(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 - -