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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j % Jhtbqpknt Jfamiljj ftefospperi Jfor tlj? promotion of tlje |)oltfieaI, jlotial, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tjje j?oatl). 'terms?^2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 29. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JTJLY 19, 1883. NO. 29. fclettcd goefcg. THE BOTTOM DRAWEK. I. In the best chamber of the house, Shut up in dim, uncertain light, There stood an antique chest of drawers, Of foreign wood, with brasses bright. One morn a woman frail and gray Stepp'd totteringly across the tioor? "Let in," said she, "the light of dayThen, Jean, unlockthe bottom drawer!" II. The girl, in all youth's loveliness, Knelt down with eager, curious face ; Perchance she dreamt of Indian silks, Of jewels, and of rare old lace. But when the summer sunshine fell Upon the treasures hoarded there, The tears rushed to her tender eyes. Her heart was solemn as a prayer. hi. "Dear grandmamma!" she softly sigh'd. Lifting a withered rose and palm; tsut on tne eiaer lace was nauguiBut sweet content and peaceful calm. Leaning upon her staff, she gazed Upon a baby's half-worn shoe; A little frock of finest lawn ; A hat with tiny bows of blue,? IV. A ball, made fifty years ago ; A little glove ; a tassel' a cap; A half-done longdi vision sum; Some school books fastened with a strap. She touch'd them all with trembling lips? "How much," she said, "the heart can bear; Ah, Jean ! I thought that I should die The day that tirst I laid them there, v. "But now it seems so good to know That all throughout these weary years Their hearts have been untouched by grief, Their eyes have been unstained by tears. Dear Jean, we see with clearer sight. When earthly love is almost o'er; Those children wait me in the skies, For whom I loek'd that sacred drawer." Ihe Jforu 1 filet. A FRENCH INN MYSTERY. On the evening of March 27,1875, a traveling carriage was driven up to the door of the inn which for nearly half a century had home the name of "Les Trois Canards." This wayside inn was on the old post road leading into Chalons, and half a mile / t~ w?* 1* VW-,,r iroill ITHJ Vyliltltrttu uc OUIKCHU. -i-mu **. ,? travelers of late honored this old inn with their patronage, and its landlord, Jean Bernis, and his wife, fifteen years younger than himself, a fascinating little brunette, with the grace, piquancy and bearing of a woman of better degrees than that of her present station, had but two servants, one a house girl and the other a hostler. There was little need of even that help, save, perhaps on such days as there might happen to be a grand review of Government troops at Chalons. The carriage driven up in front of the inn, the driver leaped from his seat, and opened the door of the vehicle. "This is "Les Trois Canards," said the coahman, in a respectful tone. "The inn which is near the Chateau de Sonteau." A man came out of the carriage, followed by one in the plain livery of a valet. "Rudolph," he said to the servant, "bring out the portmanteau and dressing case. We will stop here to-night. In the morning we will be in time enough for the visit to the chateau." Master and valet at once entered the inn, and shortly afterward were shown to the small suite of rooms, a little cramped salon, or parlor, with an adjoining bed-chamber, which the latter was to occupy. "Did you see Monsieur's valet?" said the landlord to his wife. "Yes; and he resembles some one at the chateau. Ah, I remember! Why, he is the very image of Cherin, the keeper of the lodge, who has charge of the chateau." "I would have sworn it was Cherin," was the landlord's answer. "The likeness is ' > wonderful." The newly arrived guest's name was M. Robert de llauney, a banker en route from Chalons to Paris* His valet, a handsome fellow of thirty-five years, informed the landlord that his master intended purchasing the chateau, and using it as a summer residence. Half the purchase money was to be paid in the morning. The banker and his valet had arrived at the inn at 8 o'clock. The conversation of the valet with the inn-keeper had occurred at 9 o'clock, the exact time being, as she afterwards testified, particularly noticed by Mme. Bernis. At half-past nine, the valet was called by his master. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he descended the little bar-room, and asked in no very pleasant manner, the nearest road to the chateau, adding that "men who are served have no feeling, and those who serve them get no rest. I am to go through the darkness to night?now?to the chateau with a message to M. de Sonteau." "But M. de Sonteau, at so late an hour, may not receive your message. He is a surly, quick tempered man, and his late misfortunes?the loss of his fortune at the gaming tables, and his natural ugliness of disposition?" "Will make him receive me all the quick er, when lie knows l an? come irom cue banker, who is to pay him on account 300,000 francs to-morrow morning. Here is the message, sealed up as tight as a tomb. A horse, landlord, and quickly, so I may get back in time for a night's rest." The landlord gave him the horse and the necessary directions for reaching the chateau. "I will wait up until you return," said the landlord. "M. de Launcy will ring if he needs any service," were the parting words of the valet, as he rode off into the darkness. It was fifteen or twenty minutes past ten when the grumbling valet rode away. "I would have sworn he was Cherin, the lodge-keeper of thechateau; the same build, the voice, the expression of the eyes?the very counterpart of each other, are those two." Madame merely answered with a smile. She already felt a strange interest in the valet, for his resemblance to Cherin suggested to her that he might make as good a ? lover as was the lodge keeper, whom, her jealous husband had, months before forbidden to enter the inn. Twice, once at eleven, and once half an hour later, had M. de Launey, the guest, rung and made inquiries if his"valet had returned. At twelve o'clock, there was the clatter of horses' hoofs, the valet passed in, greeted the landlord, and, bidding him retire, ascended the narrow stairs to his master's room. The landlord slept below at the rear, in a room which adjoined the kitchen, the servants slumbering?the hostler over the stable and the house-servant in a room adjoining the public dining-room. At six in the morning, the landlord and his wife were suddenly startled from their I... Intid nriiw !??