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. f r1 " ' lewis m. grist, Proprietor. J % Inbcptbenf Jfamilir Ucfospajur: <|or % ^promotion of % ^political, Social, ^fricnltaral anb Commercial Interests of f|e Sontj). j TERJIS--I2.50 A VEAK, IN ADVANCE. VOL 32. YOBKVILLE, S C., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 35, 1886. NO. 8. |lii Original Jtorg. Written for the Yorkville Enqnirer. AN UNQUIET LIFE. By Stanley StClair. CHAPTER IX. Little Dolly was relieved, on returning from her drive, to find that Mrs. Burton was still absent from home, for she had a secret idea that her afternoon expedition > would not meet with the approbation of that lady, of whose displeasure she had learned to be afraid. Magdalen did not, indeed, come in until unusually late, and when she did she went directly to her room, and remained there so long that her husband at last went in quest oi ner. "Why don't you come down?" he asked, entering her room. "We are waiting dinner for you." "I don't wish you to wait. I am not coming down," was her reply. "Because I am not well," she answered, pettishly. "I have a headache. Please go to your dinner and leave me alone." He inspected her gravely. "You do not look as well as usual," he ' remarked. "Can I do anything to relieve you ?" "Nothing at all. I am going to bed, and then I hope nobody will disturb me again." She moved her hands restlessly as she spoke, and there was a burning spot on either cheek. There was evidently something the matter with her, Burton thought, but she was not in the mood to bear urgent questioning. "I shall not*disturb you again," he said, quietly. "I am going out on business, and probably shall not be in until very late, so I will bid you good night at once." He kissed her on the forehead. She did not move or look up, but briefly returned his goodnight, and saw him depart with a feeling of relief. When he was gone, she locked her door, and changed her walking-dress for a loose, light cambric wrapper, though the evening I was cool. "Now I can breathe. I feltstified before," she said. She took from her hand-satchel a folded paper, lit the gas, and sat down under the cnandalier to read the contents of the document, which covered four closelywritten pages. She followed them with absorbed attention, to the last word, then drawing a long breath she laid the paper down, folded her hands in her. lap, and remained pondering for some time with a fixed and gloomy gaze. "It must be true," she said, at last. "It must be true. I see no loop-hole of doubt, of escape. 1 Vhat must I do?" Reflection did not seem to aid her. She rose, walked about the room, sat down again and re-opened the paper, rose once more, and approached the grate, in which a little fire was burning, with the paper in her hand. "I have a mind to burn it," she murmured through her clenched teeth. But she did not burn it. After a brief hesitation she turned away from the temptation, opened her desk and locked the paper in it. "It shall stay there for the present, at any rate," she said. "If the time ever comes when I shall see fit to give it up?well. But, in the meantime, let things go on as they are doing now. Something may happen?^" She had told her husband that she was gotagib be<t, butit was some houre before she put out her light and composed herself to rest. Nor did she sleep soundly that night, forshe wasdisturbed by ugly dreams. Once she fancied that she was trying to draw the burning paper out of the fire, and the flames were scorching her, and she could neither get her hands out of them nor let the paper go. Shecriedoutin herdream, and Burton, hearing her from the next "room, where he had made his sleeping place for the night, came to find out what was the matter. And for several nights after, she was so restless and uneasy that he began at last to dread brain-fever or some other calamity. Everything was, in some sort, out of the usual quiet routine. An air of constraint hung over each member of the household. Mrs. Fairfax, departing from her custom, began to come down regularly to meals, and to assume a certain resolute air that had long been foreign to her. Iler old feelings and old habits seemed striving to reassert themselves. Burton was reserved, silent, mysterious. Magdalen was far less selfpossessed than usual, and appeared sometimes flighty and distracted, sometimes absent and gloomy. As for Dolly, she was kept almost entirely in the background, but Burton supplied her plentifully with toys and sweets, and in Sally's companionship * she enjoyed herself tolerably well. Sometimes Magdalen would slip out pri- j vately and absent herself for hours, return- j ingas unostentatiously as she had departed; sometimes Mrs. Fairfax would do the same; it appeared as if nobody wanted Anybody else to know what they were about. In truth, the same subject was agitating the minds of them all. Burton was working with might and main to follow up the clue he had obtained; certain links of evidence he had succeeded in putting together, but certain other links were wanting, without which those already in his possession were useless. One thing was positive?that Mrs. Fair- j fax's lost child had been living up to a period far beyond the time when she had ut-1 terly renounced all hope of its recovery. Confession had been made by a vagrant j wretch, dying in a pauper institution, of having picked up the little creature in one of the streets of Maysville, and carried it off, for the purpose of using it to obtain charity; the idiot boy, to whom Sarah Martin had entrusted it, having doubtless taken it some distance from the house, then wearied of his burden and abandoned it. 4 A. vvaavm nf fhn fonrloi* Knlnlouo Al 111 ret; ^cu:cj ui aj^c mc i-viiu^i , iivipivuo mite had fallen into other hands?and here the evidence was broken off. Who then became her protectors, where they had lived and whither they had vanished, it now seemed impossible to find out. "Magdalen," said Burton one day, "I wish you would have my valise packed at once; I am obliged to leave home for a week or two, and shall start this afternoon. Put up somethings for Dolly too, for I intend taking her with me." "You are going to take Dolly!?Why, what in the world?" "Never mind. She wants to go, and she shall." "How can you take care of her alone?" "I'll manage that; she's very helpful, and she won't give me any trouble, I know." "Where are you going, may I ask ?" "To New York." "On business?" "Yes." It was evident that he did not desire to be communicative, and Magdalen disdained to urge his confidence. There had been so little confidential talk between them lately that his reticence was nothing new ; but she felt that she would have given almost