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' ' ^ ^ j(fA i v )\ } t J . ? lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j %\\ |nbcpcitijcnf JfamHg Iftfosjapir: Jfor % ^promotion of % |oIiticaI, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % ??out{). j TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. vnT, ao. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 24, 1884. NO. 17. Jtlcctcd ftfetrg. TO-DAY. Don't tell me of to-morrow ; Give me the boy who'll say, That, when a goocl deed's to*be done, "Let's do the deed to-day." We may all command the present, If we act and never wait; But repentance is the phantom Of a past that comes too late. Don't tell me of to-morrow; There is much to do to-day That can never be accomplished If we throw the hours away. Every moment has its duty; * Who the future can foretell ? Then why put off till to-morrow What to-aay can do as well ? Don't tell me of to-morrow; iimam Virv rvnof XI WO iUUW. bUC b/oov, How much we have left to do We cannot do at last. . To-day! it is the only time For all on this frail earth; It takes an age to form a life, A moment gives it birth. |n Original jforg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. AFTER EIGHTEEN YEARS. CHAPTER IX. The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary. But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory; The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are serest, But our flower was in flushing WkAn ivoa noarotit. TT UUl " WW It was over at lastr?the great struggle, in which so much gallant blood had been shed, so many hopes wrecked, so many brave lives offered up in willing sacrifice. It was over; and the news of our final defeat fell crushingly on hearts which to the very last clung to hope as a drowning man clings to a straw. The war was at an end, but gloom and desolation hung their dark pall over the once fair and smiling South, and for many of the inhabitants of this stricken land the worst troubles were yet to begin. Bereft of means, deprived of the aid of husbands, fathers, sons who had been taken from them, the delicate and frail ones who had been nurtured in luxury became children of hardship and toil, and in households where comfort and plenty had formerly abounded, want enthroned its ugly form, and pointed threateningly to a still darker future. Fortunate indeed were those who still retained homes which they .could call their own, changed in circumstances and surroundings though they might be. Lily had at first strenuously objected to leaving the fair farm and going with Marion to South Carolina; but the latter had finally persuaded her that it was the wisest course she could pursue. Whenever Carroll should come home?and she held this event continually up before the eyes of the poor young wife, speaking of it with cheerful assurance, as 11 ine nope were Dounu to ue a reaiuy? he could as easily find her at Warner Grrove as in Virginia; and there was no doubt they would receive news of hi in as soon as he was released. So they journeyed South together, not without many delays* and much danger; and right glad was Jessie to welcome Marion home. Through the remainder of the winter, while the final scenes of the war were being enaeted, and all was still confusion and uncertainty, Lily seemed somewhat clieered and convinced by Marion's hopefulness, real or assumed; but when the end came, and prisoners were exchanged, and absentees were everywhere returning* and still no tidings of Carroll were received, she gave up hope, and returned to her first despairing conviction that she would never see him again. "You know, dear, that he was given up for lost once before," Marion reminded her, "and it was many months after he was wounded that we found out he was still alive. Things are still unsettled at the North as well as here. We cannot tell what obstacles may be in the way of his return." "But he could write now; we would surely hear something," Lily rejoined mournfully. "No, no, Marion, I feel that he is last; and baby will never know his father?never remember him. My poor little baby !" and she would clasp the child to her bosom and break into frantic sobs, only to be soothed by INtaricn petting and fondling her into quietness, like a child. She was a curious mixture of child and woman?so helpful, so brave, so full of energy and endurance, yet in some ways so dependent and so weak. It was impossible to help loving her; she was so conscious of her own ignorance, so humble in her estimate of herself, so teachable and so affectionate, that it would have been strange if her protectors had failed to receive her into their hearts as well as under the roof. it?nn ?iml 1 ?n*? fV?A r?lr1 %irA!inrl jll >yno wen i\jl mat xvii mat me uiu uuuuu in her heart was sufficiently healed for her to be able to listen with equanimity to Lily's constant allusions to Carroll, and to converse calmly with her about her courtship, her marriage, the time they had spent together; a theme of which the girl-wife never wearied. Indeed it seemed her only comfort to recall these events, and if sometimes her reminiscences would touch a spot so tender in her listener's heart that the latter would be tempted to rush off into solitude to escape from them, yet her unselfishness and her desire to comfort Lily would always enable her to crush down the pain she felt and forbear from making any sign. But the old love was there?would be there always, even to her dying day. She knew that, and she did not desire that it should be otherwise. It could not hurt any one but herself; and it was so chastened and sanctified by years of patient self-discipline that it had almost ceased to be a pain. She could look back with calmness on the mistake which had blighted her life ; she coulcl accept without one rebellious thought the knowledge that her lot was to be forever solitary and made up of care for others; she could take into her heart the woman who filled the place which should have been hers, without one jealous pang. Surely a love which bore fruit like this could be no wrong. It was a part of her life, and she could not have cast it out even if she would. In trying to persuade Lily that there was still hope of Carroll's return, she had in a measure persuaded herself of it also; but by degrees the hope faded away. If he were living, he must surely either write or return ; it was not possible that he could be all this while languishing in a Northern prison. And when little Lily, seeking the oft-repeated assurance, would fix her pleading eyes upon her, her gaze began at last to droop and turn away. She could not assert a belief which she no longer felt. She saw now that it was best for them both to face the truth. But it frightened her to see the effect upon Lily of the withdrawal of her long cherished hope. She became listless and indifferent to everything, even