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r' lewis m. grist, proprietor, f 5U Jfnbepeitiicnf Jamilg ftefospapcr: jfor fjjt ^promotion of tljc political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of tfic Soutj). j TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 32. YOBKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY, APRIL 29, 1886. ISTO. 17. jU ?rigmal Jtorg. Written for the Yorkvllle Enquirer. BY L. I>. OZMOND. CHAPTER IX. A day or two after the conversation lately . recorded, Mr. Bland took his hat and stick and went out for a walk. fie did not seem to have any special object in view, for he sauntered along quite slowly, now stopping to gather a wild flower from a hedge?which he would meditatively break to pieces and throw away?now resting for a while on some wayside stone ~ Or log, and allowing his eyes to roam absently over the surrounding prospect. He had chosen a path on the outskirts of the village, leading away from its populous parts; and after devious windings and turnings, he came at length, without design, in view of Mrs. Barton's handsome place. The sight of it startled him momentarily, and he hesitated, as if about to retrace his steps; but a second impulse moved him to advance instead, and he did so witn a Dealing heart. "I shall make my first approach in open day," he said to himself. "Perhaps chance will bring her out of the house. I want to see what the result will be." No one meeting the plain-looking wayfarer would have guessed, from his quiet face, what a tempest of emotion was stirring in his breast, as he drew nearer the spot which was the shrine of all his hopes, all his affections?the spot hallowed in his eyes as her abode. It was a cheerful, sunny day, and drawing nearer yet, he heard voices in the garden?children's voices only, at first; but presently quite distinct from all the rest came another that he knew, and he held his breath to listen. "Jack, I am going to the post office now. You may come with me if you like, but first run and wash your face and hands." Commonplace words enough, certainly; but they revealed a fact which made the hearer's breath come more quickly. She was coming out?would soon be near him? would pass close by. Should he stay and meet her face to face, or should he quickly retreat before she had time to reach the place where he stood ? Before he had decided the question, the front gate, which stood in a tall cedar hedge, opened, and she came out. Trembling, he seated himself on a rough bench beneath a tree, as if to rest; and drawing his hat a little forward over his brow, watched her furtively as she slowly walked towards him, waiting for her little brother to come out. She did not notice him at all. Probably it was no unusual thing for a tired man to rest upon that bench, and his presence there did not affect her. Like a flash a resolve possessed him, and he rose as she came within speaking distance. a? "Madam," he said in a slow, labored tone, "I am very thirsty; might I trouble you for a glass of water?" She looked at him with the old kind glance he remembered so well; a trifle inquiringly, as if to judge what manner of person he might be. "With pleasure, I will get it for you," she answered. "Follow me, please." And he followed her through the gate, and crossing the garden, waited, as she bade him, near a side door, while she went into the the house. Then he heard old Mr. Dean ask querulously. "Who's that, Susan? a tramp?" "Oh no, father," she cheerfully answered. "A nice old gentleman who seems very tired, aud wants a drink of water." And coming out with a silver cup of water she gave it into his waiting hands, and stood beside him as he drank. "God bless you!" he said when he had finished ; and turning from her suddenly? so suddenly that it surprised her?he hurried away. He had had his wish?had stood face to face with her once more?had even spoken to her and listened to her voice in reply. And nothing had come of it. What could have come of it? Surely he had expected nothing?no sign of recogni tion. Strange indeed it would have been for her to know him as he was now! But a dreadful blank was at his heart as he went away, fully realizing how truly, although living, he was quite dead to her. But he meant to wait still?a little longer. He told himself that he would never approach her home again. And yet that very evening, and the next, and the next, found him at his old post in the darkness beneath her window. How many hours he spent there, hidden like a criminal fearing discovery, watching the lights in her home, the shadows on the blinds, listening to the murmur of voices within, sometimes the strains of music and the voice of happy laughter that fell like mockery on the ears of the poor outcast, self-exiled from the paradise he longed, yet did not dare to. enter. Mrs. Morton was concerned to see that her boarder, in whom she took so warm an interest, was growing daily more melancholy and feeble-looking; he scarcely touched his food, and seemed to have lost his fondness for conversation, spending the greater part of his time in his own room. In truth, he was full of uneasy thoughts; and his interview with Susie had quite upset him?he could not recover his equanimity at all. Sometimes the desire to meet her again to f himsjplf to her in his true colors. r -- came upon him so fiercely that it was hard for him to combat it; then the dread of embittering her life, of destroying her happiness for the second time, gave him courage. And his motto was still?Wait. At last there came an