anything she owned to learn the object of this expedition. She guessed intuitively that it must be connected with Dolly's interests, and this idea did not tend to soothe her agitation. It was with a feeling of positive relief that she discovered, on going to the nursery, that Dolly seemed quite unwell; she hadasevere cold, appeared feverish and languid, and was certainly not fit to travel. Her husband was greatly disappointed when she informed him of the( fact, anct was at tirst naruiy uisposeu iu credit it, but personal inspection convinced him of the accuracy of her statement, and he decided to delay his journey a day or two rather than go without the child. The day or two was lengthened into a week before prudence permitted him to start on his expedition. The following telegram, which he had received on the morning of the day first fixed for his departure, will explain the cause of his leaving home so unexpectedly : New York, No. 301i Susquehanna Street, October 18.?Bring child on immediately to be identifiied. Ask for Q. Y. Z., 20, 3rd floor. No Name. Remember 81.000. On the evening of the 29th of October Burton stood on the steps of a shabby looking building marked 301?, a queer, narrow edifice, squeezed uncomfortably in between two larger mansions respectively numbered 301 and 302. The street was a small one in a part of the city with which Burton had never before become acquainted. Its denizens were people of the commonest sort, and as he glanced around now at one or two squalid faces peering inquisitively into his, he congratulated himself upon having left Dolly at the hotel, instead of bringing her with him as he had at first proposed to do. He pulled the rickety bell and a dirty boy opened the door. * * - * i \T . no i I. ! 1 a* ! .J "1 want to go to x\o zu, mini uuur, sniu Burton, wondering how a building of this size could possibly contain as many as twenty rooms. "Come up," briefly said the boy, and slamming the door behind the visitor, he led up a Darrow and dingy flight of stairs at the top of which there was a long and still more dingy passage, lighted by one square of glass which had the appearance of having never been cleaned, being opaque with cobwebs and dust. At the extremity of the passage was a ladder, stopping at the foot of which the boy motioned upward with his hand. "No. 20's up there?attic," he exclaimed. "Up that ladder !" exclaimed Burton. "Yes. You kin easy find the room. There's only four of 'em. It's second to your right." "You had better come with me," said Burton. The boy shook his head. "I can't. Marin needs me down stairs." And without ceremony he departed. ThUs left alone, Burton stood for a moment irresolute as to his next movements, for the peculiarity of his situation led him to fear a trap. He regretted that he had not taken the precaution to provide himself with an escort in the shape of a police officer. For although a brave and cool-headed man, he felt that he was without means of self defence, and would be therefore, entirely at the mercy of any one who might wish to do him harm. "I may as well go up as stand here," he decided, and, without further delay, he climbed the ladder, which tottered most disagreeably beneath his weight. At the top was almost total darkness, and he groped his way cautiously for a few steps tniihnnf liuviiKr thp Ifjpfl whither be was going. As to finding a number on a door, or a door itself, there seemed little chance of his being able to do so. "What confounded trick is this that has been played on me?" he muttered angrily, and taking his matchbox from his pocket, he struck a light. By its brief and fitful flame, he made the discovery that he was in an unfinished loft, without apartments or divisions of any kind, its only probable occupants being rats, mice and cockroaches, for there was certainly no accommodation for dwellers of the human species. Burton was now convinced that he had been decoyed there on false pretences, and this conviction naturally filled him with mingled indignation and alarm. He retraced his way down the ladder and along the hallway, but to his surprise he could not find the stairs. The truth was that a door, which he had not perceived on his entrance, and which stood near the top of the stairway, had been closed and locked, thus barring his passage, and it was a considerable time before he discovered this to be the case. When at last he did so, he tried the latch, shook and knocked upon the door, and called loudly for assistance, but for sometime the echoes of his own voice were the only response that he received. At last, just as he was meditating the propriety of smashing the little window before mentioned and giving the alarm to somebody in the street below, he heard the approach of a shuttling step; then an unsteady hand tumbled at the door latch, it swung back on its creaky hinges, and a withered old woman stood before him. "Why the devil have I been locked in here?" cried Burton. The old woman put her hand to her ear and bent forward. "Eh ?"she responded in a hoaise, wheezy tone. "I'm deef." "Who locked this door, I say?" said Burton raising his voice. "Is this the way you treat people who come to the house?" "Locked the door?" echoed the woman. "Yes?locked it. I've been trying to get out for qnarter of an hour." The old crone shook her head. "I dunno nothing about the door. This ain't my house. I've come to see my sick darter." "I don't believe you've got any daughter," muttered Burton. "Well, get out of the wavand let me nass. will you ? I don't want to shove you down stairs." ."Please, master, give me a few cents to buy some food," whined the miserable looking creature, extending a skinny hand. "My poor sick darter?" With an oath, Burton pushed her aside and ran down stairs; he was in no mood for dispensing charity, especially where he believed it to be undeserved. In a high state of excitement he made his way out of the front door; not a living soul was in sight on the block, and he hastened to reach a less doubtful vicinity. Anxious to return to Dolly, he hailed the first public conveyance he met, and was speedily conveyed to his hotel. His heart was beating with indefinable apprehension as he ran up stairs. He had locked Dolly in his room to ensure her remaining unmolested, providing her with books and pictures to amuse her until his return. The door was still locked, but when he opened it he found the room empty; the child was gone. Hasty inquiries were made throughout the hotel, but no one could give any expla-1 nation of Dolly's disappearance. After a frantic and vain search, Burton went in quest of a detective and placed the matter in his hands; nor did he fail to recount his own recent experience, which, he