up, the gasburning.brightlv, and music and mirth banished all thoughts of care. Suddenly Nell Maywood remembered the odd little figure, and clapping her hands, cried? "Oh, I've something to'show you, girls!" and disappeared. Susan was picking gooseberries near the pantry in the kitchen. "Where is the child, Susie?" asked Nell. "On the doorstep, miss." "Why, no, Susan, there's nobody to be seen." "No, miss." Susan placed her hand down, held her apron up to catch the stems of the berries, and walked deliberately to the door. "Why, she sat there sometime after supper. I turned and came in?she was sitting there, looking up, up at the stars, I expect. I thought she was a mighty quiet child, but she's deep, deep, Miss Nelly; she's gone. Let me see, there ain't any silver around?I should be afeared she'd took something ; they're mighty artful." "Why, didn't you tell her she might stay fl | here all night?" and Nell May wood peeped ! here and tnere^ to spy her if possible.' "Yes, Miss Nell, and told her what a good bed there was over the woodshed ; but she | looked strange out of them large eyes of hers." "The poor child is in trouble," said Nell, quite sorrowful that she could not further relieve her necessities. "Itl have given her. something to wear, and we could have sent her to Sing Sing ; but perhaps she will come baok again?if so, will you send her to me ?" "If she do I will, miss," answered Susan, going at the gooseberries again. But little Kate did not come back. She had been watching her opportunity to get off, and had already been gone some time. She slept in an open field?crawled in some hay ; she would have walked all night if she had dared, but she was afraid of the darkness. "Mr. Warden, there's a queer case over at my house," saida bluff-looking fellow, meeting the warden of Sing Sing prison. "We found her last night in some out-of-the-wayplace, and nothing would do but my wife must take her In. We can't find out her 4-V?rt4- .?+ 10 Vcite* onr1 T nvnonf IlUJHt*} CAtrpt llUit lb Ary cvuvt x v^j^wv that she wants to see somebody in prison. But we can't get anything out of her?where she's come from or anything about it." "Bring her over here," said the warden? "my wife is wanting alittle girl for help ; maybe she's just the one." - So Kate stood, trembling more than ever, in a few moments, in the presence of the warden and jailer. Kate was a pretty child. Her large blue eyes wore an expression of intense melancholy; her hair had been nicely combed and curled, and some one had put a good pair of shoes on her feet. "Well, my little girl," said the warden, kindly?for he was prepossessed in her favor?"where have you come from ?" "New York," said the child, faintly. The men looked at each other incredulously. "Ho you mean to say that you have come to Sing"Sing from New York on foot ?" "Yes, sir," said the child, frightened at his ihanner, which had in it something of severity. "And what have you come for ?" "To see my father." The child burst forth with one great sob, and for a moment her little frame was shaken with a tempest of feeling. "And who is your father?" asked the warden, kindly. "He is Mr. Lloyd," said the child, as soon as she could speak for her rushing sobs. The warden looked at the jailer. "Lloyd; there are three Lloyds here? Jim, Bondy and Dick." said the jailer. "That may not be their proper names," responded the warden. "That's so," said the jailer, "but I can try 'em all. Little one, was vour father's name Jim ?" The child nodded her head, or they thought she did; she was all convulsed with the reaction brought on by the termination of her journey. "If it's Jim, he's a bad one," said the jailer, in a low voice ; "he's in irons this morning for 'tempting to break jail; he don't deserve a little gal like that one, the villain. Come, child, I'll go and fjjid your father." He took Katie's shaking hand?with the other she dashed the tears away as fast as they fell. It frightened her almost into calmness to see the ponderous door at which the jailer applied the greatJcey, and the stillness of long, stone passages, the dimness thrown over all; the constant succession of bars and bleak, black walls were terrible to a sensitive mind like hers. How the heavy tread of the jailer, and the tread of the warden behind him, echoed through the gloom and the space! It was, in truth, a great tomb through which they moved?a tomb in which were confined living hearts?whose throbs could almost be heard in the awful stillness. On, on they went, now through that passageway. Everything snoke of crime?of fierce passions subdued and held in stern control? everything, from the grim face of the ferocious watch-dog to the sentinels armed. Then thev turned and went up the stairs, the jailer holding the scared bird close to his side with a tender clasp, the warden following. Another tramp, and at last they eame to a standstill. The jailer rapped at a cell-door. Slowly the figure of a man, with a harsh, hair-covered face, appeared. "Here's your little girl come to see you," said the jailer. .... . - n ?.M "Little girl! nem ! you're green,- sum the man, in glum accents. "I've got no little girl, or you wouldn't catch me here." "Father," said the childish voice. It sounded so sweet, so childish, in that terrible prison. But as the scowling face came close to the bars, the child laid her head quickly in the jailer's arms, half sobbing ; it wasn't him. "We'll try the next one." He walked further, and spoke more pleasantly this time. "Well, Bondy, here is little Kate; don't you want to see her?" "Little Katie?" there was a long pause. "I had a Kate once?not a little Kate; I broke her heart?God pity me! Go on, it can't be for me." Again the sweet voice rang out,? "Father." The prisoner came up to the bars; a youthful face, framed with light wavy hair?a face in which the blue eyes looked innocent? a face that it seemed a sin to couple with a e 1 .1,?l ,v.if T+ li'ou n Piiril IUU1 