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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j 2U Jlnbcpcnknt Jfamifj ftcfosjiajw: Jbr (Ijc ^promotion of fjjc political, Social, ^gricnlfaral anir Commercial ^interests of fjjr Soufj). j terms?$2.50 a year, ix advance. VOL. 29. YORKYILLB, S. C., THURSDAY, OCTOBER IS, 1883. NO. 42. ^elected ffltttg. A MOTHER'S LOVE. Some day, When others braid your thick brown hair, And drape your form in silk and lace, When others call you "dear" and "fair," And hold your hands and kiss your face, You'll not forget that far above All others is a mother's love. Some day, 'Mong strangers in far distant lands, A In your new home beyond the sea, When at your lips are baby hands And children playing at your knee? O then, as at your side they grow. How I have loved you, you will know. Some day, When you must feel love's heavy loss, You will rememDer omer years. When I, too, bent beneath the cross, And mix my memory with thy tears. In such dark hours be not afraid; Within thy shadow I have prayed. Some day,' Your daughter's voice, or smile, or eyes My face will suddenly recall; Then you will smile in sweet surprise And your soul unto mine will call ; . In that*dear unforgotten prayer Which we at evening used to share. Some dav, A flower, a song, a word may be A link between us strong and sweet; k Ah! then, dear child, remember me! * And let your heart to "mother" beat. My love is with you everywhere? You cannot get beyond my prayer. Some day, At longest it cannot be long, I shall with glad impatience wait, Amid the glory and the song, , For you before the Golden Gate. After earth's parting and earth's pain, Never to part! Never again! Jfihr i'tarn IcIIcr. c "?ft SMITH BROTHERS. BY KALPI1 HUMPHREYS. You can read upon our sign "Smith Brothers." "Smith Brothers" head our advertisements. We have always been "Smith Brothers" at heart except for one brief space. We are in the wholesale dry goods line, as our father was before us. When he died he left us his store and his business, and "Smith Brothers" took the place of the old sign?"Jonathan Smith." We were not young when our hither dee parted this life. I, Absalom, was thirtyfive, and my brother Abijah was thirtythree.' Our mother died when we' were children, and her last charge, as they say in novels, was that we should love each other and try to console father. We can remember her very distinctly, both of us. She was a fair little woman, with a pale face and gentle eyes, of a sort of brownish blue. Her voice was very sweet and low, and she loved us as no one will ever love us again. To this day I can recall her cooing, murmurous intonations, as she called us by a mother's thousand endearing names; the warm clasp of her soft arms; the sweetness of her snnles; the delicacy of her beauty. So can Abijah. It is not strange that ?, after her death, as our lives expanded from ooynoou to mannoou, uui uiumci, u.-i remember her, became to our dreaming; fancies the type of all that was lovely in woman. The future wife, of whom we both >' dreamed, was little, a fair creature, with brownish blue eyes, sweet voice, and tender smile; We used to' talk about her freely with each other, and the one who found his mate first was to marry and take his brother to live with him. It was a queer life which we led, all through our boyhood and young manhood. The servants who had lived with us at my father's death, two staid, church going spinsters, all lines and angles, and a grey haired servingman who looked like the very incarnation of family respectability. " Besides these we had no housekeeper. ? My father did not like a stranger about the house, and himself bestowed upon the domestic affairs the slight amount of super. . vision necessary, until I became old enough to relieve him. We went to school till we were shy boys, and besides each other, made no intimate friends. When we were sixteen our father took us into his store. This pleased us vastly better than a louder school life, we were contemplative, rather than communicative, and we used to sit, when the day's work was over, and look from an upper window down the harbor and watch the ships coming: home, bearing: to temperate New England oriental musks and spices and essence; shawls and robes wrought with many a strange eastern device ; hints of acacias and Indian palms and dusky women roving under them. 1 speak for us both ; our tastes were as one taste; what one. liked the other liked also. We used to associate 4 the gentle woman of our dreams with all our oriental fancies. She should wear the bright-hued silks; fold her light figure in the quaint, rich shawls; bear the odor of spices in her soft hair and the folds of her garments. But when my father died and we got along into our thirties, we were no nearer the dream wife than in our boyhood. We saw no company save the people we met in our business. Year in and year out, no female footsteps lighter or quicker than Jane's and Hepsibah's ever wandered up and down the stairs, in and out of the rooms > of our spacious, old-fashioned house. We dreamed of the future still, with the shy tenderness of our boyhood. We did not at all realize that we were growing old, growing away from the possibilities of youth and beauty and tenderness. Our life had been so quiet, so barren of events, that it seemed short, unconscious of the hostages time was leaving with us in the shape of gray hair and wrinkles. It was a sudden shock, rather than a bitter grief, when our father died. His heart had been buried, twenty-five years ago, in the 2rave of our mother, and since that timeT though kind and just to all, there had been no sun to melt for him the ice of life's long winter. We loved him. There was a saddening sense of loss and absence when we looked at his vacant chair at home, or in his counting room when hesaw "Smith Brothers" on the sign, in place of the honored name which had hung there for forty * years, but there was none of the anguish *>f desolation which rends the heart when one is taken whom we loved, who loved us. "It would not have been right to marry while father lived," I said to Abijah, one evening, as we sat by the library tire. "It would have pained him to bring home a wife here where mother died. But now?" "Yes, I think it is time now, brother Absalom ; but of course we must wait till our year of mourning is over." Our eyes met each other, and we smiled. We made no confessions in words, but the truth came home to us both that we had lived so long out of the world, it would be > a work of more magnitude than we had realized to go into society and choose the household angel we both coveted. And so it went on for another year?the house quiet and silent as ever; the old servants; and "Smith Brothers" growingold