did not doubt, bore an important relation to the other-event. It may be well imagined that no sleep visited his eyes that night; he spent the greater part of it in the office of the hotel, where he had given his address. About three in the morning there was a ring at the office bell;a police messenger appeared. "Is she found ?" eagerly cried the expectant Burton, starting forward. "No, but there is evidence, and you are needed at headquarters." Arrived at headquarters, Burton found himself confronted by the same old woman who had opened the door for him, at No. 3011 Susquehanna St. She did not appear nt oil Hoof hut. lonk-pd verv wide awake and alert, and quite willing to answer all the questions put to her. "The child? bless you, yes, gentlemen; I've seen her. A pretty little dear, with yellow curls and blue eyes, and a face like a wax doll. Dressed handsome too, in muslin and lace; a real gentleman's child, I'll be bound. But she ain't there? not at that house; no, no. She's too pretty to go to a nasty ugly place like that. It's only fit for poor ragged folks like we. Since you're willing to do the real handsome thing by me, gentlemen, I'll tell you all I know about her; I swear I won't tell a single lie." [to he continued.] BFortune has been considered the guardian divinity of fools; and, on this score, she has accused of blindness; but it should rather be adduced as a proof of her sagacity, when she helps those who certainly cannot help themselves. SST" Gold hath been the ruin of many. Watching for riches consumeth the flesh, and the care thereof driveth away sleep. Miscellaneous ftcadituj. EX-GOVERNOIt SEYMOUR. Horatio Seymour, whose death occurred at Utica. N. Y., on the 12th instant, was born in Pompey, Onondaga county, N, Y., May 31,1810. Civilization had only just begun to redeem that portion of the State from the wilderness. Syracuse had no existence and Utica was but a hamlet'. Henry Sey mour, the father of Horatio, had emigrated from Litchfield, Conn., and belonged to that famous Seymour family which gave his brother, Iioratio Seymour, to the United States Senate from Vermont, and in Connecticut gave one nephew, Judge Origen S. Seymour, to the Bench, and another, Thomas H. Seymour, to the Gubernatorial chair. Horatio Seymour was sent successively to Oxford Academy, Geneva (now Hobart) College and Capt. Partridge's military school, atMiddletown,Connecticut. In 1818 the family removed to Utica, where Henry Seymour at once took a prominent position, socially and politically, becoming afterwards one of the members of the famous Albany regency. It was natural that his son should early imbibe a love for the Democracy which he learned at home, and before his education was completed he had received from other sources also a strong bias in favor of a public or political life. In 182G the cadets of Capt. Partridge's school visited Washington and were presented to President John Quincy Adams. After a review by the President the young cadets visited Mount Vernon, where they saw the remains of Washington removed from their original place of interment and where young Seymour placed his right hand on the great patriot's coffin?a hand that always remained worthy of the touch of that sacred dust. In 1832 Mr. Seymour was admitted to the Bar. His entrance in his profession was soon followed by his marriage to Miss Mary Bleecker, of Albany. Mrs. Seymour brought a large estate to her husband, and he found his time so occupied with its care and with the management of his own modest fortune that he never accumulated any legal practice. Until after he was thirty years of age Mr. Seymour aspired to no elective office. But his ability as a political leader could not long remain hidden. In 1842 he was elected a member of the State Assembly, and there he made his mark. In the same year he was elected Mayor of Utica, and the next year he was again chosen to the Legislature and was made Speaker of the House. But this quiet was destined in be rudely " t! 1 T broken by the din 01 political uiscoru. in the fall of 1850 Mr. Seymour was called to take the Democratic nomination for governor. The Democrats then were in a hopeless minority in the State and there was no expectation of success; but Mr. Seymour unhesitatingly responded to the call of his party, made a vigorous campaign and was defeated, but only by the small plurality of 202 votes. Under the circumstances his vote was marvelous, and in 1852 he was unanimously renominated and again threw himself ardently into the canvass. This time he was successful, being elected by a plurality of 22,55)0. Governor Seymour's administration was distinguished for its honesty and economy. Its record has no blot. In the winter of 1854 he was called upon to manifiest the courage of his opinions by vetoing the so-called Maine liquor law that had been approved by the Legislature. The bill was vetoed on the ground that it deprived people of their property in a manner prohibited by the Constitution, and that it sanctioned an iniquitous right of search. For this action the governor was unsparingly denounced. The clergy and the churches set themselves in array against him, and, as a natural consequence, when he ran again tor Governor in 1854, he was defeated. Myron H. Clark, the Whig and Temperance nominee was elected by a plurality of 305) votes. From this time until the breaking out of the civil war Governor Seymour remained quietly at home, occupied with bis business cares. In its incipient stages he was opposed to the war and did all that he could to mantain peace. lie did not believe in the enforced abolition of slavery. He doubted if it would result to the advantage of the negro. In his opinion the slavery agitation had resulted disadvantageously even to those black people who lived at the North. Holding such views it was not to be expected that Governor Seymour would hasten to array himself against the South. Tin* uhpn th? war bad broken out and it was manifest that the Union of the States was in deadly peril, he eaine patriotically to the front and did good service in the committees charged with the enrollment of troops and their care in the field. LINCOLN ANI) SEYMOUR. In the darkest hour of the war Horatio Seymour was again called upon to lead his party as its candidate for Governor. Mr. Seymour made sixty speeches, visiting all parts of the State, and had the satisfaction of finding himself returned hy a majority of 10,752 votes. On March 2.3, 18(53, President Lincoln addressed a letter to Governor Seymour, marked "Private and confidential," in which he said: "You and I are substantially strangers, and I write this chiefly that we may become better acquainted. I, for the time being, am at