<! n vinlont bnni'L'. MUllllJCl l\V IVWVI VllV.JU.rn u ..V.VMV ing at the door of the kitchen. The noise also brought in the house maid and the hostler, who were already up and beginning their morning's work. "Monsieur Bernis, get up quickly," was the crv. "Mv master lias been murdered. Help? help!" It was the valet who shouted the alarm, and speedily the inmates of the inn followed him to his master's room. Surely it was a horrible sight. There lay the banker near the easy chair, in which he must have been sitting, in dressing-gown and slippers, his shirt bosom and clothing saturated with blood. liis throat had been cut from ear to ear. On the floor, near the little table upon which stood the still burning lamp, was the weapon with which the murder had been accom I plished, its blade and handle covered witl I the red evidence of its fearful work. Tlie frightened landlord at once dispatch i ed the hostler to Chalons for the police, ant i the house servant ran wildly up the road : to apprise the nearest neighbors, who wen : few. The valet volunteered to ride to the clia I teau and apprise M. de Sonteau of the horri | ble event, and rushing to the stable ant i saddling a horse, was, live minutes later | galloping down the road. When he return J ed he was alone. M. de Sonteau would bt at the inn soon, he said. I The police arrived, and an investigatioi | was at once begun. The Prefect of Chalon: I was present in person, with three or four o its shrewdest officials. The valet gave hi; statement. While he was making it. Mad Bernis, pale and trembling, and looking al the prettier with the excitement undei which she labored, kept her eyes fixed upor the valet with a strancre expression. Sh< ! noticed that he never once looked at her i that his eyes were fixed solely on the Pre feet. ''My master sent me hist evening to tin chateau with a message to M. de Sonteau The message was written and sealed, and J only know that it was important. When 1 delivered it to M. de Sonteau, he was abou retiring. He bade me wait. Presently h< gave me a verbal answer in these words 'Tell M. de Launey that I will comply witl his wish. 31. de Sonteau never violates hi: word.' Then I rode back to the inn, when the landlord was still up, awaiting my mas ter's ring. M. de Launey was then sitting in an easy chair. I gave him M. de Son" teau's reply. He merely smiled, bade mc open his dressing case, and nlace the pack age which was upon the table beside hiir under the pillow of his bed. He also bad( me examine the lock on the door, lead' ing to the passage of the staircase. Then lu said: "You can go to bed. Awake me at 6 I will start for the chateau at 9.' I left the room, and that was the last time I saw my poor master alive." "You knocked at his door according tc his orders, at 6 in the morning?" questioned the Prefect. "Yes, Monsieur le Prefect?ten minute: before 6. I rapped twice, and receiving nc ? x xi.~ xu^ answer, r nueu tne nun nuun ui me uwi and to my surprise found it unlocked* ] pushed the door open, and then saw him lying as he now is. Scarcely knowing whal 1 did, I ran downstairs and gave the alarm, That is all I know." "What was in the package you placed under his pillow?" "Monsieur, I am not positive, but I think it must have contained bank notes?the purchase money of the chateau." "Do you know that this package is missing, and that your late master's watch and chain are not to be found?" "I do not, Monsieur. I know nothing since I opened the door this morning." Madam Berniswas questioned. She added nothing new to the valet's statement? merely corroborated a portion of it. But she still held her gaze upon the valet's face, She could not catch a glance from him in return. M. de Sonteau arrived from the chateau, A morose looking man, with a strange set expression of countenance, thin lips and heavy black mustache. "M. Robert de Launey only needed to sign the legal papers and pay me the stipulated sum of 300,000 francs to become the owner of the ancestral home of my family. His valet brought me a message?yes. It was a request that I should arrange so that the business should be arranged at an earlier hour than had been agreed upon. That was all. I sent a verbal reply. That was all, Monsieur Prefect. Am I at liberty to depart?" "Most certainly, M. de Sonteau." The landlord, the house servant and the hostler were examined, but they gave 110 clue to the mystery of the awful crime. The Prefect decided to hold in close surveillance the valet, the landlord and wife, and gave the case into the keeping of a couple of his sharpest detectives. The weapon, a knife, with which the murder was committed, was minutely examined. While it was being inspected the valet seemed nervous and agitated, and once or twice, his eyes meeting the glance of Madam Bernis fastened upon him as if watching his every motion, he trembled violently. The woman was evidently preparing herself for some fearful emergency. She was pale, and her features wore a rigid, resolute expression. "M. le Prefect, hold the knife nearer to me, that I may see it closely," she said. The Prefect obeyed the request. She did not touch the blood-stained instrument oi ueatn. "Have you ever seen that knife before?" Again the woman inspected it, and still more closely. Then she started with a shudder as of supreme horror, and exclaimed : "Mon dieu, mon dieu, it is his knife!" "Whose knife ?" The valet made a movement toward the door, as if to leave the apartment. An officer interrupted him. "Whose knife?" repeated the Prefect. "It is the stable knife which I have repeatedly seen in the hands of Jacques Cherin, the lodge-keeper of the Chateau de Sonteau!" she answered, her eyes still fixed upon the valet. "But Cherin has not been here since a month ago," said the landlord. "That is Cherin's knife, nevertheless. His initials are cut or scratched upon the handle?scrape the blood off, and you will see xl T / 1 11 lllflll?.J. The Prefect did so. The woman wasright. The valet, now almost livid in the face, sank upon his knees in abject terror, ai the Prefect's feet, crying, "Monsieur, save me ! I could not help it!" Now the woman's face lighted up. "Ah, you see, husband, I was right when I said this valet looked enough like Cherin to be Cherin or his twin brother. Look at him, It is Cherin." "Yes, 1 am Cherin. 