to the caressess of her child, who, finding her no longer ready to amuse him, gradually transferred his preference, with the fickelness of baby-hood, to Marion. The color left her soft cheeks, and her eyes grew deeper and larger as her features lost their rounded contour; she pined and pined until Marion seriously feared for her health. She ceased even to talk of Carroll, but would sit for hours with folded hands, and a far-way look on her face, dreaming no doubt of the happy hours of the past. In her eyes, even more than in Marion's, her husband had been a hero, the very type of perfect manhood. Coming to her, as ne had done, like a new revelation, in the seclusion and ignorance of herold life, he had placed her, through theinfluence of his superiority, on a higher plane. She owed it to nim that she was no longer what she must have continued to be without him, what her own people had always been; and a sort of reverence, impossible to de scribe, had mingled with her love. And when she had witnessed his kindly, chivalrous courtesy to her grand-mother, the simple homely woman whose breeding and education were so far beneath his own, but whose care of him in his illness he had never seemed able to repay, she had felt the true nobility of his nature, that could recognize worth in its plainest garb. When the good old woman died, shortly after their marriage, Carroll had striven most tenderly to comfort her. In every moment, bright or sorrowful, of their brief wedded life, he had seemed to share and sympathize with her feelings and make them his own. No wonder she felt that the highest blessing and happiness which earth could afford had been vouchsafed her for a time, only to leave her, on its withdrawal, utterly desolate and forlorn. When Marion remonstrated with her, as she sometimes felt it her duty to do, for yielding so utterly to her grief, and pointed out to her that her fate was no harder than * 1 - " --Lt ? U- rv mat 01 many uuiers wnu imu wucicu a similar loss, she would answer mournfully? "No one can suffer like me, for no one else can have lost what I have. Carroll was different from everybody in the whole world." And so it will be as long as the world endures?every heart makes its own sorrow, and finds its own burden the heaviest to bear. Poor Lily was not different from her kind; only she lacked the strength to endure which heaven sends some of the bereaved ones of earth. She was a delicate vine torn from its support, that trails its tendrils in the dust. Our old friend John Ellery had recovered from his wound, and came early in the Summer to satisfy himself in regard to the welfare of the family at the Grove. His admiration for Marion was as strong as ever, but her manner to him on a former occasion had, as she intended it should, so effectually put an end to his hope of ever winning her affection, that he had wisely put asiae all tender sentiments towards her than those of sincere regard and esteem. It was a comfort to her to Know that it was so, as she felt a sincere pleasure in his society, and looked upon him as a true friend ; and she was glad to perceive, or at least to fancy, as she now began to do, that there was a mutual attraction between him and Jessie, who had softened down into very sweet and lovable womanhood. He had taken board for a few weeks in the neighborhood, and they saw him frequently; and more than once, when Lily was not by, Carroll's possible fate was discussed between them. Strangely enough, Jack had never given up hope, and did not hesitate to assert his conviction that his old comrade would some day "turn up" again, safe and sound. He came in one day flushed and eager, and asked for Marion. As she entered the room she saw by his face that he had some good news to tell. "Hush!" was his first word, as he laid a warning finger on his lips. "Is the little woman out of the way?" "Yes," replied Marion, understanding him to refer to Lily. "She is upstairs with Jessie, who has coaxed her into undertaking a bit of work. Anvthint* hotter for her than continual O ?" idle brooding over her troubles." "Well, do you know, Miss Marion, I believe those sore troubles of hers are very nearly at an end. Don't look so incredulous-^and don't be too much startled if I tell you that I have actually had news of Carroll at last." No one could see the great heart-throb that his words awoke in Marion's bosom, but she could not repress the tremor in her voice as she rejoined? "Is this really true ?" Have you authentic news ?" "Quite authentic, I honestly think. I have a letter from an old member of our company, stating that Carroll was never in prison at all. He was taken with the rest, sure enough, but on the way to Fortress Monroe managed somehow to give his captors the slip ; and it was afterwards learned that he had made his way on board of a foreign vessel lying outside, and so got out of the country. Now what do you say to that?" "If it be true," answered Marion, "is it not strange that we should have heard nothing from him since the close of the war ?" "There comes t he part of the matter which needs explanation. My letter goes on to state that the vessel, which was a German one, was supposed to have been wrecked?" "Oh, Mr. Ellery!" interrupted Marion bitterly, "it is poor consolation to think that he should have escaped one danger only to encounter another!" "Stay?there were, it is true, a few lives lost, but the majority of crew and passengers were saved by a British merchantman and taken to Liverpool." "And what became of them afterwards?" "The French crew, I suppose, returned to France ; the passengers went their several ways?and Carroll?Oh, it's no use, Miss Ifomnn T non^f onin Ailt fha cfrtr\T OT1V Inn. luaiiv/llj JL VCiil V opill V/MW VUV UVV4 J MI1J ger ; I was afraid of telling you the truth too suddenly, but the long and short of the matter is that my letter is from Carroll himself, and he is alive and well, and on his way home, and you had better set about preparing that poor little woman to meet him, so that the joy may not kill by coming too suddenly upon her ! Jack's joy made him almost incoherent, and Marion still scarcely knew whether or not to place full credence in his tale, until he showed her the letter and made her read it every word. Carroll's letter was dated from Havana, where he had a long fever contracted on his homeward voyage; he had written once to his wife from Liverpool, just before sailing, but feared the letter had been lost, and wrote to his old friend, thinking it best he should, prepare them for his arrival at home. He was now quite well again, and hoped to land in Charleston in a few days. 41 And I shall go down there to meet him," said Jack, "and bring him here straightway. You always thought me absolutely hopeful, Mi&s Marion, but you see my predictions have turned out correct." Marion wondered at her own calmness, as she went in to seek an interview with Lily, in order to break to her as gently as possible, the wonderful news. But it seemed as if the tight strain which her nerves had so long endured had rendered them alAf Kninn> 11 n fr\ on,* iiiwoi imapftuiv: v/i up w uuj great excitement now. She uttered, as she went, one fervent ejaculation of gratitude to God; and then, with a shining face, came like an angel messenger to Lily with her tidings of great joy. [to be continued.j A Blind Man's "Free Music."