the head of a nation which is in great peril, and you are at the head of the greatest State of that nation," and asked the views of Mr. i Seymour. The response came: "I assure ! you that no political resentments, no perI sonal purposes, will turn me aside from the pathway I have marked out for my| se]f_ * * * por the preservation of the { Union I am ready to make any sacrifice of j interest, passion or prejudice." He hadal} ready said as much in his inaugural address j on January 1, 18G3: "Under no circumI stances can the division of the Union be j conceded. We will put forth every exertion of power; we will put forth every ! policy of conciliation ; we will guarantee i them every ritrht. every consideration de ma tided by the Constitution and by that fraternal regard which must prevail in a common country, but we can never voluntarily consent to the breaking up of the Union of these States or the destruction o! the Constitution." In July, 1803, Governor Seymour was in, formed by Gen. Wool, the department commander, that the defences of the metropolis ' were in so insecure a condition as to render | the city liable to capture by an expedition I from the sea. The Governor visited the deI fences ot the port and found it to be so. On Sunday, July 12, while at Long Branch for ! the purpose of investigating the question of coast defences, he received a telegram stating that a conscription of recruits had j begun in New York. It had been ordered by the provost marshal, without consultaI tion with Governor Seymour, Gen. Wool I and Mayor Opdyke, in the absence of th( I militia, who had been hurried off to (Jen Meade in Pennsylvania and in the most disturbed quarter of the city. A riot followed , as ought to have been expected. The Governor hastened to the city on Monday and found a reign of terror prevailing. A mob was sweeping through the streets, threatening destruction to all who held the symbols of authority. The citizens were paralyzed. While Gen. Wool and the Governor were in consultation at the St. Nicholas Hotel the proprietor came and besought them to leave, for fear that his house would be burned over his head. Yet the Governor never flinched for moment. He went to the City Hall, and there so organized the civil power of the city that it eventually quenched the riot and restored peace. While engaged in the performance of this duty a I tkanno .vf cni'OP!ll t ll rtll'CQ n fl in nillD lillUlig \Jl HUlVTiOf 13V* Vtltt VIIVUUMUV* ber, surrounded the City Hall and demanded to see the Governor. He promptly took his lil'e in his hand and appeared before them. What should he have said? Should he have defied them, threatened them with the sword or the law, and thus incited them to greater excesses, or should he plead for Eeace? As a civil officer he had no choice ut to disarm them peacefully. He said: "I beg you to listen to me as a friend, for I am your friend pnd^Ah&lYiend of your families." For this he' lias "been denounced, though it had theeffeetof preventing further bloodshed at that point. For this he will be praised when the true history of those terrible days begins to be written. Alone he faced the storm ; alone he overcame it. THE PUESI DEN DTI A L SUMMONS. In the autumn of 1864 Governor Seymour presided over the National Democratic Convention which nominated Gen. McC'lellan for the Prsidency. Though he had opposed the idea of a military candidate, Mr. Seymour entered vigorously in the canvass, and consented to run for the Governorship in order to aid the national nominee. rne resuii was disastrous iu me puny mm its candidates. In 1868 he again presided over the National Convention, and, after nearly a week's balloting, was nominated for President. It was done against his wishes, because he believed at the time that there were stronger men in the party, who could draw the entire "war" vote away from the Republicans. Reluctantly he accepted and made a gallant fight. Defeat, under the circumstances, was a foregone conclusion. Governor Seymour accepted the result philosophically, and when President Grant visited Utica he was the first to welcome him and congratulate him on the excellent run he had made. Since that time he has steadily declined official honors. In 1875 he was offered the senatorship, but refused it in favor of his friend and neighbor, Francis Kernan. In 1877 he was unanimously chosen by his party as their candidate lor Governor, but he peremptorily declined, believing that another candidate could easily be elected, and Lucius Robinson was nominated in his place and elected by the people. He never valued office for its own sake. President Pierce offered him a high Federal appointment in the States and President Buchanan made him the proffer of a foreign mission. But he always refused office except where the people evidently desired it and the welfare of his party demanded it. A STATESMAN'S NOME. On a spur of the Deerfield Hills, throe miles from Utica and overlooking that city, is the unpretending home of Governor Seymour. Its roof is shadowed by hemlocks that have stood there for centuries, and which, as their owner said, "would talk Indian if they could speak any language." In front stretch the broad acres that Mrs. Seymour inherited^ J$pn her ancestors in the days of the Colonial Governor Cosly. For twenty miles the valley of the Mohawk, green and loveiy iringed uy ine purpie Dun tier bergs, lies before the visitor as he stands on the lawn, and he finds himself carried away by the enthusiasm with which the Governor speaks of it as "the grandest highway of the nation which the world has ever seen, the pathway of millions towards thesettingsun." Within the house breathes an atmosphere of the old historic times. There is the clock which ticked away the hours in General Schuyler's house when Burgoyne was there as prisoner of war; the chair that Bishop White used in the Continental Congress; Governor Clinton's dress sword; the commission of Governor Seymour's maternal grandfather, Jonathan Formal), as major in the Continental army, bearing the bold signatureof John Hancock; parchments that bear the sign manual and seal of Peter Stuyvesant and other old. Dutch worthies, and scores of historical articles of Revolutionary and later days. And quietly the courteous Governor did the honors of his pleasant, home, perfectly unconscious that he was himself the most remarkable sight among those reminders of the great and good of other days. SEYMOUR'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE. The following pen picture of Governor Seymour, published a year or two ago, is a correct description of his personal appearance in his latter days: Six feet in height, erect and vigorous, almost 70 years of