1 am not Rudolphe. the valet. I am the lodge-keeper of the chateau." A look of profound pity came over the woman's face. "And this man," she murmured so low that only the Prefect heard her distinctly, "was my lover, and in this wretch's embrace I forgot my duty to so gooel a man as mj husband. God forgive me! "What bettei am I than a murderess ?" Turning to the Prefect, she said so all could hear : "Monsieur, there is an awful mystery in last night's work, and this wretch can explain it?put him to the rack!" Cherin had fallen to the floor. The officials lifted him into a chair. As he fell t< the floor they saw his hand quickly takei from his mouth by a spasmodic act ion oft he arm. "What have you done?" " v-i.1-: ?1 ...wwl +lw. ....l/.f llVnr "".l\owiiug, uusncicu mc tiuvi. ^ v/i were too quick for me?I?I?have mercj on me. I confess all. 1 am Cherin. Thai is my knife. It was I who murdered M. di Launey. The package of money I fount under his pillow I gave to my master (dc Sonteau) an hour since, before he left here i But it was not 1 who arrived here with the I banker. That was his valet, Itudolphe." "Where is this itudolphe?the real valet' ! Was he youreonfederate ?" sternly demand I etl the Prefect. "I will tell you all. When the valet ar i rived last night at the chateau, with a mes I sage from Ids master, M. Sonteau, my mas |ter, who was troubled at being obliged t( sell his chateau, and nearly wild over tlu ! poverty to which his gambling had brough ! him, called me to him and said with a terri ! ble look : "'Jacques, would you make any saerific< i to save me this chateau and make me onc< j more rich ?' I "Not knowing what he meant, and blind i ly loving him as I did, I swore to him tha I i' would dare death to serve him. Then h< said: "It is an inspiration. I will kill this mis . erable valet who is in the hall, you slial i j assume his chothes and return as he. You j will then cut the throat of this de Launey, j - search his room for his money, and. if you j I ! do your work properly you will not be sus-! , j pected. The inspiration has come to me! a I through the extraordinary resemblance you ! | bear to the valet." ' j - ; "Monsieur le Prefect, I dare not refuse, j - j fool that I was. M. Sonteau, my master, i I! killed the vaalet with the blow of an iron i , rod, and stripping his body of coat, vest, | - shoes and necktie, we carried it into the wine j a vault beneath the chateau, and threw it into j an empty port wine cask. Then I put on j 1 the dead valet's clothes, mounted his horse | s ana roae bacK. i entered tne nanicers | r f room. He was asleep in an easy chair, with i i 3 his feet toward the open fire. On the table . was his dressing-case and the package of {. 1 bank bills. I caught him by the hair, and i r with one blow of the knife, ended his life, t 1 "I took the money and his watch and :i J charm and crept out of the room, carefully ; closing the door, and then went to my room. 1 - When my master came in an hour since to i give in his statement, I gave him, unper- (' > ceived, the package. The watch is up . stairs, hidden between the mattresses of my [ bed. [ "Monsieur, that is all." i t An hour later, M. de Sonteau was arrest- a ) ed. He was afterward tried at Chalons, c : found guilty on the evidence of his accom- c i plice, and expiated his crime upon the t 5 guillotine April 19, following. Cherin suf- 1 J fered the same expiation five days later. v Both thechateau and the inn of "Les Trois i ; Canards" are now in ruins. ^ ! THE PROFESSOR. ' I * " ~ 1 > HY ANTHONY K. ANDERSON. a . t 3 "But that's nonsense, you know, mother," . said Gray Clement, impatiently, "about my 1: J staying in the house, and all that sort of r thing. Because I have been sick is not an r infallible sign that I'm ill yet. I think \ > fresh air and a brisk walk will do me more c gOOtl U1UI1 Hliy UlillJJ U1SU, (UIU 1 m iu take them, I)r. Finne, notwithstanding." e 5 "Gray, don't be rash !" exclaimed Gray's a ) handsome mother, genuine terror and alarm a , in her voice. "If you must go out, then or; der the carriage." p l "I shall walk," said Gray, in a tone which t ; Mrs. Clement knew from long experience 1 , it was useless to combat. "It's too warm to be shut up in that uncomfortable coupe, fi i and to take an airing in the phteton will on- t ly make me more lazy than ever." "Here are the goggles, then," said Mrs. f i Clement, with a little sigh of resignation, u "You know how bad sunshine is for your . eyes in their weak state." n "I am nothing but a big baby in your es- v timation, it seems," laughed Gray, as he A j adjusted the huge, green things before the glass. "The more hideous you make mo? p . appear, the happier you seem to feel." o "You could never look otherwise than I ; like a gentleman, Gray," said Mrs. Clem- o ent, with maternal pride. "But if you had [ not over exerted your brain and eyes so a much at Heidelberg last year, all this care and worry could be dispensed with." 3 ; "Never mind that now, mother dear," t . said Gray, feeling aslight twinge of remorse, d as he looked at her fair, anxious face.. "I'm fi 1 almost all right now, you know, and what's done can't be undone." 1< Then, kissing her good-bye, and promis- s ing not to go far, he strode down the great a stone steps, gaily whistling "Robin Adair." s ; It was a lovely August day, and Gray h found the air so pure and bracing that he I walked much further than lie had intended '1 i to. i He had walked several miles out of the li city before he realized that he was becom- v ing very tired. i The sun was so warm, too, that his brain t i began to reel. f lie decided to ask for a drink of water at o the very next house, and rest there before returning home. t The next house proved to be an elegant, C picturesque yilla, in the Queen Anne style of architecture, with spacious gardens and % orchards. Everything was in the most re- r ! lined exquisite taste. a A younggirl was bendingovera rosebush, li i clipping tne great blushing flowers, and ar- c ' ranging them in a bouquet. f Gray thought he had never seen such a fair vision in all his life. Her hair hung in \ two shining braids down to her waist, and i; i was tied with rose-colored ribbons. L She was clad in the most bewitching of German peasant costumes, which barely j i reached the trim ankles. 4 If Gray had been less exhausted with his . walk, less dizzy, and if the hideous goggles f had not obscured his sight, he would cer- t tainly have noticed that the gown was too o rich a fabric for a peasant's wear, and that A it was more of a modern {esthetic costume i ... i . than anything else. "Pardon me, he said, with his old, inim- T itable grace; "may I trouble you for a drink f of water? The heat has made me decided- ( ? ly thirsty." He spoke in German, without making l any serious gramatical blunders, thanks to c his Heidleberg training. 1 The girl looked quietly up at the sound l of his voice, evidently not catching the meaning of his words, the surprised look on ;i her face quickly succeeded by one of pleas- ] ure and delight. "You are Professor Van Tliiel!" she exclaimed, holding out both her hands, which, ti ? you may be sure, Gray was not long in r taking. 