Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis >i- grist, proprietor, t An Jnbcprnknt Jramiljt ftcinspajjcr: jfor t{)? promotion of fjjjc ^political, jsocial, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tljc jioutj). \ TERMS??2.50 A YEAR, IX ADVANCE. VQL7 31. YORKYILLE, S C.. THURSDAY, MARCH 5, 1885. NO. IP. ^elected factfg. ALWAYS A RIVER TO CROSS. There's always a river to cross; Always an effort to make If there's anything good to win, Any rich prize to take. Yonder's the fruit we crave. Yonder the charming scene; But deep and wide, with a troubled tide, Is the river that lies between. For rougher the way that we take The stouter the heart and the nerve, The stones in our path we break, Nor e'er from our impulse swerve. For the glory we hope to win Our labors'we count no loss; 'Tis folly to pause and murmur because Of the river we have to cross. jta Original jFtflrg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ? n > All FVnFBIMCTIUTP A IfAOn CArbmmkai . BY MISS M. LEE. CHAPTER III. Harry Montieth had nearly finished his senior year at college. He was twenty-two, handsome, clever, good-humored, and without a dollar in the world. His parents had died when he was a lad, and he had since been dependent on the bounty of an uncle, who was willing to provide for him if he consented to walk in the way wherein he wished him to go. This way led to the banking-house where old Mr. Monteith had reigned as president for many years. Unfortunately, however, Harry was strongly averse to thp prospect of becoming a banker's clerk. He felt, as he said, that he was destined for something better; and was, therefore, at the present time quite uncertain what course he should pursue. He had already passed easily through two or three love affairs, which had left no scars ' on his heart. Being susceptible, as Robert said, he capitulated readily to the battery of winning glances and the lure of soft accents, but as readily turned his attention elsewhere when these had lost their charm, or when he was out of reach of their influence. He was at a loss to account for a new and peculiar sensation that took possession of him in the presence of Elizabeth; a sensation which, far from inspiring him with brilliancy in conversation, and readiness in complimentary speeches, seemed to strike him dumb and render futile all his attempts at being unusually agreeable. The timid and modest demeanor of the beautiful Quakeress subdued his levity and demanded a corresponding gentleness on his part; and though he thrilled with pleasure each time that he chanced to meet a glance from her soft brown eyes, and watched with absurd anxiety for such glances, he scarcely found courage to address a dozen words to her in the course of the evening. To Elizabeth it seemed quite natural that it should be so, for she was too little accustomed to the society of young men to be familiar with the current of light talk, usually expected from them, which she would have been perplexed to know how to respond to. She secretly thought how very handsome? so much handsomer than Helen's brother Robert, who was almost the only young gentlemen she knew!?and was well pleased that he sat near her during the concert, and occasionally rendered her some slight service, or made a brief remark. And then those delicious strains of music she was listening to seemed to raise her into a new sphere?she had never heard anything half so exquisite. Altogether, she had a very happy time. uI)id thee pass an agreeable evening, my daughter?" asked Prudence, as she gave her a welcoming kiss on her return home. Harry Monteith had helped her out of the Vanes' carriage, and had held her hand for an instant as he said good-night; and she came in out of the darkness flushed and smiling, with a joyous light in her eyes. "Oh yes, mother dear! a lovely evening? the music was perfect," said Elizabeth, returning the kiss. "I am so sorry to have kept you up." "I do not mind it, dear. Father got sleepy and went to bed." "That was right."' "How well thee looks, Lisbelh!" Prudence uttered the gentle flattery involuntarily ; adding almost immediately, "not that looks are of consequence?and I hope thee has kept quite warm, child; it is a frosty night." "Quite warm. The Vanes' carriage is close, you know. I think we may as well go to bed mother?don't you ?" "Yes, Lisbeth; otherwise we shall be very tired in the morning," said the mother as she lit a candle. They went up stairs together, and Prudence paused a moment at her daughter's door to remark. "Friend Simpson has been spending the evening with us. He stayed until nine o'clock, in the hope, I think, of seeing thee before he went." "Ah! then I am glad I was out," said Elizabeth carelessly. At that moment, Friend Simpson seemed far removed from her little world; she dismissed him easily from her thoughts; and setting her candle on her toilet-table, she looked for some moments in the small, muslin-draped mirror that reflected little more than her face. Of course she knew she was pretty; her mirror had told her so, many times before; Helen Vane had told her so?her own sense had told her so?even her mother had been moved to pay her a compliment, in her demure fashion, to-night?and she knew that to-night she was looking prettier than ever before. For some moments she stood quite still, her dark dancing eyes riveted on her reflection?then with a sudden thrill and blush of shame at her own vanity, she turned quickly away, undressed herself and went to bed, first saying an earnest prayer. It was all the more earnest, perhaps, from the consciousness she felt that some sort of temptation was about her, and from the glimpse she had had of the world, that had been so sweet, in contrast to her narrow daily life. It was the last opportunity she had for anything in the way of pleasuring, for some time. A day or two later her father fell sick, and several weary weeks were passed in assisting her mother's ministrations at his bedside. Before he got well, business summoned Mr. Vane abroad, and he took his family with him, leaving his son at col lege and his house shut up; so that when Lisbeth again went about as usual, she found one of her chief interests in life removed, with the loss of Helen's society. The winter crept slowly by. She received souppal letters frnni hor frionrl. hut nothincr was said of her ret lrn. One spring afurnoon she went down town on an errand for her mother. Just as she was leaving the store where ^he had made her purchases she saw a face that made her pulses leap suddenly, because it brought back the memory of a very,pleasant time with which it was associated; at least, she would have accepted that as the reason, if she had thought about it at all. It was the face of Harry Monteith, looking handsomer than