together. Our father had been dead something over twelve months when there came to us a letter superscribed in a female hand. It was a very unusual event, and we speculated a little as to its possible origin before we opened it. It proved to be from a lady of whom we had often heard as our mother's most intimate friend. This was what it said: "I write to you, gentlemen, as surely Mary Chelmsford may feel privileged to write to the children of Margaret Smith. Your mother and I loved each other with , a tenderness deeper than most sisters know. All that one woman could have done or ventured for another she would have done for me, or I for her. Since she died 1 have I seen neither of you, but I remember the promise of your boyhood. You, Absalom, had your mother's smile, and you, Abijah, your mother's kindly eyes. 1 will believe ] that you both inherit your mother's tender heart. At any rate this is my only hope, j Under heaven I have nowhere else to turn. ' I am dying in a strange place, of slow decline, going to join my husband. I have no I near friends or kindred to look to?only i j you. I am not harrassed by any anxieties j for myself. My soul is at rest, for I know I in whom I have believed. I have property | enough to make my last days comfortable, | and to leave a provision for my only child, my daughter Margaret, who was'named for your mother. It is in her behalf that I j appeal to you. She is not much over twenty, for I was not married till late in life, | some years after your mother died. She has a gentle, loving nature, which, save at her father's death, has never yet been subjected to any of the harsh discipline of life. It is from this time that I beg you to save. She will not suffer from any bodily wants, but do not let her soul starve. Don't let her feel herself friendless, lonely and loveless in life. By this time one or both - -i - t -l : 01 you muse sureiy nave cnuseii sume geiiue ! woman to bless your home, who will not refuse a mother's welcome to Margaret Chelmsford. I will not urge my entreaty. I know that to make it at all to your mother's son will be sufficient, if you have it in your power to comply with it. 1 am able .to write no more, but I hope to hear from you before I go hence. Address Mary j Chelmsford, at Oswego, New York." j We were of one mind and one heart in j the matter, my brother and I. If Mrs. Chelmsford would confide her to our care, the daughter to our mother's friend should seek no further for a home. I do not think the prospect, at first afforded either of us i much pleasure. A young lady in our very ; house would sadly disturb our wonted quiet, especially if she were fond of gayety, ! and wanted to go into society. But neither j of us felt any hesitation as to what was to ! be done. \v e resolved not to trust to the ! delays and chances of a letter. One of us would remain at home, to superintend business and make ready for the reception of the young lady, and her mother, if we found Mrs. Chelmsford able to travel. The other was to proceed at once to Oswego. My brother insisted that this latter duty belonged to me as the elder, and 1 began my journey the next morning. When I reached the village among the lakes, I found the invalid more feeble than I had expected. She had evidently not very many days to live. I resolved to remain till all was over. She welcomed mo with feverish eagerness; entrusted to my care all the papers which concerned her daughter's inheritance, leaving the settlement of her affairs in my hands. 1 had some Hesitation in proposing 10 nor mux Margaret should reside, henceforth, with my brother and myself; some doubt as to whether she would not think us too young to receive such a ward. I was glad to find that she saw no impropriety in it. I suppose I did not look at thirty-six, very dangerously youthful. She accepted my offer with tears of joy and many thanks. It seemed to have been the one pang of her death-struggle that she must leave her daughter so lonely in the world. Now she was ready to depart. "I know you will be a brother to her," she said, holding my hand, on the day she died. "I have 110 fears about her, and I am very glad to go. Life is weary enough at best, and so many whom I loved have gone before?my husband, the little boy, my first child, who died in babyhood, and my mother, my truest friend. More are there than here." It was my place to console Margaret. She grieved for her mother, at first, with an intensity of anguish which 110 word? could portray, but after the funeral was over she grew calm amid her sadness, and began, with serene patiencej to take up again her burden of life. I remained with her at Oswego until I had completed the settlement of her mother's affairs. They had been badly managed, and I found that when they were reduced to a system there would be scarcely enough left for Margaret to keep gloves on her pretty hands. 1 was very glad when I made this discovery, that I and no other had the charge of this business. Now 1 could spare her from any feeling of dependence. Every quarter I could give her an ample provision for her expenses, in such a manner that she should receive it as the income of her own property. 1 would not have her feel under a feather's weight of obligations to me. When all our arrangements were satisfactorily completed, 1 wrote to apprise my brother of our coming, and we started for home. Abijah met us at the depot. "My other cousin?" Margaret said, pleasantly, as she extended her hand, removing all restraint with her graceful womanly tact. She had called me "Cousin Absalom," from the first. I found that my brother had worked wonders during my absence. Our old home 110 longer looked a gloomy abode, even for a young girl. Fresh, bright paper was 011 the walls, carpetsof warm, rich hues covered the floors, tasteful furniture was disposed about the apartments, and a room, leading from the little parlor especially designed for our h.wl ncfWmvm/1 infn n ilcl\? VI CII tiatloivuiiivv? unv tv vvinjvt vatory, and was already gay with flowers. With one consent we entreated Miss Chelmsford to assume the office of housekeeper, as neither of us felt competent to regulate any i longer the affairs of a household which was to number such a member. She promised | with her customary sweetness, to comply I with our request, and presently our domestic arrangements put on an order and beauty they had never known before. When we were fairly settled at home 1 had leisure to study Margaret Chelmsford, the first young lady with whom I had ever i been familiarly associated. Until then I had I not observed, what affected me strangely now, her remarkable resemblance to my memories of my mother; to the ideal T had I so long cherished of my future wife. Here I i.