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' "VOL 25! YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, ATJGrTJST 14, 1879. ^TO. 33. (Original fnetrg. , . For the Yorkvllle Enquirer. TO A BIRD ON WING. BY OBION. Brave and dauntless little rover, On thy pinions light and free, Thou art roving this world over, As a vessel sails the sea. The boundless realms of space are thine; Where you will there you may go, To any point, at any time, Freely as the winds that blow ! Free wanderer, I behold thy flight, As alone, you dart on through The mighty void, at such a height, -Tim* hanpAth the welkin blue. Yea, till you near the orbs of flame, You go darting on your way, Brim full of life and free from pain, Fearing nothing but delay! But tell me, will you, why from earth You have sped so far away ? Do you hold it of little worth, And unworthy of thy stay ? Or, had you rather live alone, A free ranger of the sky, Than claim the earth all as your own, With all the good it can supply? * Do you know where you are going, With" such earnestness and speed ? Through the wind so fiercely blowiug, That portends a storm indeed. , Tell uie, do you rove for pleasure, Or to find a greater good, And that, too, in fuller measure Than all earth can you afford ? Or flee you thus from earth's sorrows, Her many troubles, toils and strife, Revolting crimes and bloody horrors, To a peaceful home for life? On some far off and distant shore, In a belter clime than this, Where you may find forever more ' In perfection every bliss ? I Say, do you, like all mortals, sigh For a higher, purer home, The brightest of all worlds on high That adorns the mighty dome V Oh! do you thus on restless wing. Seek that quiet and repose That nothing here on earth can bring? A peace that only heaven knows ! But be thy purpose what it may, All around thee now is bright, E'en earth, by the sun's refulgent ray, Rolls in beauty to thy sight. There's not one,blight or stain of sin In the heavens through winch you rove ; Harmonious as the spheres that sing Their everlasting song of love. Then onward go?your oourse pursue, For I'm sure you'll not be lost. E'en should you wander far from view, On a distant stormy coast; % An hand unseen will guide thy flight, Asyou onward wing thj' way, Swift as the beams of morning light, Though wild tempest round thee play. What care yon tor the storm's loud crash, Or the bellowing thunder's roar ? What for the vivid lightning's flash, When above them all you soar ? Gaily careering on through space, Guided by an instinct true, Can for yourself, most surely trace The bid'n paths you should pursue. 'Tie true the clouds are gathering fast, And rise round thee like a wall; But flitting ?n before the blast, Hnrf thronirh all : When loud methinks you will exclaim With many a rare antic, How bright the scene, Tin glad I came, I live, and life's romantic! Then on and up forever sail, In heaven's best tranquility ; Sporting thyself in every gale, And enjoy thy liberty. For on the earth there's none more blest, Sailing through the open air. Where nothing ever was oppressed, And all that there is, is fair. Oh ! brave, courageous little one, I have gazed 'till I, like you, Would gladly sail forever on In triumph through the realms of blue, Leaving this selfish world behind, And all that it hath given. Could I but mount the viewless wind, And sail away to heaven. For pleasures there will never cloy, Nor will any comfort die, But will increase with every joy, As we up and onward fly Through radiant realms of golden light, Ever rejoicing as we may, Where all is peace and gives delight, And there's nothing knows decay. Wt 3tfltg Idler. A BETRAYAL TO SAVE7 Oue rainy Friday evening in May of 1872, the quiet little town of Zionsville was shaken to its centre by the unusual arrival of a kmiioK#m and four at the nrincioal hotel in town, with three well dressed adults, a gen- ^ tleman and two ladies, and a child of six ? years, as its occupants, and a coal black ne- j gro handling the reins behind the panting < horses. The younger of the two ladies was reclining on the gentleman's shoulder, and y appeared much fatigued. . t He gently placed her amoug the luxurious ] cushions, and, stepping from the carriage, ad- t . dressed the landlord in a rich, mellow voice, t asking if they could be accommodated for a week. Mr. Logan assured them they could, | and requested them to come into the parlor. The gentleman assisted the elder lady and child to alight, and, raising the youDger one in his arms, carried her into the parlor and deposited her on the sofa, and, going to the ? bar registered the party as Mrs. and Miss > Lawlor and John Lawlor, saying, by way of < explanation, that the ladies were his mother ] and sister, and an orphan child, taken to j ^ keep. i After the ladies had been shown to their 1 room, Mr. Lawlor became very sociable to- ] ward the landlord, and told him his mother had bought the Godman estate and would re- i fit and furnish Vineland, an old stone man- , sion that stood on the estate, and had been unused for twelve or fifteen years, and gave i the delighted landlord to understand that his mother possessed wealth in an unlimited i amount. He said his sister was suffering from : ague, but would be all right by morning. 