ever, and wearing an expression of unmistakable delight as he recognized her and came toward her. Miss Carey, I am too happy to meet you," he said, in rather a low tone, as he held out his hand. They shook hands conventionally, and then Elizabeth, not knowing whether she was doing right or wrong, found herself allowing hirn to walk on at her side. After a short silence she asked him some question about the Vanes, and this served as a topic of conversation for some time. Then she found out that he had finished his college course, and was spending a little while in "looking around," as he expressed it before settling down, lie told her where Ins home was, and that : his uncle was expecting him?"but I don't want to go, just yet," ne added truthfully. "He wants me to start immediately in business, but I hate the idea." It seemed quite reasonable to Lisbeth that he should nate the idea. No doubt he had ween working very hard at college, and needed a little rest. She asked him a few timid questions, looking up occasionally with the lovely shy glances that he found so fascinating; and in con versation of a very simple sort the time sped so rapidly that Elizabeth was quite surprised when she found that they were near her father's door. "I must say good-bye now," she said, stopping short, with a sudden crimson blush. She feared she was rude, but it was ! quite impossible that he should accompany | her home. He understood the situation directly. | "Must you? I am awfully sorry," he re1 joined. "But I hope we shall soon meet ! again." j She did not know what answer to make | to this speech, so she murmured something I incoherent, and then there was another I. i _ J a.1 i-^-1 I nanci-pressure, unu uiey puncu?i??v~ | ing care to see which door it was that ! she entered. As they went their several ; ways each felt intuitively that something unknown yet delicious was about to dawn on their lives. ; It was the beginning of the old, old story?the story old as the garden of Eden, and yet forever new. The story that will run through all ages of the world, as long as there are young hearts to throb to its teachings, and young eyes to look into each other and read its secrets there. It seemed at first to Elizabeth a happy chance that she so often met Harry now when she went on her errands, but after a little she began to find that it was not chance, but design that brought these meetings. With this discovery came the fear that they were doing wrong, and her conscience took alarm. She chose a different direction for her walk, and was thus enabled to avoid him for several days, but somehow her success did not make her any happier. Returning slowly homeward on one of these occasions, she spied the familiar figure adj vancing towards her and her heart gave a bound of joy. "Where have you been all this time?" he cried, pressing her little hand. "1 have not seen you for a whole week?I feared you were ill!" "No?I have been out every day as usual," she replied. "How strange! but you have not gone at the usual time, or else you chose a different way. I waited for you regularly, and this afternoon, just by accident, I took this street." Elizabeth's face burned, but she was silent. She could not bear to tell him that she had purposely avoided him. At last, in a tremulous tone, she ventured to say? "I do not think it is right for you to wait for me, or to try to meet me so often." "Why not?" he impetuously exclaimed. "What is there wrong in my walking a little way with you, every day ? Are we not friends?" "Yes?but?my father and mother do not know it, and they might be displeased." "Would they be displeased to think that I was your friend?" Elizabeth was silent. "If it would make matters easier," he went on, "I would call at your house. J)o ! you think I might call ?" "Oh !" cried Elizabeth, with involuntary dismay. She struggled with herself for a moment, and then said, almost tearfully? "I suppose you will think me very rude, and?and?very strange?not to want you to come?but you know my parents are difi ferent from the people you know. They? ! we?are Quakers, as people call us; that is, i we belong to the society of Friends. And j ; they are very strict, anil very particular in | their ideas. They are not like Helen's father and mother. They would not expect young gentlemen to call at the houseto see me. It would not suit their noI tions of what is right. I am obliged to tell you all this, to excuse myself?and?I hope you are not angry ?" Poor little Lisbeth ! She ran through her artless apology with Hushed cheeks and I stammerinsr tonerue. endinsr with one brief glance of piteous appeal" that certainly would have disarmed his anger if he had I felt any. His answer was totally unexj pected. "I could not be angry with you, or any ! one belonging to you?Elizabeth."' (how softly he said the name.) "Because"?and here he bent low that he might whisper the gentle words?"because I love you, and I want you to promise to be my wife." The ground seemed to be giving way beneath Elizabeth's feet; she thought lor a . moment that she must be dreaming. She clasped her hands tightly together, and walked on quickly, her heart beating almost to suffocation. She could not find a word to say. "There, now, it is you who are angry," he said, after waiting in vain for her to speak. "I have offended you?you think me very presumptuous?I know I have no right?" "It isn't that," she broke in, desperately. "I am not offended ?" "Then will you try and care for me, Elizabeth? Just a little?" "It would be no use," she murmured? "What would be no use?"?your caring forme? Oh! you can't think how happy it would make me! Tell me, do you love me a little?already? I entreat you to tell me." "Yes," faltered Elizabeth, whose principles forbade her telling an untruth, or even prevaricating, "I believe?I do. Hut we i must not think about it at all." "Not think about it at all! Why, I think I ? * V-v 114- aL>a in tim n nil' Wlur (UMJUt liWlillllg Ill CIIVS Hl/ilUj liwn . I? ilj) must we not think about it, if we both care?" "Because?my father?oh, don't you see? i Why he doesn't even know you! How could I dare to tell him that?" "Ofcourse! that just proves that I mast go to your house, to let him know me?he won't consent to your marrying a person he does not know. It is absolutely necessary now that we should become acquainted. Don't you see?" They had reached the corner of the square where Elizabeth lived; and she stopped, looking eager to escape. "You must go now," she said, drawing a long breath. "It seems so hard that I am always sent off in this way!" he rejoined. "But mind, it is only for this time. After this I mean to come home with you. You will let me, won't you ?" "Please go," she entreated, with an apprehensive glance around. "All this seems : dreadfully wrong." "It isn't wrong at all! If we love each other, why is it wrong? It won't be wrong when your father knows me. I'm not a bit afraid of him, Elizabeth. Is he so very severe ?" "lie is not severe at all," she answered quickly. "He is very good and kind, and loves me dearly. Only, of course, he never expected anything like this." "Well, it will be all right?I will make it j all right. So long as you love me, I am not: atraid of anvthbur." With this assurance, and a bright confi-j i dent glance, he left her, and she pursued her ; i way home, palpitating with the thought of! her secret?her beautiful, yet terrible secret, that weighed so like a guilty burden on her heart. She went first to her own room to compose herself before meeting her parents; but, try as she would, she could not banish the deep Hush that still dyed her cheeks. She bathed her face and smoothed her hair, and then went down stairs, trying to wear an unconcerned*look. Her father and mother were in the parlor, waiting for her. The former looked at her sternly, the latter with a frightened and deprecating air. She felt, in an instant, that some discovery had been made, and stood still before them, trembling. "Elizabeth," began Reuben; then paused abruptly. "Do thee speak to her," he hurriedly continued, addressing his wife. "/ cannot." [TO HK CONTINTKI).] petes of itaveliti ^wtojte. OBSERVATIONS ON IRELAND. BY REV. R. LATH AN. ?? [Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.] The most interesting chapter in the history of Ireland is that which treats of the Roman Catholic church. I have already in a previous sketch stated that seventy six ana six tenths per cent, of the whole population of Ireland is in connection with the Church of Rome. This leaves only twentythree and four-tenths per cent, to be divided out among Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists, Plymouth Brethren, Congregationalists, Jews and Infidels. To state the fact in a cntterent way i may say that more than three-fourths of the whole population of Ireland is under the dominion of the Pope of Itome. It is no figureative language to speak of Ireland as a Catholic or Papnl isle. The Roman Catholic church of Ireland is governed by four Archbishops and twenty-seven bishops. On the island there are nearly eleven hundred ecclesiastical parishes and about twenty-five hundred churches and chapels. The numebr of parish priests is more than nine hundred and that of administrative curates between seventeen and eighteen hundred. The history of Papacy as it exists in Ireland is a black spot on England's fame. In some way or otner Papacy has been intimately connected with all Ireland's troubles for the last seven hundred years. When Papacy was first introduced into Ireland I do not know, neither do I certainly know when it first sprang into existence. It did not leap into being all at once?the huge monster that it is to-day and that it has been for centuries past. Papacy is nothing more nor nor less than Paganism with all its enormities and polutions clad in the vestments of Christianity. Rather I should say, Papacy is Christianity paganized. The starting point of Papacy was the church founded by the apostles of Jesus Christ. Errorsof various kinds gradually crept into that church until the great and powerful ecclesiastical hierachy of Rome was the result. At an early period?before the close of the first century of the Christian dispensation, it become common to place in large cities a particular individual to whom was 4-lwv 4- oil f Ka nth min !c_ given Hie WVClOl^Jll UJ till Ul^ UUIV1 Iiiiiiia ters laboring in that city. The same is true with regard to provinces. This bishop or overseer was simply first among equals. The city of Itome was the most important city in the world at that time, in a secular point of view. Such being the case the bishop of Rome began to assert a dominion over all the other bishops. lie claimed to be the first among the other overseers, or bishops. Sometime during the third century this became manifest, but when the Christian church began first to start toward Papacy it is hard so tell. In fact, every error?every unscriptural doctrine or practice which is introduced into the church at any time?is a step toward the Pope of Rome. At au early period the church became completely under the dominion of the Papal power and continued under that power until the time of the Reformation. All insular and continental Europe, with unimportant exceptions, were, at that time, the willing and devoted subjects of the Pope of j Rome. The introduction and propagation of; Popery in Ireland is curious and interest-: ing. It is admitted by all parties that! Christianity was at a very early period in- j troduccd into Ireland and that for several: centuries the Irish church was compara-1 tively pure. That it was defiled with heathen practices no one will deny who has a correct knowledge of its history. The transition from paganism to pure Christianity was gradual in, perhaps, every case, but,in the Irish church the change was more thorough and effected with greater rapidity i than, probably, in any other section of the ! world. This is accounted for, in part, by the fact j that Ireland was not, for a long period of: years, attractive to the Papal power. By 1 degrees, however, the Church of Ireland began to move in the direction of Rome. Errors of various kinds crept in, and the pure doctrines of Christianity were removed to give place for these errors. It was not, however, until the middle of the twelfth century that the Pope of Rome got a firm foothold on Ireland. The history of that acquisition is curious and instructive. In December, 1154, Henry the Second and first of the Plantagenet race, was proclaimed King i of England. There was at that time, in ! England, an individual of humble birth but of some natural ability, since he rose to be ! the Archbishop of Canterbury, a position ! now occupied by Right Honorable and Most J Reverend Edward White Benson, 1). D., | whose annual salary is seventy-five thousand dollars. The name of the individual to whom reference is made, was Thomas A. Becket. His father's name was Gilbert Beeket, but whether he was a native of London or of Normandy, is not certainly j known. Gilbert Becket was at one time a i private soldier in one of the military expe- I ditions against the Saracens in Palestine, j It so happened that he was taken prisoner i and made the slave of a Saracen chief. I Becket won the affections of his master's} daughter, and by her assistance was enabled to make his escape. This young Saracen j girl, enamored by her father's slave, determined to leave her home and kindred, and j set out in search of the object of her ati'ec- j tion. She knew but two English words? ! London and