Ut'fU, uuu XV lino ?.? ~ est, pleading, tearful eyes; a dark expression rolled like a wave across his brow; a groan came up from his bosom, and with a low moan he staggered against his bed, crying? "Take her away ; I can't stand the sight of anything pure like like that." Kate had hidden her face a second time as she feebly cried: "It isn't himso they kept 011 to the third cell. A "Jim, here's a little girl?little Katie, your daughter?wants to see you." A stupid "what" came from the bed; the man had probably just awakened. "Your little daughter." There was a sound of rattling irons that made the girl shiver. Dimly appeared the face and outlines of a welhmade man?the countenance handsome but evil. He seemed not to comprehend. But as fast as the chains would permit him he came forward and looked out at the anxious face below. With a loud, convulsive cry she exclaimi ed, "father! father!" and fell nearly sensej less against the jailer. "Katie?" exclaimed the man, and there j was a nervous twitching about the muscles I of the mouth; "whatever has brought her 1 horp The jailer was calling the child to consciousness. "Shall we let her come into the cell?" j pskc 1 the warden. | Jim was dashing his hand across his face. J A smothered "Yes," issued from his lips, j They opened the ponderous door and put j the child within. Her arms were outi stretched, his were wide open, and they ! came together with a clanking sound?toI gether about the form of that poor little ! child. "Oh, father!" "Oh, Katie, Katie!" and then there was j ! a quiet crying. I i By-and-by the man lifted the little head, j whose glossy curls were falling on his shoulI der?and oil, what a sharp rattle of chains' smote on the ear! and looked in her face. After a moment's irresolution he kissed her, and then his eyes fell under her earnest, loving look. "Katie, what made you come?!' "Wanted to see you, father," and the head was on his shoulder again. "How did you come, Katie? Never mind the noise, they are locking up; they will be here again and let you out. How did you come, Katie?" "f walked here." "From New York, child?" "Yes, father." There was 110 sound, save that of the chains, as he strained her closer to bis bosom. "And how did you leave?her, Katie? your mother?" Tin? question was asked fearfully, but not responded to. He gazed eagerly in the child's face; her little lip was quivering. "Katie, tell me quick!" "She died, father!" A groan?a terrible groan?followed; the man's head fell in the lap of his child, and he wept with strong cries. The jailer and the warden said that they had never seen a sight so woeful. And the child tried to comfort him, till strength seemed to be gone and his sobs were like gasps. "Oh, Katie, when did she "die? Oh, my poor May! my poor girl!" "Ever so long ago, I think; ever so many weeks," replied the child; "but she told me to come and see you and comfort you." ."Oh this is hard! very hard; she always forgave me." '*She told me to pray for you, too; she told me to ask you would you be real good after you came out, and meet her in heaven." "In heaven ! I in heaven?" groaned the man in his agony. The child was angel-guided. Her soft touch was better for his soul's good than the stripes and the chains. He had been hardened ; her little love melted down the adamant?had found the good locked up in his nature?and she had sent her sweet smiles through its prison door. Long he sat there, his head in the lap of his beautiful; quiet child. None dared disturb him; jailer and warden walked to and fro. "Father, when you come out, I'll take care of you." He lifted his head; his eyes, red with weeping, were fastened on her face. "Mother saicl I might." Tlio lirawlan /ilou rorl hi<s thrftllt: the isliler iJ,t ""'V.V.. ...? , ? spoke roughly to one of the prisoners?it was to hide his emotion. "You had better come now, he added, going to the cell. "Katie, you must go; will you come again my child?" "Can't I stay, father?" "No, dear Katie; but you shall come and see me again." They took her gently from the dark cell; she sobbed very quietly. In the warden's room stood a pleasant-faced old man. "I have come after that little girl," he said. "She must go home with me. I'll take care of her; I've heard her story, and when her father comes out, if he's a mind to behave himself, I'll give him plenty to do. Beside that, I'll bring her up once a week to see him. What say, little onewill you go with me?" And good old Mr. May wood stroked her hair as he said pityingly, "Poor child! poor child !" Ten miles from Sing Sing prison there is now a little cottage occupied by an industrious man and his daughter. Little Katie is fulfilling the commands of her dying mother. She is taking care of him as well as of herself. EVACUATION OF Mounts isjlaaw. M. Quad in Detroit Free Press. Early in September, 1863, it became plain to the Confederates that they could not hold Forts Wagner an Gregg many days longer. The iron-clads had pounded them from one side and Gilmore's troops from the other, ancl that the greater part of Morris Island would soon be in the hands of the Federals was a conclusion which must be met and prepared for. And now here was the grimness of war. The sand forts had been almost leveled to the surface three or four times over, and yet repairs had been made and the garrisons reinforced. They had the iron-clads on the one hand and the Federal infantry on the other, and it had come to that pass that a linger could not be lifted above the parapet without finding a sharp-shooter watching for it. Gilmore had about thirty guns in a semi-circle before Wagner, and not satisfied with raining tons of shot and shell daily upon the work, he began a new movement. Here was the terror of war?sap and mine. Foot by foot, inch by inch, the federals had crept as near as was possible, rolling their sand earthworks before them almost as easily as one could roll bales of cotton. Within pistol-shot of the parapet they