age, but in appearance not more than GO, his brown hair and scant side whiskers slightly tinged with gray, his keen hazel eyes as full of lire as in his youth, his face the kindliest and most distinguished that meets the passer-by, dressed in black-broadcloth, with the coat buttoned tightly over his chest, and wearing a silk hat'in all weatherssuch is Horatio Seymour as he may be seen on the streets of Utica any day. Dignified, yet always accessible, a good nsiener as well as talker, his is the rare instance of a public man who holds the unbroken respect and admiration of the people with whom he has made his home for nearly two generations. Though he has never held Federal office and has never been a member of the ' National Legislature, there is no Democrat who is more universally honored by the masses. His record shows that he has declined more offices than have been offered to most men, and yet his modest estimate of his own abilities is unchanged. "1 am an old man," he said recently in reply to some remarks about his possible candidacy at Cincinnati, "and I ought to be left to die in peace. There is nothing in life that is worth fighting for after a man has reached three-score and ten. Passion and prejudice have all died out and there remains only an old man's enjoyment of his memories. You younger men ought to leave me to retrospection and let me grow old as gracefully and as unobtrusively as is possible." Some Valuable Information About Lamps.?The insurance agencies have just issued some information about lamps that will prove useful to every household in which kerosene is used. The insurance men say that the majority of lamp explosions occur from the use of low grades of oil, i which contain a considerable quantity of naptha or gasoline, and under the heat generated by the flame in the wick tube, a highly explosive gas is evolved, which, tilling the space not occupied by the oil in the font, is liable to find its way to the flame, and upon ignition, cause all explo; sion. In case no means of exit presents . itself, this gas, being subjected to continuous heating, may expand sufficiently to i rupture the font itself, and 011 coming in " contact with flame ignite with explosive rapidity. This tendency to generate gas is greatly facilitated through the usual practice of i turning low the flame of a lamp, resulting in an unusual heating of the metal dome 1 over the wick, as well as its metalic con nections, thus creating an excess of heat and i more rapid volatilization of the oil which engenders a tendency to explosion, even i with the use of high grade oils. It should i he borne in mind that while the oil is low 1 in a lamp, the process of capillary attracI tion through the wick is retarded, and as a result, the heated wick tube acts more I rapidly in developing the gas?hence it is ? always unsafe to use a lamp when the oil is . low in it. > A BLOODY BATTLE. TWELVE HUNDRED MEN KILLED IN FORTY MINUTES. [Philadelphia Times.] Captain James A. Graham, of the Twenty-seventh North Carolina, gives a description of a terrible charge made by two Confederate Brigades at Bristoe Station,.that was, perhaps, the bloodiest of the war. The Confederates had been chasing the Federals all day, and were suddenly brought up against a" corps of troops that were hidden behind a hill. But we let Captain Graham tell the story: It was a beautiful October day, but it was destined to be the day when more men were killed, and more blood shed in a few ivn'mitno n u'.iu nfilp bniWL'ri KcfArO Illlliuiro lllttll H UO VI Vi nuwTT II WIV4 v? This assertion seems strong, but I venture it, for I have never read in history of as many as 1,200 men lost on one side where only two brigades were engaged, in less than forty minutes. The Confederates lost that many that day. My own brigade, Cooke's, lost just 700and Kirkland 500. The battle did net last exceeding forty minutes after the first gun was fired. After leaving Greenwich (or Greenage) and pursuing tlie rapid march of which I spoke above, for some hours we reached the vicinity of Bristoe. On the top of the high red hill I noticed the head of our brigade turning to the right into a cedar thicket. As I passed General John It. Cooke I said to him: "Well, General, you are going to give us a rest now." His reply was; Not yet, Jimmie: There is about a division of Yankees over here just beyond the railroad ; we'll catch them and then rest." Kirkland, immediately in our rear, filed to the left and formed line, and his brigade, with ours, composed the line of battle. Litttle did we think then that there was death in the pot. In a short while the command forward was given and we advanced through the cedar thicket and a dense forest of oaks for about 500 or 000 yards when he came to a beautiful little valley, through which ran a little branch. Gen. A. P. Hill, our corps commander, was almost immediately in our rear; Gen. Harry Heth, our division commander, was a little to our left and rear, so that he could see both brigades and his whole line. Before us, as Hill supposed?and, in fact, ' all of us, at that time had the same ideawas only one division of the Federal army. That was the rear guard which we had been pursuing all day and thought we could easisily whip, "but we counted without our host." Warren, with his corps, was then ?yir>vinn- iin Hip rnilrnflH frnm Cattail's sta tion, pursued by Early and EweJI, and happened just tlien to have reached a point immediately in front of us, where the railroad embankment formed a perfect breastwork. There was a little hill between us and them when we stopped in the little valley so that we could not see them. THE BATTLE BEGUN. But we soon felt them. I was standing near General Cook when a courier from General Hetli came with the message: "General Cook, General Heth says General Hill orders you to advance." Almost at the same time a courier came from Colonel E. D. Hall, Forty-sixth North Carolina (our right regiment) and informed General Cooke that we were flanked on the right. The courier from General Heth was sent back with the information that we were flanked and asked that our right be supported before we were made to advance, and Colonel Hall was ordered to throw out two companies away to his right and feel the enemy. The two couriers came agaiu, almost simultaneously, to General Cooke. The one from General Heth repeated : "General Cooke, General Heth says General Hill says advance." The one from Colonel Hall reported that he (Colonel Hall) had thrown out the two companies as directed and that they were immediately driven in and that the enemy were in very heavy force on his flank. About that time Captain or Major Johnson, an engineer on (fen. Lee's staff, came