Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

The Doctor's First Patient. Very proud and happy was Edward Arling? ton as he clasped his diploma, and prouder and happier when on his return to his humble lodgings he wrote out his name, and attached to it the significant M. D. And well might his heart be glad. Not without struggle and toil had he earned that right. Indeed, so far, his life had been one continued struggle, a struggle not only to keep alive and rugged the heart that beat in his bosom, but a struggle to endow that mind, which made so radiant, with its spirit flashes, his dark, eloquent eye, wich the knowledge for which it yearned so anxiously and so earnestly. Left an orphan at a comparatively tender age, with but one relative, and he worse than none, for he would never befriend the poor, lonely lad, life to him had opened darkly and sadly. But the strength that is born of agony had been his, and with strength came hope, and with hope, courage ; and so, patiently and cheerfully, he plodded on in his way, and, as we have intimated, at length was rewarded. True, the battle was only half-won, for, though a profession be much, it is far from being all. To establish himself successfully, to build up a reputation that should not only add glory to his name, but put money in his empty purse, that was another up-hill work. But his was a brave heart. "Fortuue favors the brave," sometimes. It did our hero. The next morning, as he sat beside his little study table, buried in anxious thought as to the most feasible means of exert? ing his talents in the profession he had chosen, a letter, sealed with black, was handed to him. It was from the widow of the relative, whom, in early life, he had petitioned to assist him. Death sometimes has another mission than merely to close the mortal "eye, and hush the voice of life. It lays its cold, white fingers on the heart, and while it palsies the fleshy part, it gives new and beautiful life to the spirit that has long been benumbed in its silent cham? bers. And thus it did to Henry Arlington, the freat uncle of the young physician. On his eath-bed, he revoked all former wills, and be? queathed to his poor nephew a goodly portion of his property, sent him his blessing, and a prayer that he would return good for evil, and become a son to the widow, whom he should leave lonely and sad, and tottering with age. Ere a week had elapsed, Edward had settled all his affairs in the great city where he had f>assed his youth, and bent his way toward the ittle village where dwelt the only one to whom he was bound by an earthly tie. He reached it just at sunset, and it opened to his excited mind like a dream of beauty to a poet. It was indeed a lovely little nook. Tall mountains sheltered it?encircled it, we should rather say?with strong, warm arms, not shut? ting out the sunlight and the sky, but only warding off the cold, bleak winds, and opening here and there, and everywhere, indeed, visions and views which could not but charm the pleasure-seeking and wonder-hunting traveler. In the little valley was heard the song of many a streamlet, the rich melody of many a bird, and the gleesome shout and ringing laugh of light-hearted children. And, as the travel? er slowly walked his horse, he wondered not that the brooks and birds and the little human hearts sang so sweet a vesper. It seemed to him that he, too, could sing if he had a home in so fair a spot, and he almost coveted one out of the so many snow-white dwellings, that stood along the road, arched over by such majestic trees, and surrounded by such beauteous garden patches and fertile fields. Fresh from the city, the hot, sun-struck, dusty, babbling city, he could appreciate the char:ns of a summer evening in the cool, shady, green, quiet village street, as those only can who go from man's work to God's. He met with a warm welcome from his aged aunt, and after a few weeks' sojourn with her, resolved to say "yea" to her wishes, and settle down in this same little village. There was indeed as fair an opening as he could expect in any piece. Of the two physi? cians who had been settled there, the eldest had died a few weeks before, and the other was getting advanced in years. Both had made a comfortable property, and there seemed to our young doctor no reason why he might not fol? low in the chaise tracks of him who was gone, and perhaps in those of him that was going, and become, too, a man of some renown and wealth. The dear old aunt prophesied health, happi? ness and money; his wishes did the same, ai J so it was soon announced that old Henry Ar? lington's great nephew, the young physician, had become a resident of the place. A wing of the aunt's house was fitted up as an office, while upon the little white gate in front was nailed a gilded sign. A horse and chaise were purchased, medicine books and surgical instru? ments were ordered, and everything was soon in nice trim for an extensive practice. Nay, not everything. There were no patients. Young men, in every profession, have to en? dure much, because they are young. The world is afraid to trust them because they have no experience, forgetting that the only way for them to reach that experience is through prac? tice. None suffers more from this prejudice against the youth than the physician. And