halted. War had become cold-bloocled murder. A strip of sand, not 4U0 feet wide, was the neutral ground, and the Tiger of War raved back and forth over this in search of blood. He found it?blood by the gallon?by the barrel?blood flowing out upon the white sands, until the tracks, of the Tiger could be plainly seen in the dampness. BLOCKING TIIE PATII. The iron-clads could neither reduce Fort Sumter nor pass it, and the attempt to reach Charleston by way of Secessionville had failed. If the Federals could gain possession of Morris Island, Charleston would be under the fire of common artillery and Fort Sumter could be attacked from a new side. Gilmore hail secured the lower end of the island and intrenched his position, but he could advance no further until Wagner and Gregg were overcome. Wagner had received the most terrific pounding from the ironclads?a fire so fierce and continuous that army and navy officers asserted that all human life behind the sand-piles had been wiped out, and yet the echoes of the last gun had scarcely died away when a thousand Confederates emerged from the bomb-proofs and coolly began making repairs. A column of 3,000 Federals had flung itself at the fort, fought with desperation and retired shattered and broken. A second column, stronger by a thousand, had rushed over the ditch?up the . lopes?over the walls of sand?fought hand-to-hand with the ferocity of tigers, and when the broken ranks were reformed within the Federal lines six hundred men were not there to answer to their names. Battery Gregg' had been pounded at for weary days?its garrison torn to pieces by the monster shells, its guns dismounted and its walls torn out or leveled flat?but there they were, sullen, defiant, and saying to the Federal Lion: "We are in your path and prepared for you !" The English, the French and the Germans have their histories of that great four-years' struggle in America, and their historians have praised pluck wherever it cropped out. An American who attempts it will be called a patriot for praising the one side, and a "rebel" for praising the other. There was pluck at Wagner and Gregg and Sumter and Charleston?such pluck and determination ; such uncomplaining sacrifices for the cause; such a steadfast purpose to defend every brick and beam and plank to the last as neither Greek nor Spartan ever exhibited. FOOT BY FOOT. When it was finally realized that neither the missiles from the fleet nor the bayonets from the infantry on shore could reduce the forts of sand it was determined to blow Wagner out of the path of the advance. Wagner out of the way, Gregg would be evacuated. Beginning about the loth of July, the Federal forces may be said to have advanced foot by foot. During the night the sappers would advance underground, burrowing their way with pick and shovel, and next morning the Confederates would look out upon a new Federal position. Wagner was being fought with its own weapon?sand. Its sand walls had sa ved it?other sand walls were to overwhelm it. Gilmore was the specter of war. His. shadow was reaching further and further up Morris Island, ana that shadow never moved backwards. Where it rested it burned into the sand, and left a horrible trace. There was scarcely a day that the specter did not seek to devour more ground?never a night that the men who followed it or opposed it, did not scream iut as bullets tore their flesh. I STRIKING AT FATE. I In the last days of July the sight of the gaunt and blood-stained Specter roused the j Confederates to fury, and it was planned to throw enough infantry upon Morris Island to make a quick dasb upon the Federals and overwhelm them. The regiments to make this move had been flamed, when it was discovered that lack of transportation would prevent. Twenty-four hours later it was realized that the knell of fate was about to ring out its warning over Morris Island. Gilmore the Specter was as inflexible as death and as unyielding as a coffin. A snail might have progressed faster, but it was progression just the same. Each morning saw his tracks of blood a little nearer?each night there were burials in the sand hills behind Wagner. The fort was holding out?the guns were roaring defiance at fate, but fate ever conquers. In the first week of September Gilmore's trenches ended within a stone's throw of Wagner, but covered from its guns. From here he could drive mines into its very bombproofs, or he could assemble a sufficient force to make the chances of a sudden rush almost certain. The guns from land and sea had an enfilading fire, the mortars had the exact range, and it bad come to pass at last 1 that Death groped in fcvery nook and corner 1 and bomb-proof in search of victims. MAKING READY. Fort Wagner would not surrender, but it must be evacuated. Everything was plan- i ned in thecoolest manner. Only the sandy site, rent and torn by explosions, was to be ] left for the Specter to gloat over. One of the preliminary steps was to exca- i vate trenches and rifle-pits in rear of Wag- ( ner. These, filled with the rear guard of < the garrison, would check pursuit long ] enough to enable everybody to escape. ; Such ammunitions of war as could be re- J moved to Gregg and beyond were taken j away. 1 At dark on the night of the 6th the evac- i uation began. The greater part of the gar- i rison was withdrawn to the rifle-pits, two or three light guns dragged away with them, i and presently the fort, which had been ten- ; anted so long and had withstood so much, was without sentinels to challenge or artil- ; lerists to fire. i GHOSTLY SHADOWS. i There was a suspicion in the Federal mind that some movements were taking place 1 among the Confederates, but whether it was i an increase of garrison or an evacuation, no ; one could determine. To be prepared for 1 any emergency, a strong caicium ngm, ?uw thrown upon the fort from one of the iron- J clads. From the vessel it seemed as if one 1 could have seen a cat walking along the parapets, but the light was deceiving. It was a ghostly glare which betrayed those 1 who watched instead of those who worked. } Men stood upon the parapets without dis- . covery and the strong glare 011 the front of . the fort deepened the darkness on all other sides. . On this night Federal pickets lay in their J rifle-pits within thirty steps of the ditch of Wagner, but they neither saw nor heard anything to arouse their suspicions. There ! were less than 800 men in the garrison, and 1 as night came on they marched out of the ' fort and moved away like shadows. 