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lewis ivr. grist, proprietor, j !|]t Jfamilg Ittfosppr: Jfor % Ijroatofion of % |hlilical, jiotial, g|rintlfural aitb Comtntrtial Jnfmsts of % Jfoiity. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 30. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JUNE 19, 1884. NO. 25. Ihc Jforg irller. A GHOST'S STORY7 I had always been something of a dreamer, and when the fancy took me to rent for the Summer an old mansion by the sea, whose owner was abroad, and occupy it alone, with the exception of two servants, my friends said it was just like me and expressed no surprise. It was June when I took up my quarters by the-sea, and I spent nearly all that month in becoming acquainted with the house and its history, ana in exploring the surrounding country. In July the heat was extreme, and I passed my days in lying in some sheltered nook on the shore, where I could hear the lazy murmur of the waves, and with half - - x- ! shut eyes, give rayseu up to re very, rue evenings, and indeed the nights, if it were 1 very warm, I spent in the hammock on the long piazza, where the moonlight filtered through the vines, and fell upon my face as 1 I swung gently to and frc, or lay fast asleep. ! One day a storm rose that lasted far into : the night. After a struggling sally to the < beach, I came back with a broken umbrella ' and drenched clothes, and having no mind 1 to battle further with powers so evidently superior, I dressed in dry clothes, and 1 gave myself up to meditation and reading by a bright fire of driftwood. The day wore on and night fell, so that I could no 1 longer see from the parlor windows the white caps as they tossed like signals of distress far out at sea. I could still, however, hear the swirl of the wind as it flung itself f around the corners of the house, and the cracking of old trees as their stiff, aged limbs tried to bend before it. These sounds, with the occasional dash of rain upon the panes of the side windows, gave a feeling of additional comfort to my safe and comfortable retreat. The leaping flames in the fire-place shone on the polished andirons and lighted spectral fires in the 1 wainscoting. The candles in their brass 1 sconces remained unlighted, and only the fitful blaze of the driftwood gave me occasional glimpses of the tall chairs with 1 straight backs, and mahogany table and cabinet. On the walls hung three or four * - ? . portraits, out; ui me yuunj; u? ui mc house, who was now in Europe on his i wedding tour. I had often examined the < face, and thought it handsome?to-night in i the dim light I seemed to see traits that were hidden by day. The lips looked selfindignant, the eyes languid, the whole face appeared to be that of one who could not j bear pain, who sank weakly from suffering ] of any kind. i I fell into a train of thought so absorbing that I sat for hours motionless in my arm- ; chair, only aroused by the dull clock in the hallway which struck twelve. I I arose with a start and went to the win- 1 dow. The rain and wind continued, though ; in a somewhat subdued fashion, like tne 1 sobbing of a child after a burst of tears. I As I stood there, a strange feeling came J over me which caused me to look back over i my shoulder, as if I expected to see some j one behind me. I did see some one. The chair which I had just left, pushing it back 1 as I did so, was again drawn up to the fire, < and in it sat a woman. Wondering if by any possibility this could be an insane person in the house and waited on by stealth, I stood still looking at her, and waiting to see . what she would do. Her dress was appa- 1 rently of some thin, white material and without decided lines of any kind, seeming < simply to envelope her person, and then to cease in some vague way, like the fleecy < edges of a cloud. Her face?I could see its j prorfle only?was pale, and her dark hair ( looked as though it was heavily streaked < with gray. Afterwards, when I came to j look at it more closely, I saw that it was { covered with the same thin mist that dulled \ the lines of her gown, I could scarcely see her eyes, for she was looking straight at the < fire, but I knew from the expresson of her ? mouth that she must show the deepest de- j jection. She put out her thin hands to the i fire with a slow shiver, saying: , "It is so cold?so cold." \ On her left hand, I noticed gleamed a < heavy wedding ring, almost too much of a j burden for her fragile finger to bear. Com- j ing to the conclusion that whoever she , might be, she was certainly a subject for ] hospitality on such a night, I approached . her slowly and quietly, not to starne nor, and said: . "You have surely not been out in the ; storm, madam?" \ She did not start, though she showed by < her look that she had not before known of 1 my presence. 1 "No?no?I have not been in the storm," ] she said, "but it would not have hurt me if i I had." < "Mad as Hamlet," thought I, as I leaned < against the high mantel-shelf and looked i down on her. She continued to gaze into l the fire for awhile, then said simply, by ] way of explanation, not apology: j "I always come at twelve, because then J every one is asleep, and the house is still. 1 suppose the storm kept you awake ?" As she spoke, she raised her eyes and ] looked directly into my face, which she had not done before. Large, dark eyes they 1 were, but perfectly lustreless?even the fire- 1 light was reflected in them dimly. There ] seemed to be a chill in the atmosphere about j her, as about one who comes in from win- ; try weather with the frost in his clothes. "Yes, it was the storm," I replied ; but < she seemed already to have forgotten what i she had asked me, and was again deep in : her musing. 