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' -V v? > ; - . ........ -." .V-.--" s:. >.: . : , ? j..- ' ' lewis ji- grist, proprietor. J 51 it Jjitbcjpbenf Jfamilj) Uefospjirr: Jfor tjje IJrontotion of tjjc political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of t|e Sontjj. }TERMS--?>2.50 a year, IN ADVANCE. _______ YOBKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY, MARCH 11,1886. IP. J|H Original Jtotg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. rtY L. 33. OZMOND. CHAPTER I. "And so, Susie, you are really going to be married ?" "So it seems, Annette." % "Well, you don't look as cheerful as a prospective bride might do. Don't you feel happy ?" "Oh?well! I'm not unhappy, I sup pose." "I should think not! Why, Amos Barton is worth his weight in gold, if what folks say is true." "So I am told, but I fancy reports on the subject are exaggerated." "Anyhow, he's very rich, isn't he?" _ "Oh yes, he's very rich." - - "What a change it will be for you, from poverty and hard work to a life of luxury!" "I suppose it will be a change." "Goodness! what an odd girl you are, to take the whole thing so coolly. If I were in your place, I should be just as excited !? ana there you sit, stitching away at little Jack's apron as if it was the all-engrossing subject of your thoughts." "So it is, at present. Beside, I may not have a chance to make many more aprons for Jack, and so?you see?" "Why, Susie Dean, I do believe you are crying. Did I make you cry! I'm sure I never meant to?there, Susie, please don't. What is the matter?" And Annette Fordham, the prettiest; best-hearted, most heedless girl in West Ridley, went down on her knees to coax and soothe her friend, who had suddenly given away to a most unexpected and (to Annette's mind) most unaccountable burst of tears. Jack's check apron was brc ight into requisition for a handkerchief to dry the flowing drops, which caused a revulsion of feeling and made Susie laugh hysterically; but it was evident even to a nnaffo'o chullnw hmin t.hftt ?nme deen un jrx.ikiuuv o oiimtivit ? ? j dercurrent of feeling was working in her friend's heart, and she puzzled herself vainly for a few moments in trying to find its source. She never puzzled herself long over anything, as it was too much trouble, and if there was a thing she hated it was trouble. She therefore made an attempt to change the subject, talked vaguely and received monsylabic replies, and in a very short time jumped up and took her leave. "Queer girl, Susie'" she soliloquized as she walked slowly homewards, fanning herself with her large straw hat. I should think she'd bedelighted. Why, she'sa real drudge at home, and when she marries Amos Barton, she'll have nothing in the world to do. I know he is a millionaire, though she talks so coolly about his money. I should suspect her of shaming indifference only Susie never shams. She was never like the rest of us girls, and that's a fact. But why on earth does she marry him if she doesn't want to ? that's what I can't understand." Ah, pretty, foolish Annette! there are many things that you cannot understand. For instance, you cannot look into old William Dean's heart and read there the remorse, the misery, that has been eating into it for years. You cannot imagine the unconfessed sin that lies like a stone upon his conscience. You don't know that the it magic pwwcT of gold would ease him of thatT)urden by enabling him to make restitution, even at this late day. Least of all /ir. it/mi ananopf that Snsip. thp nnipf". simnle. matter of fact girl, as people think her, having found out her father's secret, is going to sacrifice herself to restore his peace of mind. For Amos Barton knows of this trouble too, and will make everything right provided Susie will become his wife. He is not a hard man or even an unworthy man. He cannot be said to have taken an unfair advantage of Dean or of his daughter, in this matter, for Susie has never by word or sign breathed to any one the secret fact that she is averse to the marriage, that she shudders at her lover's approach, and shrinks from the very sound of his name. Walking on, with all. sorts of butterfly * fancies flitting through her head, Annette was unaware that she had company on the road, and started violently as a broadshouldered, good-looking young fanner in a slouch hat and holiday suit of blue overtook her with a cheery "Good-evening." "Gracious. Tom Morton! is it vou ? where did you spring from? You seared me almost to death." "Did I? Iam sorry, I'm sure. Where are you from at this late hour, may I ask ?" "From the Deans'. I wanted to ask Susie about her engagement." "Her?xchat ?" "Her engagement. Didn't you know about it before? Oh, I forgot, you've been away, and besides, it isn't talked of yet. I shouldn't wonder, however, if the wedding came off pretty soon, because Mr. Barton won't stay here long, and of course he'll want to take Susie with him when he leaves. But Susie is queer about it, and doesn't seem much interested. I can't understand her at all. You know Amos Barton, don't you?" Young Morton did not answer her; he did not even hear the question. He had turned quite white, and a dazed look was on his face. "Don't you?" repeated Annette. "What??I beg your pardon." "I asked if you knew Amos Barton." "Barton ? Oh yes?that is?no, I can't say I do. I have seen him. You must excuse me, I just remember that I have forgotten something, and will have to go back." He touched his hat and left her. "'Just remember that you've forgotten something.' What elegant English! You are not very polite, Mr. Morton, to leave me in the roaa this way, when it's growing dark," murmured Annette, as she stood still where he had left her, gazing in wonder after his rapidly retreating figure. "Considering you've been absent for six weeks, you might have been a little less impatient to get rid or one or your nome menus." She walked on with a heightened color, and a pout on her pretty lips, for she was not used to being cavalierly treated, and Tom Morton's attentions were valued by all the West Ridley girls. As to the young farmer himself, he hurried away with his brain in a whirl, and every vein in his body tingling. "Amos Barton!?Amos Barton !" he kept on repeating to himself. "It can't be true! She is too pure, too good to cheat me. She'd never go back on her word. I don't believe it. "I won't believe it. People are always chattering, and Annette Fordham is a fool and believes everything. Why, good God, it would kill me if it was true!" No, Tom, it would not kill you. People don't easily die of disappointment or wounded love, and hearts are hard to break. But it would go hard with you, for you have loved Susie this many a day, and until now have never