?I often put my ear against the trunk of a sapling for the pleasure of listening to a music that is beyond description beautiful; and last summer, when I was in the country, I learned to tell an oak from a maple, a pine from a hickory, and so on, by the music of each, for each has its own peculiar melody and pulsation. I could almost write a book on the subject now ; but I mean to take another summer to it if I should live so long. The white pine has a low, soft swelling, continuous pulse, which, though monotonous, of course, when listened to for more than a few moments, possesses a cadence and rhythm such as a practiced elocutionist rritmc! Tho nol- nri t.hp nt.hpr hand. has an abrupt, peculiar, explosive note, of very short pulsation, while the maple gives a smooth, slow, sonorous movement, the wave of which is as long as that of the pine, but has less swell, and is less distinctly separated from its predecessor and successor. Oh! I could lecture an houron the music of trees, and never tell you half of the beautiful things they have revealed to me.?New York Sun. * " A gentleman who has just returned from Washington Territory was asked how he liked the country. "Well, sir, every bunch of willows is a mighty forest, every frog pond a sylvan lake, every waterfall a second Minneapolis, every ridge of rocks a gold mine, every town a county seat, and every man a liar." Scraps of pocat gftstorn. REMINISCEN CES OF YORK. BY Dp. MAURICE A. MOORE. From the Yorkville Enquirer, 1870. By accident my mind has been caused to revert to some incidents and anecdotes, I had well nigh forgotten, which may be of a moment's amusement to my readers. Some days since, a man with his wife and two children, stopped, in passing my door, wanting employment. I did not need their services; but in an old man's fashion I asked their names, where they were from, etc. The woman told me that she- had been raised in York county, and I knew who she was when she said, in answer to my inquiry, J 1 ~ ^ ? " -? ? ? ,-\f A Krom XI1HL sue was tt gittuuuaugmti Moss. He was an old man, as I remembered very well, and one highly esteemed for his goodness of heart and honest intentions. The Moss family were among the few in York who espoused the cause of the Kingin the Revolutionary struggle. Thev all enlisted in his service. Abram served two years with the Royalists, but his convictions changing, he became a Whig and was a good fighter in our cause. When heapplied for a pension for his services in the patriot army, he caused it to be inserted in his declaration that he first fought against the United States, but became convinced of his error and afterwards joined the American army. Congress granted him a pension in consideration of his two years' service. At the time of the battle of King's Mountain, Abram Moss had joined the Partisans, but his brothers, seven in number, were on the other side, all in Ferguson's command. A curious fatality marked them on that day. They were all men of large stature, each being over six feet in height. After the battle they were all found lying behind the same tree, dead. T? ** nlr/vf/jh ad V*ntrA T /"l tirnl 1 orl XII IlUIlt! U1 Illy OIVCIVIICD nutu j. unvuvu upon the two important engagements of the Revolution fought on the soil of York. They are matters of history and come not within the scope of my theme. The events, too, of Houck's deafeat and King's Mountain, have been canvassed and re-written until all within the circle of my readers are familiar with the general details of each engagement. However, there is one fact not generally known?one which I had only learned in late years myself?which had an important bearing on the battler of King's Mountain. I will relate it here. I have wondered, in thinking of it, and have heard others express surprise that Tarleton did not come to Ferguson's assistance. Ferguson did apply to Lord Cornwallis, then at Charlotte, for aid and sent an express to him at that point, asking it. This express was ridden by Abe Collins, the celebrated counterfeiter, and fortunately an old Mr. Caldwell, living in the forks of the Catawba, took Collins prisoner and kept him three days. Thus the dispatches were delayed and Cornwallis did not receive them in time to send Tarleton to Ferguson's aid. After Ferguson's disaster at King's Mountain, Lord Cornwallis immediately began to retreat from Charlotte to Winnsboro. Between Old Nation Ford and the present town of Chester he called a halt at the hnnsft of an Irishman named Johnnie Ser vice, and surprising him, took him prisoner. This man, to use vernacular, was a "queer specimen," in many things seemi ngly halfwitted, and wasso regarded by his neighbors. Yet with all his apparent lack of sense he possessed drollery and cunning, and had a talent for repartee that was surprising to those who knew him. By Cornwallis' orders, he was brought before that officer for examination, and as he came forward, he looked upon the men and their uniforms in apparent delight, exclaiming, as if in simple wonder? "Och, but yees a braw company wi' ye !" "What is your name?" demanded the British commander. "Johnny Service, at yer service; and what are ye named?" was the reply. "Cornwallis," the military interlocutor condescended to answer. "Ony thing related to Tommy Wallace on up wit; iuuu ; The aids began to smile, and one, -to relieve his lordship, asked? "Have you anything to drin k ?"