Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 14, 1888, Image 1
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VOL. 34. YOEKVILLE, S. O., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1888. NO. 46.
^elected fortnr.
BABY HAS GONE TO SCHOOL.
The baby has gone to school; ah me!
What will the mother do,
With never a call to button or pin,
Or tie a little shoe?
How can she keep herself busy all day,
With the little "hindering thing" away ?
Another basket to fill with lunch,
Another "good-by" to say,
And the mother sta'nds at the door to see
Her baby march away ;
And turns with a sigh that is half relief,
And half a something akin to grief.
She thinks of a possible future morn,
When the children, one by one,
Will go from their homre out into the world,
^ To battle with life alone,
And not even the baby be left to cheer
The desolate home of that future j'ear.
She picks up garments here and there,
Thrown down in careless haste;
And tries to think how it would seem
If nothing were displaced ;
If the house were always as still as this,
How could she bear the loneliness ?
?he
nPTTTP W ATTATTT^D MAN.
X I I II JO.1* w * - ????
BY SYLVAN US COBB, JR.
In the spring of 1842 I chanced to be in
Messina, a seaport in Sicily; and while
there I was invited to visit the extensive
Vintage of D. & M. Their location was in
a pleasant valley some three miles back
from the city, and beneath a portion of
their grounds was extended a large wine
vault, embracing an area of nearly two
acres. After accompanying M., thejunior
partner, through the long vine arbors and
orange groves, we descended to the vault,
and after passing nearly half the length of
one of the pipe tiers, we came to a desk
where a man was writing.
"There is one of your own countrymen,"
said M., "and he will accompany you
through the vaults."
My conductor called to the man who,
quickly dropped his pen, stepped down
from the stool and came forward. He was
employed as a clerk in the exporting department,
for the purpose of filling up
bills, invoices, etc., for the American and
English merchants.
"You will find him a strange sort of a
man," whispered M., "but he is, notwithstanding,
a good fellow."
H., for so my companion had called him,
was a tall, well-made man, apparently on
the better side of forty, and he had a
pleasing, intelligent look. His hair, which
was quite luxurious, was almost white,
and about his countenance there were evident
marks of suffering. His eyes, when
he first cazed upon me?which was with
a furtive, trembling glance?had an inexpressible
look of wildness in them, and
a cold, fearful shudder seemed to run
through his frame. Gradually he grew
more composed, and as he showed me
around among the pipe-flanked avenues,
casting his huge lantern here and there to
show me the ages of the various wines, he
began to talk with considerable freedom,
though he betrayed a strangeness of manner,
a sort of flaring of voice and gesture,
that could not fail of exciting ray curiosity.
A casual observer, who might have judged
only from his appearance, would have
thought him slightly insane; and even I
felt a conviction that his mind was not exactly
comme il faut, or at any rate not
quite comme jefus.
"Do you reside in New York?" he
asked, as we stopped for a moment at the
extremity of the vault.
I told him that I did not belong there,
though I had spent part of the winter and
the spring of 1841 and '42 in that city.
"I have a wife in that State somewhere,
and perhaps a child, but I have not heard
from them for a long time."
I noticed that he wiped his eyes with
the sleeve of his linen jacket as he spoke,
and he turned away, as though to hide an
emotion that might be thought unmanly.
"Does she not write to you?" I asked.
"She knows not where I am."
"Do you not write ?"
"Me!" he uttered, with a sudden start,
a cold tremor shaking his frame the while.
"Ah, sir, I dare not trust my superscription,
nor my autograph, in?"
He hesitated?looked at me wildly foran
instant, and then starting on he began to
enlarge on the different ages, qualities and
vintages of the wine. Twice I tried to
bring him back to the subject he had so
abruptly left, but it was of no avail. At
length we came around to the steps that
led up to the surface of terra fir ma. The
sun had already set, and the stars were
beginning to sparkle in the blue arch above
us. H. remarked that he had no idea it
was so late, and added, with the happiest
T * 1 ?- - ? iL.i
smile i naa yet seen mm express, umi ne
supposed it was because he had such pleasant
company, at the s.ime time assuring
me that I was the only American with
whom he had held a social conversation
for over a year.
As he was about to close the vault for
the night, I proposed he should accompany
me to my cafe, take supper with me
and then walk with me about the city.
It was some time before he would consent
to this arrangement; and while he was
considering upon it, I could see that there
was an internal struggle of no small moment.
He appeared to me not unlike a
man who is debating whether he shall
attack a den of angry rattlesnakes. After
a while, however, he consented to go,
though there was a marked reluctance in
his manner. He extinguished the light
in his lantern, gazed up and down the
long avenues to see that no spark of fire
had accidentally been dropped, and then
he followed me up the broad stone steps,
and having secured the doors, he signified
that he was at my service. The direct
way to my cafe, which was on the broad
quay, lay through the heart of the city;
but ray companion insisted upon taking a
more circuitous route, and as he led the
way he took me through the narrowest
and darkest streets he could find.
I * "Mr. C.," said he, as we were emerging
I ' from one of these dark passages, "there
I was an American merchantman arrived
yesterday from New York, and I know
not who may have come in her. It is for
i this reason that 1 avoid the public places."
In an instant the idea flashed upon me
that my companion was a conyict, or, at
least, a criminal, who had been guilty of
some heinous crime iti his native country,
and was consequently afraid of detection.
The more I thought of it, the more I became
convinced that such was the fact,
and I could now account for his strange
conduct in this fear, and in the gnawings
of a guilt burdened conscience. Yet he
was a welcome companion for all that, and
I felt sure that repentance had been full
and ample.
II. gazed furtively about as we entered
the cafe; and at his request I ordered supper
in a private room. He laughed and
chatted freely, and the more I saw of him
the more I liked him. After we had
finished our meal we started on the proposed
walk. It was nearly eleven o'clock
when we thought of returning, and as
we were passing the small church of St.
