University of South Carolina Libraries
? lewis m. grist, proprietor. I ^ii Jnbcpcnknf Jamil]! ^ttiuspapcr: Jor % promotion of f|t |oIi}itaI, Social, Hgricaltural aitb Commercial $nfcrcsis of tjjc ? oaflj. ] TERMS--$2.00 A YEAR, IS ADVANC1. VOL 34 YORKVILLE, S. C., "WEDNESDAY, 1STOVEMBER 1S8S. NO. 45. JMrted foctnr. DINNA CHIDE THE MITHER. Ah ! dinna chicle the mithcr, Ye may na hae her iung, Hor voice abuno your baby-rest She softly crooned the sang; She thocht ye ne'er a burden. She greeted ye wi'joy, An' heart an' hand, in carin' ye, Foun' still their dear employ. Hor han' hae lost its cunnin'? Its tremblin' now, an' slow; But her heart is leal an' lovin", As it was lang, lang ago. An' though her strength may wither, An' faint her pulses beat, Nane will be like the mitker, Sae steadfast true an' sweet. Ye maun revere the mither, Feeble, an' auld an' gray; The shinin' oiies are helpin' her Adoon her evenin' way? Her bairns wha want her yonder, Her gude man gone fo re; . She wearies?can ye wonder ?? To win to that braw shore. Ah ! dinna chide the mither; O lips, be slow to say A word to vex the gentle heart Wha watched your childhood's day. A xra rin til hftftd tll6 tOllder VOicO Wlia crooned your cradle sang; And dinna chide the mither, sin* Ye may nahae her lung. ?hc Seller. DORA'S TRIAIj. BY ELLA \V. THOMl'SON. "I do wish," said Mrs. Prudence Hall, holding her darning needle in midair for a moment over the coarse blue sock she was mending, "I do wish you could see I your way clear for marrying Seth llalictt. He wants you the worst kind, and he'd be such a good provider." "But I don't like him well enough, Prudy; and I want something besides meat and drink and two calico dresses a i year." Mrs. Prudence Ilall had sprained her ankle, and was forced, sorely against her will, to sit day after day in an upper chamber, with a terrible consciousness that everything about the farm was relapsing into chaos and bid night for want j of her oversight. Her pretty sister Bora ^ had come to stay with her; but she was "only a child, you know." "There are two kinds of love in this world," said Mrs. Hall, after a pause, in which she had been ; taking counsel with herself whether Bora ' * 1 A ~ 1? An onnli tin of. | was oia enougn 10 ue i?mc? w wu o?v......... , tersatall, and it flashed upon her that "the child" was nearly twenty years old. "Perhaps you like Seth well enough to marry him, only you don't know it." . "Tell me aboflt the two kinds of love," said Bora, innocently. "I thought love was love the world over." "I have never known but one kind, I think, Dora. When I married David Hall he was the most well-to-do young man in these parts, and we never had a quarrel while he lived. He was a good, practical sort of a man, and never asked me to do anything unreasonable." "What if he had ?" asked Dora. "Well, I guess I should have argued him out of it. Put there is a kind of love that will draw women/through fire and water. It makes them throw themselves away on poor, shiftless men that will never provide- for them nor their children, and they know it as well as anybody else does. It is the greatest wonder to me why such a useless feeling should ever have been created." Dora had bent low over her work to hide her roguish smiles at her sister's discourse ; but at this point she fixed her deep gray eyeson Prudence, not smiling, but earnest. "Such love brings happiness sometimes, I suppose," said Dora. "Next to never," said Prudence, with great decision. "We ain't made to be happy, and anything that's too good, always leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Comfort is a bird in the hand, and you don't gain anything by letting it fly on the chance of happiness." "Did you ever know any one about hero, Prudence, that threw herself away for j love? It seems to me they won't look at i a man unless he has a house and farm all ready for them." "That's where they're right," said Prudence. " You are rather given to highflying notions, and it's time you found out that bread don't grow ready-buttered. Yes, I did know one girl, who was pretty and smart, and had no end of chances to get married (I think my David courted her a spell, but he never would own it), and she would have that shiftless critter .Toe ltavmond. who never could make one hand wash the other. Even when she was a-dying she pretended that she had been happy, and wouldn't have done no other way if she had it to do over again." "Was she our Joe's motherV" asked Dora, quickly. "Yes, to be sure; and when she died we took him to bring up and work on the farm, lie's more than paid his way; but j he's a rolling stone, like his father, and won't never come to anything. 1 forgot to tell you,?he's going to-morrow." "Goiny to-morrowcried Dora with a i great start. "I thought his time wasn't : out for another month." "Well, it ain't out rightly till he's twen- 1 ty-one; but he was in such a hurry to be off that I gave him the last month." Then silence fell upon them. These two women had the same father and mother, though a score of years lay between them. Prudence had been borii ! in the early married life of her parents, j when they were struggling with a stony I New England farm and there was work i for even baby hands. The lines of duty j and patience were deep-graved in her rug- j ged face', which yet beamed with a kind- j ly common-sense. Put Dora had come to j her mother late in life, asati old tree some- | times blossoms into loveliness after every j one has forgotten it. Her little feet had walked in easy paths, and Prudence yearned over her like a mother. She sat now by the open fire, bending ! her graceful head over some delicate work that Prudence would never have found time for* hor roil ilh*s> mid tile flickering fire-light made her a picture too iovelv for i that dull room. "Prudence," she .slid, ' suddenly, "as this is Joe's last night, I j think I'll go down and sav good-by to 1 him." "You might call him up here." "Xo; I think I will go myself." "I believe J haven't ever told you, Dora, how much you pleased me by giving up , that childish way of going on with him i that you used to have. It did very well ' for you to be fond of each other when you were little, but of course it is out of the j question now." It might have been the red dressand the j firelight that brought such a Hush to Dora's J cheek as she listened and turned away. She ran lightly down stairs, and opened the door of the great farm-kitchen. A young man sat by the dull fire, look- !