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LEGAL ADVERTISING.--We are compelled to require cash payments for advertising ordered by Executors, Administrators and other fiduciaries, and herewith append the rates for the ordinal? notices, which will only be Inserted when the money comes with the order: Citations, two insertions, - ,- - - $3.00 Estate Notices, three Insertions, ? - 2X0 Final Settlements, fire insertions - - 8.00 TO CORRESPONDENTS.?In order to receive attention, communications most 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, Ac, should be made payable to the order of " HOYTACO., Anderson, S. C. mi ? BERKLEY HALL. BY "LA CAROLINE." CHAPTER XIX. "Men must learn now with pity to dispense, For policy sits above conscience." Entering one of the handsomest offices in the fashionable law range on Street, we will take a glance at Richard Egan, unwatched, as he supposes himself, by human eyes?a higher surveillance he deems but a trick of priest craft, ? bug-a boo with which to scare chil-j^n. The church clock had struck *?a sometime, the window shutters b-^ been closely and carefully drawn.^ and a Wgh> ^n baize screen had cautiously placed in front of the ? ^^ow to prevent a sin? gle ray of li<vftt emitfced oy ^e dim stu? dent's hr^p from being observed by passers ^ ^ street. It was evident Egan desired no intrusion upon ?hose hours, apparently devoted to intro? spection. Upon the table beside him ?was a bunch of the finest cigars, a bottle of brandy, tumblers for two and a pitch? er of water, all of them untouched.? Richard Egan alone in his office was not the Maj. Egan of the beau vwr.de. The whole man betokened deep and painful thought, his head drooped until his chin almost touched his breast, the keen and restless glitter had faded from his eyes, his mouth no longer wore its old bland and perpetual smile, for the thin lips were closed firmly over the gleaming white teeth. A physiognomist would have read in his face a deep purpose foiled, but not conquered. For nearly an hour he remained immovable and silent, his clouded brow and compressed lips alone indicating his gloomy thoughts. But suddenly his humor changed, and with a spasmodic motion as of one recov? ering from a painful stupor, he arose from his seat, and moving cautiously and noiselessly to the door he locked and bolted it, his eyes all the while gleaming with an unnatural lustre, in which was curiously mingled the soft light of love, with the hellish glare of purposed revenge. He approached a high, old-fashioned book-case, ornamen? ted with elaborately carved panelled doors, and passing his hand with a firm pressure over one of the doors, he touched a secret spring, which, with a slight clicking sound, caused one of the panels to open 'and disclose an almost living likeness of Marion Maham in the first flush of her maidenly beauty; at her feet crouched a beautiful Newfoundland dog, npon which she gazed with admiring pleasure; her lips wore a smile of child? like innocence, and her broad, white brow indicated intellectual repose?the whole picture conveyed the idea of youth? ful purity and trust. Richard Egan with ? folded arms stood and gazed upon the beautiful face; and as he gazed, the de? mon glare faded slowly from his eyes, and a tender but wavering light took its place. Then, as if wooed by some o'er mastering passion, he stretched his open arms to the picture, exclaiming: "0, gentle and beautiful, withdraw not from me those pure and holy eyes! leave not the miserable Egan to the influences of his own sordid soull O, Marion, Marion, be mine, my own; even at my side with holy counsels, make of me what you will, mould me to your own beautiful ideal of a true and earnest manhood, and it may be, pure and ethe? real spirit, with you as my daily compan? ioned, breathing the atmosphere of your beautiful and holy, although vain and superstitious creed, even Richard Egan, the cold sceptic, the calculating worship? per of mammon, will become one of those simple ones who give freely the gains of a life-time for the Christian's one mythi? cal pearl. But" (and now a legion of devils seemed to glare from his eyes) "cast me from, you, and, Marion, you cannot guess?language will be powerless ?o number?the demons of despairing anger and wrath you call into being 1 But, ha! dotard that I am to have forgot? ten your soft billet doux! But" (casting a fond, lingering look upon the picture) "I must hide from my charmed gaze your syren face, or I will find no courage to accomplish my fixed purpose." So saying, he touched jthe spring, and the elaborately carved rosewood took the place of the beautiful picture, and in mournful accents Richard Egan ex? claimed, "Farewell, farewell sweet face! fond dreams, farewell! vain, foolish love, farewell! No tender wooing in moonlit groves, by murmuring streams, or beneath the tender light of stars can be mine; and, yet, Marion Maham shall be my bride! Ah, see! the pure girlish face, the augelic vision fades from my sight as I read the defiant language of the scorn? ful woman I" And as he spoke he drew from the breast pocket of his coat a letter, which he read aloud in a cold, clear voice, and as he read his face grew fearfully dark with concentrated rage: Berkley Hall, June ? Miss Marion Maham to Maj. Richard Egan, Charleston: Your reiterated suit for my hand, which accompanied as it was in your last letter by unwelcome flattery, strangely mingled with unmanly threats, I am forced to in? form you, has ceased to be a compliment. Again and again have I, with expres? sions of regret for the pain and disap? pointment I was compelled to inflict, courteously, but decidedly, rejected the honor you would confer upon me. I have striven to deal kindly and truly with you, but your cowardly threats have forced me to the unpleasant necessity of refusing to hold any further correspon? dence with you on any subject. Yours, &c, MARION MAHAM. "Courageous but scornful woman, I know yoa; I have read you well! He I roic in the endurance of any pain which falls only upon your proud heart, you will yet cower with more than a woman's cowardice beneath the hand stretched out to inflict a blow upon your loved ones. Your noble decision of character, and Hatty's own wapanish purity and boyish frankness have thwarted my plans. Richard Egan has been foiled, and by a girl! But I bide my time; for what shall save the old homestead? What shall avert from the feeble, ailing mother, so devotedly loved, so tenderly watched, the knowledge of a hopeless and a