Joseph I noticed that the doors were
opened, and that in the centre of the
church there was a sable bier, around
which were burning a number of wax
tapers. I proposed that we should enter
and look for a moment at the corpse. II.
made no objections. In one of the confessionals
near the door sat an old monk,
' and very naturally I asked of him who it
was that rested upon the bier, knowing
that most of the interments from this
church were in behalf of charity.
The monk informed us that it was the
body of a man who had come on shore
from the American ship that came in the
day befpre. He had been very weak when
he left the ship, but he was determined to
i
land, and no persuasion of the crew could
alter him in his determination. He had
reached the quay, but he lived not to cross
it. The kind monks of St. Joseph had
taken charge of the body.
We slowly, reverently approached the
sombre scene. Upon the breast of the deceased
were the various articles that had
been found in his possession, consisting of
an apparently well filled purse, a pocketcomb,
a watch, and a heavy double-barrel- 1
ed pistol, the latter of which the monk in- ;
formed us had been loaded with extraor- i
dinary charges of powder, balls and buckshot.
I gazed upon the face of the dead,
and even in its sunken, marble-like rigid- <
ity there was a startling expression of in- :
tense resolution, as though some fell pur- i
pose, which even death had not subdued,
still dwelt in the hushed bosom. As I still :
gazed I heard a quick, stifled cry at my
side, and on turning I was half frightened 1
by the expession of ray companion's coun- ]
tenance. His eyeballs seemed actually
starting from their sockets, his mouth was <
half open and fixed; his hands were ex- 1
tended towards the corpse, seemed like i
vibrating harp-strings, <and his very hairs
I ? J 1 IIa mAirarl r\QQror tfwrorHa J
SttJLLJCU 1ICUU1. HO Uil/vou uvutv* wvtiwamw
the head of the dead man?looked anoth- i
er moment into that pallid face, and then
sinking upon his knees, he clasped his 1
hands towards heaven.
"Great God, I thank thee, I thank thee! <
Thanks! thanks! thanks!" he ejaculated, '
in frantic tones; and then he arose and 1
looked once more upon the features of the 1
corpse. Then his eyes wandered to the 1
heavy pistol that lay upon the sable pall, i
and while a cold shudder passed through 1
his frame he took me by the arm.
"Come, come," said he, "come with me
to your cafe, and I will tell you a strange
story."
Without heeding the mute astonishment <
of the mink, I followed H. from the '
church, and ere long we were seated upon 1
a balcony that overlooked the beautiful ]
Straits of Messina. My companion's 1
nerves had become somewhat composed, '
and I could see there was an intense satis- 1
faction depicted in every lineament of his '
countenance.
"Mr. C.," he commenced, "I can tell 1
you my story in a few words. Nearly 1
twenty years ago I fell in with a young
girl in the city of New York. On my >
part the acquaintance soon ripened into a 1
love of the warmest and most ardent 1
kind?and it was as pure as it was ardent; '
and she professed the same feeling towards {
me. I was then well to do in the world, 1
being a clerk in a heavy mercantile house, '
and ere long it was arranged that we
should be married. About a week previ- '
ous to the time set for this ceremony I J
accidentally heard my affianced bride use 1
some most obscene and profaue language <
in company with one of her female ac- 1
quaintances. You can judge my feelings 1
under those circumstances much better
than I can describe them. I turned away '
sick at heart, and on the very next day I | (
received indubitable proofs of the utter J
infidelity of the object of ray affections, *
and I at once broke off the engagement. \
Upon being questioned by some of my 1
companions as to the cause of my course, '
I unguardedly, and perhaps foolishly, re- {
vealed to them the whole secret. The 1
story, as having come from me, got wings, r
and it soon spread among the lady's ac- ,
quaintances.
"A few days afterwards a young man, 1
about my own age, called into the store 1
and came up to the desk where I was writ- *
ing. His hands were nervously clasped ]
together, and his face was livid with rage. 1
He told me I had forever blasted the repu- *
tation of his sister?that I had faithlessly <
deserted her, and left her broken-hearted. ]
I attempted to reason with him, but I
might as well have reasoned with a light- 1
ning bolt. He demanded instant satisfac- 1
tion, and proposed that I should accompa- 5
ny him over on to the Long Island side j
and fight him. My natural timidity
would have prevented me from complying '
with such a request; but I had also high- J
er scruples, and of course I refused. Then '
he called me a base coward, and swore {
that he would have my life. I complained j
of him before a justice; he was appre- '
hended, publicly tried, fined, and placed *
under bonds to keep the peace.
"After that I met him in Broadway. '
He stopped me and whispered in my ear. <
He swore by the most fearful oath a man 1
could take that he would have my life, (
and that he would hunt me through the ]
world till he had accomplished his purpose. 1
I knew that he meant just what he had said, 1
and fear began to take possession of my ?
bosom. Many times I discovered that he j
was dogging me about, but I always man- '
aged to keep among a crowd as I walked
along the streets. I dared not bring him j
to trial again, for I might fail to make
out a case, and it could only tend to in- ]
cense my enemy still more. At length I
feared to walk the streets, for one night, 1
as I was passing a dark alley near the '
head of Cherry street, I heard the report 1
of a pistol close to me, and a bullet passed 1
through my hat. A watchman was quick- '
ly on the spot, but nothing was to be
found. I knew who fired that pistol, but '
I had no evidence! I felt that my life was ]
not safe in the city, and secretly I moved ;
to a small town in the western part of J
Massachusetts, where I engaged with a '
dry goods dealer.