none, more than he, needs a stout heart and a patient soul. Edward had both these, and he had now what too many medical students have not; he had the means to live quite comfortably with? out any professional fees. An ignoble fellow would have sat down and been content; but a mind so highly cultivated as his, could do no such unworthy thing. The knowledge he had acquired, through such weary means, was too precious to be hidden ; he longed to do good with it, to follow the footsteps of the great physician, and "heal the sick." Because practice had not come, he did not yield to despair, and say it will never come; but he roused every energy and determined to be ready for it when it should come. The first ray of moonlight found him at his studies, and the stars not unfrequently found him there. Though practice did not come, acquaintance and friendship did. True, the old doctor passed him by as stifly as though an iron rod insr?ad of a flexible spine upheld his body : and che lawyer, who was brother-in-law to the doctor, looked straight forward when they met, and the heads of all the families whom the aforesaid old doctor visited, frowned terribly upon him; but the minister hailed him as a congenial soul, and in his study Edward spent many a pleasant and profitable hour. The heads of those families, who had lately lost their physician, gave him a kindly wel? come to their hearths, though they said noth? ing should tempt them to employ so young a man, while the young men and maidens greet? ed him gladly as a valuable acquisition to their little circle. Had the doctor been a gay young man, his horse would not have stood so much of the time in his lonely stable, for albeit he had no 1 professional calla, others of a different, andj perhaps some would think more interesting character, might have kept him on the road a goodly part of his time; but the doctor was, in some respects, a model man, and never allowed the pleasures to interfere with the duties of his life. Only when it was consistent with the rigid course he had marked out for himself, did he mingle in the society of the gay and thoughtless ones of his own age. *? * * * * * * * "Well, daughter, what tiding* ?" asked Mrs. Mann of her daughter, Helen, as she entered the breakfast-room early one morning on her return from the neighborly duty of watching with a sick child. "What I told you to expect," said she, sadly. "Little Willie, my darling playmate, is dead." "Dead," continued she, after a few moments' pause, with impassioned earnestness, "yes, murdered. I can weep for him, but not with his parents. Three children gone before with the same disease, and yet so blindly bigoted and prejudiced were they, that no one must be called in but the old doctor who signed the death-warrant of the others." "Our little Nell is angry now," said the father good-humoredly. "Have a care what you say, you may repent it when calm." "Well, but father, is it not outrageous that people will continue to employ a man that don't know anything, when, for the same money, they might have the attentions of one who is well qualified to discharge his duty ?" "That means that it is outrageous for our villagers to employ the old doctor, and suffer the young one to have nothing to do but to wait upon the young maidens to pic nics and parties." "He don't spend his time so," said the young girl earnestly. "He studies, keeps up with his age, and goes into society only as a recreation. And it is a shame that he has been here four months, and had never a professional call. Who knows how many little graves might still have been unclaimed, had he attended the little sufferers who now tenant them. Oh, I have i longed to speak out my feelings to those fathers j and mothers who have thus sacrificed their little one3 on the pile of bigotry I I have been silent only because the doctor was a young man, and my motives in speaking might have been misjudged." Her cheeks crimsoned as she spoke; it would be rude to question why! "There is much truth in what you say, daughter. I am convinced Dr. Arlington un? derstands well his profession, and will, in time, be a prominent member of it. But how to bring him into practice, I know not. As for me, I never have any ails, and unless your mother d you can manage some way to get sick and furnish him a patient, I see not but he must be idle yet. It only needs for one or two of the first families here to give him prac? tice, and his way is clear. Say, daughter, have you not some neuralgic pain? Why, your cheeks are hot and flushed. Don't she look, mother, as though she were in the incipient stage of a fever ?" And the fond father patted the delicate face, and felt the slender wrist, to note if high or low beat the pulse of life. "Very far from well," continued he, in jocose seriousness; "shouldn't wonder if the heart was affected ; guess I'll call and see the doctor." "Father, father, do be good now," cried the young maiden, springing after him a 3 he reach? ed the front door. "Don't carry the jest too far." "Jest, daughter," exclaimed he, in affected seriousness; "it's 00 jesting matter for a father to see his only daughter's heart affected. But," seeing the tears start to her eyes, "perhaps, as this is a serious case, and the young doctor has no experience, I had better call in the old