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(AL INTELLIENCE J the reception o' - TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO S.C., AUGUS[ 2, 1890. ESTABLISHED 1848 - ~~ a1a"-1tw #'ATTORNEY-ATLAW, 1!.. SLaw ange, WInNSBOBO, - - a .0O. SPractices 6e Statse and United Stat k Courts. E. B. RAGSDALI. G.W. RAGsDAL RA ns.=LRaEAaJ.m r Attorneys and Counsellors at Law, A No. ILaw Eange, WI.NSROBO, * e * 5.0. ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, No.T Law Eangs, WINNSBOBO; - . . s.0. Practices in an United States and Stale S ecia attention to sorporation and JTS. GL N MCATB. ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, No.1 Law sanse, WINSBOBO. - - - 8.0. Practices in the State and United States courts. S ANDB s AA IN A TA W, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW, WINMIBOB, s.C. Practices in sU the State and United States corts. iOriceupstaairs in ank bufdin&. H.'"'" ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, WbINSBOEb, S. c. Olice up-stairs xer J. M. Beaty & Bro.'s store. L. B.McDoaln. C. A. DovaaSs. Solicitor Sixth Circuit. cDONALD a DOUGLA, Attorneys and Cour.ellors at Law, Nos.Sand4 Law Bange, ' " WflNSBOBO, - . 0. Practice in sf the State and United States Courts. A.s. a W. D. DOCCLAM Attorneys and Counsellor at Law No.6 Law Bange, WINNSBOBO, e " . a.0. Practices in the State and United Staees Courts. KANSAS(ITY has 7000 vacant houses aidseems to be strongly probable 1h ILiio1st from 30,000 to 35,000 in "pnI i --the past tWo years. Thi Is an A in ebb, without parallel IU biacountry outside-of,a mining camp i 'd {oat." -L As ansas Gity depends for half its trade on Kan sas, this ebb of population, if it is ac companied by a loss in Eastern Kansas, can scarceTy fail to attract the oppo nents of Prohibition. THE revolution in Buenos Ayres is over, but President Celman is no better off than he was before. The republic is ina bad way and he apparently has no resources that wll enable him to meet the emergency, except his hopes roms an English syndicate. -This is a remedy from which most of the South American republics are suffering, but it is one that is worse than the disease. EagIhed already owns some of the South American States. Next she will attempt to rule them. Xormons In Canada. The Mormons, who are being driven - from pillar to post on account of theip peculiar views on the marriage ques . tion, bought some time ago a largei tract of land in Canada on which to locate themselves on leaving Utah. In this new home t tey are turn:ng out to be a va: y desirable class of -settlers. One condition of their being allowed to remain on Canadian soil was that they should conform to the laws of thei country. and content themsRelves with monogamy. .They were made to un der.tand that any'violation of this rule would lead to trouble, and, though re luctant to conform to this condition, they had no alternative but to submit. Several visits have been pad to the community on behalf of the Govern ment to ascertain whether the law- was being obser ved, and all accounts go to show that the followers of the "proph t"~are honorably adhering to the terms of their bargain. The latest re port says the Mormons hive turned a wilderness into a smiling garden, and in many waya have taught the oidert settlers a salutary lesson. Their worldly affairs are prospering, and, whether necessary to eskation or not, it is said the men now show no deRire, even if they had the opportunity, of going in foer plurality of wives. Religion is the perfection of wisdom. .The power of contemplation grows by use. Thanksgiving is the sweetest recre ation. Man's fortunes are according 'E;o his pains. Quiiet poverty is better than unjust wealth. Send some good deed on the roa-1 be fore you. Cheerfulness Is health; melancholy is disease. Good example always brings forth good fruits. The depths of misery are never be low the deptbs of mercy. The best preparation for the future is the present well seen to. The memory of benefits is a frail de fense against ingratitude. r Preindices are the chains torged by ignorance to keep men apart. There isno genius so gfted as not to AT ANDERSONVILLE iEMOlP.S OF ONE WfO SUFFEE. ED ITS HORRORS. Eis Story Does not Tally With Jeff Davis' Story. One of the last men to leave &nder sonvills prison-pen during the war is in Asheville, N. C., searching for health. He is of middle age, once of hardy