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_______ __ YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, M AY 16, 1878. Jin ?rigiual j^torg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARY EUSTACE; OR, TRUST BETRAYED. CHAPTER XVIII. Some six weeks later, a pale, cadaverous looking gentleman, in the uniform of a Confederate Colonel, might have been seen, one autumn afternoon, slowly riding towards the MrtoolonHa through the loner avenue gC*WC VI 4UVuoiwuuw| ?<H. v ? 0 of oaks which waved their giaut branches | over him, as if to bid him welcome home. A look of deep care rested oo his face, which, added to the ravages of illness and suffering, gave him the appearauce of being many years older than when, in the flush of health and strength, we parted from him , last. It was the master of Mosslands, whose ears, on bis release from prison, had been saluted by a tale which had quelled his new born exultation, and cast a gloom over his return to the spot to which his heart had ~ turned as the centre of all hie happiness, all his hopes. There was a rush, an outcry of delight, as two or three of bis faithful slaves, suddenly espying his approach, dashed forward to meet him and surround him with loud and heart* -'? ;?nf molnorriB A faint smile it5ic eiUIBIllaVIUIID VI nuivvu.. lit up the Colonel's haggard face, as he yielded his hands te their rough, but hoDest, clasp. It was sometbiDg to find these bumble friends true to him, and joyful at bis return. The news spread like wildfire over the place: "Master's come?master's come home!" and by the time he reached the bouse, a large group of domestics bad assembled to receive hirn. He had a shake of the hand and a kind word for each, briefly answering their eager in quiries and exclamations at his changed looks. "I have been in prison. My wounds were very bad, but are nearly well uow. I will speak to you all after a while. At present I need rest. Caesar, is Mr. Cleveland in the house?" Au involuutary sternness marked his tone as he asked this question of the boy, to whom he threw his bridle-rein. "Mass Maurice, sir??yes, sir. There he comes uow, masterand as he spoke Maurice appeared at tbe door. The Colouel slowly ascended the steps, the weakness and langour of his movements denotiug how far he was from having regained his customary health. Maurice approached to offer him his support. He waved him aside without a word, and entered the hall alone. Having reached the library, he sank upon a sofa, and remained, ' of,11 .Tuffrnu I lor a lew mouieuu), ouu. the faithful butler, who had followed him with anxious looks, hastened to offer him some wine, which he took with a shaking hand. "Anything else, master??some biscuits? some cold meat?" I'll have a nice supper ready for you in a little while." "Not just yet, Jeff. I am not hungry ; only a little.worn out by my long ride. I want nothing at all at present. If I need you I will ring the bell." * "Very well, sir." Jeffrey took the hint and withdrew, leaving his master aloue with Maurice, who had come into the room and now stood on the hearth-rug, calmly regarding the new comer. Whatever emotions the unexpected appearance of the latter might have awakened, were not visible iu the young man's countenance, which was carefully composed. Colonel Dacre raised his eyes and fixed them searchingly on his cousin's face. "You are, no doubt, surprised to see me here," he coldly remarked. Up to this moment, not a syllable of greeting had been exchanged between them. "I confess that I am, rather," replied Maurice. "I thought you were in Fort Delaware." "And likely to remain there. Such, at least, was probably your hope. It would have been gratified, but for an unlooked-for exchange of prisoners, by which I benefited, in consideration of my shattered health. As it is, I have come home, to ask you to render an account of the trust which I confided to your charge when I went away." "Well, I believe things ou the place have gone on much as usual," said Maurice, sitting > down with a busiuees-like air. "There have ; been no Yaukees in the neighborhood, aud i the negroes have gone on with their work undisturbed. I think you will find the planta- j tion in good order." "We will leave those details, if you please, for another time," said the Colonel, sternly. "I was not alluding to plantation affairs, which, at present, I feel little interest in ; butI to a far more sacred and important trust left in your keeping. Where is ray ward, Mary I * Eustace?" "Miss Eustace," replied Maurice, chang- J ing color in spite of himself, ' was, when I last heard of her, in Richmond, Virginia." "In Richmond !" repeated the Colonel. "Yes ; so she wrote Mrs. Blandiug, just be- j fore that lady left here." "With whom was she?under whose care?" "Under the care of a Mrs. Stanley, a per-! son she met there." "This is news to me," said the Colonel. "I ! understood that she was staying with Mr. i Clive's family, in one of the upper districts of this State." "She was for a time," rejoined Maurice. "And will you inform me what was the cause of her leaving Mosslauds?" "Perhaps," said Maurice, with effrontery,! "you may have already informed yourself on ! that subject. If so, it is unnecessary to cate- 1 chise me any farther." "Audacious boy !" exclaimed the Colonel, j "I do not wonder that you evade answering my question?that you shrink from exposing your own perfidy. I have heard the reason of; Mary's departure. I have learned that she i went away from here to escape from your ' unmanly and dishonorable persecution ; your j persistent attempts to shake her faith in me, j to destroy the boud between us, and induce j her to accept your hand instead of mine. Can you deny this?" "I deny nothing, and say nothing," answer-! ed Maurice," until I find out who has been ! your informant." "My informant was a young lady who was a guest in this bouse, at the time when this j scheme of yours was being carried out?Miss St. Maur." "Miss