one. Shall it be so?" And he kissed her tenderly. "Your word is law," whispered she; and she came back with a calmer heart. Had the young doctor kuown what a bright eyed, beautiful maiden champion had entered the list for him, he would Lave been more pa? tient than ever, and hope would have sung to him sweeter songs than she yet dared to breathe into his ear. A few weeks after this conversation, as the doctor was seated in his office, deep in study, he was startled by some new and strange sound ; he could hardly tell its nature, and in an instant, something dashed with lightning speed, past his window. It was the work of an instant to rush to the door and ascertain that a horse had run away, that he had broken the carriage, and thrown the occupant; but it took less than an instant to carry his fleet steps to the roadside, where motionless and insensible lay the beautiful Helen Mann. He was a physician, and the only gentleman near to help, and he had thus a right to lift her carefully and tenderly in his arms, and bear her to his office lounge ; but, because he was a physician, had he a right to press upon her pale lips such passionate kisses, to call her by such endearing names? Well for him it was that the little bird that carolled on the old elm that shaded the spot where Helen had fallen, was a discreet little creature, and not one of those gossipping ones that tell all they see, and more too. But she only carolled the louder and sweeter, and thus drowned the love tones of that human voice. Long and anxiously did Edward bend over his patient, and the pride and joy ho folt on winning his diploma were slight indeed com? pared to what he feit when at length the golden lashes of the maiden were slowly raised, and j the color came back to her whitened cheek. Not till then did he call his aged aunt to assist 1 him. Perhaps he did not think of it before; he was indeed busy in applying restoratives, and, doubtless, thought it would be time lost to wait for other help to come. Helen had been driving out alone when her horse took fright and ran. Fortunately, she was more frightened than hurt in her fall, for though severely bruised, there were no bones broken. Her parents found her an hour after? ward, ensconced in the spare chamber of the good aunt, very pale and weak, with a swollen wrist and ankle, out so much better than they had feared to see her, that their hearts were glad indeed, and they would have carried her home forthwith; but to this proposition the doctor objected strongly. "She fainted," said he, "as we were bringing her from the office here. It would be death to move her." "Wei!, well," said the father, in a tone that brought the color again to the cheek of his daughter, "as she is your first patient, I sup? pose it won't do to interfere. You've a repu? tation to earn, and you must do what you think will be most profitable for it. So, moth? er, you may stay and help take care of her, and I'll keep house alone." A great noise and commotion was in the little village when it was known that Helen Mann was sick at Widow Arlington's house, and the young doctor tending her. The old people said Mr. Mann and his wife deserved to lose her, if they trusted her in the care of such an inexperienced fellow, and they would lose her ; that old Dr. G-would have to bo called in yet. The young men envied the doctor the privi? lege of waiting on one who was acknowledged to be the belle of the village, while the young ladies envied her the care of one who was to them the beau ideal of their hearts. But the maiden recovered, and the doctor carried her home in his own chaise ; he would not trust her with any one else; he told her father that his reputation was not yet earned, and he must see that his first patient met with no relapse. "Pray tell me, doctor," asked Mr. Mann one evening, about a month after, as entering the parlor, he found Helen and the young doctor in earnest conversation, "pray tell me if these are all professional calls ?" "Why, sir?" said the young man, hesita? tingly. "Because, if they are, you must have a good round bill against me by this time I I guess you mean to make your first patient a pretty profitable one!" "I have found her so thus far," replied the young man, earnestly, "and she promises to continue so, for," changiug his tone to a jest? ing one, "I have discovered a new disease." "Not a heart affection," exclaimed Mr. Mann, with affected solemnity. "Say, is it so ?" and he grasped his hands as though he were won? derfully agitated. "You have guessed correctly." "Ah, I suspected it long ago, but she wouldn't own it! Can you cure it, Doctor?" "If you give me time." "How long do you ask ?" "A life-time," said the young man, and his tone was so expressive, that, spite of all efforts, the tears gushed to the father's eyes. "Take her, then, take her ; but if it's going to take so long to cure her, just take her into your chaise and carry her home; I can't be bothered with professional calls as long as that. Nell, you're a patient for life; will you like it?" and he clasped her in his arms. "I think I shall, dear father," she whispered, hiding her blushes on his wrinkled face. "Well, then, be off with you," said he, and straining her again to his bosom, he placed her hand in that of the young doctor, and then hurried from