1 Presently, as I was about to make further : question, she said, softly : "If you are not going, will you not have a chair? One tires so soon standing. You 1 will find the chair by Vhe cabinet comforta- 1 ble?if anything am be comfortable," she j added, drearily. - ** I eertainlv Hid no thought of froinc to 1 bed and leavAng the house and its inmates ! to the caprices of a mad woman, and I ! turnejJ^uvoluntarily to the corner she had 1 An old chair stood there, which >! my recollection had not been out of its ^ place since I first rented the house. She had J ^ not turned her head as she spoke to look for it, but referred to its position with perfect confidence as if she, herself, might have placed it there. I brought it nearer to the i fire and sat down, finding it as she said, : very comfortable. i As soon as I was seated, she began in a j low monitone, and with many pauses, to ! talk ; but not more to me apparently than 1 to herself and for her own relief. The qual- ! i ity of dreariness in her voice that I had i already noticed did not prevent its having a sort of minor music which was far from j disagreeable. i i "I cannot help feeling that this is my ] house. It was once, not quite two years j! ago?before I died." I gave a start which she must have no- j 1 ticed for she repeated: "Yes, before I died. I am a ghost. Does I < that frighten you ? Do not let it?I never ; < harm anyone?I am only unhappy." She lifted her hand, and though it was be- ; tween me and the fire, I saw none of the rosy color which firelight makes as it shines j; through translucent human flesh and blood, i. She twisted the wedding ring siowiv rounci i and round?everything that she did was , done slowly and lifelessly?and said: "Sometimes I wish to take my ring off, it reminds me so, but I died with it on, and ! < I must wear it." While she had been speaking, I had called to mind the fact that the owner of the house was in realty on his second wedding ' journey, having lost his first wife within six , months after their marriage. This must be the supplanted wife. Having come to this conclusion, starting with the hypothesis;, that ghosts exist, I was ready to understand when she said: "He is very handsome, do you not think so?" I glanced at the picture on the wall, toward the original of which 1 began to have : a distinct sentiment of dislike, and I said, "very handsome," to satisfy her. ' he reeled, let go his hold, and fell down, down, he knew not whither. A tall gaunt man, with shaggy long hair and beard leaned over the death like form of a young man. lie poured some mixture down his throat, and then he chafed and rubbed his temples, his hands and his feet. He pressed upon his chest until he heard a low, convulsive shudder of the body, and then a smile of satisfaction stole across the tall man's face. The sun beamed strongly ! into the apartment where they were if you : could call it such. It was a natural cave in J the rocks. High above it for hundreds of . feet the perpendicular wall of rock arose without a sign of life or vegetation. Below it, almost at the door of the cavern, the ! waters of the sea rolled threateningly, leaving barely a margin for a shore. Here and ] there lying up against the rocks or moving - "He had dark gray eyes," she went on; "of all the eyes in the world, the dark gray can say the most. He was very lonely when I died; he traveled everywhere; I was lonely, too?I wanted to see him, and I used to come back sometimes. He never saw me but when I was near him he could not help thinking of me. One day I found him in his room, in a little hotel in Switzerland. When I went into the room he was reading, but soon he began to feel my nearness. He threw down his book, crying "Shall I never be able to forget?" and lelt the room. He wished, then, to forget me. I had never thought of that. I had been happy before, in a quiet way, at the times when I was allowed to go to him, but that was all over. I never followed him again. After that, it seemed as if I should die of my loneliness and longing to see him." I looked up quickly as she spoke this last sentence, a strange one for a person already dead to utter, but she had not noticed and went on. < "Since I could not be where he was, I mnifi to the house where we had been so happy together. I wandered through the rooms at night, and looked out of the win- 1 dows where we had stood so often and I watched the sea; but I never vMsturbed anything. I did not want the servants to know i that I came. I thought that I had suffered all there was to suffer. When we think ; that, there isal ways some new trouble on the way to us. One night I found an open letter on the table. It was in his hand, and I kiased it. Then?I read it. It was to the housekeeper, directing her to rent the house. He was to be married and to travel 1 again." There was a long silence. My heart rose : in pity for the poor young thing, who believed in vows of eternal love and remembrance, and it grew harder toward the original of the portrait. I could say nothing of my own, but the words of Scripture fell involuntarily from my lips: "Like the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day." She paid no attention to this Job's 1 comforting, but rested her chin upon her hand, and with her eyes still fixed upon the 1 fire, which was now indeed nothing but embers, went on: 1 "I cannot blame him?he was lonely, and that was the only way to help it. But they will come back, and I cannot bear it, ; and so I shall be driven from here. I wonder if she looks as I used to. If she did, : ever so little, I could know that that was ; what drew him, how it would comfort me! "I have met many wives since I died? ! wives that lived with their husbands nearly a life-time, and yet within a year their places were filled. They tell me that it is to be expected that I shall grow used to it. j "It cannot last forever, I know; but, oh, ! 1 want to see mm so i" I bent my head to hide the tears that gathered as the monotonous voice ended in this plaintive cry. When I raised my eyes, [ sat alone; the arm chair was empty, and there was nothing to remind me of my *uest except a chill in the air, as if the wind bad swept through the room. I sat still, thinking, thinking until I fell asleep. In the gray of the morning I awoke. Was it a dream! I asked myself; but the two chairs stood there together to convince me that it was not. THE RAVEN OF THE SEA. The good ship Antwerp was rapidly cleaving the water on her homeward course. (V few days more and she would be anchorid safely in Dover harbor. The voyage from the Indies had been a severe one, and the ship and crew looked aadly weather-beaten. She carried only me passenger, a son of the vessel's owner, jeorge Cary, a stalwart handsome young fellow, with cheeksas brown as a berry, ana i smile ever stealing from beneath a pair of twinklihg, blueish eyes. The hot sun was beating on the shining white decks, and on the waters the waves arose, glistened, and fell in playful silvery ( numbers. George Cary, shading his eyes with his hands, was watching a long, lark line of coast to leeward. It gave a thrill to his heart to see the umistakable sign of land once more. Happy visions passed quickly through his mind, and how long he would have remained in enjoyment nf them, it would be impossible to tell, but bis attention was attracted to a bird, large and dark, which had flown suddenly toward the vessel out of the dazzling sunlight, and had alighted on the deck of the vessel. He ran to it, thinking that perhaps in its ?iddy flight it had struck one of the vessel's masts, and being stunned or killed by the blow, had fallen to the deck. Some of the sailors were there before him, and when lie reached the spot, a raven, living and j