St. Maur?and where on earth did you see herf" jxclaimed Maurice, in genuiue astonishment. i "In New York, where she is staying with some people to whose house I was carried, on my release from the Fort, to rest awhile before starting on my journey South. From her I obtained a full account?quite full enough, at least, to satisfy me?of what transpired here, at a time when I fondly believed all was going on well." "She was not an impartial or unprejudiced witness," sneered Maurice. "Her own feelings were considerably interested, inasmuch j as there happened to be, formerly, a little affaire du coeur betwixt us two, which I don't think she has quite gotten over yet." "How dare you speak to me in that trifling manner?" asked the Colonel, with a glance of Are. "But enough of this. It sickens me to find how basely I have been deceived; how entirely I have misunderstood your whole character. Your unworthy betrayal of my confidence has been enough to sink you very low in my estimation. But your manifestation now of total indifference, of the entire absence of any compunction for what you have doue, places you, if possible, on a lower level still." "I am much obliged to you for your good opinion, and your candor in expressing it," rejoined Maurice. He rose from bis seat as be spoke, and walked toward the window. Notwithstanding bis outward show of unconcern, a fierce tumult was raging in bis breast. Anger, disappoinment, hatred, baffled hope, a wild desire to annihilate anything and everything that stood between him and the object of his desires, combined to excite him almost to fever heat. And as he stood looking out into the gathering twilight, clenching his bauds fiercely to repress his agitation, and drawing his breath quick and hard, so maddening were his sensations that if with one blow he could have crushed out his kinsman's life, thus destroying, as he thought, the one obstacle that stood in the way of his winning Mary for his own, he would have turned and struck it then and there. Colonel Dacre leaned back in his chair, staring gloomily at the fire. He had thought so well of Maurice?had loved him as a son ; and the bitterness of his feelings arose almost as much from wounded confidence, from grief and disappointment at the return which his misplaced affection had met with, as from mere anger, though the latter emotion was very strong. Had Maurice, even then, showed any token of contrition?had be come forward and said, "I have been led away by an ungovernable impulse, which I regret; I have injured you, but I crave your forgiveness, and will err no more," he could not have done otherwise than forgive him, and *? ->? wouia nave maae hijuwhuuc, wnu mo uou*i generosity, for the hot headedness of youth, and the greatness of the temptation which he himself had unthinkingly placed in his way. But the recklessness and hardihood with which his reproaches were met, prevented any such softening on his part, and the just indignation roused by such behavior predominated over every other sentiment. After a considerable pause, during which Maurice had, by a severe struggle, succeeded j in so far roasteriug his excitement as to refrain from the betraying it to view, the latter turned around from the window, and in a tone of forced calmness, said? "Since you have now returned to resume the responsibility of your own affairs, and since my presence here is not only unnecessary, but unwelcome, there is no reason why I should remain longer under your roof. It is rather late tonight to set out; but at daylight to-morrow I shall take my departure, if that will suit you as well." ""You speak very lightly of taking your departure," returned his cousin, "as if it were a matter of little or no moment under what circumstances you thus leave ray house. I might, if so disposed, call you much more strictly to account than I have done, for your dishonorable conduct; but past ties are not quite cancelled, and the remembrance of them makes me foolishly lenient. Before we part, however, I demand from you a full account of Miss Eustace's movements, and information in regard to her present whereabouts, as I desire t.n communicate with her at once." "That is her address," said Maurice, tossing j a card towards him. "All I know of her ! movements is that she went off to Virginia in ! search of you, hearing some how or other that | you were in one of the hospitals there, and j not finding you, went into a sort of partner- j ship with this Mrs. Stanley to superintend a hospital or something of that kind. A very independent style of proceeding, altogether, as it appears." Colonel Dacre took no notice of this re- i mark. He merely copied the address from Maurice's card, on a slip of paper, and then, as if wishing to avoid farther conversation on a trying subject, rang the bell for lights. Jeffrey answering the summons, the lamps were lit, the fire was replenished, and supper presently brought in. But though for form's sake the two men sat down to table together, j the meal was only a pretence; the Colonel j haviog but scanty appetite, and Maurice not j even touching a morsel. It was a dull enough j return home for the former, whose heart j yearned for the presence which had once cast j such a brightness over everything around j him. In his lonely hours of captivity and ill- | ness, how often had he pictured to himself i the welcome which would greet him, should he j ever go back to Mosslands ; and how different was the present reality from that fond antici- I pation! True to his word, Maurice started the next j morning before the household was astir, only ! Jeffrey, who, by his master's order, got an ear- j ly breakfast ready for him, and the boy who i brought his horse to the door, bidding him farewell. No parting words had passed be- i tween his kinsman and himself. For how j could one bid the other God-speed, when separating under such circumstances as these? Nor was his the only departure from Moss- , lands