11 In appearance John Lawlor was tine look- i iug; six feet tall, a well cut mouth and nose, 11 and .a^ luxuriant growth of brown hair and , beard,'the latter worn only on his upper lip, I; and extending to the tip of each ear. Flash-1 ing blue eyes looked at one in a winning, | harmless way, and invited confidence and respect from men, while they commanded it from women. Such features, coupled to a form that betrayed grace and activity by each motion, could not but command admiration, and after the old mansion had been refurnished, and its inmates became settled, the belles of the quiet little town might have been heard to say of Mr. Lawlor, "How charming! I wonder if he is engaged ?" etc.; while the beaux, although they respected him, could not but admit he was a dangerous rival. The Lawlors attended divine service regu* larly at the Presbyterian church, and made acquaintances very quickly, and among the rest that of the Merritt family, one of wealth and good standing, the fathers and grandfathers having lived there in pioneer days. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Mer ritt, their only son, Phillip, and two daughters, Rachel aud June, aged respectively twenty-one and eighteen. Rachel, a perfect brunette, commanded admiration almost unconsciously, was witty, full of life, and in fact what is termed a harum searuiu, while June, who was between a blonde and a brunette, with an abundance of dark brown hair aud large brown eyes, drew all to love her for herself. Each of these ladies had a suitor. George Blain, a prosperous lumberman, paid court at Rachel's throne, while Geoffrey Lowe did the same for quiet little June. Geoffrey was a dental surgeon, and commanded a large practice. Each prospered in his wooing, and the time was settled for the consummation of their hopes, and the Merritt homestead was to lose its bright stars on the same day; but the introduction of John Lawlor into the family proved the bolt that was to shiver the happinaoa nf Krvtk AAiirklos tn nt.nms for a time. 11V.OO V? UWU v\/U|/ivw ?v ? _ From the instant of Mr. Lawlor's introduction, even a casual observer might have seen his infatuation for Miss Rachel, and his attention to her became the subject of gossip and conjecture. George Blain bore all with a patience seldom equalled, thinking Rachel was only exercising her short freedom ; but soon matters assumed a serious shape, and George found himself displaced. Although cut to the heart, he went about his work as usual, and in fact seemed to confine himself more closely to it. In this way a year had passed, and still June and Geoffrey were not married ; as she despised the base action of her sister, she was putting off the day of the nuptials with the hope that Rachel would return to her allegiance and recognize George as her lover agaiu. The Lawlors gave a party one evening, in observance of the first anniversary of their taking up their residence at Z , and to it were invited all the young people in and near the village, June, Rachel and Geoffrey of jourse among the number. Dancing was the order of the evening, and all went merry as i marriage bell. The ladies of Vineland seldom went into :ompany, but when they entertained it was >vith a lavish band, and this night saw the louse brightly lighted, and the spacious grounds hung with paper lanterns of many :olors, truly beautiful to one's vision. June danced incessantly, and, becoming htigued, asked to be excused from her partaer; and, wrapping a cloak around herself vandered alone into the grounds. Tiring of (trolling about, she leaued against the buildng, thinking of Rachel's treatment of George Blain, when suddenly a faint streak of light ihot across her tiny boot and lay there, no arger than a straw. She looked around and ibove her, but cpuld not find the source from vhence it came until she stooped to regain her ujKi^h tniH fnllpn to tipr feet, when she iaw it proceeded from a cellar window, and the was preparing to return to the house when t sentence caught her ear; a sad voice said? "Gilbert, I am tired of this slave's life." She, thinking not of eavesdropping, stoopid to catch the reply, which came from a legro. "So'ra I, Massa Luke; how'm we gwine to ;it out?" June, badly frightened, hurried iuto the muse, and, seeking Geoffrey's side, requested o be taken home. They went away unknown o every one except their host and Rachel, vho agrevd lo come later. When they arrived at the Merritt residence, lime asked Geoffrey to go in, saying she vished t?? talk to-him on an important subect. When they were comfortably seated in he parlor, June began by saying,? ' "Geoffrey, you are aware how distasteful the ittentions of John Law lor to Rachel are to ne, and you are also aware that I still look brward to the day when George and Rachel vill lie reconciled to each other; and you, I leliwe, are equally anxious to consummate >ur happiness; and I have asked