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YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY. l. m. GRIST & SONS, Publishers. } % t&mttji getrapger^ 4or tlit flromotion of the |alitital, Social, jgriruttural, and <Eommet;rial gnt^ats of the feopte. {KCE* established 1855. YORKYILLE, S. C.5 WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 23, 1901. NO. 7. ?^^?11^1^?^^????mmmm^^ ???. ? ^ BY HAROLD Copyright, 1900, by Harold McGrath. CHAPTER I. The first time I met her I was a reporter in the embryoDic state and she was a girl in short dresses. It was in a garden surrounded by high red brick walls which were half hidden by clus ""o nt irroon vinps nnd at the base of which nestled earth beds radiant with roses and poppies and peonies and bushes of lavender lilacs, all spilling their delicate ambrosia on the mild air of passing May. I stood, straw hat in hand, wondering if I had not stumbled into some sweet prison of flowers which, having run disobedient ways in the past, had been placed here by Flora and forever denied their native meadowy and wildernesses. And this vision of fresh youth in my path, perhaps she was some guardian nymph. I was only 22, a most impressionable age. Her hair was like that rare October .brown, half dun, half gold; her eyes were cool and restful, like the brown pools one sees in the heart of the forests, and her lips and cheeks cozened the warm vermilion of the rose which lay ever so lightly on the bosom o? her white dress. Close at hand was a table upon which stood a pitcher of lemonade. She was holding in her hand an empty glass. As my eyes encountered her calm, inquiring gaze my courage fled precipitately, likewise the object of my errand. There was a pause; diflidence and embarrassment on my side, placidity on v hers. "Well, sir?" said she in a voice the tone of which implied that She could readily understand her presence In the garden, but not mine. As I remember it, I was suddenly seized with a great thirst. "I should like a glass of your lemonade." I an swered, bravely laying down the only piece of money I possessed. Her stern lips parted In a smile, and my courage came back cautiously?that is to say. by degrees. She filled a glass for me. and as I gulped it down I could almost detect the flavor of lemon and sugar. "It Is very good." I volunteered, passing back the glass. I held out my hand, smiling. "There Isn't any change." coolly. I flushed painfully. It was fully four miles to Newspaper row. I was conscious of a sullen pride. Presently the object of my errand returned. Somewhat down the path I saw a gentleman reclining in a canvas swing. "Is that Mr. Went worth?" I asked. "Yes. Do you wish to speak to blm? Uncle Bob, here Is a gentleman who desires to speak to you." I approached. "Mr. Wentworth," I began, cracking the straw in my hat, "my name is John Winthrop. I am a reporter. I have called to see if it is true that you have declined the Italian portfolio." "It Is true," he replied kindly. "There are any number of reasons for my declining it, but I cannot make them public. Is that all?" "Yes. sir; thank you." and I backed away. "Are you a reporter?" asked the girl as I was about to pass by her. "Yes. I am." "Do you draw pictures?" "No. I do not." "Do you write novels?" "No." with a nervous laugh. There is nothing like the process of interrogation to make one person lose interest in another. "Oh. I thought perhaps you did," she said and turned her back to me. I passed through the darkened halls of the house and into the street. 1 never expected to see her again, but it was otherwise ordained. We came together three years later at Block Island. She was IS now. gathering the rosy flowers of her tirst season. She remembered the ineidout in the garden, and wo laughed over it. A few dances, two or three evenings on the verandas watching the sea. mooulit. as it sprawled among the rocks below us. and the even tenor of my way ceased to be. I appreciated bow far she was above me. so I worshiped her silently and from afar. I told her my ambitions, confidences so welcome to fen.iulue ears, and she rewarded me with a small exchange. She, too, was an orphan and lived with her uncle, a rich banker, who as a diversion consented to represent his country at foreign courts. Her giveu uame was Phyllis. I had seen the uame a thousand times in print; the poets had idealized it and the novelists hud embalmed it in tender phrases. It was the first time I had ever met a woman of the name of Phyllis. It appealed to my poetic instinct. Perhaps that was the cause of it all. And then she was very beautiful. In the ^ autumn of tlmt year we became great friends, and through her influence I began to see beyond the portals of the mansions of the rich. Matthew Prior's Cliloes and Sir John Suckling's Eupbelias lost their charms. Henceforth my muse's uame became Phyllis. I took her to the opera when I didn't know _ where 1 was going to breakfast on the morrow. 