University of South Carolina Libraries
9mmmmWM^mmmBm^mmmBWmWMMWVmmmmMmtwmMmmmBnMitmmtm SATES OF SUBSCRIPTION.?Two Dollars per annum, and One Dollak for alz months. Subscriptions are not taken for a less period than six months. Liberal deductions made to clubs of ten or ?more subscribers._ RATES OF ADVERTISING.?Out Dollar per aquare ol one inch for the first insertion, and Fifty Cents per square for subsequent insertion! less than three months. No advertisement counted less .than a squsre. Liberal contracts -will bo madewith those wishing to advertise for three, Six or twelve months. Ad? vertising by contract must bo confined to the im? mediate ousiness of the firm ox individual contrac? ting Obituary Notices exceeding fivo lines, Tributes ?of Respect, and all personal communications or matters of individual interest, will be charged for ?at advertising rates. Announcements of marriages and deaths, and notices of a religious character, are respectfully solicited, and will belBserted gratis, j BT HOYT & CO. ANDERSON. S. C, THURSDAY, MAY 11, 1876._YOL. XI-NO. 43. LEGAL ADVERTISING.?We are compelled to acquire cash payments for advertising ordered by Executors, Administrators and other fiduciaries, and herewith append the rates for the ordinaaf notices, which will only be inserted when the money comes with the order: Citations, two insertions, - - - $3.00 Estate Notices, three insertions, ? ? 2.00 Final Settlements, five insertions - - 3.00 TO CORRESPONDENTS?In order to receive attention, communications must be accompanied by the true name and address of the. writer. Re? jected manuscripts will not be returned, unless the necessary, stamps are furnished to repay the postage thereon. 49" We are not responsible for the views and opinions of our correspondents. All communications should be addressed to "Ed? itors Intelligencer," and all checks, drafts, money orders, &c., should be made payable to the order of HOYT & CO., Anderson, S. C. BERKLEY HALL. BY "LA CAROLINE." CHAPTER XVII. "And some that smile hare in their hearts, I fear, Millions of mischief." More than two years had passed away since the incidents related in the last chapter. Mrs. Maham's health having daily become more feeble, she now never left her chamber. The sorrow lines were more deeply marked upon the sweet face of Marion, and poor Harry's wore an unaltered look of care and discontent. 3?aj. Egan, ever smiling and affable, was still a constant visitor at the Hall, and people said be was affianced to the much .admired M&M Mabam. April had nearly passed away with her fitful moods of smiles and tears. The jessamine and dogwood flowers had lived out their short existence and given place to the more tender and not less attractive floral beau? ties of the advancing Spring. The air was ladened with their riebest fragrance, and the gardens and woodlands, of Berk? ley could boast each morning of some fresh loveliness. It was the hist week of the month, and one of the brightest days of the week, that we again introduce oar reader into - the old parlor at Berkley Hall. By one of the open windows, and the only in? mate of the room, sat little Jessie Fer? guson. Upon her lap lay some freshly gathered roses, which she was idly pull? ing to pieces. From her long, black lashes one large tear after another dropped slowly upon the rudely bandied flowers. A abort time elapsed; a light footstep entered the room, and a loving arm was around the sorrowing girl: "0, Jessie, what is the matter? are you sick?" "Bodily, no; bat, oh I Marion, so sick at heart." And Jessie, burying her face in her friend's lap, found relief for her long pent up grief in her sweet sympa? thy. "The possessor of Harry's love, what great ache can your heart have?" said Marion, smoothing fondly with her hand the tangled carls,of the beautiful head. "Marion, is it possible that you have not observed the great change in Harry ? 0, he. is not the Harry of the happy, happy past! If I believed in wizards and those kind of things, I would think 1 some wicked geni had transformed him. He avoids being alone with me, and even speaks angrily sometimes. But after one of those bursts of anger, he looks so very much distressed and so humble. Poor, poor Harry! I know he has some great trouble! 0, Marion I what ought we to do?" ; "Leave him alone, and pray for him." said Marion, sadly. "Leave him to suffer alone! that seems so cruel!" exclaimed Jessie, re? proachfully. "I think he would prefer it, Jessie. When Harry, wants our sympathy he will seek it, for he knows well enough how much we love him. But Jessie, do you know that I think a real evil spirit? not a mythical being, not a wicked geni ?has found its way into our Eden. But Jess, we must remember that we are cau? tioned to be 'wise as serpents' as well as 'harmless as doves.' Then, let us keep our own counsel and always meet dear Harry with cheerfulness and love." Jessie raised her head while Marion was speaking, and when she finished she exclaimed: "Does our wicked geni wear the form of-?" but heeding Marion's cautioning look, the name was whispered in her friend's ear. Marion bowed her head in grave acquiescence. A long silence followed, broken again by Jessie: "Everybody and everything seems to be doing and getting wrong! I feel an itching desire to pitch in and straighten all out, but I don't know where to begin, for everybody's actions, or rather the spring of their actions, are enveloped in mystery. There is Arthur, he must go to Louisville instead of staying in Charleston to study medicine. Well, he graduated with flying colors, and just when we, as proud and happy as we could have been, were looking for him to come home, ancle received an elo? quent letter of thanks for the gift of his profession, and also the liberal check be bad sent him. A part of the check,' he writes, 'I have invested in a horse called 'Santee,' and will start in a few days for the 'Great West' to look out tor a spot to locate and put up 'my shingle.'' The naming of his horse was the only thing in the whole letter which expressed a lingering fondness of home and home scenes. I really think 'going West' is a perfect humbug! and Arthur mast have found it so, too, for he has been gone more than a year, and has not located yet, and 'Santee' and himself have trod the soil of every State and Territory from the great 'Father of Waters' to the Pacific coast, and from the northern limits