"Here I took to myself a wife; but I '
had not been married over a month, when <
I saw my enemy pass the door of the store j
and look in. He saw me and pointed his
finger ai me. The cold sweat stood in *
huge drops upon my brow, and my fears s
came back more powerfully than ever. At 1
night I contrived to get my employer to (
go home with me, and on the way I heard 1
low, stealthy steps behind me. I knew
that I was dogged! 'You are mine!' I 1
heard a voice pronounce as I turned into <
my yard; and as I turned I saw a dusky 1
figure moving off beneath the shade of the (
roadside trees. The next morning I sent
word to my employer that I was sick, and
I kept the house all day. I explained all
to my wife, and she agreed to go with me {
wherever I wished. Several times during 1
that day I saw my sworn murderer pass 1
the house and gaze intently up at the (
windows, but he did not see me. t
"A got a uoy 10 go to tne siaoie auu pro- ?
cure a horse and wagon, and, after dark, 1
to take it around to a back road, nearly a j
mile distant from the house. My wife
any myself tied up such articles of cloth- f
ing as we could carry, and taking all my 1
money with me, we stole out through the (
back garden, and gained the cross-road in f
safety. The wagon was there, and having 1
entered it, the boy drove us off at a good s
speed. Just at daylight we reached a tav- i
em where a stage-coach was almost ready
to start, and the boy returned, having first s
promised to keep inviolate the secret of 1
my flight. The stage was bound to Lenox, 1
which place we reached before dark. From i
thence I went to Hudson, crossed the i
North Itiver, and made my way to the
western part of New York, where J i
bought me a small cottage. '<
"In less than a year my enemy found me I
again, and I saw him standing in front of ;
my house. He looked wild and haggard,
but I could see that there was an iron de- I
termination upon his features. One night i
I heard a grating against one of my win- <
dows, and on the next moment my dog, a
powerful Newfoundland, had sprung from
his kennel. I dared not go down, for I <
knew too well the cause of the disturbance.
The noise soon ceased, however, and on
the next morning, I found my dog lying 1
beneath the window?dead! . The villain
had been afraid, probably, that the noise
might have disturbed the neighbors, and
had for the present desisted from his murderous
intent. 1 made ariangements with
my wife to keep the house, and taking a
small sum of money with me, I fled from
my home!
"I went to New Orleans, and there my
enemy at length followed me ! For three
years ! skulked from place to place, the
very embodiment of terror and weakening
fear; but go where I would, that man was
sure to haunt me. Six different times he
fired at me with his pistol, and twice he
wounded me. Our lives seemed now to
have but one end and aim. His was to
take mine, and mine to escape his fell revenge!
I became almost a living skeleton?the
falling of a leaf would startle me.
At length I obtained a chance to go to
England. I was in London, standing one
day at the door of an ale-house, when?O
God !?I saw my life-hunter pass. He was
as pale and sunken as my self?restless
and nervous; but his black eyes gleamed
like balls of fire. He did not see me. I
hurried down to the Thames, took a lighter
as far as Gravesend, and there I was
fortunate enough to find a barque bound
directly for the Mediterranean. I got a
passage in her, and was at length landed
in this city, where I have been ever since.
I have regained somewhat of my former
health and spirits, though that same dread
fear has not failed to haunt me.
"My enemy must have found me out,
even here; but, thank God, he passed from
the power to harm me more. A hand
' ' i'l L! J ...
migntiertnan nis nas stncKen niiu uuwn.
Thai tea* his cold, powerless corpse that we
mw to-night in the church! If my wife
still lives I shall see her again."
H. did meet his wife again, for I saw
them both at the White Mountains a few
years later. It was some time before I
:ould recognize, in the portly gentleman
who accosted me, the poor haunted man I
had met in Messina; but when I realized
the truth, I grasped him warmly by the
hand, received an introduction to his wife,
md soon we three were straying along
the banks of the beautiful Ammonoosuc.
THE PUBLIC DEBT.
On the first day of October the public
iebt of the United States, which draws interest,
was reduced below the sum of one
thousand million dollars. The country
passed the one thousand million limit going
in the other difection?that is, when
the debt was increasing?early :'in 1864, and
the next twenty months more than
ioubled this sum. Thus, at the end of
August, I860, the interest bearing debt was
two thousand three hundred and eightyone
millions.
So large an amount of this debt bore a
high rate of interest that the average rate
upon the whole was more than six and
one-third per cent.; but upon the entire
Iebt?for some four hundred millions more
lid uot draw interest?the average rate
was a little less than five and one-half per
2ent.
In twenty-three years the net debt,
which means the amount as it would be if
ill the cash on hand could be applied to
paying the debt, has been reduced to eleven
hundred and forty millions, while that
part which bears interest has been brought
oelow one thousand millions.
Moreover, there is not a single bond
now bearing interest which was in exist
1 OCT ?,knln/lakf Kao Konn I
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funded at much lower rates of interest, insomuch
that the annual interest on the
iebt, as it stood on October 1 of this year,
is only forty-one and a half millions?less
than one-third what it was in 18G5?and
in average of less than four and one-fifth
per cent, upon the principal.
There now stands on the books of the
Treasury only five classes of interest-bearing
debt. So far as the public is concerned,
ihere are only three classes, as will be explained.
On October 1 there were outstanding
two hundred and twelve and a
;hird million bonds bearing four and a
lalf per cent., six hundred and ninetyshreeand
a half millions bearing four per
cent., and sixty-four and two-thirds miltons
of Pacific Railroad six per cents.
Both the four and a half and the four
per cent, bonds were issued to provide
iaeans for paying war bonds which drew
six per cent, interest, and for resuming
specie payments. Both these classes of
sonds are "redeemable" after a fixed date,
)ut, under the terms of the bonds, are
lever payable. That is, the Government
ms the right to pay'the principal of four
md a half per cents, after September 1,
1891, and four per cents, after July 1,1907,
jut it has fixed no time when it promises
;o pay off the bonds.
The Pacific Railroad six per cents, are
jonds issued to several Pacific Railroad
companies. The companies themselves
vere originally expected to pay both principal
and interest of these bonds. As a
natter of fact the Government pays the
nterest on these bonds. The question
ivhat new arrangement shall be made beAveen
the Government and the companies,
since the bonds cannot be met at maturity
jy the companies, is now before Congress.
There is a sura of about one hundred
ind thirty thousand dollars outstanding in
'refunding certificates," which are concerted
into four per cent, bonds. The
'nayy pension iund"of fourteen millions,
Irawing three per cent., is held by the
jrovernment itself, and none of it is in the
possession of the public. These two items
ire the fourth and fifth classes of interestsearing
debt referred to above.