unnnnnorned at the uresence of the sailors < ar himself was slowly pacing around the deck. The sailors were regarding it with ^ mute admiration as if entranced by its presence. The approach of the captain broke the silence, lie exclaimed in lusty, joyful tone: "God is good to us, men; He has sent us the raven of the sea." The men cheered, and one of their number hastily retired, and after a little while returned witly^an armful of provisions. These he th#<ew on deck at the feet of the bird. It arfickly fastened its long and wide tallonsjdx the largest pieces of meat, and picking them up, arose in the air. They ^lariccd up at it with a reverence akin to awe. George Carey was mystified, and he, too, was curiously regarding the bird's ascent, when something touched his shoulder, and looking around on the instant, he saw a sailor with an uplifted gun, aimed at the Hying bird. It was only the work of a moment, and George struck his gun upward with his arm. It exploded with a harsh, vindictive roar only to bury its contents in the rigging of the vessel, and to throw the sailor to the deck. Above the noise of the explosion there arose a yell like the dying shriek of a man, and sent a chill of fear into the hearts of all. The sailor lying on the deck never uttered a sound from the time of the shot, and the raven was fast becoming a fading black spot in the skies. "Take him below," yelled the captain, pointing to the prostrate sailor. "God have mercy on us to night." When they lifted up the man, he was still senseless, and could give no reason for his action, and they carried him below decks. Angry scowls rested upon the faces of the jailors, and t..captain's brow was dark and furrowed with thought. George did not wish to interrupt the gloom of the captain, or to question the affrighted sailors about the affair, and he attributed their fears to some superstition regarding the visit of the raven. The moon came out in the evening, bright and cheerful, lighting up the sea and the heavens with its pale, steady beams.. The splash of an occasional high wave against the vessel's sides was the only sound which broke the stillness of the night. George retired to his cabin, and soon, despite the scenes of the day, he fell into an easy slumber. ; Probably it was after midnight, the time ' is unknown, when lie was awakened by a 1 terrible crash, as if the vessel had struck a 1 rock and was rapidly going to pieces. He ' sprang from his bunk, and rushing up to 1 the deck, as fast as the trembling timbers ! of the vessel would allow, he saw the men i running in every direction for something to cling to. The sky was as dark as pitch; ! spiteful tongues of lightning flashed from ! it; the thunder roared without ceasing; and the sea was bellowing in agony, as its black, heaving breast swelled and fell with fright- 1 ful contortions. As George reached the 1 deck, the topmast fell tearing itself apart from the vessel. He madly clutched it, and the next moment he was swept with it out on the sea. The waters hissed in his ears; they suffocated him ; they lifted him on high on their groaning breast; and the next 1 moment buried him beneath them. Amid hope and depair, he clung to the mast praying to God to save him. His brain became on fire; demons, he thought, surrounded him on every side, laughing at his efforts. His strength left him, he thought again ; and in and out with the sea, were scauurcu pieces of vessels which had been wrecked Beneath the frowning rocks. In the cavern everything was bare. Pieces of rocks served for chairs and a large smooth-faced stone was used for a table. The only ornament which could be seen was a crucifix of golden beauty hanging on the low wall and gleaming in the sunlight. The tall man continued his efforts, until a flush of returning life appeared on the pale blanched cheeks. A little while after, the eyes of the young man opened, and from his lips, like a whisper, the question came : "Where am I ?? As the tall man stooped over and heard the words, he replied : "You are safe in the hands of a wrecked Christian like yourself. You drifted here." The eyes closed again, but one hour or so after the young man, through the untiring labor of the tan man, was able to sit up and talk with ease. Both told their stories, George Carey, far it was he, relating his first; and the tall man following: "My name is Burtsell," said the tall man, "and I was the owner of as pretty a. craft as ever sailed between B and R . I used it for my family's pleasure, and, one day, in high spirits, in company with some T V?a?? atif oo fnr oc fhlQ Tt. WHQ mcuui?^ a. iau iici vuu KV& M<?W? *V ?. ?~ still daylight, but a squall struck us, and the vessel went under. I was a good swimmer, and seeing my friends going down one after another, without being able to help them, I seized a jpiece of broken timber, and clung to it until I drifted near this forlorn hope, the rocks. Night was well on, but there was light enough left for me to distinguish this opening in the rocks, which in my exhausted condition I swam to, and managed to enter. No sooner had I entered than I fell into a swoon, out of which I awoke the following morning, to find myself cut off forever from all hope of escape. I might as well have been buried in the sea!" "Cut off forever!" exclaimed 'George, looking into Burtsell's eyes witli great alarm. "Yes," he replied, "there is no hope by land or sea ; the sea reaches almost to the mouth of this cave, and the rocks surround us and rise above us, so that we are in a living prison." "But it must be a long while since you came here; how do you get food?" enquired George, imagining that Burtsell might not be of sound mind. "That I will soon tell you ; but there is and has been my hope !" said Burtsell, rising and pointing with reverence to the crucifix on the wall. "My wife gave me the time I boarded my vessel; and when I awoke the morning after the wreck 1 found it hangingto my neck." As Burtsell finihsed the sentence, a noise ii'ocj iiaoi-rl /Mi+oirlo tlm novo cmH in n mn woo n^aiu v/uwjiv*u viiv v??t vf *- ...v nent after, with a great fluttering of wings, :he raven which had stood onthedefk of the Antwerp, flew into the cave and placed on the stone table an abundance of food. Then it disappeared. George Carey realized fully his position then. He was'buried for life, and bis companions were Burtsell and the raven of the sea. But in the face of despair, George was x)o young to give up all hope. He thought pf a plan that Burstell never dreamed of. f)n a piece of smooth stone, chipped from !he wall of the cave, he dug this brief note: I, George Carey, of D , anil James Burtsell, pf A?are buried in a cave on the rocks of 3 . The cave is at the edge of the sea. Come mmediately