1 sent her roses and went without tobacco, a privation of which woman knows nothlug. Often I was plunged into despair at my distressed circumstances. Money to her meant something ?o speud; to me It meant something to get. ller income bother' ed her because she could not spend it; my income was mortgaged a week iti advance and did not bother me at all. This was the barrier at my lips. Ilut her woman's intuition must have told her that she was a part and parcel of my existence. MACGHATH. | I had what* is called a forlorn hope? a rich uncle who was a planter in Louisiana. His son and I were his only heirs. But this old planter had a mortal antipathy to my side of the family. When my mother, his sister, married Alfred Winthrop in 1850, at the time when the north and south were approaching the precipice of a civil war, hp ronsidered all family ties obliterat ed. We never worried much about it When mother died, he softened to the extent of being present at the funeral. He took small notice of my father, but offered to adopt me if I would assume his name. I clasped my father's hand In mine and said nothing. The old man stared at me for a moment, then left the house. That was the first and last time I ever saw him. Sometimes 1 wondered if he would remember me in his will. This, of course, was only wheu I had taken Phyllis somwhere or when some creditor had lost patience. One morning in January, five years after my second meeting with Phyllis, I sat at my desk in the office. It was raining, a cold thin rain. The window was blurred. The water iu the steam pipes went banging away. I was composing an editorial which treated the diplomatic relations between this country and England. The roar of Park row distracted me. Now and then 1 would go to the window and peer down on the living stream below. A dense cloud of steam hung over all the city. I swore some when the copy boy came in and said that there were yet a column and a half to fill and that the foreman wanted to "close up the page early." The true cause of my indispo sition was due to the rumors rife iu trie office that morning. Rumors which emanate from the managing editor's room are usually of the sort which burden the subordinate ones with anxiety. The London correspondent was "going to pieces." He had cabled that he was suffering from nervous prostration, supplementing a request for a two mouths' leave of absence. For "nervous prostration" we read "drink." Our London correspondent was a brilliant journalist. He had written one or two clever books. He had a broad knowledge of men and affairs, and bis pen was one of those which flashed and burned at frequent Intervals, but he drank. Dan's father had been a victim of the habit. I remember meeting the elder Hillars. He was a picturesque individual, an accomplished scholar, a wide traveler, a diplomatist and a uoted war correspondent. His work during the Franco-Prussian war had placed him in the front rank. After sending his son Dan to college he took no further notice of him. He was killed while serving his paper at the siege of Alexandria. Dan naturally followed his father's footsteps both in profession and iu habits. He had been my classmate at college, and uo one knew him better than 1 except it was himself. The love of adventure and drink had ended the life of the one. It might end the life of the other. The foreman In the composing room waited for some time for that required column and a half of editorial copy. 1 lit my pipe, and my thoughts ran back to the old days, to the many times Dan had paid my debts and to the many times I had paid bis. Ah, me! Those were days when love and fame and riches were elusive, and we went In The copy buy Id there xecrc yd a column und a luil) to Jill. quest of them. The crust is hyssop when the heart is young. The garret is a palace when hope flies unfettered. The most wonderful dreams imaginable are dreamed close to the eaves. And when a man leaves behind him the garret he also leaves behind the fondest illusions. Rut who?who would stay in the garret? And as my thoughts ran on the question rose. Whom would they send In his place?Dan's? I knew London. It was familiar ground. Perhaps they might send me. It was this thought iinoo+Ht>,i nip I was nerfeetlv satisfied with New York. Phyllis lived in New York. There would he time enough for London when we were mar ried. Then I began to build air castles. A newspaper man is the architect of some splendid structures, but