the room. A happy man was Edward Arlington, when on next New Year day, he held within his own the hand of the loved one he had vowed to love, honor and protect, so long as life should last, the fair girl who was known all over the village as the "Doctor's first patient." The frequency with which some words are used, that are worse than useless, is truly alarm? ing. We have reference to that class of words termed by-words. Some people are so consti? tuted that they seem to require several of these words as safety-valves to repress that which would be far worse. In fact, some persons are so extravagant that they affirm they couldu't live^were they deprived of the use of them? they would certainly die if they couldn't use them. Such extravagant expressions show a decided weakness. Charity, however, would lead one to infer that they are the result of thoughtlessness, which, through want of self control, has become a habit so firmly fixed as to defy all efforts to rid one's self of it. And so, like the confirmed inebriate, who must have his usual amount of grog each day, to enable him to get through with his accustomed work, must they use these by-words o;i every possible occasion to enable them to pursue the even tenor of their way with equanimity. "My goodness!" says the mother to her chila, "what are you up to?" This expression is in? tended for one of great surprise, for surely, by uo stretch of the imagination could one sup? pose it was intended as a title of endearment. "My gracious 1" and "Oh mercy !" arc abused very much in their use; and are so often em? ployed as exclamations of surprise and fear, that it is becoming a question whether an elegant young lady would consider her educa? tion complete or her conversation emphatic without ^cing some of these words, at least a do/:'.!i times in a conversation of as many minutes. And the saddest phase of the matter is, that these expressions are used by those whose influence should be decidedly against them. Even among church members and Sun? day school teachers we hear them. There is no reason in the argument that these words lend emphasis, for that is nonsens? ical ; neither can the plea be made that they are of no injury. All useless expressions are injurious?injurious to those who use them, and pernicious in their influence on others. Children are creatures of imitation. If a boy's ideal man smokes, how the boy longs to be able "Oh, mercy I" how quickly her example is im? itated. And these are only stepping-stones to that which is worse. Those who thus use these words are often introduced to them through their kin, "Perfectly" and "Awful." A thing is perfectly splendid, perfectly exquisite, and perfectly magnificent, or it is awful nice, awfnl ?ood, awful bad, awful cold, or awful hot. ust as though the word very isn't good Eng? lish, and doesn't express enough where these words are so commonly employed. Christian men and women should set a watch on their mouths, and let nothing escape them unbe? coming Christians.?Exchange. The Piedmont Manufacturing Compa? ny.?The first annual meeting of the stock? holders of this company was held on Wednes? day, the 13th instant, in this city, in which there were present a full representation of the stock. The president, Mr. H. P. Hammett, sub? mitted his report, showing the operation of the company for the past year. Much work has been finished and all paid for. The policy of the company being to pay for what is done as the work progresses. We learn that the report was very satisfactory to the meeting. The stockholders instructed the directors to make the necessary assessments to raise an amount sufficient to complete the buildings and to prepare at once to receive the machinery. The assessment has been made, and contracts will soon be executed for the work. The buildings, when erected, will be* capable of containing eight thousand spindles and two hundred looms. The water power is amply sufficient to increase the capacity of the mill to forty thou? sand spindles and one thousand looms. The stockholders visited Piedmont on the 14th, by railroad, and expressed themselves as pleased in every respect with the location and the work that has been accomplished. The charter was accepted and by-laws adopted, and the organ? ization completed. The officers for the en? suing year are: President? H. P. Hammett. Directors?Hamlin Beatty, Alexander McBec, Thos. C. Go wer, T. Q. Donaldson, of Green? ville ; Dr. W. C. Norwood and General Samuel McGowan, of Abbeville; J. N. Martin, of Newberry ; and Smilie A. Gregg, of Darlington. The directors are men of well known business talents and highest respectability, being at the same time men of means. We feel convinced that the enterprise will be in every respect both eminently safe and sucessful. Parties desiring stock can obtain the same by com? municating with the president or any member of the board.?Greenville Enterprise and Moun? taineer. ? Refuse all So bills on the Osage National Bank, Iowa. Nine thousand dollars in ?5 bills were stolen from the bank prior to begin signed by the proper officials. Thoughtless Words. If a girl's ideal woman says, Gen. Toombs and the President. Henry Watterson, editor of the Louisville Courier-Journal, expatiates as follows upon the significance of the recent interview between