home? less poverty? The hand of Marion Ma ham alone I In the language of the sub? tle Gtoster, 'since I may not play the lover I am determined to prove the vil laia.' Berkley Hall shall be the dower of Richard Egan's bride, or no foot of a Maham shall evermore tread its ancestral halls!" ? This bitter soliloquy was interrupted by a loud rap at the door, and Maj. Egan, transformed as jf by magic, was again the bland, self-contained man of the world as he welcomed his visitor; and when he exclaimed, "Capt. Bennet, good evening; glad to see you," no traces re? mained upon his face of the wrathful tempest which had rocked his soul. With the air and manner of an old, familiar friend, Capt. Bennet entered the room, and seated himself by the table. Then, drawing the bottle to him, ho poured out a very large drink, which he quickly swallowed, and almost as quickly repeated. Then, addressing his enter? tainer, he said: "Really, Major, for a teetotaller you are a man of decided taste. It is not often & fellow gets such fine cognac, unless the cellar of some old Carolina 'or-istocrat' is robbed." Politely, Maj. Egan urged his visitor again and again to repeat the bumper, and an indifferent observer would not have noticed his slight shrinking of dis? gust from the rude and familiar slap on the shoulder with which the boisterous and ill-bred Capt. accompanied his com? mendation of the liquor. After several bumpers, which had the effect of mellowing both heart and brain, the Federal officer abruptly addressed the ex-Confederate: "Well, old chum, I see you are impa? tient to get to business, and I have no mind to keep you on the rack of sus? pense." For answer, Maj. Egan helped himself to a cigar, and handed one to the Cap? tain. Then, throwing himself back into a luxurious arm-chair, after having just arranged the lamp so as to give him the full benefit of the play of Capt. Bennet's face, and at the same time shading his own, he expressed himself ready to lis? ten. But the formidable Captain had no mind to give his companion the whole advantage of position, and he dexterous? ly and, to all appearances, carelessly moved the lamp, so as to throw the full blaze of light on Maj. Egan's face.? Then, folding his arms upon the table, and watching intently the Major's coun? tenance, he abruptly said: "The old lady died yesterday." Thrown completely off of his guard by the unexpected intelligence, Richard Egan started to his feet, exclaiming: "Mrs. Maham dead \ And will fickle fortune play her favorite false at last?" Then, with oaths so terrible that the life current was checked a moment with horror even in the veins of the profane Federal officer, he exclaimed: "But death himself shall not cheat me of my bride, my victim, my revenge! And you, Captain, how is it with you ? How fares your work? Is the happy day fixed ? and where are the gay nuptials to take place? Ha, ha, ha! proud girl, your pride shall yet bow before my stub? born will! You found the work easy, did you not, Captain ? The girl is fear? less ; she walks much alone, and the ne? groes are easily bribed; you did not spare the money; spend, spend it freely. I am rich, and wealth is power! But you do not speak. Why are you silent?" "By Jove, because I'll do no more of your dirty work 1 Let me tell you, Maj. Egan, Jonathan Bennet is no man's tool, unless it does Jonathan Bennet's work!" "Ha, man, is it more money you want?" said the Major, interrupting and pushing to the Federal officer a roll of greenbacks. "Count it, and if not enough, name your price; let it be dou? ble, treble, four times as much, only do the work, and let it be well done. Re? venge, revenge, how sweet thou art! Hear, Bennet, the girl must, she shall ha mine! Look at the fair picture I have drawn of wedded bliss; then say if Rich? ard Egan will brook to be robbed 6T his prize I" "A beautiful and stately woman is the wife of Maj. Egan, the cynosure of fair maidens' eyes; a gorgeously furnished palace is their home, horses and carriag? es, men servants and maidens waither call; her graceful form is ever robed in costly garments; everything that gold, almighty gold, can purchase ministers to her wants. But this cold and beautiful woman, the envy of the world, has a heart, a warm, warm, woman's heart, and she sighs for love, a love which gold cannot purchase, Guided by her watch? word, 'duty,' she strives and learns to love the man she calls husband, the man she once scorned f"d reviled, the man who once knelt a blind worshipper at her feet. She sues, she woos as women only know how to woo; but love, warm, glow? ing love, has fled his breast, and the once rejected loverj the now triumphant hus? band, laughs and jeeringly cries, 'Too late, too late, Madame!' the lofty ceil? ings and pictured walls of that palatial home echo the words 'too late, too late,' until the woman's heart becomes what mine is now?the habitation of demons. In my heart revenge has dethroned love, and this is revenge!" Capt. Bennet, who had listened, in dumb astonishment to this burst of pas? sion from the cold and calculating Maj. Egan, now interrupted him by exclaim? ing in language foreign to his unclean lips: "By Jupiter, you know nothing of wo? men or love, Pick Egan 1 The love of that proud rebel girl, you v?ll never either buy or compel and for her pure heart, devils cannot dwell where angels minister. Had you seen her as I did, watching beside and ministering to the wants of a dying negro, you would have realized that she is even defended by a convoy of angels, and in that seraph band was one, one brighter than all that heavenly choir?yes, Maggie, Maggie, I will obey your beckoning hand; away, away from the lost I'll follow you!? Major, see, see the heavenly vision, a sister spirit guards the maiden!" Maj. Egan perceived that the liquor had muddeiled the brain of Bennet, but he was too intent upon his plans to leave the poor inebriate alone for the night. Recalled from the memories of his youth? ful love by Maj. Egan's voice, question? ing if he would undertake with bribed negroes to kidnap Marion Maham, and desiring him to place his signature to a paper which he (Maj. Egan) had drawn up, fixing Jonathan Bennet Captain com? manding Co., to the work. The wily Egan was playing his part well; his sig? nature once to the paper, which Captain Bannet was too drunk either to read or understand, he became the slave of Rich? ard Egan's will or a dishonored soldier and citizen. The heavenly apparition saved the poor fellow. Gazing earnestly upward, he exclaimed: "I