he thoughtlessly builds on the sand when the tide is out. Yes: foreign corresponding would be all well enough. I mused, with Phyllis at my side. With her as my wife I should have the envy of all my fellow craftsmen. We should dine at the embassies, and the attaches would flutter about us. and all London would talk of thi' beautiful "Mrs. Wluthrop." Then the lire in my pipe bowl Went out. The copy boy was at my elbow again. "Hang you!" said I. "The foreman says he's coming down with an ax." replied the boy. It was like churning, but 1 did man age to grind the copy. T was satisfied that the United States and Great Britain would not go to war over it. The late afternoon ruall brought two letters. I opened the one from Phyllis first. It said: Dear Jack?Uncle Bob has a box for the opera tonight, but he has been suddem.' call -d to Washington?politics, possibly, but he would not say. Aunty and I want you to go with us in his stead. Ethel and her fiance, Mr. Holland, will be together, which means that aunty and I will have no one to talk to unless you come. "Carmen" is to be sung. Please do not fail me. Phyllis. Fail her! I thought not. Then I read the second letter. I read it three or four times, and even then I was not sure that I was not dreaming. I caught up my pipe again, filled It and lit It. I read the letter once more. I was solemnly Informed that my uncle was dead and that I was mentioned In the will and that If I would kindly call at the Hoffman House the following morning a certain sum of money would be given to me. I regretted that I had reached that age when a man's actions must be dignified although alone; otherwise I dare say I should have danced the pas seul. Whatever my uncle's bequest might be, I believed that it would make me independently rich. Phyllis was scarcely an arm's length away now. I whis* tied as I locked up my desk and pro* ceeded down stairs and sang a siren song into the waxen ears of the cashier. "You have only twenty coming this week, Mr. Wlnthrop." said he. "Never mind," I replied. "I'll manage to get along next week." It was only on very rare occasions that I drew my full pay at the end of the week. I dined at a fashionable restaurant As I sipped my wine I built one of my castles, and Phyllis reigned therein. There would be a trip to Europe every summer, and I should devote my time to writing novels. My picture would be the frontispiece in the book reviews, and wayside paragraphs would tell of the enormous royalties my publishers were paying me. I took some old envelopes from my pocket and began figuring on the backs of them as to what purposes the money should be put It could not be less than $50,000, perhaps more. Of course my uncle had given a harbor to a grudge against me and mine, but such things are always forgotten on the deathbed. Fortune, having buffeted me, was now going to make me one of her favorite children. I had reached the end of the long lane. As I left the restaurant I decided to acquaint Phyllis with my good luck and also my desire that she should share of It I turued into a florist's and had a dozen roses sent up to her. They were American Beauties. I could afford It now. I found Phyllis thrumming on the piano. She was singing in a low voice the aria from "Lucia." I stood on the threshold of the drawing room and waited till she had done. I believed her to be unaware of my presence. She was what we poets call a "dream of loveliness," a tangible dream. Her neck and shoulders were like satin, and the head above them reminded me of Sappho's which we see in marble, i^rom where I stood I could catch a glimpse of the profile, the nose and firm chin, the exquisite mouth, to kiss which I would gladly have given up any number of fortunes. The cheek bad that delicate curve of a rose leaf, and when the warm blood surged into it there was a color as matchless as that of a jack rose. Ah, but I loved her! Suddenly the music ceased. "There is a mirror over the piano, Jack," she said without turning her bead. So I crossed the room and sat down In the chair nearest her. I vaguely wondered if at the distance she had seen the love in my eyes when I thought myself unobserved. "I thank you for those lovely roses,"'' she said, smiling and permitting me to press her band. "Don't mention it," I replied. It is so difficult for a uian to say original things in the presence of the woman he loves. "I have great news for you. It reads like a fairy tale, you know; happy ever afterward, and all that." "Ah!" "Yes. Do you remember my telling you of a rich uncle who lived In the south?" "Is It possible that be has left you a fortune?" she cried, her ey<?s shining. "You have guessed it" "I am very glad for your sake, Jack. I