Becket. Not discouraged by j this, she set out for London. On reaching the city, she went from place to place, crying out at the top of her voice, "Becket," until, by accident, she met in the street the object of her search. She was baptized, receiving at the time the name Matilda. Af- j ter the baptism she and Gilbert Becket were i married. Their only child was the celebra-1 ted Thomas A. Becket. During the reign of Stephen, Thomas A. j Becket was the warm friend of Henry, j advocating his claim to the English crown ! in opposition to those of Eustace the son of Stephen. As an act of gratitude Henry bestowed on Becket a number of offices and linally raised him to the high position of Archbishop of Canterbury. At the time Becket was Chancellor of j England. In the discharge of his duties as | Chancellor, Becket won the affection of his ! sovereign by his enthusiastic zeal in maintaining the rights and prerogatives of roy-; altv_ ITenrv believed, as it was thought. that by making Becket Archbishop of Can- J terbury ho would curtail the prerogatives! of the Church and increase the powers of the secular go vermeil t. Henry had good grounds for coming to such a conclusion. He and Becket were companions in vice and were mutually dependent upon each other. Becket, however, on becoming Archbishop made, if not a real change, an apparent change in his manner of life. 11 is j former levities were laid aside and he be-j came, if not religious, very sanctimonious, j He and Henry quarreled, and because of I his high position Becket was partially out of j the reach of Henry. On hearing of Beck-' et's high-handed acts of contempt of civil law and regal dominion, Henry, in a lit of rage, gave utterance, it is said, to the following words: "Is there not one of the crew of lazy, cowardly knights, whom I maintain, that will rid me of this turbulent i priest, who came to court but the other day ; on a lame horse with nothing but his wal- j let behind him." This speech of Henry inflamed four desperate fellows, who proceeded forthwith to i Canterbury, and beat out the brains of Beck-1 et at the altar of St. Benedict. So soon as] Henry heard of the murder ol Becket he j became frightened. He concluded, and no doubt correctly, that he would be charged j with the deed. In order to divert, as much j as possible, the minds of the people from j Becket's sad end, he determined to invade j Ireland, which was in a state of insubordination. Becket was murdered?barbarously ' murdered, in December, 1170. In 1155 Pope Adrian the Fourth had, by a bull, given Ireland to Henry the Second, on condition that the Irish be subjected to the dominion of the Pope. Adrian was succeeded by Alexander the Third, who was, at heart, the friend of Becket, but he was in trouble on account of the claims of the Anti-Pope Pascal the Third. Alexander, shortly before the death of Becket, espoused openly his cause, and when hedied, or rather, was brutally murdered, Henry invaded Ireland to escape the vengeance of Pope Alexander the Third. The Irish were at war among themselves and one of the parties joining with the English, the whole island was, if not subjected to the crown of England, placed under the heel of the Pope of Rome, as are more than three-fourths of its inhabitants to-day. It is not asserted that Popery with all its abominable despotism did not exist in Ireland prior to the time of Henry the Second. The Church of Ireland had been to some extent corrupted previous so this time, but it was not wholly polluted. To the lasting honor of the primitive Irish church it must be said that it yielded to the Papal dominion only when forced into subjection bv the strong arm of a military despotism, when England and Scotland and all continental Europe was intensely Papal, Ireland was worshiping God according to the teaching of the Scriptures. From the time of Pope Adrian the Fourth, down to the time of Henry the Eighth of England, Ireland, like the rest of western Europe, was simply a Papal territory. The inhabitants, no matter how much they groaned beneath the Papal yoke at first, at length learned not only to wear it gracefully, but they actually learned to love it. In the spring of 1509 Henrv VIII came to the throne of England. Ilis history is not only a foul blot on England's history, hut it is a disgrace to the human family. He was the second son of Henry the Seventh. Arthur, his elder brother, and heir to the throne, died at the age of fourteen. This made Henry the heir to the throne to which he succeeded on the death of his father. Arthur, although only fourteen years old when he died, in accordance with the foolish customs of the time, had been nominally married to Catharine, the daughter of Philip, king of Spain. In history she is known as Catharine of Arragon. For reasons which need not be mentioned here, Henry determined to marry his brother Arthur's wife. A dispensation to that effect was obtained from Pope Julius the Third. With approbation and consent of all the ecclesiastical authorities of England, Spain and Rome, the marriage was celebrated at Grenwich on June 3rd, and on the 24th of June Henry* and Catharine were crowned at Westminister, King and Queen of England. The marriage was apparently propitious of favorable results both to the parties themselves and to the people over whom they were to reign as sovereigns. Both Henry and his queen were devout Catholics. Luther, Zuingle and Calvin had begun to dig down the strongholds of Popery. Leo the Tenth, began to be in danger, and Henry the Eighth came to the rescue. For this timely aid, the Pope conferred upon the British sovereign the title Defender of the Faith. For a period of nearly twenty years Henry and Catharine lived together as man and wife?notcomfortably, forHenry wasatbest a brute. Henry fell in love with Ann Boleyn, but he dared not marry her without first obtaining a divorce from Catharine of Arragon. This Henry claimed on the ground that his marriage with Catharine - - - ~ ? - - ? ' ? A.l h rl L/mtt Knf HAt hnrl With UlllilWllU, AlllVJU SIIC IU1U utui uiiiuuiiu to liis brother Arthur. The Pope, however, had granted him permission to marry Catharine, thus nullifyingthe marriage contract between Arthur and Catharine, and saying that he could lawfully marry Catharine. Since Popes claim that they are infallible, he could not, and be consistent, say that Henry's marriage with Catharine was unlawful. Thwarted in his purpose by the Pope, Henry obtained, through another channel, the desired divorce, married Anne Boleyn, and renouncing all allegiance to the Pope of Home, he set up a church, of which he was the head in every propersense. Henry now set about to tear down and destroy everything in England and Ireland, which he and his predecessors had, for centuries, been building up. The Irish, alwaysa brave but often a misguided people, he determined to convert to his way of thinking. By tire and sword these people had been forced by the English and the Pope to abandon a comparatively pure religion for Papacy, and the work of converting them from Papacy to Henry the Eighth's way of thinking, was now begun. The motto was, convert the Catholic Irish, or kill them. Strange gospel ! Elizabeth began her reign like her father, a Catholic, but because the Pope pronounced her a bastard, she turned Protestant. The Irish Catholics were persecuted i... 1 Diiiumorlud h\r .Tinnp< 1^ lU'I . rjllAUUirill n?