of the United States of America to the Gulf of Mexico." "Have you heard from Arthur recent? ly ?" asked Marion. "About three weeks ago he wrote that he intended making bis way borne some time this spring or summer. So, I sup? pose, he may pop in on us at any time. I do wish he would come and play the role I have marked out for him ever since I was a little girl!" "And what is that?" "Marry you, and you and he settle down to a quiet every-day life like other people. After all, that sort of life is the happiest. It does well enough to have a few difficulties in the beginning of love making just for the sake of a little ro? mance, bat too many makes one feel old and sad;" and Jessie sighed wearily. "But, Marion, do you never hear any? thing of Hubert Gray now?" "Never 1" was the laconic reply. "Well, that is another mystery. Just like a Yank; he pretended to think so much of you all at first, and wrote so often to each member of the family. I think it is hypocrisy for people to act in that way. He does not even send his paper?his 'Standard of Liberty'?does he?" "No, the paper has stopped coming. But Jessie, I am sure that Col. Gray is no hypocrite; he never pretended, but really felt kindly to us. You know, you cannot surely have forgotten the obliga? tions we are under to him. "We ought to trust our friends, and judge them kindly. Since the close of the war Col. Gray has taken a noble and independent stand, and every one says his paper is fearlessly and honestly conducted, and worthy of its title?'The Standard of Liberty.' We ought to feel glad, too, when Northerners make a bold stand for the liberties of the people. It will help our cause, for cur's, you know, is the cause of the country." x"Well, you always did like Hubert Gray, and if he were a noble Confed,.I would quake for my pet match! But I am not afraid of any Yank living, even if he wears the handsome form and face of Hubert Gray, and is backed by the high-sounding title of 'Our Protector,' which you are so fond of conferring on him. But here comes the mail bag I" and Jessie seized the bag and glancing rapidly over its contents, threw a bundle of papers on Marion's lap, and ran out of the room exclaiming: "A letter from Arthur! I must read it to cousin Alice!" With trembling hands Marion selected one with whose type and general appear? ance she seemed familiar?"The Stand? ard of Liberty." Eagerly with brighten? ing eyes and flushed cheeks she read its pages, and often the red lips would part, and a sweet smile of sympathy and ap? proval would illumine her features as her heart answered the editor's in some noble sentiment eloquently expressed. But suddenly a cry of pain escaped her lips, a deadly pallor had robbed her cheeks of its joyous flush, and her eyes with a look of anguish seemed riveted upon a marriage notice. The one low cry of pain was followed by a deep hush, which was after some time broken by a clear and unsympatiz Ing voice which spoke over her shoulder: "You have received painful intelligence, Miss Marion." Startled even to alarm, Marion arose hastily from her seat, and turning around encountered the cold and sneering face of Richard Egan, which still wore an unvarying but now unpleas? ant smile. In a moment Marion realized that Richard Egan had been sometime in the room; had been reading the paper over her shoulder; had witnessed her emo? tion, and had possibly guessed its cause. A bright blush of maidenly shame man? tled her cheek and brow, even coloring her delicate throat, but with admirable self-command and quiet dignity, she re? plied: "The happiness of our friends should give us pleasure, not pain. I have just read the marriage notice of our esteemed friend, Col. Hubert Gray." A scornful smile flitted over the face of Maj. Egan as he said: "It is strange in the expression of deep feeling how like can be the notes of intense joy or bitter grief. I could have sworn that the cry which burst from your lips a few moments since was one of heart broken anguish. But"?and in the clear voice was a ring of mocking malice?"your face is certainly as unruffled as some smooth lake, whose placid surface is undisturbed even by a ripple. But are you quite sure, Marion Maham, that the weal or woe of Col. Gray affects you in the same ratio as that of other and ordi? nary friends? Answer truly, is Hubert Gray but an ordinary friend?" Marion lifted her head haughtily, her eyes flashed angrily, but she again an? swered calmly: "In truth, Col. Gray (as you well know) is not an ordinary friend of our family, and therefore our esteem is not of an ordinary kind. But unless Maj. Egan can prove his right to ask impertinent questions, I must decline answering any more of them." With a quiet smile and a ceremonious bow, Marion turned to leave the room, but Richard Egan passionately and almost roughly placed a detaining hand upon her arm, while every feature glowed with anger. "Haughty girl I and so you think to foil me by your flimsy evasions, and your well-feigned calmness. But I know, and have known for two years, that you love Hubert Gray I To-day I listened while my heart burned with envy as you spoke of my hated rival words of commenda? tion, I would have given worlds to have heard coupled with my name! for al? though your speech was calm and your words would pass for friendship's coin, in their ring was love's soft monotone. Yes, you love Hubert Gray! I saw your look of anguish, I heard your cry of pain, when you felt that he was lost to you forever 1 Marion," and here his voice became soft and pleading, "even as you love Hubert Gray; aye, more, a thousand times more passionately do I love you! Be mine, Marion, and so diligent a pupil will I become in sweet love's lore, that I will soon woo you to forget my faithless rival. You well know how long and how truly I have loved you! For two long years I have borne your coquetry and your frowns, and I have watched and waited for your smiles as only true fond lovers do. Then, say, have I no right to question the cause of your heart's emotions, since mine wear your fetters?" "Maj. Egan," said Marion, gravely, "you must do me the justice to admit that I have never encouraged your ad? dresses, and am therefore clear of your charge of coquetry. Indeed, you well know that I have repeatedly begged you to desist your attentions. I fully appre? ciated the honor you would confer upon me, but I do not, and can never