for God's sake. George Carey. When the raven came again, Burstell, who was astonished that he never thought pf it before, fastened the piece of stone to the raven's leg, and when the raven returned again, the missive was gone. Whether some one had found it and would lid them, or it had in some way fallen from the raven's leg, they could not tell, put they resolved to wait and trust in 3od. Days passed by, long and weary, and ;here came a time when the raven appeared po more and they were on the verge of starvation. But in the morning after they pad eaten no food for a day, the white sails pf a ship caught their bright, glaring eyes. The ship neared them; a boat was put out from the side. They held out their coats ind swung them to and fro with their weak, thin arms. The signal was seen; they were saved. With some difficulty they were taken from their dreary home, and placed upon the ship. Their rescuers were friends of Burtsell. There were mutual rejoicings and explanations ; and in a short while those who were lead were once more among the living. They related their woes and sorrows, and those who heard them wept; but when the raven story was told, their hearts brightened and they blessed the raven and praised Him who must have sent it. For years and years after, as the weary aiariner passed by the dismal home of the wrecked ones, he looked anxiously for the roming of his omen of safety, the raven, nomn r\r\ mnro JUL 11 UW11V/ 11V7 1UV1V* ? Liberty in France.?Within the hist r few weeks three cases have occurred in c Prance which illustrate in a very striking s manner how completely individual liberty ? is at the mercy of the police. The fi rst wise ? ivasthatof a stableman in the employ of a s large cab company in Paris. This man had i oeen detected ill-treating a horse, and the manager of the stables remarked to the In- ? spector of Police that it was a pity the law i lid not admit of the offender being sen- i tenced to more than a week's imprisonment, f "Make your mind easy," replied the In- c spector. "I will keep him in prison for a fi few months before bringing him up for trill." The second case is thatof the footman 3 it the Itue Royal Club, who has been in ? prison for two months on suspicion of hav- c ing supplied marked packs of cards. He 3 has now been liberated, as, after all the ef- t forts of the police, he could not be induced to ? [jive any information as to his supposed ac- c :omplices. He has never gone through any ( form of trial whatever. The third case is of i i different kind. In the course of the past year a retired officer named St. Elme started f i Radical newspaper in Corsica. This jour- t rial, which attacked in very severe terms 1 the Republicans now in office, was much i disliked by the Prefect of Corsica, by whose > order letters addreased to the editor were i seized in the Post Office. M. St. Elme, i meeting the Frerect at a caie in me rown 01 Ajaccio, taxed him with this, and after some strong language had been used on both sides, the landlord of the cafe and his waiters set upon M. St. Elme and beat him unmercifully. For this offence M. St. Elme (not the landlord of the cafe) was summoned and sentenced to five months imprisonment. He appealed against the sentence, but a few days before the appeal was heard he was so badly beaten that he had to be brought into court upon a litter. The judgment pronounced by the court below was confirmed, though the term of imprisonment was reduced from five months to six weeks ; but the unfortunate man died of his injuries the next day. j itST Those who excel in strength are not most likely to show contempt for weakness.' IpSttUanMus Hiding THE REPUBLICAN N0MINAT10x\'S7 JAMES G. BLAINE. CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT. James Gillespie Blai.ne, of Maine, \va nominated for President on the fourth bii. lot, the 6th of June, 1884, which was th fourth day of the Republican Conventior He was born on January 31,1830, at India Hill Farm, Washington county, Pa. Hi father was a man of property, owning on nf the largest estates in the State, and gav his son unusually favorable opportunities c mental culture. s After spending sever? years as pupil in a school at Lancaster, 0 *nd at the same time as an inmate of th residence of the Hon. Thomas Ewing, Sec retary of the Treasury, Blaine was entere^ i student at Washington College, Washing ton, Pa.; he was graduated in 1847. Hi Vttrin/v fLft i m r\ roi)C! inno K1 3lclty Wltll UUlUg UUAlli^ Ul^ ltlipu?iuuuui years of boyhood unquestionably had mue to do with the formation of his future, es pecially as Mr. Ewing was his uncle am treated him with'great confidence and al fecti on. After his graduation Mr. Blaine taugh for several years in the schools of the neigh borhood, at the same time employing hi pen successfully in the composition of arti ;les for publication in newspapers and mag izines. In 1853 he went to Kennebec, Me. where he had been asked to assume th management of the Kennebec Journal Shortly afterward he accepted the control c the Portland Advertiser. In 1858 he wa elected to the Legislature, and served ther four years. At the beginning of his las term of two years, he was chosen Speaker md performed the duties of that office t hp satisfnetinn of the law-makers of th' Pine Tree State. It wag during the war be iween the States, in 1862, that "Blaine, c Maine," was first sent to Congress. He a jnce devoted himself to a careful study c ;he rules of the House, and it was not lonj jefore he began to be regarded as one of th< jest parliamentarians in that body. H tvas repeatedly re-elected from the sam listrict, and in 1869 was made Speaker c ;he House. His rulings were always promp ind accurate, and it was not often that hi jitterest enemies could find a flaw in hi parliamentary armor. Pie made what i ihought to be his finest speech in Congres igainst the "Ohio idea" of paying the Na ;ional debt in greenbacks. When the liepublican Convention wa leld in 1876, Mr. Blaine was the most popu ar leader in the party. He received 35 rotes in the final vote as against 379 for tin [Iayes combination engineered by Itosco> Donkllng, who had never forgiven th> 'Plumed Knight" for his reference to hin m the floor of the House as the "turkey gob jler member from New York." Nevertheless, Mr. Blaine went into th< campaign with the best of feeling for th< Republican candidate and worked night an< lay for his election. It is said, however ;hat after the election and after the Southeri policy of the administration had been enun ;iated, he never went to the White House feeling that President Hayes had not don< lis duty by the party which had electei lim. Mr. Blaine entered upon his duties as i Senator of the United States in 1S77. Hi