Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, April 29, 1886, Image 1
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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.