-nu tliA + irm?afnl timl! (> tlm lirnwtlistll I ilD HIV lltliV j ^KVVV lUi , v.?x> ..../.. J 1 blue eye, the low sweet voice, the winning I smile;' here,and my heart thrilled as it had never thrilled before, was the woman I could ' love. Thirty-six began to seem very old to ; me. Sixteen years between me and the 1 young life I longed to link to my own. I j did not mention these thoughts to my brother. For the first time in our lives there was a shadow between us; a fine indefinable ! ice of reserve. I think it rose, not on my ! part, not from any unwillingness that he i should read my heart, but from a secret I fear, as bitter as secret, lest lie might recognize in her the ideal we had both so long J cherished, and love her as I loved her. j Besides, I had so little hope, it seemed use-1 less to talk about it. She made no distinction in the mani-1 testation of her regard between my brother and me. To us both she was uniformly all j that a young sister could have been; the joy and brightness of our homes and our lives. Perhaps she came to me most frequently for advice concerning her affairs, J which was but natural, as I had taken them I upon me at first. A year passed away thus. She, growing \ reconciled to her loss, and blessing our home j with her youth and beauty. We, alas! I i : could not shut my eyes to that now, we | ; loving her, loving her both of us desperate- j ! ly, secretly, almost hopelessly. There are I +I..1+ Muslim nnlv fined in >1 / /mtiirv I IIUWUI.? UUU UIW3VIII VIII^ W.?v\ 411 ?? vv**v???(f J , but fervid and tropical in their late unfold-; i ing. Love was slow and late in coming to ! ! our lives, but now its sway was absolute, j And yet we were faithful brothers, still. I j do not think either of us dared to indulge ! a heartfelt longing for a success overshad-' owed by such blackness of desolation as it . must bring to the other. At length I resolved to speak. She could | but refuse me. Letter to know at once that the flaming sword guarded forever against me the gate of my longed for Kdcn, than to wait afar off in such intolerable suspense. 1 1 would try my fate. I went toward her especial sitting room. In the passage 1 met 1 my brother, going also in the same direr tion. In an instant it flashed upon me tliat his errand was identical with my own. Come what would no woman's love should divide us whom Heaven had made brothers. I went up to him and laid my hand | upon his arm. "Come with me, brother," I said; opening the library door. He followed me in j and stood silently before the fire. J went on: "I know what your errand was, brother?mine was the same. It was impossible that we should not both love her, you and I. But we are brothers still. No other tie can sever that. Let us love each other, ! whatever comes." We are much alike, but I think my brother has more fire in his nature than 1. His eyes kindled, and he answered with an earnestness that was almost savage? "Brother or not, no man has a right to force me to give up my love. I will have T Ann ? <-*+ 1?ap In nf fill tlm 11171, 11 J. uiu in >?? v..vworld." "So you shall. 1 f she loves you, she shall marry you. I know her well. No power would force her, neither want, nor pride, nor gratitude, to give her hand where she did not love. I only meant to pray you to let nothing separate us. However she may decide, one at l&ast of us will have bitter need of consolation. Go you first; 1 myself think your hope is better than mine. He would nave hesitated then, but I urged him forward. If he succeeded, she would never know how my whole being had poured out its adoration for her; if he failed I could but try my fate also. lie was not there long. I was cool enough in the midst of my suspense, to know that lie had been absent but a few moments when he opened the library door. His face was white with repressed suffering. He came to me and said hoarsely? "Brother, she does not love me. I told her you would come next. She said something in answer. I did not hear what. Go you in now." I found her weeping, but she roused herself at the sound of my footstep, and cried passionately: "Not you?not you also! Do not give me the pain of thinking that I must wound my best friend. Your brother said you were coming, and I told him it would be of no use. You would not want we without my love. Oh! wretched girl that I am, to have brought unhappiness to the roof that sheltered me when I was an orphan and alone! I found strength to answer her. "Do not fear, dear Margaret. You have brought us more good than evil. We are men. We will conquer ourselves like men. You will be our sister, when you can forgive us for the pain we have caused you." I went out to Abijah, who waited for ine. "I have failed also," was all 1 could say. His arms opened and clasped about me in an embrace such as those with which we had comforted each other in boyhood. I had lost Margaret, but I had found again my brother. I have nothing more to say about the sufferings that followed. Tt is idle to dwell upon it. God sent it, and we bore it manfully. I and my brother. The next day there came to us a little note from Margaret. It was such an one as it was like her kindness and delicacy to write. She had chosen that mode of communication because she thought it would be easier than to speak to us of what so nearly concerned her own heart. She wrote very tenderly, thanking us far more warmly than we deserved for our kindness to her, a lonely orphan, praising us far beyond our poor merits, and telling us it would have been scarcely possible for a girl whose heart was free to have remained insensible l:o our devotion for herself, but hers was not free. Before she came to us it had passed from her keeping. She had loved ana been loved by the physician?a young man ; poor but talented?who had attended her mother in her last illness. She had never known his love for her until the day before she leftOswego. Then he told her all, and though, because he must be, for a long time to come, too poor to marry, he would not permit her to bind herself by any engagement, she knew that he looked upon her as his future wife. She took great blame to herself, for not having told us this at first. If there had been a Mrs. Smith she was sure she should have confided all to her; but, as there was no actual promise of marriage, she could not bring herself to speak of it to us? particularly as she never supposed it possible that she should possess any hold upon our hearts save the generous sympathy which had opened them to her. She had hoped in time we should both be far happier than she would have made either of us. She knew us too well, alas! to think we had loved her with a love to be at once conquered; but time and her absence, for she must leave us now, would bring healing. We read the