doubted her faith. That is another of the many things that pretty, silly Annette does not suspect. But now?"No, I don't doubt her now. Nobody shall make me. I'll go to her this minute, and hear the truth from her own lips," said poor Tom. After a moment or two, however, he changed his mind, anddecided to go home instead. "I'll get mother to say soinethingabout it at supper, perhaps she knows. But I wish I had never gone * away ! If I had stayed here, that fellow would have.kept far enough off, and nobody could have talked." Mrs. Morton, a gentle,sweet-faced woman with silvery hair, was setting the table for supper, in a room ideally neat. They lived together, mother and son, in the prettiest, tidiest little box of a cottage, with a tiny lawn in front, bordered by flowers, a shrubbery in the rear, and a white picket fence surrounding the whole. It had always been a happy home to Tom, but he entered it now with the heaviest heart he had ever known. Mrs. Morton saw the cloud on his brow, and for some instinctive reason forbore to question him as to its cause. She looked at him wistfully as he threw himself into an arm-chair near the window, without his usual gay greeting, but said nothing until she had finished her arrangements. "Supper is ready, Tom, dear," she said to him, then as she placed the chairs, an office which he usually performed, but seemed now to forget. He came silently to the table, but after a moment or two began, in a constrained tone: "Well, mother, you haven't told me any news since I've come back. Has anything been going on ?" "Going on where, dear?" "Here, in town." "Oh, I don't know; everything has been pretty quiet, I believe. You know I don't get around much. There have been one or two parties, I heard the young people talking about." "Dancing parties ?" * "Yes, and a picnic. There was quite a crowd went out to Mr. Gamp's place, SaturHav <1 wpplr acrn. Thev irot two WSPOnS. and Silas Lee's riding horses, and came back by moonlight." "Who went?" "Oh, lots of young girls and boys?everybody we know, pretty much." "Any strangers?" "Not that I heard of?unless?yes, I believe there was a visitor or two." "Do you know their names?" "A Mr. Jones and his sister went. They came over from East Ridley, and stopped with the Lees." "Have you seen anything of Barton ??I heard he'd been around." He tried to ask the question naturally, but failed. His mother was quick to detect the change in his tone, and she went on busily cutting a slice of bread, without meeting his eyes, as she answered? "No, I havn't seen him, but I believe he has been here. I don't know whether he went to the picnic or not." "He's here flow, isn't he?" "I think so. He has been staying at the hotel." "What did he come over for, anyhow?" "I heard he had business with Mr. Gamp. It's something about a mortgage on the farm." "Ah, I know there is a mortgage. But I've been told he came about something else. Maybe you've heard that too." "What do you mean, dear?" "I heard he was after Susie Dean." There was a moment's silence; neither would look at the other. Mrs. Morton was carefully spreading butter on her bread, and Tom feigned to be crushing an obstinate Jump of sugar in his tea. "Well," said Mrs. Morton, slowly, "there may be something in that. Of course I havn't asked Susie, and and I'm not ac ??iL L? i. quainteu wmi mm. joui iiium/ men uuiiuie her. She's a very attractive girl?one of the nicest girls I know, in fact. It wouldn't be surprising if he was after her." "And she?how does she take it?" "How can I tell, Tom ?" "You haven't heard any?any hint of an engagement?" Mrs. Morton was a strictly truthful woman. She would have given anything in the world to be able to say now, "Why, of course not, Tom !" But her conscience would not permit this, so she only answered with assumed sprightliness, "Well, maybe there has been something said, but you know how folks talk, and very likely there's nothing in it. If there is, we'll find out before long." "Yes," said Tom, "we'll find out before long." Nothing more was said, and directly after he pushed his chair back from the table, rose, and took his hat up from the sofa, where he had thrown it on entering. "Going out again, Tom ?" "Just a little way, mother, it's close in doors." She guessed where he was going, and her heart ached for him. His attachment to Susie had long been known to her, though he had never openly spoken of it, and she Karl +aa r1olw?QA\r ornr i/\ ^raw tha QO. 1KIV4 tvrvs 11IUV11 UVIiVUX'J V * V* V*/ Ml?? ?f v?aw wv cret from him. And now, to think that this long-cherished hope was to be destroyed, was very painful to her. She feared it must be so. More than one person had brought her the news of the engagement, and though she would not admit that she gave it credit, circumstances seemed to point out its probability. It was hard to suspect Susie of coquetry or fickleness, still harder to attribute mercenary motives to one who had always shown herself pure, simple-minded, and entirely contented with her lot. Poor Tom ! if it was so, the sooner he found it out the better, she thought. Tom went straight to Mr. Dean's, but having reached the door he found it harder work to go in than he had expected. Chance favored him, for a little boy, a brother of Susie's, just then came through the garden on his way out, and Susie followed him with some parting directions, for the boy, as it seemed, was charged with an errand to a noinrhhnr'a Slho narhf citrht rtf Tnm nnrl x*v%v.&..v ? tl--- ? 7 stopped suddenly, but after a moment recovered herself and came forward. "How do you do?" she said in a timid tone, holding out her hand. He took it, looking her full in the face. "Susie, I have come to have a talk with you," he said. "Will you walk a little way with me?" He noticed her em harassed look, her hesitation before replying?so different frotn her usual straightforward way?and his heart sank like lead. She said she would go, however, and they were soon out in the road. He took her to a quiet wooded path where they had often strolled together, and for a little while there was silence between them. Then Susie paused abruptly, and drew away her hand, which he had placed within his arm. "Tom," she said in a rapid, nervous way, "I don't think 1 had better go any farther. Let me go home." "You want to leave me, Susie?" You don't want my company?" "Oh no! not that?you mustn't think?" "What must I think ? that you are changed ; in this little while, these few weeks since I went away ?" "I am not changed, Tom." "You used to walk with me willingly? you did not eveu want to get rid of me. Have I done anything to make you angry?" "Oh, no, no!" "Then what is wrong? Has anything come between us?anything you have not told me about ?" Her