evening when Tom Morton walked again in the garden with the woman they both loved, and the listener again heard him plead his cause. lie had come this time, it seemed, by permission ; and the man who watched them from his hiding place vowed within himself that this would be the turning-point of his own decision?he would be guided by what he now discovered in carrying out his plans. lie listened to the lover's earnest pleading, his well prepared arguments, his passionate appeals to the memories of early days. He heard the girl sigh brokenly, yet without answering, and counted his own heart-strokes in the silence and suspense which followed. And then came her reply, uttered, as it seemed, amid tears. "I cannot! (), Tom, I cannot!" "You cannot! You don't love me, then, any longer. O, Susie, how entirely have you canceled the past! Why did you not tell rae this sooner?" "Because I did not know what I ought to owm????? say to you. I know how faithful you have been to me, Tom ; and I would marry you if I could. But?" "But you do not love me." She was silent. "Tell me, is your love quite dead? Can it never, never grow warm again ?" "Don't ask me that now." "Not now?not now; that is what you always say. Why must I wait and wait forever? You are heartless, Susie; heartless and cruel." "No, no, Tom, lam not. Don't think me either of those, because it is not true." "Then answer my question honestly; have you, really, left off loving me altogether ?" "How could I think about you in that way, Tom, after I was married? It would have been wicked. I wronged him in be coming Ms wile?" I "Then, for Heaven's sake, why did you do it?" "Listen, Tom. I am going to tell you now what I never breathed to any one on earth, but I feel that I must do it, to clear myself in your eyes. You thought I cared for his money. I did not?I loathed it. I felt as if it was a price paid for me, and that was why it was horrible to me. But?hutit was either that, or disgrace to my fatherto us all. I cannot tell you just how it happened, but he?my poor father?had done wrong; had been tempted, and yielded to the temptation, and sinned?and without money to replace what he had lost, would have been ruined. Mr. Barton wanted to marry me, and I knew that if he did he [ would help my father?indeed, he promised | to. "It was a bargain, then?an infamous bargain between those two?" "No, not that; because he?my husbandnever knew that?that?" "That you did not love him?" Susie burst into tears. "It sounds so wicked, Tom ! but indeed, indeed I tried to be good?to be a true wife to him. You would not think well of me now if I had done otherwise, would you ? I tried very hard not to let him know that my heart had never been given to him. And he was so generous, so kind! I can never tell you all his kindness to me. And I feel, somehow, as if the only amends I can make to him now would be to keep faithful to his memory." "tJnf Oncio +Kot io (V\l 1 \y 1 flnn't. vmi spp I UUl/ UU.^lLj U1UV lO 4U1IJ V J that it is? I love you, and I believe that you love me; and you are willing to destroy our happiness for ever for thesake of a mere sentiment! What possible good can it do him now, or what possible amends can you make, by remaining a widow, just because you did not care for him while he was alive ? Now^ook at the matter dispassionately ; are you reasonable?are you just?" She wept without speaking. Tom left her side and took one or two turns up and down in great agitation. "For Heaven's sake," he said, stopping again beside her, "reconsider what you have said. I won't take it as your final answer, Susie. I can't. I don't believe you mean it." "Oh, Tom, if 1 could only mafce you understand!" her tone was pitiful in its entreaty. "If you could know the self-reproach I feel for my behavior! I deceived him?betrayed his affection, his generosity. He lavished his wealth upon me and upon all my family, but that /as nothing compared to the other proofs of his kindness. And oh, Tom, he did truly love me so much?aud I didn't deserve it?and now ought I to forget him and all that he did for me, and think only of my own selfish happiness, just as if I rejoiced at his death?" Now it cannot be denied that all this was very exasperating to Tom. The poor girl was so distressed and so confused in her ideas that she found it hard to express exactly what she meant?if, indeed, she knew herself; and her vague notion of making restitution for the past seemed to him nothing short of absolute folly. "You will make me think presently," he said, "that you would really be glad to have him back." "If I had him back," said Susie, "I should go down on my knees to him and beg his forgiveness, and it would be a comfort to me to do it." "I think, after that speech, I had better be off," said Tom. But he could not yet make up his mind to go away. He was torn by the conflicting emotions of faith in her love?which her words had shaken but not destroyed?and dismay at the seeming impossibility of bringing her over to his way of thinking; he regarded her scruples with amazement, and considered her treatment of him entirely unjustifiable; but through it all he loved her so distractedly that he was ready to forgive her anything and everything, provided she would only consent to marry him. "Susie," he said at last," I do think I have a right to insist upon a plain answer to my question ; and in all our talk I haven't been able to get it from you yet. Do you love me now or not?" No answer. "Susie, you must tell me. It isn't treating me right to put me off all the time. Come