letter together, and as we linished my brother looked up. "We have much more than enough for two solitary men; let us make her happy xirifl. ...IK* if >) " " ,l 1""1 " lie had uttered the thought that was in my heart also. He replied to Margaret's letter, for nature had made him more eloquent than I. He begged her to remain with us, by entreaties that could not be resisted; exculpating her from the faintest shadow of blame, and claimed her, in behalf of u,s both, and for the sake of the tender love between our dead mother, for our sister, henceforth. In the meantime I wrote to Dr. Wentworth,at Oswego, informing him that circumstances had induced my ward to contide to me the relations existing between them, and hinting that her dowry would be sufficient to make their marriage prudent at any time. In conclusion, 1 begged leave to offer him the advice of a man that had seen more of life than himself, not to delay his happiness too late. it ended as we had foreseen and intended. We persuaded Margaret to remain with us until she was married and that was not long. The dear child was very happy, though 1 could see with what delicate tenderness she strove to snow us an nor joy. we see uer often, and we alike think that she owes part of her happiness to us. It is all the sweeter that she does not know it. We live alone again in the old house, with the old servants. The paper on the walls, the carpets on the floors, have grown dim, and time has softened a little the memory of the sharpest wound our hearts ever received. We have given up all thoughts of love and marriage. We shall live together till death parts us; when that hour comes, and they pull down the sign "Smith Brothers," there will be no one to take our place. Takixo Comfokt ix Lifk.?Sooner or later, friends, the time for folded hands will come to us all. Whether or not we (.'ease from hurry and worry now, we shall one day shut our eyes upon it, and lie still, untroubled by the stir and fret of the things about us. Why not take comfort as we go on? You, proud mother of a beautiful, active boy, of what use will it be to you by and by to remember how exquisitely fine was his raiment, how daintily spread his hprl snifl how costlvand nrofuse his toys? What the child needs is mothering, brooding, tender resting on your heart ; and he needs it every step of the way from baby day to manhood. Take the comfort of you. opportunities. Never mind though the dress he coarse, and the food plain, and the playthings few, hut answer the .piestions, tell the stories, spare the half-hour at bed-time, and he merry and gay, confidential and sympathetic with your boy. And you, whose graceful young daughter is just blushing out into the bloom and freshness of a wondrously fair womanliness, do not be so occupied with your ambition for her, and her advancement in life, that you 1 ether ways and your own fall apart. Why are her friends, her interests, and her engagements, so wholly and distinct from your own ? Why does she visit here and receive visits from this and that home, and you scarcely know the people by sight? You are losing precious hours, and the comfort you ought to take is flying fast away on those wings of time that are never overtaken. UJi0ccU?ttC0U!5 Reading. '['Ill: EPISCOPAL CONVENTION. Tho thirty-third convention of tho Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States was opened in Philadelphia on Wednesday morning, ;lrd instant, with the services held in the venerable Christ church, on Second street, near Market, the corner stone of which edifice was lain in 1727. Tho gold alms-dish, presented to the House of Bishops by the convocation of Canterbury, England, occupied a place upon the altar, surrounded by the vessels of the silver communion service presented to the parish by Queen Anne in 1708. The church was crowded, 1,1()S ticket having been issued for the service. At 10.ilo the procession of clergy tiled in as the 202(1 hymn was sung. Rev. C. L. Hutchins, of Natchez, Miss., secretary of the convention, read the services, Bishop Smith, of Kentucky, pronouncing the absolution. I The gospel was readhy the Bishop of Ontario and the epistle py the Bishop of Kochester. Bishop Clarke, of Rhode Island, de livered the sermon, taking his text i'rom Exodus, lf>: 17. Following the sermon came the communion service, in which Bishop Lee read the consecration, after which he was assisted by the Bishop of Rochester. The house of deputies met at -1 o'clock in the afternoon in the church of Holy Trinity. The Rev. Charles L. Hutchins, of Medford, Mass., secretary of the last convention, called the names of the clerical and lay deputies, and having declared that the church was represented in a majority of dioceses, Mr. L. N. Whittle, of Georgia, moved to proceed to the election of a president. The Rev. Dr. E. E. Beardsley, of New Haven, Conn., was elected President. After anaddress by Dr. Beardsley the Convention adjourned until Thursday. ' On Thursday the report of the joint committee on the Lectionary was made the special order for Wednesday. The report recommendsthattheBookof Common Prayer be amended by substituting the tables appended for the table of lessons of the J loly Scripture, and by inserting after the third paragraph of the order how the rest of the Holy Scripture is appointed to be read, the three rules following: If in any church, upon Sunday or Holy Day, both morning and ma! ooirl in ini ctop CVdllll^ jnajci WU II\^l/ rxtivi Uiv uuutuwt may read the lessons appointed either for morning or for evening prayer. At evening prayer on Sunday the ministermay read the lessons from the Gospel appointed for that day of the month in place of the second lesson for Sunday. Upon any day for which 110 proper lessons are provided the lessons appointed in the calendar for any day in the same week may be read in place of the lessons for the day." A committee was appointed to invite the Lord Bishop of Rochester to a seat by the president. The sessions of the House of Bishops are conducted with closed doors. Right Itev. Robert W. B. Elliot, a missionary bishop of Western Texas, who was a major in the Confederate army, has been mentioned as a possible successor of the late Bishop Pinckney. A cahle telegram was received and read conveying the greeting from the Church Congress, in session at Reading, England, and a suitable reply was returned. In the Convention on Friday the Rev. Dr. Thorold, Lord Bishop of Rochester, England, was introduced and addressed the House, all the deputtesremaining standing. He begged most sincerely to return thanks for the kindness and courtesy with which his name was received. It was not his first visit to this country, said he, and he hoped it wouldn't be his last. He was not so foolish as to hide from