physique, but n )w reduced by exposure in the Rebel prison and by other causes. "What did we have-to eat?" said he in -reply to the correspondent's inquiry. "Well, sir, once a day only we had a junk of bacon the size of my two fin gers and about an inch thick. ' Stock peas and variegated beans were served to each man, about a handful daily, with a small piece of so-called corn bread containing the ground cob with the corn. "The beans and peas were old and full of bugs. Inside of them would be found nice fat bugs. The bean< and peas were few enough, but t .e bugs were plentiful. Each squad of pris oners would pool their meat and peas in a camp kettle, making soup by boil ing the bacon, peas and water until the bacon was dissolved. Circles of grease formed on the surface of the soup, and in the centre of each'grease eircle we would always find a nicely boiled bug. With only one meal a day, which was but a fraction of an prdinary meal at that, a man's appetite increases. He can eat bugs, bootlegs or anything to fill up. So we soon ac customed ourselves to the bug diet. The Rebel -sentries were posted around the stockade twenty feet apart. "The 'dead line' inside the prison was about twenty feet from the fence. kMen were shot for crossing that line. I remember one poor fellow who had become crazed, under the exposures and privations of our horrible life. He was tired of living, so he crawled over the 'dead line.' :'Get back or I'll shoot yer l sh4outed th& entry.: Some one told the sentinel that the man was 1crazy. The officer on guard was ;called. He warned the- crazy prisoner rto get back or be shot. The poor fel low shouted 'Shoot.' The order was given to shoot; the rifle cracked and the irresponsible Union soldier was a -corpse. "We always knew when a prisoner was dying, because half a dozen of his companions gathered about the iufferer ready to carry the corpse outside the stockade. This readiness to act' as allbearers arose from -the fact that bien outside the prisonlhere was at ob n enatchtwigs-an assfrom the' wayside, to be used as .food or fuel. Every dead man was stripped of all clothing when life left the body. ;We reasoned that clothes were of no use to the dead, and they were of use to protect live men. "Our shelter and fuel -supply was decidedly limited. Where the trees had been cut down inside the stockade, -poor fellows in urgent need of wood ug the roots out of the ground to- a ponsiderable depth. This illustrates the wretched want we experienced. (No shelter was provided by the Rebels. We were captured as 'raiders.' Our yaptors considered it the:r right to take everything we possessed in the way of Yaluables. We were searched thor ~ughly. One of the ten men in our Iquad had $150 in greenbacks. How to keep it from the Rebs was a ques tion. Finally a corn cake was baked in the ashe;, into which the money 'was pushed. When the searchers ~rrived they did not find the cash. 'ith this money our comrade bought piece of rough woven cotton stuff, with which to make a tent to co;er fen men. ".t was scant covering for so many. By digging a cellar two feet deep we were able to c:owd uder the cover. One man slept in an exposed position, so we all took turns on the outside. So cramped were our quarters that wehen one man desired to turn over during the night 'all th, others were pbliged to turn with him. Iremember one night a stone hurt me-we slept on the bare earth without a blanket--and I pinched the man next to me, desiring him to turn over so that [ could move. My disturbance made him mad. .lle swore at me. I swore at him. Wc then stepped outside to fight it out. When we squared off to deliver our blows we were actually too weak to strike. We resembled a pair of ex hausted pugilists at the end of a hard fight,. and we agreed to finish our dif. ferences after the war, shook h'inds and went to bed again, actually amused at our ludicrous efforts to fight. "Every morning the dead rrisoncra were gathered in rows outside of the prison. Arms and legs of the corpses were tied together. For a time the 'Graybacks' pretended to keep a record of the dead. Finally Union men were detailed for the purpose. The hearse consisted of a rough farm wagon, with rigging. Upon this conveyance the bodies were thrown, as a farmer would throw logs of wood. The brutal jailors drove the ghastly load to a trench, intc: which the bodies were thrown. On the way to burial arms