pad voted against the Electoral Commissioi Rill on the ground that it was unconstitu ;ional. In 1880 he was once more a candi late for the Presidential nomination, an< mcceeded in so using his influence as to de feat the scheme to give Grant a third term tie am as mucn as any one man to eiect in riend Garfield, and his appointment a secretary of State was a perfectly natura )ne. The history of his connection with tin President during his brief administratioi md after the fatal bullet of Guiteau hat lone its work, is too fresh in the publi< nind to need repetition here. He retire( roin the Cabinet after the accession of Pres dent Arthur. Since then his time has been spent in th< lomposition of the historical work entitlec 'Twenty Years of Congress," of which oni /oluine has appeared. The concluding vords of a review of Mr. Blaine's book pub ished in the Loudon Times recently are pe :uliarly interesting in the light of its au ;hor's nomination to the Presidency of th< United States: "Whether we may look fo: i successor to this volume within a reasona )le period is a question which the Conven -ion and the political fates will have thei: >wn share in deciding. Without anticipa ;ing their decision, we may congratulate \Ir. Blaine on the manner in which he ha tccomplished the first installment of hi; ,vork." From a sketch of Mr. Blaine, publishet n the Augusta (Ga.) Chronicle, we extrac he following: In his manners Mr. Blaine is essentially i Democrat. He never yet in any of the va ious periods of his career, has shown anj iride of place. He is simple and unaffected Ie harbors few, if any, resentments. Th< reneral Dublic have HUDDOsed him to be f jreat enemy of Conklihg's. This is no rue. He would as willingly shake handi vith Conkling to-morrow, if Conkling wen o meet him half-way, as he would with an} >f his former associates. He has intens* iride, and a most fiery temper when pro /oked, but?when liis rage explodes no slum lering resentment is left behind. He does lot believe in the statesmanship of revenge Jpon this subject he said one day: "Life is oo short to lie in wait for personal retalia ion for injuries received. If you can strik< >ut a good, strong blow at the time, wel ind good. But the world moves too fast foi >ne to waste his life in waiting for an op lortunity to gratify mere personal revenge.' His magnetic power is the subject o nany sneers. The enemies of Blaine derid( he men who are fond of him by calling hem victims of his personal magnetism ind you will find it is nothing more thar he fact of an unassuming intellectual supe iority, a keen trenchant common sense tha lemands admiration. Very few men ai ihort range fulfill the popular idea. The} ire apt to prove disappointing through th( sxhibition of some incomplete, undeveloped lide. It is rare enough that a public man o irominence is a pleasant companion. Mr. Blaine is so many-sided as to be elassec ic o man nf frnniiis. Hp i?< nn nrafcnr. si nnl lV 441"14 W* ? j X shed writer, a student of history, a widi eader of general literature, a successfu inancier, a thorough man of the world, ? :omplete master of the art of pleasing in i :ocial way. Mr. Blaine is very happy in his family STone of his children appear to regard hirr is more than a big brother. Unless callec >ut by a dinner or some social gathering Mr. Blaine is always at home. He belong: 0 no club, and keeps more to himself thai t man of his social instinctmight be expect >d to do. He does not even play the gam< if poker, which is so general an accomplish nent with public men. I do not think that Mr. Blaine himsel jives the subject of religion any specia hought. He is a regular attendant at th( Presbyterian Church here. His entire fam ly are of the same belief. His mother ,vasa Itoman Catholic. Mr. Blaine himsel s a cousin of Mrs. Gen. Sherman. It is hi: connection with the Ewing family whici las brought up from time to time the charg( ;hat he was himself a Catholic. It woulc lot be possible to obtain from Mr. Blairn limself any public denial of such a charge lie does not believe that any one hasarigh ;o introduce a religious test in political can /asses. I once heard him say : "Ihaveal vays been a member of the Presbyteriar Jhurcli. I have never been a Catholic ; bu 1 would not make any public statement tha [ was nota Catholic, because I would notbi nade to appear even in the slightest degre< is reflecting upon the religion of my moth Summing up, one finds so much toadmiri 11 his varied information, his social culture lis power and individuality as a statesmai !n the true sense of the word, that one i: constantly tempted in the direction of ex iravagant eulogy. If one wishes to he Mr X _L JAMES C. BLAINE. s " Blaine's enemy he must keep away from >" him, beyond the reach of his voice, anc ? close his eyes and ears to anything but the p ancient stories of his former enemies, manj of whom are to-day his friends. Criticism of this brilliant and able man should be lefl 3 to those who know that they are better than ? he; by men who have never made any mis * takes; by those who have always done '? right, and whose one regret in life is the 0 sorrowful fact that the majority of men are e not like unto them in goodness. JOHN A. LOGAN. t CANDIDATE FOR THE VICE-PRESIDENTV. ,f By universal admission the Iiepublicar v nomination for the Vice-Presidency is ? - ~ ^ T/\LM A lAvnn/lrtW T AflPQ M A g strung uut;. duim /vicAuuuci uugun u. e Chicago, 111., was a leading soldier during e the war, heroic in his valor and skillful ir ,f his plans. Myriads of men who bore arm.1 t for the cause of the Union, will give theii g heartiest and most enthusiastic support tr g the ticket bearing his name. Moreover s General Logan is a good lawyer, a states s man of more than ordinary ability, and a power in the councils of his party. Hi< candidature is hailed with satisfaction which s extends beyond the Republican organiza . tion, for the heart of every Union soldier 1 whatever his political preference is gratifi e ed by honor done to the most brilliant o e the civilan generals of the war. e The candidate for the Vice-Presidencj i was born in Jackson county, 111., February - 9,1824, the eldest of eleven children borr to Dr. John Logan. His father was ar e Irishman, who had landed in this country e three years before, and had lost no time ir I marrying an American lady, Miss Elizabeth , Jenkins, of Tennessee. Being a man of cul a ture Mr. Logan undertook the instruction - of his son, who besides, enjoyed some ad , vantages from the schools of the neighbor 3 hood. In 1840, when 16 years of age youn? i Logan became a student of Shiloh College At the outbreak of war with Mexico, wher El twenty years old, he volunteered for service e among the first, was