you to stay o-uight to secure your co-operation in a mater relating to that. But before I tell you mother word you must promise me uncondiional secrecy if my plans fail." Geoffrey's answer was quick and to the joint. "Yes, June dear, you know I am anxious o make you ray wife, and that I will do mything in reason to bring about that happy jvent, and I promise you secrecy. Now tell ne your plans." June then told him what she had heard vhile standing by the cellar window, and he ivas naturally surprised. She concluded her emarks by saying,? "Now, Geoffrey, there is some mystery ranging over the Lawlor family, and Vineland contains at least two prisoners. We " 11 . _ T_1 must not anow ivacnei 10 marry uuuu Lawlor until it is all cleared up. But as it is jetting quite late, I will ask you to call for me ;o-morrow and we will go out in the carriage, md by that time I will have arranged a plan for thoroughly sifting this mystery." Geoffrey took his leave, and, lighting a cijar, sauntered home, wondering what strange lecret the old stone house held, and what olaus his quiet June would have to propose >n the morrow for its clearing. The next afternoon was clear and quite varra for the season, and three o'clock found June and Geoffrey gliding along behind a oair of gentle carriage horses, feeling full of he coming romance; for, both being young, ,hey so viewed it. June startled her companion by saying? "Is your business in such a condition that you can leave it for a month?" After thinking a minute he replied? "Yes, I guess I can arrange it if necessary." June then went on with her plan, which was as follows: Geoffrey was to spread the story that he was going to California and Oregon on a pleasure trip, to be gone a month, and after arranging his affairs was to Ejo to Chicago, drop his present identity, assume that of a laboring man, and apply for the situation of gardener at Vineland, which position was vacant. In four days from that time he was gone, and one day, a week after his departure, as June was strolling through the grove, leading her pony, she was accosted by a tall, stoopshouldered man, having long black hair that reached to his shoulders, and carrying a bundle. He bowed very politely, and, taking off his hat, asked to be directed to the residence of Nathan Merritt. June told him where her father lived, and had started on when the stranger asked if a family named Lawlor lived uear there. June said "Yes, sir," and appeared anxious to leave the stranger, when a familiar voice said ? "A pretty good disguise, when my sweetheart and employer don't know me!" aud the dark-haired man fairly shook with laughter that June now knew was Geoffrey's. They did not talk long there, as it was dangerous, but arranged a meeting at that place at dark that night, and Manfred Lang, as he must be known in the future, walked leisurely on. June was well pleased with his disguise, and styled him "her detective." Manfred Lang walked on until he came to the gate to Vineland lawn, and going up the long drive was soon admitted to the library, after stating his business to the trim maid who answered his ring. Mr. Lawlor came in, and, after examining Lang and his letters of recommendation, hired him as his butler and gardener, not recognizing him, and little thinking he was sheltering and aiding a^py when he put him at once in possession of the keys to both cellar and mansion. He entered cheerfully on his duties, and had the run of the house, to all appearance ; but on going into the cellar to examine his new domain, as his master had requested, he j found a large iron door that he had no key I for. He sought his master and asked about ; it, when he was told there was no key, and j they had been unable to secure one. Apparently satisfied, he returned to his du| ties, and at dinner time was called into the servants' hall, where he saw a large, clean room, containing the table and sideboard, both loaded with everything heart could desire to eat and drink. Thinking he was out of place, he inquired what was wanted, and was told to sit down at the head of the table and preside over the servants' dinner. All the servants who were .not otherwise engaged sat down, and when Lang expressed surprise at his master's generosity, the cook said the dinner for both master and servant was prepared at the same time and one fared as well as another. All were loud in their praise, and seemed well satisfied; and indeed the new butler himself almost doubted the possibility of a secret. As luck would have it, that evening Mr. Lawlor directed Lang to prepare a boque't and walk over to Mr. Merritt's, and present it to Miss Rachel with Mr. Lawlor's compliments, and say he would be pleased to call the following day at three o'clock, and take her out for a ride. The butler started 011 his errand with a light heart, and, after delivering the message and flowers, went to keep his tryet with June. He found her at the appointed place, and, greeting her with a kiss, told her of his success, and all he knew and suspected regarding the old rusty door to which there was no key. She