that day. To Jeffrey's amazement and utter discomfiture, the Colonel informed him that he himself intended to set out immediately for Richmond, as he wished to bring Miss Mary home. "You going to travel right off agaiu, master, when you ain't fit for anything, but to stay at home and rest 1 You'll kill yourself, i if you ain't careful," was Jeffrey's earnest expostulation. But his master, though truly much in need of rest, felt that there was no rest for him until he should have [ Mary with him again. There was a lingering, tormenting shade of anxiety iu his heart, an unacknowledged craving to satisfy himself whether her feelings were quite unchanged, quite unshaken, by all she had gone through, which made him, over and above his desire to Bee her, especially eager to haBten their reunion. So, promising to return, if nothing unforeseen should happen, within ten days or a fortnight, and charging Jeffrey to take good care of everything during his absence, he set off by the afternoon train, wishing that some swifter locomotive power were available, to transport him to the goal of his hopes. Little did Mary guess, as she sadly but patiently pursued her usual round of occupations, assisting the ever-buBy Mrs. Stanley in her various labors, which she followed up as zealously as ever, what the next few hours had in store for her. Hope, though not quite extinguished in her heart, had waxed very faint, as the weary weeks, dragging along, brought her no tidings. And a sort of dull resignation had taken possession of her ; a feeling that Fate was too strong for her to fight against, aDd that it was wisest and best to do what she could to make the present endura? ? - Die, oy giving nerseu up iu hu uuaciuou nw>&ing for others, and laying, as far as possible, thoughts of everything else aside. Mrs. Stanley's hospital had proved a great success. Enough patients were continually on hand to give her all the occupation she desired. And very grateful were they for her ministrations, and those of heryouDg assistant, who kept, however, as much as she could in the background. CHAPTER XIX. "A visitor for you, Miss Mary," said Mrs. Stanley's trim little maid servant, Dolly, as she entered Mary's room with a card in her hand. On it was neatly written in pencil? card-engraviug being expensive in those days?the name, "Miss St. Maur." "Adelia 1 Ask her in the parlor, Dolly," said Mary, wondering from whence her friend had thus unexpectedly sprung. And going down stairs, she presently found berselfeufolded in Miss St. Maur's embrace. "My dearest, darliDg Mary! Are you not surprised to see me ? I just found out where you were, and as I wanted to come to Richmond, anyhow, for a few days, I determined to come to see you at the same time. I had no idea that you had left the Clives, until a day or two ago. You know I am in New York for the present." "In the enemy's country!" said Mary, smiling. "Yes?are you shocked? Well, I dare say it seems horrid ; but I'm staying with some warm Southern sympathizers there. And it was so awful at home, when Mrs. Scott asked me to go as governess to her girls, I couldn't resist it. It enables me to help mother, you know. "How did you come through the lines?" "By flag of truce. To tell you the truth, Mr. Scott's brother is in the Northern array, and so I can get help either way. Now don't look as if you thought me a traitor, Mary !? I hear, by the way, that you have become a red-hot patriot. That you spend your whole time nursing wounded soldiers?have turned into a complete Florence Nightingale. I never would have suspected you of having such proclivities." "I help Mrs. Stanley a good deal, aud she : ?ij ?? ??;,i \,f??? m very euuu tu tin? ouiuicio, ooui yioi j "Did you come all tbe way here for that purpose ?" "No. I came for another purpose; but I met Mrs. Stanley afterwards, and she proposed that I should stay with her." "Where did you ever know her?" "I did not kuow her before I came here." "How funny I" Adelia elevated her eyebrows. "And is this arrangement to be permanent?" "I have no idea how long I shall be here." "I don't think you'll be here very long," said Adelia, with an arch look, "after you have heard the news which I am going to tell you." "What news are you going to tell me?" asked Mary, quickly. "First answer me one question. Have you heard anything of Colonel Dacre lately ?" "No. Have you? Oh ! Adelia, dou't keep cue in suspense," cried Mary, with rising agita tiou iu her face and tone. "I am so longing to hear somethiug. I have been waiting for such a weary time!" "Well, you poor little thing, I won't keep you in suspeuse. I have heard of your lover, and very lately, too." "Have you ? When ??how?" The bright color swept in a rich wave over Mary's fair face as she spoke. "I have not only heard of him, but seen and spoken to him myself. He came to Mrs. Scott's when he left Fort Delaware. Did you know he had been in prison ?" "No. I know nothing, except that he was wounded. Tell me all, Adelia, quick!" "Well, he was released, being sick and unlikely to fight again?don't look alarmed, his wounds were dreadful, but he is much better now?aud came to Mrs. Scott's before setting out for home. As I told you, she is a Southern sympathizer, having a great many friends at the South, and she gives all the help she can to any of our men that need it. She heard that your Colonel was ill, aud had him brought right to her house, aud there she nursed him for a week, and wanted him to stay longer, but he was in a terrible hurry to go home. So he was sent through the lines, and that's the last we've beard of hira. No doubt he is at Mosslands now. What a j pity you are not there." "Oh ! why did I come away ?" cried Mary, rising and clasping her hands. "He may be suffering now?and Mrs. Blanding is not I there. There is no one to take care of him ! i How forlorn it must be for him there! Tell j me, Adelia, was he very, very ill ?" "Not when he left. He couldn't be, you