accepted and made ? l Lieutenant in the First Illinois Regiment - He rose to be Adjutant in the same regi ment, and was distinguished for his greal 1 bravery in action. In October, 1848, he re - turned to his native State, and became a . student of the law in the office of his uncle, s Alexander M. Jenkins, who has been Lieus tenant Governor of Illinois. His first civii 1 position was in 1849, when Jre was elected 3 Clerk of Jackson county. The next year 1 upon the completion of his term of office 1 he attended the law school at Louisville 3 Ky., where, in 1851, he received a diploma, 1 He was subsequently admitted to the bai - and his uncle received him into partnership. Within a year he attained a reputa3 tion as a good lawyer and fluent and forci1 ble speaker, and in 1852 was elected Prose3 cuting-Attorney of the Third Judicial Dis; trict of the State. He then made his homf - at Benton, and held his office by re-election - until 1857. The year of his graduation lie - was elected to the State Legislature, and 3 was re-elected in 1853,1856 ana 1857. When r Buchanan and Breckenridge were candi dates for the Presidency and Vice-Presi dency, Mr. Logan's name appeared on the r ticket as a Presidential Elector. His first - election to Congress was in 1858. He was 3 re-elected two years after. In July, 1861, 3 he left his seat in the extra session of Con3 gress, and joined the Union troops, then on the march to Virginia. He fought as a 1 private soldier in the battle of Bull Itun, t and was one of the last to leave the field. His record in Congress agreed with his i heroism in the field of battle. As a Demo crat he favored the nomination of Stephen l A. Douglas, and did his best to elect him ; . but, at the same time, boldly avowed his in3 tention to fight for Mr. Lincoln's inaugurai tion in the event of his election provoking . _i ? i T-TSo I/>,.olf,T +<-i C piiySHJiU uppusiliun IV/ 11/. inn Iv/Jtvii/J IV 3 the Union was conspicuous in Congressional 3 debates in the winter of I860?61T during r which he was frequent in his reproaches of 3 Southern disloyalty, and on repeated occa sions forcibly drew a comparison between it - and the obligations of the oath of fidelity to i the Constitution, which, as membersof Con. gress, those professing it had taken. 3 The disastrous battle of Hull Run stirred Mr. Logan to the depths of his earnest and J ardent nature. He returned to Illinois and 1 began a campaign of stirring speech in the r Southern portion of the State, which roused the patriotism of that section to white heat, ' and enlisted thousands of volunteers in the f Union cause. His personal service was givJ en to the Thirty-first Regiment of Illinois, f of which he was made Colonel. The opera> tions of his regiment were begun Septemi ber 13, 1861, when it was mustered into ser vice in the brigade commanded by General t McClernand. Seven weeks later it was unt der fire at Belmont and in the same fight 7 made a successful bayonet charge led by its > Colonel. This broke the line of the enemy, I and saved a portion of the command from f capture. In this action Col. Logan's example fired the courage of the soldiers under 1 him. Then asoften subsequently, hisdaunt less courage was the inspiration of the brav5 est of his followers. His horse was shot I under him and the pistol at his side shatteri ed by bullets. At Fort Ilenly his heroism t and that of his regiment were equally conspicuous, and in the terrible assault on Fort Donelson he took a glorious part. There he i was severely wounded and was carried from 1 the scene of slaughter. Early in March, , 1862, he had so far recovered as to report for 3 duty at Pittsburg Landing, under the comi maud of Gen. Grant, and on the 5th of the same month was made a Brigadier General J of Volunteers. lie distinguished himself - at the siege of Corinth in May, 1862, the occupation of which city was largely due to f his skill as well as valor. To this brigade 1 was entrusted the task of guarding commuJ nications by railroad, with Jackson, Tenn. Pressure was brought upon him in the > summer of 1862, with the view to replace f him in the House of Representatives at * Washington, but he refused in language of i unmistakable emphasis: "I have entered i the field to die, if need be, for this Govern1 ment," was his reply, "and never expect to 5 return to peaceful pursuits until the object of this war of preservation has become a fact t established." His command took a lead ing part in the operations under Gen. Grant - iu Northern Mississippi in 1862 and 1863, i during which he was promoted to be Major t General, a proper recognition of his mi life tary sagacity and heroism. Hecommanded 3 a division under Gen. McPherson in the 3 battle of Port Gibson, and was present at - the capture of Jackson, Miss., and the battle of Champion's Hill. His brigade was the 3 first in McPherson's victorious army to , enter Vicksburg when it fell, July 4, 1863, i and he was appointed its first military s governor. There he was presented with a - gold medal by the Seventeenth Army Corps. . Subsequently General Logan visited the ^4$S0C//ir?D A' ' JOHN A. LOGAN. 11 Northern States, and made several eloquent I speeches, in which he reviewed the victo3 j rious operations of the war as affording r; reasons why more vigorous measures should i : be adopted in order to bring it to a successt j ful issue at an early date, t j Returning to military duty lie succeeded Gen. Sherman as commander of the Fif3 teenth Army Corps, and was stationed at ; Huntsville, Ala., during the winter of 18633 64. . Early in the summer of 1864 the Division of the Mississippi was making ready for "Sherman's march to thesea." Gen. Logan led the Army of the Tennessee upon the right of the grand march, and was succes: sively engaged in the battle at Resaca, in p the repulse of Hardee's forces at Dallas, <it \ Little Kennesaw Mountain, in tne aesper' ate battle of Peach Tree Creek, where Gen. ! McPherson fell, July 22, 1804. Gen. Logan * at once took command, and infusing his troops with the emotions which possessed him at the death of his chief, led them with ' such desperate fury that 8,000 confederate dead were left on the field. He was also at i the battle of Ezra Chapel, July 28. In fact, ' he participated in every battle of that historic campaign, from Missionary Ilidge to the fall of Atlanta on the 2nd of September. ' Gen. Logan then returned to Illinois, and r during the Fall months of the Presidential campaign of that year made many speeches for Lincoln in the Western States. Hejoin7 ed his command again at Savannah, and 7 marched with Sherman through the Caroli1 nas. On the 2nd of May, 18G;3, he was ap1 pointed to succeed Gen. Howard in the qom7 mand of the Army of the Tennessee. 