?of course meaning spirits. "Oh, yis, yer honor. Bin, Margy," (addressing his wife) "and bring some butter milk frae the spring." The officers, in default of better cheer, did not disdain the refreshment offered, and Margy soon brought up from the springhouse a pailful of the cool, white draught, and Johnny himself dispensed with cheerful alacrity and liberal measure tinful after tinful, one by one, to his unwelcome guests. For having but one cup to serve with, each took his turn, all drinking quite' greedily. As Johnny neared the bottom of the vessel, he called out? "Margy, Margy, what is this here?" "Nothing but a mote, Johnny." "A mote! Ilout awa, Margy, did yer ever see a mote sittin on its hunkers, blinkin wi itstwa ees in yer face ?" and seizinga frog, he twirled it out of the butter milk to the great disgust of the imbibers. "Could ye," he inquired, as Cornwallis and his staff rose to go, "could ye get a letther for me to my kin-folk in Ireland ?" "No," said Lord Cornwallis, shortly. "Ah !" said the undismayed Johnny, "now if ye were only my countryman, Lord Rawdon, sure he would not say me nae, but would send my letther across the say." "Let the man go," said his lordship ; "he's a fool." The desire to send letters to his kin-folk was quite the burden of Johnny Service's sori?, and led to tricks on his verdancy and native want of perception. Soon after his arrival in America, he was at Baird's store drinkiner with a number of others, who had collected for the same purpose, as was a common custom with them. An owl, in a wood near by, began her cry of "hoot, toot; hoot, toot, too." "What's that ?" asked the newly arrived Irishman. "The post horn," said a wag ; "it's the mail carrying letters on to Charleston." Johnny relinquished his cup and started off at full speed, calling to the supposed mail carrier to stop, as he had "a letther to send to his kin folk in the ould counthry." It is needless to say the wise bird was above such folly. Johnny Service is not alone among his countrymen in the good things gotten up at the expense of their credulity on first introduction to American manners. A trick of old John G , himself an Irishman, on his nephew, whom he had sent for and brought over to this country, I will here insert as a companion to the story of Johny S5or\7if?f> nnrl t.hr? nwl The nephew bore the same name of his uncle. A day or two after the young man's arrival, old John G took him out to walk in the woods, and made good the occasion to locture the new comer on his behavior in the strange country. "Now," said theunclo, "thereare fruits in this counthry ye av niver seen. They are real good to ate, but ye will nae .like them at first, but ye must learn to ate thim or folk will laugh at ye. There's wither milIons, very good to ate. They grow on a vine like a gourd. And apples?they are very nice. Ye'll get fond of them directly. They are round like balls and grow upon the limbs of trees, Ye must learn to ate all these things." "Look here Uncle," says young John G , are these apples ?" pointing to a persimmon tree he spied near by, filled with green fruit. "Yes, mon, jump up the tree and try one ; ve'll nae like them to begin, but soon ye'll be fond of them." Young John climbed up the tree, chose a large green persimmon, took a big bite and resolutely chewed it up. "Boy! boy!" called the uncle from b low, "what are ye whostling about?" "I'm nae whostling, uncle," quoth your John, "the apple has drawn my mouth i so." After the war, Gen. Lacy, John Adai (afterwards Governor Adair, of Ken tuck; and Johnny Service were elected to tl General Assembly. The name of the lath was put up as a joke, and the people electc him for fun. He was highly elated at th honor and wrote a letter to his kin-folk, tel ing them he was elected to the "House i Lairds." Poor Johnny was not allowed to serv though; for John Adair, when they wei to Columbia to take their seats, moved thi Service should not be allowed a seat, as 1 was noh compos mentis, and explained tl circumstances of his election. The motic was carried, and Service, to the day his death, never forgave Adair; and r wonder, for not being permitted to sit i the "House of Lairds." I will close this desultory number wit a ghost story of which the above Jol: Adair was the hero. Gen. Adair was returning home one nigh accompanied by his body servant, both c horseback. Th'efr way was by a grav yard. Egyptian darkness reigned, relieve now and then by flashes of lightning. Tl gloom of the night increased, and the ligh ning began to flash in quicker successior K?i+ the iionnral nraa orhirl r>f fhp frPflllPIlf UUC V11U MV/UV1U>* ITUU ^ X/* ~ 1 ? of the lightning, as a glimpse thus gaine of familliar objects by the wayside assure him that he was still on the right roai while withont the lurid light he could n see his hand before him. The rain ha somewhat abated, when above its still pa tering drops his ear caught the sounds mourning, accompanied by a harsh, gratir noise. He checked his horse to listen, and flash of lightning revealed the immedia vicinity of the grave-yard, from which 1 was convinced the mourningsound proceei ed. Full of curiosity and desiring to ui derstand what the sound could be2 he turi ed to his waiting-man and bade him to ? and see. But the darkey, wise in his gei eration, declined so awful an undertakin "You cowardly scamp!" said Adaii "hold my horse, and I will go myself." Dismounting, he proceeded to execute h design. The servant soon found a hitchir f>lace for the horses, not daring to stay aloi n hearing of the haunt, and at his master * A i'-i? A! U 1 neeis sougnt saiety, uiuugu uuuuucpa i would rather have trusted to his own if 1 could have run. Gen. Adair groped his way towards tl spot whence proceeded the sound, as well i he could, its increasing distinctnessguidir his approach. The sound was a jarrir noise, as of the sawing of a board, with ? occasional moaning accompaniment. J length the sound seemed under his feet, ai: he was convinced that it came up out of tl earth. He discovered that he wasstandir by a grave, at the head of which was a hoi and through this hole plainly came up tl mysterious sound. Not wishing, as he a terwards explained, to put his own arm i the muddy hole, he again ordered his se vant to investigate the mystery by inser ing his hand to feel for any object thi might be in it. The negro's superstitioi instinct was too strong for him to yie ready obedience, and Adair? impatient ; his servant's terror, thrust his arm at fu length into the hole. His hana came i contact with and grasped an object havir fur or hair. He quickly withdrew his aril and at the same moment a vivid flash lightning revealed to each other master ar man, in the hand of the former a grinnii o\possum! The animal was gnawing at the boards < the coffin and giving an occasional grow which produced the singular combinatic of sounds, the subterranean location addir to their dismal effect. A less resolute man than General Ada would have permitted the enigma to r main unsolved; and the circumstance woul have remained one of the most mysterio' kind, numbered among those we often hei of as defying explanation. Not one man in a hundred, I think, woul have possessed the nerve to fathom the my tery as did Gen. Adair; for many who woul fight to the last a veritable foe, woul have ridden auickly by the grave-yard ar "whistled to nave kept his courage up." [to be continued.] What Won a Soldier's Suit.?A sma but distinguished company of lawyers sat i the Supreme Court room," Boston, recentl; talking over old times. Among them w! Col. Charles S. Spencer, who told the follov innr of nrw "I was retained," he said, "by an e: soldier of the war to sue for the recovery i one thousand eight hundred dollars whit he had loaned to a friend. The late Edwi James was counsel for