will, I will, Maggie!" Then, after resting his head a moment on his hand as if in thought, he looked up and spoke slowly, in a wonderfully rational man? ner: "Maj. Egan, I am getting very drunk, and I must speak briefly. I will not sign any paper, this money pays me," (and he drew the bills to him, placed them deliberately in his purse, and his purse in his pocket,) "for the work I have already done for you. The forged letters you wrote and I conveyed?letters full of venom?to sting the heart of your rival, and the man I hate; the letters I stole and you received and retained?let? ters full of purity, breathing sentiments of holiest friendship. This dirty work was your work; for this you, too coward? ly to work your own work, have paid me; but this work, too, was my work, and its success has rewarded me. I have met this rebel girl before then, as brave as Julius Csesar. She drew a pis? tol on seven men, and all things being honorable in war, I could have made her my captive, and would have done it, but Hubert Gray robbed me of my prize. It was not for the loss of the girl, but the upstart's stinging words. I swore an awful oath that I would be revenged. I have been revenged. I discovered that Hubert Gray loved this rebel girl, and I knew to rob him of his trust in her truth was the deadliest blow I could aim at his life. There is a purity and steadfastness In the man's own character which makes him love with a woman's faith. Of this faith I have robbed him. The letter of Harry Maham, forged by you, was a cruel blow. I was denied the devil's pleasure of seeing him read and writhe, but I watched him as he passed out of his luxurious home to mix with the common herd, and I saw he had suf? fered, he was suffering; but from the luminous depths of his truthful eyes Bhone the seraphic light of charity?not anger, not revenge. And while I hated, I was forced to admire. I had dealt a death-blow to his joyous young life, but I would freely have given mine for Hu? bert Gray's conscious purity and truth. My vow has been performed, his mother with the angels, his true love crushed out of his heart, and the weary task of cher? ishing and simulating love for a lovely, loving, but unloved wife thrust upon him, the precious boon of life has be? come a burden to Hubert Gray. This work of yours and mine has been dirty work, but white as angel robes to the diabolical scheme which now stirs the muddy slough of your evil heart. No, I will not aid you; and look you, Maj. Egan, if you pursue this scheme, Jona? than Bennet will foil your wicked pur? pose. That girl's pure white face and sweet, musical voice, as she watched and read beside the dying negro, brought back to me the sweet, sad memory of my own lost love. 0, Maggie, Maggie, how different might it have been with me, had the angels not claimed you for their own I" Capt. Bennet bowed his head, and wept piteously, so childish had the large potations of brandy rendered the rough, rude man. It was now Richard Egan's turn to listen amazed at this burst of sentiment from a man he had regarded as so low and vile, that he only tolerated him as a fitting agent for what he was compelled to acknowledge a dirty scheme. His astonishment over, and his mask of polished urbanity being thrown off, and feeling bitterly chagrined at being again foiled by the cold hand of death and the desertion of his colleague, Richard Egan gave vent to a fearful outburst of pas? sionate vituperation, seasoned with awful oaths. He called Capt. Bennet a vile and cowardly paltroon; a creature not worthy the name of man or soldier. In his puerile and drunken condition, the poor Captain only wept and plead guilty to all charges. Finding all reproaches vain, Maj. Egan changed his tactics, and resuming somewhat his old bland man? ner, he sought to bribe his repentant ally by large offers of money; but his only reply was: "Maggie, Maggie, do not look so sadly on me 1 I will go whither you beckon ; and he?hic-ough, he?hic-hic-hicough, devil dares not pursue;" and here the poor fellow fell helplessly upon the floor. Richard Egan gazed contemptuously upon the poor inebriate; and as he thought how his boasted honor was in the poor drunkard's keeping, a dreadful purpose crossed his mind?he even mur mured: "Unless he co-operate with me he is in my way." But his whisper was succeeded by a dreadful feeling of fear, and Maj. Egan, acting upon this fear, hastily dragged the poor Captain into an adjoining room, and closing the door locked out this temptation to crimei Af> ter carefully securing his office, he Weni ded his Way to his luxurious "suite of apartments at-Hotel, his heart filled with bitter chagrin and disappointment, and the words, "foiled," "foiled," impa? tiently escaping his lips. The night wore slowly away, and at the first peep of day, the ease-loving M?j. Egan had left his luxurious couch, and had sought the chamber in which his ally had spent the night upon the carpetless floor. With a heart brimful of mischief, but his lips framing smooth phrases full of honied words, Maj. Egan, as he ascended the long, narrow stairs, muttered: "He mast be mine; he must work for me at any cost, and I possess the 'open sesame,' for gold is power." He approached the door of the cham? ber; it was open, the prisoner had es? caped, and upon a small table lay an open sheet of paper with these words written in legible characters: " 'You are watched, The girl is guarded.' J. B." The lock of the door being a- very ordinary stock lock, although Richard Egan had locked the door upon his col leaugue to prevent escape, Capt. Bennet, with the help of his pocket knife, found no difficulty in pressing back the bolt, and thus making good his exit. For hours Maj. Egan locked in his office, with knitted brow and wrathful heart, vainly devised means to make Marion Maham his bride, even against her will. But Richard Egan was not a brave man, and his master passions? love of money and position?were pow? erful rivals to his passionate admiration of Marion Maham, an admiration which had been already well nigh blotted out of his heart by his fierce desire for re? venge for the supposed insult she had offered in the haughty refusal of his persistent addresses. The cold slave of policy, he, although burning with re? venge, now that his burst*of passion was over, calmly considered the high position and wealth he had acquired, and the danger of rain and disgrace to him should his plans be discovered. Thus coldly balancing the pros and cons of his vile scheme, he determined until a wily agent, and one willing to take the whole risk of the vile work from him, could be found, he would yield to policy what he had refused to honor and to pity. Having come to this resolution, he arose from his seat, saying: "I yield now to necessity; but I bide my time." The knitted brow was smoothed, the stern lips resumed their wonted smiles, but the heart was withered; and now, doubly barred against gentle mercy's just and mighty claims, Richard Egan passed out of his office a reproved but hardened man. TO BE CONTINUED. ADDRESS OF CAPT. F. W. DAWSOtt, (Of the Charleston News and Courier.) TO THE STATE PRESS ASSOCIATION, Delivered at Annual Meeting In Spar tanburg, S. C, May 10, 1876. GENTLEMEN OF THE 80UTH CAROLINA PRESS ASSOCIATION, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: "The Press is a mUl that grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and It will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.