head drooped ; she made no reply. "Susie," he went on, in a broken, implor ing tone, as in spite of herself, he regained her hand and held it fast?poor hand, howit trembled ! "Susie, I've heard a tale about you that I would swear was false, unless it was confirmed by your own lips. Am I to believe it, after all ? You must know what I mean." No answer still. "I heard?I can hardly say it?I heard you had promised to marry Amos Barton." Silence?still silence?but it was broken presently by a tremulous sob. Another, then another came; and Susie, losing all her careful self-control, turned from Tom's entreating gaze and gave way to a tempest of tears. He let go her hand, and looked at her with folded arms. His own breast heaved with an emotion no less powerful than her own; but gradually the soft look on his face passed away, and a dark cloud gathered in its place. "It's true, then?all true, though I would not credit it before. You are false?you whom I thought so faraboveall trickery, all deceit; you whom I was fool enough to worship?you who held my heart in your hand?little did I think you would throw it away and trample upon it, because its love was too worthless in your eyes to be weighed against Amos Barton's gold!" And before she could answer this tanuj he strode away, leaving her dumb and stricken in the twilit wood. CHAPTER II. Those parting words of Tom's cut like a knife deep into the girl's tender heart. Her first impulse was to call him back to implore him to forgive her, to assure him that she was not so base as she seemed. But after all, had not he spoken the truth, j insomuch that it was Barton's money she was going to wed him for? To be sure, she did not want it for herself, but she could not explain that to him. She dared not say anything which would implicate her father. No, suspect what he would, accuse her as he might, she was powerless to defend herself. What a comfort it would be to her in the midst of her misery if she could only let him know how dearly she loved him still. And yet, what business had she to love him ? She was Amos Barton's promised wife. All that happy past between them?between Tom and her?must be buried forever. But to have him think her mercenary and false! She went slowly back to her father's house feeling ten times more wretched than she had done before her interview with Tom. Her old gray-haired father sat iu the shabby little dining room, brooding over some loose papers covered with accounts. His worn look moved her to pity and self forgetfulness, and going up to him she put her arm over his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Amos has been here, child; he asked for you," he said without looking up. "I had to go out a little way, father." "You didn't meet him ?" "No, sir. Have you had your supper?" "Yes, the children got it for me. I couldn't eat much ; I am too sick to eat." "Are you sick, father? Iam so sorry." "I am sick with worry, Susan, and with suspense. When are you going to get married ?" "Oh father!" She shrank away a little from him ; it seemed so hard to be obliged to think about that just then. "Amos was talking about it. He wants a short engagement. His business won't let him stay here much longer. He wanted to know how soon you could be ready." "Susie felt as if she was in a prison with j stone walls closing in around her. "When is he going away?" she asked. "Pretty soon; in less than a month." The prison walls came closer. "Can't he go away then, and come back ?" "He thought not. He has to make a journey somewhere, and wants you to go with him. "Father, I can't go away anywhere, far from home. I can't leave you. Let me j stay here." "Child, when you are married your place will be with your husband. I shall not need you; the children and I will get on together." "But you are sick, father; and you will be lonely." "I am sick from worry, I tell you. When everything is settled, and my mind at rest, I shall be well enough." He spoke almost roughly, as if her solicitude annoyed him. She was silent, and he went on presently in a querulous manner. "You musn't begin now to raise up difficulties, Susan. I thought everything was decided between you two, and now you talk as if you wanted to draw back." "No," said Susie, calmly, "I shall not draw back. I am willing to do whatever you wish me to. But, of course, I did not know you were in such haste?you and Mr. Barton. He never told me so." "Well, he came to speak about it this evening. You ought to nave been at home. I don't see why you went out so late." To this Susie made 110 answer. She was only thankful that he had not seen Tom come. The evening passed drearily. Mr. Dean was evidently in worse spirits than usual, and the rest of the family seemed to have caught the infection. At last, when all the children were in bed, she also rose to go. As she kissed her father good-night, he detained her. "I want a word with you, Susan. J have a question toaskyou." "Yes, father." "I know you are a good girl, and won't deceive me. Is there anything?or rather, has there ever been anything between you ami Tnni Afnrtnn ?" Oh ! why must fresh torment be heaped upon her? Iler bruised, wounded heart quivered and winced beneath the probe. "There is nothing between us, father." "Was he ever a sweetheart of yours?" "He was fond of me?once," said poor Susie. "But it's all over now, I hope?eh ? You know the old saying, child. I'm not much at poetry, but I believe it goes something like this? 'It is good to be merry and wise, It is good to be honest and true, It is good to be off with the old love Before yon are on with the new.' " "Tom and I are only friends now, father. And I don't want you to think that I ever refused him, for I did not. We had a boy and girl fancy for one another, and, of course, there's nothing between us now. Please don't ask such questions again." She never knew how she managed to get through this speech coherently, but she did, and it seemed to satisfy her father, for he let her go, bidding her good night with more tenderness of manner than he had shown her before. What a night she passed ! Tossing restlessly on her pillow, going over and over again that brief, bitter interview in the wood, trying vainly to reconcile herself to her hard fate by the reflection that she was doing her duty to her poor old father, then falling into a troubled doze only to dream the whole thing over, and to see Tom's reproachful eyes gazing into her face. Towards daylight, exhausted, she fell into a ' profound and dreamless sleep, from which she did not waken until late. She dressed hurriedly and went down stairs. A sick, cold feeling came over her as she entered the breakfast room and saw Amos Barton seated near the door, engaged in conversation with