recipro? cate your affection." "Can not I You mean that you will not!" cried Maj. Egan angrily and rudely. "Well, then, I will not /" said Marion, coldly. "This interview is to me both painful and annoying, and with your permission I will retire," and she endeav? ored to pass around him as he stood be? tween herself and the door. "No, proud girl, you shall hear me I I have loved you with a devotion which shames my manhood. I would have wooed and won you as women love to be won. But it may not be. You have scorned my proffered love, casting it from you as a thing of naught. But you shall be mine. For this hour of sorrow to you, of triumph to me, I have labored and watched for years, and it shall not be in vain. Know, then, that I possess the power to make you mine! The honor of the proud Mabams is at stake! When next we meet you will acknowledge my power, and Marion Maham will then have become the suitor to Bicbard Egan!" "Coward to threaten a woman! I defy you I" With these brave words Marion raised her head proudly and met from I Maj. Egan such a look of mingled tri? umph, rage and scorn, that the flush of pride faded from her cheek, and the I words, "the honor of the Mabams is at stake," ringing in her ears, called up the image of Harry. An undefined and hor? rible fear seized her, and forgetting her pride, her scorn and her anger, she wrung her bands, and lifting her eyes pleadingly to the face of her tormentor in a voice of agony she cried: "Harry, my poor Harry! 0, have mercy, Maj, Egan! have pity on my poor mother!"" A mocking, ceremonious bow was his only reply, and Maj. Egan was gone. "Have mercy 1" she tried again to say, but her head reeled and she fell heavily upon the floor, completely overcome by her fears, and the many other painful and exciting emotions which had stirred her whole being. Dr. St Julien in pass? ing through the hall heard the fall, and entering the parlor to enquire the cause of the unusual noise, he was greatly shocked and grieved to find his young favorite lying senseless npon the floor, and npon her pale features an expression of agony seemed chiseled. "My poor child," said the Doctor ten? derly, placing his arm under her head, "what can have brought you to this sad plight? what can have brought that look of anguish to your sweet, young face?" But not even an answering look did the pale face return. The Doctor, not wishing to alarm Mrs. Maham, laid her head back softly on the floor, and going out called Jessie to his aid. They placed her tenderly in bed, chafed her bands, and bathed her head and temples for nearly a half hour before she showed any signs of consciousness. Harry coming into the house soon after Dr. St. Julien had taken her to her chamber, and learning from a little negro whom he met in the hall that "Missie Ma-yon is died!" rushed into the room in great alarm, and exclaimed: "Where is Marion? where is my sister! 0, Doctor, can't you save our Marion?" The girl seemed called back to life by the loved familiar tones, opening her eyes slowly, she said wearily, "0, Harry, is it you? I am so glad! I have had such a horrible dream?a terrible night? mare !" She then closed her eyes, and became apparently inanimate again. Bat after several minutes she opened her eyes again, stared wildly around her, and screaming: "Harry, Harry, save Harry!" She then became perfectly delirious, sometimes pleading in tones of anguish for Harry's safety, then, suddenly chang? ing, she would proudly defy the world to breathe one word of reproach touching the honor of her "dear Harry, her brave soldier, her noble 'Coeur de Lion V " Vainly did Harry, (who listened with the deepest sorrow and self-reproach to his sister's ravings) endeavor to soothe her by assuring her that he was by her side perfectly safe and well. His voice only seemed to aggravate ber fears, and in terror she would exclaim: "0, go, go! get out of his way! The evil man pur? sues you! Oh, Harry, Harry, he seeks your honor and your soul!" Dr. St. Julien finally insisted upon Harry's leaving the room; "for," he said, "it is evident, Harry, that your presence recalls some horrible dream or disordered fancy, and I fear for her reason." The Doctor then administered an opiate, and he himself watched by his patient, hu? moring and soothing her fears with ten? der forbearance, until the anguished ex? pression of her face had given place to a look of patient sorrow, and she had fallen into a calm sleep. Marion slept until daylight, and when she awoke, Jessie, who had taken the Doctor's place, and was watching anx? iously beside her, was greatly relieved to perceive that she was perfectly rational, although her first question was for Harry. "Harry is quite well, but you have been very sick, Marion, and uncle says you must not talk at all. So you see I am under orders." "0, but I must," said Marion, who had almost instantly upon waking up recalled the interview in the parlor with Maj. Egan. "I must see and talk to Harry," and excitedly rising from her pillow, she attempted to get up, but fell back over? come by the faintness which is frequently the after-effect of opiates. Jessie, greatly alarmed, called the Doctor, and Marion, after much earnest persuasion, obtained from him a promise that she would be permitted to speak to Harry when she had been refreshed with a cup of strong coffee. Harry was pale and much agitated as he stooped to kiss his sister good-morn? ing. In a moment her arms were around him, and she exclaimed entreatingly: "0, Harry, dear Harry, tell me all !? Why are you so unhappy ? and oh, tell me, I beseech you, by what power Maj. Egan controls you and threaten's me I Brother, brother, do not ask me to marry that wicked man! Anything else, any? thing, I would even die for you, my Harry!" "And did Dick Egan dare to threaten you?" asked Harry, his eyes flashing, and his whole frame trembling with anger; "he shall account to me for it, if I am sold to him body and soul!" "0, Harry, Harry! do not say you are sold to that dreadful man! Tell me all ? tell me quickly, or I will go crazy !" "Hush, hush, sweet sister," said Harry, soothingly, "I will not tell you anything if you look so wildly at me." Then, as briefly as possible, he told, as the reader already knows, the story of the borrowed money and the mortgage of Berkley Hall. "And now," he said, "the money borrowed is due, and I have it not to return. Egan can foreclose the