**?Bryant. Whether the newspaper press shall build np or pull down; whether it shall stimulate morality or encourage vice ; whether it shall give healthfulness to thought and vigor to action, or palsy the handaud fetter the tongue of them who would expose the myriad forms of mod? ern Pharisaism depends mainJy upon the character and purposes of those who con? trol and direct it. More than 8,000 news? papers lire published on this continent, and each and every one of them, in its degree, quickens or retards the growth of the human race in paolic intelligence and private virtue. lor, the newspaper press thinks for those who care not to think for themselves,?cuckoos whose chosen nest is other men's opinions. It formulates and crystalizes opinion, cloth? ing it in the garb of winning or repellant words. It may not create public senti? ment; but it shapes, develops and di? rects it. It makes of inward conviction and silent belief living, breathing reali? ties ; and, speaking with myriad tongues day after day, causes them to enter into every nook and corner of our daily life. By its newspaper is the community judged; for the newspaper seldom rises higher or falls lower than the level of its average constituency. To its public it is what the warp is to the woof; and the warp and the woof make up that social fabric which varies from the familiar homespun of the Western village to the gorgeous tapestries of the Eastern me? tropolis. This, in brief, is journalism ; a subject so vast as to be almost without bounds. But it has two main parts or divisions; the one including whatever relates to the management of newspapers as business undertakings, and the other covering the relations of the newspaper to the public. This last T have taken as my theme to? day ; and I shall strive to indicate what qualities the public naturally expect to find in a journalist; what are his princi? pal obligations to the public, and the ob? ligations of the public to him. It is not my hope or wish to expound any novel principles of journalism; for whatever I say that is true, must, of necessity, be old. It will content me if I can show, very imperfectly, what is the inter-depen? dence of press and public, the debit and credit, so to speak, of journalism. We are told that what is written stands, and passes not away. The spoken word rolls through the ambient air to the utter? most verge of space. As the stone sends rippling rings to the farthest edge of the body of water into which it is cast, so rolls the smallest wave of sound to the confines of the subtle ether which sur? rounds this grosser atmosphere. And the awful thought has come to specula? tive philosophers that on some later day, and in other worlds than ours, every man shall see before him, as on a scroll, every syllable he has ever breathed, shining in the heavens where each word, as it is uttered, sets its eternal seal. And so, out of his own mouth, shall every man be judged. It is an appalling thought, and the realization of it is had, in a measure, by the journalist. Assemble the blanch? ed pages together" j display them in" the plains, for no valley of Jehoshophat would hold the army of silent witnesses; and the journalist has before him the story of his life. There stand the undying words. Each one has done its work. Of each one must account be given. This accountability, whether here or hereafter, near or remote, cannot be escaped; ana in the degree that the journalist realizes this truth must he be imbued with a deep sense of personal responsibility. It is his first debt to the public. This responsibility is not a sentiment. It finds practical expression in every de? partment of a newspaper; in conscien? tious working, in doing nothing and j writing nothing that is notj in him who ! says or writes it, generous and just. It forbids Whatever can defile or debase; a?y dalliance with impurity, any gloat? ing over sickening stories of crime. The newspaper must give the news. Little is fained by attempting to suppress it. tut between the coldly exact statement, which is assumed to be indispensable, and the highly colored pen-pictures of which some journals are fond, there is the difference that we see between a nude antique and the meretricious s'uggestive ness of Opera Bouffe. And in editorial writing, in expressing the thoughts and opinions of the newspaper, the sense of responsibility should be even more keen and constant than in determining what shall g? to counting room or fire-side in the guise of news. What is said by any of us in the streets has little 'effect upon the fortunes of a people; it is heard and remembered only by the few. But what is printed in a newspaper becomes known to thousands; and for it, the community known to read and support that news [>aper are held accountable. It matters ittle, in these disjointed times, whether the community approve or disapprove of I what is written ; whether the newspaper represents or misrepresents them. Their enemies take their approval for granted; the wish again is father to the thought, j For this reason harsh and bitter words in the public prints are sins against the public. They arc made the excuse for new wrongs and fresh oppressions. They thrust peoples asunder, and are the breath in the nostrils of the demagogue. Blame not the Southern newspaper if it speak less hotly and defiantly tnau the private citizen is tempted to do. It counts the cost to the public. A day will come, perhaps, when lips need not be sealed; when manly indignation and bold rebuke will not be misunderstood. That day has not come yet, and until it does