her father. He arose hastily, a perceptible flush mounting to his swarthy cheek, and his voice quite trembled with eagerness, as he said? "I hope you won't consider this early visit an intrusion, Miss Susan, but I felt so anxious to see you, having missed you yesthnt T Korln'f notion/iQ icruil^v OCII11IK, mat x imuu b Uib jmiiviiiv ; to wait any longer." Susie smiled faintly, and answered that | she did not consider it an intrusion, adding { that she had slept later than usual. "I hope you're not sick?" he anxiously j inquired. "Oh no, thank you!" She managed to j withdraw her hand, which he was holding J painfully close in his own,and moved away to a little distance. "Eat your breakfast, Susan," said her I father. She made a feint of obeying him, hut the j task was too hard a one for her to accom- j plish, and after playing with her knife and j fork for a few minutes she rose from the table. She knew that a trying interview was coming, and in a sort of desperation she took the initiatory steps to bring it about, wishing to get through it with all possible speed. "Do you need me for anything, father?" she asked, standing with her hand clasping the back of her chair to steady herself. "We want?Amos and I?to say a word or two to you. Sit down, my dear, sit down." j "No, thank you, sir; I'm not tired." /VIHOS, IlOUOUOt, IfcML ll <IIJ tJUJUiiiiioojiiy pwsition, to be seated and carry on a conversation with his lady-love standing opposite to him in that uncomfortable way. He fidgeted for a moment and then rose also. "I came this morning, Miss Susan, on a very important errand?to consult you? that is?ah?to gain your consent to myall?very earnest wish. Mr. Dean has perhaps told you that my speedy departure is unavoidably necessitated by circumstances over which I have no control." "Yes," assented Susie. "And that I?that of course I am anxious to have as little delay as possible in regard to?ah?our marriage." "Yes," said Susie more faintly. "Could you?would it be possible?to arrange the time at once?" It would be 1 most kind?most gratifying?I should highi ly appreciate such consideration on your ; part." He came a little nearer to her as he spoke. His face had grown redder and j redder, and he was evidently suffering from an agony of shyness, but it was equally i evident from his rapt, admiring gaze, over which even his shyness had no control, that he was very much in love with the object of his regard. Susie would not meet his eyes, however. She avoided this by lowering her own to a point just below his cravat. "Well," she said, as he paused for an answer?and her voice sounded husky and dry?"Well, I suppose it can be done." "Thank you ! tnank you ! Then will you tell me, please, what is the earliest day that will suit you?" Susie waited a moment to gather up her faculties. "I should prefer," ,she said slowly then, "to have the. marriage take place on the day of your depaWnte." "Of our departure," he eagerly supplemented. "Of course you understand?you intend?that we leave together?" "Yes?if you wish it." "Yes, yes! how could it be otherwise ? I am not going, as you know, only for a little while. My absence may be quite lengthy?the limit, so far, to my knowledge, is not fixed. When my business is accomflished, and we return from our journey, expect, as you will doubtless rejoice to learn, to settle in this immediate neighborhood. It has occurred to me that you would find it agreeable to be near your old home, where you could see your father and family every day if you liked." "Thank you," said Susie, feeling this intention to be kind on his part. "Well, to return to the actual settlement of the day. I had thought of leaving here this day fortnight." Susie turned a trifle paler, if that were possible. "Is it too soon ? am I asking too much ?" "No. I shall be ready." She made the answer quite steadily, grasping the chair a little more tightly as she did so. The prison walls had come close, close around her now. Light and air were being gradually stifled out. Mr. Barton came awkwardly forward, and detaching one of her cold hands from its support conveyed it to his lips. "My gratitude is too deep for words, he said in a tone which did not permit any doubt of his sincerity. And Susie, to her horror, found that her father was snuffling out of the room, as if he felt it his duty to leave them together without the constraint of his presence. She made a pretext to call him back, suggesting some trivial topic which obliged him to appeal to their visitor, and, under cover of this diversion escaped from the room. So it was absolutely settled. There was no chance of withdrawal now, or even of delay. The following days passed in a fever of hurried preparation, causing great expitpmpnt amnnir hpr vniin<? brothers and sisters, all of whom, while lamenting over her proposed departure, felt a wedding in the family to be an occasion of great glory and immense importance, and only wondered that Susie herself did not seem more glad. "Who'll curl my hair every morning now, Susie?" "Who'll mend our stockings and things?" and "Sister, who'll make the puddings for dessert S* were questions asked at various and inopportune times, and Susie had to assure them that all these duties would be fulfilled. Myra, the second girl, was going to make herself motherly and useful; and besides, there would beawoman to help. "Yes, I should hope so," said fourteenyear-old Myra, who, feeling her new importance, was nevertheless not unwilling to get rid of some of the responsibility. Applicants for the post of maid-of-all-work came in the shape of females of all ages and conditions, and Susie had the worry of seeing all these, and explaining the duties of the position, and making her final choice among them. Now, that she was actually going, her father began to feel very forlorn, and to realize the blank her absence would make in the household. Two weeks pass quickly under all circumstances, and the wedding-day arrived all too soon, even for the little ones who had eagerly looked forward to it as a gala occasion. White frocks and Sunday jackets were donned with a mixture of feelings, and when Susie, who was to married in her traveling dress, stood with her bonnet on, drawing on her light gloves, little Jack, who was the baby, and had been her charge pvpr einee their mnflipr dipd. threw his arms around her, and hugging her tight, declared that he wanted to put on his blue j apron again and have her stay at home. She kissed the child and put him from her, steeling herself against any weakness which she knew would utterly incapacitate her for going through her ordeal, and went out into the hall looking like stone, so white and set was her face, to take her betrothed husband's arm. They went to the