> ing into it as one looks into the eyes of an enemy before the tight?an overgrown i farmer boy, in homemade clothes, with j .nothing about him to fall in love with, | least of all for the brilliant little figure ' that stood waiting for him to look up. 1 He was too intent on his own thoughts to i notice her till she went swiftly across the 1 room, and, taking his head between her soft hands, turned his face up to hers. , "Joe, bad boy, were you going away with- ; out letting me know?" The hard lines of his face softened and brightened under her gaze till one would not have known him for the same man. j "I thought I should not see you to-night." j he sdid. "You know better; you know I would i ( MB?UB? KB?? WMBBBMMWBBB MHBBWBBHWI have crept through the key-hole for one last little minute with you." "How long will you wait for me, Dora?" "Till you come back." "If it were .seven years; think how long it would be." j "If you loved me as you make believe," said Dora, "you would not go away at all, but work here till you could build a little house, and then we would rough it together." "No, little Dora, that is not my kind of love; mv mother tried that, and she lived a slave's life." "Dora, Dora!" called Prudence, from upstairs; "what on earth are you doing down there?" "I must go now, I must, truly," said Dora, as she felt herself locked in arms that would not give way. "If I live without you for seven years I shall be a homely old maid, and you will not thank me for waiting for you." lie put her away then and looked at her curiously, as if he had never thought of her - prettiness before. "DOs^Jk-Kbow what your name means?" he asked earnestly.' "I saw it in the paper that 'Theodora' means 'Gift of God;' and you have been just that to me. If 1 had never seen you, I should never have had a notion above a day's work and a night's sleep. I will write whenever I have any luck, and come home on New Year's eve, when I I do come; and if you wear this red dress 1 shall know you have waited for me." "I think I shall live to wear it whtfoyou come home, if it is seven times seven years, Joe; for women are very hard to kill," said Dora, slowly, disappearing from the kitchen. "What have you been doing all this time?" said Prudence, severely. "I was only giving Joe some good advice." "Well, I hope he'll profit by it." "So do J," said Dora, heartily. 'Tis as easy to say seven years as one, and we read of Jacob's seven years' service for Rachel, which seemed as but one day, for the love that he bore her. Rachel's feelings are not thought worthy to be mentioned in Holy Writ ; but if her love was like Dora's, every day seemed seven years. And here, in a nutshell, lies the difference between a man's love and a woman's. Jacob had the sheep to mind, and he did mind them uncommonly well ; Joe went to seek his fortune in new scenes, and only thought of Dora when he had nothing else to do. The ppet thought he had set a hard task to men when he said : "Learn to labor and to wait;" but it is immeasurably harder to bo idle and wait. Till her lover went away, Dora had never cared to ask herself whether she were a child or a woman. Sunshine had been plenty with her, and she had easily sugared and gilded the plain things that farmlife offered to her. Before the first year came to an end, she felt that she should soon arrive at a patriarchal age if she did not do something to kill the time which died so hard on her hands. "Teach school! I guess not," said her father, when she first broached her plan to him. "You ain't starvin' yet; ana 11 you want some new furbelows, you just say so, and not come at it slanlin'-ways like that." "1 don't want anything, father; but there is so little for me to do at home." "Nonsense! In my time, gals was always full of business. Can't you make sheets and pi!low-case^nd get ready to be married? Who knows but somebody '11 ask ye oneof these days ?" "I'd rather teach school, father." "Waal, waal, folks can't always have their rather in this world. I ain't willing,' and that the end on't." Dut this was not the end on't, and Dora' easily obtained a school. She developed a governing talent which charmed the committee-men,and the congenial labor in the company of little children took her out of herself, and infused new life into her hope deferred. livery week she walked to the post-office, three miles away, to ask for a letter, going in with a bright flush in either cheek, and coming out pale and dull eyed after the stab of disappointment. I wonder that people in the country are so anxious to be postmasters; if they only knew it, they are actors in more tragedies than any members of a theatrical stock-company. Much sealed happiness passes through their hands; but they have to refuse many a "Mariana in the Moated Grange,"?weary women who reach a hand out of their dull lives for a letter and draw it back empty. It was far into the second year before Joe's first letter came. It was surely a fanciful and foolish thing for a shooliuistress to do, but Dora carried it to her own little room and put on the red dress before site read Joe's letter. Joe was working in the mines in Colorado. His luck had not yet come, in nuggets at least, but hard work and sober living were slowly giving him the advantage over the other miners. lie was never so well, and he loved her better than all the world. Dora lived on this letter for many weeks, and she set "Colorado" for a copy so often to her scholars that they will write that word better than any other to their dying day. betters came oftener as years drew on ; sometimes Joe was m> in the world, some times down; once Jiis carefully-hoarded gold was stolen from him, and ho had to begin all over again ; but this was nothing to a long illness of which a friend wrote to Dora so soon as Joe was out of danger. Then Dora envied the doves their wings. New Year's day was the hardest of all to bear. She could not help a strong pressure of excitement when she put on the red dress, which grew more and more oldfashioned, and watched the sun go down on the road which Joe must travel when he should come home. The next morning she lilted hershoulders sadly to the burden of another year. one young farmer after another found his way to the farm-house on Sunday evenings, and Dora pushed them down an inclined plane of discouragement so gently that they scarcely knew whether they hail meant to court her or not. It was not the least of her trials to meet the entreaties of her mother and the rough arguments of her father when one or two persistent suitors would take nothing less than "no" for their answer. Dora could give no reason for repeated refussiIs to marry, only she loved no one well enough,?a reason