Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

i||mm|m Bill, III ^_lh mil MCnaTMIJMlIllITIgmmnm- - ?iiim mil lewis m. grist, Propyietor. | inbpcnbinf ,$amilg ^chjsjajjfr: jfor % promotion of f|t political, Social, ^griculfttral ani) Communal intrusts of % font!;. JTERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. "V"OL. 31. YOEKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 15, 1885. 3. j Jtlefted jfoefeg. THE BLESSING OF SONG. , BY CLARA H. TARDY. "What a friend we have in Jesus"? i Sang a little child, one day, < And a weary woman listened To the darling's happy lay. All her life seemed dark and glqomy, And her heart was sad with care;? Sweetly rang out baby's treble? "All'our sins and griefs to bear." She was pointing out the Saviour Who could carry every woe : And the one who sadly listened Needed that dear Helper so! Sin and grief were heavey burdens For a fainting soul to bearBut the baby, singing, bade her "Tak it to"the Lord in prayer." With a simple, trusting spirit, Weak ana worn she turned to God, Asking Christ to take her burden, As He was the sinner's Lord. Jesus was the only refuge, He could take her sin and care, And he blessed the weary woman When she came to him* in prayer. ? And the happy child, still singing, Little knew she had a part In God's wondrous work of bringing Peace unto a troubled heart. Jin Original Jtotjj. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. WHO WAS MAUD MILLER ? BY VICTOR VERNON. PART I. IX THE STUDIO. CHAPTER IV. The picture was finished. It was with something like a thrill of k pai n that Manuel, having put his last touch, V laid palette and brushes aside, and stood back to contemplate the filial effect of his work/ It was a work that had wrought itself into his daily life, and become a part, as it were, of his very being. With its cessation, a blank fell upon him. Until now, this cherished creation had seemed his own , property, to do with as he would. But now this right of possession had gone from him? the picture was his no longer. Soon profane hands would bear it away out of his sight, handling it roughly, perhaps, hustling it rirkwn thp narrow stairwav like anv other package of goods; and his studio would be desolate. Yet not quite desolate; for in his leisure moments he had painted, by stealth, a faith- i ful copy of the lovely head. Only the head, on a small canvas that .he could carry , with him wherever he should go. That, at least, was his very own, and no man could take it from him. ( Sir Gregory came alone to look at the , picture, alter its completion. Manuel observed a change in him, on this occasion, which he could not define. His dress was i a trifle careless. His manner was some-J what abrupt ; and his glance wandered oc- ( casionally as he talked, as though his thoughts were not wholly centered on the I object of his visit. ^ ( L - "If you will call at my house, Mr. Rivers, , tk _^^one day next week?say Wednesday?01 ! Friday, perhaps, would be better; "yes, J Y we'll say Friday?I'll have a checquf sparky out on my banker for you. I presume thai will be satisfactory." "Pefectly so, Sir Gregory." "Yes. And?ah?you'll send up the picture, of course. I'll have some men to come round after it, to-morrow or next day. Perhaps you will kindly superintend the packing of it. It should be done with great care." Manuel promised to attend faithfully to the business. "Thank you. That's all, I believe. Well, I've had some agreeable hours in your studio, Mr. Rivers?very agreeable. I am sorry to bring our intercourse to an end; but the best of friends must part." "Sir Gregory," said Manuel speaking in a straightforward way, though he felt himself coloring, "have I your permission to; call at your house, after our business coi- j nection "has ceased ? I have a special reason for wishing to do so." The baronet looked hard at him for a moment. He met the gaze openly. "Yes," said Sir Gregory, after a brief pause. "You may. I shall be happy to receive you." Manuel bowed, his heart leaping higk. It had cost him much to ask the favor; bat he had much at stake. He believed himself sure of Maud's regard. Her looks, her tones, had seemed to tell him, from time to time, that his hopes were not vain, and lie meant to play the lover openly, thatitmigkt never be said of him that he had crept into her heart by stealth, and against her fathers will. Once admitted, as a friend and equal, into Sir Gregory's household, they should find that he laid claim to this equality on so false grounds, but he chose to gain admittance on his own merits alone. All the next day, he watched for the coning of the messengers who were to bear bis treasure away, but they did not appear. Another day passed, and yet another, aid still no one came. It was a respite he had not hoped for. He could still wake up in the morning aid seethe fair image that he loved, standing In its sweet girlish stateliness and tendergra?, ) before him. A whole week glided away, and Fridiy came?the day appointed for him to call ?n Sir Gregory. He was reluctant to go on his errand. Ee would rather the baronet had sought hin out and paid him for his work, than that le should be obliged to go in quest of the moiey. It did not seem to him as if momy were in any way connected with the tfaTTSai^ tion. He wished he could have put tie thought of it altogether away from him. However, he had made the appointmeit and must keep it; and at three o'clock pun;tually he found himself standing on tie ma-ble steps of a handsome mansion that had a strangely shut up and deserted loo*, i > He ran^Nseveral times; nobody came so i the door. - Presently a policeman sauntered by. Manuel ran down the steps and accostui: him. Can you tell me whether this is Sir Org,'- j ory Burnett's house?" he asked. "It was," replied the policeman. "Hi's i gone away." "Gone away! Where ?" "7 don't know, I'm sure. Can't y?u, make anybody inside hear you ?" "It seems not," said Manuel, bewilder*].! "I have rung repeatedly." "The policeman ascended the steps aid ! gave the bell a vigorous pull. "There wa* an old woman in here, tlis j morning," he remarked as he did so, with a backward glance over his shouldfr. i "Maybe she's out, or deaf." Another tremendous pull resulted in the shuffle of feet inside, and an uncertain ! r fumbling at the door latch, aim presently i the door was partly opened, disclosing foe i figure of a very untidy old person with ft i cheeked handherchief bound around her head, and a brooin in her hand. "Is anything the matter?" she grumblingly asked. "Matter!" repeated the policeman. ??rf]1e i matter is that tnis gentleman has been trying for half an hour to make somebody hear him." ' "It ben't my business to come to the dour? bell," said the woman, in the same cnes tone. "I'm cleaning up; that's what I'm , here for." "What's become of the