'The ] soft sand echoed no footstep, and 110 voice ; was raised above a whisper. While the ghostly glare of the calciuir j light fell upon the ramparts, and while the 1 Tiger of "Yv ar croueheu in tne sand only a f few steps away, listening, peering, glaring, 750 men flitted across the sand to Battery J Gregg without the whisper of an alarm. 1 For every pound of sand used in construct- 1 ing Wagner and repairing it, two pounds of ! Federal iron had been used to batter it 1 down, but on this wight it stood there as j proud and strong and defiant as ever. LEAVING THE ISLAND. Before 10 o'clock the garrison of Wagner 1 was rowing away from Morris Island. The 1 men had taken their muskets, but little < else. Not one of the cannon had been 1 saved. Before midnight the garrison of 1 Gregg had left, and there remained only a < small party charged with blowing up both 1 WAfto ( The intention of the Confederates was to < leave nothing but two great holes in the i sand to mark the sites of the forts. The or- < ders transmitted from headquarters were 1 very plain and complete. The guns were to 1 be spiked, the trunions knocked off and the f carriages broken. All ammunition was t} < be placed in the main magazine, and time ' fuses used for the explosions. The big guns were to be jammed full of powder, ; sand and shot and arranged with time fuses < ti burst about the time of the grand explo- i sion. Gregg being about five minutes'walk < from Wagner, was to have a ten-minutes 1 .jse instead of a fifteen, and the programme 1 was to have the two explosions occur in the ] same second. < WHAT WAS DONE. i No move could be made at Wagner until 1 a.\er dark, and then it was found that a blow struck upon the gun would arouse all the Federal pickets lying beyond the ditch. , The guns were spiked by men crawling about like cats, but they could not be arranged for bursting nor the carriages de- [ stroyed. The spiking was better done at ; n ? o wra \r Knf. ltdfll- I l.XI"Cgg, UfJlJJJ llll lllUl UIIUJ , J V.V ...... , in six hours after tho Federals took posses- . sion every gun was in good working order. The fuses had been repeatedly tested, and each time they had burned brightly and exactly such a distance to the minute. In , each fort the fuse was carefully laid and led to a barrel of powder, and they were burning, all right when the last boat left the ; island. And yet, strangely enough, neither fuse accomplished the result deemed posi- , tively certain. One went out altogether six or eight feet from the powder, and the other became disarranged, and was consumed without damage to anything. The last boat from the island was discov- ] ered by Federal picket-boats and fired at, and ten minutes later it was known to Gil- ( more's forces that Morris Island had been evacuated by the Confederates. At a given signal Forts Sumter, Johnson and other works turned their fire upon the I evacuated forts to prevent the Federals from rushing in and extinguishing the fuses, and though this fire answered the object in onesense it failed in another. From April to September Wagner had been stormed and assaulted and pounded until almost every grain of sand had soaked a drop of blood, but here it was at last in 1 Federal hands. Ten thousand infantry, cannon and mortars in battery, backed by a fleet of ironclads, had finally driven 720 men out of a sand heap, and Gilmore was half a mile nearer Charleston. Federal history called it a great victory, and the masses shouted glory without counting the cost or consulting the facts. To-day I xt._ uunrl.hnr ill uiu sea, js puuimg unu? n.v ? three or four different channels, and a few months more may see white-capped waves rolling over the spot where whole pages of a nation's history were written with bayonets dipped in blood. Behind, Abreast and Ahead.?Those who have but little to do or to care about, who have no great ends to accomplish nor hope to fulfill beyond the search of pleasure for its own sake, find that, while present time seems to move slowly and the future looks drear, time which is past seems, on the other hand short and unsatisfactory. Looking forward they are appalled by the length of time they know not how to use; looking backward, they can call up but few vivid memories of good work accomplished or strong purposes fulfilled, and but ltttle therefore to mark the years that are gone. On the contrary, those whose life is a worthy and useful one, who laber energetically and heartily, with good success, look backward upon a long and well-defined past, while their future seems all too short for the aims they have in view. A year full of activity, resolution, and enterprise will offer a long and pleasant page for memory to dwell upon, while a year of bodily inaction, mental vacuity, and general supineness will melt from the remembrance like a tale that is told. THE YOICE OF SPRING. Bill Arp in Atlanta Constitution. Hark, I hear the bluebird sing! And that's a sign of coming spring. The bullfrog bellers in the ditches, He's throwed away his winter britches. The robbin is bobbin' around so merry, I reckon he's drunk on a China berry. The hawk for infant chickens watcheth, And fore vou know it one he cotcheth. The lizard is sunning himself on a rail, The lamb is shaking his new-born tail. The darky is plowing his stubborn mule, And gayly hollows "gee, you fool." King cotton has unfurled his