then directed hira to fiud whether or not there was any entrance to that part of the cellar that was concealed by the iron door, and, if possible, to gain an entrance. After another kiss he went on his way to Vineland with a very strong suspicion that his quiet little sweetheart was a deeper-miuded woman than any one had given her credit for being. All went along smoothly, and the next mor ning John Lawlor sent for his butler to give him directions about marketing, and during the course of their consultation saw fit to change the list, and directed Lang to take the pencil and do so, first asking him if he could write. Judge of his surprise when he found the change made in a beautiful specimen of that unique penmanship called back hand. An idea at once seemed to strike hira, and he asked Lang if he had the time to spare from his other duties to do some writing for him that evening, as his engagement with Miss Merritt would prevent his doing it himself. Lang said he could, and was installed immediately after dinner in Mr. Lawlor's private J -- : il.?, omce, engugeu m copying ? pjay mim *??" m be rendered at the approaching school commencement, of which Mr. Lawlor had the honorary charge. At half-past two precisely Mr. Lawlor left the house in his carriage, giving .strict orders that his butler should not be disturbed at his writing unless it was absolutely necessary. Lang wrote busily until his master was gone, when he left the desk and began to pace the room, thinking of some plan to dive into the secret, as he now occupied a room directly over the unused or isolated part of the cellar, and in the very position to prospect. After walking across the room a few times, he locked the door, and turned over every rug and mat to find a trap door, if such a thing existed; but no trap door appeared. Then he began to move the furniture, but found nothing suspicious until he came to a large walnut chest, set and fastened against the wall, and secured by two heavy padlocks. It would not do to destroy these locks, and thereby ruin his plans in the very start, perhaps, so he concluded to await his time, and possess the keys. In order to prolong his literary work he rang for the chamber-maid and requested her to prepare his bed, as he was ill, and if Mr. Lawlor came in to inform him ; and he retired to his room, apparently with the ague. The next day, as soon as his garden and household duties were attended to, he presented himself at Mr. Lawlor's office, and said he was ready to finish the copy of the play. Mr. Lawlor gave him a pen, and he began. While apparently busy he glanced toward the suspicious chest, and saw that it was still doubly locked. But his time came sooner than he expected. Mr. Lawlor had just finished a letter, and, unlocking a drawer, got some postage stamps and left his keys lying on the desk, whileie went to see "if his sister had any message to send. Manfred Laug recognized this as his opportunity, and seizing the ring, had soon released the heavy locks, and left them hanging apparently as before. Mr. Lawlor came back, and, adding a postscript to his letter, sealed and directed it, and taking his keys, left the room, ordered his carriage, and said he was going to the post-office and from there to Mr. Merritt's, again giving orders that his hutler should not be disturbed in the private office. Hardly had he left before Manfred Lang arose, locked the door, and, taking oft' his diguise, stood up once more as Geoffrey Lowe, and stepping to the chest, detached the locks and raised the lid, only to see a heap of nicely laundered linen. He was disappointed for an instant, but soon his disappointment turned to delight, for he saw two handles apparently attached to the bottom of the chest, and, seizing them, sure enough, out came the bottom in the form of a tray, revealing a stout iron grating fastened by a very ingenious contrivance, which he soon loosened, and lifted the granting to see revealed a stairway leading directly into the cellar. He removed his boots and stepped into the chest, but found then that would have been no impediment, as the stairway and walls were padded, with cotton and course velvet cloth. He slowly descended, and was amply rewarded, for, once in the cellar, he found himself in a dark passage, separated from the other part of the cellar by a recently constructed stone wall, ventilated with a grating here and there. Peering through one of these, his eyes found a sight that almost chilled his blood. A white man and a negro were there, entirely nude, and working a press, making counterfeit money. The walls were padded, and against the opposite wall could be seen an iron bedstead, and chairs fastened to the wall, used, perhaps, to chain the prisoners at night. Geoffrey said nothing, but listened intently to catch anything that they might say. . They only talked occasionally, and then in a j subdued tone, but loud enough for Geoffrey j to hear the negro say, as he grimly spat on j his hand for another tug at the press? "Massa Luke, don't you tink we uus hah worked long nuffin dis yah underground way for Uncle Sam'l?" I's mighty tired ob it, shuah." "Yes," said the white man ; "but how are we to better our condition, Gilbert? We have tried to escape time and again, only to be caught and suffer a terrible beating at the hand of our cruel jailer. But I feel our captivity is soon to end; I am not sure how, but am satisfied this cannot go on forever." Geoffrey waited to hear no more, but went quietly up stairs, and donning his disguise, appeared as Manfred Lang, the butler, and, after replacing the grating and the tray, he closed the lid, and, snapping the ponderous be sacrificed.' General Lee then began to talk about the distress and trouble that a surrender would bring on his country and his people. 