the defendant. Jam* cross-examined the plaintiff in his usu; forcible way. "You loaned him one thousand eigl hundred dollars?" Mr. James asked. "I did, sir." "It was your own money?" "It was, sir." "When did vou lend him the money?" "In July, 18*66." "Wheredid you get that money sir?" "I earned it, sir." "You earned it eh! When did you ear it?" "During the war, sir," he said, in a ver humble tone. "You earned it during the war? Pra what was your occupation during the war? Mr. James inquired. "Fighting, sir," the man replied mo< estly. "Oh, fighting!" Mr. James said, som< what taken down. "I smiled triumphantly. James was ha mad. Well, we went to the jury; and I, < course, had the last to say. I sailed awa up to glory. I spoke of the war, of th lives and treasure which it cost us, of th awful battles which decided the fate of th Union, of the self-denial and bravery of 01 men, who left home, and wife, and chi dren, and father, and mother and even thing that was dear to them, and went fort to fight for their firesides and freedom an the salvation of the nation. I pointed to th plaintiff as the sort of man who had faugh our battles and saved the flag. I worke the jury up and got a verdict for the fu amount. As we were quitting the coui room, James said? "Spencer, your war speech gained yo the verdict. If you hadn't discovere through my cross-examination that the ma had fought in the war, you would hav been beaten. "My friend," I replied, "If you had onl asked the man whicli side he fought 01 you might be going home with a verdic My client was a Confederate!" Sociability.?Sociability is the best coi recti ve of that serious and prolonged absorj tion in business or thought, or cares whic is so detrimental to many of our busy pe( pie. The rest taken in solitude, after th working hours are over, permits the min still to pursue one beaten track. The easj chair and blazing tire may be tempting t the weary toiler, but they do not force hi thoughts into other channels or compel hit to lay aside the train of ideas that has fc long hours been working in his brain. Sc ciety, on the contrary, forbids such unwhok some indulgence, She insists upon a totf change of mind and manner during he short reign. She calls for vivacity, varietj imagination?if possible, wit andhumor, c at least, a cheerful interest in that of other: She banishes the accustomed seriousness t mind, the brooding over familiar topic* even the earnestness of strong emotion. Fc a short time all these are forced to give wa to the lighter play of fancy, the excitemer of popular interests, and the developmer of sympathy with others upon unfamilia and varied subjects. Thus the mind is r( freshed and invigorated, unused facultic are brought into exercise, and the lost ba ance restored by a gentle compulsion the no one dares to resist.?Lady's Journal. * ^isccllaaeous ffceading. | 'P MARION AN1) HIS MEN. a r, In 1783 South Carolina was completely ai y) overrun by the British. Lord Cornwallis hi le held quiet possession of Charleston, had de- d< sr feated Gates and DeKalb at Camden, driven bj -J i.1. ~ o4 iVLariUIl IU LI1U rtWUIIlJJS <J1 I CC JJCC, 3WH.IC1 CU I ?? is the forces of Sumter, arid established his fe II- headquarters in the Waxhaws, on the bor- tl of der of North Carolina, while Tarleton had T his on the Hanging Bock Creek, about thir- In e, ty miles North of Camden. Davie alone ui it was left with a small force on the West bank pi at of the Catawba, making occasional sorties to n le harass the outposts of the British, le The Scotch-Irish and the Huguenots of n< >n South Carolina were mostly Whigs, or reb- le of els. The English colonists were divided ; oi 10 the majority were Whigs; but there were a ni in goodly number of loyal men among them tl who conscientiously espoused the cause of th the mother country, and were called Tories, so in Lancaster county was one of the strong- cc holds of the Whigs. The Mcllwains, Trues- tl t, dales, Douglasses, Cunninghams, Twittys, ol >n McDonalds, McMuIlens, Mackeys, and oth- C e- ersof Scotch-Irish origin occupied and held t ;d the Southern portion of Lancaster, and le Chas. Mackey was their acknowledged lead- ol t- er; while the Crawfords, Dunlaps, Jacksons bi 1; (General Jackson was then sixteen years nr :y old), Whites, Masseys, Dodys, C'uretons, and u ;d others of the same stock held the Waxhaws, id in the Northern section of thecounty. The lc d, Whigs had always made Lancaster too hot T ot for the Tories, and had ruthlessly driven ni id them out of the county to seek companion- hi ,t- ship and sympathy wherever they might ir ot find it. But tne advent of the British turn- q lg ed the tide completely, and now the Tories h a with Tarleton's aid, drove the Whigs from c( te Lancaster, some across the Catawba to join u le Davie, and some to the Pee Dee to join Ma- e< d- rion. tl n- Charles Mackey, as the leader of his band, ^ ti- had made himself very obnoxious to the )v Tories, and they impatiently awaited a time *r ti- of venireance. ? g? He was a man of medium size, very ac- Ic * 5 tive and energetic, a fine horseman, a splen- Si did shot, impulsive, hot-headed, often run- ai is ning unnecessary risks, and doing dare devil ^ ig deeds. No work was too hazardous for " him. '8 Lydia Mackey, Jiis wife, was a woman of ie good common sense, with a clear head and ie fine judgment, and in coolness andself-pos- ^ session far superior to her impetuous hus- u ie band. They had a young family of two or is three children, and Charles Mackey had not ^ >g seen or heard from them in several weeks. >g Their home was not more than two and a m half miles from Tarleton's camp, on the ' ^ Hanging Rock Creek. He knew very well 'd that it would be hazardous for him to return i to his home, so near to Tarleton's headquar'g ters, but his anxiety became so intense on 'u e, account of his wife's peculiar condition that u ie he could no longer remain in doubt about it. , f- So he cautiously made his way home, where L. I H n timAlr o rl rl n v? ? 