1 ( She spoke in German, too, but by no i means with the fluency of a native, s "I'm ever so glad you decided to come at y last, even if it was at the eleventh hour. y , Oh, why didn't you come before? We y li<i vo heeii wnitino- for von over a month : t ! but now mamma lias gone to New York. I'm so sorry, but she didn't expect you'd ] , come at all, you see. ( i "But here I'm chattering away, with- i s out even introducing myself. I'm Celia. < , Mamma has been sounding your praises so much?ever since she came l'rom Germany? * , pardon me for saying so?that 1 know you j i right away. r "Grandma and auntie will be so delight ed to see you? You must stay with us till s mamma comes from New York, which will 1 r be in a fortnight, I think. } , "But you are ill, Iierr Van Thiol! How ! thoughtless of me ! Of course the long walk t r from the station has been very wearisome, j If you had only let me known when you < > were coming, I should have driven out for ] you myself." i i To do Gray Clement justice, he had really t intended to announce who he was, when he discovered that Celia Warner took him for f Professor Max Van Thiol, whoever ho might > be. But he felt so faint and ill that the I i thought slipped from his dizzy brain before ; it was half formed. ? The next moment he found himself in the Warner's parlor, undergoing an intro- < i duction to Grandma Warner, a charming * r old lady of sixty, who immediately became t sympathetic at sight of his pale, handsome * face, and who declared, in a queer mixture 1 1 of German and English, which would have: i ; sounded very funny to Gray on any other j i . occasion, that he must retire at once to his | i ? own room, and rest. ? i During the night he was tempted to take :j: ' French leave, and would nave done so our; ? - for his weakness, lie promised himself to { < fully explain the mistake in the morning, j 1 - little realizing how hard it would he to do ' ? - so, now that he had gotten so deeply into I 1 the matter. j < ) <Jray felt decidedly better the next morn- i I ; ing; and for the first time, he realized the < t awkwardness of his situation. |7 What could he say or do because of his ; j unwarrantable intrusion ? That was a ques- i i j tion which Gray Clement could not answer j I } to his own satisfaction. . j With his old self possession and nonchal- j 1 - ance, however, he took breakfast with the \ i t Warners as Professor Van Thiel, talking | i i volubly and entertainingly in German about 1 his travels, which alone were no myth. ; i lie learned several things that morning? j 1 1 that Professor Van Thiel was a German I j gentleman who laid just come to this county; that Mrs. Warner had met him in Surope the year before; that Celia Warnervas a most charming girl, and that he had alien heels over head in love with her! The piquancy of the situation won upon us fancy, and then and there he conceived he wild idea of personating the professor. The plan wasas foolish as it was hazard>us, but "all's fair in love," you know and iray could not think of forever losing Celia Earner's presence. Directly after the breakfast he repaired o the nearest telegraph station, and sent he following telegraphic dispatch to his nother, who, he knew, must be feelinganxous concerning his safety: "Have comfortable and elegant quarters in the ountry, where 1 shall stay for sometime. Don't >e anxious on mv account, as I am feeling better hail I ever have since my illness. Will write in few days. Yours with love. <?." "Don't you think I am becoming intensey Gorman, Professor?" said Celia, laughng, as she encountered him in the garlen one morning. She had on the same costume she wore vhon he tirst saw her. "I really am of German descent, you oust know, and it. is all mamma's faultbout mv dressing this way, I mean. I for nthusiasm over Germany ever since she ame home has been infectious. I wore his costume at Mrs. Bartlett's masquerade ast week, and now grandma wants me to rear it every day. She is pleased to say t is very becoming." "Do not discard it, I pray you," said Jray, quickly. "It is like a glimpse of he dear old Fatherland to see you." As Professor Van Thiol, Gray was suptosed not to know how to speak English, ,nd he had been on the point of commiting himself more than once. However, thanks to his quick wit, lie lad saved himself just in time. Celia and the professor were thrown alnost constantly together. Now it was a calk, now a ride over the cool, breezy ountry roads, now a ramble in the grass;rown meadows, the professor meanwhile xpounding learned facts (?) about the flora ,nd strata around them, of which he was s happily ignorrant as Celia herself. Celia had conceived the idea that the irofessor was a middle-aged gentleman. ne cusnguring goggies cuiuirmiug un u?ief. Nevertheless, that did not hinder her rom thinking him very charming and onertaining. Thus the days passed by, all too quickly 31' Gray, when he thought of the denouement that must soon come. They were reading Gothe together, a month after Gray's unceremonious arrival, phen a servant brought in a letter for Miss Varner. "From Mamma," was Delia's brief exilanation, as she quickly cut the envelope pen. "You will pardon me, Professor, if read it now, as I am very anxious to find utwhen she is coming home?" "Which I am not!" said Gray, a otto voce, s he bowed acquiescence. He had grown very pale at mention of Irs. Warner; and he could feel his frame remble, as he saw a look of absolute bewillerment slowly creeping over Delia's lovely ice. "I?I do not understand it," she said, moking at Gray with wide eyes. "Mamma ays she has come across Professor Van Thiel, t last, at Mrs. Moyle's musicale, and that he has prevailed upon him to accompany ier and papa home. What does she mean, 'rofessor ? Are there two Professor Van Miiels ?? Gray's face was deadly pale, and, rising to lis feet, he took anMnvoluntary step forward, his hands appealingly outstretched. hi-/i_ii . .? l,,. ,1^ 1V4?i "Tor vjtuu rs siiivo, tcnu, uw uui jun^t mv, oo harshly!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "1 oved you?I loved you?and did not think f the monstrous wrong I was doing." In the intensity of his shame and emoion he spoke in English, and thus added to Delia's bewilderment. "I am not Professor Van Thiol, at all," he vent 011, not sparing himself in the least, iffcs of red and white crossing his face, "but , weak, mean, cowardly impostor! Oh! orgive me, Celia. 1 have done you a grievous wrong, but it was through .excess of ove for you." "Do not come near me!" she exclaimed, vith flashing eyes. "How dare you talk to ne of love?you who are low and cotemptiile enough to sail under such false colors ?" "I could not bear the thought of losing mu, Ce?Miss Warner," he said, miserably. 