was beginning to worry about you." "Worry about me?" I "Yes. I do not understand how a newspaper mau can afford to buy roses four or five times a week?and exist" She had the habit of being blunt and frank to her intimate friends. I secretly considered it an honor when she talked to me like this. "1 have told you repeatedly to send me flowers only once a week. I'd rather not have them at all. Last week you spent as much as on roses alone. Mr. Holland does not do that for Ethel, and he has a million." "I'm not Holland," I said. "He doesn't?that Is?1 do not think he"? Then 1 foundered. I had almost said, "He doesn't care as much for Ethel as I do for you." Phyllis pretended not to note my embarrassment. The others came in then, and conversation streamed into safer channels. When we entered the box at the opera, the curtain had risen. Phyllis and I took the rear chairs. They were just out of the glare of the lights. "You are looking very beautiful tonight," I whispered lowly. I was beginning business early. There was no barrier at my lTps. "Thank you," she replied. Then with a smile, "Supposing I were to say that you were looking very hand B0D10?" "Oh," said I, somewhat disconcerted, "that would he rather embarrassing." "I do not doubt it." "And then it would not be true. The duty we men owe to a beautiful woman is constantly to keep telling her ol it" "And the duty we women owe to a fine looking man?" a rogue of a dimple b In her cheeks. I "Is It to explicitly believe all he says c regarding your beauty?" I answered, t evading the question. "A man may a tell a woman that she Is beautiful, but I a woman may not tell a man that he Is t fine looking?that Is, In public." a "The terms are not fair." a "That may be true, but they make the wheels of the social organization run smoother. For Instance, If I met a f strange woman and she told me that I was handsome I shouldn't be able to speak again the whole evening. On the other hand, a beautiful woman after you say that you are delighted to meet her expects the very next remark to concern her good looks." "Your Insight Is truly remarkable," Bhe said, the dimple continuing its elusive maneuvers. "Hush, here comes Carmen!" And our voices grew faJnt In the swell of melody. Mrs. Wentworth was < entranced. Her daughter was fondly gazing at the back of her fiance's head. Phyllis had turned her face from me to the stage. As for myself, I was not particularly Interested in the cigarette girl. It was running through my head that the hour had arrived. I patted my gloves for a moment, then I drew a long breath. "TJiiTrlllot" QOIH 1 Thorn WHQ n mm ver In my <olce. Perhaps I had not spoken loud enough. "Phyllis!" said I again. She turned quickly and gave me an Inquiring and at the same time nerv- y ous glance.. "What Is it?" j, "I want to toll you something I have \ never dared to tell you till now," I said r earnestly. The voice on the stage soared heavenward. "I love you. Will you be my wife?" I Ah, me! Where were those drooping ^ eyelids, that flush, that shy, sweet glance, of which 1 had so often dreamt? g Phyllis was frowning. "Jack, I have been afraid of this," t she said. "I am so sorry, but it cannot be." t "Oh, do not say that now," I cried, crushing my gloves. "Walt awhile. " Perhaps you may learn to love me." f "Jack, I have always been frank to g you because I like you. Do you sup- j: pose It will take me five years to find t out what my heart says to any man? t No. Had I loved you I should not have t asked you to wait I should have said e yes. I do not love you in the way you I wish. Indeed I like you better than any man I know, but that is all I can l offer you. I should be unkind if 1 held out any false hopes. I have often t asked myself why I do not love you, t but there is something lacking In you, something I cannot define. Some other a woman will find what I have failed to I find in you to love/^ - I I was twisting my gloves out of all [ recognition. There was a singing in g my ears which did not come from the t stage. "Look at it as I do, Jack. There is j a man In this world whom I shall love c and who will love me. We may never <j meet. Then he shall be an ideal to me and I to him. You believe you t love me, but the love you offer is not c complete." e "Not complete?" I echoed. "No. It would be If I returned It Do you understand? There Is in this world a woman you will truly love and who will return your love In Its fullness. Will you meet? That is In the hands of your destinies. Shall I meet , my Ideal? Who knows? But till I do r I shall remain an old maid." I nodded wearily. A dissertation on affinities seemed ill timed. "And now," she said, "this beautiful 1 friendship of ours must come to an end." And there were tears In her I eyes. "Yes," said I, twisting and untwisting the shreds of my gloves. It seemed as though the world had slipped from under my feet and I was whirling into nothingness. "My heart Is F very heavy." d "Jack, If you talk like that," hastily, e "you will have me crying before all s these people." u Unfortunately Ethel turned and saw I the tears in her cousin's eyes. "Mercy, t what is the matter?" she asked. 