144 lie Uliwiactj 1UIIC1CU 1UI <V >ycciv, UUU UUHII^ i r- this time he had the temerity to enter Tarle- . t- ton's lines more than once in search of in*t formation which was valuable to his counJS try's defenders. Id Charles Mackey's house was a double lo<? at cabin, with cultivated patches of corn and u [11 potatoes on either side of the lane leading 1? to the front, while at the rear was a kitchen t ig garden of half an acre or more, extending Q> back to a huckleberry swamp, which was of almost impenetrable to man or beast. This s< >d swamp covered an area of ten or fifteen ^ l9 acres and was surrounded by quagmire from ten to thirty feet wide, thus making practic- j* of ally an island. It was entered by jumping " d, from tussock to tussock of moss-coverea d lumps of mould a foot or two in diameter, a ig and rising six or eight inches above the 0 pitch black semi-jelly like mire, which shook 0 ir in every direction in passing over it. A e e_ plank of a fence served as a temporary draw- & Id bridge, which was pulled into the swamp , after crossing over. ir When the county was infested by Tories, j ., Charles Mackey spent his days in the swamp, if not scouting. At night, he ven- r s: tured home. He had good watch dogs, and d they gave the alarm when any one ap- g l(j proached, whether by day or by night. If lci at night he would immediately lift a loose 1 plank in the floor of his bedroom, drop through on the ground, crawl out in the ? rear, then run thirty or forty yards across n M the garden, gun in hand, and disappear in the swamp, pulling his fence-railing drawbridge in after him, There was no approach ? to the house from the rear, and his retreat ^ * was always effected with impunity. Charles Mackey had been at home now about a week, and was on the eve of leaving If- -111- u " Willi some vuiuiiuie iiuuiiimiiuu iwr uie icuci generals, gained by his night prowlings in e, and about the headquarters of Colonel Tarle- a, }n ton. But early in a June morning (an hour iS or two before day) his usually faithful watch j. dogs failed to give warning of the approach of strangers, and the first notice of their o lt: presence was their shouting "Hello!" in ktj front of the house. Mrs. Mackey jumped h out of bed, threw open the window shutter, n| stuck out her head,surveyed the half dozen armed horsemen carefully, and said, ?, "Who's there?" \'e "Friends. Is Charley Mackey at home?" ti She promptly answered, "No." bi In the meantime Charley had raised the pj n loose plank in the floor, and was ready to w make for the swamp in the rear, when, bj 'y stopping a moment to be sure of the character of his visitors, he heard the spokes- g, y man say : "Well, we are very sorry indeed, for there was a big fight yesterday on Lynch's Creek between Gen. Marion and 2/ i- the British, and we routed the rodcoats completely; and we have been sent to 3- general Davie at Bandsford with orders to T unite with Marion at Flat ltock as soon as G If possible and then attack Tarleton. We sc 3f don't know the way to Landsford, and b< y came by for Charley to pilot us." J cc ie Mrs. Mackey was always cool anil col- sa ie lected, and she said she was very sorry her ie husband was not at home. But her hus- to ir hand was just the reverse, hot-headed and tr 1- impetuous. This sudden news of victory, s<j /- after so many reverses, was so in accordance er h with his wishes that he madly rushed out v; d into the midst of the mounted men, hur- j pi ie .rahing for Marion and Davie, and shout- al it ing vengeance on the redcoats and tories; at d and he began to shake hands enthusiastical- in 11 ly with the "boys," and to ask particulars b( rt about the fight, when the ringleader of the gang coolly said : "Well Charley, old fellow, ap u we've set a good many traps for you, but of d never have baited'em right till now. You c> n are our prisoner." tli e And they marched him off just as he was, bi without hat or coat, without allowing him te y a moment to say a parting word to his ci< i, poor wife. er t. It was now nearly daylight and they or- of dered him to pilot them to Andy Mcll- H wain's, with the hope of capturing him too. r- But he was not at home. Then he was, >- compelled to pilot them to James Trues- , *h h dale's and he was not at home. From there | >- he went to Lancaster village, and then to I vr e Col. Tarleton's headquarters, where Char-1 cl ley Mackey was tried by courtmartial, and r- sentenced to death as a spy, j su o The next day Mrs. Mackey, not know- j 6" Is ing what had happened, gathered some fruit hl V. nt.rJ nrrrra arirl ll/ifll hlictof fillorl Clhp 11 CHIU. UIJU l? Viw.vvv V, j ?r make her way to Col. Tarleton's camp, i >- Hucksters were readily admitted when : co they had such luxuries to dispose of. i m il On getting within the lines she inquired wl ir the way to Col. Tarleton's marque, which , be r, was shown her. The Colonel was on pa- j ne ir rade, but a young officer who was writing, ui i. asked her to be seated. After he had fin-j ha )f ished, he said, "You have something for fir j, sale I presume." : pc ir She replied that she had eggs and fruit, j ac y He gladly took what she had and paid for dr it | them. She frankly declared that her basket \ ur it | of fruit was only a pretext to get to see Col- j on ,r onel Tarleton; that she was anxious to see j ab him in person on business of great impor-; ag is tance. She then explained the capture of irr I- her husband, and thatshe wished to get him lit it released if he were still alive, for she did not les know but what they hung him to the near-' all it tree they came to. The officer told her \ lat the Colonel was on parade and would j )t return for two hours?not until he came 11( i for his mid-day meal. Mrs. Mackey was I M comely woman of superior intelligence, p ul she soon interested the young officer in j n ^r sad condition. He expressed for her the I ^ jepest sympathy, told ner that her hus- p \nd had been tried and sentenced to death gl ; sunrise to-morrow morning; and that he s] ared there was no hope of reprieve, as ^ ic evidence given against him by the a ories was the most positive kind. He told p er that Colonel Tarleton was as cruel and g] ufeeling as he was brave and that he would n romise her anything to get rid of her, but f, e would fulfill nothing. a "However," said he, "I will prepare the v ecessary document for your husband's re- r ase, tilling in the blanks", so that it will v lly be necessary to get Col. Tarleton's sig- a ature. But I must again frankly say that v lis is almost hopeless." p It was evident to the most superficial ob- j, srver that Mrs. Mackey would soon be- t[ >me a mother, and this probably had some- p ling todo in enlistingthe kindly sympathy Q( f the brave young officer. At twelve o'clock j, ol. Tarleton rode up, dismounted, and en- a (red the adjoining tent. n "You must wait till he dines," said the p Bicer. "Another charger will then be a rought forth and when he comes out to glount, you can approach him, and not j, mil then." c At the expected time the tall, boyish- f( oking, clean-shaved, handsome young q arleton came out of his tent, and as he a eared his charger he was confronted by the eroic Lydia Mackey, who in a few words ^ lade known the object of her visit. He q uickly answered that he was in a great rn urry, and could not at that time stop to a insider her case. She said the case was jj rgent, that herhusbandhad been condemn- f, 1 to die at sunrise to-morrow morning, and p lat he alone had the power to save his life. j1 [e replied : "Very well, my good woman, 'hen I return later in the day I will inquire p lto the matter." Saying this he placed his >ot in the stirrup, and sprang up, but be- p >re he could throw his right leg over the 