himself the fact that kind! ness was extended to him as the representative of England and of the Church. Let no one persuade you, said the Lord Bishop, that England has ceased to love America. The English Church is proud of the life and activity of her daughter. We in the old country do not feel as if we are in our decrepitude yet. The American Church is foremost among the religious bodies of what he might with truth call a religious land. In less than one hundred years sixty-two Sees have been created in this country without asking the permission of the Legislature. In the words or cardinal iNewman and .jonn Bright, "only be united among yourselves," said the Lord Bishop, "and you will he invincible." The House then met with the House of Bishops as a board of missions, and the remainder of the day was devoted to the hearing of missionary reports from the different dioceses. On Saturday the board of missions was in session. Interesting reports were made by lit. Rev. Bishop Elliot, of Western Texas, and Bishop Barrett, of Northern Texas. The lit. Rev. Bishop Pennick, of ('ape l'almas, gave an interesting account of the missionary work in Africa. Bishop Bedell presented the report of Bishop Sohoreschens, of Kentucky, missionary Bishop of Shanghai, after which the Benediction was pronounced by the Bishop of Rochester, and the Board*of Missions theii adjourned until 11 o'clock Monday morning. ()n Monday, Bishop Wilmer, of Alabama, addressed the Convention in relation to the i work among the colored people in the South. ; He spoke strongly against the idea of having separate congregations of colored peo) pie, and said he would sooner lose his right 1 ml thsin vntn tn nutnhlivli jmv simh dis i tinction in the house of God. The speaker I urged strongly upon the convention not to make any cast in the church, that God had made none. It would bo making a raini bow or variegated church should we attempt ] to introduce the color line. I le said that his ! earliest childhood had been spent among the colored people, and also a large part of his ministry. The changed condition of the colored people has given rise to peculiar difficulties. The present time is most propitious for the work of the church among the colored people. Political demagogues nave sought the elevation of the colored race only in order that they might be elevated themselves above the colored people. There is no indication of the Church having to deal with them in large masses. Only a few come to us, said the Bishop, and they are i destined to achieve ultimately the salvation ! of the race. A great deal has been said i about the religious condition of the negroes. It is the natural outcome of the religious system in which they are reared. The wild orgies of revivals have a deadly fascination for the colored race. The question is, What shall be done with this remnant of the colored people? Shall they be set apart by themselves? The Bishop said that he would rather his hand should be palsied than that he should give his consent to any legislation looking to the dividing of men in social life by lines of demarcation. (Cries of good ! good!) He said: "There is neither Greek nor Jew, bond nor free." The Church is stopped at its threshold front pursuing such a course by its catholicity. She has a Di vine constitution, it nas noon urged mat | the hlack man lias not intelligence to legis- j lutein the Church of Cod. Admitting such ' to he the case, would it he wise to throw I him off by himself? After recess, the Ht. liev. Dr. Lyman, llishop of North Carolina, spoke relative to the work among the colored people of the South. Ilo saut tnataitne meeungoi jjishops at Sewanee, with regard to dealing with J the colored race, it was unanimously agreed : thatthereshould bo no separate organization. \ Wo should strive to extend the influence of I : the Church among them. In his diocese he | | believed more had been done than in any | other diocese. In 1S6S the St. Augustine i Normal School was inaugurated at Raleigh j for the elevation of the colored race. The primary aim of this school was to educate young men and make them teachers. The number of students in 188:1 was and the ' alumni to the present date number l:'U. The a service of the Church has been regularly performed since the organization of the school, and there are catechistical exercises daily. There is an endowment of over $ "?<),000 well invested anil secured. It has been deemed advisable to establish a theological department as a branch of the institution. Bishop Lyman did not believe that only a few colored persons, here and there, were coming into the Kpiscopal Church, and cited the case of a request from an entire congregation to be admitted. He was anxious to appoint a colored man as an evangelist. Those already ordained were doing a noble work. A man in charge of a penitentiary in a Southern city told the Bishop that he had in his prison several colored ministers, but could not tinrl that any of the number were members of the Kpiscopal Church. On Tuesday, the I lev. Dr. A. A. Watson, of North Carolina, from the committee on canons, reported favorably relative to chanjrinirtbf. n:nm> of the Diocese of Illinois to that of Chicago. The report was adopted. The Rev. Dr. A. Toonier I'orter, of South Carolina, presented the report of the Conference on the relation of the Church to the colored people of the South, held atSewanee, Tennessee, July 25 to 28. It contained the draft of a canon to be presented to the Convention, providing that any diocese containing a large number of persons of color it shall be lawful for the Bishop and Convention of the same, to constitute such population into a special missionary organization, under the charge of the Bishop. Referred to the committee on canons. In the House of Deputies, after a long and warm discussion, aproposed amendment by S. Corning Judd, of Illinois, to strike from the title page of the prayer book the words "Protestant Episcopal," and insert in lieu thereof, the words "Holy Catholic," was deI... ? ,.