now, tell me honestly, yes or no?" "Tom, what good will it do for me to answer you that?" "It will do this much good, that it will at least settle one point in my mind; ana 11 you do love me, Susie, and will tell me so, I will wait gladly as long as you bid me, until you can overcome your scruples? which I confess I don't understand?and will name a time for marrying me. Now I think that's dealing fairly by you, isn't it? It does seem hard to me, everything considered, that I must wait; still I'd rather do it than hurt you by pressing you against your will. Come, answer me once for all, Susie?do you love me?" "If I answer you," said Susie faintly," will you go away now?at once?" "I suppose so?if you order me to." "Well, then, Tom, I?I do. But it's to be just the same as if I hadn't told you," she hurriedly added, until I let you know ; and you must go now as you promised, right away." "Oh Susie, Susie ! you strange, tormenting girl! how can you treat me so??However, I promised, and I won't break my word, of course. But I suppose you will at least grant me one thing before I leave you." "What is it?" "A kiss?one kiss, Susie; I'll not ask for more." "No, no, never!?I can't! not for the world." "But why, Susie? If you love me?" "No matter for that?I wouldn't on any account. Tom, you are not keeping your word?you promised?" "Oh, well, I shall keep my promise." Tom spoke in an injured tone; but relent ing, he added as he took her hand and pressed his lips upon it, "I suppose I may do this, at any rate, without offending you; and I thank you for what you told me?I'll try and live on that for a little while. But Susie, you won't be too hard on me, I hope? you won't keep me wating forever?" "No, not forever. Tom, please don't stay any longer now." "Good-night, then?I'm off. When may I see you again." "Oh, in a week or so, perhaps." "Oh-h!" But Susie gave him a gentle push, which sent him off at last; and when the garden gate was fairly closed behind him, she sat down on the steps and broke into a fit of passionate crying. "Oh," she said aloud through her tears, "I wish I hadn't told him that! I wish I hadn't! Why did I let him drag it out of me? I meant to keep it a secret all my life. But I won't marry yet?I won't; no not for ten years to come. Why can't he give me up and be done with it? It doesn't matter about me. I can content myself as I am. He ought to forget me and marry somebody else." Her sobs gradually spent their force and died away. She sat silent for a few moments, drawing occasionally a long, quiver? KmaaIU . IUam ft Knlf url-ilcrmrofl nlai II f JLII? UlCtlUl y llicu ill naii'HiiiopcivvA |/u?i*?v broke from her still tremulous lips. u0h! Amos, Amos, if I had only made you a better wife!" There was a rustle in the shadow near her, and a low moan breathed like an echo through the leaves. But she did not hear it, or if she did, it seemed to her only that the night-wind sighed. Presently she rose from her lowly seat and went into the house. As she vanished, the man who had been listening made a step forward out of the darkness, and stretched his arms out toward the spot where she had stood, embracing the empty air as though he could enfold her form within his clasp. "My wife!" he murmured, brokenly. "Oh! my wife!" He stood therefor a moment, motionless; then, with swiftand silentsteps, departed as he had come. "Now," he said to himself, as he retraced his way homeward, "I can hesitate no longer. There is but one course for me to take in order to secure her happiness, and I shall take it at once. What is my life, compared to her suffering? My choice between the two is made." [to be continued.] HON. HOWELL E. JACKSON. On April 12th, 188G, President Cleveland nominated Howell E. Jackson, of Tennessee, to be Circuit Judge of the United States for the Gth Judicial Circuit. The nomination was immediately confirmed by the Senate. Hon. Howell Edmunds Jackson was born at Paris, Tennessee, April 8th, 1832. He graduated at West Tennessee College in 184S, and subsequently spent two years at the University of Virginia. He graduated from the Cumberland Law School. In 1S.0G he began the practice of law in Jackson, but removed to Memphis in 1851). When the war broke out he was appointed to a civil position under the Confederate Government, and on the return of peace resumed the practice of law in Memphis, but removed to Jackson again, in 187G. On two occasions he had served for brief periods as a Judge of the State Supreme Court, by ap pointment, and in 1878 was a prominent candidate for the Democratic nomination for a similar position. In 1880, he was elected to the Shite Legislature from Madison county, and has always been a staunch advocate of honest dealing with the creditors of the State. In January, 18Sl,whilea member of the Legislature, he was elected to the United States Senate. The contest was a bitter and protracted one, the Democratic majority being split into State-credit and low-tax tactions. At one time, the late Horace Maynard, came within three votes of being elected, a few Democrats joining the Republicans in voting for him. Finally, on the thirtieth ballot, a Republican member voted for Judge Jackson, a stampede ensued, and he was triumphantly elected. Judge Jackson has not figured conspicuously in the Senate, but he has been an honest, hard-working member, popular with both parties, as he is in his State. The Circuit of which he is made Judge, includes Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio and Michigan. The Will ox the Hearthstone.? When I was a