and legs pro truded from the cart and were muti lated against the wheels. The inhu ianity exhibited by the overseers 01 this prison has never been equalled by civilized man. "Too little is known by the risin2 generation of the cruelty of thest Southerners in m'anaging Anderson vile. It was a damnable pest hole foi which there is no excuse, and foi which- Jeff Davis was responsible. The Rebel general, who managed Lib by Prison and afterward managed An dersonville, said that he would ki! more Yankees in prison than wouk die at the front. He tarried out hi threat as far as he could, and was, 3 close of the war. He received in. itructions from Jeff Davis, and was imbued with an outrageous vindio. tiveness by his instructor, which tor. tured the life cut of thousands of help less men." A, Letter from Mrs. Jefersen Davis, Mrs. C. H. Burchenal, the wife of a 'eading Attorney in Richmond, Indi .na. is the sister of Capt. Selden A. Day, one of. the officers of the guard over eq' Davis while he was in Fort ress Monrordand Mrs. Burchenal, then iiss Day, spent a winter there, during which personal relations were formed "at r altod in h r r'^-rnr +1-o* ot^ day the follow!ng 'etter from the widow of the dead Chief of the Con federacy: "Beauvoir House, Chiistmas, 1889. -My Dear Mrs. Burchenal,--Your very kind letter has' been gratefullyj -received, and I am heartily glad to hear once more of you and Capt. Day. I am always sure, in thinking of him, that he is leading no unworthy life, and had I known his address, would have written long ago, to ask news of his passing years. Your memory of my dear husband is that of most peo ple who could discern the grace of G od which reigned in his heart. He always answered to tenderness, and., in your brother and you he found gentlefolk in strong contrast to many of those with whom his misfortunes and Those of his country enforced as sociation. 4We all remember you and Capt. Day with tender friendship, and I would be very happy it it were prob able we should meet again on earth. Most probably the letter you received was written by me, for I have been my husband's amanuensis for over f )rty years, and had practised writing like him until even he could not tell which had written, actually. You can understand now what the sudden lift ing of these services off me is-I can not realize that there is nothing left for me to do personally for him-that he hss an inheritance so glorious that there is no need of my poor help. I had generally gone to cur plantation with him, but the presence of guests prevented my leaving home, or, rather, he preferred I should remain with them. He was ill for a week with acute bronchitis, and the valuable time lost there could never be regained. Whcn we thought him convalescent, a congestive chill terminated his life in five hours. Neither of my children was with us. Winnie (Pie) was and is in Paris, and. Mrs. Hayes (Maggie) was in Colorado Springa, where her husband's week .lungs require him to live. Mr. Davis never lost his handsome figure, never stooped, nevar grew. baldr-his voice neechaug4 d, not-di4ittge :esticity of his step become heavy; he gained enough flesh to make him look like a well-preserved man of 60. He grew more and more tender and gentle, which was the only change I saw in him. But my loss is too new to me to count it now. My sister is Mme. C. de Wechmar Stoiss, and lives in Liver ool. She has two fine children, a tirl grown and her boy nearly so. ~he looks still handsome, and is young ~r her age. Now, my dear, I have been personal, in deference to your desiro to hear of us, as well as to a sense of the kindness which has kept our memory green so many years. "With love to your brother, yours faithfully, "V. H. DAVs." r'he President and His stricken Cabinet. The President has laid down the duties of his great office to perform those other duties which attach to him as a man, a Christian and a friend. No nurse could have been more tender than he has been; no brother could have been more devoted; no minister of grace could have more sacredly per formed the last offices of consolation; no single thing was forgotten which could tend to bring comfort to the living or to do honor to the dead. The President was almost the first to bathe the brow of his unconscious Secretary. He pressed the hand of poor Mrs. Tracy and received a look of recogni tion just as her spirit took its flight. He was