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'"Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call Oreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall." The day after Christmas Mrs. Mahanr and Marion were again alone at Berkley Hall. Harry had reluctantly, and only in compliance with the urgent and affec? tionate entreaties of his mother and sister, left them that morning to make a visit to his promised bride, Jessie Ferguson.? The young man had laughingly declaied that he found it very hard to obey so many mistresses. His mother had insis? ted on his going to Charleston, and his imperative betrothed had commanded him to remain at Berkley. Just like Jessie! She wrote: Charleston, Dec. 20, 1865. To Copt. Harry Maham, Commander qf\ Post at Berkley Hall: Soldier of Love and Duty?You are hereby commanded to provision and I garrison Castle Berkley; said Castle be? ing threatened with assault in the coming Christmas festivities by the powerful I army of sad reminiscences. Love, hops, cheerfulness, and above all others, noble self-denial, you will find valiant soldiers &nd potent auxiliaries during the siege. By command of JESSIE, REG. Of the Pierced Heart. "Seriously, Harry," continued the trarm-hearted girl in her letter, "if you I come to me I cannot bid you welcome. ] You must not neglect a higher duty for our gratification. You must remain at I Berkley to make glad the Christmas for your loved ones there, and I must stay I here to brighten my bereaved Uncle's now desolate home. The old house is often dreary; our ears are weary in vain listening to hear the music of Annie's j ow, sweet laugh, and our eyes ache with a longing to see her gentle face, so win come in its* tender beauty. Onr work, Harry?yours and mine?is one, a labor of love, and in its performance you and I will be very happy; thus it is heart I meets heart." Mrs. Maham was pleased with the un? selfishness of Harry's little sweetheart, and accepted the offered sacrifice for Christmas day, for she judged by her} own generous impulses that in so doing I she would confer happiness on her "Boy" [ and his Jessie. But she firmly refused more than one day, insisting upon rival? ing their loved Jessie in her "soft endear? ments in kind strife." And so Harry was obliged perforce to leave Berkley Hall the day after Christ? mas, the bearer of many messsages of Jove to his little Jessie, who had sought I to rule with love's sweet tyranny. Late in the afternoon of that same day the mother and daughter occupied the once richly furnished and luxurious parlor at Berkley Hall. Now the win? dows were curtainless, and the floor bare and cold, except in front of the chimney, where a bright-colored rug gave comfort I to the feet and a cheery home look to the scantily furnished room. Plundered homes were too common in our beauti? ful South for us to dwell long on the unpleasant theme, but we will simply observe that a command of Federals, composed almost entirely of negro troops, together with the disaffected slaves, had robbed the Mahams of all of the luxuries and most of the comforts and convenien? ces left at the Hall, where Mrs. Maham and her daughter had fled their" home as refugees. The lofty ceiling with the bare walls, the undraped windows and the carpetless floors would have been insupportable in its dreariness, had it not been relieved by the blazing Christmas fire on the hearth, and the bright beams of sunlight with which the departing god of day was flooding the room, and deepening into golden auburn the rich, dark hair of Marion Maham, who sat on a low seat in front of the lire, her arm resting upon a lounge on which her mother reclined. On her lap lay a volume of Meredith's "Lucille." The book was a favorite of hers. The womanly sejf-abnegation, and the lofty but sweetly- feminine heroism of "Lucille" had always fascinated her. But that afternoon she did not read?her head rested upon her hand, and her heart was bowed in sad thought. Could the tender mother have caught a glimpse of her child's sweet, pale face, she would have been startled by the mingled ex? pression of grief and conflict which had marred its usually calm and intellectual beauty. But the mother, too, indulged in reve? ries, and judging from the pensive smile which lingered around her still sweetly expressive mouth, we would say her's were pleasant thoughts. Memory, faith? ful to her allotted work, had been peo? pling the wife's and mother's visions with images of the dear ones, not lost, only gone before! She had been mur? muring in joyous accents: "How grows in paradise my store!" Grief, anxiety and repeated illness had placed Mrs. Maham on the invalid role for life. She knew, and rejoiced in knowing, that she would soon receive the gracious mandate, "Come!" For Harry and Marion she felt no care, she could leave them to the wise and tender All-Father's keeping. Harry's engagement had afforded her unalloyed pleasure. She had always loved the gay and bright-hearted Jessie as a daughter; and she even deemed Marion's earthly prospects settled; "for," she said to herself, "I know Arthur loves her, and my Marion, in the brightest imagery of her romantic fancy, can por? trayed no beau-ideal more noble or gifted than our loved kinsman, Arthur Fergu? son !" While Mrs. Maham was thus fondly employed building lee chateaux en Etpagne for her children, the young girl by her side was equally busy striving with her poor woman's strength to pull down and cast away from her heart a fondly-cher? ished image?an idol of whose very exis? tence she was unconscious, until Arthur Ferguson, in declaring his passion and questioning if she loved another, had torn the veil from her heart and exposed its secret passion. Unceasingly since then she had labored to remove the beautiful picture, and supplying its place with others as fair, if not fairer; but love's coloring will not be blotted out, and even a light touch was anguish to the suffering sensitive heart. "Ah, me I" she murmured to herself, "this cruel, cruel war I Had there been no war, my love, my love!"