which would be all-sufficient if parents remained immortally young, but it loses weight after sixty. As the seventh year drew to a close 1 Jura's heart beat light within her. Joe had mentioned seven years, as if he meant, to come home then, at any rate. She 'Oil tlw* /lot? /d' ill/* "irlod "V/itt* Year" with busy cares till late in the afternoon, when an old man, spent with much walking, stopped to rest himself in the farm-house kitchen. Prudence hestirred herself to give him a hearty luncheon, and when lie Was warmed and fed he hegan to talk of his travels. He had been to seek his fortune all over the West, and, never finding it, had come back to die at home. He mentioned Colorado and Denver, and when Dora found herself alone with him for a moment, she said, "Did you ever see Joseph Raymond in Denver ?" "Joe Raymond? () yes! knew him well; lived with him nigh onto a month. His wife was a real good cook; couldn't be boat nowhere in them parts." "You say lie was married?" "To lie sure; a right smart feller, and mighty fond of his wife. Women are scarce out there." Prudence came in, and the old man went on his way all unconscious of the great stone he had cast into the still waters of Dora's heart. . "What's the matter?" said Prudence; "you're as white as a sheet." lA Dora's only answer was to dart out of the house and run, as for her life, down the frozen orchard-path by which she could gain upon and overtake this terrible old man. She might have said, with "holy Herbert "My thoughts are all a case of knives, Wounding my heart With scattered smart,?" only misery must have time to crystalize into a memory before its takes the form of poetry. She stood before the old man at the turning, bareheaded and breathless. "IIow did the Joe Raymond look that you lived with ?" gasped Dora. "I never said './oc Raymond,' " said the old man, peevishly ; "I said lJim Raymond.' They had a big boy named Joe, who?" but Dora was off again before he could finish his sentence. She ran back through the orchard, giving thanks with all her heart that she had * ? ? * 1 1 r ?-?*-\nn /-l not bUIiyrt'U nursuxi lu uu ui Joe's faithlessness on one hearing. Iler feeling of grateful awe, as if she had escaped from sudden death, kept her from mourning much over the passing away of this seventh anniversary of Joe's departure with no sign of his return. Ilis letters had wholly ceased, and there was nothing left for Dora but to possess her soul with patience. When another new year dawned upon her she put on the old red dress more from habit than any gleam of hope in her heart, and did not dare to look in the glass. In the twilight she walked slowly down the orchard-path, and leaned on the gate that opened into the road. Suddenly a man sprang out from behind the wall. "Theodora, my 'gift of God '!" he said ; and Dora, though she recognized no mark of the lover who had left her eight years before, felt that no other knew that password, and suffered herself to rest silently in his arms in the ineffable content that comes after long waiting. When Joe and Dora went into the house and she looked at him by candle-light, her heart almost misgave her; his luxuriant beard and the manly assurance of his manners were not at all like her Joe of beloved memory, and a terrible barrier seemed to rise up'between them, while Prudence remained in the room with* her company manners, which sat more awkwardly upon her than her Sunday gown. When Dora tiptoed softly by her sister's door at a very late hour that night, Prudence was lying awake for her. "Don't tell me," she said, "thatyou've been waiting for that Joe Raymond all this time!" "I won't tell you, if you don't wan't to hear it," said Dora. "Do you know whether he came home any better olf than when he went away?" "I really haven't thought to ask him," said Dora, carelessly. Prudence groaned and turned her face to the wall. Joe waited only till the next day to tell Mrs. Hall the story of his success, which ? 1 ? "'I <-??*- * K So f wa t?nlri/-l nti oa lOOKl'U very IlimiflitlVlii m^uatcivucjicoi but seemed a noble fortune to her homely ideas. "I never thought before," said Dora's father, at the wedding, "that a woman could keep a secret; and I guess it ain't much more common than snow in dogdays." "IIow long would you have waited for me?" whispered Joe in Dora's ear. "Forever," said Dora, solemnly. And Mrs. Prudence Hall, as she overheard the word, thanked her stars that Dora's foolish notions had not wrecked her at last on a poverty-stricken marriage.? [Lippineott's Magazine.., JOHN ROBINSON'S (HAN'T. "Uncle" John Robinson, the veteran showman, died recently in Cincinnati, over eighty years of age. lie had been in the circus business ever since he ran away from his home in Utiea, N. Y., when a boy, to follow a show. He was a brave, impetuous man, and a bad one to tackle in his best days. The following is his relation of the way he once disciplined the giant of his circus, as he told it some years ago to a writer in Texas Sittings: "He was the most shif less giant I ever knew," said Uncle John, in talking about the "Polonaisien Hercules," as the giant was called. "He didn't seem to take no interest in his business. A giant, to be useful to a show, must be sociable-like with folks that come to see him. He must shake hands, and pat children on the head ; tell how tall he is, how much he weighs, how much tobacker he chaws, whether he was ever in love, and all that. Rut he wouldn't. He wouldn't talk to nobody, and the more the people crowded round to look at him the crosser he got. lie was a giant without a particle of love for his fellow-man." "Held himself above them, perhaps." "Well, yes, three or four feet above 'em, I should say. He was a walking monument, and what a feeder he was! He got. lazy toward the close of the season, and wouldn't come down to the canvas until he got good an'ready. This caused disf i?w 1 CAmn ualH 11 Wl I j illlV* OV/l?JV< iwin?; ijuiu didn't believe we had any giant, anyway." ".Xo wonder you were put out." "Anybody would be put out. I felt like giving him a good licking lots of times, but somehow a man hesitates about tacklin' a feller nine or ten feet tall. J tut it had to come." "In what way ?" "I'll tell you. My giant took to hard drinking finally, and slept away the afternoon instead of exhibiting himself at the show. One day 1 wasn't feeling very good-natured, and coming down to the canvas in the afternoon I didn't see anything of Ilerculcs. "'Here, you Rube,' I sez to the boss canvassman, 'where is that blank giant?' " 'Drunk and asleep up to the tavern,' sez he. "'Well, I'll