boy I heard of a lawyer who was called up in the middle of a cold winter's night to draw out the will of an old farmer who lived some three miles away, and who was dying. Tne messenger had brought a cart to convey the lawyer to the farm, and the latter in due time arrived at his destination. When he entered the house he was immediately ushered into the sick room, and then he requested to be supplied with pen, ink, and paper. There were none in the house! The lawyer had not brought any himself, and what was he to do? No; they had none. The farmer 1* C t r.i.Urv I WtlS SlUKIlJg 1HSI, liiuuyu quiii; uuuduuus. At last the legal gentleman saw chalked up on the back of the bedroom door column upon column of figures in chalk. These were milk "scores" or "shots." lie immediately asked for a piece of chalk, and then kneeling on the floor, he wrote out concisely upon the smooth hearthstone the last will and testament of the dying man. The farmer subsequently died. The hearthstone will was sent to the principal registry j in London with special affidavits, and was duly proved the will being deposited in the j arehieves of the registry. 1 may mention j that the law does not state what substance what or with instrument a will must be j written.?Chambers' Journal. feSrThc Indian women are coming hourly ! to the front. At a late meeting of the l'res-j byterian synod of Dakota, the Indian wo- j men reported having raised $500 for missionary work among their own people last year. 1 |$fij5(eUattC0usi fading. YORK DISTRICT. " [From Mills' Statistics?1820.] This section of the country was settled about the year 1760, principally from Pennsylvania and Virginia. Its name may be traced to York in Pennsylvania, from whence some of the first settlers came. The situation of this district is on the northern boundary line of the State, which divides it from North Carolina. The Broad river bounds the district on the west, the Catawba on the east, and Chester district on the south. Its average length from east to west is about thirty-three miles; from south to north twenty-one miles, and it contains 443,520 square acres. The soil is mostly clay, and well adapted to agricultural purposes, being equally suited to the culture of the grains, or grasses, as to cotton. The attention of tjhe planters has been devoted chiefly tothb cultivation of cotton ; this being most lucrative. Fine wheat, corn, rye, and sometimes tobacco are also raised. The average quantity to the acre is, of cotton 150 weight; of wheat 12 bushels; of corn 20; rye 12. York district embraces a fine tract of country undulating, healthy, and interesting, from the circumstances of the locality of the Catawba Indian settlement; which lies mostly within its bounds. The district town is called Yorkville, and is the seat of justice. It is situated centrally to the district, on the dividing ridge between the waters of Broad and Catawba rivers. The village is regularly laid out in squares; and contains, by the census taken in 1823, 292 whites, and 159 blacks: total 451. Of these there are 52 mechanics, 8 lawyers, 2 physicians, and 1 clergyman. There 8 stores, 5 taverns, a male and female academy, post office, and a printing office, which iasues 2 papers weekly; one devoted to agricultural subjects. The number of houses is about 80. The new court house just finished is an elegant structure, built of stone and brick ; the offices in the basement story are made fire-proof. The court and jury rooms, on the principal floor are communicated with, by a double flight of granite steps, ascending to a portico of the Doric order; through which you pass into a vestibule, and from thence into the court room. This room is spacious, convenient and airy; amphitheatrical in its form, with a segment spherical ceiling. The jury rooms are so arranged, that the space above them, and the vestibule, serve the purposes of a roomy galIa.., f?.dnn/ifnfnpj TMia hiiiIrlimcr inr>lnHin<r | 1C1 y 1KJL O^CtiaiUiO. liiv uytiui44hf . ?.v.?x-...e the portico, is 1G0 feet long and 43 feet wide. The jail is a plain brick building. There are several neat private houses in and near the village; one formerly belonging to Judge Smith, now the iemale academy, has a handsome appearance. The academies are in a flourishing state. The same branch-1 es of useful education are taught here as in the most respectable seminaries of learning in the State. The increasing prosperity of this village, its salubrious site, interesting scenery, contiguity to the mountains, and cheapness ol living will have a tendency to give it a preference in the minds of those seeking a residence in the upper country. There are ho other settlements; as villages in the district, except the Indian settlements on Catawba river. These Indians have two towns; the most important is called Newtown, situated immedietely on the river; the other is on the opposite side, and is called Turkey head. The Indian lands occupy an extent of country on both sides of the river, equal to 180 square miles, or 115,200 square acres. The most of this has been disposed of by them to the whites, in leases for ninety-nine years?renewable. The rent of each plantation is from $10 to $20 per annum. The annual income from this source must be at least $5,000; which, if prudently managed, would soon place the Indians in a state of comfort ; for the whole number of families does not exceed 30, or about 110 individuals. These wretched Indians, though they live in the midst of an industrious people, and in an improved state of society, will be Indians