>} .^ukVkvuvu uj ? the First. lie persecuted the Irish Catholics. Ilenry, Elizabeth and James did one thing never to he forgotten. They nearly depopulated Ireland. I have no sympathy with Catholicism. I abhor it. I regard the Pope of Rome as the great arch enemy of all civil as well as all ecclesiastical liberty. Popery is a dangerous thing. Every Catholic, no matter what may he his country, is a subject ol the Pope of Rome. Rut notwithstanding all this, my heart aches when I think of the fearful ills which have been inflicted upon the poor Catholics of Ireland. There is a bitterness in the Catholic Irishman's heart towards Protestantism which no words will describe. It is stated, as a fact, that the Indians of our southern country regarded the name of Grant as the proper synonym of cruelty. In Irish language, the same word means Protestant and persecution. Is this strange ? No country on ; earth presents such a strange religious as- j nect as Ireland. The Catholics are absolute- j iy unapproachable by the Protestants. Is j this wonderful ? England treated the Cath- j olicsof Ireland very much as theAmericans | treated the Indian. The Americans were more successful. That is the only difference. I Unfortunately England has ever found in ! the Irishman a source of trouble. No man j will dare to defend the modes of redress resorted to by the Catholic Irish, but every lover of rigbt must sympathize with the j poor, down-trodden Irishman, lie is hated j and despised for no other reason than that he is a Catholic. This is to be deplored,' but it surely is not a sin worthy of death to , be a Catholic. Our ancestors were all Cath-1 olics. Martin Luther and John Knox were j Catholics in earlyjbfe^^^ Individuality in* St at j ox kii v.?Nat-j urally enough every fashionable woman considers her taste superior to that of others. She wants to he characteristic, and con-; sequently not only manipulates her pen as i no one else can and writes her letters criss-1 cross fashion, but adopts a certain style of; paper and ink, and these she retains in ; spite of the vagaries of designers and man-; ufaeturers. This aiming at something to give individuality to the stationery is a difficult task, since the regulation thing is a white, thick sheet of paper, cut to suit the fancy and an envelope to match. No deco- i ration whatever is tolerated by people of i reputed good taste unless it he in the form! of some heraldic device or monogram, and I then the owner must have indisputable claim to warrant its use. Aside from this j crest there is almost no possible way of throwing a Thomas Carlyle veil about the possessions of Thomas Carlyle as did that j individual. Perfumery is admissible, but there is danger of overdoing the matter and j making the owner intrusive. Some people ! have the habit of putting geranium-leaf or modest violet in every letter they send, [ and other eccentrics have made themselves conspicuous by putting double postage on the letters they write. There is but one way to humor this fancy and achieve the apparent individuality desired, and that is to adopt a certain kind or variety of letterpaper and envelope and retain it through all time. The idea is a good one in many respects; it has the advantage of economy and it is somewhat indicative of stability. * 1 UlisccUattwus |lcadinij. j CHAINED SKELETONS. j j THE CA VE OF THE FAMOUS MUII It ELL GANG ' FOUND. ' j A Huntingdon, Tcnn., letter to the Nash-' < ville World says: On the 11th of Februa- j? ry we left Huntingdon for the southwest- ! ern portion of the county for a few days, ' ; bird and squirrel hunt. Being securely ( seated behind a two forty (hours) thorough- | bred, we. were soon on our hunting ground, j it being in the immediate vicinity of where the writer and his companion, Mr. A. M. , Lee, were both born and raised, as a mat-! ter of course we were well acquainted with I j the woods. While following a rocky branch, known as the Gin Branch, we came to j j where it skirted the margin of a high hill, |' our setter, Charlie, made a dash at a rabbit and both rabbit and Charlie disappeared in ! the hill. The entrance was what we sup-1 posed to be a crevice in the rocks, as the | margin of the hill was covered with large I sand rocks; in moment the bats came pour-1 ing out by the hundreds; the weather be- j ing chilly, they fell to theground as soon as j the air struck them?their slumbers being! disturbed by the dog. We were enjoying the fun when, to our astonishment, several large horn owls came flopping out?one gave a dismal hoot as though he had not seen daylight in years or wished to frighten us away. Becoming uneasy tor fear our dog could not return, Mr. Lee went to the en- j trance of the cave, taking a pole and probing some six feet, he found it made an abrupt angle to the right; the opening was barely sufficient for a common sized man to enter; j he groped his way until it became so dark [ that he returned and revealed the terrible ! news that it opened into what he believed ] to be a large hall, and that he could hear i Charlie running around and whining, as I though he was lost and could not find his { way out. We sent to a neighboring house j and procured a lantern, determined to res-; cue Charlie at all hazards. With lantern i in hand we both entered, compelled to crawl on hands and knees for some distance before we could walk erect; the entrance! turned first to the right, then to the left, in a zigzag form ; finally we met Charlie and : hi? hnrL- uq it. pphnpd sinri re-echoed, as- I tonisheci us to such an extent that we rais-1 ed our lantern over our heads, which threw a bright light around. We stood dumb for a moment; we were shocked and horrified; j the surroundings were revealed; we were j in a large room, ceiled on sides and overhead with rude clapboards. Before us sat a large table with a mutilated pack of j cards in the centre; heavy wood chairs around the table; a couple of large and; rough shop-made knives on one corner. As soon as we could collect our senses and i calm our staggered brain we found that we ! were in a secret cave that had once been oc- j cupied by a band of outlaws, but who or J when was the question. In surveying the j room, which was 18x18, we found in one j corner a black something; holding the light close, our blood was chilled; it was I a Targe black man, his skin and flesh dry : as those who, in ancient days, were given j passage over Sharon; a large and rough made chain was locked around his ankle and fastened to a staple in the floor. In the opposite corner lay the dried frames of two huge blood hounds; in an old and heavy wooden box was found two old fashioned horse pistols with flint locks; they had undoubtedly done service in the revolution ; there were also several pairs of handcuffs. We began to think that we were in the regions of the damned. When looking on the rough wall, there we saw "the handwriting." It was "John A. Murrell, 1828." 