banner, And scents the air with sweet guanner. The dav grows long?the night's declining, The Indian summer's sun is shining. The smoking hills are now on-fire, And every night it's climbing higher. The water warm, the weather fine, The time has come for hook and line; Adown the creek around the ponds Are gentlemen and vagabonds, And all our little dirty sinners Are digging*bait and catching minners. The dogwood buds are now a swelling, And yallerjonquills sweet are smeiling; The little busy bees are humming, And everj'thing says spring is coming. It has been a hard old winter on man and beast. Hard in weather and harder in lire and flood and pestilence, and all sorts of unnatural troubles. The horrors of hotels burning up, and theatres and circuses shrouded in flames, and thousands of poor people made homeless and destitute by the raging waters, and small-pox marking its - i-; ? ? "ii lrtw/1 10 nififitl lnnaf. V1CUII1S Mil UVCi 111c lauu, 10 puiMi, .uvuv pitiful; but I can't get over the shock of those poor little children who were trampled to death in that school room in New ^ork eity. I can't help but seeing them all laid out in the room together, ana their parents hovering over their little, disfigured and mangled corpses. The distressing scene haunts me. There is a power of trouble in the world that we know nothing abouttrouble that we who live in the country do not have. Here there are no storms, no floods, no fires, 110 pestilence, no sjarcity of wood, or food, or comfortable clothing. A poor man in the country is safer from all calamity than a rich one in the city. A poor man may lament his poverty and envy the rich but he has no reason to. A. man who makes a comfortable living on a farm has i greater security for life and liberty and happiness and long life than any.other class that I know of? Cobe says he* is getting ilong "tolable well, I thank you." Cobe . is always calm and serene. He owns a mouse-colored mule, and has owned him ever since the war. That jnule is one of the family, and he knows it\ The children play under him and over him and between his legs, and the mule is happy, too. Cobe has a chunk of a cow and a sow and pigs, md about enough old rickety furniture to move in one wagon-load, and that's all Cobe has got except his wife and half a dozen little children, who live on corn bread and taters. And they are smart children, and healthy and good looking, though Cobe is ?alled the ugliest man in tne county, and I think enjoys his reputation; His face is of : three colors, and splotched about, and his mouth is in a twist one way and his nose 1 in another, and his eyes are of a different iolor, and he is hump-shouldered and walks pigeon-toed, but he don't care. His wife 1 fciys he is just the best little man in the world. He works hard, he and the mule, aiwovs envs hp is ^eftine aloner "tola *IIVt WI IT W o o rj ble," and says he finds no more trouble in . supporting six children than he did one. He says there never was a possum born that didn't find a 'simmon tree somewhere. Says he is raising his boys more for endurance than for show?for another war will come along about their time of day and he wants 'em to be able to stand it. Cobe is m honest man and came iVom an honest family,"and'his wife did, too" and their children are well mannered and they are getting a little schooling, and my opinion is that there is more hope for the country in that kind of stock than in the average children of the rich. They will make good, humble, law-abiding citizens and they will work and produce something. When war or trouble comes it is the yeomanry of the land we have to depend on. The children of the poor are running this Southern country now. They are the foremost men in most everything. They are the b ost merchants in Atlanta and other cities?the best farmers, the best mechanics and the best railroad men. Some of 'em make splendid bankers if they do spell hog with a double g. Grammar may deceive, but figures don't lie. We are mighty busy now in these parts. [ can sit in my piazza and see over a good leal of farming territory, and the mules are moving up lively. They seem to know the jpring is late, and the farmers are behind time. But I don't sit long at a time, for the garden is to plant, and the rose bushes have to be trimmed, and the flower-beds dressed off, and the compost scattered iround, and the vines want new trellaces, ind everything got ready for a suit of new clothes. The old year is just now dead and the new one is born with the spring. March used to be the first month and it ought to be now. I don't see what they ever chang- ( cd it for. One hundred and twenty years Ago our English forefathers took a notion to jet old father time back a couple months, , without any good reason for it. and I think we ought to move up the clock and put him Forward where he was. The spring is the new birth of nature, and is the type of our :>wn resurrection. I don't believe that ev- J crything that dies will live again, but 1 do believe that everything that is good and \trill civpii fn animals and trees L./V (UlUUH TV A**) V T V.. WW ind flowers. This is a mighty pretty world we live in?mighty pretty, especially in the spring, and for fear of accidents, I'm , willing to be a tenant a good while longer. "I would not live always, I ask not i.o stay," is a very beautiful sentiment, provided a man is sure of a better home when he quits this one. Hut another poet sung with more jaution and content when he said: "This wo Id is very lovely?Oh ! mv God! I thank Thee t nit I live." I reckon the majority of mankind are like the fellow who said he didn't wart to go to heaven if he had to die to get there. Many would like for the ages of Adam and Methusaleh to come back again. It wouldn't do though?it wouldn't do at all, for if Jay Liouici ana \ anaeroni ami company snuum live a thousand years they would gobble up the whole terrestrial concern and crowd us all off onto a