0 tddle, Mrs. Mackey caugnthim by the coat a nd jerked him down. He turned upon her j, ith a scowl, and she implored him to grant a er request. q He was greatly discomfitted, and angrily lid he would look into the case on his re- u lrn. He then attempted again to mount, c hen she dragged him down a second time, v egging him in eloquent terms to spare the r - r t.? l .1 1 UTT..i 4-..4 it? ui nur Jiusuuuu. uui iui iu^ jjuwu ?u- f, lan," said he, boiling with rage. ^'Do you t now what you are doing ? Begone! I'll r ttend to this at my convenience; not 0 Doner." c So saying, he tried a third time to mount, ?i nd a third time Lydia Mackey jerked him s ) the ground. .Holding by the sword's v labbard and falling on her knees, she cried, c Draw your sword and slay me and my un- s orn babe, or give me the life of my bus- v and, for I shall never let you go till you e ill me or sign this document"?which she j( rew from her bosom and held up before ^ is face. a Tarleton trembled, was as pale as a corpse, c nd turning to the young officer, who stood t ear by intently watching the scene, he lid, "Captain, where is this woman's husand ?" He answered, "Under guard in yonder ?nt." ' "Order him to be brought here." And j! Don Charley Mackey stood before the aliant Tarleton. "Sir," said he, "you have * een convicted of bearing arms against his ' lajesty's government. Worse?you have * een convicted of being a spy ; you have ared to enter my lines in disguise as a spy t nd you cannot deny it. But for the sake f your wife, I will give you a full pardon 1 11 condition that you will take an oath nevr again to bear arms against the king's j: overnment." "Sir, said Charles Mackey, in the firmest 1 Dnes, "I cannot accept pardon on these j irms. It must be unconditional, or I must . ie." c And poor Lydia Mackey cried out, "And J too must cue;" ana on ner Knees, noiaing . n to Colonel Tarleton, she pleaded with i jch fervor and eloquence that Tarleton ,, ?emed for a moment to hesitate, and then, 1 jrning to the young captain, he said, with , uivering lips, and in a voice choked with , motion, "Captain, for God's sake, sign my ame to this paper, and let this woman go." With this Lydia Mackev sank to the f round exhausted, and Colonel Tarleton lounted his charger and galloped off, ,, oubtless happier for having spared the life s fthe heroic Lydia Mackey's husbaud. Lydia Mackey in her old age was a fine ilker. A boy of ten years old, I heard her t ;11 this story with such feeling and earnjtness that great tears rolled down her n jed cheek to mingle with those of her lit- v e grandchildren gathered around her nees. The name of Tarleton was execrated in r>uth Carolina till a very late period. But _ le Lydia Mackey episode shows that he c ad a heart not wholly steeled against the oble feelings of humanity. The history of our Revolutionary War in hardly present a more interesting tabau than that of Lydia Mackey begging ie life of her husband at the hands of the j. rave and bloody Tarleton. It is altogether robable that the Lydia Mackey victory ' as the first ever gained over the redoubta- ^ le commander. luy inwiiiui, jituiiim iu.<u;i\cjr, was uuui sptember 1, 1792, was the ninth and young- z. it child of Charles and Lyia Mackey, the ^ ihjects of this narative.?Harper1 a Maya-. ne. Hookek ox the Southern Soldier.? j y hat was a very handsome tribute that Maj.-1 if eueral Joseph Hooker paid tothesouthern , a ildiers. He gave his testimony under oath j if ilbre the congressional committee on the H induct of the war. Here are the words he ; si lid. ; P "Our artillery had always been superior j tl > that of the rebels, as was also our infan- j n y except in discipline ; and that for rea- > P ?ns not necessary to mention never did r; [ual hee's army. With a rank and tile j y istly inferior to our own intellectually and " lysically, that army had by discipline j one, acquired a character for steadiness j id efficiency unsurpassed, in my judgment, j p; i ancient or modern times. We have not la ;en able to rival it." " There are those who will perhaps not c-i rree with General Hooker as to the basis u thiq remarkable steadiness and efficien- T ' of our southern soldiers, which he thought j \y ic federal troops had not been able to rival, j tl it still "fighting Joe Hooker's" supreme c( stirnony that our men had shown an effi- sc ency never surpassed in ancient or mod-j li n times, stands for all time asthe estimate | T a brave and capable judge and critic, j w e may not be correct as to the cause of the | T ct, but the fact as testified to by him re- fo ainsestablished by that strongest of proof?> in e favorable evidence of a hostile witness. v< It will create some questions whether a w istly physically and intellectually inferior tl ldier could be more steady and efficient i tv an the vastly phvsically and intellectually ! b; A/vKfAi. iVn /1A nnf frx/ 1A pcnui MCUU nut uj ny I el ?neral Hooker's logic. We merely accept j tl s facts.?Augusta Chronicle. j is Indecision*.?There is such a thing in the ei nduct of life as too much caution. One i^ an will spend a long time considering sc hich of two open courses of action is the to tter for him to take, and will at last take 'ither; another man will quickly decide, at >on one course of immediate action, and st Lving completed that task, will attack and se dsh a second, while the blood of the less T isitive fellow is stagnating in cautious in- ei tivity. It is not always an easy thing to ?1 aw the line between due considering and idue considering before action; but when t ie sees that his lack of swift decision is e: out to close all opportunities of action re ainst him he has reason to feel that his ca imediate duty is decision rather than de- toleration, for it is much better to. do the a jser of two thing's than to do nothing at ar I. A NIGHT OF AGONY. The following "true tale" was recently fid by the Mayor of Stratford-on-Avon :hen delivering a lecture on "Forest and Eistoric trees." Some years ago a gentlelan, mounted on a horse, set out in order d cross the Dartmoor. Though the thaw ad commenced, yet it had not melted the aow-heaps, and our traveler got on a bit lowly, and towards evening it froze again, 'he shades of evening came on with vapor nd mist. To reach Tavistock that night e knew would be impossible, as a fresh now-storm began to fall. To stay out all ight would be certain death. It was, there3re, with no small satisfaction that he saw t a distance a cottage, partially covered rith snow, and it was not long before he eached it. He dismounted, and the door r'as opened by an old woman. He entered, nd saw a sturdy peasant, the woman's son, ;ho sat smoking his pipe beside a blazing eat fire. The stranger's wants were soon lade known; an old outhouse accommoated his horse, and the son gave up his oil o/lrlirirr fliat lm uroiilil eloon in flip nlfl sttle