sleep him,' sez 1, 'blank his eyes!' and picking up a hard wood board stave 1 started lor the tavern on a run. You see I was mad, for I was carding him heavy' and paying fifty dollars a week and found." "Drunk ?" we suggested. "That's it," said Uncle John, with a grin?"found drunk inore'n half the time. 1 was so mad that 1 forgot he was a giant; I was only thinking of a man's drawing a big salary from a show and not showing. I rushed up to his room, and there he lay, fast asleep and snoring like a fog-horn." "I low tall was this giant, Uncle John ?" "Xigh ten feet; but 1 was so mad I did not thiirk about his size. As belay on the bed, face down, 1 brought that barrel stave down on the broad portion of his corporosity and yelled, 'You miserable, drunken, lazy, good-for-nothing blank giant you, git up here, or I'll pound your blank head ' oft'!' "lie jumped up quicker"n any giantyou ever saw. u 'Now make tracks l'or the canvas,' soy, I, as I gave him another ringing slap that could have been heard four blocks away, "With a howl, he ran down stairs and into the street, 1 close alter him, fetching him a lick at every jump he made." "'(Jet drunk, will you," said 1, 'and shirk your work !' and then 1 would larrup him again. Lord! you ought to've heard tlu* people cheer when i brought my giant in the tent?rounded him up as it were. "Was he subdued?" "Subdued? Well, I should say ho was subdued. We were just in tinre for the great spectacular piece entitled 'Samson captured by the Philistines,' in which he appeared as Samson, and he took his place meek as Moses. Jieforethat he had made a good deal of trouble in the piece> and once he nearly killed the whole Philistine army before he would surrender. We had to enlist a now army almost every night. But after that we had no further trouble. I tell you, my boy, you can't do nothin' with a giant until you have whaled him at least once." 8saT When a man speaks the truth you may count pretty surely that he possesses most other virtues.?[Froude. |iUi5ccUanconis finding. TIIE MEDDLESOME MINISTER. A 1'OLITICAL THICK THAT MAT LEAD TO IXTEltXATIOXAL TIIOUDLES. . :? i The lust political card played by the Re- ' publicans before the close of the campaign < just ended, may result&n complications 1 more serious than its promoters anticipat- 1 ed, and lead to international complications J of a grave character. TJae scheme was to induce some one at Pomona, California, ' signing: himself "Murchison," who repre sen ted himself as an Englishman, to write * to L. S. Sackvilie-West, the British minister at Washington, asking his advice as to the propriety of himself and a number of other naturalized Englishmen voting for Mr. Cleveland, on the ground that he is more friendly disposed to England than is Harrison. The minister either fell into the trap, or designedly answered the letter, making some impertinent criticisms on President Clevelan\t^uTO'e)fptessing doubt of his sincerity on retaliation for violation of Canadian treaties. It was all a Republican trick, one of its intended purposes being to drive the Irish vote to Harrison. The letters were written in September, but were not made public until the 25th of last month, when they first appeared in the New York Tribune, their appearance at that date being for the purpose of being used in the election. With this explanation, the British minister's letter will sufficiently interpret the lengthy one by Mr. "Murchison," to which it replied.* The British minister answered his correspondent under date of Beverly, Mass., September 13, as follows: [Private.] Sir?I am in receipt of your letter of the 4th instant, and beg to say that I fully appreciate the difficulty in which you find yourself in casting your vote. You are probably aware tliat any political party which openly favored the mother country at the present moment would lose popularity, and that the party in power is fully aware of this fact. The party, however, is, I believe, still desirous of maintaining friendly relations with Great Britain, and is still as desirous of settling all questions with Canada which have been unfortunately reopened since the rejection of the treaty by the Republican majority in the Senate, and by the President's message to which you allude. All allowances must, therefore, be made for the political situation as regards the Presidential election thus created. It is, however, impossible to predict the course which President Cleveland may pursue in the matter of retaliation should he be elected, but there is every reason to believe that, while upholding the position he has taken, he will manifest a spirit of conciliation in dealing with the question involved in his message. I enclose an article from the New York Times of August ana remain, yours faithfully, [Signed.] L. S. Sackville-West. This ostensibly "private" letter was made public, by accident, it is now said, a week earlier than was intended, and, of course, its appearance was the subject of comment throughout the country, government and diplomatic circles in Washington becoming no less excited at the unusu| al act of a foreign minister to the United States government making himself a partisan in our national election. Viewed from either point, stupidity or duplicity, the conduct was ama?in?; but through all the excitement the President acted with his characteristic coolness and dignity, lie immediately forwarded to the British government, through our minister at the court of St. James, all the facts in the case. He waited what he considered to be a sufficient length of time before he resolved upon definite action, and finding that the British government was apparently doing nothing in the matter, he decided, in view of the emergency, to discuss the subject in cabinet meeting on Tuesday morning of last week, the result of which was promulgated on that day, when by direction of the President, Secretary of State Bayard, informed Lord Sackville that for causes heretofore made known to her British Majesty's government, his continuance in his present official position in the United States is no longer acceptable to this government, and would, consequently, be detrimental to the two countries. The grounds of this action on the part of the United States are stated in a report of the Secretary of State to the President, dated October 29th, which is as follows : To the President: The undersigned has the honor to submit for your consideration the following statement, with a view to ] receive your direction thereon : On the 4th f of September last, a letter purporting to be t written by one Charles