little church where she had worshipped every Sunday since her babyhood, and there her fetters were riveted by a few spoken words. A carriage waited to convey them to the nearest railway station. Good-byes had been said, last kisses exchanged, her husband helped her into the carriage and they drove off, with Jack's sobbing cry in her ears, tlSusie musn'tgo! Susie must stay and take care of me."' Poor little fellow, he found Myra's awkward though well-meant ministrations a poor substitute for the elder sister's loving, motherly care, and it was long before he became reconciled to the change. It could not be otherwise; she was the only mother he had ever known. Iler departure, indeed, left a void not easily filled. Mr. Dean, after tho first flush of joy and selfcongratulation in the new and delightful sense of freedom caused by the possession of a certain crisp paper, delicately presented to him in Susie's name, began to be conscious of a dull ache in the region of his heart, and of sundry uneasy misgivings connected with his daughter's pale and sorrowful looks during the fortnight prior to her departure. What if he had been the means of forcing her into an unwelcome marriage? what if her affection?notwithstanding her assurance, which had satisfied him at the time?still lingered with some regret about the past? He began to feel that his release nau oeen uearjy Dougnu. Tom Morton, naturally, had not gone to the wedding. The discovery of Susie's defection had not slain him, as he at first fancied it would. But it had crushed his spirit and changed his kindly temper, and the cottage was not as pleasant a home as formerly. Mrs. Morton was very patient and gentle with him, bearing his moody fits and dark looks without complaint. She knew well enough they were not directed at her, and that her Tom was as good a son as ever, only walking at present in rough places over which he could not help stumbling a little, and that by and-by, when the trouble was smoothed over, his healthy sweet nature would re-assert itself, and make him her own bright unselfish boy again. And while these people, and many others, were thinking of Susie, and missing her, and wanting to see her in her old place again (all but but Tom, who at that time vowed to himself that he would never, of his own will, set eyes on her again), Susie herself was learning to be a dutiful, if not a loving wife, and to mold her will to the exigencies of her new position. Her husband was devotedly fond of her; and her natural docility and gentleness of heart led her to be grateful for his earnest endeavors to please her, and to try, in some degree, to make a suitable return. [to be continued.] Jtftos 0{ the flatton. Cleveland Speaks i THE PRESIDENT TAKES THE SENATE JtT SURPRISE. A Fearless and Explicit Statement of his Position on the Subject of Removal from Office?It is his Executive Privilege, with which the Senate has no Concern?He is Neither to be Cajoled, Bribed or Bullied. The President sent a message to the Senate on the 1st instant in regard to its demands for papers, which was received when the Senate was in secret session. When it was laid before the body Senator Harris proposed that it be read with closed doors; Senators Kenna and Van Wyck protested sharply against this procedure ?>s1rwl ihof <-1 lio Anonorl it nil UUIIIUIJUITU UiUb UIV V4 uuio vv, W|/^?ivu. After a brief debate Senator Harris withdrew his proposition, and when the doors were opened the message was read. The following is its full text: To the Senate of the United States: Ever since the beginning of the present session of the Senate, the different heads of departments attached to the Executive branch of the Government have been plied with various requests and demands from committees of the Senate, from members of such committees, and at last from the Senate itself, requiring the transmission of reasons for the suspension of certain officials during the recess of that body, or for papers touching the conduct of such officials, or for all papers and documents relating to such suspensions, or for all documents and papers filed in such departments in relation to the management and conduct of the offices held by such suspended officials. The different terms from time to time adopted in making these requests and demands, the order in which they succeeded each other, and the fact that when made by the Senate a resolution for that purpose was passed in executive session, have led to the presumption, the correctness of which will, I suppose, be candidly admitted, that from first to last the information thus sought and the papers thus demanded were desired for use by the Senate and its committees in considering the propriety of the suspensions referred to, though these suspensions are my executive acts based upon consideration addressed to me alone, and for which I am wholly responsible, I have had no invitation from the Senate to state the position which I have felt constrained to assume in relation to the sameor to interpret for myself my acts and motives in the premises. In this condition of affairs I have forborne addressing the Senate upon the subject lest I might be accused of thrusting myself unbidden upon the attention of that body. But the report of the committee on the judiciary of the Senate lately presented and published, which censures the Attorney General of the United States for his refusal to transmit certain papers relating tosus-, pension from office, and which also, if I correctly interpret it, evinces a misapprehen sion 'of the position of the Executive upon the question of such suspensions, will, I hope, justify this communication. This is predicated upon the resolution of the Senate, directed to the Attorney General, and his reply to the-same. This resolution was without consideration of nominations for office. It required the Attorney General "to transmit to the Senate copies of all documents and papers that have been filed in the department of justice since the first day of January, 1885, in relation to the management and conduct of the office of the District Attorney of the United States of the Southern District of Alabama." The incumbent of this office on the 1st day of January, 1885, and until the 17th day of July ensuing, was Geo. M. Dustin, who, on the day mentioned, was suspended by an executive order, and John I). Burnett designated to perform the duties of said office. At the time of the passage of the resolution above referred to, the nomination of Burnett for said office was pending before the Senate, and all the papers relating to said nomination were before the body for its inspection and information. In reply to this resolution, the Attorney General, after referring to the fact that the papers