1 "Jack has been telling me a very o pathetic story," said Phyllis, with a i; pity in her eyes. "Yes; something that happened to- v night," said I, staring at the pro- b gramme, but seeing nothing, nothing. t "Well," said Ethel, "this Is not the t place for them," turning her eyes to c the stage again. p The concluding acts of the opera g were a jangle of chords and discords, o and the hum of voices was like the g murmur of a faroff sea. My eyes re- ? mained fixed upon the stage. It was t like looking through a broken kaleido- c scope. I wanted to be alone, alone o with my pipe. I was glad when we 0 1 at last entered the carriage. Mrs. c Wentworth immediately began to extol c the singers, and Phyllis, with that r tact which is given only to kind heart- r ed women, answered most of the indi- r rect questions put to 'me. She was g giving me time to recover. The direct c 1 questions I could not avoid. Occasionally I looked out of the window. It t had begun to rain again. It was very r dreary. / "And what a finale, Mr. Wlnthrop!" 0 cried Mrs. Wentworth. j "Yes, indeed," I replied. To have v loved and lost, and such a woman, was a my thought. J "The new tenor is an Improvement s Do you not think so?" "Yes, Indeed." No more to touch her ii hand, to hear her voice, to wuit upon h her wishes. v "It was the most brilliant audience d of the season." o "Yes, indeed," I murmured. Those I were the only words I could articulate, p The carriage rumbled on. t "Does Patti return in the fall?" f "Yes." Five years of dreaming and t > then to awake! c And then the carriage mercifully a ' stopped. ? Mrs. Wentworth insisted that I v i should enter and have some coffee. I q lad so few words at my command that could not Invent even a flimsy exuse. So 1 went In. The coffee was asteless. I put In four lumps of sugr. I stirred and stirred and stirred. Anally I swallowed the contents of he cup. It was very hot. When the gony was past I rose and made my dieu. Phyllis came to the door with me. "Forget what I have said," I began, umbllng the doorknob. "I suppose I Phyllis came to the door with me. vas an ass to think that you might ove me. They suy that it is a malady. 7ery well. With a few prescribed emedies 1 shall recover." "You are very bitter." "Can you blame me," clicking the atch back and forth, "when all the vorld has suddenly grown dark?" "There are other eyes than mine," ;ently. "Yes, but they will light other paths han those 1 shall follow." "Jack, you are too manly to caake hreats." "That was uot a threat" said I. 'Well. I shall go and laugh at myself or m.v presumption. To laugh at your elf is to cure. There is no more wine n the cup. nothlug but the lees. I'll lave to drluk them. A wry face, and hen It will all be over. Yes; I am biter. To have dreamed as 1 have dreamd and to awake as 1 have! Ah, well, must go on loving you till"? "Till she comes," supplemented Phylis. "You wrong me. It Is only In letters hat I am versatile. Forgive my biterness and forget my folly." "Oh, Jack. If you knew how sorry 1 im! I shall forgive the bitterness, but will not forget what you term folly, t's something any woman might be >roud of, the love of an honest, dear, ;ood fellow. Good night" She held ler hand toward me. "Good night," I said, "and God bless *ou!" 1 kissed the palm of her hand, ipened the door and then stumbled lown the steps. I do not remember how I reached lome. It was all over. My beautiful astle bad fallen in ruins about my tars. TO BE CONTINUED. LI'S BIRTHDAY, low the Occasion Was Celebrated In Yorkville. HE U. D.C. AND THE TEACHERS. >evotional Exercises by the Rev. W. G. Neville?Address by Col. W. G. Stephenson and Eulogy by J. H. Witherspoon, Esq. The natal anniversary of General tobert E. Lee, the ideal American soller, citizen and educator, was observd in the York county court house last aturday with appropriate exercises, nder the joint auspices of the Winnie )avls chapter of United Daughters of he Confederacy and the York County 'eachers' association. Quite a number f Confederate veterans and other cltser.s participated. The decorations of the court house fere elaborate and tasteful. On the ack wall, over the judge's bench, here were three picture of Lee?one In he center and one on either side. The