know, if he was able to travel. You will hear from hirn very soon, I don't doubt. Perhaps this very day." "Do you think so? If I were only sure? if I only knew what to do? I must speak to Mrs. Stanley. She will advise rae," said ! Mary, looking greatly troubled and excited. ] "One thing is certain?unless he is desper-1 ately ill, you can't go posting down to Moss- j lauds now," said Adelia. "You forget that; you are engaged to be married to him. He isn't simply your guardian, you know." "I never thought of that," eaid Mary, the > color deepening to crimson on her cheek. "I only feel as if it were wrong to be away wheu he may need me so much. He has beeu I so good to me always, t don't waut bira to 1 think me ungrateful." "You 11 have plenty of opportunity to show I your gratitude, never fear," said Adelia. "Just take my advice and keep quiet. It's the best thing you can do. What has become of Maurice Cleveland?" "I suppose he is at home," said Mary. "Hasn't he committed suicide, or anything of that sort yet? He'll get a nice scolding from the Colonel. I told him all about his behavior." "You did?" exclaimed Mary, in a horrified tone. "Of course; wasn't it proper for him to I know ?" You'd have had to tell him, you i know ; and I only saved you the trouble." "And now they will quarrel, perhaps ; and Colonel Dacre will be miserable. I wish you had said nothing, Adelia I Besides, how did you know ?" Adelia laughed. "Do you take me for a simpleton, my dear 1 Remember, I've known Maurice a long time; and it didn't take me very long to find out what game he was playing. Don't worry yourself about him. He deserves ail that be will get, and more too. Well, I have told you enough news now for one day, and I suppose I had better go now, and give you a chance to get over your excitement a little. I may not see you again. Probably, I shall have to return to-morrow, and then I shall keep quiet for a while. And you?I shall hear of you next at Mosslands, I suppose. Mary's thoughts were in a whirl. She scarcely heeded Adelia's partiug words. When the latter bad taken leave, she went to her room, and sat there for an hour, trying to plan something to steady her nerves, so as to be able to reflect calmly ; to decide on what it was best for her to do. Mrs. Stanley came in at last, to ask her some question about a certain kind of nourishment she was preparing. She saw, at once, that something had happened, and Mary, on being asked, was quite ready to tell her all. "My dear girl, how glad I ought to be! And I am glad, for your sake, though it is a great blow to me to And that I will have to give you up," said Mrs. Stanley, affectionately kissing her. "I began to think you were ray own daughter, almost. And you are so clever and so helpful, )ou are quite like my right hand. But, of course, you won't take any steps just yet. You will wait to hear from him first." "I wanted you to tell me what to do," said Mary. "Why, remain quietly here, of course. He will send or write at once, when he finds out where you are. Dear, dear, this is news, indeed ! I know how happy you must feel. Look here, my child, I want you to taste this before I add any more pepper or salt. It's for young Jenkins, and I don't believe it ought to be too highly seasoned ; do you ?" Mary's thoughts were far enough just then from young Jenkins and bis broth. But she tasted the contents of the silver porringer?a vessel with which Mrs. Stanley continually went armed?with a very good grace, and gave her opiuion in regard to theseasoniug as well as she could. Mrs. Stanley was in a great hurry just then, for she had left another delicate mess on the stove in a critical state, aud it was a proof of the interest she felt in Mary and her news, that she had paused so long in L?_ ftiamiaa the anhipot. whip.h t.hfi IJCI wpciouiuuo lu Uigvuuu Vt.v w-.-j-w. latter had at heart. So she kissed her again, murmured something in the same breath about blanc-mange, and an unfailing blessing on all those who wait patiently and do their dnf.v wftll. and then hastened off with her little porringer to return to the duties of the cuisine. Mary's heart was brimming over. The more she pondered on the tidings she bad heard, the more wonderful they seemed?too wonderful, almost, to realize. Yet she could not reasonably doubt that they were true, coming from so direct a source. She was far too agitated to give her mind to any of her accustomed duties, and spent the day in a kind of dreamy abstraction, happy yet restless, full of eager yearnings, yet beyond measure thankful for the blessing of the knowledge that had come to her. It was perhaps a fortunate thing for her that she was forced, late in the evening, to give her attention to a poor, suffering, wounded man, just brought from one of the hospitals to be placed under Mrs. Stanley's care, and who, coming at a moment when the latter was out, having been obliged to go on some errand in the neighborhood, fell, for the time, under her supervision, and could not but enlist her sympathy and compassion. She had to see that the right bed was prepared for him, that he had everything placed near him that he would need, to give him some cooling drink, and afterward bathe his feverish head, aching and distracted from the motion of the hospital ambulance. And in performing these duties, she was gradually relieved from the nervous pressure on her own heart and brain, which had made her happiness almost painful to her. Just a minute after Mrs. Stanley had come in and relieved her from her post, there came a ring at the bell. It was near bed time, and she hoped that it might not be another new patient, arriving at so late an hour. Presently, Dolly came up with the tidings that "somebody" was in the parlor. "I told Mis' Stanley, ma'am, aud she asked me to let you know, 'cause she's busy with the sick gentle mau. one inius.8 11 ia a message iiulu me dispensary." "Very well, I'll attend to it," said Mary. She went rather