At present, and until the autumn of 1891,
;he Government cannot pay any of its in;erest-bearing
debt. As it must employ
;he excess of revenue after expenses and
nterest are paid, the Treasury department
suys Government bonds, and cancels them.
Although the rate of interest is very
ow, the demand for securities of a high
jharacter of Government debt is sufficient
:o carry the market price of the bonds to a
arge premium. In the middle of October
"our and a half per cent, bonds were at
something more than eight per cent, premium,
while each of the other two classes
)f bonds, which are held by the public,
vas at thirty per cent, premium.
There is now no great country of the
vorld which is less oppressed by a public
lebt than is the United States, and there
s no government which has a higher
;redit.
KEEP UP YOUR END.
"When I was a boy in the lumbering region
in Maine," said the old doctor, "the
ellow who would not hold up his end of
he log, but let the weight sag on the others,
was looked upon with contempt by all
he camp. Wherever I go now, 1 think I
;ee logs carried ; one end held up by
learty, willing hands, and the other dropping
out of lazy, selfish ones.
"When I see an old father toiling to
jive his son the education that is to help
lim through life, and the boy yawning
)ver his books, tricking his teachers,
smoking cigarettes and swearing, 1 feel
ike calling out, 'For the sake of your own
soul, boy, grip the end of the log, and hold
t up!'
"Sometimes I see a man working hard
ill day, and too tired to rest at night, while
lis wife and daughters read novels, emiroider,
and gossip with women as useless
in the world as themselves. l>o they keep
jp their end of the log?
"Or, quite as often, it is the wife who
stints and saves, until her life is barren
ind bare as a dusty road at noonday, while
the husband spends his time at saloons
ind pool-rooms.
"Or I see one bright, courageous member
of a family, usually a woman, work
!_i-:?
lllfjl juivmy, 1IU|/i:iui, ? 1111^ liiVy wuiwin
srawl along, groaning, complaining, dropping
every day and liour tiioir burden of
poverty, disease, toothache, or bad weather
on her shoulders. She has all the log
to carry.
"Again, it is a human being for whom
God has done much in birth, rank, education,
friends, who, for the love of a glass
of liquor or a pack of cards, allows his life
to drop into the slough. St. Paul bids him
'work' out his own salvation, and I feel
like telling him to hold up his own end of
the log."
What does our reader think of the doctor's
homely lesson? What is his burden
in life? Somebody shares it with him ;
no man bears his load alone. Does he
carry his part with a hearty good-will?
Or does he drop it on weak and willing
shoulders?
fPswUaiwfliw Heading.
NEW YORK'S POLITICAL FACTIONS.
RISE AND PROGRESS OF THE RIVAL DEMOCRATIC
ORGANIZATIONS.
Secret History of Tammany Hall and Some
of Its Sachems who, by Seceding lYom
llie Wigwam at Different Times, have
Vainly Tried to Destroy the Famous Society.
The Tammany Hall Democracy of New
York city is the most noted political society
in the country, and as it exerts an important
power in every national contest,
the following sketch of its secret history,
copied from the Philadelphia Times, will
be read with interest at this time :
Every four years the eyes of the country
are centred upon ttvo political organizations
in the city of New York. Nowhere
else is such an anomal^ iu public affairs
presented. For years tne eve of a Presidention
election finds the inevitable struggle
between Tammany Hall and whatever
factional opponent it may happen to
have threatening the White House succession.
The citizens of every State and
every party watch the struggle with bated
breath. Nowhere else could such a state
of affairs long exist, because it could only
continue in a municipality where primary
elections are unknown, where the citizens
have no voice in the naming of candidates
for public office and where conventions
are only held to ratify the nominations
which the men in control have
decided upon.
The story of the rise and progress of the
movement which has nurtured such a condition
of things should prove valuable
and interesting. It is given here and exhibits
an inner view of the workings of
this most powerful of machines. Tammany
Hall had its birth in the early part
of the present century. It obtained its
name from the building in which it first
met and which occupied the ground where
the Sun has its publication office. Its
present meeting hall on Fourteenth street
bears the same title. Most of New York's
famous political organizations have been
named for their places of meeting. The
original organization of Tammany Hall
was a secret society known as the Columbian
Order, and to this day, although the
fact is not generally known, that society
exists and practically controls tho general
body. The members of this body are
bound by oath not to disclose its secrets
and to remain in perfect accord with the
fundamental purpose ruling the Tammany
organization, that purpose being the absolute
control of municipal politics. The
v/()lUIIIUittU urucr a. jjuuiu wi >j<4- i
chems, who control the occupancy of the
society's building and in whose name all
its real estate is held. The real internal
power of this political corporation is thus
intrusted to the Board of Sachems.
TIIE YOUNG DEMOCRACY.
This fact had its best demonstration
some twenty years ago, when a faction
calling itself the Young Democracy arose
within the ranks of Tammany Hall and |
made the first serious attempt to rob it of
its power. Peter B. Sweeney was the
Powhatan of the Ihen ruling Board of Sachems,
and his chief lieutenant and the
active political head of the Tammany organization
was William M. Tweed, and it
was against their domination that the revolt
was made. The members of the
Young Democracy, in emulation of the
methods of the Columbian Order, were
sworn to keep the secrets of their organization
intact, but still remain within the
Tammany Association. They began their
contest by securing the legislative control
in Albany. With this success as an augur
of victory they soon not only outnumbered
the followers of Sweeney and Tweed,
but absorbed the most active and influential
Democrats of the time. It became
apparent that the Young Democracy had
control of the committee of organization
of Tammany Hall and could command
sufficient votes to defeat the two men
whose downfall they desired. In this
r\nr\nrrrantt\T tho XMlll.P r> f thp PYlClfpnPP nf
VAJW V HI WW V/A V<< V v?*?wvv?*vw w?
the Columbian Order and of its Board of
Sachems demonstrated itself. Sweeney
and Tweed represented a majority of the
sachems and tne sachems having control
of the Tammany building, they closed its
doors upon the Young Democracy. In
this exclusion of the representatives of the
revolting but majority taction, they were
supported by the police force, then the
creatures of Sweeney and Tweed. As the
sole object of the Young Democracy was to
secure control of the political destinies of
the Tammany organization, the deprivation
of the right to enter the building in
which alone those pretending to the name
of Tammanyite could meet, proved a fatal
blow. The hopeful revolutionists disbanded
and those of their leaders who looked
for future political fortune were driven
back to humble subservience to Sweeney
and Tweed. This was the beginning of
the absolute power and despotic sway of
these two men.