up and offered to go to Hill for Cooke. Directly after he started a courier came direct from Hill to Cooke with the message: "General Cooke, General Hill says advance at once." [I was standing within fifteen feet of General Cooke and heard all these messages given and received.] Upon this message Cooke, with a peculiar shrug of the oK/miI/1ahc< 4-liof Ka l-lrtfl VAmai?L'?l/l 3IIUUIUCID IIIUL IIU JUIU) l UHKit i\vu n vii) by , I'll take my men in and if they outflank me I'll face my men about and cut my way out. Forward, men !" ADVANCING UP THE HILL. As we advanced up the hill a rabbit was scared up and dashed along our front. One of the men called out?a remark which had, no doubt, been made a thousand times before?"Go it, Molly Cotton Tail. If I had no more reputation than you I'd run too." Moving up the little hill we came to a skirt of pines on its top, and as we passed through them the work of death began. To the left of Kirkland, on a high round hill, had been posted Graham's North Carolina battery and Virginia battery, ol Poague's battalion. As we emerged from the pines we could see on the opposite side of the railroad two tents being pitched and a lot of wagons apparenty going into park. "Boom" went a cannon from Graham's battery. The shell struck one of the tents, and, as was afterwards reported to us, killed a lieutenant colonel and major, who were preparing to rest therein. Immediately all was confusion on that side, and all the forces that we could see, wagons and all, hurried away. We had still seen no enemy in our immediate front, but we soon found that they were there and ready for us. We thought we had the "hare now." Just as we passed the skirts of pines fire was opened on us by skirmishers beyond the railroad and from two to three batteries in the woods at the top of the opposite hill. We still saw no enemy behind the railroad, but soon they opened on us with telling effect. It was a gentle slope from the pine to the railroad, and as the enemy were firing up hill their bullets told well. Before we had gone thirty yards General Cooke and Colonel Gilmer, of the Twentyseventh North Carolina, were shot down. The command ot the brigade then devolved on Colonel F. I). Hall, of the Forty-sixth North Carolina, and Lieutenant Colonel Whitfield took command ot our regiment. The Twenty-seventh having been always drilled in the quick-step was a little in advance, and Jpul halted for the others. As Hall came up, Colonel Whitfield told him he would lose every man he had if he kept them there, and suggested a charge. Col onel Hall said : "Well, charge !" and down the hill we started. j Where we had halted but for an instant the line was plainly marked by dead and wounded men. Ten of my own company lay there. The balance of the brigade immediately joined in the charge, as did Kirkland also. By this time the firing was becoming still more deadly. Men were falling at evey step. Ilalf way down the I hill I was wounded and started back. As I [ neared the top of the hill I turned and saw my regiment actually slaughtered by one volley. They had then reached within thirty or forty yards of the railroad. The regiment seemed to me just to melt away at once. Just then I glanced to the left and saw a part of the Eleventh North Carolina dashing over the railroad embankment. The Yankees were too strong for them, and they never came back until they were paroled and exchanged. But the tight was disastrous to the Confederates. We had to fall back up that fatal hill. The Twenty-seventh had no protection of any kind. The ground was smooth and even and it seemed as if every man must be shot, but we were protected to a great extent by the gallant Fifteenth North Carolina, who, under their able Colonel (afterwards Brigadier General,) William McRae, fell back by companies as though on drill, and poured their fire into the enemy, thus making a part of them, at least, keep their heads and musket barrels below the top of the embankment. The Fifteenth had some protection by unevenr ness in the ground they passed over as well as by some trees and bushes along their line. We had none except their protecting , fire." Colonel John Esten Cook says: ] "The fault of fighting two brigades j against one whole corps and a division of ( another was with somebody, but not with { Cooke or Kirkland. They only obeyed the J orders to advance, and as I have shown in ! the case of Cooke, protested against being j rushed into the slaughter pen without some j support. They under orders like "The Six , Hundred," rushed right "into the jaws of death" Well might General Lee, the noble old < Roman, say, "Well, well, General, bury j these poor soldiers and let us say no more ( aboutit." I heard it said, and the Northern , papers so stated a few days after the fight? , that the Federel loss was only thirty-five, j i uo not Know now ims is, wueuier n ue ui ; not. But just think of it! A loss of thir- , ty-live on one side against 1,2G0 on the oth- ' er, the thirty-five out of more than a corps and the 1,200 out of two brigades, and all j in less than forty minutes. Indeed we did , "go into the jaws of death." If the thirty- j five be correct, then I lost more out of my , own company than the whole of Hancock's , and Warren's troops did. 1 entered the 1 fight with Of) men ,and officers, and lost 48, every officer being wounded. The Twenty- ( seventh North Carolina regiment had 416 and lost 200. Of 38 officers only 3 escaped unhurt. But, while wo might dwell longer on the sad part of this scene, there is always something ludicrous to happen even in such a battle. Just before leaving Gordonsville, Va., on the 8th or Oth of October, new clothes had been issued to our brigade. Our men wore their old clothes on the march to 1 Bristoe and had them at the fight. When we were compelled to retreat up the hill under the deadly fire Private J. H. Lathinghouse of company H, Twenty-seventh North Carolina, finding his knapsack too heavy ( and fearing he would have to throw it away , and lose his new clothes, stopped about half '{ way up the hill, threw off his knapsack, opened it, jerked off his old clothes, donned j his new ones and then continued his trot up ( the hill. It is the only instance of which I , have ever heard of a man changing his ( clothes under fire; but clothes were very , good things to have in our army at that date. j Sergeant Fleming, also of company H, was shot through the right shoulder and did not know it until next morning, when he complained of his gun having kicked terribly and his shoulder being very sore. Maj. Webb called his attention to a hole in his coat, and on pulling it off he found a bullet I hole through his right shoulder. Happily < it hit