slowly down to the parlor, which was but dimly lighted with a candle, which Dolly had placed in a hurry on a table just inside the door. A weary looking, gaunt figure rose up from a sofa opposite. It was no wonder that at the first she did not recognize its identity. But it needed only a step forward, a single word in the well-known voice, to awaken her to a sense of the truth ; and uttering her guardian's name, she ran toUirv* nn/1 moo nr^Qaa/1 fn Kia hpflrL VV UI u IJ1 lliy UUU fiww |/?vwu?. M WW ?..w MVW.n "Mary?" was all he had said, and the meeting was too full of deep and grateful joy to admit of many words. Besides, the Colonel's physical weakness, nearly overcoming him after his too severe and prolonged exertion, seemed to make it necessary for them both to preserve their calmness and self-control. Mary was frightened when she got a distinct view of his face, to see how very ill and worn he looked, and all her ecstasy seemed to die out iu a sudden sickening fear. She rang the bell quickly for Dolly to bring some wine from the sick-room stores, and entreated him to lie down and rest; he must be so dreadfully tired, so exhausted, after his jouruey. He acknowledged that he was tired, but said he would feel well again in a little while, especially with the sight of her to revive him. Then the wine came, Mrs. Stanley bringing it instead of Dolly, though not in the least suspecting for whom it was intended. And when she found out that this was Mary's Colonel Dacre, and that be was almost as much in need of nursing, at present, as the majority of her patients, she insisted on his staying there, in a vacant room which she would get ready immediately, for his use, quite apart from the hospital ward, where he could be entirely private, and obtain all the quiet and repose which he so much required. [to be continued.] |jp3ttUat($au0 finding. IMMIGRATION AND DEVELOPMENT. [D. Wyatt Aiken, In News and Courier.] What the resources of South Carolina are, few men have an adequate conception, but every one knows that those resources may as well not exist as to remain undeveloped. It ia evident, too, that development will never come unless we have an increase of population, and we shall never have a perceptible increase except through immigration. Few neraona have, a nrnner PAnnpnfcinn. t.on. ?.. ? *w 7 r-71? 7?- ?* of what is meant by immigration. One farmer brings a foreign family to his farm, and a machinist picks up a roving mechanic, and this feeble effort at an increase is then spoken of as immigration; whilst the scattered new comers are not sufficiently numerous to do more than fill up the vacant places caused by the migratory disposition of our people. Immigration will never become general, or a potent factor in the development of our State, we very much fear, until State legislation conduces somewhat towards attracting it. How or when this will be done, we do not propose to suggest; we only hope it will be done, and to remind our law makers that it has not heretofore been done. A fortnight ago we had the pleasure of spending a few days in company with a distinguished Northern man in several parts of our State, and whilst we were somewhat amused at his inquisitiveness, we were mortified at the utter failure of our people to reply satisfactorily to his various interrogatories. He expressed himself somewhat surprised that we had no signal service station at our capital. It is perhaps the only capital, he thought, in the Union where there was not one. He inquired about everything, from the geological formation, the mineralogical deposits, the altitude of our courthouses above the sea,(and asked scores of such questions,) down to the price of a pound of bacon or a bushel of corn, and as he told us, he discovered that our people knew more about the difference between the credit and cash price of such articles as they should grow upon their farms, but which many of them bought, than they did about anything else. When intelligent immigrants are prospecting through a country into which they propose moving, their first inquiry is as to health, and this is generally estimated by the altitude of a country above the level of the sea. This gentleman told us he had made that inquiry whilst in the State of almost hundreds of citizens, and to his astonishment he never met a man that could tell him except in a sort of conjectural way, the altitude of his locality. This is only one of the many points upon which information is always wanted by immigrants, and of which the citizen will be ignorant unless the State takes steps to enlighten him. While we are yet too poor to have established those various boards from which all such information could be easily obtained, there is no question hut that if we had an efficient State Board of Agriculture, it would in a great measure supply the means of properly educating our people upon these and all kindred topics upon which they should be posted. All classes of immigrants, whether they be farmers or artisans, prefer colonizing to moving in isolated families into new countries. They have their peculiar likes and dislikes ; their diet may be peculiar; their ideas ot social, educational aud religious commingling may differ materially from the established usages of an old country where society has become staid and settled. For these and other reasons the better classes of immigrants generally move in colonies, and this is the clas9 that we so much need in South Carolina, fiut our citizens should know and remember that this class of immigrants will not go into any country previously occupied unless by invitation of the inhabitants, or unlesssome tangible inducement can be presented them. The land-grant corporations and railroad companies of the Northwest offered to immigrants fertile lands at wonderfully low prices and upon most reasonable terms, and these inducements created, prior to 1873, a flow of immigration into that country that was sim- i ply