^+0. OI ,T,.r,o anil OWnnva HJtlLtJVt vy it vutc: \fi ?1 V UtlO (UIU imj .7? On Wednesday the committee on amendments to the Constitution to whom was referred the matter of striking out the words "Protestant Episcopal," reported that in their opinion the change would be inexpedient. The report was placed on the calendar. The committee to whom was referred the matter of changing the words "General Convention" to "Triennial Council," reported that they deemed it inexpedient. The report was adopted. The committee on the Prayer Book reported that in their opinion it was inadvisable to introduce the proposed canon on marriage and divorce. The committee's request to be discharged was granted. The consideration of changes in the Prayer-Book was resumed in committee of the whole. That portion of Section "C," which adds to the Calendar a feast to be called the "Feast of Transfiguration," wasadopted, but no date of the celebration was fixed. A FOREST FIRE IN THE FAR WEST. Through Idaho and down the mighty Columbia, is a journey worth a pilgrimage around the world. We have seen its wonders, but ran a gauntlet of fire at its portal, where, in an hour, nature's labor of a hundred years was being swallowed up in smoke and roaring flames. All day yesterday the air was blue with smoke. The mountains looked dim or drew their jagged peaks clear out of sight. For a day or two it had been hazy toward the west, and we had heard stnrips of the forest fires. Yesterdav. how ever, the smoke grew thicker, unci rolled upon the westerly winds in dense clouds. Lust night we had a glimpse of the Inferno. We had left Montanoto cross Idaho, when about 0 o'clock the train came to a stop without a moment's warning, in the midst of a wilderness. We hastened to the platform and looked forward. There was spread out a panorama such as seldom greets the eye of man. The forest was one mass of seething flame. The engine panted a time or two, and then, gathering courage, crept nearer. A few hundred yards and it again came to a standstill. It was impossible to pass. The heat made the paint 011 the cars crack. The glass of the windows grew feverish under the heated breath from the tire. There was, amid all the glare,a roar of an approaching tornado, crackling and popping like a giant's whip. This was accompanied by a hissing like the sound of frying salt, as the green foliage of the living pines was consumed with a white flash. The roaring and crackling and snapping, terrible as it was, only set off the grand accompaniment of falling trees. Hvery live seconds, a giant, with the strength of a score of centuries, measured his :!()ii feet across the tiery bed to which it had been felled. He stood still, seared to the core, and his hoary top was crowned with Tire. As he yielded, the mountains rolled hack the booming of cannon from one height to the other. We hold our breath and gaze at the sky, overcast with 1 1 1- 1 I- 1 i.1 Si-K icaueu smoke, uiueu ihtu aim mere wiui ii rosy liuo. The crashing of the falling giants is still for a moment. The lire breaks through the gloom of the forest in a new place. The tiarnes go racing like demons up tall trees and quiver in their tops like ruddy lanterns for a moment. The foliage melts away with the first hot breath, and then the crashing and booming goes on again. For a moment the rush and crackle is drowned, and the very crags of the mountain side seem-to he roiling upon us from their seats above our heads. We ask the conductor when we can go on. lie says two hours. Long piles of wood stored all about the track have caught fire, and scores of Chinamen, with long poles in their hands, are hurrying up from the nearest station to save the track from ruin. Two hours pass, and still the infernal pandemonium of hissing, roaring, cracking, booming, crashing devastation goes on. The conductor and engineer are afraid to go on. They fear the heat will fire our train. Should it yield to the lirst spark it would melt away like tinder in a furnace. For over four hours we watched the scourge, till it drew away from us and let us go.?Portland (Oretjon) Letter. Out We1.1.-Woux Eaktii.?1That the falling drop will wear away the stone, is a saying which few adult persons have not been able to verify by observation ; but it is not so genera 1 ly u mlerstoi >d t hat fa 11 i ng d rops of rain will wear away a mountain or wash away a continent. Jiain, frpst and ice have ground down the summits or the loftiest mountains; and there are few high peaks now in existence which have not been much higher, and which are not being steadily leveled by atmospheric agencies. In colder climates solid glacier rivers are also found, which moving imperceptibly but with irresistible force, hollow out valleys and grind down superincumbent rocks. The sea also devours land rapidly. Furthermore, innumerable rivers, streams and springs are perpetually loosening the soil, rasping down the rocks with sand, and bearing off billions of tons of solid matter to the sea bottom, where the whole mass is squeezed by the terrific hydraulic pressure into stone, marble, or solid strata of some kind. The Mississippi alone carries annually to the sea .S12,50l),<)i)i),IMJ() pounds of mud.' All At-- 1 1 .,U1 Uhn !.. hnl.OH ,,00 IIIO JlilUUillJiC lilllU Wl UlU^lUUU living v.wntinally ground and washed away?planed down to the ocean level; while the sea bottom is being as rapidly filled up. The deposit of foraminiferal shells alone?not including other remains?is sufficient, as 1 luxley has calculated, to create a bed of limestone in the bottom of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans800 feet thick, supposing these oceans to have existed for only 100,000 years. Were it not for internal forces the time would come when all existing land would be leveled with the ocean, and thereafter planed down still further by the action of the waters, so that the entire globe would be one shoreless ocean. The coral islands would form no exception; for the coralbuilders cannot live above water, nor could their islands ever have reached the surface but for subterranean upheavals. Thus the tendency of the world's crust is to become uniformly smooth and level, and to surround itself with an envelope of water. Hut within the earth enormous forces are constantly at work to counteract this ten- i dency?forces which manifest themselves in volcanic action, in seismic action and in other and even more mysterious actions.? Xi'ir Orleans Times-Demorrnf. |tt0(|rajrltiral fqiiulmcnt. g HENRY WARD BKECIIEU, Kc OP PLYMOUTH UHCKCII, BROOKLYN, N. Y. "P No man in the United States has been written about more than Henry Ward (ju Reecher, but the main facts of his life are ev, told in a few words. He is a native of po Litchfield, Connecticut, where he was born A on the 24th of June, 1818. His father was an thn <tiirrlv Hr?v Dr. I.vmnn Hpwhftr. who aH *7 ?7 7 \V1 rose from the anvil to be the leader of or- sjv thodoxy in New England. The future pas- Mk tor of Plymouth Church was graduated at lar Amherst in 1831. Me studied theology at < Lane Seminary, and in 1837 became pastor on of a church at Lawrenceburg. In 1839 he ^ accepted a call to Indianapolis, where he remained eight years, after which Ply- tor mouth Church, Brooklyn, became the scene wi of his distinguished eiforts as a preacher. h*.1 Before the war Mr. Beecher was long dis- ^ tinguished among the opponents of slavery. ^h< 1 luring its progress he visited Great Britain p0 as a representative of the Union