by the side of suffering Ml~rs. Wilmerding, the daught:er, a few mo ments afterward, and alone seemed able to comfort her in her great dis tress. He performed that most piinful duty of informing Mr. Tracy that his house had been a charnel house for his wife and daughter. lie sat for hours by the side of his Secretary, begging h'm, for the sake of his living child and grandchild, to try to keep his hold on life. He found time to pay daily visits to that other house of. sorrow the desolate h3me of Secretary Blaine -and to be one of the chief mourners at that funeral. He sent the carriage of the White House and his daughter and her husband, with an Admiral of the navy, to attend the funeral of the homeless French maid, and the iilowers from the President's greenhouse deco rated that coffin. There were garlands fromu the White Ho0use for every grave, Hie waited until the night was far advanced to greet the son of Mr. Tracy, who trav elled to Washington with all the speed on a special train. He supported the tottering form of Mr. Tracy as the caskets were borne fr>jm the East Room to the grave. He omitted no act which Christian charity could dic tate,-or the tenderest human sympathy could suggest, during all of this most mournful tragedy. It is just to Presi dent Harrison to sy that as he returns to his official duty there is no public man in Washington of either party who does not think more kindly of the Chief Magistrate because of his act of tenderest human symnpathy. You can never go bac1c to where you wera this morning. The wheels of t,irue In dreams I bear a music made%of snow, Harmonic chilly idvl of cold'ound; Its echo-twin in polar stars isi-ouud, It moans to still white moons its utter woe. esunt gbost-musicians by the. frost-gods crowned, Drunk upon icicles and snow-dr , glow With di'mal thought in frigi' murmurs drowned. I bear ice melodies through dreamland flow. Sounds like a dark, cold pond, inviting rime, Sounds like the freezing, vague, uncertain chime Of distant bells through airs ofyendless mist, Clanging unconsciously to fate's above; Cold as regrets of some. frustrated tryst, Cold as the kiss of sips that know no love. -Francis S. Saltus. THE STRENGTH O LOVE, - DY GUT DE MAU-PASSKNT . . It was tea-time, before thi appear ance of the lamps.. The villa com manded the sea; the sun, which had disappeared, hui left the sky all rosy from his passing-rubbed,. it were, wit i gold-dust; and the. -iediterra nean, without a ripple, without a shud der, smooth, still shining dider the dying day, seemed like a hguge and polished metal plate. Far off to the right the moun tains out,ined their black p r 'on the paled purple of the west< -, We talked of love, we:discussed that old subject, we said. .":n the things which we had said already very often. The Lweet melanche the twilight made our wor.uslower, caused a tende ness to. wavS'. our souls; and thatlword "lo v *hich came back ceaselessly, now ced by a strong man's voice, n red by the frail-toned sweet v a woman, seemed to fill the i on, to flutter there like a bi ver there like a spirit. Can one remain in love - -in succession? "Yes," maintained Fom "No," affirmed others. We distinguished cases,. fished limitations, we cited and all, men and women, rising and troubling me they could not quote, mounted to their lips, and talked of. that commo ereign thing, the tender ous union of two beings, w found emotion and an ard But all of a sudden some: eyes had been fixed upon cried out: ., . "Oh 1 Look do*n there it?" On the sea, at the bottomr rizon, loomed up a masi. mous and con?used - The1 %kcbnde seats, and without"un ding, looked at this surprising t whch they had never seen before. Some one said: - "It is Corsica! You see'it so two or three times a year, in certain excep tional conditions of the atmosphere, when the air is perfectly clear, and it is not concealed by those heavy mists of sea-fog which always veil fhe dis tances." We distinguished vaguely the moun tain ridges, we thought we recognized the s- ow. of their summits. And every one remained surprised,troubled, almost terrified, by this sudden.appari tion of a world, by this phantom risen from the sea. Maybe taat those who, like Columbus, went -across undiscov ored oceans had such strange visions as this. Then said an old gentleman who had not yet spoken: "See here: I knew in that island zvhich raises itself.before us, as if in person to answer to what we said, and to recall to me a singular memory--i knew, I say, an admirable case of love which was true, of love which, im probably enough, was happy. Here it "Five years ago I.inade a journey in Corsica. That sa.