entre piece was an old time printed ortrait. On the right was a lithoraph with autograph signature, and n the left was a representation of the eneral on his famous white horse Traveler." A Confederate battle flag hat has seen service, rested over the entral picture, and under the pictures n either side were swords that were nee drawn and used in support of the ause that Lee upheld. Confederate olors rested on these also, and decoated other conspicuous points in the oom. United States flags hung to the ight and left, and the big flag of the raded school children waved over the ourt house door. Prof. A. R. Banks, president of the eachers' association, not having ar ived at 11 o'clock, Vice President Jtt. k.. Dobson presided in his stead, and pened the exercises by introducing lev. W. G. Neville, who conducted deotional exercises and led in prayer, ,fter which the assemblage?Miss tfary Schorb leading at the organ? ang "America." Colonel W. G. Stephenson was next ntroduced for a short talk, in which ie told of the heroism with which the romen of the South upheld the cause luring the war, and reviewed the work f the U. D. C. up to the present time. le showed conclusively that the people of the north were responsible for he Institution of slavery, reciting the act that the Mayflower, which brought he first load of pilgrims, afterward beame the first slave vessel. He argued .lso that right was on the side of the South in all the constitutional controversy that followed on the slavery [uestion, and which led to the war; but held that now that we have accepted the result of the war, the United States flag is the flag of a united country. He paid a tribute to Jefferson Davis and expressed his approval of the monument that is being erected at Richmond to the memory of the great Southern statesman; but expressed regret that the movement had not originally been pitched upon a much broader plane. He thought a much more fitting tribute to Mr. Davis, would have been the erection at some Southern point of a university for women. He expressed himself as being an earnest advocate of the higher education of women, claiming that education means the development of the soul, and that women had as much right to such development as men. In conclusion, Colonel Stephenson said that nothing is Impossible with Southern women, and notwithstanding the money that is now being spent on the Richmond monument of stone, it is not yet too late to start the movement for the Jeff Davis university, and he hoped that it would be started by the Winnie Davis chapter on that day. Colonel Stephenson's remarks elicited enthusiastic applause. The next speaker introduced was J. H. Witherspoon, Esq., who had been chosen by the U. D. C., to deliver a eulogy on General Lee. He spoke as follows; Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen:?It affords me much and sincere pleasure to meet with so many of those who are doing such a noble work in the schools of our country?you, who are driving, as it were, a wedge under the very foundations of education, and thereby elevating the entire structure? to pay our tributes, on this, his natal day, to the memory of one of the greatest of all teachers and college presidents. Allow me, as a representative of the rising generation, to add my tiny wreath to the many garlands that will be placed around his name this day by hundreds?survivors of so many hardfought battles. Ninety-four years ago today, in Westmoreland county, Virginia, was born Robert E. Lee, to whom was entrusted the destiny of the South, whose influence and effect will be long felt, and who was so active in promoting the good of the human race. Old Virginia, besides the crown of her glory? Washington?her Jefferson, her Madison, her Monroe, and her Marshall, has enrolled among her archives still another and venerable patriarch of freedom, whose name is a sacred word upon the lips of every true lover of his country. Who would not write with me on the scroll, which American liberty displays to the world, under the name of General Washington, that of General Lee? Left fatherless at 12, appointed chief engineer to the central army in Mexico on graduating from West Point, for more than a quarter of a century he served with credit and distinction In the Federal army, and at the outbreak of the Civil war, held, in the opinion of both the army and the country, the second position in it in point of merit. The president even offered him the immediate command. Here honor and nign military uisuncuua awaucu mm. On the other hand, enlisted with Virginia, suffering and sorrow were in store for him; from wealth he would be reduced to poverty and proclaimed a traitor by the government he loved