plank in the ocean. On the whole I'm obliged to think that everything is fixed up about right?I reckon it is. -? DIET. It is the popular idea that the majority of persons eat too much. If reference were made to the bad cooking generally in vogue in this country, it is probably true; but if it were practicable to make an estimate of the amount of food required by every individual, based on the energy expended in the mental or bodily nctivities of each, we believe the nutriment contained therein would rather fall below than exceed the reasonable requirements of the body, and that that this inadequate quantity, togeth with its Daci preparation, accounts m a great measure for the premature decay visible 011 every side. This practical age, with its gauges and tests, and its demand for reasons and for facts, has dispelled many false notions. The present generation of men cannot be made to believe that their forefathers attained an average age of eighty years by hard work and "hard-tackbut they do know that the average term of human life was ten years less in the last century than in the present. There is 110 question so frequently asked of the physician as that which relates to diet, and there is none more difficult to answer. The answer almost always given by one of the most prominent physicians in New York is, "eat whatever yoli think you would relish.1' This reply is wise. Nature craves what will best agree with the system; and unless there is some special reason why it should be witheld, the desired food should be furnished if possible. One qualification however, is -necessary; and that is that the food shall be wholesome and properly pre- h pared. A patient just recovering from ty- i phoid fever might crave an article of food f to which he had always been accustomed, 1 as for example,; "mince pie"?a dish most r trying to the strongest digestive organs?and \ which, if then indulged in, would almost t certainly result in a relapse that would a prove fatal. A similar case once came t under our observation as consulting physi- i cian. It is our firm conviction that no restriction should ordinarily be placed on the quantity of food given, to any one, provided it is plain, nutritious food, properly cooked and taken at meal time. Young children require food more frequently and are permanently injured by fasting between regu- 0 lar meal hours. Never say "no!" to a child ? who asks for food or water, it matters not i how often. No person who has been habitu- c ally underfed in childhood can ever enjoy ^ perfect health, nor is he likely to attain old age. We see this truth exemplified in men * and animals. t The use of food is not alone to nourish the r body; it has another most important office, 3 which is to distend the stomach and intes- < tines. If a horse were to be fed on oats or 'l other concentrated food only, he would soon Hio onri thus it would be with anv other animai. s When a child is underfed during years? j as thousands are?the stomach becomes t weak and contracted so that in time it has i neither the strength or capacity to contain t sufficient nutriment for the wants of the u system, and the child dies of "marasmus," i a disease common enough among the poor \ and degraded, and not altogether unknown t in higher life, where errors in regard to the t care of children are sometimes adhered to s with most persistent obstinacy.?Hall's u Journal of Health. i THEODORE PARKER ON MARRIAGE. I Men and women, says Theodore Parker, \ and especially young people, do not know . that it takes years to marry completely two j hearts, even of the most loving and wellsorted. But nature allows no sudden change. We slope very gradually from the cradle to the summit of life. Marriage is gradual, a fraction of us at a time. . ? A happy wedlock is a long falling in love. I know young persons think love belongs j only to brown hair and plump, round, crimson cheeks. So it does for its beginning, just as Mount Washington begins at Boston ' bay. But the golden marriage is a part of '# love which theoridal-day knows uothi ng of. t Youth is the tassel and silken flower of love, age is the full corn, ripe and solid in the ear. Beautiful is the morning of love e with its prophetic crimson, violet, purple and gold, with its days to come. Beautiful uiun wtiip pvonino- of love with its triad re- \ membrances, and its rainbow side turned f toward heaven as weM as earth. Young people marry their opposites in temper and general character, and such a marriage is generally a good one. They do r it instinctively. The young man does not , say : "My black eyes require to be wed to t blue, and my overvehemenee requires to be a little modified with so. lewhat of lullness and reserve." When these opposites come together to be wed they do not Know it, but each thinks the other just like himself. Old people never marry theirsimilars and ? from calculation. Each of these two arrangements is very proper. In their long * journey these opposites will fall out of the 1 way a great many times, and both will charm the other back again, and by-and-by they will be agreed as to the place they will go to and the road they will go bv, and become reconciled. The man will be nobler and larger fdt being associated with so much humanity unlike himself, and she will be a nobler woman for having manhood beside her that seeks to correct her deficiencies and supply her with what she lacks, if the diver- fl sity be not too great, and there be real piety and love in their hearts to begin \\ ith. ? The old bridegroom, having amuch short- ' er journey to make, must associate hiniseK 1 with one like himself. A perfect and complete marriage is, perhaps as perfeet as per- t sonal beauty. Men and women are married j fractionally?now a small fraction, then a large fraction. . W e ? +,x+r,ll,T o,?l L very lew tvie uiamcu luiau,*, mm mvj j, only, I think, aftersome forty or fifty yeais ^ of gradual approach and excitement. Such a large