-age island is more unknown and more distant from us than America, even though you see it sometimes frons the very coasts of France, as we have done to-day. "Imagine ~a world which is still chaos, imagine a storm of mountains separated by narrow ravines where torrents roll; not a single plain, but immense waves of granite, and giant undulations of earth covered with bushwod or with high forests of chestnut-trees andi pines. It is a vir gin soil, uncultivated, desert, although you sometimes make out a village, like a heap of rocks. on the summit -of a mountain. No culture, no industries, no art. One never meets here with a morsel of carved wood, or a bit of sculptured stone, never the least rc minder that the ancestors of . these people had any taste, whether rude or refined, for gracious and beautifu:l things. It is this which strikes you the most in their superb and hai-d country ; their indiff'erence to-that search for se ductive forms which is called Art. "Italy, where every . palace, full of masterpieces,- is a masterpiece itself; Italy, where marble, wood, bronze, iron, metals, and precious stones attest man's genius, where the smallest old tings which lie about in the ancient houses reveal that divine care for grace-Italy is for us the sacred coun try we love, because she sho.ws us and proves' -to .us tlie stauggle,. the grandu-, the power;and the triump,h of the intelligence which creates. - "And, face to fae,.wi'h -her, the savage Corsica has remaincd exactly as Iin her earliest days. A man lives there 'in his -rude house, indifferent to every thing which does noti concern his own bae-istence ,cr his family feuds. AiM.eg as retain:ed the vices and the via aso -vage urtes; he is violent, u ,::lignaint. sa:nuiary, wihout a io.ght of reinor=e, but also hospita hil)e, generous, de4voted, simpl', open ing hs doo )o par-by, and giving freely h a faithful friendship in return "So, tar a month, I had been wan dering over this magnificent island with . the sensation that 1 was at the end of the world. No more inns, no taverns, no ioads. You gain by mule paths hamlets hanging up, as it were, on a mountain-side, and commanding tortuous abysses whence of an evening you hear rising the steady sound, the dull and deep voice, of the torrent. You knock at the doors of the houses. You ask a shelter for the night, and something to live on. till the morrow. And you. sit down at the humble b. ard, and you s:eep under the hum ble roof, and in the morning you press the extended Land of your b tit, wno has guided you as far as the outs'irts of the village. "Now, one night, after ten hours' walking, I reached a little dwelling quite by itself at the bottom of a narrow valley which was about to throw itself into the sea, a league far ther on._ The two steeD slopes of the mountain, covered with brush, fallen rocks, and great trees, shut in this la mentably sad ravine like two sombre walls. "Around the cottage were some vines, a little garden, and, farther off, several large chestnut-trees--encugh to live on; in fact, a fortune for this poor country. "The woman who received me was old, severe, and neat-exceptionally so. The man, seated on a straw chair, near the door, rose to salute me, then sat down again without saying a word. His companion said to me: " 'Excuse him, monsieur, he is deaf now. He is over eighty-two ye ars old.' 'She spoke the French of France. I was surprised. "I asked her: I "'You are not of Corsica?" "She answered: "'No; we are from the Continent. But we have lived here now fifty years. "A feeling of anguish and of fear set ed me at the thought of those fifty years passed in this gloomy hole, so far from the cities where human be ings dwe!l. An old shepherd re turned, and we began to eat the only dish there was for dinner, a thick soup in which potatoes, lard and cabbages had been boiled together. - "When the short repast was finished I went and sat down before the door, my heart pinched by the melancholy of the mournful landscape, wrung by that distress which sometimes reaches trav els on certain sad evenings, in cer tai desolate places. It seems that everything is near its ending-exist ence, and the universe itself. You