F. Murchison, j dated at Pomona, Cala., was sent from \ that place to the British minister at this capital, in which the writer solicited an f expression of his views in regard to eer- j tain unsettled diplomatic questious be- j tween the United States and Great Brit- s ain, stating at the same time that such an \ expression was sought by him for the pur- $ pose of determining his vote at the appreaching Presidential election. lie stated that he was a naturalized citizen of the { United States of English birth, but that he , still considered England his motherland, f and that this fact left him to seek advice t from the British representative in this ] country. lie further stated that the infor- , mation he sought for was not for himself alone, but to enable him to give certain r assurances to many other persons in the j same situation as himself, for the purpose ( of influencing and determining their po- j litical action as citizens of the United f States of English birth, but who still re- j garded the original obligations of allegi- c a nee as paramount. The letter also con- j tained gross reflections upon the conduct j of this government in respect to questions ^ now in controversy and unsettled between ^ the United States and Great Britain, and r both directly and indirectly imputed in- r sincerity in such conduct. To this letter, r the British minister at once replied from ^ Beverlv, Mass., under date of September , , Id, last. . 1 in this reply he stated that "any political party which openly favored the moth- r er country at the present moment would ? lose popularity, and that the party in pow- \ er is fully aware of that fact;" and that, I in respect to "questions with Canada, ? which have been unfortunately reopened \ since the rejection of the fisheries treaty f by the Republican majority in the Senate t and by the President's message, to which \ j you allude, all allowances must, therefore, i be made for the political situation as re- t gardsthe Presidential election." c The minister thus gave his assent and s sanction to the aspersions and imputations 1 above referred to. Thus, under his corres- i I pendent's assurance of secrecy, in which j I the minister concurred by marking his i ! niwvvnf "nri vntf>." ho undertook to advise \ a citizen of the United States how to ex- i orcisc the franchise of suffrage in an elec- j j tion close at hand for the Presidency of c ! the United States; and through him, as j | the letter suggested, to influence the votes t of many others. Upon this correspondence being made public, the minister received representa- t fives of the public press, and in frequent in- 3 terviews with them, intended for publica- tion, added to the impugnments which he 1 had already made of the good faith of this r government. t Although ample time and opportunity \ have been afforded him for the disavowal, t modification or correction of his state- 1 ments, to some of which his attention was 1 called personally by the undersigned, yet t no such disavowal or modification has been t sent by him through the channels through 1 which his statement found publicity. The c question is thus presented whether it is j compatible with the dignity, security and independent sovereignty of the United States, to permit a representative of a for- 1 eign government in this country not only ( to receive and answer, without disapproval, and confirm by his repetition, aspersions upon its political action, hut also to in tor-( fere in its domestic affairs by advising persons formerly his countrymen as to their political course as citizens of the United States. As between this country and Grreat-Britian there can be 110 controversy as to the complete severance of ties of ariginal allegiance by naturalization. .Disputes on this point were finally put at rest by the treaty of naturalization concluded between the countries on May, 1870. Pherefore, it will not be contended, nor tvas such contention ever admitted by the United States, that citizens of the United States of British origin are subject to any :iaim 01 tne country 01 uieir original uncjiance. The undersigned also has the honor to 3all attention to the provisions of section >335, B. S., of the United States, by which severe penalties are visited upon citizens if the United States who, without authority or permission of this government, commence or carry on any yerbal or written ;orrespondence or intercourse with any foreign government, or any officer or agent thereof, "either with an intent to inlluence :he action of said government or its agents, in relation to any disputes or controversies tvith the United States, or with an intent :o defeat measures of the government of :he United States." These penalties are made equally applicable to every citizen if the United States, not duly authorized, ivho "counsels, advises or assists in any correspondence" with similar unlawful in:ent. The undersigned respectfully advises :hat the attention of the attorney-general if the United States be directed to these enactments, in order that an investigation >e begun with a view toascertain whether hey have not been violated in the present case by the correspondent of the British minister. By your direction the attention of the British government has in a spirit of comty been called to the conduct of its minis:er as above described, but without result, [t therefore becomes necessary for this jovernment to consider whether, as guariians of its own self-respect and of the in;egrity of its institutions, it will permit 'urther intercourse to be held through the iresent British minister at this capital. It is to be observed that precedents are lot wanting as to the question underconlideration. It is a settled rule essential to he maintenance of international inter:ourse, that a diplomatic representative nuat ho m/jvomi n rivntri fn flio frnvom ni<>nf tn uuQu *~?v> y/t* oi/xu <// uiw v*/ inv/ ^vy ? v? inni.ii v i?