still. They ^ - 1 - XI. _ i. u.f A o^en nun iur ineir rem ueiure ins uuc, ?uu the ten or twenty dollars received are spent in a debauch; poverty, beggary, and misery, then follow for a year. Their lands are rich; but they will not work; they receive large sums as rent but they cannot save I money. Though the plan of civilizing the j adult Indians, is almost hopeless, yet the : favorable result, in other places, of endeav| ors to civilize the children, encourages us to | anticipate equal success in pursuit of the 1 same object here. Let us trust that there will be found a disposition in our Legislai ture to give this subject a seriousconsidera| tion; and to take early measures to save from ruin the remnant of this interesting people. The Catawba nation could, at the first settlement of the State, muster 1,500 fighting men ; at present their warriors do not exceed 30. With all their imprudence, these Indians have had sense enough to reserve for their children a rich tract of land on the river, j called King's bottom. York district is bounded on both sides by navigable streams; namely, the Broad river, up to the 90 islands, and the Catawba. This circumstance is of great importance to the agricultural interests of the district, affording it several advantages over some of the adjacent districts. These will be increased when the obstructions of ltocky j mount are overcome (which is now carrying into execution by the State.) The land carriage from the court house, or any other point of the district, to a navigable stream, does not exceed 13 miles. The produce may | then be conveyed in boats carrying 40 or 50 ! bales of cotton, even to the city of Charleston. I The value of land varies from $8 to $10; and for choice spots, as high as $20 per acre. I Pronertv is nrettv much divided. The I price of grain and cotton is as follows: wheat $1 per bushel; corn 50 cents; and I cotton about 10 cents per pound. Columbia | is the only market of the district. The timber trees are chiefly the various kinds of oak, poplar, hickory, chestnut, and j a little short leaf pine. Some spots are very rich in several varieties of trees of prodigi[ ous growth. I have seen near the banks of the Catawba, (where there is some most delightful land,) noble oaks of several kinds, hickory, of the common and shell bark ! species, ash, beech, the beautiful tulip tree or poplar, (liris dendrum tulipefera,) the sycamore, sassafras, dogwood, iron wood, hack berry, walnut, buckeye, or horse ches! nut, and red bud, mixed with a few small pines. The cucumber tree abounds here, and the magnolia (acuminata); also the paupau (or arnona) and some sugar trees; one of which has been measured, and girthed 10 feet round, or 3 feet through. It had been many times tapped, and sugar formcri ly made from the juice. Brydone has told us a great deal about a ' wonderful chesnut tree (the castenea di cento cavalli). We cannot equal this production of Mount Etna, but we have some trees that deserve to be mentioned. At Mr. ; Campbell's, near the little Catawba creek, ! is a scycamore (the platana occidentalis)1 which, at, three feet from the ground, measured 28 feet round, or 9 feet diameter. Like Brydone's tree it has three forks, or prongs; each equal to a high tree. The fruit trees include several kinds of apples, pears, peaches, cherries; besides chestnuts, shell barks, walnuts, Ac. The season of flowering is in May. The expenses of boarding in the country are very moderate; from $50 to $100 per annum. In the village (at the public houses,) it is from $2 to $3 per week. The price of labor, for common field hands, is from $8 to $10 per month ; for mechanics, ? -- n\ per uuy, vi.w , This district experiences a temperature of i air, both summer and winter, that places it for residence in a very favorable point of ] view. The summer heats are not oppress- 5 ive; and the nights are cool and refreshing. } The winters are mild ; and from the posi- j tion of the mountains it is much sheltered j from the cold, northwest winds, which pre- | vail at that season. The character of the j diseases here is of the chronic kind. Intermittent fevers prevail along the margins j of the streams. Several instances of long- j evity occur; many whose ages exceed 70, ( and one above 100. ( The police is the same as that of the State f generally; the taverns are not very numer- j ( ous, but respectable; the roads, bridges, j t and ferries, are in passable order. i j Domestic manufactures are much in vogue; I ( but there are no regular manufacturing | f establishments in the district. I j The price of transportation of produce to j market, now done by wagons is at the rate | < SI per hundred to Columbia; from thence j it is sent by water to Charleston ; for return ; , goods the price is at the rate of 75 cents per j , hundred pounds. ! ] The inhabitants of this district are all! \ planters and farmers; except a few profes-1 sional men and mechanics. ! * The population of the district when the j j census was taken in 1820, was as follows: ; ( 10,251 whites, 4,590 slaves, and 95 free blacks; ' total 14,9:3G. This number has increased j i .? r ? r\ ?v\ t r.??n consiuerauiy in o years, iumuugn ciui^ur tions still take place. As agriculture is not yet reduced to a system here, little attention is paid to the raising of stock. The people depend upon their more northern neighbors to supply j them with cattle, horses, and hogs. i The streams abound in fish of various! kinds, such as the shad, (in season) trout, j red-horse, rock, &c. The birds are the