perceive sharply the dreadful misery liffe,the terrible isolation of every sonethonothingness'of all things, and the black loneliness of the heart which nurses itself and deceives itself with dreams until the very hour of death. "The old woman rejoined me, and, tortured by that curiosity which ever lives hidden at the bottom of th, most resigned of souls: "'So you come from France?' said she. "'Yes; I'm travelling for pleasure.' " 'You are from Paris, perhaps?' "'No, I am from Nancy.' "It seemed that an extraordinary emotion agitated her. How I saw, or rather felt it, I do not know. "She repeated, in a slow voice: "'You are from Nancy ?' "The man appeare,d in the door, im passible, like all the deaf. She rt sumed: "'It dcesn't make any difference lie can't hear.' "Then, at. the end of several seconds: "'So you know people at Nancy?' "'Oh, yes, nearly everybody.' " 'The family of Sainte-Allaize?' "'Yes, very well; they were friends of my father.' "'IWhat are you called?' "I told her my name. S':e ret ard ed me fixedly, then said, in that bor voice which is roused by memories: " 'Yes, yee ; I remember well. And the Brisemares, what has become of them?' "'They are all dead.' " 'Ah! And the Sirmonts, do you know them?' "'Yes, the last of the family is a general.' "Then she said, trembling with emo tion, with arguish, with I don't know what, feeling confused, powerful, and holy-, with i do not know how great a need to confess, to tell all, to talk of those things which she had kept shut in the' bottom of her heart, and to speak of those whose name distracted her soul: " 'Yes, Henri de Sirmont. I know him well. He is my brother.' "And I lifted my eyes at her, aphast with surprise. And all of a suilden my memory of it came back. "It had caused, once, a great scan dal among the nobility of Lorrsine. A young girl, beautiful and rich, Suzanne de Sirmont, had run away with an under-officer in the regiment of huzzars commanded by her father. "Hie was a handsome fellow, the son bfa peasant, but he carried his blue doman very well, this soldier who had captivated his colonel's daughter. She had seen him, noticed him, fallen in love with him, doubtle a while watch ing the squadrons filing by. "But how she had got speech of him, how they had managed to ace one another, to hear from one another; hw she had dared to let him under stand she loved him-that was never known. "Nothing was divined, nothing sus pected. One night wiEen the soldier had .ust finished his time of service, they disappeared together. Her pes pe looked for them in vain. They never received tidings, and they con sidered her as dead. "So I fo,und her in.thia sinister val ley. "Then in my turn I took up the "-Yes, I remember. You are Mllg. 3uzanne.' "She made the sign 'yes,' with her head. Tears fell from her eyes. Then with a look showing me the o'd man motionless on the threshold of his hut, she said: "'That is he.' "And I understood that she loved him yet, that she still saw him with her bewitched eyes. "I asked : "'Have you at least been happy?' "She answered with a voice from her heart: "'Oh yes! very happy. He has made me very happy. I have neve; regretted.' "I looked at her, sad, surprised, astounded by the sovereign strengtliof love ! That rich young lady had fol. lowed this man, this peasant. She. was become herself a peasant woman. Shq bad made for herself a life without charm, without luxury. without deli cacy of any kind. she had sto'yed to simple customs.. And she loved him yet. She was become the wife of a rustic, in a cap, in a cloth sitirt. Seatcd on a straw-bottomed 'chair, she ate from an earthen 'rare dish, at a wooden table, a soup of potatoes and of cab bages with lard. She slept on a mat tress by his side. "She had never thought of anything but of him. She had never regretted her jewels, nor her fine dresses, nor the elegancies of life, ror the perfumed warmth of the chimbers hung with tapestry, nor the softness of the down beds where the body sinks in for re pose. She had never had need of any thing but him; provided he was there, she desired nothing. "Still young, she had abandoned life and the world and those who had brought her. up, and who had loved her. She had come, alone with him, into this savage valley. And he had been everything to her, all that one de sires, all that one dreams of, all that one waits for, all that one hopes for without end. He had filled her lift