Gen. Eobert Toombs and President Grant. He argues.glibly upon the prospect of a third term for Grant, and hints strongly at the possible ambition of the present occupautof the White House to remain there forever, either in per? son or through a royal succession. We give these speculations for what they are worth: The visit of General Robert Toombs to the President was doubtless meant to be a simple courtesy and nothing more. It was received in all likelihood in the way of a curious good nature characteristic of General Grant. But when it is remembered that General Toombs is an earnest and outspoken imperialist, who does not claim allegiance to this country, and seeks nothing so ardently as a revolution which shall give it a master, the cordiality which he j met at the White House and the pleasure which a call, protracted much beyond the con ventional limit, gave to the occupant of the White House, may be worth making note of. It is a straw which points southward, where it shows the existence of a small, but, in cases of emergency, a resolute body of men, who, worn out aud disgusted by partisan misgovernment and malignity, regard a third term as the be? ginning of the end of both. This class has no personal ill-will toward General Grant. It re? cognizes the many soldierly acts which marked his conduct in the closing of the war, and the many accessible and complacent features of his disposition as a man. It thinks, mistakenly, that any change would be for the better, not seeing that under the personal government it would set up for General Grant the present abuses would be magnified. General Toombs is but the spokesman of this element. He is at once a most intrepid and a most brilliant man, and, however a sound and rational republicanism may detest his de? structive tendencies, I am not prepared to set him down as the reckless person he is described to be. During thirty years he has been as rashly advanced in his opinions and utterances as he is to-day. I hope he is not now so dan? gerously prophetic. He destroyed the whig party to make himself a leader of the demo? cratic party. He destroyed the democratic party to make himself a leader of the seces? sion party. His destructive predilections and prowess manifested themselves for the third time just as the Confederacy was on the eve of its inherent destruction. He is by no means too old to come again to the front as a destroy? er of the Republic, which, after his failure to destroy the Union, seems to be a sort of sec? ond choice with him. He is perfectly logical in his views and aims ; and, if the fight for the old traditions of liberty is lost in 76?for those sentimental traditions whose extinction will be the forerunner of a practical and progressive revolution in the government?we may see Toombs once more the leader of a party, sup? porting a court and squaring the old account at last by the agency of a coup d'etat. The capitalists want a third term, in the mean? time General'Grant is backed by the capital? ists, who dread political changes of every kind, and feel that they can rely on him, and by the oiiice-holders, who ought to be strong enough to command the forms of a third nomination. This secured, he can trust to luck, as he has always done, for the issue, and, in short, will be the candidate to be beaten. As time moves us up nearer and nearer to the field, unknown and unexpected objects may reveal themselves. But in the midst of the prevailing fog these outlines appear?the republican party is ruled by the office-holders, and the President rules them by the common law of reciprocal inter? est; there is no one republican strong enough to unite the party against its organizers; each of the republican leaders is just strong enough to make way with his next door rival; and thus, if the election were upon us, we should find General Grant master of the only compact body in the political field, equipped with mu? nitions and money iu abundance, with a dispirited South, a demoralized North and a divided opposition to stand between him and his ambition. The time may come when the South will find no escape from malignant legislation and misgovernment but by following Gen. Toombs en masse into the imperial camp. But it should, at least, make one more fight for the old free born signals. The people of the North were not conscious of the wrong they did them? selves when they put the South in irons, and they do not at heart support the scanda? lous outbursts of hate which every now and then appear in Congressional legislation, and may be heard every time such malignants as Conkling and Hoar open their lips. The trou? ble has been that the South had no audience at the North. The people of the North have re? ceived most of their impressions from profes? sional libellers of the South. Lamar's speech on Sumuer surprised New England, as it re? buked the hypocrites who, detesting Sumner, would have made a vindictive radical jubilee over his coffin-lid. I declare, without the least fear of contradiction, that the only really sincere eulogies on Sumner were those of Lamar, who repescnted the generosity of the South, and Schurz, who was Sumner's private friend, and neither contained a syllable offensive to any patriotic national sentiment. One day? i let us hope at a day before it is too late?New j