How they, having acquired control of
every department in the State and municipal
goverment, administered affairs is a
matter of history. They progressed to a
condition of powerunparalleled in political
annals. They not only made the Governor
of the State of New York, but every plan
was formulated and every measure secured
to extend their power to the election of a
President of the United States. John T.
Hoffman, whom they had elected Governor,
was openly declared to be the choice of
New York State for the Presidency, and
no man's'prospects ever looked brighter or
more assuring than his. Hoffman was an
upright man who had yielded his ambition
to the control of a faction, with the
personal corruption of whose leaders no
man has ever associated him, but his political
future was destroyed by the downfall
of those whose instrument, in the gratification
of that ambition, he had consented
to be.
"APOLLO HALL."
Because of the now historic corruptions
of Sweeney and Tweed, there became arrayed
against them, among prominent
citizens, a sentiment which crystalized in
the formation of the committee of seventy.
Its labors so stimulated honest public sentiment
as to occasion in 1871 the downfall
of Sweeney and Tweed and their followers
and to annihilate for the time being
the dominance of Tammany Hall. Out of
the political chaos caused by that revolution
arose the organization known as the'
Apollo Hall Democracy. It took its name
from its place of meeting on twenty-seventh
street, where the Fifth Avenue Theat-i.
nr.ii. ctonrlu Ttu nrnmntor nnrl lpndpr
was James O'Brien, who had been connected
prominently with the Young Democracy,
but who had returned to Tammany
Hall or hung upon its edge. He
was a man with a large personal following,
especially among the rougher classes on
the east side of the city. He demanded of
Tweed not only political recognition but
a nomination for Sheriff, an office which
he had once held. This Tweed, at the
emphatic suggestion of Sweeney, refused.
In the municipal election that followed
O'Brien became the candidate of Apollo
Hall for Mayor. Tammany nominated
Thomas A. Leadwith, a Police Justice,
and also a former prominent leader in
the Young Democracy. A Citizens' organization,
formed without regard to party,
made William F. Havemeyer its nominee
and he was elected by a marvelous
plurality. O'Brien was the last man in
the race and Apollo Hall did not survive
this defeat.
Tammany was not only shattered, but
apparently destroyed. Sweeney, Tweed,
Connolly and the lesser satellites of the
organization were indicted for infamous
crimes and became fugitives from justice.
Tweed met his end in prison; Connolly
i died somewhere in Europe and Sweeney
is still an exile in Paris.
THE INFLUENCE OF JOHN KELLY.
But still the secret organization withii
Tammany maintained its power. In th<
conclaves of the Columbian order. Johr
Kelly, a man of political sagacity and i
born leader of men, became the controll
ing power, and again did the oath-bounc
inner circle prove the salvation of theshat
tered association. Associated with hiir
in the first grasp of political supremacy
was John Morrissey, a man with a subtle
ness and instinct in his appreciation o
men's worth which amounted to genius
He was as determined and arbitrary in hi!
way as Kelly was in his, and withal a mar
of broader views and better judgment
Although Morrissey had been a prize-fight
er and gambler, all who knew him had th<
greatest confidence in his integrity. Un
like Kelly, he was never swayed by hi!
prejudices. It was impossible that thes<
two men should long harmonize in th<
joint control of a political organization
Thev nuarreled. Morrissev retired fron
Tammany Hali and, for the first time ir
the history of New York politics, he or
ganized a party without a name and whosi
only adhesive power existed in the per
sonal following of asingle man.
He began this departure with the defea
for State Senator of John Fox, the vaunt
ed political power of the lower end of thi
city. Morrissey announced himself as s
candidate for the Senate in what is knowr
as "the brown-stone district," so called or
account of the wealth, position and socia
influence of its inhabitants. It was Johr
Kelly's own bailiwick. The Taramanj
leader, feeling that his political prestigi
was threatened, begged Augustus Schell
one of the exclusive Knickerbockers anc
formerly chairman of the national Demo
cratic committee, to appear as a candidate
against Morrissey. That Kelly's fears
were not unfounded was proven by the re
suit. The ex-prize-fighter received f
larger majority than Schell did votes
Such prominent residents of the district
as Hamilton Fish and Cyrus W. Field
with utter disregard of party affiliation
walked up to the polls and cast their bal
lots for Morrissey. Immediately after hi:
election, before the meeting of the Senatt
to which he had been chosen, Morrissey
died. Had he lived, the remainder of the
story of Kelly's life might have been differently
told from the present tale of continued
power.
THE IRVING IIALL PACTION.
Before the next election John Fox hac
seceded from Tammany Hall and Kelly
by his arbitrary measures, had driven oui
of the organization many of it most popu
lar and influential leaders. These seceden
organized themselves into the Irving Hal
Democracy, taking their name from th(
meeting place at Fifteenth street and Irv
A nrtkAK<?)u nam TliallC
UJg piitUC) VV1IC1C -ijLlllUClfc r> utlt J.11UIII
Theatre now stands. This organizatior
grew into the greatest political factor with
which Tammany Hall ever had to contend
In municipal contests, by the presentatior
of a mixed ticket, it affiliated with the
local liepublican organization under the
guise of a so-called Citizen's movemeni
and almost inviriably defeated the Tarn
many people. The general of these so
called Citizen's movements was Chestei
A. Arthur, who became for a time the con
trolling power of the city of New York.