come the conscientious jounralist must think first of the welfare of his pub j lie, and last of own inclinations. There is another day that will never dawn; the I day when it is wiser, as it always is easier, to be headstrong and heedless than tem? perate, judicious and full of thought. The sense of his responsibility will govern the journalist in small things as in great. No recognized cheat or fraud should be allowed to make the press its instrument or decoy. The ingenious knaves who prey dh the public have little scope, unless, through unaccustomed or unsuspected channels, they can reach the public ear. Close against them the col? umns of the press, and the biggest swin? dles of the day will plague their inven? tors more than they will harm the public. A corollary of this axiom is that adver? tisements?announcements of any kind for whose -publication money is paid? shall be so printed that their true charac? ter is known and cannot be mistaken. A particular part of every newspaper is allotted to paid announcements. Shrewd advertisew always prefer that their ad? vertisements shall go in some other part of the paper than in the regular adver? tising columns. Their object is, to give to their announcement a weight that they would not have if their true charac? ter were knowp. Their reason for con? cealing the fac?- that these announce? ments are paid for, and are neither more nor less than advertisements, is a suffi? cient reason why these announcements, and all of the same class, should be marked and designated as advertisements. Then the advertisers can vaunt the mer? its of their wares as they please, and the public read and judge for themselves. This rule applies to all purchased or ' purchasable praise or censure of any per? son or thing. The newspaper is expect? ed to give the public its candid views ; and when we print for a price any opin? ions, however just or honestly enter? tained, we must be open to the imputa? tion that we have sold our influence with those who only trust us because of our fancied disinterestedness. It is hardly necessary to say that an? nouncements that are evidently against good morals should not be taken at any price. The journalist who prints such notices as those which are flaunted in the wealthiest journal in America, is no bet? ter than a pander. These are illustrations enough of the application of that sense of practical re? sponsibility which is demanded of the journalist; and with that responsibility must be associated its handmaidens? Fearlessness and Independence. The truth is seldom welcome; the whole truth is commonly unpalatable. To dare to tell the truth is, generally speaking, to dare to be unpopular. Un? truth is more attractive at the first glance than truth; and not in the 19th century more than in the 16th. Wise Bacon said: "This same truth is a naked and open daylight that doth not show the masques and mummeries and triumphs of the world half so stately and daintily as candle-light. Truth may perhaps come to the price of a pearl that showeth best by day; but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle tha^ showeth best in varied lights." It is not, however, the place of a jour? nalist to play the pedagogue, and treat the public, in administering the naked truth, as children who can be "kept in" or birched, if they murmur or sulk. It is his duty to remonstrate, to rebuke, and to condemn, when pernicious plans are afoot, and pernicious counsels threaten to prevail; when what is clearly and pal? pable bad or injurious is advised or con? templated. This is no pleasant task. It is easier to float with the popular tide than to pull against the stream. . And to Sull against the stream is the inexorable uty of every journalist who believes that the tide is setting away from the shores of truth. Hence the need of fearlessness in journalism. Whether a newspaper must, without reservation, proclaim whatever its con? ductor believes to be true and knows to be unpopular is a moot question. It has a double bearing. Continued unpopu? larity, however gained, ensures failure in journalism. Shall the journalist then un? hesitatingly say and do what, in his judg? ment, will ruin the business of his news? paper, cause the loss of its capital, and deprive him of the means of serving and aiding the public 1 This question each journalist must decidedbr himself. T am free to say, however, that, in my opinion, telling the whole truth, frankly and kind ly, Hot with dogmatism and temper, will involve no newspaper in lasting loss. This requires nerve, and financial strength to stand the temporary loss that will surely come. So too there is need of adroit management. To make a blow effective we must be able to tell when the iron is hot. And persuasion oftentimes succeeds where dictation only excites opposition. In the old fable of the man and the cloak, the mild rays of the sun were more potent than the blustering winds. The lesson is a wholesome one. ] Nevertheless, stern, sharp truths, cutting like a sword, crushing like a hammer, are frequently requisite. When a member of the body politic is corrupt to the bone, it is idle to talk of salve or potion?the time for saw and knife has come. To tell the truth one must know it. How shall the journalist know the truth? There cannot be two opposing and equally truthful views of the same subject. As to one thing, there is only one right and one wrong. Yet journal? ists stand on different lines and with per? fect sincerity advocate diametrically dif? ferent views of the same question, This must be so. Time corrects the evil. What is wholly true will live, and the newspaper that preaches and practices it will live likewise. The pretended truth will die. Shall the newspaper that ex? pounded it, and taught as true that which is shown to be false, likewise die the death? Not unless it holds fast to the untruth, when its falsity shall be made manifest. Few newspapers do this; their commercial instincts forbid it, Obstinate Eerseverance in the practice of what has een proved, to be Untrue is left to knaves and foolsi Their journals die} or die for them, in changing hands and manage? ment. To the sense of responsibility and the fearlessness of which I have spoken, the journalist should add independence?not independence of the profession of journal? ism, but independence in the sense that he shall have no calling or tie that can, under any circumstances, place his per? sonal interest in opposition to those of his public. Where newspapers are poor in purse, because