'Can't you understand?" "No; I confess such logic is beyond my eeble comprehension," she said, with cut ing sarcasm. "I cannot see how you liavo ;ained anything by your insolent deception, ifou will oblige me by leaving the house mmediately." "Your wishes shall be obeyed, Miss Warier," he said, proudly, his eyes burning iercely with resentment and bitter anguish ?f mind. As he passed through the hall ten minutes ater, for the last time as he thought, he iould not resist a sudden wild impulse to ook once more upon the girl for whose love le had dared so much, and lost all. She had thrown herself upon the sola in i paroxysm of grief, and was sobbing as if ler heart would break. "You do love me, after all!" Gray cried, vith a triumphant ring in his voice, as he fathered her to his heart despite her feeble esistance. "I was almost sure of it! Oh ! ny darling, do not let your pride separate is now." "Yes, 1 do love you, Max," she sobbed; Hid the admission came reluctantly, as if tgainst her better judgment. "And oh ! it ilmost broke my heart when you told me hat you wern't Professor Van Thiel." "What's ina name?" he retorted, "win not the same, even if my name is (fray Element, instead of Professor Max Van Phiel? Will you not try to forgive me, lear?" he said, pleadingly. "You do not deserve it," she said; "but 1 uppose I must, for I cannot give you up, dr. Gray?though you are not at all what ny fancy painted you." "But I will try so hard to improve," he slid, earnestly; then he added, artfully, 'With you as my example, darling, i will K'come a perfect paragon before long." The real Professor Max Van Thiol proved o he fat and jolly and forty, and an accomdished musician, who knew even less than fray about geology and botany. When he mard how Gray masqueraded for a whole nonth, under his name, his amusement was mbounded. Even Mrs. Warner, scandalized as she felt, was won over through Celia's pleading mil Gray's refined, gentlemanly appoarmceand unquestionable connections. Many of Mrs. Gray Clement's friends, wno ire not in the secret of the romantic way in which she had been wooed and won, wonler why she sometimes calls her husband 'The Professor." nnOHBBMLI Na va\. ( Jadkts of 1881 .?The cadet engineers of the class of 1881, who have been lotified of their dismissal from the navy inder the provisions of the Act of August >, IKS2, have refused to accept the discharge uid year's pay tendered with it. It will >e remembered that the Court of Claims lecided that this Act had no application whatever to these young men, while the secretary of the navy decided directly to ;he contrary. In a communication addressed to the department they state that they feel hound to respect the decision of the [ -ourt, and believe that their discharge is without authority of law and hence null tnd void. They will therefore continue to report for duty from time to time and sue for their pay .as it accrues. It is understood that while the secretary is opposed to the idea that he can be constrained by die Courts in regard to what he considers is purely an administrative question, he will not oppose and will perhaps favor the restoration of these young men to service i?y legislation at the next session of Congress. | Utiscellitucous fUadhijj. A RED INDIAN REVENGE RAID. After about an hour's ride, my horse be-' j gun to prick up his cars and snort slightly, ; proving that i was nearing the rendezvous, i I looked eagerly toward to see how many men poor Ad. had been able to collect fori j this desperate errand. They were terribly few; I counted only I fifteen when J came up. We sat motionless i on our horses' backs, waiting until the last j i moment for reinforcements to arrive. Every few minutes a man would appear out of the darkness and silently take his place in the group. No greetings were given ; only one tall horseman, on a powerful roan, rode quietly from man to man, saying a word to each. This was Nlike Alison the desperado, and veteran Indian fighter, who, in right of his reputation for a cool head and determined courage, was tacitly accepted by every one as captain. suddenly trie snenee was oroKen uy ins deep voice echoing among the rocks of the canon. "Well, boys, 1 guess we won't wait any longer. We must get to the Injun's camp before the moon rises, or they will spot us like so many sheep. I havn't much to say. You all know what you are in for, I suppose. You all know that the odds against us will be about ten to one, as I believe the Injuns number about two huudred and mebbe more." He paused a moment, then said with a perceptible effort, in a lower voice, "There are some very young lads among yer, as will hev many friends mournin' for 'em if they get killed, an' I say to those lads?go home while ye hev time, and leave them to do the business as has 110 one to care a cuss whether they live or die." He paused again. Xo one stirred, but some of the "young lads" grunted rather contemptuously. "No one goin'?" he resumed. "Well, then, boys, let's be off; don't make more noise than you can help. Keep yer eyes 011 me, and stop when I give the word. Now vamos!" So we started on our errand of revenge. Little did the trembling women, crouched in the tents of the Indians think that succor was so nigh. Still less did their cruel captors dream of the awful vengeance that was to overtake them so speedily, as they sat drinking the white man's whisky. Meanwhile nearer and nearer drew the little band, small in number, but terrible iii their stern determination to rescue tne women or die. An hour's silent ride over the desolate prairie, or under the frowning rocks or pine trees of the mira. Then a sudden halt. No voice now echoes among the rocks, but a stern whisper passed from man to man. "We are close to the camp. The first fifteen men follow Mike round to the oppouifo iirlo nf flip ramri and olinrire in. The rest dismount and creep forward from different points until they come in sight of the fires, then crouch down with cocked rifles until Mike gives the signal. Then shoot every redskin that runs out. 