family?" < "What family ?" I "Sir Gregory Harnett's." "/ don't kiiow nothing about 'em. ( J never worked for 'em. The landlord sent me here. They're all gone away; house %ill [. i b^let in a couple of days. That's all I k?w." M-nd she shut the door in the questioner's '' "There, sir," said he, turning: to Manuel. "You hear what she says. Everybody's avay. You can probably get Sir Gregory's address from his Danker." "Who is his banker?" asked Manuel. "/ don't know." "And I don't know. But you can easily flisd out," rejoined the policeman. Instead of making any immediate effort to find out, Manuel retraced his steps to his studio, completely confused by this unexpected turn of affairs. Lady Isabella Eustace's coach was at his door. Entering his room, he found her pacing restlessly to and fro, with the aid of her gold-headed cane. "Well! I am glad you have returned at last," was the observation with which she greeted him. "Where on earth have you been? I have been walking up and down this den of yours, waiting tor you, for at least an hour." That Lady Isabella should have been waiting for him, and waiting in his studio, was a fact so amazing, that at any other I in D if h ? rr* irifK PAnfll M'4lv U ?T V/UIU ua VU II1 tuu 1UUI IT 1 I 11 win v* sion, but he was already in such a state of perplexity, that the additional surprise affected him very little. H "I am very sorry, Aunt Isabella," was 111 he said. "Where have you been?" asked his aunt 8gain. "On an errand," briefly replied Manuel. "I hope it wasn't a fool's errand," said the old lady looking narrowly at him. "I see," she continued, as he made no reply, "that you have your young lady still here." She waved her cane in the direction of the canvas which stood in its accustomed place. "The picture has not been sent for," said Manuel. "Nor is it likely to be sent for. I suppose you know that old Barnett has run away." "Run away!" echoed her nephew, incredulously. "Yes?run from the constables, sheriff, what not; the people that were after him, or soon would be. He's got all the Jews at his heels, besides the rest. Haven't you heard about the disgraceful swindle he's connected with?" "I have heard nothing." Manuel was very pale. He leaned on a chair as he spoke. "Well, it will be all over town to-morrow; it is so already, for aught I know. Probably the man is not less a fool than a villain ; he has been used as a tool, probably; but he's a rascal too, and I always knew it. At any rate, he'll never come back." "And his?the young lady ?" "Oh, she's with him. He couldn't afford to lose her; she's all he has, now, I suppose. They are gone, the pair of them." Lady Isabella leaned back on the horsehair sofa and fanned herself vigorously. "Gone where ?" "Who knows? Nobody. He has vanished?the old rogue?with all his belongings, and left no trace behind." "But this is incredible!" cried Manuel. "I cannot bring myself to believe it." "Because you don't want to, I presume. It is all true, however. You will soon find out for yourself. What are you going to do with the portrait?" "Great Heaven ! aunt?I don't know?I don't know anything!?I beg your pardon," said poor Manuel, checking himself, "but I am confused. All this is so perplexing. I| scarcely know what I say." aunt, regarding him with a half compassionate, half satirical expression. "Well, well, you have had your work for nothing, and now I'm afraid you will find that you've got an elephant on your hands. You might alter the face though, and dispose of it as a | fancy picture. 1 think it would sell. A ; dealer might buy it at any rate." "Aunt?" began Manuel, but indignation j choked him. "By the way," continued Lady Isabella, | ignoring his agitation, "I wish you to dine j with me, next Sunday. I came, in fact, on | purpose to ask you." "No, thank you, it is impossible," hastily | replied Manuel. "What! Have you an engagement?" "No," said the artist, not sufficiently adroit to parry her questioning. "But I go out very little." 4 "And pray, is there any reason why you should lead a hermit's life?" asked his aunt, sharply. "It is your own fault that you have grown unaccustomed to society. J At all events, when I invite you, I think j you should find a less flimsy excuse. Will j you come, or not?" "Is it a dinner-party, aunt?" "Nonsense! I don't give dinnerparties on .Sundays. I have not invited any one i but yourself. And, if you must know the ; truth, I wish to talk to you on a matter of business." "Well, I will come?thanks,"said Manuel, rather hopelessly. "I shall expect you at five. I dine early on Sundays. Now, you may take me to my carriage. 1 have no doubt the horses have caught cold, waiting so long." Manuel obeyed her behest. And having seen the big, sombre equipage roll heavily : off behind the lazy overfed horses, whose j liveliest pace was a jog-trot, returned to his i room to ponder on the strange news he had ' heard. The whole affair was inexplicable. The longer he thought it over, the thicker i the mystery appeared to grow. At last; Jack Halliday came in. "Manuel," began that worthy, without preface, "you Have oeen soiu. sir ureg?- i "Hush," said Manuel with a deprecating gesture. "I know all about it. If you don't want to drive me mad, refrain from going over the story." "It is rough on you, rejoined Jack sympathetically. "After so many months of work?" "Jiang the work !" broke forth the artist. "Po yon think I care about t/wip art of it?" i Jack stared at him. "Yes; I should think I you would," he said, coolly. "I know you [ have refused other offers on account of it, | and I don't suppose you can. well afford to j be cheated out of the money you have earn- j ed." This was quite true; but in the excite-j ment, of his feelings Manuel had not taken ; the money loss into consideration. "Jack," he asked altera pause, "do'you > really believe this ridiculous story?" "About Harnett's decamping? Why, my j dear fellow, I know it's true. I know'soin'e | of the fellows who are sufferers in the business. Has it been explained to you?" "Not entirely. My aunt was my inform- j ant." "Have you seen her t" "()h yes! This has been a day of wonders, j She was n my room for an hour and a half. The world has turned over, I think." "Xo uncommon caper for the world to cut, if the geography books say true. But I'll tell you about Sir Gregory, if you care to listen." Manuel, notwithstanding his first objec-1 tion, did listen, and was put in possession! of all the facts of the case in question, so far | as knowi at Jack's club and in other select: circles. These were, in brief, that Sir Gregory had lent himself as a party to a disgraceful swind- j ling enterprise, by which several innocent j people had been defrauded; that the scheme ; had beei suddenly exposed, and its perpe-! trators convicted of fraud, and that the general supposition was that the baronet, unable