newspaper readers are few, only a newspaper here and there can afford to engage the entire services of an editor fully qualified for the high duties of his. place. The custom is to hire or beg the spare moments, or leisure hours, of some gentleman of ability; some fluent writer, who has opinions and likes to cir? culate them. In my judgment, and speaking for the South Carolina of to? day, it is wiser to hire the whole time and thought and work of a far inferior person. The latter can be independent, and, except in rare instances, the former cannot. Suppose, for sake of argument, that the Judge of this> Circuit is tyranni? cal, incapable, or corrupt, and the news*, papers in the Circuit are edited by law? yers who are dependent on their practice: at the bar. -Dare those lawyer-journal? ists expose the faults of that Judge, and ' condemn them as the public weal requires that they be condemned? To denounce the Judge is to "be out of favor with him.! To praise him, as Judges go, is to stand well with him. Lawyers known to be disliked by a Judge are shunned by liti? gants. What these want is to gain their causes; and they naturally incline to? wards the lawyer who is supposed to have the Aar of the Judge, and is familiar with- the court house back-stairs. The lawyer-journalist, in the case I have sup? posed, is forced to choose between bold speech for the sake of the newspaper which amuses him, and silence for the sake of himself and his family, Zb it to be expected that under such circum? stances the lawyer shall think always of his duty to the abstract pubjic, and never of his obligations to himself? Like cases, in which absolute freedom from other ties and interests is essential to independence in journalism will readi? ly suggest themselves to you. I will mention only one of them. So long as a journalist is in the active pursuit of his profession, he should not consent to be a candidate for any public office. I do not so exalt the profession of journalism as to think that the editor of a newspaper is more than Governor, Senator, or Presi? dent. Nor is it meant that, because an editor is a candidate for public office, he will necessarily be unfaithful in journal? ism, or sleep on his post. The objection is fundamental. Unless the public have implicit faith in the unselfishness of a press, that press is shorn of its power ; and the public will not believe in the un? selfishness of a journalist who is the champion of a party which is to give him, if the party prevail, some office of honor and profit. Though he be pure as an' angel, he shall not escape! And, in truth, he must be more than a man to do his whole duty, bravely and vigorously, when, upon making friends here and avoiding making enemjes there, shall de? pend his nomination and election. No act in the busy life of Horace Greeley became him more than his prompt with? drawal from the newspaper ne had foun? ded, as soon as he was nominated for President. It had been better for him if. true to the mission of journalism, he had neither coveted nor obtained the fatal prize. Still another quality is demanded of the journalist; something more than re? sponsibility, fearlessness, and indepen? dence. It is Honesty, the Keystone of the arch. The Press is no Pope. It makes no serious claim to infallibility. What it must claim, what the public re? quire of it, is honesty of purpose. This is the paramount need of the journalist Without it, Responsibility and Fearless? ness and Independence count for little. Remember, that insincerity in journalism is more injurious than in private life, be* cause the printed and published equivo? cation or deceit goes forth to thousands who see it and are affected by it. When, then, a journalist publishes what he does not believe, or defends what in his heart he condemns, or cringes to prejudice for his own or his party's good, he is as many times a falsifier and deceiver as there are sheets on which his words are Erinted. A journalist, of course, should e loyal to the political party with which he is in sympathy. There is nothing dis? honest in that. Rut political parties are, in their purity, the exponents of well defined and understood political princi? ples, and the Press should not allow those principles to be overlooked or for? gotten. In being the supporter of a par? ticular party the newspaper is, or should j be, the exponent of its principles; not the mere mouth-piece of the leaders of the party, defending them and their aims, whether consonant with party principles or not. A newspaper, whatever the fer? vor of its personal allegiance, cannot be false to the governmental principles which are the reason of that party's be? ing, and still truly be the representative of the party. It must talk plainly and constantly when a party is so controlled that the objective of its managers is op-1 posed to the purpose for which the party was formed; and that purpose is, and always must be, not the preferment of in? dividuals, but the good of the State and the Nation. Just here I venture to remind you of the difference between a political princi? ple and those moral principles which form the moral law. Whosoever steals is a thief, and whosoever murders is a mur? derer. There is no room there for doubt or misapprehension. But political prin? ciples are only convenient formulas, ex? pressing what are conceived to be funda? mental political truths. They are rules of action j they are laws, but not laws like the law of motion or of gravitation, which are exact, and admit of no dispute. We who are Democrats, and are guided by the principles of the Democratic party, are confident that our principles, and none other, are true. And they who are, intelligently and by conviction, members of the Republican party believe that they alone are right, and we are wrong.? Neither can be snre that they are wholly right The lapse of years, the survival of the fittest, will tell which of the two will best "ensure domestic tranquility, pro? mote the general welfare, ana secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity." We should, therefore, be careful that we do not confound moral principle with political principle; what is sure with what is uncertain; that we blame no man for honestly and conscien? tiously preferring one political creed or party to another; that we do not even censure him who, with no selfish1 object, is converted or perverted from one party to another. All that we can fairly insist on is, that the man or the journal shall be true as steel to the party whose