relating to the nomination of Burnett had already been sent to the Senate, stated that he was directed by the President to say that the papers and documents which were mentioned in said resolution, 1 ! - ! ,1^ ana sun reiiminiug in me vjusiuu^ ui unoucpartment, having exclusive reference to j the suspension by the President of George M. Dustin, late incumbent of the office of the District Attorney for the Southern district of Alabama. It is not considered that the public interests will be promoted by compliance with said resolution and the transmission of the papers and documents therein mentioned to the Senate in executive session. Upon this resolution and answer thereto the issue is thus stated by the committee on the judiciary at the outset of its report: "The important question, then, is whether it is within the constitutional competence of either house of Congress to have access to official papers and documents in the va-1 rious public offices of the United States created by lawsenated by themselves?" 1 do not suppose that "public officers of the United States" are regulated or controlled in their relations to either house I of Congress by the fact that they were "crentpfl hv laws enacted bv themselves." It I must be that these instrumentalities were created for the benefit of the people and to answer the general purposes of the Government under the Constitution and laws, and that they are unincumbered by any lien in favor of either branch of Congress growing out of their construction, and unembarrassed by any obligation to the Senate as the price of their creation. The complaint of the committee that access of official papers in public offices is denied the Senate is met hy the statement that at no time has it been the disposition or intention of the President, or any department of the executive branch of the Government, to withhold from the Senate official documents or papers filed in any of the public oftices. While it is by no means conceded that the Senate has a right in any case to review the act of the Executive in removing or suspending a public officer upon official documents orotherwise, it is considered that documents and papers of that nature should, because they are ofiicial, be freely transmit-11 ted to the Senate upon its demand, trusting the use ol'the same for properand legitimate purposes to the good faith of that body, though no such paper or document has been specifically demanded in any of the numerous requests and demands made upon the department, yet as often as they were found in public offices they have been furnished, in answer to such application. The letter of the attorney general in response to a resolution of the Senate in the particular case mentioned in the commissioner's report, was written at my suggestion and by my direction. There had been no official papers or documents filed in his department relating to the case within the period specified in the resolution. This letter was intended by its description of the papers and documents remaining in the custody of the department to convey the idea that they were not official, and it was assumed that the resolution called for information, papers and documents of the same character as were required by the requests and demands which preceded it. Everything that had been written or done on behalf of the Senate from the beginning i pointed to all letters and papers of a private and unofficial nature as objects of search, if they were to be found in the departments, and provided they had been presented to the Executive with a view to their consideration upon the question of suspension from office. Against the transmission of such papers and documents I have interposed my advice and direction. This has not been done, as is suggested in the committee's report, upon the assumption on my part that the Attorney General or any other head of a department "is a servant of the President, and is to give or withhold copies of documents in his office according to the will of the Executive and not otherwise," but because I regard the papers and documents withheld and addressed to me, or indeed for my use and action, purely unofficial and private, not infrequently confidential and having reference to the performance of a duty exclusively mine. I consider them in no proper sense as upon the files of the department, but as deposited there for my convenience, remaining still completely under my control. I suppose if I desired to take them into my custody I might do so with entire propriety, and if I saw fit to destroy them no one could complain. Even the committee in its report appears to concede that there may be with the President or in the departments papers and documents which, on account of their unofficial character, are not subject to the insnection of Congress. The reference in the report to instances where the House of Representatives ought not to succeed in a call for the production of papers is immediaiely followed by this statement: "The committee feels authorized to state, after somewhat careful research, that within the foregoing limits there is scarcely in the history of this Government until now any instance of a refusal by the head of a department, or even of the President himself, to communicate official facts and information as distinguished from private and unofficial papers, motions, views, reasons and opinions, to either House of Congress when unconditionally demanded." To which of theclasses thus recognized do the papers and documents belong that are now the objects of the Senate's quest? They consist of letters and representations addressed to the Executive and intended for his inspection. They are voluntarily written and presented by private citizens, who are not in the least instigated thereto by any official invitation or at all subjected to official control. While some of them are entitled to Executive consideration, many of them are so irrelevant, or in the light of other facts so worthless, that they have not been given the least weight in determining the question to which they are supposed to relate. Are all these, simply because they are preserved, to be considered official documents and subject to the inspection of the Senate ? If not, who is to determine which belong to this class? Are the motives and purposes of the Senate, as they are day by day developed, such as would be satisfied at my selection ? Am I to submit to theirs, at the risk of being charged with making suspensions from office upon evidence which was not even considered? Are these papers to be regarded as official because they have not only been presented but preserved in public offices. Their nature and character remain the same whether they are kept in the Executive mansion or