cause, fee where his eloquence assisted the efforts of col the journalists, religious teachers and other Im persons who took the same view of the ^ struggle as he did. Jealousy of the rapid 0*r prosperity of this country, the dislike of thi British manufacturers to our protective on system, their business relations with the to planters of the South,, the interests of the aristocracy, who foresaw mischief to their sl;(, privileges in the success of popular govern- thi ment, and, on the part of many who were di< disposed to side with the Union, their non- of apprehension or the reason wmcn uemyea the abolition of slavery, may be mentioned as among the causes which led to an un- C0J friendly attitude of Great Britain towards fui the Northern cause at the time of the war, foi when, oil the other hand, the non-conformist and radical section of its people favored it. Mr. Beecher met with opposition in his mission, and with great kindness as well. 0n His oratorical gifts were at their best, and do he returned after a campaign which did no great credit to his abilities and proved of ru much value to the cause he promoted. As a qJ preacher and lecturer the subject of this frc sketch takes the highest rank, and as a bri writer enjoys distinction. His versatility co is wonderful, his liberality of thought and an sentiments not less extraordinary. His ^!il trc personal appearance and the peculiar fasci- mj nation of his address, whether in private jp or public, are so well known that nothing mi need to be said of them here. it ief IMPRISONMENT FOR LIFE. The miserable men who were lately con- to denined to penal servitude for life in Liver- of pool, and those sentenced for a similar offence some time since in London, constitute together the most serious addition to the ^ vnnks of mi r convicts for inanv vears. Thev 11 have already parsed out of public attention, ?a and for twenty years at least nothing will ^ll b(! heard of them, except in the case of death, when possibly a brief notice of the j\e fact may find its way into the papers. A sentence of penal servitude for life is un- ?a doubtedlya very dreadful one for any one to ot undergo. It falls, however, nodoubt, with very different effect on individuals of different temperament. One of the prisoners na who went to their doom a few weeks back CP passed from the dock with an invitation to na liis sister to meet him in heaven; another ?r' of them went seemingly strong in the assuranee that something would yet turn up 001 for his benefit. A dash of the Mi caw her m< | temperament in a man's composition must I be peculiarly valuable to one under sen- 1S) tence of penal servitude for the term of his as natural life, though as a rule, with terribly ev few exceptions, there can be 110 reasonable a _ ground for the indulgence of any hope when ('r once the sentence has been passed. Noth- SP] ing in this world is much more certain than so that a criminal upon whom an English Judge has pronounced sentence of penal servitude win undergo mai sentence m an --its rigor?subject, of course, to such curtail- ]**? nient us the law permits. On this point of '''? j curtailment there is a very common misap| prehension. Most persons are aware that thl I a criminal sentenced to seven, ten, ur twen- !*n ty years' penal servitude, will under certain conditions?'\*ery generally, though of course erroneously, believed to consist largely in ^ "coming the pious dodge" with the chai>- tl1' lain?he liberated before the expiration of r^' his sentence on a "ticket of leave," as the set popular expression is, though "under license" is the term adopted in the Act of . rI'arliament. It is generally supposed, how- in ever, that a sentence for lie permits of no tin such relaxation of rigor, and that a prison- en er who is thus doomed will never know of liberty again. This is scarcely correct, how- |nI ever. A convict under sentence for life hi< j will certaily remain a prisoner for twenty ex years; but if during those twenty years he nu j has been well conducted, and has steadily pei i performed his daily round of work, he may at; then be allowed to go at large on license. on< If the record against him should be found Ar on examination to be unsatisfactory, he to will of course be subject to further deten- of j tion, but bis case will certainly come up for bei consideration at the end of twenty years, sal and he will have his chance for license the i ?a same asanv other prisoner.?Land on Daily I oui Xnrs. " I lisl | tra Skktcii ok Limi t, Gaulingtox.?1The 9er | following sketch of Licuteinint Garlington inf j who has been entirely exonerated from any wli blame whatever in the recent failure of the "()(] Greely Relief Expedition, will be of inter- ma est to our readers, it is taken from the ma : Atlanta Constitution : hoi | Lieut. Earnest A. Garlington is a native lea I of South Carolina and a son of Gen. A. C. dei Garlington, who lived in Atlanta several del years ago. Young Garlington went to the cot State university and graduated in the class fro of 1872. He was noted for his studious habits and his dignity of deportment. In 8 1878 he received an appointment to West pie Point. ' coi Jlis course at the academy was one of lau honorable distinction. He assumed a high Th place at once and on graduation was as- she | signed to the Seventh Calvary. He came sha to Atlanta in the summer of '70 to spend the [ his vacation before going to his regiment, shi While here the terrible slaughter of the the Little Rig Horn occurred. do The death of Custer and officers with him mo made so many vacancies in the regiment gi\ that Garlington w.asa tirst-lieutenant before ne> ho saw; his regiment. Soon after joining he get became its adjutant. For a young officer str< he had always stood remarkably high, ac- in cielent and merit combining to secure an ca: exceptionally fast promotion. The honor ing of leading the Greely expedition was con- pol red on him without any of the political iuence which has of late years played ;h an important part in the army. It us a recognition of his military firmness d business capacity. He is about thirty irs old, below the average stature, with ry light hair and mustache. lie is not irried. His face is expressive of quick rception anil great firmness of purpose, is indicating two of the leading characisticsof one the most prominent young icers in the United States army. THE BLUE-GRASS COUNTRY. rhe blue-grass country is reached by versing Central Virginia and Kentucky >ng the lineof the picturesque Chesapeake Oliio Railway, unless, indeed, one pres the swift and solid Pennsylvania route Cincinnati, and drops down to it from i north. On this particular journey, at v rate, it was readied past the battleids and springs of Virginia, and up and vvn the