partridge, dove, mocking-bird, crow, hawk, owl, and many others; besides those that visit us at certain seasons, as wild pigeons, geese, ducks, and the whippoorwill. For the support of the poor there is imj posed a tax of at least 5 per cent, per annum of the general tax. There are no distilleries in the district except a few small private stills for family j use. j Respectable academies for the education J of male and female ycuth are established j at the village. There are three other acad-! emies, besides schools in different parts of the district, independent of the free schools established by the State, where the children of the poor are educated gratis. Near i $1,000 are annually disbursed for this pur-; pose; and near 200 children annually re-j reive the benefits of instruction. I The Presbyterians are the most numer-1 ous religious sect in the district. Next to . these are the Methodists; then the Baptists;! then the Episcopalians. There are five: churches within the Indian lands. i j First among the eminent men are those worthy patriots who devoted their lives and | j fortunes in the defence of the State during | g the eventful period of the Revolutionary ! l war. Amongst these we find the names j ( of Lacy, Hill, Britton, Brannon, Ham- j wright, Ac., all residents in and near the ^ district, and whose fame is recorded on the t page of history. j, None of the Indian names of places have j been preserved, if we except that of the Catawba. | j Under this head, however, we may notice ( those in the district famous in the history ! j of our revolution. The first in importance ( is King's Mountain. The battle ground , lies N. .'10? \V. 12 miles from the court house, j j The road leading to it is a kind of byway, j and very hilly. j; This fatal hill is a long stony ridge, very narrow at the top, and about one mile in < length. Along this ridge, in its whole ex- i tent, the British, under Major Ferguson, j and 500 tories were posted ; the whole about ] 1,000 men. What could have induced Fer-1 guson to occupy such ground as this, is hard j to conjecture. It wasa stony spot on which lines could not be thrown up; and so nar- < row that a man standing on it may be shot t from either side. It is true there was plenty ; i of wood to form abatis; but Ferguson took , ] no precautions, and remained in perfect jt security. The supply of water too was j inconvenient to procure; nor could the1 t country, wild as it then was, and indeed is ( now, furnish any thing like a regular sup-' j ply of provisions. Yet in this dreary and | ] unpromising place did Ferguson remain ] three weeks, inactive and exposed. < The battle that ensued was fought with ( no common energy; burnings, robberies,j c and murders had roused, the whigs and j tories todeedsof mutual vengeance. There was no quarter promised nor expected. Three times did the Britons charge with bayonet down the hill; sis often did the Americans retreat; and the moment the Britons turned their backs, the Americans J shot from behind every tree, and every rock, and laid them prostrate. 1 I was shown the path by which near 300 tories forced their way and escaped; it is presumed that the republicans did not know where they were posted, and that part of the camp was not to be attacked. The Ameri can force, (mountain men, as they were called, and all,) was 931 men, when muster- s ed. Of these only GOO came into battle, j This 1 had from , who was in the ac- t tion, and an officer. When the British ( found themselves pressed on all sides, they t determined to surrender, and hung out white handkerchiefs upon guns and halberts. Few of the Americans understood the signal, and the few that did, chose not ] to know what it meant; so that even after i submission, the slaughter continued, until s the Americans were weary of killing; the \ few survivors were marched away prison- f ers; but of these ten or twelve were hanged, s It is supposed there were 375 royal mlitia o killed and wounded, and 11 British, inde- 1 pendent of many prisoners; the American t loss was small. The victors dreading the ( arrival of Tarleton, who was only about t two days march distant, hastened from the r scene of action; nor durst they attend to n bury the dead, or to take care of the woundid ; many of whom were seen upon the ground two days after the battle, imploring i little water to cool their burning tongues; jut they were left to perish here; [and this long hill was whitened with their bones. The vulture and the wolf divided their iarcasses between them; and so audacious bad the latter grown that they in some iases showed a disposition to attack living men. These miserable remains of humanity lay promiscuously scattered on the mountain until 181G, when a few good citizens \greed to collet and bury them. They selected a slab of the mountain, and 3n one side cut the name of Ferguson ; on the other, those of the Americans that contributed to his fall. King's Mountain extends about 1G miles From north to south, and its spurs spread tatterally in many directions. I had a view the highest peak through a good telescope, from a place 12 miles north, 30? west of York. The mountain pinnacle then bore north, 20? east eight miles distant?that is ilmost north from York. The view enxbled me to form a correct idea of its real form. From a vast mountain base this rocky tower rises almost perpendicular. On :he left, or western side, a huge mass proects over about 100 yards. There is but one way by which this lofty peak can be ascended; in every other direction it bids defiance to