creed he or it professes. All that we can fairly demand is. none shall remain in our camp whose opinions or fancies fit them, as they and we know, to serve only with our enemy. I grant that the sense of responsibility, the fearlessness, the honesty, and the lib? erality, whose nature and application I have endeavored to describe are more difficult of complete attainment in jour? nalism than in most professions. Mount we never bo high, the peak where perfec? tion alts Is far beyond. Yet in gazing upon it, and aspiring to it, are we already elevated above those who linger on the plains, or are hidden in the valleys. The way of the journal ist is steep and rugged; but if it be seen that he steadily press onward, that his eye is fixed on the heights above him, few or none will be quick to blame if the bruised feet some? times stumble and slide, or if he should go astray, in some moment when the clouds of political discussion hide the straight path from sight. At least, I trust so I The press, as I have shown, owe mach to the public; but the public owe some? thing to the press. They who read can no more evade their obligation than they who write and print can escape theirs. It.is to the interest of the reading public to encourage men of character and stand? ing, of brain and culture, to remain among them as journalists?to encourage them by recognizing the nobility and value of their work. Journalism ranks high as a profession, because its capacity is great for good or evil. It preaches to more souls than the church does; it Sleads more causes than the bar do; it estroys or confirms more diseases than medicine knows of. Of it may be said what Sieyes said of the Third Euate, the People: "It was nothing, it is some? thing, it aspires to be everything." There should then be, in the dealings of the two powers, the Press and the Public, 430 sense of favor on either side, an entire absence of any feeling of pecuniary obli? gation. Familiarly speaking, the pur? chaser of a newspaper no more confers a favor on the publisher of that paper than he who buys a piece of longcloth confers a favor on the merchant whosells it?unless he knows that the article is not worth the money, in which case he has only himself to blame; or unless he was deceived as to its value, in which case he certainly will not buy a similar article at that place again. It is a busi? ness transaction. The newspaper, is sold at so much a copy, and its advertising at a fixed price. They who buy' either get fall value for their money?so the seller thinks. If the buyers do not think so, they need not buy. Let this be once un? derstood, and the public will no more ex Eect valuable favors from a newspaper, ecaune they are "old subscribers," "reg? ular advertisers," and the like, than the purchaser of a barrel of flour expects the seller to throw in a demijohn of molas? ses as a mark of his appreciation of the honor done him in baying a good article at-a fair market price. This may seem a very independent way of conducting a newspaper. It is nothing less. And in no other way that I know of can news? papers be made to occupy their proper relation to each other. Bat the support and countenance that the public owe to the newspaper is not entirely a mattter of money. In baying A newspaper the public do not buy men's souls. Yet it is expected, many a time, that the newspaper shall bow obsequious? ly to the demands of its readers, and, right or wrong, echo their complaints. Of what worth is such a newspaper, a journalistic chameleon, that takes the hue of what it feeds on ? My friends! the journalist who says or does any single thing, merely because it accords with the likes or dislikes of its readers, is unwor? thy of his profession, and untrue to his fiublic. For this reason should the pan? ic be at least as tolerant in dealing with newspapers as in dealing with each other. When one friend differs from another in opinion, does he denounce that other as dishonest er corrupt because of that dif? ference? Of course not! They believe each other to be upright and sincere, and lose no whit of their common respect.? This is what the journalist exacts of his public. Be sure that bis aims and ob? jects are good, and you may be pretty sore that he will reach the right goal in the end. And if, working honestly and assiduously, he should fail, need he be outlawed and branded? We of the South know, only too well, that the cause which is lost is not always the cause which de? served to be lost; and we who suffer by defeat, and, therefore, are quick to cen? sure those who were conspicuous in a dis? astrous fight, should take need, both press and public, lest our inactivity or dristrost or obstinacy was instrumental in making that a rout which else had been a victo? ry. When then any body of persons call upon the press to grapple with great wrongs, to expose evil-doers, to crash vice in the bye-ways and expose fraud and rascality in high places, those per? sons must sustain that press heartily and ungrudgingly. Its revenue or business income is to the newspaper what the voice is to the orator, and his verse is to I the poet. It is, what, in man, the body is to the mind. The newspaper may hunger and be honorable; it may thirst and be true. But it is easier, my friends, to be honorable and true if hanger and thirst be satisfied, and there is, to them, no care for the morrow. In dealing with the press the public should judge as they would be judged, and do as they should be done by; they should recognize the many hardships and few rewards of the journalist's life; they should require only that the journalist be faithful to the best that he knows, and, knowing that and feeling it, they should bold up his hands in what is, at last, their battle, and mast be their gain or loss. For the journalist cannot pros? per in his profession nnless the cause of the public be his own. If he ran counter to their best Interests, he will go down as he ought to go down, Only see to it, you who are the public, that be go not down because of your lethargy or your distrust! No doubt yon recall the sweet sad words of Dryden: "My errors, I hope, are only those of charity to mankind; and such as my own charity has caused me to com mit, that of others may more easily ex-' cuse." May it be thus with all of us. - South Carolina, as a newspaper read? ing State, is far behind New England and the Northwest. This is a misfortune. Each one of you can do something to remedy it; not for the sake of the news? paper, but for yourselves. By reading and