?and she lingered softly on the word?"had not been unworthy a Southern girl! Had we been victorious, a daughter of the proud Palmetto land would be magnani? mous in forgiving! To heal the wound? ed, to soothe a bruised heart is the noblest work of woman! Had we conquered, then even a Maham need not have blushed to acknowledge love for an ene? my so noble, so generous and so brave. He loves me! I know it, although he never spoke of love. I read it in the glance of his truthful eyes. I hear it in the tones of his rich and manly voice. But alas, alas! O, mother, mother 1" she suddenly exclaimed, startling her mother by the undertone of anguish in her voice, "why are we vanquished ? Five years ago Carolina proudly dared to say: 'I am free!' to-day tyranny, ignorance and vice sit in her high places! Why is it so ? Have we no right to freedom ? Did not our fathers win it at Cowpens, King's Mountain, Hobkirk Hill, Eutaw and Fort Monltrie? and cannot truth, cour? age and endurance keep it? If so, why, oh! why have the valleys of Virginia drunk the blood of our loved ones in vain ? Why were our victories in Ken? tucky, Tennessee and Georgia in vain ? Why the courage displayed, and hard? ships endured by our brave "Boys" at Vicksburg in vain ? Why the bold ef? forts of her sons to avenge the insults heaped upon fair Louisiana in vain? and why, oh! mother, why does the whole land weep ? Why the groans of my bleeding country? Why the ming? ling of fear and sorrow on every face? Has our God forgotten to be gracious?" "Hush, hush my child! 'He doeth all things well.' We know not now, but we shall know." There was a deep and prolonged silence in the room. The young murmurer bowed her head in acknowledgment of the righteousness of the gentle rebuke. "A gemman's at de doe, en send you dis," said a ragged little freedman, hand? ing Mrs. Maham a card. "Ool. Gray! Hubert Gray! Ask him to come in, Ned," exclaimed Mrs. Maham, rising eagerly to welcome her Walter's friend. Warm and affectionate was the greet? ing between Mrs. Maham and Col. Gray. His position as a Federal officer, his birthright to the unloved appellation, "Yankee," was all forgotten in the at? tractive and cherished sentiment, "My Walter's friend and our protector from insult and wrong.". Marion's first emotion was a thrill of exquisite joy which flushed her pale face with a radiant and rosy light, but a con? sciousness of her unfortunate love sent the warm blood back as quickly to her heart, leaving her even paler than before, and the hand she mechanically offered Col. Gray was cold and passive in his warm grasp. The surprise and gladness of welcome being over, Mrs. Maham and Hubert were soon in intimate and friendly con? versation. Questions and answers fol? lowed each other in rapid succession. Col. Gray was naturally ardent in his affections, and quick in his sympathies, and readily entered into the hopes and fears, joys and sorrows felt by his friend's mother for her children and friends, her home and country. Harry was enquired for by the Colonel, his absence regretted and his happy be? trothal rejoiced in as fervently as if he had been Hubert Gray's own brother. Col. Gray wore no uniform, a pleasant incident to his friends, to whom the Uni? ted StateB uniform would have been a disagreeable reminder of the bitter past. He told them he had resigned his posi? tion in the Federal Army, had a few days previous received an approval of his res? ignation, and was then en route for his home; but feeling a great longing to visit Berkley Hall and its dear inmates once more, he had yielded to his inclina? tions. "I apprised my mother of my inten? tions; she sends much love, dear Mrs. Maham, to yourself and Mis3 Marion, and expresses a hope to have you* visit her at no very distant day in her home." Mrs. Maham courteously expressed her thanks for the invitations, and her feel? ings of grateful affection for the gentle woman who had been as a mother in tender care for her dying child. Two days passed quickly and happily to Hu? bert Gray. Mrs. Maham had accepted the unhappy finale of the war, and the political condition of her loved country with the child-like submission and bum? ble trust in God's goodness that had characterized her life. In conversation [ with Col. Gray, she seldom touched upon the war or its consequences. Walter, his lofty character, his holy life, was the loved theme of which neither friend or mother ever wearied. Marion seldom spoke. Over her natu? ral dignity of manner she had thrown a mantle ot gentle reserve which was too mingled with sadness to offend, although it repelled easy sociality. Hubert Gray was touched by her sadness, and* felt painfully her reserve, which was so un? like anything in their intercourse hereto? fore ; but he attributed it to the family bereavements and the defeat of the cause into which she had thrown all of the fervor of her impassioned nature. Hu? bert Gray was a man?one of nature's noblemen?there was not the least ap? proach to the coxcomb in him, and he never dreamed of the conflict between love for him and devotion to home and country which stirred the heart of the beautiful girl. He knew he loved her, the fair "Lily of Santee," and he would seek to win her. Poor Marion I the contest in her heart was fierce, indeed, and she fought with the obstinate bravery of her race on the side of duty. But she could never say: "I have won !" Vainly did she call upon pride?the pride of woman; the pride of country; the pride of the vanquished? to aid her. Love conquered, and she was happy, although she knew she wore a tyrant's chain. Yes, she was happy in being under the same roof with Hu? bert, listening to the music of his voice, and drinking in with eager delight the eloquent