marvellous. The lack of confldeuce in those companies, consequent upon the panic of 1873, has somewhat checked this tide from foreign lands ; but, as we have said in a previous article, farmers in the older Eastern States are taking advantage of the reduced cost of liviug, and are selling their homes and moving to the West by the thousands. This will rekindle the enthusiasm of the producers in foreign lands to emigrate to America, and we anticipate hearing of as great an influx by next fall as we had prior to 1873. The vital question with us is, can we not change that curreut, and induce it to flow in this direction ? We can if we will, and if we will, we must l A 1 1 T? determine 10 oner mem eneap uuinea. jcjvery real estate owner should be an agent in behalf of immigration, and contribute his mite, be it ever so small. We repeat what we have previously written, that there are hundreds of our citizens owning acres of land that are to them a burden, and from which they realize not a cent, perhaps, beyond a living. These men must be instrumental, and chiefly so, in turning the tide of immigration southward. They must organize themselves into clubs or societies of co-operation and for co-operation. We therefore suggest to any and all citizens of the State, who own from 2,000 to 3,000 or 5,000 acres of cultivatable lands, (and there are many such,) to visit their neighbors and consult among themselves, and de termine whether they cannot throw upon the | market from 6,000 to 10,000 acres of land at I a mere nominal price, provided they will be j settled up by a thrifty, energetic and eoonorai- j cal colony of producers. If there be in such j communities farmers who own tracts of but 100 or 200 or 500 acres of land, they are not> to be ousted nor overlooked, but let them, too, i join the organization, and reduce their area j to enough to make a living upon ; sell a por-! tion of the remainder to the colony, and hold ! the balance for sale at a future time. When j such an organization is formed they should at once advertise the fact, and if they are unwilling to do so, if they will submit to us the terms of the organization and the conditions upon whioh they will sell to oolonies, we will guarantee them a wide circulation of their proposition ; and if it is made with a liberal spirit, we will almost ensure them a colony of worthy settlers, And we here earnestly insist that if these real estate owners are anxious to see our State rehabilitated and prosper- j ity smiling upon every farm and homestead, they must themselves be up and doing, and not wait for others to act for them. Let them go to work and organize; not sit back upon the ragged-edged fiuery of ante bellum days and lament the flesh pots of the past, but stir around, visit neighbors, unite, paganize, co-operate, and let the world know that they hftve valuable estates that will be sol<j for ft eopg for certain purposes. If simple homesteads be reserved in such landed estates, they will in ten years be worth double as much in market as the entire estate is to day. That our future lawmakers may know that thoy should do something, too, in this line, we publish the following letter received while in South Carolina a fortnight ago, and is from the editor of the Southern Guide, a quarterly, published in Washington City, for Northern readers, advising them where they can find the most desirable homes in the South. To this gentleman we had given a dozen or more letters of introduction to citizens and officials in South Carolina. His letter speaks for itself: "Dear Sir?Returning a day or two ago from my two months' sojourn in the South, I learned from Col. Evins that you were at home, and would not return until the last of this week. May I beg that you will stir up your State officers and publio spirited citizens to the importance of properly placing the present condition and natural resources of their State before the public ? With the exception of two or three of the smaller cotton mills of Oi.i ? i j :?r? LUG OlttLC, tujr JClLtJIO UUVO CJJUllCU UU luiuiuintioD, and in most instances have not even been responded to. I have even been unable to procure State documents from Governor Hampton or anj of the officials. You will, I think, admit that this is not very encouraging to further effort on my part. I started to visit South Carolina the first of this month, but was recalled from Greensboro by a death in my family. Shall go South again, however, before the 1st proximo." TRAINING LIONS AND TIGERS. THE METHODS EMPLOYED BY THF LION TAMER. When you want to train lions, or tigers, or leopards, or hyenas, the preparatory steps in all cases are the same. You first get them used to you from the outside of the cage, feeding and watering them, speaking to them and sometimes touching them through the bars when they are in such positions that they cannot readily get hold of you. Then you go into the cage to sweep it out. Keep your broom going?never let them get near enough to you to smell of you, or they will snatch you the instant after?and make them pass you, driving them about with a whip. When you have them thoroughly familiarized with your presence, you may begin their education. Some trainers in old times used to clip their claws and put muzzles on them, but I never did, and never considered it any use, except, perhaps, in the case of a leopard that you are training to jump on your back. Whether you clip their claws or not, a tiger or a lion, especially the lion, has force enough in his arm to mash a man down almost as you would a fly. And it isn't right, for the animal needs his claws. They are his forks to hold his meat when he eats. As for the muzzle. be knows whether he has it on or not, just as well as you do, and the memory of it has no influence on him when it is not on. You can't teach wild beasts any great variety of tricks. You make them rear up in the corners of the cage, jump over your whip, through a hoop or balloon, or