/ .vhich he is accredited; if by hisconducion he renders himself persona non grata, he annoucement of the fact may be made o his government. In the present case all equirements of comity have been fulfilled, he facts having been duly communicated o her majesty's government, with an ex>ression of the opinion of this governnent in regard thereto. Respectfully subnitted. T. F. Bayard. TOOK HOYS WHo'uECAME PRESIDENTS. The second president of the United states, John Adams, was the son of a farner of moderate means, who was compiled to work constantly for the support >f his family. When at the age of twenty, lie son graduated at Harvard College, his (ducation was his only capital for his start n active life. Andrew Jackson was born in a log hut n extreme poverty. He grew up in the voods of North Carolina, living in the lome of a relative, where his mother vorked to support herself and her three hildren. James Iv. Polk, the eleventh president, pent his early days on a farm in the willerness of North Carolina. Ilis father ilaced him in a store with the intention hat he should enter mercantile life; but lis dislike for business was so great -that it the age of eighteen he was sent to Murreesboro Academy to fit him for college. Millard Fillmore was the son of a New iTork farmer, and his home was an huniile one. When he was fourteen years of ige he was senUaway from home to learn he business of a clothier. But five years ater he entered a law office, and at the ago tf twenty-three was admitted to the bar. James Buchanan was born in a small own of the Alleghany Mountains. His ather was poor, and by his own ax built lis home in the wilderness. When James vas eight years of age he was placed at chool, and six years later entered Dickinon College. where he graduated with the lighest honors. It is well known that Abraham Lincoln ,vas the son of parents who were the poorsst of the poor. Till he was more than wenty-one his home was a log-cabin, lis attendance at school was limited to a ew months. From early life he was cornjelled to depend on himself, not only for lis living, but also for his success in bis msinessand his profession. At the age of ten Andrew Johnson was ipprenticed to a tailor. Previously his nother had supported him by her own abor. lie was never able, it is said, to ittend school. His education was gained )y his own efforts at night, after working ill day at his trade, and by the help of his vife. The early home of General Grant, also, >n the banks of the Ohio, more than lifty ears ago, was without many of thecomortsof civilized life. Till he was seveneen, when he was sent to West Point, he ived the life of a common boy in a eonirion home. James A. Garfield, like so many of his iredecessors, was born in a log hut. When le was one and one-halfyears old his fatliir died. The family was poor. When he lad hardly entered his techs he was doing Lilian's work in the harvest field. He earned the carpenter's trade. He worked in the Ohio Canal. He was determined, lowever, to have an education, and, leavng his plane and scythe, he worked his vay through the preparatory school, and vitli some help from friends, was able to graduate at Williams College. The lives of many Presidents prove that 10 boy is so poor but that he may attain lie highest honors which the American >eople can give. Honest Work.?We are all workers in i ine way or another; but how many of us ire possessed of an earnest desire that the vork which we put from our hands shall j >e a thorough, honest, faithful perform- j mce, which shall lultii its purpose mm i vithstand the ravages of time? The jreat difference in labor is not in what has jeen done?not in the kind of work wo jerform?but in the spirit which we put nto it. From the cleansing of a room to he purification of a government, from the iloaring of a forest to the chiseling of a i itatue, from the humblest work of the J leartand brain, it is the determination to j nake it of the best possible quality that ; daces it in the front rank. The work that ] s performed only for the sake of what it i vill bring, not for what it will carry forth, ; s like the cloth of shoddy, which may I dease the eye, but will not wear. It is ' iheap, flimsy stuff, woven with no nobler j jurpose than to hold together long enough , o be bought and paid for. tig?" Ton thousand human beings start ogether on the journey of life. After ten rears one-third at least have disappeared. Vt the middle points of the common neasure of life but half are still upon the I oad. Faster and faster, as the ranks grow | hinner, they that remain till now become veary, and lie down to rise no more. At hree-score and ten a band of some four lundred yet struggle on. At ninety these 1 rnve been reduced to a handful of "thirty rembling patriarchs. Year after year i hey fall iu diminishing numbers. One ingers, perhaps, a lonely marvel, till the . entury is over. We look again, and the i ourney of life is finfshed. SST" Repentance without amendment is: ike continual pumping in the ship with- i )ut stopping the leaks. Fur thr Ynrkvilli: Knquirrr. ^ KKMIMSl'ENC-KS OF WKSTKKN YORK. >ji Another of Western York's noted men j was Mr. Tom Lanier. Uneducated, yet he i possessed an amount of mother-wit not ! usually found in men of his opportunities. J le was a farmer and an industrious man? an average good citizen. Like most of those who have preceded him in these reminiscences,he, too,had his faults, lie was a professional horse jockey, a hunter and a fisherman. Few men, from the general appeahiuce of the animal, could tell more about a horse or mule than ho j could. From certain marks on the eyelids he judged the animal's age with wonderful accuracy. I have known hisjudgment tested on horses of which 1 am satisfied he knew nothing, and he would generally come within a year of its age, one way or the other. As a huntsman he killed more turkeys | than anybody since "Lige" Aikin's boy. I..i. i \t\ ^! ninn AT aai.ii a tl/l W'a) 111 IIUUU UilJ V/U VIUU/II iUUUl (UiVi ?t MJ4V crooks, u large number of wild turkeys were found about thirty years ago, when he was in his prime, lie had a "turkey caller," made of the wing or thigh bone of a turkey, through which he drew his breath in such a way as to imitate a turkey hen. 80 perfect was the noise as to deceive the most cunning old gobbler, lie J used to tell how the turkeys would do , when some shrewd old gobbler suspected danger ami wished his drove to take care ; of themselves. lie said the gobbler would j perch himself on a log or stump and turn | iiis head tirst one way and then the other, ; and as a signal for all to fly, the gobbler wouldsay: "Buck," "buck,""buck," and away they went. This won for him the nom-de-plumo of "Buck," and as long as | he lived he was called and known by "Tom Buck," as well as Tom Lanier. Sometimes ho would get, after a drove of turkeys and kill one, and the rest would fly. Watching the course they went, and being so well acquainted with their range j and habits, he would "whip round" and I get ahead of the drove and kill another. | 1 have known him to follow and kill three or four out of the same drove in one day, by his strategy, lie hardly ever failed when he set out on a hunt, lie always shot a rifle, and scarcely ever failed to knock a