with happiness from the one end to the other. "She could not have been more happy. - "And all the night, listenirng to the hoarse breathing . of the old soldier stretched on his pallet beside her who had foLowed him so far, I thought of this strange and simple adventure, oO this happiness so complete, and so true, made of so very little. "And I went away at sunrise, after having pressed the hands of that aged pair." The story teller was silent. y A woman said: "All the same, she had ideas which were too easily satisfied, needs which were too primitive, requirements too simple.. She could only have .beeb. a fool." . Another said, in a low, slow and tender voice, -,What matter! she was happy." And down there at the end of the horizon, Corsica was sinking into the night, returning gently into tae sea, blotting out her great shadow, which had appeared as if in person to wil the stor y of those two humble lovers who we1re sheltered by her coasts. Mrs. Hayes's Premonition of Death. The Philadelphia Ladies' Home Magazine says in an article on the late Mrs. Rutherford B3. Hayes: "Some of her nearest relatives had died of paralysis, and she had a premo nition that she, too, would pass away with the same disorder. She had long talk with her hu'band on the subs ject about three years ago. He en, deavored to chase away her fears with light and kindly words. Early last' autumn, just about the time of the an niversary of the death of her brother, who had passed away in paralysis, she spoke of her premonitions again. Her fears now amounted to an absolute conviction, and she .spoke of her end by paralysis as an event certain to take p lace. None of the endeavors of her husband to turn her thoughts to a more cheerful subject could avail. She quietly insisted on arranging with him her business and other affairs. She put her house in perfect order. "And now," she fialy said, "if I be stricken with paralysis, as I believe I shall be, I will not, as you know, be able to speak. But perhaps I still may be able to hear. You may ask me then whether my mind is serene and clear, whether I am at ease and free from pain. For the answer yes to these questions, I shall press your band. If I cannot truthfully reply in the affirmative, my hand will not clasp yours." Three days after this, what she feared would happen came to pass. She was suddenly stricken down with paralysis. Her organs of speech were benumbed. Then all that she had said came sadly back to the memory of her devoted husband. Looking down into her shining eyes, he took her ha':d i.a his, and asked the questions which days before she had suggested: "Wife, dear, are you at ease, is your mind se rene and clear, and are you free from pain?" Slowly the poor white fingers closed upon his, giving his hand a gen tle, reassuring pressure. The next day the brave and loving wife was dead. Kames of Representatives. Speaking of the new House of Rep resentatives, a correspondent says: "There are no Blacks, and, strange to say, there are no Whites or Grays, and what is more remarkable, there is not a single Jones. There is a Mr. Abbott and also a Mr. Cowles. There is a Mr. Flood and a Mr. Raines. There is a Crain, a Parrett, a Hare and a Bullock. There is a Flower, a Spooner, a Post and a Stomp. There is a Knapp and a (Goodnight. Bland, Wiley and Frank a:e good frienda?" Love never baa to be watched to see A FAMUS SONG. "John Brown's Body Lies a-Kolderntif the Grave. Eow the Old War Eymn Cams Into Reist. ence, and Still "Goes Xarehing OV"-Eow it Was Set to Ensia. On the 17th-of AprilA1861, I beoame a member of the Second.Battalion of Infantry, a Massachusetts, militia or ganization of some local repute, with headquarters at old Boylsto.adl, . Boston, writes George Kimball in7the New England Magazine. The -battat ion comprised four companies, 'com manded by Major Ralph Newtove :W had many good singers-among us, nd during our long evenings in quairters, we sang almost constantly. t Religious hymns were as popul s with us as secular songs. Among. the former noue gave greater satisfaction than a hymn, at that time a great favorite in revival meetings, 'ntitled "Say, Brothers, Will You Meet Us?" How the music of "Say, Brothers, iWill You Meet Us?" was made' o do duty in tk' building up of the -John IBrown Song" will appear in what-fot ows. We had a jovial Scotehman in. the battalion named John Brown, and.as happened to bear the