Prosperity ruined Irving Hall. John
Fox, Sheriff Bowe and their followers or
one side, and Hubert 0. Thompson, Mau
rice J. Power and Edward Cooper and
their followers on the other, contested long
and hard for the control of the organiza
tion. The latter clique outnumbered the
former. Fox and Bowe and their associates
were "disciplined"?were excluded
from the Irving Hall Association. The
apparently successful faction within a faction,
exulted over what they believed tc
be a victory, but they had forgotten thai
the lease of the building known as Irving
Hall had been granted to Fox and Brwe
History again repeated itself. The same
tactics which Tammany had exercised toward
the Young Democracy were employed
in this instance against Thompson,
Power, Cooper and others.
THE COUNTY DEMOCRACY.
Having thus lost their name and the
significance which the title gave them
the discomfited majority met temporarily
in the hall of the Cooper Institute, and
eight years ago organized the C'ountj
Democracy. The remnant of Irving Hal!
lingered precariously, occasionally commanding
political recognition by hoisting
the black fiagand sometimes in close political
contests, courted as a presumed balance
of power by the other organizations
Finally it became too insignificant in numbers
to terrorize either through politica
piracy or to be esteemed of sufficient consequence
for party cajolery, and one yeai
ago it breathed its last.
The subsequent careers and contests o
Tammany and the County Democracy
need not be related, Richard Croker, b>
the secret grace of the Columbian Order
succeded Kelly as Tammany's chieftain
and Maurice J. Power stepped intoThomp
son's shoes when death made them vacant
While Governor Hill, of New York, at
tributes to Tammany much for his success
in the recent election, and although the so
ciety was divided into factions over th<
contest for mayor, President Cleveland
does not impute the sachems with his de
feat, butsaysthat Hill and Tammany Hal
treated him with perfect fairness.
Suit has been filed in Chancery C'ouri
at Knoxville, Tenn., by stockholders ir
the East Tennessee road, to prevent Rich
mond Terminal from operating the Easi
Tennessee road under the recent lease
It is claimed that the Georgia portion o
the road is operated under the old Cincin
nati and Georgia, which provides that "nt
other railroad company shall own aeon
trolling interest in said railroad." Anoth
er complaint is that the lease is made by ?
competing line which will stop all compe
tition and work against public policy
The bill is not only to restrain the Termi
nal from operating the East Tennessee
but also asks that the Richmond and Wesi
Point Terminal and Warehouse company
be restrained from voting upon the share.'
of.stock held by it, at the meeting: of thi
East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia
railroad stockholders, on the 22nd of De
cember. This meeting is called for the
purpose of considering the proposed lease
SST No better illustration of the wonder
ful wealth of the United States is furnished
than the figures which David. T. Day, o
the division of mining statistics of the
United States geological survey, gives re
garding the immense mineral output o
the country for the past year. They show
that the total value of all minerals raised
that year amounted to $508,000,000. This
is $70,000,000 more than the output during
the previous year, and more than $100,000,'
000 greater than that of 1885. The lasi
year's output is not only the greatest evei
raised in the United States, but is at leasi
$100,000,000 greater than the output of anj
other country, and leaving out Englanc:
i is greater than that of all Europe put to
gether.
The latest report of the Department o
Agriculture just received from Washing
ton, makes no material change in the
i former estimates of this year's wheat har
I vest in the United States. The foreigt
i advices embodied in the report rectify
however, some of the pessimistic error:
j afloat last month as to the deficiency o
! the European crops. Brilliant weather ir
September considerably improved tin
grain harvests in France, Great Britain
Hollaud and Belgium, while in llussiathi
present crop is reported to be "as large ai
that of the superabundant yield of 1887.'
It is not likely, therefore, that there will b<
much, if any increase in the price of breac
in this country. As the crop of Indiai
corn is exceptionally good it may be large
ly substituted as food in the place o
wheat.
j | For the Yorkville Enquirer.
REMINISCENCES OF WESTERN YORK.
In the fall or winter of 1857, old man
J Tom Lanier took very sick one night, and j
3 sent for the writer, who went for Mr. :
1 Thomas M. NVhitesides ("Stingy Tom"),
1 who by the way deserved no such appella:
tion, in the general acceptation of that
1 word. He was good and kind to the poor
and always ready to help them when in
1 distress. But, as we have said before,
7 there were a number of Thomas White"
sides in that country at that time, and
some appellative was necessary to distiu*
guish the one from the other; hence the
5 use of the one in this case.
1 The night wasdark, and a cold rain with
* a sprinkling of sleet was falling. At our
[ summons, Mr. Whitesides arose from his
3 bed, gathered a bottle of medicine (laudanum,
I think) and got ready to go to the
3 suffering man. But before leaving home
3 he ordered one of his negroes to go, "post3
haste," for Dr. Darwin. Before we got to
* the house we could hear Mr. Lanier groan1
ing and otherwise exhibiting evidences of
1 great pain. .When we entered the house
' we found him tossing to and fro upon the
3 bed, and his wife (Aunt Sindy) trying to
keep the cover on him, with warm ash
. poultices to his side and a warm brick to
c his feet. lie was in great agony and ter^
ribly excited. He had confidence in Mr.
" Whitesides. In fact, Sam Strain said he
1 expected to go to Tom Whitesides when
1 he died. That foolish expression came up
? in the writer's mind that night as Mr. La1
nier tossed about on his bed, saying: 4'0h !
1 Tommie Whitesides, do have mercy upon
[ me, if you please, sir." "Oh ! Mr. Tom3
mie Whitesides, you don't know how I
} am suffering." "Hut," says Mr. Tom W.,
1 "You must lie still and then you'll get
[ easy, perhaps." "Hut, Mr. Tommie
Whitesides, I can't get easy until you take
3 that pain out of my side." "Tom, the
doctor will be here directly ; be easy."
1 The colloquy ran on in this strain for some
time ; but the situation was too serious to
c laugh at. In an hour's time, perhaps, Dr.