1 We were in the great outlaw's den; we i could then see that the man enamea nau i been stolen by the bold bandit?brought I there and chained until they could run ! him South and sell him. The presump- [ tion is that when the cave was deserted he I was alive; the doom was sure, but what I agony he underwent-chained and alone?his ' face like Milton's devil, "grinned horribly a j ghastly smile." The bloodhounds had been j kept for the purpose of recapturing any slave that might escape. As we were about I making our exit, our companion, Lee, called our attention in an excited manner, to I another object. We turned around, he was j Kale and the lantern trembling in his hand ; J e pointed under the table, and there lay ; the dried form and frame of another human I man being, examining close it proved to be | that of a once beautiful female. She too was | chained. She had died a horrible death? ; starved to death. Her long yellow hair still I clung to the dry skin on her head which hung in golden tresses over her bosom that once heaved with the breath of life, though now cold; her once ruby lips were parted so as to disclose a set of pearly teeth. How came she in a robber's den ? She could not have been a victim to Cupid's dart; if so, why chain her? She undoubtedly had been kidnapped and held for ransom. Hut our hearts grow sick as we write. Several let-! ters were found of a suspicious character; j but as they contain the names of people in \ Middle Tennessee we decline to give their j contents. The discovery of the den has caused i great excitement in the neighborhood, j Numbers have visited the place and a few ; have ventured in. Mr. \V. C. Blair, on j whose land the cave is, refused to have any- J thing disturbed until the people could see it. ire permitted Mr. Lee to remove the ; dragoon pistols, which have John A. Murrell's initials stamped on the barrels. THE MAHDHSD HIS MEN. Mahdi, orMahadi, as D'Herbelot spells t 4.Z4.1^ : ? 4. Us* I 11, IS 1111 (II1C11? 11 I 1111C 111 lllC 1UU3ICIII nuim I which ut first signified simple director of the faithful. But in the course of Moslem j history, and especially Moslem history in | Africa, it came to have another signification t< related to an accepted prophecy of Moham-1: med. It necessarily refers to the African part of Arabic history. By this secondary 1 significanceof the word the Mahdi is a certain ancient leader come again. His ap-1 pearance is the second advent of a prophet who lived in the old days, and who in all the meantime has been with the immortals. Mohammed, the twelfth Imam, and the , twelfth in descent from Ali, is the real origi- , nal. He is the Mahdi who comes again ev- i j ery now and then. He was hidden from the < world at an early age, and communed only with his disciples through his lifetime, and finally did not die, but "went up," with ; the fixed intention of returning to revive j, the glories of Moslem. As in the Christian : i theory, and even in the history of several monarchies, this legend of a prince who,is ] to return has afforded a favorite pretext for . no end of im posters, so it did in Islam. The j mnct fiimniK nf these in nast aces was Abul- 1 cas.seni Mohammed Ben Abdallah, the founder of the Fatiinite dynasty in Africa. Mohammed had prophesied that in three hundred years the sun would rise in the west, and as Abulcassem's glory was in of the Jlegira, it was held that the prophecy referred to him, and since then the idea of the Mahadi has commonly had relation to a revival of the glories of Islam in that western world of Moslem ism, the provinces of Africa held by the Arabs. Perhaps! we should not plume ourselves too much over a race of men who are yet controlled by a,vivid conviction that their leader was j born a thousand years ago. We believe in leaders whose claims to allegiance are equally ridiculous. j It is common in alluding to the armies of the Maluli to speak of them as Arabs. This j is the custom not only in this country, but even in England, whose troops being on the ground, and whose communication with the Soudan being constant, should afford them accurate knowledge of the country and its inhabitants. An Arab is an inhabitant of Arabia, and not a native of the .Sou- j dan or any other foreign country. Nor does the word Arab have any broad', gener-! ric significance which, like the word Mo-1 hammedan, will permit its extension to j people of various nativities and religions. I j There are probably many Arabs in the1 i irmy of the Mahdi, as there are some in all parts of the world, and more especially in ;nany*of the cities of Africa lying on the Mediterranean Sea. Throughout Egypt in ts entirety, and including the Soudan, or Upper Egypt, there are many Arabs who ire influential; but they do not constitute the bulk of the population, any more than ioes the influx of Teutons into the United states entitle the aggregate people to be des- j ignated as Germans. Ahmed himself, the Mahdi, is a Nubian by birth, and is a pure ! Ethiopian, as are the most of the inhabitants | af that region. Dongola, the place of his birth, was settled by some fugitive Mamelukes, who escaped the scimeter of Meheinet Ali, in 1811, but even if became from this hp wniilrl nnt. he nn A rah. as the Maine lukes were originally Mongols, Circassians, j or Georgians, and never Arabs. The great majority of the residents of the j Soudan are negroes, and these compose the . larger portion of the armies of the Mahdi. Kordofan has some Arabs among its natives, but the principal residents as to numbers are negroes ; Sennaar, the province in which Khartoum is situated, has more Arabs in it than all the rest of the Soudan, but the bulk of the population is composed of negroes. The Nubians were originally pure Africans, but by admixture with lighter races have become mulattoes. In addition to these, there are many wandering tribes in the desert that are sometimes pure Africans, unmixed descendants of Ham, and in other instances are a composite of all the various