1 In 1865 Gen. Logan declined an appoint1 ment as Minister to Mexico, offered him by " President Johnson. When, in 1866, he was 1 nominated by the Republicans of Illinois " for Congressman at Large in the Fortieth ' Congress, he was elected by over GO,000 maf inrit.v Tho npvt snrintr he took nart. as a manager for the House of Representatives, 1 in the impeachment trial of President Johni son. In 1868, and again in 1870, he was 1 elected to the House of Representatives. One year after he was elected to the United ; States Senate as successor to Senator Yates. ; He served the full term, and was a candi' date for re-election, but failed, David Davis L being the successful nominee. In 1879 he > was elected United States Senator to succeed J Richard J. Oglesby. Senator Logan's record in the Senate is conspicuously that of the soldiers' friend, 1 ever ready to advance the material interests ' of those whose valor saved the Union, and ' to honor the achievements of survivors as ; well as of those who lost their lives in the struggle. Senator Logan was the first national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, which he assisted in founding. No soldier is better known than he to the "boys" who fought for the Union cause, [ and his feats of broil and battle are the pride ' and admiration of the nation. His opposi| tion to the reversal of the proceedings of the ; court-martial which tried Gen. Fit/. John Porter was the leading feature of the debates 1 arising out of the introduction of a bill for " the purpose indicated. He resides in Washington, at a hoarding j house on Twelfth street, occupying two I modest rooms, the same in which he has lived for twelve years. In his domestic re! lations General Logan has been one of the most happy and fortunate of men. In 1855 he married Miss Mary Cunningham, of Shawneetown, Illinois, and she has proven a most valuable helpmeet, being as good, if , not a better politician than himself, and a , lady of great refinement as well as intellectual force. There is no woman in public life who possesses more admirable traits than Mrs. Logan, and, what is unusual, her popularity with her own sex is quite as great as . with the other. She can write a speech on , finance or dictate the action of a political caucus with as much ease and grace as she can preside at a dinner party or receive guests at a ball?and has been known to perform all these difficult duties on the same day. No one whose intimacy with the Logan ' family has given him a knowledge of its 1 past will deny to Mrs. Logan the credit of being her husband's most energetic advocate and judicious adviser, and at the same time a devoted mother. She has two children?a daughter, who is the wife of Pay- 1 master Tucker, of the army, now stationed at Santa Fe, and a son, Manning, who is a cadet at West Point, having inherited his father's military ambition. Both of them have been educated by her or under her personal supervision, both have been constantly at her side. In the camp, during war 1 time, and in the most exciting political < campaigns, she has never for a moment neglected the duties of her household or forgotten her children's claims. As a society woman she is graceful and accomplished, in charities she is always active and generous, in religion she is a devout Methodist, and what she cannot do and do well has never yet been discovered. 1 THE MEXICAN LASSO. ; The lasso i tself is a rope made of the twisted fibre of the maguey, or aloe, known in European markets as Sisal hemp. There is a great difference in the quality. The best 1' 1 . A J. I ana strongest are twisieu so e.\iiciiici,y , that it is almost impossible to untwist the ! strands. One end is worked into a small , loop, lined inside with leather, through ; which, when about to throw the lasso, the | otherend is passed. The rope is about thir- ] ty feet long, about one-third of it formed into a noose, which is grasped a little above the loop?i. e., where the rope is double, the rest of it is coiled round and held in the left ' hand, ready to let go, the extreme end being kept separate, and, of course, retained. The < noose should hang well clear of the ground when held level with the shoulder, and, when open, forms a circle of four or five feet : in diameter. The lasso is swung over the i head and left shoulder and back over the ' right shoulder, a peculiar turn of the wrist i as itbeginsto return keeping the noose open. It is thus made to circle round and roune his < head by the thrower until he is within dis- : tance of his object, when it is launched and i flies off at a tangent, the noose assuming a 1 circular form, and settling quietly round tne 1 object aimed at. Before it settles the thrower seizes the other end with his right hand, and 1 gives it two rapid turns around the cabeza of < his saddle, so as to get a purchase. If he is i not quick enough at this, and the bull tight- l ens the rope before a good purchase has been l effected, the result is that the fingers get ' caught between the rope and the caoeza and < very much injured. It is no infrequent 1 thing to see a man who has lost one or two 1 fingers in learning the art. It is beautiful < to see the exactitude with which an adept < will throw the lasso from or to any point, < over either shoulder, behind or in front, s There is 110 cedit in catching a bull by the i horns, for he cannot be thrown by them ; but i skill is required to pitch the noose just in front of him when he is at full gallop, so that next step he treads into it; then, on its being tightened with a sudden jerk, rolls over in the dust. The horse, too, has to learn his part of the business, and bear at the right moment in the opposite direction, or he might be thrown instead of the bull, to which, indeed, he is often inferior in weight. 