mortgage in June, and proposes to do so unless you will promise to marry him. He thinks you will marry him sooner than have the old place sold." "And is that all!" said Marion, with a sigh of relief. "All, Marion 1 yes truly it is all; and how much worse could it be ?" said Har? ry, gazing upon his sister in amazement. "It is very unfortunate. But, oh 1 Harry, I thought it was something dis? graceful. To give up the old place will make us very, very sad, but many others have had to part with their loved homes, and we will be rich in each other's love ; and, oh! Maj. Egan said the honor of the Mahams was at stake." "And so it is," said Harry, bitterly, "the last Maham, like a cowardly pol? troon, shirking his heaven-assigned work, upon a foolish throw has risked and lost the home of his fathers I But that is not the worst. In the eyes of the world I will be a common defrauder. The mort? gage is worthless, because I did not ob? tain your and my mother's consent, and although Egan was not deceived, he threatens to hold me up to the public scorn as a treacherous friend and a faith? less son and brother. He will press the mortgage, valueless as he knows it to be, to stain the name of Maham, unless you will promise to marry him. He urged me to persuade you, but I told him I would not be such a villain as to ask my sister to sacrifice her affections for my welfare. No, not if it saves my neck from the gallows! Egan told me you had rejected him with scorn, and he left Berkley Hall yesterday in a passion. But I did not know he had offered you threats. The coward 1" "Thank you, dear Harry, for your love. I knew my brother could not act dishon? orably. Dear mamma and I will, of course, yield our claims to the property, and then no suspicion of dishonor can rest upon you. After all, we were a party in your risk; had you succeeded, we, too, would have been gainers, and it is but right we should share your loss. We will, of course, shed a few natural tears over the dear old house and its sweet, sweet memories, but both you and I are young, and can work for dear mam? ma, and it will be. such a pleasure to care for her." "Ah, that is the bitter drop!" ex? claimed poor Harry, "that I, her only son, her protector, should have robbed my poor mother of her all?her home! No, no, Marion, it cannot be! mamma must never know anything about it. The disgrace is mine, I have merited and I must bear it. That poor pitiful thing, a moral coward, I will not consent to be. I will meet the finger of scorn; mamma must be spared." "0, Harry, you can never be yourself until you are freed from Maj. Egan's in? fluence. I will undertake to tell your whole story to dear mamma in such a way that her grief in parting with Berk? ley Hall will be swallowed up in an inex? pressible thankfulness that her children have escaped the snare laid for their unwary feet." "Thank you, Marie," said Harry, kiss? ing his sister, "you have always, even when we were children, tried to bear my sorrows and cover my faults, and I fear you have spoiled me. I don't think I can agree to your plans. To me they seem very selfish. But," he continued, seeing that Marion looked disappointed, "we will talk of it another time. With such a mother and sister I cannot stray far." "And such a sweetheart!" interposed Marion. "Now go, dear Harry, and make a clear breast to Jessie. Poor little thing, she has been grieving sadly over your moody looks and ways. She has even imagined that you had become weary of her love. Only yesterday she said: 'Ah! Marion if I only knew how to do it, I would release dear Harry from his engagement. People, I have heard, do make mistakes sometimes, and he and I have always lived in such affectionate and familiar intercourse, it is natural Harry should have thought he loved until he found out he loves some one else better. And you know I am not as pretty as a great many of the girls. But, oh! Marie, I could, indeed, I could, give j him up to make him happy!' and then the poor little thing swallowed a great big sob." "Jessie not pretty!" said Harry, "why she is the prettiest and most graceful little creature I ever saw! I would like to see the girl who can compare with her on a horse! Poor little darling," he con? tinued, somewhat sadly; "I have in truth been a rough bear, lately, and will have to go over my courting days to con? vince my little lady that she, and she only reigns 'queen of my heart.'" "And now go," said Marion, "to Jessie, and I will go to convince dear mamma that I am not seriously sick. TO BE CONTINUED. From the Abbeville Medium. PEN PICTURES OF THE PRESS. A. A. GILBERT. A. A. Gilbert is one of the most pleas? ant and agreeable gentlemen we have ever met, and for more than a quarter of a century has been closely identified with the journalism of South Carolina either as a compositor or as an editor and pub? lisher in nis own right. He hails from Sumter, and is the editor-in-chief of the Sumter Watchman, one of the most in? fluential newspapers in the State, and a fair index of the conservative sentiment of the section in which it is published. At the organization of the State Press Association in May, 1875, Mr. Gilbert took an active and important part, and was unanimously elected Recording Sec? retary of the Association. Mr. Gilbert was born at Walterboro', Colleton county, South Carolina, on November 19th, 1829, and is now in the forty-seventh year of his age. He is a direct descendant of that band of hardy and adventurous spirits who, taking their lives in their own hands, braved the storms and tempests of the wide Atlantic and landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, his paternal ancestor making one of the passengers and crew of the Mayflower. Hi3 father was a native of New Haven, in the good old State of Connecticut, re? moved to South Carolina in bis early youth and settled at Walterboro', where he was married to Elizabeth Thornton, and to which union the subject of this sketch was born. Elizabeth Thornton, the mother of Mr. Gilbert, was connected by a direct line of descent with the old English Thornton family, now so widely known throughout the world. Mr. Gil? bert now has in bis possession a family tree, with its trunk and branches, wrought by his mother's hand, which traces this connection back from his own household to the landing of John and Thomas Thornton at Boston in 1662, and from there back to the first establishment