peoples who have overrun what is now known as Upper Egypt. There is only unity on one point, and that is in religion. All are followers of Islam, and all of them are fanatical to the very last degree. It is from all these diversified peoples, or tribes, that the Mahdi secures his lighting material. There are Arabs among them, as there were Germans and Irish in the national forces during our war, but in neither case has the foreign element sufficient dimensions to give it supremacy in the characterization, or name, of the respective forces. ass A * EDMUND RICHARDSON, PRESIDENT OF TIIE WORLD'S FAIR, NOW OPEN" IN* THE CRESCENT CITY. For six months from December 1G, 1884, the leading attraction as a great sight and landmark in the progress of civilization, is the New Orleans World's Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition. This is the grandest exhibition of products and industries in the long list which has followed that j of London, in 1851. It grew out of an idea which was far less comprehensive in the beginning than as now seen in the huge development which surprises all visitors. Its projectors , thought of confining the exhibit to a display : of the products of the South, especially cotton, and of the various mechanical processes through which this passes before sold over the counters in the familiar forms of muslin, calico, etc. As soon as their plan had been published, however, they were beset with applications for space and soon found it advisable to enlarge the scope of their plan. One building was projected, but in May last a second was determined upon, which a lucky offer to loan a million dollars, made by Congress, made at once practicable. And so the good work went on, until, by opening day, sixty acres, of the 2.37 acres appropriated for Exposition uses, were covered with buildings, and thirtyseven acres more of it laid out in grounds and stables as a live-stock department. The Main Building covers thirty-three acres: the Government Building, twelve, and Horticultural Hall, three acres. Other structures of vast size and great interest are ! th? Art Gallerv. the structure raised bv the ! Mexican Government, and a building for saw mills and wood-working machinery. The opening exercises were magnificent and largely attended. President Arthur started the machinery by electricity from Washington, amid ceremonies which were performed with popular rejoicings auspicious of great success to the Exposition at New Orleans. Next to the United States, Mexico makes the largest exhibit. The Republics of Central America are surprisingly well represented, and the interest of leading countries in the other continents is most gratifying. We print the features of the line old gentleman who is president of the Exposition, lie is "the largest cotton planter in the world," and has amassed large wealth by the sagacity and assiduity with which he has applied himself to business. Mr. Richardson is a resident of Louisiana, a most useful citizen of that State, and now, happily, the leading man in a noble enterprise which in its dimensions and probable value to the civilized world eclipses the performances of the past. Eating Without an Appetite.?It is wrong to eat without an appetite; for it shows there is no gastric juice in the stomach, and that nature does not need food, and, not needing it, there being no fluid to receive and act upon it, it would remain there only to putrefy, the very thought of which should be sufficient to deter any man from eating without an appetite for the remainder ofhis life. If a "tonic" is taken to whet the appetite, it is a mistaken course; for its only result is to cause one to eat more, when already an amount has been eaten beyond what the gastric juice I supplied is able to prepare. The object to be obtained is a larger sup- j ply of gastric juice, not a larger supply of j food, and whatever fails to accomplish that | essential object fails to have any efficiency j toward the cure of dyspeptic disease; and j as the formation of gastric juice is directly j proportioned to the wear and waste of the 1. _1? : i. 4. ~ tvinn tio 4\f ' system, which n i.> u? uc mc memo ?/. > plying, and this wear and waste can only j take place as the result of exercise, the point is reached again that the efficient remedy for dyspepsia is work-out-door work?beneficial and successful in direct proportion as it is agreeable, interesting and profitable. Make the Best of Things.?We excuse a tnan for occasional depressions, just [ is we endure a rainy day. But who could j endure three hundred and sixty-five days j )f cold drizzle? Yes, there are men who ire, without cessation, sombre and charged I with evil prognostication. We may be I eorn with a melancholy temperament, but j :here is no reason why we should yield to ! t. Despondency is the most uncomfortable [ "eeling a man can have. One good laugh ! s a bombshell exploded in the right place, while spleen and discontent is a gun that | iicksover the man that shoots it off. Some j oust have to get into heaven backward. : Let us stand off from our despondencies.! Listen to sweet notes and discords. In a ,vorld where God has put exquisite tinge jpon the shell washed in the surf, and minted a paradise of bloom in the child's cheek, let us leave it to the owl to hoot and he toad to croak, and the fault-finder to complain. Take out door exercise and ivoid late suppers if you would have a cheerful disposition. The habit of complaint finally drops into peevishness, and people become waspish and unapproachable. FERGUSON'S EVIL WORK. A PA TUETIC ItESPON8E TO HIS PISTOL SHOT PROM IiEYOXIi THE SEAS. [From the Greenville News.] Two or three days ago Solicitor J. L. Orr received a letter, written in German, from . Leopold Benedict, of Karlsbad, Germany, father of the young man shot by Ferguson at Abbeville. It will be remembered that Ferguson was recently tried for the murder, which the evidence showed to be one of peculiar atrocity. The defense was insanity and the result was a mistrial. Here is what the father of the "d?d Jew" whom Ferguson called somebody to go along and see him kill, writes. The letter was translated almost literally by Prof. E. Von Fingerlin, and is evidently written by a man of intelligence and some education: "Karlsbad, 25th January, 1885. "Excuse a very sad father, broken in body and soul, who does not lind words to express his sorrow caused by the terrible death of his much beloved, murdered child. "Take pity on an old, sick man who now stands alone with his old wife and abandoned by everybody, without means or any hope for the future; for all this the murderer has taken from me in him who lived only for his parents and who worked and saved to support his old parents. For it was always a great pleasure for us