so well. Yet he believed his state had the right to pursue the course she had adopted though he knew it would entail great suffering and disaster upon her. He believed also, that Virginia had the first claim upon him, and that It was his duty to obey her command without questioning. His course was the result of a conscientious conviction of duty, formed after a mental struggle such as few men are called upon to make. But it was his state which demanded the sacrifice, and it was cheerfully made. Was there ever an Instance of sacrifice, heroism, and patriotism like this? What must have been the feelings of that man?what the emotions which swelled his breast. The force of his talent and character had been able to challenge the reverence of all, and to win a fame as extended as the limits of the globe, and which we can but believe will be as lasting as the existence of man. He commanded the love and respect of his countrymen and tne aamirauon ui those in all lands that honor the Christian soldier, who, having been charged with the fate of a new-born nation, never failed in his duty; but was faithful unto the end. Notwithstanding the order, dignity and beauty of his character. there are none whose private lives would furnish much more interesting subjects. The interest of life depends more upon state affairs than personal adventure or romantic incident. He was a man of integrity whom no temptation could swerve from the performance of duty, of unceasing constancy and devotion to his native land. He commanded respect without any appearance of haughtiness, and was ever serious without being sullen or dull. Of his character, it is impossible to speak but in the terms of the highest respect. Yes, he was a great national character. I might say many things of his liberality, of his kindness to his domestics, and his command in the army. The great general possessed, in an eminent degree, a nature that could sympathize with his soldiers in all the hardships that fell to their lot. Whilst the passions of men were loosened and the fierce war went on, he, who directed its tremendous force, moved also amongst its scenes of woe?a gracious and healing spirit. He was the noblest man that ever lived. Better is this praise than any garland of the poet. How many examples of the bravest men have the Greek and Latin writers left us; but can we find one amongst them all half so brave? Pagan mythology would have placed him among the gods; but let us keep him ever present with us. His conduct has been stamp ed by the approbation of the entire universe, and a judgment rendered that no future age will ever reverse. Time is not permitted me in which to tell how grateful for the service he had rendered them, the Virginians chose him to preside over the training of their children in the institution, founded by the illustrious Washington; nor to tell how great the Southern chieftain proved himself in the peaceful and modest retirement of his home. Here General Lee always taught loyalty to and faith in the United States as paramount duties. How delightful it is to see a man of such vast acquisitions and such varied powers, after a life spent in the service of his country, and in the fulfillment of his highest duties, calmly retire from public stations, to spend his declining years, not in inactivity and lethargy, but in untiring exertions for the advancement of manlrln/7 nnViA nrA ImrAliitif n tidir ivmu. xuc auuiu auuii wc luvuiuuiaiiijr feel for his earlier life is eclipsed by our veneration for the latter. His remains lie in a crypt under the college chapel, over which, and visible from the audience room, is Valentine's noble recumbent statue of the great commander. "His body rests in peace, but his name liveth evermore." May his brilliant example long serve to animate the hearts and nerve the arms of his countrymen, and may it be among the dispensations of Providence to bless our beloved land, where all internal strife and discord has ceased, with honors and with length- of days, may her ways be ways of pleasantness and all ner paths be peace! [Applause]. At the conclusion of Mr. Witherspoon's address, Chairman Dobson announced the end of the memorial exercises, and the meeting adjourned. SITUATION IN SOUTH AFRICA. Now Beginning to Look As if Conquest of Boers Is Impossible. The news that a British infantry force in pursuit of a Boer commando in the neighborhood of the Vaal river had been compelled to halt and intrench itself at Greylingstad to await reinforcements, on account of the ravages of enteric fever in its ranks, is ominous of what may be expected now for sometime. According to the army medical reports the coming months of February and March are the worst