no bone. i Wives as Companions.?It has become ( the fashion to talk about girls as at present , brought up as more ornamental than use- j ful. Old bachelors occasionally indulge in j tirades against woman's ignorance of house- . keeping. If these lay sermons are correct, . - ^ :5.. ttlG Only mission OT H wue is LU uaive nuu sweep and sew. Now we do not under- , stand the importance of such acquirements, i A girl has no right to marry a poor man if , she is entirely ignorant of household matters, and most young men in this country . are comparatively poor, and have their . fortunes to make for themselves. But to be ignorant of household affairs is one thing? to be a drudge or upper servant is another. We have often seen a lively, pretty girl, af- ] ter a few years of marriage, sink into a listless, careworn matron. A wife should ( be something above a mere menial. She ought to be a "helpmate," and no wife can be , that, in the higher sense of the term, unless she is a companion. Many an otherwise , excellent woman, perfect in the ordering of her household, and capable, when necessary, , of working heartily herself, drives her husband to the company of pot-house companions because she is no companion for him. , We do not say that a doctor's wife should ( study medicine, or a lawyer's wife study law, or a mechanic's wife should learn his trade, in order to become a companion to her husband. This is not what we mean. But every man, even the most illiterate, ] has his peculiar tastes and sympathies ; and , it should be the business of a wife to dis- , tover them, to interest herself in them, and : to be able to talk appreciatively about them. j The poorer a couple is, unless in the case , of actual day laborers, the more they are ] thrown together, and the more need there j is of this companionship. With the very j rich, society occupies much of the time of ( the wife, if not of the husband, and there , is, perhas, less absolute need of this com- ] panionship. But even with the very rich, i a capacity for companionship would adcl j greatly to the mutual happiness of husband | and wife, and often prevent sad family , tragedies. Wives, neglect not your house- ( hold duties, but be something more than ( mere housekeepers?be intelligent companions to your husbands. ] Casts From Pompeii.?A museum has L been erected in Pompeii, in which are pre-1, served plaster casts of some of the people j' who perished in the eruption. These peo- j pie were covered up by the fine ashes just j ( where they fell, and in positions in which | they died. The ashes hardened, and al- , though the bodies, with the exception of a ! few bones, entirely disappeared in the ( course of age, the hollow places left in the ashes were exactly the shape of the forms and features of the persons who had been , there. An ingenious Italian conceived the J idea of boring into these hollow molds and filling them up with liquid plaster of Paris. ' When this became dry and hard, the ashes were removed, and there were the plaster images of the persons who had been over-! taken and destroyed before they could es- j cape from that terrible storm of hot ashes, which came down in quantities sufficient to . cover a whole city from sight. In some of i these figures the features are very distinct,) and we can even distinguish the texture of their clothes and the rings upon their fin- r gers. There are eight of these figures, men, j' women, and girls, besides the cast of a large i dog. To stand and look upon the exact! representation of these poor creatures who I perished here seems still more to shorten , the time between the present and the days when Pompeii wasa lively, bustling city.? 1 "Personally Conducted," by Frank It. Stockton, in St. Nicholas. Refuge for Criminals.?By examin-1 ing a map of the United States a small strip j several millions of acres in extent, marked "Public land," will be seen dividing the States of Kansas and Texas. This strip of the country was left out by mistake in the original surveys and is not included in any State or Territorial jurisdiction. Neither is it reached by United States law. It is whol- j ly without judicial authority and is consequently the abode of the very worst classes PnfflA.fhtatma onrl frilYli- I Ill UlC I'tjuiiu.y. v^rtiuc-iiiiv* W c?.-v* , mils of nil kinds resort to it as a refuge from ' justice and lately cattlemen have partly taken possessiou of it to evade the action of ;1 the President excluding them from the j' Indian Territory. There they have estab- j lished their ranches, without fear of molestation. The bill introduced by Senator 1 Plumb is intended to destroy the nest of criminals and outlaws and place that strip of country within the limits of law and civilization. The bill extends the United States law over it and for judicial purposes attaches it to the State of Kansas. South America is more than double the size of the United States. The empire^ of Brazil seems on the map quite as large as Australia. It is twenty-four times the size of England. The Argentine Republic | is nearly as large as Europe, taking Russia , out. Bolivia and Venzuela are each twice \ the size of England. Xew Granada and Peru, each as large as England and Scot-1 land, Equador something less, Paraguay , equal to Great Britain, Uruguay and Chili' about the same, and the little known re-i gions of Patagonia and Terra del Fuego at least double the dimensions of Great Brit- j ain. British, French and Dutch Guiana are nearly as large as Great Britain. 1 THE LOSS OF OUR GAME. In a country where every man and boy may carry a gun and keep a dog if he wishes to, and where people generally little heed who shoots, or what is shot, whether the laws are obeyed or broken, what wonler is it that wild birds and beasts disappear, and that our markets are almost bare of *ame in seasons when it should be cheap and plenty? Game of all kinds is plentier and cheaper, all over England, France and Gfermany, than it is here. The time may possibly come, when the right to carry a fowling-piece will be obtained by paying a high license fee, when the privilege of shooting over certain districts, will be sold i term of years to the highest bidder, or Jisposed of at an annual rental. Should that time come, game will be abundant* again. Many townships or school districts, if they had the right and the will to enforce it, might in this way secure an income sufficient to pay all school expenses, and very likely a good part of the highway tax. As it is, farmers might do a great deal if tney wouia, rowarcis suppressing tnis irresponsible, general shooting, which is going on every autumn. It will be necessary for them first to become familiar with the game laws, and then