and lofty sentiments that fell from his lips, repeating them to herself when alone, and softly adding: "Yes, "Walter's friend is worthy even of Wal? ter's love." The trio sat together in the parlor the last afternoon of Hubert's visit; the ladies were sewing and Col. Gray reading aloud. Suddenly putting the book aside, he said: "Miss Marion, the afternoon is lovely, and you look pale from so much stitching, let us take a walk and visit some of our favorite haunts of that, to me, happiest period (although so brief) of my life?my first visit to Berkley Hall." Marion blushed and hesitated, seeking for words to frame a polite refusal. But her mother interposed: "Yes, my daughter, of course go I You are looking very pale, and so grave, too; leaving our gallant young friend to be entertained by a monotonous invalid. I am afraid, Colonel," she continued, play? fully, but with a touch of sadness in her voice, "my Southern girl finds it too hard to accept the humble position of the conquered, in which we stand, and the presence of the popular Federal offi? cer reminds her frequently of it. But my Marion must strive to see in Col. Gray not the Federal officer, but our protector and friend." "0, mamma, mamma!" said Marion, with emotion, "I trust I have not been so forgetful of courtesy as to lead Col. Gray even to imagine I do not appreciate the many obligations we are under to him." "Never mind, darling, I did not mean to distress my patriotic little woman; only go and make the amend honorable by being attractive this afternoon, and let our young friend carry with him some agreeable recollections from poor old Berkley." Mrs. Maham finished the sentence with a deep sigh, an evidence how little of brightness she herself felt was left to old Berkley. "Dear Mrs. Maham, do not chide your daughter for a pensiveness which is so becoming and only too natural," said Hubert, gravely. "I understand and sympathize with her in her sorrows, and the grief which the condition of her country demands. In coming to Berkley I knew I was coming to a home of sor? row. Believe me, I have not come to Beek merriment. But," he added, bow? ing to Marion, "if you will walk with me I will esteem it a mark of friend? ship." "It would be base ingratitude to be less than friend to Col. Gray," she said, in a low and agitated voice, offering her hand to the young man. When Hubert Gray, after assisting in the arrangement of the young lady's cloak and scarf, left the* Hall for the en? treated walk, the same little trembling hand was resting on his arm. Ah, Hu? bert Gray 1 ah, love!?deceiving love!? thus far you have conquered! They walked on for some time in a silence more eloquent than words, until reaching a by-path leading to the old mill, Hubert Gray turned into it, saying: "Let us go to the creek and the mill. Let us visit the haunts of the gentle echo. Poor, love-born maiden! how sad her fate, to have bestowed the priceless treasure of her woman's heart upon a self-enamored youth." By this time they had reached the creek. Leading Marion to a seat under the very tree beneath whose moss-covered boughs they had sat a merry group five years before. Hubert seated himself by her side and spoke in a low, sad voice: "Do you remember the moss you gave me from this tree? and the bay leaf, which you said was victory, renown ? 0, how ominous of my fortunes were those memorials of Berkley Hall I Have I 1 not wept even in the arms of glory ? Wept for our dismembered land! wept the fall of my friend?the noblest, the best 1 How well I remember him, as I saw him here with his beautiful Annie. How happy?how even gay he was that joyous Christmas of ?60. But, dear lady, although I have come to Berkley, it is true, to indulge in these sweet, sad memories, yet another and a still stronger motive has drawn me here; I have come to whisper a love-story in the ear of a Southern maiden. I have come to say to Marion Maham I love you I I have come to woo you for my bride. Marion, say, may I hope to wear my regal lily?" His tones were softly pleading; and, oh! so winningly they fell upon /the heart of the Southern girl. "No, Col. Gray, no! Go forget me! Seek a bride from your own people. My love could carry no joy with it." "Your love!" exclaimed the young man, eagerly; "then you do love me, Marion!" Oh, how love pleaded with the frightened heart of the girl, who, knowing but too well that poor heart'a weakness, replied in frantic haste as tho' she feared to trust her own strength and courage: "If I do love you, Col. Gray, I cannot, ! I will not be your bride! I will not marry you. My love is unnatural, un? holy ! Blood! blood! the blood of kin? dred and friends! the blood of our heroic dead forbid it! 0," she continued, drea? rily, "I have faced it, I have fought it! this miserable love! this mad passion ! I have not conquered, but I will not yield! Your people have crushed us I our land is given over to the spoilers! she has been robbed of everything, save the hearts of her children, and are you not satisfied? No, Col. Gray, no! I will conquer. A Maham, and a daughter of Carolina cannot wed a-" She hesi? tated, blushed painfully, and became silent. Hubert Gray finished the sen? tence: "A Yankee," he said, in a calm, sad voice. "I understand your feeling per? fectly, and expected to meet just such opposition to my wishes. But you have condescended to acknowledge you love me, and, oh! it is so much more than I dared hope for. Dearest lady, call me not Colonel, to you I would be simply Hubert Gray. My laurels I cast at your feet; to me they are worthless, if in wearing them I lose the esteem of the maiden I love! Believe me, dearest Marion, I came not to Berkley iu the spirit of a conqueror, expecting a proud Southern womau to throw herself into the arms of a Federal soldier. I am ready to serve as patiently as Jacob of old for his loved Kachel. I have come to woo, and will hope to win