slopes of the Blue Ridge and rges of the Greenbrier and Kanawha, in I wilder Alleghanies. It is found to be ittle cluster of peculiarly favored couns in the center of the State. Marked out the map, it is like the kernel, of which nitucky is the nut; or like one of those ockets" of precious metals happened upon miners in their researches. The soil is ich fertility, the surface charmingly unlating. Poverty seems abolished. On ery hand are evidences of thrift corresnding with the genial bounty of nature, leading crop in times past has been hemp, d land that will grow hemp will grow ything. This is being more and more thdrawn in favor of stockraising exclurely, but the tall stacks of hemp, in shape :e Zulu wigwams, still plentifully dot the idscape. / )ne drops into horse talk immediately alighting from the train at Lexington, d does not emerge from it again till he ces his departure. It is the one subject vays in order. Each successive proprie', as he tucks you into his wagon, if you II go with him?and if you will go with ti there is 110 limit to the courtesy he 11 show you?declares that now, after ying seen animals more or less well in sir way, he proposes to show you a horse, irtunateiy there are many kinds of portion. He may have the best horse or t of a certain age, the one which lias ide the best single heat, or fourth heat, quarter of a mile, or average at all disinnf* rvw 4 Krv Km-f o4itl1w\n AK luca, ui inc UCTI ui uiuvAi-umi*:, the one which has done some of these ingsat private if not public trials. Each ehas, at any rate, the colt which is going be the great horse of the world. This is amiable vanity easily pardoned, and e enthusiasm is rather catching. A man's >ck is greatly his credit and standing in is section while he lives, and when lie ?s is printed prominently among the list his virtues.? If. II. Jiis/iop, in Harper's tf/azine. .Massachusetts Hum.?The Washington [ respondent of the Philadelphia Jlecord rnisnes the public with the following in lnation of rum and rum distilleries: Do you know that all the domestic rum is ide in Massachusetts? It is; there are ^*en rum distilleries in the country and ey are all in Massachusetts. There was e in Xew Hampshire, but it has closed its ors. One of the seven distilleries is not w in operation, but the other six are nning full tilt, pouring out seven tliouid gallons a day?two millions a year. ' course, you know that rum is distilled >m molasses, as whisky from grain and andy from fruit. In each case the outme is simply a combination of alcohol d water. The differences in taste are used bysurviving particlesof the material >ni which the alcohol is distilled; the Masses leaves a flavor which gives the |Uor rue name 01 rum, me gram navor tikes it whisky and the fruit flavor makes brandy. When they leave the distiller< there' is little difference in their intoxiting powers, but by the time they reach p consumer they have been so changed as be almost transformed. The greater part the spirit shipped abroad, though is pure len it starts. Adulterating materials are cheap there as here. About one-third of e rum produced in Massachusetts is sent road. Boston sends about half a million Hons every year; New York about (J0,00o lions. Last year Philadelphia sent 2,117 lions. Most of it goes to Africa, but Tury, England and Scotland get some of it. the rum exported from Boston, 482,381 lions went last year to the Cape coast Africa; 55,000 gallons went to Elemina, frica; 48,000 gallons to Addah, Africa, ,ooo gallons to Sierra Leone, and 2,ooo lions to Liberia. These experimental /ilizations must have taken it for medici1 purposes. Speaking of rum, there is a eat falling off in the production of wliisr. Of the 1,200 registered stills in the imtry only 400 were actually at work last anth. They were turning out only 108,000 lions a day, instead of 205,000 gallons in 52, and 800,000 gallons in 1881. Inasmuch o/m 11 rtun n*?a 1*ai\ aii+ kaiui gitUUUB U.1U urnvju wuu wi uwi.v* ery day for consumption at home or road, it will be seen that theconsumers are inking' up 40,000 gallons every day of the irits stored in bond, of which we heard much last winter. Illinois produces most the whisky now coming from the distilies?140,(MM) gallons a day; Ohio comes xt with 48,000 gallons; Indiana next with 000 gallons, and Kentucky next with but ooo gallons. Kentucky is suffering from er-preduction. We are exporting someing like 7,000,000 gallons a year. Two d a half millions goto Marseilles, France; 00,000 to Barcelona and Gibralter, Spain; 00.000 to Italy; and 1,000,000 to South nerica, and 250,000. to Turkey. Africa ces none?no alcohol, no high wines, no ?, no corn; nothing but good old Masshats molasses juice. Phk Steel Pen Trade.?The steel pen the many types in which it is manufac ed?and there are more than 1,000 differt numbers?is a signal instance of triumph mechanical skill in combining and vary* * the qualities of the implement, involv^ extreme niceties of distinctions to an tent that few other industrial arts demd. Our entire annual trade' in steel us, domestic and imported, may be placed 81,500,000, and is a steadily progressive e. The larger proportion of those soid are nericanpens. It is a matter of difficulty ascertain the relative amounts disposed in different sections of the country, pens ng mainly distributed by large wholee houses who make shipments from the st. The chief retailers of pens throught the country are in the stationery, publiing, notions, dry goods and hardware des. Our own manufacturers are retilt as to their annual production, but tak; the ascertained output of Birmingham, lich supplies between 15,000,000 and 10,i,000 pens per week, with that of the few inufactories in France, the one in Gerny and the one in Austria, there being ie in the other European States, and the ding American establisments, in Meri1, Conn., Camden, X. J., and in Philaphia, the weekly production for this intrv and Europe cannot be less than m 22,000,000 to 20,000,000 pens. iuxsmxK am) Sleep.?Sleepless peo?and they are many in America?should irt the sun. The very worst soporific is danum, and the very best sunshine, erefore it is very plain that poor sleepers >uld pass as many hours as possible in the ide. Many women are martyrs, and yet \y do not know it. They shut the sunne out of their houses and their hearts, ty wear veils, they carry parasols, they all possible to keep off the subtlest, yet ist potent influence which is intended to -e them strength, beauty and cheerful>s. Is it not time to change this, and so ; color and roses in thair pale cheeks, engtli in their weak backs, and courage their timid souls? The women of Amerare pale and delicate ; they may be bloomrand strong; and the sunlight will be a :ent influence in this transformation.