squirrel out of the tallest tree. He could shoot "oil" hand" or with a rest, as was mo>t convenient. He hardly ever moved out of his tracks for a position if he could see his game, hut would shoot right or left handed, as was the most convenient^.' He, too, was fond of shooting mateh&C which were quite common in those days. He was not. a gambler in the proper sense of the word, but would take chances at a shooting match, where (lie stakes was a "choice of heef," at a time. I have, I think, heard of his winning and driving the heef home alive more than once. About two drinks of whisky would steady bis nerves and he could drive the centre "best three out of live;" that is hit it three times in five shots. He would shoot for drinks for the crowd, or amusement, just as the crowd would wish, if he happened to have more liquor than was necessary to steady him, his shooting was doubtful of success. He was in this condition one time at the "Brier Patch" muster ground, when several, with himself, were shooting "for fun." Tom (Badlegs) Whitesides joined them. Whisky was plentiful, and all the gunners were in a good way. "Badlegs," had a splendid rifle, and in a jest said he could boat any shot made, when Tom Lanier took him up and proposed to bet "guns, one against the other," that he couldn't. In a jest Mr. White 1 / ? 1 - - *?-- , IX ? 1 XII). .,1 siues ^wno uy uiu way was umcu jj-.uilegs" tD distinguish him from several other Thomas Wliitesides in the section,) shot and did no hotter than the others, and perhaps no.so well. Tom Lanier claimed the bet, and wanted to take the gun from Mr. Whitosides by force. lie was naturally a weaker man than Tom Lanier, and in scuflling over the gun both fell, iVjm Lanier on top. J3y this time the respective Irish and French blood of the contestants began to get warm, and blows and counter blows were being made fast and freely. Mr. James Scoggins, a sober, peaceable man, and withal one of strong physique, seeing the condition of Mr. Wliitesides, and knowinghim to hoof good family, interfered to rescue him from the dilemma into which he had so unwitting fallen. As Mr. Seoggins stooped down to pull Lanier oil' Wliitesides, I'eter Westmoreland, a stout, heavy set, log wagon of a man, struck him a blow on the back of his head, which, Mr. Seoggins said, "made him see stars all over the grounds." As he straightened up with Lanier in his arms, he looked round and saw Pete coming again, his eyes flashing lire. Dropping Tom Lanier, he planted hiinselffirmly in his tracks and waited for Pete to come within reach of him. About the time he got within proper distance, he yelled out, "Pete's si boss," and Mr. Seoggins struck at him, but he was a little too lar off and the blow grazed the side ofhis head and sent Pete spinning around through the crowd. Pete was plucky and had the resentment of an Indian. Home time after the above incident he was at the lower Smith's Ford with a crowd fishing, when Mr. Seoggins came along going to see i>r. While, who was his brother-in-law. Pete asked Mr. Seoggins if he had any bacon to sell, ami being answered in the aflirmative and told the price, Mr. S. rode off. By the time he returned, the fishing party began to feel their liquor, and, I suppose, Pete thought it a good time to revive the recollections of the "Brier Patch" affair. Ho asked Mr. S. about the meat again. Mr.S. told him, as he had done a few minutes before, the price of the meat. Pete disputed his word and gave him the lie, qualifying it with an oath. Mr. Seoggins struck him (as our old friend Tom Hell would say) "like the kick of a four-year-old Kentucky mule, and it rough shod," and sent him whirling full length over some saw logs. There ended Pete's grudge against him, and as long after that as Pete remained in this country, we never heard of his interfering with any matters in which Mr. Jim Seoggins was concerned. The next place Tom Lanier turns up in these reminiscences is at Old Billy Moore's sale. Pave Johnson, who by the way was a desperate man, afraid of nothing or nobody, and fond of both liquornnd a quarrel when he could get either or both. They kept drinking together all day and late in the evening they swapped guns. Somehow they fell out about the trade, and the dispute began. Tom Lanier had bought onethoseold fashioned "potracks." Johnson got hold of it and bent it nearly double around a tree. Tom Lanier, and ids sons, Jim and Bob, Ben Bolin and others, perhaps, took part in it. Old man Billy Strain met the rioters and said: "What! what! what! does this mean V" Tom Lanier said: "Nothing, only Pave Johnson wants to whip my Bobby and J don't intend for him todo it." The old man said to him: "You're all drunk, ivery one of ye, * ' ' a --- i. < *. n iti 11 :uui it must siop?rigm uuw. Aikins was afraid of Johnson and got over into II. T. Smith's yard to curse Johnson, who was on the outside. .r. i.. s. K i x i >x i;ss T(> A x 1 m a r,s.?The Japanese would shame the hard task-masters of our horses and cattle with the gentle usage they give these animals. Cattle are used as beasts of burden and Ibr agricultural purposes more than ponies. When it is easier to reach their fields bv water than by pathway, the little black bullock or cow is taken there by boat. in the evening it is amusingto see one of these animals, on being unyoked from the plough, quietly walk straight down to the boat lying in the water at the foot of j the valley. If its master is rather long in \ following, it is sure to look anxiously up I the valley and low, as much as to Say, "Are you not coming? I wardf'to go home." The plough used is most primitive and small, but quite sufficient for the purpose required, which -fs generally to turn over the wet, muddy soil in the rice-tields. This instrument is carried down to the boat on the farmer's shoulders, who on his arrival holds the boat steady, and tells the wise little animal to get in, but until it has been ordered to do so it never stirs. When once in the boat the creature stands perfectly still, and is in this way ' sculled home, often a considerable distance. The understanding between man and beast is very clear and very pleasant to see. INTELLECT IN BKITES. Mr. A. Petrie writes: "In my own family we have a tabby cat, who, when turned out, would let herself in at another door by climbing up some list nailed around it, then pushing up the click-latch, pushing the door, with herself hanging on it, away from the post, so as to prevent the latch falling into its place, and then dropping down and walking back to the fire. I knew a Skye terrier, who, being told to carry