'After the second volley make for the tents where the women are. Fight to the death?give no quarter." I was one of the last so silently slipping from my saddle, with my bridle over my arm. J crept softly on until a red glare shone through the bushes in front of me, and I knew I must go no further, but crouch, and wait. 1 knelt behind a rock with a cocked pistol and unsheathed knife, waiting for the signal. Ah! how terrible it was, this suspense. Oneseemed to live a whole life-timein those awful few minutes. I could hear the weird songs of the half-tipsy Indians mingled with yells and curses, as if they were quarreling over their booty. What was that ? The signal ? Aye there it is. A long shrill whistle. Then the thunder of the horses' feet. A wild hoarse howl of surprise and dismay, answered by a relentless volley from the repeating rifles. In a moment more the Indians were flying out of the brushwood on every side. I reloaded my repeater and again emptied it. Then remembering the order to remount after the second volley and make for the tents where the women would be, 1 looked round for my horse, expecting to find him gone. Xo, there he stood snorting fiercely, with dilated nostrils; under his feet the mangled body of an Indian. A moment more and I was galloping towards the spot from which came the indescribable roiirof conflict. At first high rocks intervened between myself and the scene of battle. Hut suddenly it all broke upon my view. I pulled up for a second to get a clear idea of tlie best place to stike for. I was at the end of a large open space. In all directions were the camp tires of the Indians, but my eyes wen; fixed upon one spot, where there was a struggling mass of figures, in the midst of which rose the white tents. Not n /lid I nip-jrincmvsours into my horse's sides, with a shout I charged furiously at the thick mass of Indians surrounding our little hand. The struggle was frightful and victory seemed more than doubtful. Most of the Indians were utterly surprised, and not knowing how small a number they had to contend with, had decamped at the first shock, but sixty or seventy rallied, got their arms, and being fror the greater part tipsy, fought like incarnate fiends. Those of our men who had rifles had dismounted, and taking their stand in front of the women's tents, poured deadly and unceasing fire upon the foe. We who had only pistols remained on horseback and dashed hither and thither; shooting right and left, our horses entering into the spirit of the fray as much as their riders. j Backward and forward surged the battle. I Now it seemed as if the Indians must con ciuer; they swarmed on every siae, ineir war-whoops filled the air. But just when it seemed almost vain to struggle further, a stalwart figure on a powerful roan horse darted into the centre of the mass of foes. Everything gave way before his charge. His stentorian, "Mike Alison to the rescue! give it to 'em boys," rang out above the yells of the Indians, and again the white men rallied, and the redskins were driven back. How long this lasted I cannot say. The terrible strain and exertion began to fatigue me fearfully. My horse had apparently curried me from the thickest of the fight, and was still standing panting heavily. Suddenly lie started and gave a feeble shy. From the bushes in front of me broke three Indians, who, as soon as they caught sight of me, made a simultaneous attack. I had one shot left in my pistol and contrived to shoot the foremost Indian before they quite reached me. Then, indeed, it seemed as if my time had come. Utterly exhausted, with only a knife, how could I hope to grapple successfully with two powerful foes? They came 011, one at each side, both armed with knives, Making a last desperate effort, J drove my knife into the breast of the one 011 my left hand. At the same * ' i. moment 1 lelt tlie Knne 01 my oiner antagonist cut through my coat, waistcoat and shirt?surely it would reach my heart? No. The blade was turned too much outwards, and cutting a slight gash, it went deeply into the leather on my saddle. Still 1 was not out of danger. 1 had not strength enough | left to tear my knife from the man I had stabbed, and my living foe was fresh and I vigorous. Buthe'had another enemy whom he had I not counted upon. Suddenly I saw his face contract with i agony. Some unseen force was dragging him downwards. He disappeared. J felt ! my horse rear. 1 heard a dull crushing I sound, a deep groan, and all was still. I was safe, my life was preserved by my horse, who had seized the Indian with his teeth, by the middle of his back, thrown him down and trampled on him. For the next few minutes I remained almost stupefied with fatigue upon my horse's back. From this state 1 was aroused by the gruff Voice of Mike Alison? "Well Pat, so you'ralive still are you? It has been a lively time, hasn't it? Much hurt?" I looked up at him, Pondering at the coolness of his tone and manner. His face looked ghastly by the light of the moon, now at its brightest, and one arm hung, evidently broken, at his side. But he was as cool and unconcerned as if he had been merely driving cattle for an evening's amusement. "()! Mike," 1 exclaimed, "is it over yet? Have we beaten them? Are the women safe? Have " "Stop," interrupted Mike, "one thing at a time. Yes, it is over for the present anyhow; and what redskins are left alive are makin' tracks for the reservation a deal faster than they came out o' them, I guess. Yes, the women are safe, lad, thank God. But get off yer horse and lay down for a snell; you need rest, and I'll tell you all about it. You see when we left you behind to watch for the skunks as they ran from the first shock of our charge, we went round to the opposite side of the canon, where there is a space for fifteen men or twenty men to ride in abreast. But before we went for 'em, I scouted round till I spotted the tents where I knew the women would be. I was in an almighty scare, lest they might be hurt before we reached them. But I found it all quiet. The Indians had not finished the whisky yet. Then I crept back to the boys, mounted, gave the whistle? which I dessayyou heard?and we piled in. "I, Tom Stockton, and Luke Bemington struck ii bee-line l'or the tents, the boys following. I got to 'em first and throwing open the Hap of the biggest one, I shouted to the women inside that we had come to save them, but they must keep quite still and oniio account to come out. "But, Lord bless you! the poor critters could 110 more keep in than fly. I'm a hard cuss, Pat; there ain't many mean things 1 haven't done, but it almost brought tears to my eyes, to see the joy with which we were welcomed. And that fool, Luke, fairly blubbered. Some on 'em threw their arms around us and hugged us, some fell on their knees and prayed God to bless us. I saw more gratitude in those five minutes than I ever saw before in my life. Certainly, nothing could have better fitted the boys for the struggle that was to come than that. We bundled them in, in a minute, however, and only just in time, too, for in a half of a jif on the devils came. "Ah ! it was a rough time. But ye see the Indians were taken completely by surprise and were shot at from so many different directions at once, that for all they knew we might be 150 strong, instead of only