' Darwin came and soon got control of the
' patient's agony, and old man Whitesides
began to tease him for having been so exl
cited. "Why," said the writer to Mr.
3 Whitesides, "the impression is abroad in
[ this country that uncle Tom Lanier expects
' fr\ r*f\ in vnn whun htwliau " " siilV'S !
J UU ???" *? l?v ?IVU. v.., w
Mr. W., "I want him to have better pluck
than that then."
I don't expect many of our readers (whoever
knew him) have forgotten old man
I IsaacMcCalebs,thesaddler. Thisoldman
, made his debut into that section in the
t year 1853 or '">4. Mr. McCalebs was a
man of fine sense. He had read the histoi
ry of the United States and could trace the
I records of any of the leading statesmen of
} our country as well as the rise and progress
- of the different political parties that had ex:
isted since the organization of the govern1
ment. lie was personally acquainted with
i John C. Calhoun, and would frequently
. quote that great statesman in couversingon
i matters where such quotations were releJ
vant. In a debating society he could interi
est an audience. In fact, he was the matet
rial out of which statesmen and orators are
made. And he, too, might have occupied a
prominent place in his country's history
r had not strong drink and debauchery have
- wrecked his bright prospects. He was,
no doubt, by education, the equal of the
i great Irish orator, John P. Curran. Before
i our acquaintance with him the old man
had entered his dotage, and the traces of a
I bright mind and useful man were fast disr,
appearing. At the breaking out of the
war we entered the army and lost sight of
i him. Sometime afterward his misspent
life came to a close and his unused talent
I was buried with him in an unhonored
i grave, to await the judgment of the great
day.
> A biographical sketch of his life, of less
t than a dozen lines, might be studied to
t advantage by the youth of our land at the
. present day: A bright mind and a useful
5 man victimized by strong drink and its at
tendant evils, now sinks into a pauper's
grave with nothing to mark its last resting
, place, and only to be remembered as the
greatest enemy to himself. He was of
Irish ancestry, and his early training had
> been good, beyond a doubt. He had worked
in mauy parts of the country at his
' trade, that of a saddle-maker. Atone time
I he was at Jesse Cornwell's, below Ches,
ter, and finding in that man a congenial
I friend, made that his home for sometime.
. During a drinking spree there he walked
. outofliis room one night and stepped off
1 the portico and fell a distance of 12 or 15
. feet to the ground. After this he quit
drinking for a long time, but as the dog
! returns to his vomit, or the sow to the
I mire, so he returned to his old practice,
. and thus we find his checkered life come to
. a close. j. l. s.
f Save ry Keeping Accounts.?If all
r men, whether engaged in business or actr
ing as employees and receiving salaries or
daily wages, would keep a regular account
' with themselves, in which should appear
[ in detail all the money they receive and
all they expend, they would live more
| wisely, and, as a rule, far more successfulj
ly. Here, forexample, is a man who is in
receiptofa salary. This salary he receives
i in twelve monthly payments. Letussup[
pose him to keepan account with himself.
When he receives a monthly payment he
l" charges himself as debtor to that amount,
and during the month he credits himself
with all he pays out, item by item. At the
t end of the month he settles this account
, with himself, andseeson paperjust where
. his money came from and just where it
I has gone. If he has spent less than he has
received he carries the surplus forward to
f the next month, and keeps an account of
. the month in thesame way, and thus conj
tinues for the whole year. At the end of.
. the year he can look back over the whole
. period, and see in black awf whitejust how
L he has lived in the matter of personal and
. family expenses. If his whole salary has
been spent, he can see how it was spent;
! and if a part of it has been saved, he can
( equally see how he managed to save.
r An Embarrassed Clergyman.?An
i amusing incident happened at the recent
; Sam Jones tabernacle meeting at Cartersi
ville, says the Savannah News. One of the
- most devout ministers of North Georgia.
; who resides in a town nota thousand miles
. from Carters ville, left home to spend a j
day or two at these meetings. The sudden )
. cool weather that came about during the!
I meeting caused overcoats to become a re-!
f quisite. The clergyman alluded to did 1
? not have his overcoat along, but the fami- i
. ly whom lie wasstopping with kindly tend- j
f ered him the use of one which answered '
r every purpose. After securing a seat up
I near the pulpit, the minister proceeded to
i take off his overcoat, and while doing so a
r deck of cards fell from a side pocket as he
1 was folding the coat to hang it on the back
t of his chair. To see the minister, who for
many years had been engaged in making a
t crusade against cards, reaching after a ten
r spot here and a jack of spades there, and
i I hidino- them awav as fast as he could get
! i tiiein back into his pocket, certainly creat- !
| ed a ripple among those seated near him. j
f I Thanksgiving for tiie Orphans.? j
| As our annual day of rejoicing approaches, !
; i Christian people should not forget the or
| phans. When the people assemble on that
1 | day to thank God, let them thank him :
, j with their substance. One of the Institu- j
3 i tions deserving of such remembrance is j
f the Thornwell Orphanage, at Clinton, S. C. '
i j Although a Presbyterian Institution, more
i ! thau Half its inmates are from other de- j
, nominations, Baptists, Methodists, Luth- I
3! eransand Episcopalians being represented, j
31 Its children are from ten different States, 1
' ; mainly, of course, from South Carolina j
3 andGeorgia. These children deserve well i
1 of the people. They cheerfully labor with |
i their hands to help themselves, in kitchen,
- laundry, farm and elsewhere. Gifts of
f provisions, money, can all be used. As
there is no endowment to this institution,
it depends on the charitable for support.
Rev. William P. Jacobs is the President.
Send gifts to him, at Clinton, S. C.
There are now nearly one hundred orphans
applying to this Institution to be received.
What grand good liberal gifts
would do !
THE LAST SLAVE CARGO.