over you, or each other, and you sit down on them, and that about exhausts their capabilities for learning. To make them jump, you hold a stick and drive them over it with your whip, holding it low at first and gradually raising it. If you want them to go through a hoop, hold it up, with a gate set in under it so they can't go beneath, and whip them through. If you want an animal to rear up, it may be necessary to have a rope or chain through the roof of the cage and either swung about I. __ ! _ I i _ II-- J lis ueca ur lusieueu iu a uuuar, nuu vtiicu you whip it and order it to stand up, have a couple of men above to haul up and make it stand on its hind legs. After a few times the ; rope will not be necessary. See my splendid tigresses, how they stand up. They were trained that way. You must always make them, do the same thing in the same place? that is, in the same corner or in the centre of the cage. If you want to sit on a lion or tiger, get the animal trained to remain quiet in one place while you stroke it gently, at first with the whip, uext with your band, and finally you can press on it, and at last sit down on its haunches, but never cease te keep a sharp lookout upon it for the slightest sign of treachery. The old Van Amburg feat of a man putting his head in a lion's mouth is safest done with a very docih.old lion, well fed and toothless as possible, but it may be done?with some risk, of course?to a young brute if he is very good natured, and you work up to it by gradual familiarities about his head, opening bis mouth, and so on. With a tiger the best plan is to?let it alone. When you feed them ecraps of meat while you are in the cage, never take in mueh, aud of that you have, see that it is free from bones and cut in such small chunks that one of them may be swallowed at a single schloop. Toss it to them. Don't hold it in your hand, or they'll take hand and all, without noticing the difference, perhaps. Firing guns and pistols always excites them, but I c$n't say that I think it frightens them at all after they have found out once that it does not hurt them. You must watch them all the time. Never trust them for an instant. If you study them as you pbould, and know your business properly, you will understand their every look and motion, every curl of the lip, switch of the tail, tremor of the muscles, and quiver of the cruel claws. All those things are the animal's language, and if it is strange to you, so much the worse for you. For instance, you may whip a lion for five minutes, when it is sulking in a corner, without any danger, and.then suddenly vou see the look warning you that one more blow will bring' him on you with the force of a thunderbolt and the mad fury pf a demon. No, it is not a threatening look at you, and it isn't emphasized with any growl. He just sits up and seems to gaze off into the distance, with a far-away, dreamy look in his eyes. Strike him then and you will have to battle for your life in a seoond after. Affect to disregard him and turn your whip to another beast, and in a few moments his fear of you may return to him, and his desperate courage will have gone. ?ut you must be able to see when that time comes again. A lion is a bad animal to have any misunderstandings with. Wishing fob Money.?"I wish that I had his money," said a young, hearty-looking man as a millionaire passed him in the street. Aud so has wished many a youth before him, who devotes so much time to wishing, but too little to working. But never does one of these draw a comparison between their several fortunes. The rich man's money looms up like a balloon before them, hiding uncounted cares and anxieties, from which they are free; keeping out of sight those bodily ills that luxury breeds, and all the mental horrors of ennui and satiety, and the fear of deAth that wealth fosters the iphIouhv of life " * 7 J J and love from which it is inseparable. Let none wish for unearned gold. The sweat by which it is gathered is the only sweat by which it is preserved for enjoyment. Wish for no man's money. The health, strength, freshness, and sweet sleep of youth are yours. Young love, by day and night, encircles you. Hearts unsoiled by the deep sin of covetousness beat fondly with your own, None, ghoul-like, listen for the death-lick In your chamber; your shoe? have value in men's eyes qnly whep you tread in them. 4 he smiles no wealth can purchase greet you? living; apc| tears that rarely drop op rosewood coffins, will fall from pitying eyes upon you?dying. You h&Y9 tQ eat, to drink, to wear enough?then you have all the rich man hath. What though be fares more sumptuously ? He shortens life, increase pains and aches, impairs his health thereby. What if bis rainmeot be more costly ? God loves him none the more, and man's respect in such regard comes ever mingled with his envy. Nature is yours in all her glory; her ever varying and forever beautiful face smiles peace upon you. Her hills and valleys, fields and flowers, rocks and streams, and holy places know no desecration in the step of poverty, but welcome ever to their wealth of beauty, rich and poor alike. The Doctor's Fee.?A physician attended a wealthy banker's very sick child, which recovered, to the great joy of the parents. The physician, on making his last call, was asked for his bill, and expecting a large fee, he proposed to leave it to the good will of the parents. The mother lett the room, ana soon returned with a fine knit purse, and handing it to the physician, said : "We are grateful to you indeed, doctor; money cannot fully repay your kindness and skill?allow me to present this purse, which I have knit with my own hands, as a token of my gratitude." The physician spurned the gift, and said : "Madam, such gifts are nothing to me; time is money, and I must be recompensed for my time." The lady felt hurt at bis rude reply and answered : "Sir, as you despise this gift, which I had spent many pleasant hours in