by tiie chimney-corner. Aftersupper e was shown to his room where there was large oak chest, very old and curious, so auch so as to cause him to remark upon it to he woman, who had lighted him up stairs, nd he could not help observing something hy and odd about her manner. After she ad gone he felt inclined to peep into the hest, but he forebore and went to bed. He ?lt cold and miserably, could not sleep, 'he old chest hanntedajmpa hollow sound, s if behind suddenly 9tar_ led him, and himself in his ed, the first thing h^Jfcw was the chest, 'here, it lay .in the^fvery silence of the moonlight; his fears-gave action to the innirqate thing, and atjength he fancied the id of-the chest began, to move. Starting roin hia bed: he^raspedtlie lid and raised : up. Imagine hisj^Jipg of horror when e beheld a numaft^frbfi^'Stiff and cold. One thought during ?ie rest of the night ossessed him?that ne jwas in the house of lurderers! There was no escape. He hanked God when morning came. On oming down stairs he lound tneold woman nil her son preparing breakfast. They oDed "his honor" had passed a good night. ucl bade him eat his breakfast^ consisting f boiled bacon, the son chiming in "that aother was reckoned a good un at salting in in." He enioyed his breakfast and reovered from his fright, and as the old roman was boiling another rasher, he sumnoned up courage to disclose the secret of he oak chest, and asked for an explanaion. "Bless your heart, your honor, It's lOthing at all," said the young man ; "'it's nly fayther!" "Father! Your father!" ried the traveler; "what do you mean?" 'Why, you see, your honor, the snow being o thick, and the roads so cledgey like, v*hen old fayther died two weeks ago, we ouldn't carry un to Tavistock to bury un, o mother put un in the old box, and salted in in." The traveler's breakfast was spoild. He got up from the table, paid for his edging, saddled his horse, and has never >een known to touch a rasher of bacon since, s it always recalled the feelings of disgust onnected with the adventure of "salting in in." THE ORIGIN OF RELIGION. The origin of religion is to be sought in he countless ages, before the rise of theolo;y; before spirits, ghosts, or gods ever took lefinite form in the human mind. The >rimitive, uncultured man frankly worhiped external objects in love and in fear, scribing to them quasi-human powers and eelings. All that we read about Animism, ;hosts, spirits, and universal ideas of godlead, in this truly primitive stage, are metiphysical assumption of men trying to read he ideas of the later ejpochs into the facts ?r an earner epocn. iNOining is more cerain than that man everywhere started with l simple worship of natural objects. And he bearing of this on the future of religion s decisive. The religion of man in the vast ycles of primitive ages was reverence for rnture as influencing man. The religion 01 nan in the vast cycles that are to come will >e the reverence for humanity as supported >y nature. The religion of man in tne 20 or 10 centuries of theology was reverence for he assumed authors or controllers of nature. 3ut, that assumption having broken up, reigiou does not break up with it. On the ontrary, it enters on a far greater and more >otent career, inasmuch as the natural emoions of the human heart are now combined vith the certainty of scientific knowledge. Phe final religion of enlightened man is the ystematized and scientific form of the pontaneous religion or natural man. Both est on the same elements?belief in the 'ower wnicn controls nis me, auu gruieiui evcrence for the Power so acknowledged. Mie primitive man thought that Power to ie the object of nature affecting man. The ultured man knows that power to be hunanity itself, controlled by nature accordng to natural law. The transitional and lerpetually changing creed of theology has een an interlude. Agnosticism has utterd its epilogue. But Agnosticism is no nore religion than differentiation or the ebular hypothesis is religion. We have nly to see what are the elements and ends f religion to recognize that we cannot find t in the negative and the unknown. In ny reasonable use of language religion imlies some kind of belief in a Power outside f ourselves, some kind of awe and gratiude felt for that Power, some kind of influnce exerted by it over our lives. There are 1 ways in some sort these three elements? elief, worship, conduct. A religion which ives us nothing in particular to believe, otliing as an object of awe and gratitude, .'hich has no special relation to human duty 3 not a religion at all. It may be formula, generalization, a logical postulate; but it > not a religion. The universal presence of ie unknowable (or rather of the unknown) ibstratum is not a religion. It is a logical VAll motr ru\ 11 if if v/Mi nlnaco USIUWl IU. 1 UU lliaj UIU lVj A X JUU J/I\.tu-Vj !ie first axiom of science, a law of the hulan mind, or perhaps better, the universal ostulateof philosophy. But try it by evev test which indicates religion, and you 'ill find it wanting.?Frederick Harmon, i (he Nineteenth Century. A Railway Run by Water.?A newspaper correspondent, writing from Switzermd, tells of a curious railway, as follows: The picturesque and practical are often jriously intermixed. 1 glean a few particlars of a funicular railway which connects erritet (Chillon) and Glion. The railway, hich is on a steep incline, something after le style of the one up Mount Vesuvius, immences at an angle of 32 degrees, and >on increases to 57 degrees. It is a single ne, with a loop as a passing place half way. here are two carriages on tne line, one ox hich ascends while the other descends, he ascending carriage is drawn by the rceof gravity of the one which is descendig, the latter being weighted by a reser3ir placed underneath being filled with ater. The reservoir is emptied as soon as le carriage has made the descent. The vo vehicles are connected with each other means of a wire cable, which passes over wheel at the summit 01 the incline. By le passenger a remarkable optical illusion experienced. Trees, huts, houses, rocks, 1 seem to be bent back, as though by some ichantment. They are apparently standig out of the perpendicular, and one can arcely help wondering that they do not pple over. The deception is due to the iats of the carriages, which are constructed ; such an angle that, notwithstanding the eepness of the gradient, the occupant presrves his ordinary upright sitting posture, he line is 743 yards long, and they differlce between the level of its base and that 7 its summit is 984 feet." IST When you meet with great and uncpected offers cf friendship, receive them ispectfully, but with a moderate degree of tution; endeavor to discover if they flow om a warm heart and a silly head, or from designing hard and a cold heart: knavery id folly are often hardly to be distinjished.