of the family in England. This tree contains the names of all the several branches of the family, with birth, mar? riage and depth dates, the collection of which data formed the work of Mrs. Gil? bert's lifetime, and which she succeeded in completing only a few weeks before her death, which occurred about four or five years since. There is a good deal in "blood," the oipolloi to the contrary not? withstanding. Mr. Gilbert was christened in the old Presbyterian church at Walterboro', when a small boy, by the father of the distinguished Dr. B. M. Palmer, of New Orleans. His father's resources being limited he did not enjoy the advantages of a first-class collegiate education. He was put to school at the Walterboro' Academy, which from 1835 to 1840 was one of the most famous schools in that part of the State, and which received a generous and rather extensive patronage from all of the surrounding parishes. It was here that young Gilbert received his first mental instruction, and it is said that he was a most earnest and devoted student. He was quick to learn, and had an expansive mind and a retentive mem? ory. The death of his father in 1841 sadly interfered with his progress at school, and forced him to a partial aban? donment of his books to look after the welfare of a family of six almost helpless children, whose support mainly devolved upon him for a number of years. Mr. Gilbert's first connection with the press was an employee in the office of the Southern Chronicle at Columbia, it being under the editorial charge of Sam? uel Weir, and the only Whig paper ever Sublished in South Carolina. Here Mr. rilbert received his first lessons in the art of printing, and acquired that taste for journalistic work which induced him to make it his fixed and single employ? ment for life. In 1850 he began the publication of the Watchman at Sumter, and issued the first number of that paper on April 29th. This venture proved eminently successful, and has held up manfully against a hundred reverses since its first establishment. In 1865 the paper was suspended for about six months, on account of the depredations of Potter's colored raiders, who visited Sumter and destroyed the office and fix? tures of the Watchman. This was in April, 1865, when money was scarce and the country was rent ana torn by the re? sults of the war, but such was the indom? itable energy and perseverance of Mr. Gilbert that he had his paper on its legs again, and tried to educate the people to the changed condition of things and the necessities of the situation. He advo? cated the acceptance of the results of the war in good faith, and argued that quiet submission to the United States Govern? ment did not necessarily destroy loyalty to the State. He had been to the front, had fought the Yankees for three years, and knew the folly and sin of longer re? sistance. He favored a strictly conserva? tive policy on the part of the people, and has Kept this one idea steadily in view in the conduct of his newspaper ever since the war, and has been so persistent in behalf of peace and reconciliation that he has been severely censured by many of the extreme men on both sides of the political fence. He feels a death? less interest in the welfare of the State in all her interests, and while many good men may differ with him in their notions of "policy," his patriotism has been ?roved, and he is jiow above reproach, [r. Gilbert belongs "to that excellent class of gentlemen who went into the war and stayed there, and has an army record of which he may well be proud. He entered the Confederate Service as senior First Lieutenant of the Washing Light Artillery, one of the most chival? rous and best drilled corps sent out by this State. He enlisted in June, 1862. and continued in service until the final surrender at Greensboro', North Carolina, in May, 1865. In the early part of his service Mr. Gilbert was stationed at Battery Wagner, in Charleston Harbor, and took part in repelling several of the most terrible assaults made on that de? fence. He fought his guns with despe? rate courage, and behaved himself with the greatest gallantry. He was a long while in service on James' Island, and from there along the line of our coast de? fences to Savannah, Georgia. He took Eart in the fiercely fought battle of [oney Hill, near Graharaville, where the Arsenal boys, under General Chest? nut, behaved so well. In this battle Mr. Gilbert's gallantry was conspicuous. He was everywhere present, ana encouraged his men by his own courageous chivalry. He was at the fall of Savannah, and re? treated from thence to Charleston by a most perilous line of march. From Charleston the retreat was continued across the Pee Dee into North Carolina to Greensboro', where the last surrender took place. This retreat was most peril? ous'and exhaustive. It was continued for eight or ten weeks, through a country poorly supplied with provisions and provender, in the face of a foe vastly superior in numbers and flushed with victory, and was an almost constant suc? cession of surprises and assaults. It was in this most trying period of his army life that Mr. Gilbert's fitness to command came out most distinctly. He was always at his post, kept his command well together and his guns in fighting trim. At the Greensboro' surrender as lieutenant commanding, and' the only commissioned officer with the Battery, he surrendered one hundred men, two twenty pound Napoleon guns, two twelve pound Howitzers, with equipments com? plete and everything in fighting order. His battery was the last to surrender, the most of the others, about eighty in num? ber under General Johnson, being in a demoralized condition. Without com? plement of men or horses enough to carry them to Greensboro' they were left in the camps. Mr. Gilbert's account of the surrender, and the feelings that over owered him when he went out on the eld to give up his guns, is touching. The fate that overtook him was inexora? ble?there was no escape and he had to face it. When he gave up the guns he had fought so manfully for so many years and turned his back upon them forever he could not restrain himself and gave way to tears. He surrendered, was aroled and returned to his home, and egan the work of repairing his wasted fortune. Mr. Gilbert has taken an influential part in the politics of his county since the war, and in 1865 was elected to the Legislature