a fishing-rod, carefully experimented along its length to find its centre of gravity, then carried it on till his master came to a narrow oath through a wood. Ilere ttkye considered, dropped the rod, took it by the end, and dragged it under iiim lengthwise till the opened road was gained, when he took the rod by the centre of gravity again, and went on. This could not he a copy of human actions, but the result of original reasoning." Mr. Henry Cecil gives the following on the authority of the late Mr. Dawes, the astronomer: "Deing busy in his garden, and having a large bunch of keys in his hand, he gave it to a large dog to hold for him till lie was at liberty. Going into the house soon after, he forgot to reclaim the keys. The remembrance of what he had done with them only returned to him when he required to use them in the evening. He then recalled that he had given them to the dog, and forgotten to take them again. Calling him, and looking him impressively in his face, he said 4My keys! fetch me my keys!' The dog looked wistful and puzzled for a moment, and then bounded oil'to tiie garden, his master following. He went straight to the root of an apple tree, scratched up the keys, and brought them. May we not fairly put into words the dog's train of reasoning thus: 'My master has given me these keys to hold; he has forgotten them; I can not carry them all day y but I must put them in safety where I can find them (again?'" 31 r. It. IIowsou sends us the story of a terrier-like dog of no particular breed, named Ugly mug, who had a poodle for a companion. Whenever Uglymug saw signs of a family meal being laid out he inveigled the poodle into a labyrinthine shrubbery under the pretense of looking for rats, and when the latter was fairly intent on his game, Uglymufc sneaked back to enjoy, all by himself, what he could get from the family table. A Negro's Funeral.?A city undertaker in Chicago vouches for the truth of the following: I had a funeral at one of the high-toned colored churches on the south side not long ago. The audience room of the church was crowded. The preacher who is a good deal of a commonsense man, by the way, got up and read a chapter, and then closed the book without selecting his text. This is quite common, however, with him. I will repeat to you just what he said : "Brudders and sisters, de church am crowded to-day as I habent seed it fo' many a day. In fac', as de theatres sometimes put it, dar am standin' room only. Now, why am dis? I kin tell yo-all, and I'se gwine fo' to speak my mind to de p'int. Yo' all come heah fo' to see de deceased in de coffin dar. I remem bah, brudders and sisters, when Brudder Johnson, do deceased, was a-libbin',and when he ust to come to de church, which J am proud to say fo' his mem'ry he did, yo-all was never berry much consuirned about flock in'in to see him den. When he was Jibbin' de deceased wa'n't much run after. Some of yo-all wouldn't speak to him. But now dat de deceased am dead yo-all kin come in heah and block up de ilea and de spar room, kase yo-all t'iuk dat de coffin will be open and you kin march aroun' and take a look at de deceased. " I'se gwine to disapp'int yoall. Do coffin won't be open, not in dis yeah church. Mister Undertaker, procoed wid de necessary preprashuns fo' removing' ob de body of de deceased, while de congregation will remain stan'in' and jinede choir in de chant, 'Blessed are de Dead what Die in de Lawd.' I)e deekins will improve de opportunity by passin' de baskets. 1 want you culled people what's in de habit ob flockin' to the funerils ob deceased members and won't come to church to know dat you got to pay for yo' fun." Water Before Breakfast.?A thin, tall.man got up early the other morning, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and, coming flnu-ii .luirs: rmlpt-pd tu-n orlnucpa nf u'fltpr at the Ilfjuid refreshment counter, says the New York Mail. The trained bartender smiled, but handed out two large glasses full of pure cold water. The man smackedhis lips, and said it was a healthy drink before breakfast, and one that he recommended. Me said: If I had not drunk cold water before breakfast, I might have been in my grave long ago. I am a physician, or, rather, was one before 1 retired, and have made a study of liquids. Water, drunk freely before meals, has a very beneficial result, for it wa-du-saway the mucous secreted during the intervals of repose. The membrane thus cleansed is in a much belter condition to receive food and to convert it into soluble compounds. In the morning the accumulation of mucous is specially marked, when the gastric walls are covered with a thick, tenacious layer. Now, food entering the stomach at this time will become covered with this tenacious coating, which for a time protects it from the action of gastric ferments, and so retards digestion. Your man with a tubular contracted stomach, with puckered mucous lining and viscid contents, a normal condition in the morning before breakfast, is not suitable to receive food. A glass of water washes out the stomach, gives tone, and prepares the almentary canal lor the morning meal. tH?" Men have been saddled with stray babies in railway carriages, in omnibuses, under all manner of terrible circumstances; but the most awful predicament a man was ever in must have been that of on \ inm'ii.'in lintliin<i> ?it Smith England, who was the cynosure of all eyes in his splendid blue and scarlet bathing suit. Presently, as he posed like a merman on the briny brink, a fashionablydressed woman advanced and begged him to give her baby a dip. The young man complied, the two-year-old splashed and kicked, and when the dip was done-, and the dipper waded back toshore, the young mother had disappeared, and the young man was left alone in his splendor with a baby nobody owned, or would relieve him of.?[London Letter. A writer who has explored New (tuinca describes the nutmeg region. Upon line piece of tableland he came upon three houses erected in the very heart of the forest. These were used by the natives for drying the nutmegs. The country was everywhere magnificent, and the aroma of the spice-laden air delicious. Nutmegand other equally valuable trees were everywhere growing in profusion. The fruit of llii! nutmeg in appearance resembles a pear, and when ripe opens and displays the nut with a beautiful red coating of mace. The nuts are then picked and taken to the houses, where they are husked and placed on shelves. They are then paitly roasted over a slow lire until all the moisture is extracted, after which they are A cooled aud sent to market.