the access of man )r beast. A few years since, the wolves be?ame very troublesome to the inhabitants; md they, in consequence, turned out to ex;irpate them. There was but one pass; this he hunters occupied. A herd of deer were lemmed in upon the summit of this cloud apped rock; and, urged by the hunters md their dogs, they plunged from the lofty jrecipice, and were all killed. Allowing for the deception of vision, at ;ight miles distance, I should suppose this ocky spire one thousand feet above the nountain. Colonel Hamwright, who was ,vounded in the knee at the battle, lives on Evings's Mountain, and is now old and in Ill 111 In rocks and stones this district is not at ill deficient. Granite, compact limestone, uarble, soapstone, and ironstone are abunlant. King's Mountain abounds in limestone ind marble. The soapstone is found at Caawba old nation ford. The granite is .videly scatted over the country. Of iron >re, there is enough to supply the world. There is a mine near Hill's old iron-works ;hat is inexhaustible; it rises like a moun;ain in the plain, and is quite isolated ; from he top of it you have a commanding view or about twenty miles round. The whole s an entire mass of iron ore, about two niles in circuit. Hill's works were in operation about hirty years, but the ore was not considered productive enough, and work was discontinued. During the Revolutionary war Jolonel Hill cast cannon and ball for the .vhigs, which so enraged the tories, that ;hey beset his house in the night and burned his works. They were, however, rebuilt, and used for many years afterwards. The lime for fluxing the oar was brought "rom King's creek, near Broad River, called Jackson's properly, Stroup's furnace. Besides the soapstone, granite, and limestone, there is excellent clay for making jrick lor building, ana equal ro any in uie State, both for durability and beauty. The .vails of the new court house are built of :his material, and show the quality of the irick. Lime is procured from King's Mounain, and of an excellent kind ; it was purchased for the Court House at the kilns, for ;wenty-five cents per bushel. The bricks ,vere furnished for the same at 87 per housand. Lumber averages 810 per thousmd feet. There are no waste lands, properly speakng, in the district; for those low lands, iubject to be overflowed by freshets, furlish fine pastures for cattle. The richness )f these low grounds is immense. The lighlands are yet so plenty and productive, hat the people do not think this worth the rouble of banking in; but the time is not emote when they will think and act differently on this subject. In a comparatively new county, like this, mprovements in almost every department, lomestic and public, are wanting. But his is the work of time, and we are inluced to hope there is a spirit for improvenentin the citizens, which will eventually dace this district upon a respectable foottig in its navigation, agriculture, education, society and arts. An agricultural society is proposed 10 ne established here, which, with the academes instituted, and the general system of nstruction inculcated, will necessarily improve the State of the arts and literature. This district pays into the treasury of the state annually in taxes upwards of $4,800. King's Mountain gives birth to many streams. It is the dividing ridge between he waters of Broad and Catawba rivers; md indeed extends to the Ninety-nine isands in the former; but in very many scat:ered spurs and knobs. King's creek heads n the main, lofty knob of King's Mounain; and after running a southwest course )f above 10 miles, empties into Broad iver, at the Cherokee ford, just below the Kinety-nine islands. This high peak of King's Mountain is named Crowder's knob, md from its elevated precipice bursts Growler's creek of Catawba; which pursues a southeast course upwards of 18 miles, before t falls into the Catawba, at Mason's ferry. In this mountain also rises Clark's fork of dullock's creek. Allison's creek heads in a Till, called Henry's Knob, which lies a litIetothe south of east of King's Mountain, ind runs into the Catawba opposite Long Island, at Thorn's ferry. Fishing creek ises two miles north of the court-house, and jmpties into the Catawba, a little above the United States establishment. The heads )f Turkey creek are within one and tnree niles northwest of the village; and it empies into the Broad river at Love's ford, jelow Lock hart's shoals. In this district the white clover abounds ipontaneonsly. Our planters and farmers, n the upper country at least, will lind it heir interest to cultivate the grasses most congenial to their soil and climate, as soon is the range begins to fail, which indeed it 11 ready does. A Bladk of Guass.?"Gather," says liuskin, "a single blade of grass, and examne for a moment, quietly, its narrow, swordihaped strip of tiuted green. Think of it veil, and judge whether, of all the gorgeous lowers that beam in summer air, and of all itrong and goodly trees pleasant to the eyes >r good for food, there be any by God more lighly graced, by man more deeply loved, ban that narrow point of feeble green. Consider what we owe to the meadow grass, o the covering of the ground by that gloious enamel, by the companies of those soft ind countless and peaceful spears." CHEAP PURCHASES. SOME WISE REFLECTIONS ON COVETOVSSESS AND PARSIMONY. Everybody seems bent on making cheap purchases. Prudence and economy are of course to be commended, wastefulness is to be avoided, and care should be taken never to pay more for anything than