and sweet fruit is a complete mar- ^ riage that needs a winter to mellow and e season. But*a real happy marriage of love ? and judgment between a man and woman + is one of the things so very handsome that . if the sun were, as the Greek poets fabled, a god, he might stop the world in order to . feast his eyes with such a spectacle. u SPECULATION IN COTTON FUTURES. J It would be difficult to estimate the loss a to the people of the South every season, by v the baleful practice of dealing in futures, as i it is termecfin the slang of the commercial t world. Hnndreds of thousands that should i be employed in building up the legitimate t industries of the land, only go to fill the i insatiate maw of Wall Street. It is gam- s bling, of course, and gambling with sharp- c ers who have the cards stocked in their a hands. q The extent to which this passion has been t developed is realized by few. Disguised in 1; the form of "business" this insidious vice t has invaded the quiet country, and brought t its feverish unrest and dream of unholy t gain to the Church member, the trusted q deacon, the experienced merchant, the c hard working farmer; and even the wo- t men of the land have felt the mania. t We have heard an eminent .man declare that it reminded him of nothing more viv- i; idly than a mighty trap, set by the bird- f catchers in New York, and baited, and al- r though a few birds may hop out with a <> crumb, when the telegraph assures them t that birds enough are fairly under the trap ] all over the country, down it falls, catches a their little savings put in on margins, and e the next day the broker raises it serenely e for another deal. o This is an alarming evil, not simply be- c cause it transfers the profits of years of labor v to the cormorants whose trade it is to feed upon others, but because it does that which t is worse, infinitely worse, in degrading and 1: demoralizing those whose passion for gain, c or demand for excitement leads them to I this species of gambling. a Nor is it confined to cotton. It has inva- rJ ded every avenue of commercial life, and f does not scruple to make bread and meat, t the dearest necessaries of life, its playthings t and toys. Shame on the Christian man c ' ? -i? n r t r who worships this image 01 luuiuiiiuii; v, We think, in this matter, that the press e of the land needs to purify its advertising e columns. How can they give these thieves 1 and robbers entrance into the household t of their fellow citizens? f We observe with pleasure, the arrest of a men in Chicago, who have flooded the c country with their circulars of "Co-opera- i tive dealing in stocks," and trust they may r receive justice.?Church Messenger. e I Sensible Sentences.?Don't be whin- s ing about not having a fair chance. Throw a sensible man out ol a window, he'll fall on his feet and ask the way to his work, i The more you have to begin with, the less t you will have in the end. Money you earn 1 yourself is much brighter than any you can a get out of dead men's bags. A scant break- s last in the morning of life whets the appe- f tite for a feast later in the day. He who T has tasted a sour apple will have the more a relish for a sweet one. Your present want t will miii-p future nrosneritv all the sweeter, i Eighteen pence has set up many a peddler in c business, and he turned it over until he has J kept his carriage. As for the place you are f cast in, dontfind fault with that; you need C not be a horse because you were born in a i stable. If a bull tossed a man of mettle sky- f high, he would drop down in a good place, a A hard working young man with his wits r about him will make money while others a will do nothing but lose it. "Who loves v his work and Knows how to spare, may r live and flourish anywhere." As to the d trouble, who expects to find cherries with- 1 out stones or roses without thorns?" Who v could win must learn to bear. Idleness lies s ? a bed sick of mulligrubs, where industry ? inds health and wealth. The dog in the :ennel barks at tieas; the hunting dog does lot even know they are there. Laziness vaits till the river runs dry, and never gets = o market. "Try" swims it, and makes ill the trade. "Can't do it" would not eat he bread cut for him, but "Try" made nore out of mushrooms. COMETS. Bishop Clark in the N. Y. Ledger. Last year we were favored with a visit by >ne of the most beautiful comets that has ippeared in modern times. Millions of >yes looked upon it; some with scientific nterest; many with vague and unthinking uriositv ; some with solemn awe, and some % vith fear and dread. From the earliest iges, and in all quarters of the world, this irratic wanderer of the heavens has been egarded as the harbinger of dire events tnd the prophet of woe. 'When bt^gars die there are no comets seen ; > The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes." S Comets have battled the investigations of cience, and their origin, constitution and mrpose, in days gone by, have been remited to the region of "the unknown and the mknowable." They come and go ; someimes in accordance with the prediction of Lstronomers, and sometimes when they are lot expected, sweeping round the sun vith inconceivable velocity, and then, with he new impetus acquired bv this close con- p act with the great solar luminary, they hoot off into space, likea stone hurled from i sling, and are seen no more for ages. Some are enormously large, and with an ncalculable orbit, while others are of comlaratively moderate dimensions and keep vithin reasonable limits. In 1862 a comet ippeared which accomplished its' orbit in ix years and three-quarters, re-appeared in 832, when, if it had been on hana only one nOnth earlier, it would have struck the farth. As it was, it came near enough to >ur globe to split itself in two, and went areering off, each part with its own head md tail, and about 16,000 miles apart. The >ictures of these creatures, taken from life, ook very much like the nead of a goose vith a brilliant eye in the centre, and along, ipen beak, and a gosling alongside of much mailer size, but constructed after the same ashion with its father. It ought to have reurned in 1852, but it has never appeared . .gain, the presumption being that the shock vhich it received from its vicinity to the arth was too much for it, and so it went to uin. The two heads may have gone off omewhere, and are perhaps wandering .bout to-day in an aimless manner, but \ 'they left their tales behind them," and eased to be comets any mora. In the year 1767 a comet came so near the f r, v. rv 4- I Ii.i +A ifc OAlltHJO ,1 tTcll piUHCL ?J uunci (Ul lu uciaii^c iiovwuiov. 