whenever he wrote us and sent us money. The letters were so full of consoling words and hopes that he would soon establish himself permanently, and would then enable us to pass our old ago without any care. "And just now at this juncture comes the murderer, destroys his plans as well as his life, takes my much beloved child and renders me the most unhappy and miserable of men, and makes me a beggar, for wo will have to go from house to house for alms. I would like to do even that if I had for a moment the opportunity to see my most beloyed child ; but the miserable murderer has destroyed his and my future. "There could be no justice if this miserable murderer does not suffer the penalty of death. It is riow my only hope that my loved and never-to-be-forgotton child shall be avenged. I beg you, therefore, to do everything in your power to this end, that the murderer shall be punished who went with full premeditation to murder my beloved child. You will do a work pleasing in the eyes of God if you contribute all of your powers that the murderer shall notescape his well deserved punishment. I am unable to offer you anything but thanks. Leopold Benedict." Solicitor Orr has replied, explaining that the mistrial merely means a new trial, promising to devote his utmost efforts to secure Ferguson's conviction and further explaining that as he is paid by the State no other payment is required or could be accepted under any circumstances. Some Relics.?Jay Epps, writing from King's Mountain to the Tradesman, says that "on the headwaters of Long creek, near King's Mountain, N. C., in tne yard of Mr. Giles Ormand, is a venerable wniteoak tree, measuring at the roots, above ground, 34 feet, six inches in circumference; a few feet above, the trunk measures around its waist "11 feet, 9 inches. Its wide-spreading limns coverapjoi 01 grounu 140 feet in diameter, notwithstanding its lower and longest branches have been time and again shortened in order to preserve the ancestral home of the patriot Ormand of 1779, whose name and fame are associated with the battle and the heroes of King's Mountain, and whose valorous deeds rendered them especially obnoxious to the adherents of King George. Under this tree marauding tories rested their horses while plundering the home of all the contents, including the blanket of the baby in its cradle, and the family Bible, which was converted into a saddle for a stolen horse from the farm. This improvised saddle was recovered, a little the worse for its rough usage, and with the house and the tree, constitute a trio of well-preserved relics of the past." Tte Decay of Will Power.?Strong wills ard becoming as rare as healthy physical organizations. The world is "fussy," but only because humanity is working itself too much. Brain tissue has increased, but healthy, vigorous thought has diminished. Attfectations have become realities, and realities affectations. A toothache converts us into invalids, where our ancestors laughed at the gout. We have beaten the gold leaf so thin that it has lost its own color, and shines with a gnasuy green ngni. Sentiment has carried us past common sense; we have had such a terror of the flesh that we have cultivated brain at the expense of motive tissue, and have produced a giant's skull that is too heavy for the dwarf legs to bear. Emotions have ben improved; brain has increased but strong, vigorous thought has diminished. Humanity has made a rapid journey toward perfection; but the point has now been reached when rest and relaxation become a necessity. We have conauered worlds; let us now return for a while to the old Greek proverb and try to conquer ourselves. Max ix Love axd Out.?What is there that a man will not do when he is in love? What else will drive him to such lengths or brilliancy and daring? It is then that he puts on his most brilliant plumage, struts about in his greatest glory and reaches the most beautiful perfection of his nature. He writes long letters, spends his money like a prodigal, is ready to go here, there and everywhere, rain or shine, at the beck and call of his fair mistress; wears his best clothes, walks with erectness and elasticity of a trained athlete, smiles on all mankind, and is a being much beyond and above the common run of the race. All this he is to the woman to whom he is playing the lover. She takes him for what he seems to be, not for what he is. Perhaps he may turn out to be what lie seems to be, perhaps not? generally not. Most husbands are disappointing to their wives because they immediately after marriage collapse into mere matter of fact, plain, every day men, who seem to think about as much of one thing as another. Two Thousand Dead.?Late reports from Spain say that the whole southern portion of the country has been shaken by earthquakes, which have followed one another in quick succession, each addingtothe destruction wrought by its predecessor. So fast did the shocks occur that the terror-stricken and bereaved inhabitants had no time to recover from their fright, and little opportunity to search in safety for the bodies or their relatives and friends buried in the ruins of towns and villages. Beginning on Christmas Eve, the earthquakes chased each other up and down the length of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Cotton States.?In the cotton States there are 197,000,000 acres of land in farms, of which 67,350,000 are improved. The cotton area actually tilled was about 44,000,000 acres in 1870. The crops now in tillage now occupy about 53,000,000 acres, the difference representing the increase since the census from which the above figures were taken was made. The census value of farm productions for this section is $547,000,000. During the first four months of last year $54,000,000 was invested in Southern manufacturing. VStSome speculative individual has promulgated a queer story about eyes, by which one can be made to see without them. His theory is to place a piece of copper above the tongue and one of zinc beneath it, and then by closing the eyes and letting the tips of the pieces of metal touch each other, a flash of light can be detected. The eyes do not see, but the sensation of seeing is a vivid one, and the impression thus transmitted to the optic nerve and thence to the brain, would with blind persons answer the same purpose as eyes. Along the coast of the Alaska Peninsula the bears have been unusually plentiful and ferocious this season. In the neignoorhood of the Belkovsky one man was disemboweled in his tent, and lacerated to such an extent that the remains had to be buried on the spot. Another man had his arm crushed by the fangs of one of these animals. Women and children did not dare to take their usual share in the labor of fishing along the river banks. A