digesting the well-considered views of others, you will enlarge and ripen your own. By knowing what others around you have done, you will learn what best to do yourselves. By looking across tb& mountains and over the waters of SouW Carolina; by watching those whose field in art, in commerce, and in agriculture, is broader than our own; yon will extend your horizon, strengthen your mental vision, and become insensibly higher, better, and more liberal men. So can you, and shall you, embrace what is best, cling to what is most worthy and noble and true. Gentlemen of the State Press Associa j tion, my last words are to you. None I deny the importance of the work that, as a body, we do; and "the degree of esti? mation in which any profession is held becomes the standard of the estimation in which the professors hold themselves." Cicero has said that "there is not a mo? ment without some duty," and it becomes us, it is incumbent upon us*, in every duty of every moment, to act in such manner that we shall honor and respect ourselves in deserving the honor and respect of our public. This, at least, we can do. It is charged, I know, that we sometimes abuse our power and neglect our oppor? tunities. This may be so; and yet I am confident that, when the great account shall be closed; when the good and 'evil shall be weighed, and the debit and credit ofiournalism shall be counted up, the* balance will be in favor of the universal press, as having sought after and striven for the right, and having, in the midst of doubt and trial and peril, in the very shadow of the Valley of Darkness, done what it could. Some such hope*and faith as this is needed; for, of honor here and ?ublic fame, the journalist has little.? he greater the authority and the wider the sphere of the newspaper of which he is a part, the less is his need of public ' ! praise. No fumes of incense rise before him, as before the popular preacher; no plandit comes to him as that which swells the breast and lights the eye of orator and actor. What the journalist says is said to thousands, enters into thousands of hearts and is pondered in a thousand brains; and he who says it is unseen, if ?not unknown. The press makes thou? sands famous while its conductors, are nnhonored and unsung. The work that journalists do is bread cast upon the wa? ters that seldom cometb back, even after many days.. It matters little 1 . 'Tame," in Pope's words, "can never make us lie down contentedly on a deathbed.". Nor are the substantial rewards of journalism in proportion to the wear and tear of body and brain, which whiten the j hair and dim the eye of the working men I of the daily press. While others sleep' we must work on. Abuses which escape the attention of the public, must not es? cape oars. What every other agency fails to accomplish, the press is expected to do, and do it well. In the public blundering and negligence and indolence seem to be no serious fault?in the press they are unpardonable. And, at last, when the sleepless vigilance, the keen criticism, the caustic humor, the sarcasm and invective, the loyalty and valor have dene their work, when purity of govern? ment, public intelligence, and public, prosperity have been won, the journalist's fee and recompense is?what ? To enjoy their blessings equally with t liose to whom they came, as the blessed dews and rains come, without toil or cost. The laborers in the vineyard who were employed at the eleventh hour were paid a penny, as were those who had borne the beat and burden of the day. So it is with the all day journalis t and the eleventh hour pub lie. Nay I we might go further, and say that they who go not into the vineyard at all are paid as'much as those who labor from dawn to setting sun. Know? ing this, feeling this, should we hesitate or halt? No! a thousand times ho! Let not him who putteth his hand to the plough look back, until he has reached the end of the furrow! In the pursuit of our profession let us strive to be liberal, conscientious, and just. "No liberal man," says Cicero, "would impute a charge of unsteadiness to another for having changed his opin? ion." And Tillotson reminds us that:. "Our belief or disbelief of a thing does not alter the nature of a thing." But we need to be constant in our aims and pur? poses?"to write for or against something ; for or against an idea; for or against a party." Nor should we be alarmed if those around us taunt us with inconsist? ency. "It is a mere idle declamation about consistency," says Archbishop ? Whatley, "to represent it as a disgrace to a man to confess himself wiser to-day than yesterday." The only consistency we need regard is that which is preserved by varying the means to secure the unity of the end. Be patient, be steadfast, be true t And when the race is run, wheth? er good or evil fortune shall have crowned. our labors, we shall be restful and con? tent if we only have within us the sweet,! sweet knowledge that, with voice and pen, we have stricken with all our strength, while life lasted, at the impos? tures, the follies, and the vices of the times. A Singular Dkeam.?-An Amesbury (Mass.} man had a singular dream,under the following circumstances: His father and mother had recently died within three or four weeks of each other, and one night in a dream he saw his mother standing by his bed, and a little distance away he saw a cot bed, with a peculiar coverlet, on which lay a man, with his back turned toward him. His mother called him by name, and said, "Here are seven dollars." He attached no signifi? cance to the dream until when he went to the post office he received a letter stating that his brother, who was on a Western road, had been badly crushed, and requested his presence immediately. On arriving at his brother's home, he was etrnck with surprise when he found him lying on a cot bed, with the same kind of a coverlet as he had seen in his dream,, with his back turned toward him. The brother died, and the gentleman was still more astonished when on settling his af? fairs, the first bill presented was just seven dollars in amount. Strange as the dream may seem, it is told by the man himself, and he is a gentleman whose veracity no one would impeach. ? It has come out in the argument in the Belknap impeachment case that John Quincy Adams, who had been President, said in the House of Keprc sentatives that he should consider him? self liable to impeachment as long as he lived, if the House should ever find any-. thing in his conduct as President worthy of that proceeding.