I to bear the disgrace which wouut anacn ; itself tohis name, had tied the country, hav- j ingsufhred, in a pecuniary way, no less iieavilythan his victims. And thus ended Manuel's brief romance. | The girl he adored had vanished like a; vision ci" the night, and in her place remained only ler senseless, yet lovely counterfeit, i to consols him for her mysterious departure.! [TO UK CONTINUED.] fteir Kist satisfied with doing well and J leave others to talk of yon as they please. | putts of ? * a wl iit (ShtMjrc. OBSERVATION'S ON IRELAND. BY REV. R. LATH AX. * ... [Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.] The question is often asked, "How do the Irish live?" This is not an idle question, but it is naturally suggested by all the circumstances in the case. The whole island contains only 20,815,460 acres, and nearly one-seventh part of this area is covered with bogs. In addition to this, a large amount of the surface of the country is mountainous on the borders, and rendered unfit for culti vation. It may be safely said mat tne cultivable surface of Ireland does not exceed 15,000,000 acres. The population of Ireland, according to the census of 1881, is 5,746,214. Divide the whole number of acres in the island by the whole number of the population and we get a fraction more than two and six-tenths acres to each inhabitant. Perhaps Ireland has an inhabitant for every two acres of tillable soil on the island. The question, "How do the Irish live ?" is, it will be seen from this, a proper one. At one time, the population of Ireland was nearly twice as large as it is to-day, and the area of cultivable land much less. The area of cultivable land in the State of South Carolina is as great, if not greater, than that of Ireland, while the population is only about one-sixth as large. At present, the Irish are largely engaged in stock raising. Of the whole island, only about five millions of acres are planted in crops, while ten millions of acres are devoted to pasturage. The farms in Ireland are small?very small?when compared with farms in our country. They vary from less than an acre to more than five hundred acres. Of the latter class, there are only about fifteen hundred on the island. The greatest number of farms contain more than thirty acres and less than fifty. The number of very small farms?those containing less than five acres?is gradually decreasing. In 1841 more than one-half of Ireland was embraced in, as they say, holdings, varying in size, from less than one acre to five acres. Those small farms or holdings were ruined by the potato blight of 1S47. The tenants were unable to pay the rents, and all that could, leftthecountry. The houses in which they lived are still standing, but without inhn hi hints. The tendency, for perhaps near half a century, has been to increase the size of the farms or holdings as the population decreases. The agricultural products of Ireland are wheat, oats, barley, rye, here, beans, pease, potatoes, turnips, flax and mangel-wurtzel. Since 1847 there has been an annual fallingoff in the cultivation of wheat. This is true with regard to the cereals, but of none is it so remarkable as of wheat. In 1880 Ireland produced only about four million bushels of wheat, or less than one bushel to each inhabitant. Flour and wheat are shipped from various parts of the world, and so cheap is the freight that flour sells for less in Ireland than it does in our Southern markets. Wheat is taken across the Atlantic on the ocean steamers for the nominal sum thirty-six cents per ton of twenty-two hundred and forty pounds. The result is that comparatively little wheat is produced in Ireland. The year 1847 seems to have been a kind of revolutionary period in the agricultural history of Ireland. In that year more than seven hundred thousand acres were sown in wheat; at present there are less than one hundred and fifty thousand. The falling off in oats has been about one half, the decrease in barley has been very little, while rye has fallen off about one third. Bere, which, so far as I could discover, differs nothing from barley, and from all that I could learn differs only from barley in that it has six rows in the head or ear, is at present cultivated only to a limited extent. The cultivation ofbeans has increased. In appearance the beans of Ireland are very unlike those in our country. I was told that they will not grow in any part of the United States. In some parts of Canada they do well. The Irish bean grows on a stalk which attains about three feet in height. The pods which contain the beans are short and larger than any that grow in our country. I think that beans are largely cultivated by the poorer classes of the people. The beans are white, at least what I saw were white, and I was told that, thevnre verv stronc food. Horses are fed upon them during the winter season. In Ulster province flax is more largely cultivated than in any other part of the island. In fact nearly all the flax produced in Ireland is produced in Ulster province. In 1880 there were in all Ireland less than one hundred and fifty-eight thousand acres cultivated in flax, and nearly one hundred and fifty-three thousand were in Ulster. Turnips and potatoes are largely cultivated in every section of Ireland. In our Southern country turnips are usually sown during the month of August. In Ireland they are sown in the month of May. Generally, they are planted in rows and carefully worked; rarely are they sown broadcast, as we do. The heat of the sun is not sufficient to kill the youngplants, as it would do in our southern country. In Ireland very little attention is paid to vegetable gardens. Cabbage is planted everywhere all over the potato fields. The edges of the potato beds are planted in cabbage, and wherever there is a miss in the bed a cabbage is planted. It is eaten by the people as we eat it, and is fed to the stock in winter. In appearance, in taste, and in its nature, Irish cabbage differs very much from that grown in our country. It is not so large, does not "head up," as we say, and in taste it is milder. In fact, I could scarcely tell, from the taste of it, that it was cabbage. This may be accounted for, in part, at least, from the fact that the cooking of cabbage in Ireland is very different from what it is in our southern country. We boil cabbage with fat bacon?the fatter the better, we think. The Irish boil it with beef. I confess I did not relish it. The greatest difference that I observed between cabbage in Ireland and cabbage in America, is that in Ireland it takes part of two years to make cabbage. The plants are "set out," as we say, in the spring of one year, and the cabbage are ready for use during the summer of the next year. Large quantities of hay is produced in Ireland. The greatest difficulty the farmers have to contend with in raising hay is the want of sunshine to cure it. In addition to this, it rains a great deal in Ireland and the hay is liable to be damaged by rain. The cultivated land of Ireland, generally, is very highly manured, and the yield of those crops which are adapted to the soil and climate is proportionally great. The 11 . J4- ?iml 1 + Mill 1M well 11111 III! It'll mill 11 l.