aid in enforcing them by every means in their power. Neighbors' boys are the worst. Nobody wants to do anything to get the ill-will of his neighbor, so the boys are not hindered. They blaze away at robbins and quail, yellow hammers and rabbits, in or out of season, until they think they have a perfect right to do it. In the woods of Maine, in the Adirondacks, and in similar regions, one would think the woodsmen, and those who live by hunting and fishing, and act as guides to hundreds of sportsmen who visit these places, would take some pains, law or no law, to preserve their principal attraction. But no, they will shoot deer indiscriminately, in or out of season, and what is worse, they will shoot a doe as quickly as a buck. There are thousands of acres of land in almost every township, certainly in every rural county, where the ground is so rough as to be unfit for any agricultural purpose, and where even sheep cannot range on account of the exposure to the attacks of the fly. These are just adapted to deer, and if they could be protected for a few years, would multiply rapidly. At the same time, wild turkeys, partridges, and lesser game birds would increase.? > A merican Agriculturist. OUR BOYS. The question of "What to do with Our Boys," has of late been greatly agitated, but the conundrum seems to be as far from a satisfactory solution as ever. Every child is but the advance of the man to come, and every man is essentially different from all other men. To say what we shall do with our boys, to lay down any sweeping rules For their management, would be as ridiculous as to lay out a certain line of conduct and compel every man to follow it. Boys should have some volition of their own. It would be a wrong to them to parcel them out and say to these, "You must learn a trade;" to these, "You must study for a profession." The remedy for the hoodlum element is not in compelling them, after they had grown up in an outdoor school of vice, to learn a trade. It is rather in makiug his home too pleasant for outside influence to prevail. If parents would teach their children to remain at home from the beginning, and devote very little time toward their pleasure and comfort, and spend a little money in providing their sons with iimitfj iai jui uiiiusciiifiu at iiuine uit'.y wuuiu ot care to go abroad. There is no boy bom into the world who does not before he is five years old, exhibit the natural bent of his mind. Let the parents then understand that, and provide him with books or tools as the case may be. If boys were rightly understood while very small, and their natural inclinations fostered, we should not have to make the great mistake of placing them to learn a trade for which they were utterly unsuited, and at which they would not work. Their choice would be made, and they would unconsciously acquire a certain degree of knowledge of what they would like before they were placed as apprentice to something which, when understood, would be distasteful. Every boy ought to have a chance to learn the trade he prefers and for which he has a natural taste, no matter what the condition of his parents. This remedy is not for the boys of to-day who are almost men, but those of to-morrow, who are still under their mothers'jurisdiction. A few dollars more or less, a'little more noise about the house, is all the price she has to pay for the privilege of future years of happiness with her grown-up boys. With the mother rests the largest share of the responsibility of the character of her children. Home influencss, when good, are more powerful than all others. Every woman has it in her power to make home an abode of pure delight to her boys, and to keep them there away from the evils of the street. In that alone rests the solution of the query of "What shall we do with our boys?"?Budget. Tiie Invention of Spectacles.?Fewer inventions have conferred a greater blessing on the human race than that which assists impaired visions. It was impossible to say how many there are at the present Jay whose lives would be almost valueless were it not for the use of spectacles. In deed, Dr. Johnson rightly expressed his surprise that such a benefactor as the discoverer of spectacles should have been regarded with indifference, and found no worthy biographer to celebrate his ingenuity. Unfortunatly, however, his name is a matter of much uncertainty ; and hence, a grateful posterity have been prevented from bestowing upon his memory that honor which it so richly merited. And it may be noted that popular opinion has long ago pronounced in favor of Spina, a Florentine monk, as the rightful claimant, although some are in favor of Roger Bacon. Monsieur Spoon, in his "Researches Curieuses d'Antique," fixes the date of the invention of spectacles between the years 1280 and 1311, ai d says that Alexander de Spina, having seen a pair made by some other person who was unwilling to communicate the secret of their construction ordered a pair for himself, and found them so useful that he cheerfully and promptly made the invention public. According to an Italian antiquarian, the person to whom Spina was indebted for his information was Salvino, who died in 1318, and he quotes from a manuscript in his possession an epitaph which records the circumstance: "Here lies Salvino Armoto d' Armati, of Florence, the inventor of spectacles. May God pardon his sins. The year 1318." Learn a Trade.?An item now floating about among the papers, says the Philadelphia Ledyer, is sufficiently explained in its headline: "Spoke six languages and nearly starved." It tells of misdirected education. If the unfortunate linguist bad understood six trades, or even one, he would have been in much less danger of starvan" '1 nAiil/1 Kii ttn 1 no n/1 six trades with less trouble and expense that six languages. Higher education is a very good thing for those who can afford the luxury, and is not incompatible with the kind of knoweldge that enables one to earn a living, but for nine tenths of humanity the important thing is to learn, in early life, some trade or calling that will ensure support, so that, whether they afterwards learn six languages or not, they will not be in danger of starvation. A Great Chinese City.?There is an air of decay about Pekin which extends even to its temples. The number of its population is not accurately known, but, according to a Chinese estimate, which is probably in excess, it is 1,300,000 of whom 000,000 reside in the Tartar, and 400,000 in the Chinese city. There is no direct foreign trade with Pekin, and the small foreign population is made up of the members of the various legations, the maritime customers, the professors at the college and the missionary body.