twentyfive, and most of 'em struck south straight away. But those that stayed fought like demons, and I guess not many of tlie boys got off as easily as you and me. More'n once I thought it was all up, but we tired 'em out. "But let's come and lend the women a hand with the wounded, and meooe tney have time to bind up my arm a bit. It does hurt considerable. I suppose it'll hev to come off, worse luck." \ve walked slowly toward a little group of pines, in the midst of which was a patch of open ground, converted, for the time being, into a field hospital. There were the women, alive and well, thank Clod, doing what they could to relieve the wounded men, who were heroically making light of theirsuflferings or bearing them in grim silence. Dearly did we pay for ourrevenge, successful though it was. Ten men killed outright, five died before morning, six were disabled so seriously that they were never again fit for active service. Only four, among whom was myself, really rpcnvorwl from the effects of that terrible New Year's Day. But an awful vengeance was wrought upon the Indians. During the ensuing week, the stockmen came down from the north and scoured the country far and wide, up to the very verge of the Indian territory, and it was calculated that only one of all the ferocious band that had for so long been the terror of the country-side reached the reservation alive. THE DEAD SEA OF AMERICA. Having visited all the sights and scenes of this beautiful, but Mormonized city, says a Salt Lake City correspondent, I will give you a brief sketch of the Great Salt Lake, the "Dead Sea of America," whose name has been handed down for ages as one of the greatest wonders of our continent. Though its shores are burned to a hard crust and no verdure or trees greet the eye, a sail on this body of water is decidedly pleasant. The voyage is begun 011 the south shore of the lake. Embarking at Garfield Landing, we take a course due north, between the islands of Stansbury and Antelope. The water is a beautiful green, and so transparent that the bottom is plainly seen. As we glide slowly along, a few miles from the shore may be seen the village of Tooele, which, with its green foliage, on the barren shore, looks like an oasis in the desert; while farther to the west, lying under the iron-clad peaks of the Spring A alley range, lies Grantsville. In two hours we have passed Stansbury, and well could one imagine himself at sea. Only two or three points of land are in sight, one of thtm being the Wasatch mountain, a gray wall of granite 8,000 feet high and extending for 200 miles. We soon approach Fremont island, which is known by an immense rock on its coast resembling a castle. The water commences to grow shallow here, and we enter the mouth of the Great Bear river. When Fremont was here he could not enter this river in a light boat for want of water, but to day a boat of 250 tons passes over the bar in safety. You can go up the river to Corrine, but excurtionists seldom go that far, as there is nothing to make the trip interesting. There are very heavy beach marks on the hills surrounding the lake, but they vary in altitude from 100 to 300, feet. Jomc think that the lake is connected with a subterranean river, which makes a terrible whirlpool, but if there is such a place it has never been discovered. The lake covers an area of 2,500 square miles, with a higher surface than the Alleghany mountains, and its average depth is twenty feet. The two largest islands were at one time accessible from the shore by wagon, but the lake began rising in 1850 and cut that communication off. A report made by the geological survey says that twice within recent geological time it has risen nearly 1,000 feet higher than tfie present stage, and must necessarily have spread over a vast region. The solid matter in the water varies with the season. At the present stage of water salt-makers say it will show aDout 17 per cent, of salt. Within the last three years the lake has become quite a watering-place. In the sum nier the water oeeomes very warm uuu much more dense,, and a more healthful bathing resort could hardly he asked for. It is almost impossible for one to sink, and with the slightest exertion one could keep himself afloat for hours. It has a tendency to make the limbs come to the surface, and many a person not acquainted with its peculiarities has had his mouth and nose filled with its pungent waters, which are anything but pleasant. It will not be many years before the lake becomes as famous a watering place as Cape May or Newport. It has railroad connection with all States and Territories, and the Union Pacific road runs excursion trains three times a week from towns adjacent to it. Notwithstanding what [ have said concerning the beauties or peculiarities of this inland sea, there is one thing lacking?life in its waters. In all this vast expanse there is not a living thing, 110 fish or marine vegetables of any kind or description. It is dead, and is sure death to any animal life placed in its brackish waters. A large number of sea-gulls visit it annually during the breeding season, but they are seldom to be seen sailing on its waters. These birds are sacred in Mormondom, and a heavy penalty is inflicted 011 any person who is known to have killed one of them. I asked an aged Mormon on the shore why it was his people laid passed such stringent laws concerning these birds, and he related the following incident: "When we first entered lids valley i( was iii the spring of 1S47. They were trying | times. All our early vegetables were burned up, but our wheat, which had been planj ted in limited quantities, was still left us. ; We had all our hopes centered in that, and I when it was about half grown millions of crickets made their appearance and commenced a work of devastation on our fields. We had about given up in despair, when ' one morning we were astonished to see a large number of strange birds settling down : upon our fields and commencing a war of j extermination 011 the crickets; and they ; never left until the last one had been destroyed. They saved our lives and that is ' why we protect them." For the Yorkville Enquirer. j GAFFNEY CITY AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. THE WATER POWERS ON BROAD RIVER. The writer left Gaffney City, which is a new and flourishing town, situated on the Atlanta and Charlotte Air-Line Railroad, in Spartanburg county, and took a ramble among the hidden wealth of that section, concerning which Prof. Tourney says, in his Geological Researches, that there is more mineral wealth than in any other section of upper South Carolina. Traveling Ave miles east from Gaffney, along the old