it is worth. But we should never desire to get anything forfmthanitis worth. This iscovetousness. Is it not indeed sheer dishonesty? Is it not l'n thr> nrineinle involved, a form of Steal " %"w r"- ? t? ? ?? ? ing? All legitimate trade benefits both parties, and under ordinary circumstances, benefits both equally. The buyer gives a dollar for a certain article because that article is worth more to him than the dollar. The seller gives the article for the dollar, because the dollar is worth more to him than the article. But suppose that the buyer invents or discovers some way of getting a dollar's worth of something for half a dollar. Is not somebody damaged to the extent of half a dollar? What is the nature of the wrong thus done? It may be called skilful trading or sharp practice, or some other euphemism may be pressed into service; but the fact is, that one man has come into possession of another's goods in a way which the Scriptures do not sanction. Can we imagine Jesus Christ driving a hard bargain and trying to get something for nothing? Can you imagine that he would smile upon you, if he saw you trying to get a dollar's worth of something for ninety-five cents, or for ninety-nine cents? Every dollar, every cent, that a man saves in this" way, puts a sore and a scab on his soul. The world does not call it stealing, but there are some distinctions drawn in this life, which will be lost sight of when we come to stand before the judgment. The pick-pocket and the unfair trader, or the man who desires to be an unfair trader, will not be so far apart in character as they are now supposed to be. "It is naught, it is naught saith the buyer; but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth." Prov. xx. 14. That is, he tries to depreciate the value of the goods in the estimation of the seller to induce him to sell at less than the proper price, and when he goes away he boasts of his abilities as a trader?really, as a sharper. Such is human nature. But, dear children, we pray you make yourselves as different from the average man, iu this respect, as possible. Have nothing in your possession for which you have not paid the lull value. Would this impoverish you? Then be poor?and be happy! The same principles apply in paying money for services rendered. If a man does a dollar's worth of work for you, pay him a dollar for it; better pay more than pay him less. In the one case you have only wasted some money; in the other, you have stolen some. You cannot afford to pay him so much ? You certainly cannot afford to cheat him, nor to take advantage of him in any way. rninK 01 a woman ir>iug iu support herself and two or three children by making shirts at twenty-five cents a dozen! Oh, ghastly horror! Is it possible that we commit such murder, for the sake of buying cheap goods? Yes. Competition among dealers prompts them to force down the wages. Why this fierce competition? Because everybody wants to buy his goods cheap! Oh, pay ten prices for a garment, rather than wear one which cost the flesh and blood of the maker ot it! If all exchanges, whether of merchandise or of labor, either muscular or intellectual, were paid for at their full and real value, there would be but little bankruptcy, and but little pauperism, and there would be greatly diminished crime, and diminished expense of crime, and there would be increased prosperity, and improved morals, and the dawniug of a brighter day than the world has ever seen. We, of the Index family (and we count all our readers as a part of the family) cannot control this world; but each one of us can control himself. Let us be separate from the world in this particular. Let the very thought of obtaining anything for less than its value, be for our ' * 1 < ? G/v oholl aunorreiice, uuu iui uui uinguou uu ounn our "vote" be for the right, and at the last day we shall not regret it.?Christian Index. MISS FRANCES C. FOLSOM. When Cleveland was nominated at Chicago, Mrs. Grundy at once desired to know who would be the mistress of the White House, in the event of his election, and one of the campaign jokes against the President was his bachelorhood. After the election rumor connected first this and then that lady's name with that of Mr. Cleveland, but it seems now definitely settled that Miss Frances C. Folsom, of Buffalo, N. Y., is to be the fortunate lady. Miss Folsom has been sojourning in Italy, with her mother, who is the widow of an old law partner of Mr. Cleveland. The family being in somewhat reduced circumstances it is said that the President offered to defray the expense nf the trin. The marriage is to take place in the White House in June and is to be very quiet. This information was gained from Mrs. Wellington, of Troy, ><". Y., who is an intimate friend of the Folsoins. Miss Folsom is an extremely handsome girl, about twenty-one years of age. She has dark hair and eyes, a matchless complexion, coupled with a perfect physique and a manner which bespeaks the lady of birth and breeding. She is highly educated and is a graduate of the West College at Aurora, X. V. That she will, in virtue of her talents and beauty, hold the foremost position in lashoinable circles in Washington cannot be doubted. 4. ? ? BSF" Edward Goadby, an English statistician, lias been figuring up the cost of the Franco-German war, the Russo-Turkish war, the Russian conquests in Asia and the French operations in Tunis and Tonquin, and puts the figures at $2,787,500,000. fiST Should we wish to have the truth on our side. Then let us get on the side of truth.