the pure white "Lily of Santee" for my bride. In love, man sues, woman conquers. Grant me your friendship, and time and opportunity to remove or soften your bitter feelings which, alas! are but too natural. Since political and sectional prejudices seem to divide us, if you will pardon my egotism I will speak of my? self. I am not a Radical. I never have sympathized with the extreme views of the Republican party. In political par? lance, I call myself a Jeffersonian Demo? crat, and now as earnest an advocate of States' Rights as any son of your brave little State. When the cry of war re? sounded through our land it was not so ; I was then a Captain in the regular army, and with boyish carelessness I neglected to consider the great questions in agita? tion, and the great principles involved. I deem as a soldier my allegiance due to the proud flag of my country?the star-spangled banner of liberty. I was stirred by this feeling of loyalty to my colors; it was with me a chivalric devo? tion. I remained in the Federal Army, and having a taste for military life, with a military education, I was soon promo? ted. But my laurels gave me no pleas? ure. My comrades, both superiors and subordinates, called me dashing and brave; but their commendations failed to thrill my breast with joyous excite .ment, for I realized that our victories (which I must admit paled before the brilliancy of yours) were only yielding the bitter fruits of desolation and sor? row to those we had called brothers, and who were equally with ourselves entitled to the protection of the noble banner of liberty for which I fought. In the long hours of the silent night, as I lay upon the tented field, I thought of the warn? ing of our Walter: 'Ah, Hubert, what an awakening will yours be!' It had come, that sad awakening, and had come too late, I was obliged to admit. Your people fought for the first great principles of liberty?the right of self-government, and not for slavery and dis-union as our dominant party asserted. Alas, alas! when too late, how childish, how like mimicry in the comparison seemed my loyalty to that flag, which in lifting it against our brothers was shorn of half its glory! And now, lady, is there no hope for the penitent? Now, that your people have been overpowered, (for con? quered they cannot be,) and slavery abol? ished, will not our rulers restore to your fair land her liberties, and thus heal the wounds inflicted, and bind once more in chords of love the children of one pa? rent?" "Ah! will they?" said the girl pas? sionately ; "and where are the evidences ? Our people are oppressed by your mili? tary, and insulted by our former slaves; our President a prisoner, and has been made to wear a convict's chains, to grati? fy a love for malicious triumph. He, the gallant soldier who. had crowned your boastiul flag with unfading glory on the battle-fields of Mexico! No, Hubert, no! I grieve to say it, but we are not one people. Between us there is no unity?there can be no love!" "O, say not so! Let us hope that time and mutual forbearance may cement again in friendship our kindred States. Because there are among us bold, bad men, who have by chicanery and intrigue reached our high places, it is therefore just to heap bitter invectives upon all ? Believe me, there are noble men and Christian women North, who grieve for the woes that have come upon your beau? tiful land. But they are powerless to aid, and, dear lady, is not best, is not gentle woman's part to exorcise all wrath? ful and bitter feeling?" The young girl raised her tearful eyes to her lover's face, and frankly extend? ing her hand, said: "All who know Hu? bert Gray and his gentle mother as I and mine have cause to know them, will be compelled to acknowledge there are noble men and pure, loving women in your Northern homes; and I am proud to call you friends. Forgive me, if I have said anything to offend or pain. From you and yours, believe mc, there are no wrathful feelings to be exorcised." "Then, Marion, I may hope that time-" "No, Hubert, no! it would be unkind, unjust to bid you hope. I caunot be yours. The wealthy, courted and popu? lar Col. Gray should chose a bride from bis own people. One who will rejoice and triumph in his honors; one whose gentle influence and bright smiles will urge him to still higher glory. You pos sess talent, wealth and influence?talents which confer power. Go, and may God help you to make a good use of them. You hare work to do, and I have work; but our work is not the same. I will ever rejoice to hear that step by step you are called to go up higher, for I know you are worthy!" "What, dearest Marion, is my work? Will it make me worthy of your love ?" said Hubert, his face radiant with eager hope. "Eetrieve the wrong, restore the right! Take your brilliant talents to your legis? lative halls, your mass meetings and your ballot boxes?work, work for the country you have heedlessly helped to ruin, and cease not until that country's weal has been established, until peace and liberty have been restored to the whole land!" "Then, when peace and order, truth and justice have been restored to our country, then, I may hope to win my bride," exclaimed the young man in joy? ous accents. "No, Hubert, the present only is ours. I will be bound by no vows, neither will I ungenerously bind you. I cannot be yours. My country and my people suf? fer ; I cannot wed one who has lifted his sword against us; beside all this, my dear mother needs my services. She has been bereaved of her loved ones and her wealth at one blow. Harry and I must make up to her for all she has lost." '?'But, my beloved, I have wealth and will gladly-" "Because you are the rich, popular and triumphant Col. Gray, the dowerless and orphaned child of a Confederate soldier will not share your lot," said the girl, proudly. "It is even so! Can pride and love dwell together? Ah, Marion, Marion, you