-> mil luuivated. The mode of tilling the soil in Ireland is not practical in our southern climate. Were we to manure our fields as heavily as the well-to-do farmers of Ireland manure their fields, we would make nothing. Our climate is too dry and our summer suns are too hot. The average yield of potatoes to the acre in Ireland is about twelve thousand pounds, or five long tons. Here it may be mentioned that the Irish farmers have a very indistinct idea of a bushel. Kverything in Ireland is bought and sold by weight. The ton, the long ton or two thousand two hundred and forty pounds is as familiar to the Irish farmer as the half bushel measure is to a southern planter. Sixty pounds of potatoes being regarded a bushel, the average yield of potatoes in Ireland is over two hundred bushels. The average yield of turnips is about twelve tons. I think that both the roots and tops are weighed. The average yield of hay is about two tons. The average quantity of wheat is about twentyeight bushels. The average yield of oats is somewhat greater than that of wheat, and of barley and rye a third greater. The climate of Ireland is not well adapted to either wheat or oats. The defect is that the moisture is so great that neither wheat nor oats ripen well. The potato of Ireland is good, but no better than can be raised in any part of the two Carolines. I have ' often heard it said that in Ireland it was j not an uncommon thing to see at the same time on the table both old and new or fresh ! potatoes, and that the old were the better. 1 This does not correspond with what 1 saw. I saw a great many old potatoes, that is po; tatoes of the year previous, but they were I by no means good. They were full of black spots. They were not as we would say roti ten, but they were badly damaged on account of age. They were far better than our old potatoes, kept in the same way, would have been, but they were not near sc good as our "new" potatoes are. As a general thing, the Irish farmers live well. They do not eat as much hog's lard as we eat, but they live as well, if not better, than the same class of persons do in our country. They have an abundance of good milk and butter, and many of them have pheese. Oatmeal mush and milk, or as thev . call it "stir about," is as palatable a dish as ever was tasted, and it is full of nutriment, It is this oatmeal that gives to the Irish lad his muscle and the Irish lass her rosy cheeks, As a general rule, the Irish people, those of the better ola*?, all their bread, except oat bread and potato bread. The bakers in the towns and cities send out theii bread wagons several times during the week all over the adjacent country with bread, From these wagons the farmers buy so much bread as they need. This bread is decidedly good. It is made of good flour and if well baked. The oat bread is baked al home. This is usually baked in thin cakes, and is generally very dry and hard, bul well tasted. From what I saw, I think thai very little oat bread is used. The oat meal is generally made into "stir about." Potaj to bread is made by mixing potatoes and I flour together, as is done sometimes in oui I southern country. We, however, use sweel I potatoes; the Irish use Irish potatoes. It is I tough but palatable. The Irish use no cofj fee, or at least, very little; but they are : great tea drinkers. The tea they drink is far better than what we use. In fact, nc one who has drunk the tea used either in England, Ireland or Scotland, can drink the stuff which we call tea. So far as I remember, I did not see a biscuit in Ireland. I dc i not think the people use that kind of bread 1 at all. The hospitality of the Irish people knows I no bounds. It is without a parallel. We 1 Americans, who are in a continual rush, as j if our very existence depended upon the ; rapidity of our movements, can form nc i idea of the marvelous hospitality of an Irish I farmer. When astranger knocks at his dooi and asks for lodging for the night, he doe.5 not rack his brain for an excuse to turn hiir off, or go into the house to ask his wife, but promptly replies wmi u giowiug l-uuihuuI ance, which betokens a warm heart, "Yes, j come in." In his own housean Irishman is ! a gentleman. Life in* Siberia.?On their way to SibeI ria the convicts practice among themselves i such mercantile affairs as exchanging theii names, which is another way of taking each ! other's places fora certain amount of money, I For instance, Ivan is doomed to hard laboi j and Peter is sentenced only to distant banishment, but Ivan having" in possession c sum of money forfeits it, together with the severity of his punishment, for the benefil of Peter's sentence, who, henceforth called Ivan, voluntarily accepts the exchange and goes to work in the coal mines for twenty years. The possibility of such exchanges will be easily conceived if one bearsin mind j that the officer and escort do not know the ! countenances of the convicts, the guard bej ing changed at several stations. 1 hey onty j take care to deliver the number of convicts i they were entrusted with. There is many aconvictto whom a trip tr j Siberia is of no consequence, as he is used t( j it from childhood. He makes his escape in I the summer, during which he does his usual extensive business of burgling until the bitJ ter cold of the approaching winter season reminds him of the indispensable necessity of seeking for shelter. Having no alternative, he is finally compelled to deliver himself to the nearest prison officials, who keef him until the opportunity of joining a party of convicts is offered. Oftentimes these fellows, who have already been several times to Siberia, are recognized by the officer or escort of the party, who seem not the j least astonished to find them there, as it becomes a customary affair in the history 01 Russian convict transportation. Many n man has b<*en found to have been in Siberia thirty or forty times, and as many times succeeded in escaping from his dreary conj finement in the summer season. The life of the convicts in the mines is I not so desperately insupportable as many i of the newspapers have tried to paint, i Those who possess material means are especially well treated and cared for. Theii food is more substantial, their under garments often changed and the watch greatly weakened. The "ruble" affects everything beginning with the orderly, and gradually ascending to the higher quarters. Bribery is common, and convicts may