deposited in the departments. There is no mysterious power of transmutation in departmental custody. Nor is there magic in the undefined and sacred solemnity of the department files. If the presence of these papers in public offices is a stumbling-block in the way of the performance of senatorial duty it can be easily removed. The papers and documents which have been described derive no official character from any constitutional, statutory, or other requirement, making them necessary to the performance of the official duty of the executive. It will not be denied, I suppose, that the President may suspend a public officer in the entire absence of any papers or documents to aid his official judgment and dis cretion, and I am quite prepared to avow that the cases are not few in which suspensions from office have depended more upon oral representations made to me by citizens of known good repute, and by members of the Plouse of Representatives and Senators of the United States, than upon any letters and documents presented for my examination. I have not felt justified in suspecting the veracity, integrity and patriotism of Senators, or ignoring their representations, because they were not in party affiliation with the majority of their associates, and I recall a few suspensions which bear the approval of individual members identified politically with the majority in the Senate. While, therefore, I am constrained to deny the right of the Senate to the papers and 1 * - - * i. U ~ 4-vx ciocumeins aescrioeu, so jar as mt: ngiu tu the same is based upon the claim that they are in any view of the subject official, I am also led unequivocally to dispute the right of the Senate by aid of any documents what[ ever or in anyway, save through the judicial process of trial on impeachment, to review or reverse the act of the Executive in suspension during the recess of the Senate j of Federal officials. I believe the power to remove or suspend ! such officials is vested in the President alone i by the Constitution, which in express terms provides that "the executive power shall be | vested in a President of the United States j of America," and that "he shall take care j that the laws be faithfully executed." The [ Senate belongs to the legislative branch of ; the Government. When the Constitution by express provision superadded to its legislative duties the right to advise and consent to appointments to office, and to sit as a Court of impeachment, it conferred upon that body all the control and regulation of executive action supposed to be necessary for the safety of the people, and this express and special grant of such extraordinary powers, not in any way related to or growing out of general Senatorial duty, and in itself a departure from the general plan of our Government, should be held, under a familiar maxim of construction, to exclude every omer rignt oi liiicrjciciiuc with Executive functions, in the first Congress which assembled after the adoption of the Constitution, comprising many who aided in its preparation, a legislative construction was given to that instrument in which the independence of the Executive in the matter of removals from office was fully sustained. I think it will be found that in subsequent discussions of this question there was generally, if not at all times, a proposition pending to in some way curtail this power of the President by legislation, which furnishes evidence that to limit such power it was supposed to be necessary to supplement the Constitution by such legislation. The first enactment of this description was passed under stress of partizanship and political bitterness which culminated in the President's impeachment. This law provided that the Federal officers to which if anniipH i-niild onlv be suspended during V 1/ i the recess of the Senate when shown by evidence satisfactory to the President to be guilty of misconduct in office or crime, or when incapable or disqualified to perform their duties, and that within twenty days after the next meeting of the Senate it should be the duty of the President "to report to the Senate such suspension with evidence and reasons of his action in the case." This statute, passed in 1867, when Congress was overwhelmingly and bitterly opposed politically to the President, may be regarded as an indication that even then it was thought necessary by a Congress determined upon the subjugation of the Executive to the legislative will, to furnish itself law for that purpose, instead of attempting to reach the object intended by an invocation of any pretended constitutional right. The law which thus found its way to our statute book was plain in its terms, and its intent needed no avowal. If valid and not in operation it would justify the present course of the Senate and command the obedience of the Execcutive to its demands. It may, however, be remarked in passing that, under this law, the President has the privilege of presenting to the body which assumed to review his executive acts, his reasons therefor, instead of being excluded from explanation or judged by papers found in the departments. Two years after the law of 1867 was passed, and within less than five weeks after the inauguration of a President in political accord with both branches of Congress, the sections of the Act regulating suspensions from office during the recess of the Senate were entirely repealed, and in their place were substituted provisions which, instead of limiting the causes of suspension to misconduct, crime, disability or disqualification, expressly permitted: such suspension by the President "in his discretion," and completely abandoned the requirement obliging him to report to the Senate "evidence and reasons" for his action. With these modifications and with all branches of the Government in political harmony, and in the absence of partisan incentive to captious obstruction, the law as it was left by the amendment of 1869 was much less destructive of Executive discretion, and yet the great General and patriotic citizen, who, on the 4th day of March, 1869, assumed the duties of Chief Executive, and for * whose freer administration of his high office the most hateful restraints of the law of 1867 were, on the 6th day of April, 1869, removed, mindful of his obligation to defend and protect every prerogative of his great trust, and apprehensive of the injury flivnntanarl tViQ nntilifl sorvipo in thp pnntin kill^aiUU^U U1V UV* T?VV am ?