11 is considered disgraceful to have to loosen the lasso, and to let the bull carry it; off with him. A wind hand at it will catch by either leg alone a bull galloping past at any angle. The most difficult feat of all is to lasso him round the quarters when at full gallop at the moment when his hind legs are doubled up under him. Usually the noose slips oif, and nothing happens ; but if it be thrown precisely at the right instant his hind legs are pinned tight up under his belly, and he is brought to a standstill in the position of a sitting dog, looking undescribably silly in such an unwonted position. These and other feats of lassoingare seen at their best at a hacienda, on the occasion of the annual herradero, when the young bulls are driven in from the plains, thrown down anil marked with a hot iron with the initials of their proprietors' names. Friends and neighbors come together from afar and vie with one another in the display of dexterity and horsemanship. ABSURDITY OF THE LOGIC OF EVOLUTION. The wider study of nature makes it increasingly apparent that nature does nothing per saltuni. There is no progress along an orderly line. What it shall be called is the rising' question. Call it evolution and unless words are constantly hedged, it carries with it the idea either of the eternity or the self creation of the universe. On the other hand, call it development and there is harmony between the facts and the Word, and harmony between the theory and revelation. Religion clings tenaciously to the idea of development. Its marks are abundant in the Bible, as on other shores of thought. And evolution is objectionable only because the word seems to commit those who use it to the theory of the eternity of matter, and so of the evolutionary process. And Mr. Herbert Spencer does stand so committed, however, some of his concessions may seem to be at varience with the theory. He says: "Respecting the origin of the universe, three verbally intelligent suppositions may be made. We may assert that it is self-existent, or that it is selfcreated, or that it is created by external agency." Of these alternatives he accepts the first, regarding the second a3 involving an absurdity. Of course that rules God out. If matter is not eternal, then we may from its existence and operations judge something of a Being who at least may have formed it. We may argue from the creation to the Creator. But what chance is there for this if the existence of the universe runs parallel to any God who may be ,1 O TA rto suppustjtl IU UA.151 I Xt were men juou iio logical to infer the Creator from the universe, as to infer the universe from the Creator. Yet Mr. Spencer does assert an omnipresent power: "We are obliged to regard every phenominon as a manifestation of some power by which we are acted upon." The idea pervades his philosinhy that there may be a God, and that indeed, the phenomina of nature affirm as much, while, however, He must forever be incomprehensible to us. But how can an eternal nature affirm anything whatever of an eternal God ? For aught that appears, nature may have evolved God, instead of God creating nature. No argument of cause and effect whatever can hold where two parallel external existences are concerned. However, therefore, Mr. Spencer sometimes endeavors to shield his philosophy from the charge of atheism, it is manifest that it certainly furnishes no basis for theism. If it does not exclude God, the least that can be said is that it offers no logical defense 01 the belief in a God. However intricate and wonderful the oprerations of nature, it is illogical to infer from them an intelligence outside of them, if they have been eternally operative. An eternal evolution can take care of itself. Given a self-operating and self-improving machine, with ail its past eternity to work in, and no limit can be placed to its possibilities. At this point the logic of evolution becomes aggressi ve and proves too much. Dr. W. D. Wilson, in his volume of lectures on "Foundations of religious Belief," puts it very well when he says: "If the present hnd v*r\ Komnninor nunlllfinn UIUCl U1 IIIIII^D liau IJU VTViuv?vtt must have produced a Supreme Being before this time." The thoroughgoing evolutionist, believing in the entermty of matter and its constant progress, is presented with this dilemma: Either nature has not always worked, or it has. If it has, then the present stage of development should long ago have been passed. For however slow the process of selection and survival, given all eternity for the process, and it must in ages gone have reached its highest point, viz., the production of a supreme existence. Slowness of operation makes no difference when eternity is in the theater. And those possibilities to which evolutionists point us, by which in the future finer orders of beings than any we know about, will be evolved, should have been realized in an indefinite past time. For if the process has been working from all eternity, and has resulted in only what we see what hope could naturally be based on any future time, even though ft were future eternity? If evolution is doing this thing, and has always been doing it, plainly it has done too little to be the basis for any arguments as to the future. If to escape this horn, it be affirmed that nature has always existed, but has not always been working?if energy is not contemporaneous with existence?then whence came the energy? Assuming the eternal existence of matter is an easy way of solving the question how matter came to be. A similar assumption as to force, settles that point. But assume the matter and leave out the force, it becomes evident the beginning of the force has to be accounted for. An eternally slumbering mass of mat ter affords no explanation. It must nave come ab extra. But whence ? From some other power. There perhaps is room for Spencer's Unknowable. Certainly something or persons must be supposed. But ii a God be supposed in order to introduce working force, then why not introduce Him at one earlier stage, as the author of matter? Nothing is lost by that earlier assumption, and the existence as well as order of the universe then has an intelligible reason; and we are relieved from the various absurdities into which we are plunged by assuming two independent, eternal and necessary existences, eternal matter and eternal God.?Chicago Interior. Where Does Coal Oil Come From.? The Scientific American has been discussing the subject.' Some have thought that the oils have been produced by a slow distillation during the process of coal formation. A fatal objection, however, to this theory, is found in the fact that Great Britain has immense coal-beds, containing nothing of [111S Kinu, uiougn suppuseu miccs uuvc uccn found here and there. The Siberian and Devonian rocks, which contain sources of the most of the oil-wells now in existence, have great quantities of fossil remains, and this has suggested the theory that the oils have resulted from their decomposition. Professor Mendeljeff thinks that, on the first formation of the earth, vast reservoirs af inorganic iron and carbon existed in the interior of the globe. These were reached by the water condensing on the newlyformed land percolating beneath its surface. Ihe heat decomposed the water into its component parts, oxygen and hydrogen, the first forming with the iron, oxide of iron, the latter with the carbon, petroleum and ether hydro-carbons. If this theory be the correct one, tjiere still exists in the center if the earth reservoirs of petroleum that ire to the sources as yet known as the ocean is to the spring, whose waters finally find a resting place in its bosom.