i England will learn that such men as Hoar and Hawley are her worst enemies. The South should also know that the people of New Eng? land are as liberal as the Southern people are, and as willing to reach a good accord. Boston would welcome Lamar with honors, and yet Lamar only spoke in the name of the South, obtaining by his eloquence and address the audience which is often denied to men of less genius. Both sections should consider the cir? cumstance. It may, or it may not be of good omen, but one thing is certain, if it is not?if i the missionaries of ruin who walk abroad in Congress and out of Congress, fomenting strife and raising up mutual distrust, arc not sup? planted by better men, we may as well bid goodbye to the Republic, and say all hail to Toombs and the Empire. Senator Morton's Organ Alarmed.? The Indianapolis Journal has evidently become alarmed at the popularity with which the prop? osition to organize the farmers of the West into a new party is being received, and it is more especially concerned about Indiana. It admits that "the democrats are, of course, anx? ious for a new deal, and not a few honest repub? licans seem disposed to think the old party needs chastening." The grangers are advised to "control the politics of the country through existing parties," and those of Indiana are as? sured that "if the farmers nominate a third ticket the result will be to throw the State into the hands of the democracy." The convention of grangers, which causes Mr. Morton's organ so much concern, meets on the 10th prox., and from present appearances it is likely to nomi? nated a third ticket. ? Wig-makers are d. conceited sot?always putting on (h)airs How Senator Korwood Snatched Ben Butler Bald-headed. We make the following extracts from the remarkable speech of Senator Norwood, of Georgia, on Civil Rights. Criticising Ben. Butler's speech in the Uouse of Representatives, he said: The Republican party has often assured us that in the late war "the colored troops fought nobly," and the Senator from New Jersey re? peated the declaration in our hearing on yes? terday. It is true, that interwoven with the dreadful realities of that struggle, there is much of fiction and romantic episode; many imagin? ary instances of inspiring heroism, "displayed by the colored troops. Fact and fiction are lamentably mingled in inextricable confusion. But there is one exceptionable instance of dar? ing and of death, and so notably established on the testimony of a single eye-witness, that the Senate must remember it, and it is worthy of recounting, even in this august presence. I see that the quick perception and historic learning of this body have already anticipated my dis? covery, and I would even now forego the thrill? ing narration, but for the fear that seme future Munchausen might charge me with prejudice against the objectsof the Judiciary Committee's special devotion, should I decline to furnish so valuable a contribution to his peculier style and school of history. I refer, as you know, to the Balaklava charge, made by the colored troops, at the witching hour of dawn, on empty stomachs?bayonets fix? ed, nipples uncovered?and under command of a general of renown, on the 29th of September, 18(34, at New Market Height ? The historian? who was the general then commanding, and who seems to have been the only survivor of those colored troops?tells us the story with charming simplicity and with the eloquence of unbridled fancy. He says, that being himself in the rear, where he intended to remain, and wholy uncertain whether the charge would be feebly to the front or with frantic heroism to the rear, he ordered, as a precaution for per? sonal security, the nipples of the guns to be uncapped, and offering up the prayer of Falstaff, "God, keep lead out of me," he gave the order, "Charge!" [Laughter.] He says that there fell, within a parallelo? gram just ten feet wide and 300yards in length, the exact number of543 of his colored associates, or one man to every twenty and three-tenths inches; that as soon as they fell, mounted on his fiery Pegasus, like feathered or "Harry" Mer? cury, he marched solitary aud alone to one end of that slaughtered heap, and fixing one eye weepingly pendent over the dead, and cocking the other fiercely on the enemy?the one tear? ful as Niobe's, the other glowing like fiery Mars?he rode, with arms akimbo, through that parallelogram, over that hecatomb of his com? panions, to the farther end?his horse mean? while dancing a minuet in the benevolent endeavor to find ground on which to plant its reverential feet. This was an exploit worthy of deification. Pity it is, it had not been performed in the pre-Homeric or Hesiodic age, as that genera? tion, so appreciative of horse gymnastics, would have deified and translated the heroic actor, and he would now be enjoying the beatitude of hero worship in the constellation of Aries or Taurus; or, happier still, he and that horse might now be a bright, particular constellation in themselves, under the proper name of Equus-anthropos, which lovers, at parting would designate to gaze upon at the tender hour "when twilight dews are falling fast," and renew their vows of devotion. But why that humane general should have ridden that tender hearted horse over the dead bodies of his colored