tramway, Ckerokee Ford, on Broad River,was reached. Here are the remnants of the old iron works which were founded long before the war, but allowed to go down entirely, since the war. At this place are immense water powers, and location for a manufacturing city. For tins point nas oeen projectea a cotton factory with ">0,000 spindles; and it is said the work of building it will soon 1 begin. Going down the river about two miles, the old King's Mountain Rolling Mill site was reached, which contains as great water power as Cherokee Ford. Near this point, on the east side of the river, is situated the new cotton factory and village, known as the Cherokee Cotton Mills. This factory hasbeen in operation for eighteen months, and is quite a success. A neat village has sprung up,*with church and school privileges, on the ruins of the old iron works. A mile and a half below this factory, is , located flouring mills, 011 the west side of the river. On both sides of the river, at this point, are great water powers, with good locations for buildings. From Cherokee Ford to Smith's Ford, a distance of several miles, the great river pitches down over shoal after shoal, and sites for factories are found, at short intervals, along the entire distance, on both banks of the river. Another very interesting feature of this section of Broad River, is the natural formation of islands in the river. Between Smith's Ford and Cherokee Ford, there arc iust ninety-nine islands, varying in size, and elevation above the water. Many of these islands contain fine locations for summer residences and hotels; and on these islands will stand, some day, a series of summer resorts?a city in the river, communication with the different adjacent islands being carried on by bridges spanning the sections of the river between the islands, or by ferry boats. This whole section of Broad River is surrounded by hills and beautiful mountains, small in size, which contain gold, silver, lead, copper, iron, limestone and other valuable minerals. The lands, containing portions of Spartanburg, Union and York counties, of South Carolina, andCleaveland county, North Carolina, are very line for cotton, the grasses, clover, and the small grains. At Cherokee Ford, a Scotchman raised, on a seven acre field, 870 bushels of wheat, being an average of about 53 bushels to the acre. The climate is very fine, winter and summer, being mild and healthful. Limestone Springs, a few miles from the river, has long been a health resort, and the location of fine boarding schools. Thegreattrunk line of the Richmond and Danville Railroad passes through this fine 1 section of the Piedmont belt, crossing Broad River just above Cherokee Ford ; and the most feasible route for the proposed narrow gauge railroad, from Yorkville, Chester, or Union, to Rutherfordton or Shelby, is along the banks of Broad river, by these splendid water powers. For manufacturing purposes, Broad River is one of the very finest in the South. Its head-waters rise amid the Blue Ridge Mountains in western North Carolina; and being fed from neVer-failing springs, there is no danger of a scarcity of water in dry weather. In winter there are no ice and freshets to hinder the running of factories. Ramblek. How to Spend Sunday Afternoon.? It may be safely said that a person whose brain is wearied with intellectual work during the week, or whose nervous system is exposed to the strain of business or professional life, ought to sleep within an hour or two after his Sunday's dinner, if he can. It is surprising how much like a seven-day clock the brain will work if the habit of a "Sunday nap" be once formed. Nature will take advantange of it as regularly and gratefully as she does the nightly sleep, and do her best to make up lost time. People, on the other hand, whose week of toil is chiefly physical, may well give their mind activity while their body is resting. Two sermons and three or four hours of solid reading are a rest to some on Sunday while to others such a course amounts to positive Sabbath breaking. Sunday is a day of rest? not a day of work, religious or otherwise? it is a day for repose, not for exhaustion. But what the dogmatists on one side and the illiberal liberals on the other are apt to overlook is the fact that all men do not rest alike any more than they labor alike, and what will help to save one may aid in killing another. After the Sunday dinner, then, one should seek rest, innocent recreation, helpful happiness, sleep or read, or go and help instruct or interest a mission ; school, or visit the sick and suffering, according to your needs and your gifts. We Americans haven't yet fully learned the art of domestic enjoyment, any more than i the law of service to others. More men ought to relieve their wives of the sole care ; of young children on Sunday?taking them out to walk or ride, and inviting the mother to go as company, or leaving her at home to enjoy unmolested a much-needed season of quiet. In suitable weather a portion of the day may be profitably spent out of i +y.,y.4-u X nvQmnlD A?* lioors. inert? in nutimi^ in mi v.uuupv ... teachings of Christ?nothing in the nature of His religion, God's requirements or man's needs?which declares that the Sabbath can only be kept holy indoors. It is to be honored, but its highest observance is a ministration to man's highest needs. We hope and believe that the day will never come when Sunday will be secularized or turned into a gay holiday in America as it is in Europe; but the progress made toward the rational Christian enjoyment of the day within the last fifty years shows that the superiority of man to the institution, as proclaimed by the Saviour, is coming to be apprehended.?Albany Express. Matches and the Revenue.?Within the past few days more than 8.3,000 gross of matches of all sizes and shapes have been sold in New York by the agents of the factories. The cause of the large sales is that the manufacturers are no longer obliged to ...... .. in ll./iit. nrrvnrli! T.nuf TYfnnri!! V tllO (I UlA UU HIV. 11 AJivuv price of the ordinary "lucifer" matches fell irom Sl.oO a gross to fifty cents, but as the demand for tnem was so great the manufacturers raised the price to seventy-five cents, and even then found that they were in danger of running short of the demand. The grade known as "parlor" matches sell from seventy-five cents to $2 a gross. All kinds have depreciated 200 per cent, in price, and there is no probability that the wholesale prices for them will rise. The retail prices are as low in proportion as the wholesale. Matches for which fifteen and twenty cents a box were demanded a few days ago can now be obtained for five cents.