from Sumter county at the head of the ticket. He served in that body through two regular and two extra sessions, and always voted with the right side. He has an impressive way of telling what he knows, and during his legislative career did some excellent work. Better than all this, Mr. Gilbert is a consistent Christian of 'the Methodist persuasion, and is one of the useful and prominent members of that great body in this State. In December, 1869, he was elected by the South Carolina Con? ference a lay member of the General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, which met at Memphis, Tennessee, in May, 1870, this being the first session of that body after the laity were admitted to representation. He was again elected delegate to the Gen? eral Conference which met at Louisville, Kentucky, in 1874. He has been a lay member of the South Carolina Annual Conference since 1867, when the laity were first given the right of representa? tion, and a member of all the district conferences within the same time, and attended each and every one of them with but a. single exception. He has been a steward in the Methodist church at Sumter for twenty years, and the superintendent of the Sabbath-school connected with that church for ten years. For eight or ten years Mr. Gilbert has been laboring to improve the financial operations of the Southern Methodist church, and more especially of South Carolina Methodism. Upon this subject he has spoken frequently and eloquent? ly in the general, annual and district conferences, as well as in) the meetings of his own church and among his own people. He thinks that the prosperity of the church depends almost entirely upon the liberality and promptness of the members in paying tithes. He urges a more liberal, a giving spirit on the part of all true Christians, and by his persist? ent and unremitting labor in this behalf has had the gratification of seeing the contributions of his own church increase at least fifty per cent. The prosperity of the church is necessary to the welfare of society and the growth of the country, and so long as men refuse to aid in the spread of the Gospel by giving liberally of their means they stand in the way of any permanent good to the State. Mr. Gilbert was married in Sumter county on February 14, 1850, to Sarah Ellen Flowers, a superior woman, who still lives. Take him all in all, Mr. Gilbert is a most excellent gentleman. He is con? servative in sentiment and life, and de? voted to country. Arithmetic That Was Mistaken.. A farmer in Maine, who had a large corn field, in which the grain was just sprouting above the soil, was greatly an? noyed by the depredations of crows, which used to congregate in great num? bers in a clump of trees near the bounda? ry wall, and, after vociferously talking the matter over for a while, swoop down among the spreading rows. This was some years ago, before farmers and others had learned that the crow more than pays his board by destroying the insects, which are much more expensive pensioners upon the agriculturist than crows; and the farmer vowed vengeance upon the corn pullers, and laid in wait for them often and long without success. In the centre of the corn-fieM was a small board shanty, and the farmer noticed that whenever he was in this building, although he was quite concealed from the crows, they would never come down to be shot. As soon as he left the field, however, they would come down by hun? dreds. They could evidently count one. The idea occurred to him to test their further skill in mathematics. The next day he took his son into the shanty, and after a long time sent him home, think? ing that after the crows had seen one person leave the field they would suppose the danger past, and come down. But they wisely kept aloof, and not until after be had himself started for home did they venture to alight in the corn. The next day he tcok two persons with him, with the same result; first one person left the field, then another, the crows cawing their approval, but remain I ing in their safe position, and not until a third person had been seen to depart, from the field would the cunning crea? tures trust themselves within gunshot of h the little building. The next day half a dozen persons entered it. Presently one i of them went back across the field. The crows mentioned the fact among them? selves, but kept their distance among the trees. Another person went away, with j the same result. Directly a third emerged from the building and disap peared. The unhappy crows, having] reached the end of their mathematical rope, came down in platoons to their de ferred breakfast, unaware of the three armed enemies still remaining in the building, who at once opened fire upon j the poor birds, whose great misfortune was that they were unable to count more than three. This experiment was tried repeatedly, j with six, seven, and eight persons; but the crows never failed to take the posi? tion that there could be no more than three, and when three departed they in? variably descended to their doom. ? Dr. Lyman Beecher once said: "A great many professed Christians have no other idea of religion than that it is the meaus of getting to Heaven when they die. As to doing anything for God while they live, it does not enter into their plans. I tell you, my brethren, I do not believe there is one in five hun? dred of such professors that will reach Heaven ; for there is a magnanimity in true religion that is above all such con? temptible meanness." ? The Madison Home Journal tells this: A Morgan county farmer, who could not buy provisions on time, got guano on credit without any trouble, sold it for cash at reduced prices, and now his larder is full and he has some spare chango yet on hand. WHY LINCOLN WAS ASSASSINATED. How John WLikes Booth Avenged the Hanging of his Friend, John Y. Beal. From Pomeroys Democrat, Among the chosen friends of John Wilkes Booth's boyhood was a dashing, chivalrous young man named John Y. Beal, whose home was in the beautiful Shenandoab Valley not far from Winches? ter. Damon and Pythias were not more attached to each other than were Booth and Beal. Beal was Southern in his sympathies, and planned raids on Northern cities, and at last was captured at or near Buffalo, tried for piracy on the Northern lakes, and sentenced to be banged on Bedloe's Island. One afternoon, in the city of Washing? ton, while