be found whe , are doomed to hard labor leading a most comfortable life, under the shelter of the I warm-hearted governor, and declaring thai he never felt so deeply the benefits of freedom as he does now. There is a governmen 1 factory near Irkoutsk called "Alexsandrovski Zawod," where some of the convicts arc appointed to work out the term of confinement. They also lead an easy life. Gam bled I ntoSla very.?'There are ten kinds of legalized gambling in Siam,and sc absorbed do the Siamese become in gaming 1 ? ... | ? i ,.ip 4.,, that wnen tneir money ana personal eneuis are gone they will stake their own bodies | on the turn of the game, going into voluntary slavery if they lose. In this event bei fore he is permitted to leave the place, the . gambler must surrender himself, in fee simi pie, to his owner, who procures from the | Amphor (District Judge) a sail kromatan (deed) in which, among other stipulations, j lie binds himself to render such service as may be required until the pecuniary obligation isdischarged. The owner may also ! exact interest on the amount of indebtedj nessat the rate of fifteen percent, per annum, but no more, as this is the highest rate the king permits his subjects to charge. If a greater sum is demanded, and the fact can be established by acceptable testimony in a native court, the debt is canceled and j the slave becomes free. If for any reason he becomes dissatisfied with his owner, or j master, which is often the case, he may : secure another one by transferring the deed, without asking the consent of the owner, I provided the redemption or "taking over" j (as the Siamese express the transaction) is made in pursuance of law. If he can prove to the satisfaction of the district judge that his wife possesses the requisite amount, he may apply to the court for an order compelling her to pay the debt and thus redeem iiim from servitude; but, inasmuch as the government is not supposed to encourage gambling with a wife's money, the law requires that the assignment of the sail kro1 matati shall be made to the wife; so that, when possessed of this formidable document, with the official seal duly attached, she becomes the absolute and bona fide J owner of her husband by an indisputable title which nothing but a royal decree can possibly annul.? The Current. Tin-; Buai.v aSckap-Book.?What is the brain but a scrap book? If, when we are asleep some one could peep in there, what J would he find? Lines from favorite poets, 1 stray bits of tunes and snatches from songs, melodies from operas, sentences from books, strange, meaningless dates, recollections of ! childhood lovers, the first parting of bosom j friends, the word of praise or the word of blame from a fond mother, pictures of men and women, hopes and dreams that came to nothing, unrequited kindness, gratitude for favors, quarrels and reconciliations, and j through them all the thread of one deep , and enduring; passion ior some one man I or woman that may have been a misery or In delight.?San Francisco Cnronicfe. : l^iSfcIIaMcous fUadittg.jj GENERAL U. E. LEE'S FAMILY. At the recent opening of the Metropoli- i tan museum of art, I saw among the many j notable people there, Miss Mary Lee, the : second daughter of General Robert K.Lee, s She is a plain-looking lady of thirty-five, i and, like her father, is altogether unpre- < tentious. She wore a heavy cashmere < wrap, and was in company with a lady sim- < ilarly attired. Miss Mary Lee.resembles i her 'mother in appearance more than her father. It is a remarkable fact that the i only one of General Lee's children who at all resembles him is his oldest son, General i G \V. Gnstis Lee. now the president of I Washington and Lee University, at Lex-1 ington, Virginia. i There are five of the Lee children, three ' sons and two daughters. They were all i born at Arlington, the old Custis home. stead, near Washington, where Mrs. Lee I continued to reside after her marriage. The , eldest daughter, Mildred, has traveled a f greaf deal since the war, spending much of her time in Europe, but when here makes her home with her brother Custis at Lex ington. Miss Mary, the next sister, also lives with him. Miss Mary, the next sister, , also lives with him. Agnes, the youngest i sister, died during the war at a health re sort in North Carolina. None of thedaugh5 ters married, and Custis Lee is also single, ; but Ituney Lee and Kobert E., Jr., are both , married and are both Virginia farmers, t One of them only has children, and the t probabilities are that it is through him 1 alone that the Lee family and the Ciistis family are to be perpetuated. 1 Mrs. Robert E. Lee was the only child of George Washington Park Custis, who was J the only son and heir of Martha Washings ton. It was from George Washington and Martha Washington that Custis obtained > Arlington, which, at the opening of the > war, was one of the finest nieces of country > property in the South. It was the ideal i Southern homestead. The Union forces s took possession of it at the very opening of the hostilities, and during the war it was ) converted into a national cemetery. Ac1 cording to the proviso of the will of George Washington Park Custis, the entire prop 5 erty was to go to tne e iciest son or iurs. xjoo. i The eldest son was the present General 5 G. W. C. Lee, and he obtained $125,0U0 i from the government in payment for Ar) lington, last winter, there having been a i long contest at law about it. That money * represents the bulk of the property now in j possession of the Lee family, and is but a i trifling remnant of the magnificent estates, t But the family has fared better than many others of the South that were equally , wealthy before the war. i General Custis Lee, though the legal possessor of the $125,000 he received for Arlington, has a big heart, and makes the most lib. eral provision for his two maiden sisters, j Though, as stated at the opening of this . article, Mary Lee is a plain-looking lady, ! with no pretentions to beauty, she is gifted in intellect, and is a most charming person. !, During the war she was most of the time in Richmond with her mother and sisters, and L with them endured many privations. I } have seen a little account book in which I there was a record of expenditures by I the little party with which Mrs. Lee- and I her daughters messed. It was seldom they r had meat or coffee, and the most exj orbitant prices had to be paid for chicken I or even green corn. The bulk of the diet ; was make up of rice, bread and such light [ articles. Mrs. Lee was the most patient and self abnegating of women, and though . a confirmed invalid during the entire war in which her husband was such a promi, nent actor, never complained, but was, in , the face of constant misfortunes and threat( ened dangers, always resigned and serene. I She