cannot, you do not love as I love! Wealth, fame, home, country, friends; all, save the love of my precious mother, would I give up to call you mine! But I will hope! As my ideal of perfect woman, blessed with the sweet assurance of your love, I will enshrine your image in my heart, and trusting in the power of love, yet hope to win, not conquer, the proud Southern girl to be my wife. ' Nil desperandum' is henceforth my mot? to." The haughty, proud look had faded from the face of the Southern girl, as her ears hearkened to the rich tones of her lover's voice, and her heart?her treach? erous woman's heart?was made glad by the eloquent love it breathed for her. But she only shook her head sadly, and, rising, said: "The mists and shades of evening would remind us it is time to return to the Hall." The walk to the house was in sad si? lence, and it was a relief to the lovers to be met on the piazza steps by Harry, who had returned home. Harry was in good spirits, and said he had made a most doligbtful visit to his city .friends. He met Hubert affectionately, seemed to ignore his ever having been his foe, and expressed with generous warmth his gratitude, for the kindnesses rendered his brother, his mother and sister. Harry was a pure specimen of the true soldier? loving and admiring a brave man in foe as well as friend. CONCLUDED NEXT "WEEK. The Press. On the occasion of the celebration of St. Patrick's Day by the Hibernian So? ciety of Charleston, among the responses made to the various toasts offered was the following, by Col. C. H. Simonton : THE PRESS. It has become the department of the statesman, and, when directed by men of enlightened conscience and broad views, it is the palladium and shield of a free republic. Mr. President: I rise with great diffi? dence to discharge the unwonted duty assigned to me by the stewards in re? sponding to the sentiment, "The Press." Only those who by practical experience know its difficulties and engrossing cares can properly appreciate the force of the compliment which you have paid to this "most important professson. We who enjoy its services, who receive from the press, properly arranged and digested, the news from every quarter of the world, who read the essence of the thoughts which pervade the public mind, who feel the benefits of that irrigation of the currents of opinion which is daily permeated through the community in the channels of the daily paper, who are out? side of the profession and perceive only the results, stand amarod at the growth of the power aud of the influence of the press. Who can estimate the potency for good of a well regulated newspaper? Who can measure its omnipotence for evil ? It penetrates into our domestic privacy; it sits at our fire-sides, a familiar com? panion. It addresses itself to the pas? sions, hopes, prejudices, the fears, the pride and the weaknesses of our nature. A silent monitor of daily and constant repetition, it instils into the recesses of our hearts the lessons which it brings. The press has been called the fourth estate, and it has thus been likened to a co-ordinate branch in our legislative as? semblies. It is more than this. It is the embodied representative of the all-perva? ding public opinion, before whose sway the loftiest dignitaries and highest intel? lects in democratic communities, at times, must bow with reverence; which controls all branches of the government, dictating its own terms, and inexorably enforcing its high behests. It is the great tribune of the people, reflecting the character and intelligence, the passions and the will of the sovereign power of the State. Indeed, it is this characteristic of the press which restrains its tendency of li? centiousness, and which will prevent it from becoming an irremedial evil. As it in great measure controls, so in time it is controlled by public opinion, and when it ceases to command the confidence and to reflect the convictions of the people, it loses its power. ? One day last week some negro chil? dren were playing near a creek, in Quit man County, when an alligator crawled out and swallowed one of the children. Next day a party caught the alligator, cut him open, and took the little negro out alive. This is no newspaper lie, but was reported to us by a lawyer (and they never lie), who substantiated the state? ment by two negroes who saw the child. OUR WASHINGTON LETTER. Washington, D. C, March 30, 1876. grant still in the field?what moseby says about it. I hare just seen Col. Moseby who is, as you know, one of Grant's right bowers. He had just come from a conference with the President at the White House, and he says that Grant is still in the field as a candidate for re-election?that he con? siders the New Hampshire election an endorsement of his administration, and is determined, if possible, to secure a third term. If this is true, we may ex? pect some lively times with Blaine, Mor? ton and Co., who thought the Boss was out of the race. They may not be will? ing to take back seats now. connecticut will go democratic. A short time ago, Grant's Washington Ring sent a man to Connecticut to re? quest the Chairman of the Central Com? mittee of that State io make a searching investigation of the probable result of the election on Monday, April 3. The utmost pains were taken by the Connec? ticut, radical official, who was well paid by Grant's Ring for his labor, and was requested to give the facts, and the facts only. His report, which has just arrived, has cast a gloom over Ring circles. He says that he regrets to be obliged to state, as the result of his investigation, that the Democratic party will certainly carry the State by?a majority of about three thou? sand. montgomery blair has created a very perceptible stir in political circles in Washington, by the publication of a letter in favor of Tilden. The fact that Mr. Blair is not a Tilden man from personal