associates, instead of making a brilliant flank movement along that geometric holocaust, such as only he can when moving on a custom house, I have fatigued my imagination in vain to endeavor to discover. Perhaps, like Mrs. Malaprop, he was trying to ascertain the "perpendiculars" of the slaughter; perhaps it wad to accomodate the angle of his vision; perhaps to test the sensibilities of that horse. But conjecture is all in vain. It was simply one of those direct forward movements over the bodies of one's friends, so often wit? nessed in political strategy, and never known in military tactics, that it must remain a moral wonder until lapse of time and oft repeating shall consecrate it as a truth, or uutil some cruel CEdipus shall rise to solve the riddle and destroy its artful inventor. But gallant as was that fatal charge, and heroic and solemn as was that perilous exploit, they pale into paltriness in presence of the sublime sequel to this military evolution as given in the simple story of this historian. He says that having finished that horse couranto?consisting of a coupee, then a high step, then a balance?he sounded a solemn halt, faced mournfully about, fixed his eyes again as already described, gave the order, "Attention, General!" and in chronic absence of the Bible, drew from his holster-case a pocket edition of the Massachusetts Pilgrims' Progress, issued under the Maine liquor law, and kissing one end devoutly with his face turned upward, he administered to himself a solemn, corporal and general oath, that so long as his surviving colored companions would vote to make him Governor of Massachusetts, or a Representative in Congress, he would spasmodically devote the idle moments of the remainder of his political and official life, in a feeble effort to secure to them the great con? stitutional right to attend, "without distinction of race, color or previous condition of servitude," every theatre, circus and menagerie in the United States of America and the Territories thereof. He then scaled his oath by pressing his fe? verish lips once more to the bibulous end of that cherished volume, and calling in the eye which had meanwhile stod sentinel on the ene? my, he dismissed himself from the parade. Pertinent Questions fok the Southern Farmer.?Dr. Daniel Lee, whose peu is not blunted by his ripe age, but who writes with the same force and directness as he did forty years ago, thus puts the question of meat production before the people of the South in the columns of the Plantation : Twice the com for forage will grow on an acre in the climate of Georgia that can be raised in England or Holland in one year. In j the hands of a wise farmer, if corn forage and grain don't mean meat, what do they mean ? We want our young friends who read the Plantation to compare the productive forces of the cotton zone with an average fall of rain of some forty-five inches, with those of central Europe, with an average rain fall of twenty two and one-half inches, and a temperature that will do about half of the growing part of a crop of cotton. The organizing power of land, and the people who introduced root culture into England some centuries past, is small compared with ours. The force that makes a bale of cotton on an acre can perform lue exact equivalent in the growth of wool, mutton, horse-flesh, cheese or beef. Agricultural force is as enduring as time and as reliable as the multiplication table. Why not put more of this force into gras?, meat and other provisions for foreign consumption? Why perpetuate a wilderness in the South and call it peace? father Ryan, the Poet Priest of the South, Makes a Sensation in New York. The New York Sun thus describes Father Eyan and his preaching on his recent visit to New York: Respectful and music-loving as Catholic con? gregations are, that in St. Stephen's last night, showed signs of impatience that the floods of melody from the organ should cease, and per? mit them to listen to the orator, and when at last Father Eyan made his appearance with Dr. McGlynn, the flutter of expectation became audible, and as he ascended the pulpit, many I rose from their seats and stretched their necks I to catch a better view of the small, ungraceful, J unpretending man that stood before them. He looked neither the poet uor the orator. But I when he had finished reading from the eigh? teenth chapter of the Gospel of St. John, the account of Pilate's last interview with Jesus, in a ringing, sonorous voice, that penetrated like a sharp bell to all parts of the building, and stood silently gazing on the multitude af? ter uttering the words, "What is truth?" the singular power of genius held his audience spell-bound even before he broke forth in clari? on tones that electrified them. "Pilate, Gov? ernor of Judea, did you ever forget the pale face of the poor prisoner that, bound and shackled before you, looked back into your face with his sad eyes ? Did you ever forget his low whispers when he answered your in? terrogatory? Did he haunt you to the last day of your life with his poor, pale face that on that Friday morning gazed into yours? Did it torture you to the end? A man bound and fettered, without one friend to sustain him and to say to the Governor, 'He is true, and therefore innocent.' Poor, powerless, friend? less, he