making for you as a token of my gratitude, say, how much money will satisfy you." "My bill," said he, "is two thousand francs." The lady immediately opened the puree, took out five notes of a thousand francs each, unrolled them, handed ivoo of them to the doctor, rolled up the other three, replaced them in the purse, put it in her own pocket, bade the doctor good morning, and left the room. He went home, feeling that he had "looked a gift horse in the mouth." The next time any of our young readers receive a present they do not quite like, let them remember the doctor's fee. ' -if Disagreeable Habits.?It is easy to form a disagreable habit, but not so easy to drop it again. Persisted in, they become a second nature. Stop and think before you allow yourself to form them. There are disagreeable habits of body, like scowling, winking, twisting the mouth, biting the nails, continually picking at something, twirling a key, or fumbling at a chain, drumming with the fingers, screwing and twisting a chair, or whatever you can lay your bauds on. Don't do any of thqge tilings. Cultivate a calm, quiet manner,? Better be a statue than a jumping-jack. There are much worse habits than these, to be sure; but we are speaking only of very little things that are only annoying when persisted in. There are habits of speech, also, such as beginning every speech with "you see," or "you know," "now-a," "I don't care," "tell you know " Indistinct ut* terance, sharp nasal tones, a slow drawl, avoid them all. Stop and think what you wish to say, and then let every word drop from your lips just as smooth and perfect as a new silver coin. Have a care about your ways of sitting, and standing, and walking. Before you know it, you will find your habits have hardened into a coat of mail that you cannot get rid of without a terrible effort?habits which render you obnoxious to all around you. Silver Mines.?In hia treatise on silver mines, Fuller says: "Whereverin any 'part of the world silver mines have been worked, they are worked now, unless from war, invasion of Indians, etc. We know of no silver mining regions in the world that have given out. Mexican mines, worked by the Aztecs before the conquest by Cortez, are still worked as profitably as ever ; the old Spanish mines, Opened long before Hannibal's time, are still worked with enormous profits; the South American mines nave constantly yieiaea tneir wealth for more than three hundred years, and are as productive as ever; mines in Hungary that were worked by the Romans before the Saviour's time, still yield abundance of ore ; the silver mines of Freiburg, opened in the eleventh century and worked continually ever since, yield their steady increase. So in Norway, Sweden and Russia, and indeed wherever silver mines have been opened, we believe without exception, continue to be worked at thetiresent day, and generally are more productive than at any time in their past history." e ? Drinking and Drink Making States.? It appears by official statistics that North Carolina has the most distilleries, 1,025; Kentucky next, 754; and Virginia third, 516; while New York heads the list of breweries with 379, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin following with Sfil and 2fifi reanAntivfilv. Rut whan it comes to saloons, there is a closer ratio to population. Thus, New York has 13,804 ; Pennsylvania, 15,105; Ohio, 14,218; Illinois, 10,543. Massachusetts is credited with 6,386, beating Indiana with its larger population by over a thousand saloons. The District of Columbia, in proportion to its population, has altogether the largest dumber of saloons, 1,? 165, which perhaps, is to be regarded as a representative fact. How much of this excess is due to the resident and how much to the floating population, is an interesting (jttation, but the statistics throw no light upon it. * * How They Make Butter in Brazil.? There are four native modes of making butter in the Empire of Brazil. The first is by putting the milk in a common bowl and beat- / ting it with a spoon, as you would an egg. The second, by pouring the milk in a bottle and shaking it till the butter appears, when it is removed by breaking off the top of the bottle. The third, where the dairy is more extensive, is performed by filling a hide with milk, which is lustily shaken by an athletic native at eaoh end until the butter is produced. The fourth, which is considered to indicate vast progress over any of the preceding methods, consists in dragging the hide or leathern vessel^, filled with milk, on the ground after a galloping horse until it is supposed the butter is formed. The milk is never strained and the butter never washed. 4 ? Comparative Size of Countries and Waters.?Greece is about the size of Vermont. Palestine is about one-fourth the size of New York, Hindostan is more than a hundred times as large as Palestine. The Great Desert of Africa has nearly the present dimensions of the United States. The Red Sea would reach from Washington frt and if ia f Vi pan timsa aa wi/ln a a VW V/W4U*?UUj MUU iu AO WUIWV IrltUVO WO TIIUV MO Lake Ontario. The English Channel is nearly as large as Lake Superior. The Mediterranean, if placed across North America, would make sea navigation from San Diego to Baltimore. Neuralgia and Rheumatism.?A very simple relief for neuralgia is to boil a small handful of lobelia in half a pint of water till the strength is out of the herb, then strain it off and add a teaspoonful of fine salt. Wring cloths out of the liquid as hot as possible, and spread oyer the part affected. It aets like a charm. Change the cloths as soon as cold till the pain is all gone; then cover the place with a soft, dry covering, till the perspiration is over, to prevent taking cold. Rheumatism can often be relieved by application, to the painful parts, of cloths wet in a weak solution of salsoda water. If there is inflammation in the joints the cure is very quick. The wash should be lukewarm,