preference, but from what he conceives to be party necessity, gives more weight to his views than they would otherwise have. One thing is noticeable in connection with this sub? ject; there is a growing disposition to consider the interest of the party as a unit, rather than the interest of any one section or faction. The man who can carry the most States will be the nominee, if these wise counsels prevail; and, who? ever he may be, Hendricks, Thurms Bayard, Tilden, Davis or Parker, he win receive the united support of a party organized for success, and not to be de? feated by internal dissension. And to insure success beyond the chance of fail? ure, he must be the man who can draw the largest support from the ranks of the enemy. Mr. Blair, who was a member of Lincoln's Cabinet, says that Tilden is the man, and offers a strong argument to prove it. There are men here to-day, bitterly opposed to Tilden, because of his attitude on the money question; but I believe, from the tone of conversation here during the past few days, that there is a determination to do nothing that will imperil our success in the coming elec? tion. a good word for the democratic house. The dissemination of news from every portion of the civilized world to every other portion, by telegraph, has made the correspondent a commenter upon, rather than an announcer of, events. Just at this time, Washington is the scene of rapidly succeeding incidents of vital interest to the country; and to faithfully chronicle the details of each day's news would take more space than many times the limits of a letter. Many things of importance occur to which I do not even allude; because, before my let? ter can reach you, your readers will have become familiar with the facts through the telegraph. But the telegraph can do no more than furnish brief outlines, and it is still the province of the corre? spondent to supply the substance of such information as may be of special interest to the reader. The correspondent whom you know, and upon whose truthfulness you can depend, is of special importance to your readers at this time, when it is the universal complaint of our party that the telegraph has been used against us in an attempt to create public opinion adverse to the Democratic House. No Congress has ever labored harder, or accomplished more in the same length ef time, than has the present one; yet the impression ha3 gone through the country that valuable time has been wasted, and nothing done. The work done has been, much of it, of a character that renders secrecy a necessity. And, while the House may have appeared to do little, the committees have labored incessantly, night and day. In addition to the neces? sary legislation, it has devolded upon the House to unearth and drag to the light a mass of radical rascality, official corruption aud malfeasance in office, without precedent in the history of any government. The rotten accumu? lations of fifteen years of Republican misrule are suddenly disclosed, and lie festering in the public sight. The abuses and villanies which have been covered up and winked at by the Republican majorities of previous houses, it is the duty of the present Democratic majority to uncover, and to bring the guilty offi? cials to justice. This has been so well done that there are at this time a score of investigations in progress. And the work is not yet half commenced. With all that has been disclosed, the people are not prepared for the depth of villany that will yet be brought to light. Who could have believed that men could be found so lost to all sense of honor or decency as to bury the bones of horses and mules in the national ceme? teries ; or worse, to divide one body into several parts, putting them into different graves because they were paid so much for each grave ? And yet, this has been done by men living in the very shadow of the White House, and favored with the personal friendship of Grant, him? self. "senator" spencer. There is a very evident intention on the part of the Senate Committee on Elec- ] tions, which has Spencer's case before it, to whitewash that political adventurer; and, if it is possible to suppress or reject evidence enough to render a decision in his favor possible, it will certainly be done. The evidence already given would serve to convict him before any impartial tribunal; and more testimony is coming. GENERAL SCHENCK made a very creditable appearance before the Committee of Foreign Affairs of the House yesterday; and it may be possi? ble that he has, at the most, been guilty of an indiscretion. At all events, his offence is less venal than some known to have been committed by Grant, Babcock &Co. MORE REPUBLICAN FRAUDS. The Interior Department has been filled with jobs upon which thieves, big and little, from Delano and his son, John, down to the chief clerk just dis- j missed, have fattened. The startling dis? closures of fraud in the Land Office and Indian Bureau, just brought to light, are likely to lead to the criminal indictment of several radical officials, among them ex-Commissioner Smith, of the Indian Bureau, and possibly Delano himself. Extravagance of Modern Society. BEV. T. DEWITT TALMAOE, D. D. It is absolutely necessary that we draw a line between that which is the lawful use of beautiful adornment and that ex? travagance which is the source of so much crime, wretchedness, and abomination in our day. That is sinful extravagance when you go into anything beyond your means. That which is right for one may be wrong for .another. That which is lawful expense for a queen may be sinful outlay for a duchess. That which may be economy for you with larger income may be squandering for me with smaller income. But when men and women cross over the line which separates be? tween what they can pay for, and still keep a sufficiency to meet moral obliga? tion on the one band, and, on the other hand, that