stood before the ruler and answered, and ere his answer could be heard, Pilate re? turned him to the multitude without who clamored for his blood. Before Pilate he stood in the guise of a malefactor, and he, the haughty Roman whose banner had flashed in victory in every quarter of the world, asked a man fettered and bound, 'Are you a king?'" For an hour and twenty minutes he held his auditors enchanted by a succession of alternate logical points and flowers of poetic metaphor and symbolism, mosaicked in a stream of pure an l elegant English. As soon as he began speaking his form and face glowed with the fire of eloquence, and every movement and gesture was full of im? passioned grace and beautiful in expression. His small and well-formed hands areas expres? sive as his face. His concluding words were : "Ever since that Good Friday truth has become a coronet linked with a sorrow. They nailed his feet to the cross, but instead of stopping them in their pathway it made them strong to travel through ages with his children. Bosea fade, but thorns endure through years and ages. Truth was cradled before the human race was cradled and earth and humanity will die before its de profundia will be sung. Truth never wears a perhaps. It is an everlasting yes. She is as intolerant of uncertainty as arithmetic and geometry are. They laugh at your efforts to make twice two three, or to make the three angles of a triangle equal to four right angles. But while truth is intolerant of false? hood, she must be tolerant of those who fall in falsehood, but do it unconsciously of the mis? take they are making. Smile not at the Druid who clasped an oalk thinking he had found truth. Honor him rather that he pursued her though he worshipped an error. But we have not a shadow of the truth, but truth itself; not a gleani of heaven through a rift in a cloud, but the full blue and the gleaming sunlight of truth to lead us to the sunlight of eternity." Late Planted Cotton. The heavy rains and cold weather in April have pretty effectually killed the early planted cotton. What the water did not drown the cold has chilled, so that fesh planted seed will catch up and go ahead of the stands already up. Cotton is emphatically a hot weather plant, and I am iuclined to think, as a general rule, that we plant it too early. Dickson says the 7th of May is early enough to plant. I do not think that dates should have anything to do with planting cotton. It should not be planted until the ground is warm enough to germinate the seed in eight days from planting, for every hour that the seed remains in the ground over eight days, is a diminution of its productiveness. I know that the plea for early planting is to get it ahead of the caterpillar; but we may not always have the caterpillar. I planted a few acres in cotton a few years since, the 4th of June, and with the same culture and treat? ment, it was the best piece of cotton that I had that season. If the stands of cottou are very bad, plow up the whole field and replant. A good und even stand will pay better tUfin the uneven patch-work of some good plauts, with many yellow, sickly looking ones. It requires some nerve to do it, but in doing it the field is got into shape again, gullies filled, the rows even, and all will come on and grow together. Some complain of the scarcity of seed. Economise the seed by dropping by hand, and make one bushel plant what ir took five to plant when seed was plenty. Seed planted carefully by hand will pay in the saving of labor in chopping out. The way cottou is generally chopped out, is an outrage on culture and common sense. The choppers go along the rows, where the plants stand thick together, and with the hoe chop spaces between the plants, nine times out of ten knocking down the plants that arc to remain, with a back-handed lick of the hoe. The plants are set straight again, with their roots mutilated, and the tender bark bruised and broken.? Now, because the plant does not actually die under the operation, some farmers seem to think it is not hurt; but a bad chopped field of cotton is retarded in its growth, and will not yield like plants that have not been muti? lated. Therefore, if you have to economize seed, economize labor, too. Plant by hand, and save the chopping and consequent mutilation of the plants.?Columbus Enquirer. Encourage Your Children.?Encourage? ment works wonders with almost auybody, no matter what his occupation in life may be. A boy likes to be encouraged ; so docs a girl; a man likes it; and so does a woman ; and even the older grandfather and grandmother have a relish for it. Some parents often make a mistake in not giving their children credit when they do a thing well, and some unintentionally let a les? son that has been studied hard or a piece of work that has been well done by a boy or girl, to pass without the least notice. This dis? courages a child and has a very bad effect otherwise. Encouragement puts a new life in a child, especially if bestowed by a parcut. Yet there are people who, though anxious to have their children do well, continually, and in a dispiri? ted way, tell them that they shouldn't do so and so, that it is wrong, etc., without ever having a little friendly"talk with tbem and giving them good advice and cucouragiug them when they do right.