**v vwmv?m ued operation of these statutes, even in their modified form, described their unconstitutional character and hurtful tendency in the following language: "It may be well to mention here the embarrassment possible to arise from leaving on the statute books the so-called Tenure of Office Acts, and to earnestly recommend their total repeal. It could not have been the intention of the framers of the Constitution, when providing that appointments made by the President should receive the consent of the Senate, that the latter should have power to retain in office persons placed there by Federal appointment against the will of the President. The law is inconsistent with the faithful and efficient administration of the Government. What faith can an Executive put in officials forced upon him, and those, too, whom he has suspended for reasons. How will such officials be likely to serve an Admininstration which they know does not trust them ?" I am unable to state whether or not this recommendation for repeal of these Ipws has been since repealed. If it has not, the reason can probably be found in the experience which demonstrated the fact that the necessities of the political situation but '? ? 1 AUrtl- wmZ /viirt /ikntinni'nv rart'iy ueveiupeu men viuuus uiaiavicn And so it happens that after an existence of nearly twenty years of almost innocuous desuetude, these laws are brought forth, apparently the repealed as well as the unrepealed, to attempt an improvement in the methods of administration. The constitutionality of these laws is by no means admitted. But why should the provisions of the repealed law, which required specific cause for suspension and report to the Senate of "evidence and reasons," be now in effect applied to the present Executive, instead of the law afterwards passed and unrepealed, which distinctly permits suspensions by the President "in his discretion," and carefully omits the requirement that "evidence and reasons for his action in the case" shall be reported to the Senate? The requests and demands which by the score have for nearly three months been presented to different departments of the Government, whatever may be their form, have but one complexion. They assume the right of the Senate to sit in judgment upon the exercise of my discretion and executive function, for which I am solely responsible to the people from whom I have so lately received the sacred trust of office. My oath to support and defend the Constitution, my duty to the people who have chosen me to the executive - powers of their great office, and not to relinquish them, and my duty to the Chief Magistracy, which I must preserve unimpaired in all its dignity and vigor, compel me to refuse to comply with these demands. To the end that the service may be improved, the Senate is invited to the fullest scrutiny of the persons submitted to them for public office. In recognition of the constitutional power of that body to advise and consent to their appointment, I shall continue, as I have thus far done, to furnish, at the request of the confirming body, all information I possess touching the fitness of the s nominees placed before them for their action, both when they are proposed to fill vacancies and to take the place of suspended officials. Upon refusal to confirm I shall not assume the right to ask the reasons for the action of the Senate, nor question its determination. I cannot think that anything more is required to secure worthy incumbents in public office than the careful and independent discharge of our respective duties within their well-defined limits. Though the propriety of suspensions might be better assured if the action of the PresiJ 1 ??" <- -I-Via wAifiAnr nf fKo .QAnato UUL1L WHS SUUJCCl IU llic lcvicn \jx uiv ka/umiv) yet if the Constitution and laws have placed this responsibility upon the executive branch of the Government it should not be divided, nor the discretion which it involved be relinquished. It has been claimed that the present Executive having pledged himself not to remove officials except for cause, the fact of theirsuspension implies such misconducton the part of the suspended official as injures his character and reputation, and therefore, the Senate should review the case for his vindication. I have said that certain officials should not, in my opinion, be removed during the continuance of the term for which they were appointed solely for the purpose of putting in their places those in political affiliation with the appointing power; and this declaration was immediately followed by a description of official partisanship which ought not to entitle those in whom it was exhibited to consideration. It is not apparent how an adherence to the course thus announced carries with it the consequences described. If in any degree the suggestion is worthy of consideration, it is to be hoped that there may be defence against unjust suspension in the justice of the Executive. Every pledge which 1 have made, by which I have placed limitation upon my exercise of the Executive power, has been faithfully redeemed. Of course the pretense is not put forth that no mistakes have been committed, but not a suspension has been made, except it appeared to my satisfaction that the public welfare would be improved thereby. Many applications for suspension have been denied, and adherence to the rule laid down to govern my action as to such suspensions has caused much irritation and impatience on the part of those who have insisted upon more changes in offices. The pledges I have made were made to the people, aud to them I am responsible for the manner in which they have neen redeemed. I am not responsible for the manner in which they have been redeemed to the Senate, and I am unwilling to submit my actions and official conduct to them for judgment. There are no grounds for an allegation that fear of being found false to my professions influences me in declining to submit * to the demands of the Senate. I have not constantly refused to suspend officials and thus incurred the displeasure of political friends, and not wilfully broken faith with the people for the sakeof being false to them. Neither discontent of party friends nor the allurements constantly offered of the confirmations of appointees conditioned upon the avowal that suspensions have been made on party grounds alone, nor the threat proposed in the resolution now before the Senate, that no confirmations will be made unless the demands of that body be complied with, are sufficient to discourage or deter me from following in the way which I am convinced leads to a better government of the people. Grover Cleveland. HaTltis stated that not a single member of the Grant family attended Gen. Hancock's funeral, or sent a letter of condolence. When the public get in a proper state of mind for thinking, it will dawn upon their minds that the Grant family were a terribly selfish outfit, and didn't care a continental for anybody but the Grants.?K'ansas Chief, Republican.