Identical 'name of the old hero of Harpers Fer fry, he became at once the butt f his 'comrades. If he made his appearance few minutes late among the working quad or was a little tardy in faling to the company line, he was greeted arith such expressions as "'Come, ola llow you ought to be at it :if you - Lare going to help us free, the- slaves"; or, "This can't be Aohn Brown-why. - John Brown is dead." And then some wag-would add-, in'a solemn; drawling tone, as if it were-his purpose to give particular emphasis to the fact ,that - $Tohn Brewn was really, actually deds ?"Yes, yes, poor old- John Bt-own is Idead; his body lies mouldeiinig in- the - grave." : This nonsense was. keptp, from day to day; and these expr.es; s, particularly the ones referring tJ the defunct condition of Brown, were sa often heard that they became- by. ,words among us. They were usually followed by exclamations of feigned :surprise, such-a's "Is that so?" Fin. ally ditties-composed of the-most non. sensical doggerel rhymes, setting ,farth the fact that John Brown 'was dead and that his body was undergoing -the process of dissolution, began to be 'sung to the music of the hymn above / iven. These ditties underwent varh ous ramifications until eventually the -nes were reached: - 1ohn Brown's body lies a-mbldering lathe grave,- - -- - His soul's marching on. And. ~ - 'He's gone to boa soldier In-theiy His soul3s marching on. * > The song, or rather this small+ e ginning, became at once immensely. 'popular. There was just aAfavor or coarseness, possibly of irreyerence about it slightly objectionable to th - more fastidious "Tigers," - and Major Newton and others made a combined eeffort to have the wording changed, but their endeavor fell through. k)thers thought that - the song should ~commemorate some -distinguished sol pier of the war, and "Ellsworth's :body" was suggested. But this effort 'also failed. Nothing would answea but "John Brown's body." Greenleaf was a musician, the organ. ist of a church -in Charlestow.-. He therefore naturally h.id most to de with the earliest arrangement of the notes of the song. C. S. Hall oa ~Charlestown, also became interested in the production, and together-they went to work to see what could be made of it, for it was becoming so popular.that something had to be done. - Another entleman, -C. B. Marsh, was taken ~nto their confidence, and the result ~as the composition of additional verses, and the song, as thus con structed, wais printed upon common printing paper and sold on the streets of Boston as a penny ballad in .the latter part of May and in. June .and July, 1861. This copy, the fir-st issued, was made from an original in the pos session of Mr. Abram F. Cutter of Charlestown - and kindly loaned by him, ana. bore the imprint: "Pub isned at 256 Main st., Charlestown, . Mass." P?oor Brown, the victim of those practical jokes and guys that, coayldd with the remembrance of thie martyr' dom of his .heroic namesake, gave birth to the Idea from which the -song. sprang,~ found a watery grave in the Shenandoah river, at Front Edyal, Va., on the 7th of June?- 1862,. While - serving in the same company with the - wrier-Company A, Twelfth Massa chusetts Volunteers. Nessurement of Great lakes.---- - The greatest length of Lake.Super-,. for is 335 miles; its greatest bread-is 160 miles its mean depth, 688 feet; ele vation, 827 feet; area, S2,000 sjuare miles. The greatest leogth of Lake Maicigan is $O00-mils- Its iftest bre .dth. 108 miles; meaazdeptt,' 630 feet; elevation. 506 feet; area, -23;00 square miles. The greatest lengtheof Lake Huron is. 3Q9. mniles;-its greatest breadthi,60 miles; mean depth, 600 feet: elevation, 274~ feet; area- 20,00-square miles. The greatest -length df -Lake Erie is 250 miles; if,s greates& breadth, 83 miles; mean depth., S& f,eet; elE#a tion, 261 feet; era, 6,000-stuare miles. T1he greatest length of Lake-Ontario is 180 miles; its gre ite.it breadth is--65 --* miles; Its mean depth- is 50Q doeettelen va ion, 261 feet; area, 6,000 -squan. miles. A Trihiegro - Judge.-"Jim Webster'you are ae cused by Sam Johnsinigoi having a:u - - hm intentiondily with En shot. wilel ,you were hunting togethe-r." -~ Webster.- "No steii ..bod6~ shoe hisseff ackerdentally) 46n na he laysit onme.- - '-.. "But it's not likely tha6 eboot himself -in the bakf' - ' "Oh, . you don't~ ktor~ :Ji .)hr's noG rascality wba -v ga 'e et don."-Tens - -