'and went hobbling around Jupiter until 779, when it became entangled with Jupier's moons, and then it lost its orbit again, nd was whisked off into infinite space, nevr more, perhaps, to be seen by human yes." : Nine years ago a comet came between the arth and sun, traveling at the rate of 363 niles per second (more than 1,300,000 miles >er hour !) and when it took its sharp turn round the sun the distance between the wo was only six times the breadth of the un's face. It is very possible that the sun * night swallow up a quantity of the smaller oniet fry without feeling it much and withut its making any perceptible impression ipon us ; but to consume at one meal such .creature as appeared in 1843, with a tail ong enough to reach from the earth to the un?with fifty million miles of tail to pare?might tax the digestion of even such , mighty being as the sun. We are accustomed to regard the comet as , somewhat rare phenomenon, but Kepler ffirms that "comets are scattered through he heavens with as much profusion as fish's in the ocean," and those wlr'ch belong o our solar system are counted by millions, t may be well for us that only an occasional 'isitor intersects the orbit of the earth ; for, ven as it is, we have sometimes come very tear hitting one of these fiery monsters. rVhat would be the consequences of an actlal collision it may be difficult to determine. .'here are scientific men who say that comts, so far at least as their tails are concernd are made of such light and tenuous maerial that we might go directly through hem, without any danger, and perhaps vithout knowing it; while tnere are others vho believe that contact with a comet would >e disastrous. Even if there were no solid ubstances in the comet capable of doing tann, there may be, and undoubtedly there re gasses and electric potencies which it could be very uncomfortable to encounter, t. recent writer, to whom I am indebted or many of my facts, describes what is gong on in the heavens as "a celestial game of r?n Hfl+Vl tllrt u/llor CVifptll fhr ? hmvl Cll'piliOj U llil iiliw UJ ?w> ?? ivv >1 ng alley, and the earth waiting for a tentrike." It is not a pleasant picture, but I lo not think that we need concern ourselves bout the danger to be apprehended in that iiiarter ; whatever may nave happened in lie earlier periods of the world, we have >een going on quietly enough for many housands of years, and shall probably coninue to do so for many ages to come. It is he opinion of the writer from whom I have [uoted that in ages long past there were ollisions of comets with the earth, and he lasjust published a very ingenious and enertaining book to prove it. More space would be required than is at ny command to give anything like a satisactory statement of his argument. He has \ ansaeked the literature of all nations for legends and myths which indicate the tradiions of such* an event, and summons the lible to his aid after a fashion that would mim'pnt pnmmpntators. He is vidently well posted in astronomical scince, and is well worth studying, whatever me may think of his conclusions. The title if the book to which i refer is Raynarok, vhich means the "rain of dust." It is certain that the climate and condiions of life on the earth have not always teen what they are now. Tropical plants nice flourished in the arctic, and tropical easts roamed there, which by some sudden nd awful catastrophe, were destroyed. The destruction must have been swift, and robablv instantaneous, because the flesh of hese animals is found in perfect preservaion, no time for decomposition having ocurred after their death. Later on, a sneet f ice enveloped the greater part of the artli, and at some period the line of the liptic {appears to have been changed. A'hat changes may await the world in fuure times heaven only knows. It is enough or us to know that there is a supreme and ill-wise Power behind all the phenomena >f nature and that He doeth all things well. the globe 011 which we live had a beginling, so it must, sooner or later, have an nd. "The things which are seen are tern >oral it is only "the things that are not een which are eternal." The Great Wall of China.?An American engineer who, being engaged in / - ? ;i nu:.? | ne construction OI it ran way iu viuiiit, iiiw lad unusually favorable opportunities of ex,mining the famous Great Wall, built to obtruct the incursions of the Tartars, gives the ollowing account of this wonderful work : The wall is 1,728 miles long, 18 feet wide, nd 1") feet thick at the top. The foundaion throughout is solid granite, and the retiainder is compact masonry. At intervals if between two nundred and three hundred 'ards towers rise up twenty-live to forty eet high, and twenty-four feet in diameter. . )n the top of the wall and on both sides of || t, are masonry parapets, to enable the de enders to pass unseen from one tower to nother. Tne wall itself is carried from | loint to point in a perfectly straight line, | cross valleys and plains and over hills, /ithout the slightest regard to the configu- I ation of the ground ; sometimes plunging I own into abysses a thousand feet deep. I Irooks and rivers are bridged over by the /all; while on both banks of larger streamy ~^| trong flanking towers are placed, - ^ J