maintained this character up to the very hour of her death. , A touching story of which Miss Mary Lee r is the heroine is that after one of the terrible battles near Richmond, just previous to the close of the war, she and some of the ) ladies went on the field to render whatever assistance they could in the care of the , wounded and dying soldiers of her father's I army. One among those to whom she went to offer relief was a youth not over sixteen, , who had been fatally shot and was ready to expire. She saw the poor fellow was C going to die immediately, and being struck t by his youth and neat attire asked him if i he had any message to leave behind. "Yes," . said he; "my home is , and my mother ! lives at ; tell her, if you please, that I have just seen our splendid commander, . General Lee, ride by, and that I am content , to die." That was all. He never knew it was his splendid commander's daughter to I whom he was confiding that final message. . Correspondence of Xew York Herald. ' PURSUED BY CANNIBALS. i The London Standard prints a remarka' ble story of adventure.. It is a letter con' taining a plant-hunter's account of his stew? ardship in New Guinea. He was one of a : nartv of six sent out bv the nronrietors of a Slelbourn newspaper to explore the interior t of the great island. "In our little schoon er," he says, "we went up a very large river : one or two miles wide; the captain would not let us land, as he wished to explore the ! river first. This main river turned out to be an estuary, though not known before, i From it we went up a new river, which | was called the Syme, for many miles, passi ing several mouths of other rivers, all new i! to white men, and which were duly named. m We were anxiously looking out for natives i! or their villages, but saw none. All the >; way up for miles this Syme was affected by | the'tides, but" when receding we had to use all our strength to tight against the power11 ful current to get upward. The naturalist and I were often anxious to get on shore; ! | but no, our captain wanted to get to the top | of the river, or so far as we could, and then return and begin land explorations. We i went up many miles, until the current was so strong that we could not get any further. : i We could see the banks of the river were , clothed with lofty trees, palms,and in many instances ferns of large dimensions. There , was one tree (I could not tell what it was) < one evening most brilliantly lit up with < tire-flies?a most wonderful sight. "On our return," the collector continues, ( "down the river toward the 'mouth of the i : sea, where we intended to begin exploring inland, we saw a sight that made us shud-' der?a large number of canoes crammed full of natives, cannibals. These wretches < live further round the coast, and make periodical trips down the coast to the more i i harmless natives, and clear then out, killing i ! all before them. They are called the l)u- i I irarra men. They have decimated the coast i tribes almost to a man. (Sic) In some in-1 stances they take them back and kill and < eat them. Here was a dilemma, and the ; force of the current was fast taking us into ! ! their midst. We, however, managed to get} i | our little schooner to the windward and set sail, at the same time assisting her with all 1 our power with the dingy we had. Night was coming on, so that we managed to es-1 cape through the darkness. The next thing 1 was, what to do. Our captain was sick ; he 1 had been unwell for some days. At last, as i a ruse, we set all sails on the schooner for ' up the river and abandoned her, getting 1 i into the dingy and rowing to the side of the ; river, llavingdone this, we sank thcdingy < in the mangroves that grew fearfully thick. 1 We hoped they would follow our schooner 1 and we should escape. We had to leave all I behind except a few odds and ends we < could hurriedly get?a little medicine, our i guns, and some oatmeal and a lew biscuits. < We thus started off for the coast to find it i through swamps and mangrove, every < ' moment expecting the wretches at our feet. (>n we went, and at last, weary, made a bed 1 on the ground where best we could. In the 1 morning we found ourselves on the edge of 1 a large fiat gf cold gray soil, covered with pitcher plants; but on we went. Then we came to a large creek or river; had to get I through as best wecould?the blazing tropi- i cal sun overhead, the miasmatic steam from . :he swamps enveloping us. .Some of us be?an to feel a touch of the fever; one got i ight-headed for a while. We continued ; j Tor three or four days at this game, and , nothing to eat but dry oatmeal One morn- | ing we were crossing a native hunting . ground, and presently, without warning, a \ spear came whizzing through the air and ( struck one of our men In the foot, going clean through boot and foot. AVe thought , our end had come, and determined to die . desperately; but the natives decamped as ! quickly as we made up our minds to fight ] it out, for we could not find one. On we j went, and reched the coast at last." , Like.?Life is but a moment, a brief re- ] flex from the great ocean of eternity. Take ! heed how you make use of it, and from the nnncammnrini: invnlvml in 5?linrf 11II. ration learn the importance of little things. , Queen Elizabeth once said to a courtier: "Those succeed best in this world who pass over it quickly, for it is but a bog; if we stop we sink." Truly, this saying deserves ' to be oft quoted,and oftener practiced. Life is short, and while we have it we should makethe most of it, as by our conduct in this , world will be awarded our position in the ! next. We have no time for idleness; we must be quick and decisive. The man who thinks and executes rapidly succeeds hest in life, for though lie may occasionally make mistakes, of more or les3 importance, they are more than counterbalanced by the benefits arising from his successes, it is such a man who makes a mark in the world. For there are moments when hesitation is worse than folly?when it is a crime. Fortune comes but seldom, and when she does come I she is often unexpected. It is our duty to be always on the watch and seize all opportunities which (Jod or man may put within our reach. An active life is one of happiness. Our energies are wrapped up in our undertakings to the exclusion of secret sorrows; every success is so much additional pleasure; every failure an incentive to further endeavors, Act! act!! that is the grand secret of success in life. Rapid thinkers and decisive doers are scarce all the world over ; not from a lack of suitable material, but because the inclination for active life is wanting in a vast number of men. Let one trust in himself, let him exert his capabilities to their fullest extent, and, sooner or later,success will inevitably smile upon him. There is no