extravagance which one's means cannot compass, they have passed from the innocent into the culpable.? Across that line have gone "a multitude that no man can number." We judge of what we ought to have by what other people have. If they have a sumptuous table, aud fine residence, and gay turn-out, an exquisite apparel, and brilliant surroundings, we must have tbem, irrespective of our capacity to stand the expense. We throw ourselves down iu despair because other people have a I seal skin coat, and we have an ordinary one; because others have diamonds, and -we have garnets; because others have Axminster, and we have Brussels; be? cause others have lambrequins, and we have curtains. What others have we mean to have anyhow. So there are fam? ilies hardly able to pay their rent, and in debt to every merchant in the neighbor? hood, who sport apparel inapt for their circumstances, and run bo near the shore that the first misfortune in business or the first besiegement of sickness tosses them into pauperism. There are thou? sands of families moving from neighbor? hood to neighborhood, staying long enough in each one to exhaust all their capacity to get trusted. They move away because the druggist will give no medicine, and the batcher afford them no meat, aud the bakers will give them no more bread, and the grocers will fur? nish them with no more sugar until they pay up. There are circumstances where men cannot meet their obligations. It is as honest for some men to fail as it is for other men to succeed. They do their best, and through the misfortunes of life they are thrown, and they cannot pay their debts. That is one thing; out when you go and purchase an article for which you know there is no probability of your ever making recompense, you are a villain ! Why don't you save the time of the merchant and the expense of an accountant for him ? Why don't you go down some day to his store, and when no one is looking, shoulder the ham and spare-rib, and in modest silence take them along with you ? That would be a lesser crime; for now you get not only the merchant's goods, but you get his time, and you rouse up his expectations. If you must steal, steal so it will be the least possible damage to the trader. My friends, society bas to be recon? structed on this subject; you have no right to ride in a carriage when you owe the wbeelright who furnished the landau, and the horse-dealer who provided the blooded span, and the harness-maker who caparisoned the gay steeds, and the livery-man who furnished the stabling; and the driver who Bits with resetted hat on your coach-box. I am glad to see you ride. The finer your horses and the bet? ter your carriage the belter it pleases me. But if you are in debt for the equipage, and hopelessly in debt, get down and walk like the rest of us 1 It is well to understand that it is not the absolute ne? cessities that we find ic so hard to meet, but the fictitious wants. God promises us shelter, but not a palace; and raiment, but no chinchella; and food, but no can? vas-back duck. As long as we have enough to meet the positive necessities of life, we ought tobe content until we can afford the superfluities. As soon as you see a man deliberately content that his outgo shall exceed his income, you may know he has started on the broad road to bankruptcy and moral ruin. This wholesale extravagance accounts for a great deal of depression in nation? al finances. Aggregates are made up of units, and so long as one-half of the peo? ple of this country are in debt to the other half, you cannot have a healthy financial condition. The national re? sources are drawn off, not only for useless extravagance, but for those that are posi? tively pernicious. The theatres of New York cost that city every year two mil? lions of dollars. We spend in this coun? try ninety-five millions of dollars every year for cigars and tobacco. In the United States we expend annually one thousand four hundred and eighty-three millions of dollars for rum. Now, take these facts, and is it strange that our na? tional finances are crazled ? If you have an exportation of breadstuff's four times what you have now, there would be no permanent prosperity in this country un? til people quit their sinful lavishment, and learn honest economy. This wide-spread extravagance also accounts for much of the crime. It is the source of many abscondings, bank? ruptcies, defalcations, and knaveries.? The store on Broadway and the office on Wall street are swamped by the resi? dence on Madison square. The husband and father has his craft capsized because he carries too much sail of point-lace and Ant ille guipure. That is what destroyed Xetchum, and Swartwout, and ten thou? sand men not so famous. That is what springs the leak in the merchant's money till, aud pulls down your trust compa? nies, and cracks the pistols of your sui? cides, and halts this nation oq its high career of prosperity. I arraign this mon? ster of extravagance in the sieht of all the people, and ask you to pelt it with scorn and denounce it with your anathe? ma. This wide-spread extravagance also ac? counts for much of the pauperism in the country. Who are the individuals and the families who are thrown on your charity? Who has sinned against them so that they suffer? It is often the case that their parents, or their grand-parents, had all luxuries,, lived everything up, and then died leaving their families in want. The grand-parents of these beg fare supped on Burgundy and woodcock, 'here are a great many families who have every luxury in life, yet expend every dollar that comes in, and perhaps a few dollars more, not even taking the common Christian prudence of having their lives insured. While they live all is well, but when they die their children are pitched into the street. I tell you a man has no right to die under such cir? cumstances. It is grand larceny, even his death. If