Beal was ander sentence of | death, there alighted from the carriage two men, who walked into the room oc? cupied by Washington McLean of Cin? cinnati, who was at the time in Wash? ington in the interest of his business ? These men who called were Senator Hale of New Hampshire and John Wilkes Booth. Booth was anxious to save the life of Beal, his chum and confidential personal friend. He bad interested Mr. Hale in his behalf. They importuned McLean to go with tbem to the President, as a Democrat?as a friend of Booth?as a man who had much influence with Mr. Lincoln, and to vouch with Mr. Hale for any promises Booth might make in return for this great favor to him. After a protracted interview. McLean accompanied Hale and Booth in a carriage to the residence of John W. Forney, who was then in bed, the hour being late. Forney was awakened from his sleep and told the ob? ject of his call. His sympathies were enlisted, as he was always ready to serve his friends. It was an hour or more past midnight when Hale, Forney, McLean and Booth were driven to the White House. The guard, at the request of Forney, admit? ted the carriage to the grounds. Mr? Lincoln was called from his sleep and there in the dead of night, he sat and listened to the prayers of Booth and the endorsements of those who came with him to ask the favor of Executive clem? ency. This interview lasted till 4 in the morn? ing. It was one of tears, prayers and peti? tions. There was not a dry eye in the I room as Booth knelt at the feet of Lin? coln, clasped his knees with his hands, and begged him to spare the life of one man?a personal friend who in serving the ones he loved, had come to the door [ of death. Booth told all. He told how, long be? fore, in a fit of passion to do some oold deed, he had jomed in a conspiracy to abduct the president and to hold him as a hostage for the release of certain milita? ry prisoners who were Booth's friends, and who, it was thought, were to be shot He told of the meetings they had held at I the house of Mrs. Sorratt, and all of the plans had fallen to the ground long before. He offered his services at any time and in any place or capacity, free of cost and fearless of consequences.? The eminent gentlemen who were there with him joined in the request that the Srayer of Booth be granted, and that ;eal should be pardoned. At last President Lincoln, with tears streaming down his face, took Booth by the hands, bade him rise and stand like a man. and gave him his promise that Beal should be pardoned. He asked the party to depart that he might gain rest for the work of the morrow, and said that the official document that they asked for shonld be forwarded at once to to United States Marshal Robert Murray in New York, and through him to the officers charged with the execution of Beal. After breakfast Lincoln informed Sew ard, Secretary of State, what he had done or promised to do. Seward said that it must not be: that public sentiment in the North demanded that Beal should be hung. He declared that to pardon Beal would discourage enlistments, lengthen the war, and insult the sentiment that called for blood. He chided Lincoln for making such promises without asking the advice of bis Cabinet, or advising with himself, Seward, on State policy. As the argument grew contentious, Sew? ard declared that if the conduct of the war was to be trifled with by appeals for bu? rn anity he should go out or the Cabinet I and use his influence against the Presi? dent, and should charge nim with being in sympathy with the . South. Lincoln yielded and Beal was executed. The re? action on Lincoln's nervous system was such that for days he was far from well. The effect on Booth was terrible. He raved like a madman, and in his frenzy swore that Lincoln and Seward should both pay for the grief and agony he bad been put to. From the death of Beal, Booth, brooded vengeance for that which he considered a personal affront. His rage took in Seward, and be engaged Harold, Atserodt and others to avenge Beal's death by killing Seward, while he, Booth, wreaked human vengeance on the President. At last came the hour. Booth killed Lincoln. His friends and the relatives or avengers of Beal tried their best to kill Seward, and when they left him j I stabbed, bleeding, and limp as a cloth, as he rolled over behind the bed whereon they found him, they supposed their work was completely done. Our story is told. We have given the truth of history, and told exactly why Abraham Lincoln, the humane President of the United States, was killed. "Criminal Intent."?A man about fifty-five years old, having red hair and whiskers, took a liking to a woman in Detroit, says the Free Frese, and after an hour's conversation, made her an offer of marriage, explaining that he was a widow? er, and worth four or five thousand dol? lars. Thinking to have some fun at his expense, the woman replied that she would talk to him if he would go and have his hair and whiskers dyed. He joyfully trotted away, and a barber made the change. It was a sick change, and when the old man returned to the mar? ket, the women up there laughed till the tears fell. * "Are you making fun of me?" serious? ly inquired the widower. "On! what a man?oh! where's the fool killer?" shouted the female who had promised to be his own true love. When he discovered that she had been trifling with his feelings he went down to the central station and told his story. "Look at this job!" he shouted, point? ing to bis hair and whiskers. "Where's my twelve shillings gone!" The captain replied that he had better go away and not make a fuss, but the old man was aroused, and he footed it to the police court, and was last seen sitting on the edge of a crippled caneseat chair and demanding of the clerk: "I will have a warrant! It's criminal intent, I tell you, and somebody's got to suffer!" ? This iB the season of the year when a man wonders whether he will have his hair cut or wait till he won't catch cold. LIGHTNING AND THUNDERSTORM. Some Interesting Facts and Theories from Rev. Dr. Harrison. Editors Atlanta Constitution: Apropos of storms and electricity, will you permit me to answer, through your columns, a number of inquiries ? As you are, in some sort, responsible for the questions propounded to me, I feel sure that you will allow me a little space for a general reply. It is highly probable that this spring and summer will