such thing as failure to a man with a purpose which he is determined to successfully accomplish'. Let us have a purpose and let us accomplsih it. The good which will follow will not be confined to individuals alone, but will extend to and benefit all society. Life is a strange mystery. We can be sure of nothing save death, and the anticipation of it causes us more alarm and solicitude than all the other ills and calamities of life. This fear of the tribute to nature is childish in the extreme. Death is inevitable, and as we must resign ourselves to the inevitable, why not do so with a good grace, instead of with an ignoble fear? Indeed, we should rather welcome than fear death, for it is the exchanging of a precarious present for a happy and eternal life. We have cause to bless our lot in belonging to the present, and to bless the past, for the Scriptures have shown so terrible a picture of the last ages of the world that we cannot but congratulate ourselves in not belonging to them. To conclude, Homer says: "Like the leaves of the trees, first spreading, and then decaying, so are the generations of mortal men." Weather Signs.?If one could read the signs, each day foretells the next; to-day is Ihe progenitor of to-morrow. When the atmosphere is telescopic and distant objects stand out unusually clear and distinct, a storm is near. We are on the crest of the wave, and the depression follows quickly. It sometimes happens that clouds are not so indicative of a storm as their total absence. In this state of the atmosphere the stars are I unusually numerous and bright at night, j which is also a bad omen. It appears that the transparency of the air is prodigiously increased when a certain quantity of water is uniformly diffused from it. Mountaineers predict a change of weather when, the air being calm, the Alps covered with perpetual snow, seem on a sudden to be nearer the observer, and their outlines are marked with great distinctness on the azure sky. The same condition of the atmosphere renders distant sounds more audible. There is one redness of the east in the morning that means storm ; another that in- j dicates wind. The first is broad, deep and j angry; the clouds look like an immense bed of burning coals, the second is soft and | more vapory. At the point where the sun \ is going to rise, and a few minutes in ad-1 vance of hrs coming, there rises straight upward a rosy column, like a shaft of dyed vapor, blending with and yet partly separated from the clouds, and the base of which presently comes to glow like the sun himself, the day that follows is pretty sure to be windy. It is uncertain to what extent I u ! ? .1.. .-M.l /irtn f/wnfnl 1 tlm uroafh^t* U1HID UIIU UlllJUUia tan luitiwu uiv fWiituvK I When swallows are seen hawking very high, it is a good indication, because the in-1 sects upon which they feed venture up there only in the most auspicious weather. ! i People live in the country all their lives I without making one accurate observation about nature. The good observer of nature holds his eye long and firmly to the point, j < and finally gets the facts, not only because j he has patience, but because his eye is sharp and his inference swift. There are many i assertions, the result of hasty and incomplete observations, such as, for instance, that the way the milky way points at night in-1 dicates the direction of the wind the next day; also, that every new moon indicates either a dry or a wet month. There are < many other stories about the moon too nu- j merous to mention. Again, when a farmer kills his hogs in the fall, if the pork be very hard and solid he predicts a severe winter,; if soft and loose, the opposite, overlooking ; the fact that the kind of food and the tern-! perature of the fall make the pork hard or 11 soft. Numerous other instances could be,; cited to prove that the would-be shrewd farmer does not interpret nature in the right i way, and that his conclusions, being hasty j j und incomplete, are wrong; and until he L studies nature understanding^, using a lit- 1 tie common sense, so long will he be more ' j or less under the ban of superstition and ignorance. ( Why it Comics ox the Fourth of s March.?All of our readers know that i Cleveland is to be inaugurated on the 4th of j March, but few of them have ever thought; I to enquire how it is that the fourth happens < to be inauguration day. In very early M times, when March ;lrd was supposed to be ] the last day to which Congress could extend j < itself in tile year with propriety, it would < occasionally be found hard at work as the j 1 5rd passed into the 4th. As the 4th of March j is the day for the inauguration of the exec-' utive department of the government of the < Cnited States, that date has become the f first in this nation. It was fixed upon in I 1788 by action of the Continental Congress, | < which! on the ISth of September, adopted 1 the following resolve, preceded by a pream- j 1 hie which set forth in order the reasons for 1 the action of that Congress at that time:! "That the first Wednesday in January next be the day for appointing electors in the 1 several States which before the said day | 1 shall have ratified the said constitution ; j > that the'first Wednesday in February, next, j i he the day for the electors to assemble in ; ] their respective States and vote for a Presi- i lent, and that the first Wednesday in March, '< next, be the time, and the present seat of I Congress (New York) the place, for com- i mencing the proceedings under the said constitution." The first Wednesday in March, 178!), fell on the 4th of March, and ] hence the precedence of that day in our 1 history under the constitution. It was not i till the JJDth of April, 178!), however that I Washington became President, owing to varii us circumstances; but in 1708, when he entered uponMiis second Presidential h term he was ina^UUtf^Bttfc the 4th of; 1 THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. Gen. Harney has exploded one tradition ;hat was long connected with the tight, kvhicli was that the Americans fought from oehind breast works of cotton bales. "I isked Gen. Jackson, Gen. Adair and Gen. Coffee, the latter having the immediate command of a brigade of the Tennessee and Kentucky sharpshooters, whose long rifles mainly did the work of death, if there were iny cotton bales used at all, and they all answered that the only works the Americans had were of earth, about two and one half feet high, rudely constructed of fence rails ind logs laid twenty-four inches apart and the space between them filled with earth, ind if there had been any works constructed from rnttnn bsilp.s thev must have known it. In 1823 I was promoted to Captain in the First Infantry and sent to Nashville, Tenn., to recruit for my regiment. While there I met Gens. Jackson and Coffee