a man has been industrious and economical, and has not a farthing to leave his children as he goes away from them, he has a right to put them in the bands of the Father of the Fatherless, and know they will be cared for; but if you with every comfort in life, are lavish and improvident, and then depart this life leaving your children to be hurled into pauperism, you deserve to have your bones sold to the medical museum for anatomatical specimens, the proceeds to furnish your children bread. I know the subject cuts close. I expected that some of you in high dudgeon would get up and go out. You stand it pretty well. Some of you are making a great swash in life, and after a while will die, leaving your families beggars, and you will ex? pect us ministers of the Gospel to come and stand by your coffin, and lie about your excellencies; but we will not do it. If you send for me, I will tell yon what my text will be: "He that provideth not for his own, and especially for those of bis own household, is worse than an infidel." This extravagance is becoming more and more wide-spread. A statistician has estimated that there are in New York and Brooklyn four thousand five hundred women who expend annually two thou? sand dollars each in dress. It is no rare thing when the wedding march sounds to see dragging through the aisle a bridal dress that has cost its thousand or fifteen hundred dollars. Things have come to such a pass that when we cry over sin we wipe the tears away with a hundred-and fifty dollar pocket-handkerchief. My friends, let us put ourselves in bat? tle array against this God defying extrav? agance.' Buy not those things which are frivolous, when you may after a while be in lack of the necessities. Buy not books you will never read, nor pic? tures you never study. Put not a whole month's wages into one trinket. Keep your credit good by seldom or never asking for any. Pay. Starve not a whole year so as to be able to afford one Belshazzar carnival. Do not buy a coat of many colors, and then in six months be out at the elbows. Do not pay sb much for a muffer for the neck, and be almost barefooted. Flourish not, as some I know of, in an elegant hotel with drawing-room apartments, and then van? ish in the night, not even leaving your compliments for the landlord. In the great day of fire, we will have to give an account not only for how we made our money, but how we spent it. On this cold day, when so mauy are suf? fering and there is want before us and want behind us and want on either side of us, let us quit our waste. Men and women of God. I call .upon yon to set a Christian example. .Hemember that soon you will have to leave wardrobe and equipage. I do not want you to feel on that day like the dying actress, who ordered up her casket of jewels, and her pale, dying band rolled them over, and said, "Alas! that I must give you up so soon." In that day, better have one treasure in heaven, just one, than to have the bridal trosseau of a Queen Maria Louisa, or to have sat with Caligula at a banquet which cost four hundred thou? sand dollars, or to have been carried out in a pageant with senators and princes for pall-bearers. . They who consecrate to God their time, their talents, and their all shall be held in everlasting remem? brance, while the name of the wicked shall rot._ Things We Have Noticed. We have noticed, in the beginning of every year, that the farmers are going to plant more grain and less cotton. In the fall we notice that there has been just about as much cotton and just about as much grain planted as there was the year before. We have noticed every year that the farmers are going to make provisions enough to supply themselves; but not? withstanding this, we notice that about the same number are engaged in hauling Ero vision a out of the towns, which they uy at ruinous prices. We notice every year that the country is next year going to be self-supporting; but when next year comes it is painfully evident that the country gets its support from the far West. We are told every Spring and Summer by the farmers: "Publish in your paper that the cotton crop is going to be a fail? ure," and when we smile incredulously, they tell us of the caterpillar, the boll worm, the drouth, the rust, the bad stand, and numerous other indubitable proofs that the crop must turn out a failure.? We suspect at the time that they are try? ing to create an impression through the papers that the crop will be small, so as to induce a rise in the price. But how futile is their efforts. The price of cotton is never affected by newspaper reports, and it always stays down. At the end of each year we notice that the crop reaches away along toward 4,000,000 bales, and the farmers sell for less than it costs. We notice that the farmers try every means?except the right one?to raise the price of cotton. We notice that the policy of raising a great deal of cotton and very little pro? visions causes the country to languish, and spread bankruptcy throughout the land. We notice that some of the grangers are wofully false to their profession of raising their own provisions and buying for cash; and we believe that they are the truest grangers who live at home and do not have store accounts. We notice that farmers get more ad? vice than any other class of men, and ap? parently pay less attention to it. But we notice that the advice still flows on, the supply seems inexhaustible, and as we believe it is good, we propose to con? tinue to do our snare as long as the types hold out to print it. ? Wishing to pay his friend a compli? ment a gentleman remarked: "I hear you have a-very industrious wife."? "Yes," replied the friend, with a melan? choly smile, "Bhe's never idle. She's al? ways finding something for me to do." ? The ReveUIe says there is a gentle? man in Austin who is so noted for nis re? served manners that nobody ever saw him display any.