be as remarkable for thunderstorms and vivid displays of elec? tricity, as last summer was for tornadoes and cyclones. As all storm-movements are cycloid, many persons will confound a local thunderstorm with a genuine cyclone, and in some instances the imme? diate results are not leas disastrous. A few precautions can be observed by aU persons, and I write simply to call atten? tion to these. An imperfect lightning rod on a build? ing is vastly worse than none. If the ground connections are broken, or, which often amounts to nearly the same thing, if the connection with the earth is so shallow, as to bear the base of the rod in a dry dust the electric point will attract the fluid only to disperse it, if a shorter, more direct route to the moist earth can be found. The base of the rod should lie in all instances'below the frost Hoe, to meet and preserve a moist connection with the great reservoir. Some buildings having apparently good lightning rods have been strack by lightning, the rea? son, I think, will be found in the sugges? tion just made. The insulation of the rod from the roof and sides of the building is not necessary, but I think it is advisable, for reasons which I presume I need not give, as the practice of insulation is general. On the approach of a black, sullen cloud, especially when the atmosphere has been sultry and oppressive to the lungs, there will generally be noticed a cool breeze, the forerunner of the gale and the rain. At the first onset of this cool breeze, open the windows and doors of the house as wide as possible?all the windows and doors if practicable?that the electric fluid inside the house may be mingled with that of the atmosphere without. Many persons are accustomed to do the very opposite. They close win? dows and doors, and consequently the air-draft up the chimney sends a spire of electricity to draw the bolt from the upper regions of the air. .Hence, our chimney flues are the usual scene of dam? age by electricity. As soon as the ? equilibrium of the at? mosphere within ana without the house is established, then close the windows and the doors. Beware of keeping open a current way for the storm, in hall and passageways. People in the country should- beware of taking refuge in barns -.where' large quantities of hay and dry fodder are stored. The lack of ventilation in these buildings render them, for reasons 'given above, more liable to be struck by light? ning than any others. . .. - ? Trees which overhang streams of water, such as rivulets and brooks, are always dangerous in thunderstorms. It is not always the highest tree which is struck by lightning, but the one that is in the most direct path to water, whether the water is above or below the surface. Subterranean water currents have caused the destruction of many trees. In cities, the frequent ventilation of cellars in hot weather is advisable. A magazine of fixed electricity is a dan? gerous possession at any period of the year. Pure air in the bed chamber is essential to health, and the electrical equipoise outside and inside of the build? ing will prevent, as far as human wisdom can prevent, the destruction of life by lightning. A solitary tree ia a large field or plain is a dangerous shelter in a thunderstorm. Better get thoroughly out than to cross the path of the lightning, i If a genuine cyclone approaches, or a sure storm, the best refuge is a -cellar underground. That may not always fur? nish protection, bat nothing else will. Above all, let as commit ourselves, at all times into the hands of the gracious Providence, whose ministers the storms and the lightnings are. A storm may ward off an epidemic; let us not mur? mur, if we cannot understand, the ways of Him who inhabrteth eternity. He who often speaks in our day, as in that of Job, out of the whirlwind, has no other purpose now than He bad then,' to re? prove, to rebuke, but also to bless our race. Pass On, Pass On!?"In nine cases out of ten, the better course is, if a man cheats you, cease to deal with him; if he is abusive, quit his company; and if he slan? ders you, take care to live so that nobody will believe him. -No matter who is, or how he misuses you, the wisest way is to let him alone; for there is nothing better than this cool, calm and quiet way of dealing with the wrongs we meet with. Liesnnchased will die; fires unfanned will burn out; and quarrels neglected become as dull as the crater of an ex? tinct volcano. IT you resist evil, and claim your rights, and fight to have justice done you, you may keep yourself in a perpet? ual broil, lose much and gain nothing by the operation. Pass on, and get out of the dust; leave lies, quarrels and jangles behind you. i Most people, when they hear you talked about, would like to hear just what you think about the sto? ries. If you stop to bandy words and fight battles, tbey will conclude you think it a serious matter. If you go about your business, they will conclude that if you do not notice it there is no reason why you should. Let your soul rest secure in innocency, and not in hyp? ocrisy, in real trust in God, and not in affected indifference to the opinions of men, and you can walk calmly and safe? ly through a world of turbulence and strife not surprised at trials, nor discon? certed at wrongs, bui full of faith, and hope, and love, and joy, and peace. And though fiery trials may assail you, and you may feel the strife and sting of lying tongues, yet if you fly to God for rest and refuge, he will protect, defend, deliver, and save. A Perplexed Indian.?Somebody dropped some quicksilver on the side? walk in Montana, and an Indian tried to pick it up. First he made a grab at it with his thumb and forefinger, and was astonished when he found he couldn't pick it up. He was determined to have that quicksilver anyhow; so he unwound a handkerchief from his hat, and spread? ing it on the ground got a chip and scraped the quicksilver into it. A look of triumph shot from his eagle eye as he father-: d up the four corners of thehand ercteef, but it was replaced by one of horror and disgust when the metal run through the fabric like water through a seive. Looking at the metal as it lay on the ground in a puzzled sort of way for a moment, he launched a vicious kick at it, and uttering an angry ejacula? tion, he turned on his heel and left the quicksilver for some other untutored son of the forest to experiment on.