very Dften and obtained from the former many ^ details of the battle of Chalmette that are not in print." " 'There was a heavy fog on the river on the morning of the fight,'" said Gen. Jackson, 'and the British troops were actually formed and moving before I had my arrangements made. But the instant I saw their formation, I said to Coffee, 'By G?, they are ours?' Coffee's part of our line was on the flank, which extended into the swamp. About a quarter of a mile from it there was a huge plantation drainage canal, such as are common in the Louisiana lowlands. Here Gen. Packenham formed his first attacking column. His formation was a column in mass of about fifty files front. This was formed under the fire of the few regular artillerists I had in a little redoubt in Coffee's front, and that of some cannon taken from a man of war, placed in a battery on the river and served by sailors. Coffee, seeing the direction of the attack, which was intended to turn his flank, dashed forward and said to his men: 'Hold your fire until you can see their belt-buckles.' The riflemen were formed in two ranks behind the works mentioned, and when the first rank fired the second was ready. There were about eighteen hundred men behind this frail cover, all of whom were dead shots, and each had one hundred bullets in his pouch and necessary powder in his horn. The British troops came up to within 100 .Minis 01 our wonts wuuuui uiiug u, unnnti. It was a beautiful sight to see. They marched as steadily shoulder to shoulder as though they were on review. At 100 yards' distance the order was given them to charge. With acheerand at double qu^ck they came forward. They were about sixty yards distant when a long blazing flash ran all along our line. It was as pretty a volley firing as I ever heard or saw.'" " 'The smoke hung so heavy that for the moment I could not make out just what had happened,' said Gen. Jackson. 'In another instant there was another sharp ringing volley that proved it came from the riflemen. I called Tom Overton and Duncan, of my staff', and we galloped over to Coffee's line. Just then the smoke rose, and I sawthat the head of the British column had literally melted away. In front of our lines lay one writhing, ghastly mass of dead and dying red-coats. The column recoiled and fell back to the canal, where they had started from, and were then reformed. This time the charge was led by Gen. Packen ham in person, gallantly mounted and riding as coolly and gracefully as if he were on parade. Just as he came within rauge of my riflemen I saw him reel and topple out ot his saddle mortally wounded. I have always believed he fell by the bullet of a free man of color in the tight who was a celebrated rifle-shot from the Attakapas county of Louisiana." - 4- ? Art of Thinking.?One of the best modes of improving the art of thinking is to think over some subject before you read upon it, and then observe after what manner it occurred to the mind of some great master, you will then observe whether you -? have been too rash or too timid; what you have omitted and what you have exceeded; and by this process you will insensibly catch the manner in which a great mind views a great question. It is right to study; not only to think when some extraordinary incident provokes you to think, but from time to time review what has missed, dwell upon it and to see what trains of thought voluntarily present themselves to your mind. It is a most superior habit in some minds to refer all the particular truths which strike them to other more general truths. This kind of understanding has an immense and decided superiority over those confused heads in which one fact is piled upon another without any attempt at classification or arrangement. Some men read with a pen in their hand and commit to paper any new thought which strikes them ; others trust to chance for its appearance. Which of these is the best method in the understanding must, I suppose, depend a great deal upon the understanding in question. Some men can do nothing without preparation; others, little with it; some are fountains, others reservoirs. Manual Dexterity and the Letters. It is well known that in its development each new born being passes through very much the same stages that his ancestors have been through before him. Even after birth the growth of the child's intelligence stimulates the progress of the human race from the savage condition to that of civilization. It has been shown by Preyer, and others who have studied infant develop Kot o fVimi1whinh has hppn flonuir JUVJllt, lll(U (V KUUllrJ IT II .V.t ..??V ?- - 1 ed by the race at a late stage is late in making-its appearance in the child. Xow, reading and writing are arts of comparatively recent achievement. Savage man coukl reap and sow, and weave, and build houses, long before he could communicate his thoughts to a person at a distance by means of written speech. There is, then, reason to believe that a child's general intelligence would be best trained by making him skillful in many kinds of manual labor before beginning to torture him with letters; and the moral to be derived is, that primary instruction should be instruction in manual dexterity, and that readingand writing could be learned with pleasure and with ?ase by a child who had been fitted for taking them up by the right kind of preparation. Potentiality of the Human Mind. The potentialities of the human mind are something which a perfect environment done can develop.. Every man has some genuine good in him. The real mischief of life is that we predicate the whole of human character upon what is true only of a fractional part. The result is, that two biographies are possible of every man, the one a mlogy, the other defamation. Wholesale lefamation is as illegal as it is absurd. As the author is greater than his book, so the man of genius is greater than his whim, because Johnson would not enter a room ?xcept with his left foot foremost, or Mari.-.i w.. ..Ui/ln in tVio nrp?(JtiPP nf il put. nr Augustus Ciesar the reverberation of thunler?they are not, therefore, to be relegated io the coterie of fools. They aresimply to be turned a little, and at the proper angle we kvill see the divinity in each.?Dr. Paxton. Don't Say "Just My Luck."?He is a foolish man who says, "It is just my luck," ivhen something goes against him. Don't say, "I wish I lived in a world where there is no sorrow and no disappointment." It ivould be a pitible world; it would mean intellectual and moral death. No wisdom ir skill can keep us from trouble; for trouble is universal and whatever is universal inder the government of God must be good. jfcgrlf you have talents, industry will improve them; if moderate abilities, industry ivill supply the deficiency. Nothing is de- fi&ZSk lied to wf^^H^tt^bbor > nothing is :o be