in the year for enteric fever, so that the Boers, who are acclimated, have but to keep up their activity and supplement the work nature is doing among the British troops to bring about a condition of things with which Lord Kitchener will eventually be unable to deal. Such reenforcements as the government is able to send out are being des patcned rrom Jt;ngiana, ana me transportation animals and remounts that can be secured in this country and the Argentine Republic are being shipped as fast as they can be purchased. But they do not meet Lord Kitchener's demand, which is for at least 30,000 mounted infantry. In spite of the efforts and appeals there is no enthusiasm for volunteering manifesting itself in Great Britain, and the colonial contingents Reported . to" be offered are insignificant in comparison with what Is needed. A Rhodesian correspondent who has been in contact with sections of the Canadian, Australian and New Zealand contingents that have been in South Africa, writes that he found them almost unanimous in desiring to get out of the country, finding everything so different from what had been represented and they had anticipated. He says that even among the British settlers the conviction is gaining that the war has been a mistake, and that the sooner peace is made the better for the restoration of harmony between the two white races Inhabiting the country. The situation in Cape Colony appears to be becoming more serious, but the censorship of news coming from any point in South Africa is now such tnat only the most meagre and insignificant details are allowed to pass out. The reports reaching England by private individuals and letters make + ffanarol alfii o Hon In trhnlo f\t I 11U gdlGiai OllUUblVU AAA VAAV ?? AAWtV w* South Africa more gloomy than official statements represent It. The worst of the situation is that the longer the war lasts the more difficult it becomes for the British government to change its policy without virtually acknowledging itself in the wrong politically, and militarily unequal to the task of subduing a few thousands of resolute farmers.?New York Sun. ROOSEVELT UP A TREE. . The Rough Rider Kept There Four Hours by a Pack of Wolves. Colonel Roosevelt's chair was vacant last night when the hunters at the Keystone ranch gathered for supper. No anxiety was felt at first, as he had told the others when he left the cabin for a solitary stroll just before dusk, not to wait for him in case he was not back by supper time. But at 9 o'clock, Colonel Roosevelt had not returned and his friends became alarmed. At 10 o'clock they were convinced that he was the victim of some accident, and men and dogs started to find him. Possibly, his friends thought, he had fallen, while climbing the walls of a canon and was so injured that he could not walk. Perhaps he had had another encounter with a grizzly, and had been less fortunate than before. It was even suggested that he had been kidnapped by a belated party of Utes who have been killing game in Colorado. When he left the cabin Colonel Roosevelt intended to get a few shots at some of the numberless little wolves after which Coyote Basin is named. They are exceedingly fleet and cannot be run down in a broken country, so he hunted on foot and without the dogs, taking his chances for coming upon them by stealth. But the coyotes were wary and he did not get a shot till in the gathering darkness he saw the shaggy form of a gray wolf outlined against the sky on a ridee fully 300 yards away. It was too dark for accurate aim, but a bullet from Colonel Roosevelt's rifle wounded the beast and sent him limping and yelping over the brow of the hill. Colonel Roosevelt followed on the run. He found the tracks of the animal, showing that its leg had been broken. A light snow had fallen the n I rrVt f q r? A Kn otninA/1 f AAf _ iiiglil wciv/i i aiiu iiiv. uiuvuoLaiii^u IUUL prints were easily traced. The hunter was already far from home and in the excitement of the chase had lost his direction. However, he had no thought of danger until he noticed that the yelping of the wounded wolf was answered by others. These gray wolves are twice as large as the coyote, and dangerous when in numbers. Colonel Roosevelt kept away from the thickets and brought down several of the brutes when they came too near. Finally it became too dark for anything but haphazard shooting, and as the country seemed alive with the wolves he climed a tree. In doing so he lost his cartridge belt. There the party found him after he had been a prisoner for four hours. Under the tree were a half dozen wolves that he had killed with his revolvers. The others were soon scattered by the dogs.?Meeker, Col., Dispatch, 18th.