Probably the most interesting character
hereabouts, says the Augusta, Ga., Chronicle,
is a negro man who was one of the
cargo of the Wanderer, the last slave ship
to bring to this country a load of captives
from Africa. Lucius Williams, as he was
christened by one of the young ladies of
the family into which he was sold, or
"Umwalla," as he was called in Africa,
lives in-a small hut on the outskirts of
TTrt.? ^
Jitwuuuig, auiuna wiu IIVCI lium IICIU.
Since freedom he has earned a livelihood
working gardens, sawing wood and whitewashing.
He was a little surprised when
asked about his early life, but talks well,
once he has begun, requiring to be questioned
frequently, however. As Umwalla,
he was born in Guinea, according to
his story, not far from Liberia. One day,
when he was about ten years of age, he
was sent to his aunt to carry her some
pinders to plant. When he was going
through the woods two strange black men
seized him and bound his hands. He
cried terribly and soon they gagged him.
They sold him to a native, who took him
to Liberia. There, for the first time in
his life, he saw a white man, and he was
terribly frightened at him.
Umwalla was then taken to the Wanderer,
where a large number of captives
had already been stored away in the hold.
The passage over was fraught with untold
terrors to the young savage. A storm was
encountered, and for days the hold was
fastened up, and numbers of the negroes
died from sickness caused by the foul air.
There were a number of ferocious men
among the cargo who had to be kept in
chains.
When the Wanderer approached the
South Carolina coast she was sighted by a
Government boat and given chase. During
the night she dropped anchor off Pocotaligo,
and tiie cargo of negro men and
women was debarked.
Umwalla, or, as he was soon afterwards
called, Lucius, was taken to a Carolina
plantation, near IJeech Island, and put to
work there.
Lucius is very fond of the "white folks,"
as he styles his old master and mistress,
and frequently calls to see them?walking
several miles to do so. The style of punishment
followed among his tribe was to
break the culprit's neck by a sudden
wrench from a forked stick.
Lucius tells, in his quaint way, of the
interesting leatures ot slavery. j>o negro
woman was permitted, however, gorgeous
her toilet otherwise, to wear a veil or
gloves. Negro men were neither permitted
to carrv a walking-cane nor smoke a
cigar on the streets. They could not remain
away from their quarters after nine
o'clock at night without a permit from
their master.
He is not lonesome here, for on a neigh- ,
boring plantation?on C'apt. Ben Tillman's
place?are many negroes from his old
home, and they frequently meet and converse
in African. They do not attempt to
impart the language to their children, he
says, and of course all vestiges of it, save
what they have engrafted on the Southern ?
patois, must soon die out.
fiST "The horse," said Napoleon First,
"is the link between the animal and God."
In the wars of Napoleon, an officer named
Lamont was several times saved in
battle by his horse, and out of gratitude he
took more care of his animal than of himself.
In 1809 Lamont was killed in an engagement
on the Danube. But the horse
would not quit the body, and with
teeth and hoofs kept off every one who
wished to remove it. The matter was reported
to Napoleon, who gave orders to
leave the horse alone, and watch him.
According to the statement of the sentinel,
the horse remained with the corpse
all night, and in the morning, having
snuffed it from head to foot, uttered a pitiful
cry, galloped off to the river, plunged
in, and was drowned.
JBSaTlt is daily life that tests us?the manner
of men we are. It is not our prayers,
it is not ourprofession, but it is the tone of
daily intercourse and conduct that decides
how we stand. The little homely graces;
the cheerful, every-day amenities; the
Christ-spirit uttering itself not much in
conscious act as unconscious influence, not
so much in deeds as in subtle aroma which
without name excludes from the saintly
soul; to equals and inferiors, to agreeable
and disagreeable, to rich, poor, ignorant, to
young, to old ; bearing burdens, accepting
crosses, seeking no great thing to do, content
to put self by and be servant of the
lowest?these are fruits of one only rootfruits
that none may counterfeit.?[Ware.
A little girl asked her mother,
"Mamma, what makes all the people
we rent houses from so mean? Why
don't you rent a house from a good man
sometimes?" Had she been the daughter
of the landlord she would probably have
asked, "What makes the people you rent
houses to so mean ? Why don't you sometimes
rent a house to a good man?"
People look at things in the light of their
comfort and convenience, and not in the
light of truth and right. As George Elliot
says, "They translate their convenience
into other people's duties."
#55r By a prairie fire, which swept over
Sioux Valley township, near Jackson,
Minnesota, last Thursday, five lives were
lost and thousands of dollars worth of
property destroyed. Henry Ray, a farmer,
while fighting the fire, was fatally
burned, and Mrs. Mallie O'Connor, with a
four weeks old babe, and Mrs. Murray,
with her lG-year-old son, were overtaken
by the flames, and unable to outrun them,
were burned to death. It is reported
" ' ? t
that another lamny 01 mree were uunisu
to death. The extent of the loss to property
is about ?00,000.
j?"An inventive genius has perfected a
locomotive attachment, in the nature of
a phonograph, whereby every blast of the
whistle is recorded, together with the
exact time at which it occurs. There are
a large number of grade crossings in this
State, upon which annually many lives
are lost. The relatives ot those killed
almost invariably claim that the locomotive
whistle was not sounded in time to
warn the victims. The railroad companies,
to protect themselves against damages,
dispute the poiut so often taken.
gar If you feel the need of having a pistol
in your pocket, you are a miserable
coward. If you are afraid to go down the
street unarmed, you had better get your
grandmother with her knitting needles to
go with you. A pistol is the meanest and
most infernal weapon ever invented. It
is the weapon of a sneak. I would as
soon carry a toad in my vest pocket.?
[llev. T. lie win laimage.
fl-aT A Washington dispatch to the New
York Herald says that President Cleveland
will issue a proclamation putting in
force the retaliation act against Canada.
It is said that timely warning will be given
to the Canadian government that unless
due regard is had for our commercial
rights, the law will be enforced as strictly
as the privileges of the Act will allow.
Ifcgr Trials are medicines which our gracious
and wise Physician prescribes, because
we need them ; and he proportions
the frequency and weight of them to what
the case requires. Let us trust in hisskill,
and thank him for his prescription.?
[Newton.