'That cannot be put against the useless shedding of these brave men's blood. If you are satisfied that you cannot save the army, it should be surrendered. The people will know that you have done all you can do." He then told me that he had discovered that there were heavy masses of infantry in front and that lie could not hope to cut through.. It was a terrible moment for General Lee. Having fought for years with high and lofty purposes, having won victory alter victory and made a record for his army not 1 ? J V* ? v i(- ?nna Unurl tl?of lin locks, all appeard as before. He resumed his copying, which was soon completed. At sunset the butler asked to be allowed to go to the post-office, and, being granted I leave, he went to the village and thence to the trysting-place with June. When June heard Geoffry's story she was both delighted and grieved ; delighted that Rachel could be saved to her old lover, ! George, but grieved to think of the disgrace ; she must suffer in cousequence of her association with John Lawlor. She and Geoffrey parted, to meet again the next night and arrange their plans more fully. June went home, and, seeking Rachel tried to persuade her to give John Lawlor his conge, and return to George's affection ; but Rachel was not to be turned?ffrom a purpose thus ea9tfy. and'repelled June with scorn. June and Geoffrey met again the next night, and arranged that the blow should fal'. two nights afterward, when the Lawlors were again to entertain their friends in honor' of their son's twenty-sixth birthday. Geoffrey was to inform the officers, and arrange for them to be there. All the company were together in the maguificeut ball-room, after the supper, and the genial host was surrounded by his friends, when the door suddenly opened, and a dozen policemen filed in two and two, each armed with a rifle. A man walked to each wicdow, and the captain stepped before the host and said ? "Mr. Lawlor, you are ray prisoner." Instantly a pistol glistened in each of John Lawlor's hands, but before he could fire the officer said? "Cover him, squad !" and when the company parted, twelve gun barrels pointed at him. The officer then said, "John Lawlor, I arrest you in the name of the United States for counterfeiting. Lay down your pistols ; ray men are good marksmen, and will shoot you at a word." John Lawlor tossed his pistols at the officer, after looking at each gleaming gun barrel, and, while with rage and baffled fury, he said? "Who dares accuse me? And where is your proof?" From a crowd iu a corner the butler approached, and, doffing wig and beard, said? "T. Geoffrey Lowe, am vour accuser, and "* ' ~~~ " " / *" """' ?/ ' the proof lies in your old cellar, where your prisoners are." The officer secured Lawlor's keys, and, led by Geoffrey, the guard went to the old cellar,, and the surprise and joy of the prisoners can be better imagined than described." They were taken out, and John Lawlor, the noted 'counterfeiter, was confined in his own dungeon, after its contents had been removed, which consisted of dies for coin, and plates for currency, as near perfect, as any made, besides a hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars in spurious money. Rachel Merritt had fainted at the officer's first words, and was taken home where she lay for several hours unconscious, but awoke at last to. a realizing sense of her peril and rescue. John Lawlor and the cook at Vineland, his accomplice, were tried and convicted, the former sentenced to thirty years in the penitentiary, and the latter to ten. It seems that the dies had been brought from an eastern State," and that no coin or / minterfoita i\f nnv Irinit hnrl hppo oirculflted : but the cook, who turned State's evidence, said the dies were to have been destroyed and the money put into circulation as soon as two hundred thousand dollars should have been ready. The mother and sister were wholly ignorant of the son and brother's crime, and died in a year, both from a broken heart, leaving their estate to the orphan child, Mamie Anderson. Rachel Merritt soon saw wherein she had been mistaken, and, sending for George Blain, all was soon so satisfactorily arranged that a new wedding-day was named in the nearfuture. Without any more interference the day arrived, and two men were as happy as the two beautiful women they assisted into the carriage?Mr. and Mrs. George Blain and Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Lowe. Rachel, after her narrow escape, became subbued and thoughtful, and was no longer the gay, wild girl that we introduced at the beginning. But all had ended well, and each one'was satisfied, except, perhaps, the prisoners in their dark, dreary cells, who brooded over the past, and cursed the day they became counterfeiters and felons. IpsMtotiMHiS fUadituj. WAR REMINISCENSE9. INTERVIEW WITH GEN. LONGSTREET. Gen. Longstreet has been interviewed by a correspondent of the Philadelphia Times, on matters relating to the war, and we make such extracts from what he says as we think most likely to interest our readers. t>- ni?i.?a. JLU niUSLIUlU Lllli CIIOUU biiab V.UUII1COO uuu self possession on the part of a commander have ou subordinates, he tells the following story: "At another time, in the heat of the battle of Chattanooga, General Benning, of Georgia, one of the bravest men I ever saw, came charging up to me in great agitation. He was riding a captured artillery horse, without any saddle, with the blind bridle on, an^ using a rope trace as a whip. His hat was gone and he was much disordered. 'General,' he said, 'my brigade is utterly destroyed and scattered.' 'Is that so ?' I asked quietly ; 'utterly destroyed, you say?' 'Yes, sir' he replied ; 'gone all to pieces!' His great heart was nearly breaking. I approached him and said quietly: 'Don'tyou think you could find one man, General ?' 'One man,' he said in astonishment; 'I suppose I could. What do you want with him ?' 'Go and get him,' I said, still quiqtly, laying my hand on his arm, 'and bring him here. Then you and I and he will charge together. This is sacred, General, and we may as well die here as anywhere.' He looked at me curiously a moment, then laughed and, with an oath, lashed his horse with his rope trace and was off like a flash. In a few moments he swept by me at the head of a command that he had gathered together somehow or other, and he was into the fight again." Speaking of the surrender at Appomattox, the General said: "I agreed thoroughly with General Lee as to the necessity of the surrender. For some j time I had felt that we were fighting against j hope. I kept my lips closed and fought ahead in silence. For the week preceding the surrender I fought almost without ceasing. I was covering Gen. Lee's retreat, while Gordon opened a way for him in front. I had Field's division, all that was left. The Federals pressed upon us relentlessly and we fell baek, fighting might and day, inch by inch, covering the slow retreat of our wagon trains. Our lines were never once broken or disordered. My men fought with the finest regularity and heroism. Wherever I placed a brigade, there it would stand until I ordered it away. I was among my men constantly, so I knew little of the general situatiou. Jwiy in the morning General Lee sent for me, and I at once went to hira. He was in deep concern. He stated to me that his retreat had been cut off and it was impossible for him to escape from the circle that had been drawn about him. 'If that is the case, General,'I replied, 'you sliould surrender the army. If escape is impossible, not another life should tHJllUICU lU uui 1H3LUIJ, Jb riao naiu iiiai itw must surrender everything. I cannot tell you how my heart went to him." (But the moistened eyes and the fine voice, growu husky, as General Lougstreet went over his story, did tell me.) "I left General Lee and went back to my men. I ordered 'firing stopped. I stood quietly awaiting events. Suddenly a horse came clattering down my front. I looked up and saw a smart-looking officer, with yellow hair streaming behind him, hurrying forward to where I stood. He was in great excitement, and urged his horse to where I stood. Then he wrenched him suddenly to his haunches, and said, iu a somewhat violent tone: 'In the name of General Phil. Sheridan, I demand the instant surrender of this army!' I was not in a humor for trifling just then, hut I replied as calmly as I could : 'I am not the commander of this army, and if I were I should not surrender to you,' meaning, of course, that 1 would treat with the proper authority. 'I make the demand,' he rejoined, 'simply for the purpose of preventing further bloodshed.' 'If you wish to prevent any further shedding of blood, don't shed any more; we have already stopped, I said, still keeping cool. He reiterated nis demand for an immediate and unconditional surrender. I then notified him that he was outside of his lines, and that if he was not more courteous I would remind him of this fact in a-way that might be unpleasant to him. I then explained that General Grant and General Lee were then engaged in a conference that would probably settle everything. He grew pleasant then, and after awhile galloped off! He was a brave and spirited young fellow, but my old veterans were not in the hiood to humor him when he dashed up to us that day. The surrender fell with more crushing effect on ray troops than on any in the army. They were in fine condition and were flushed with victory. We had thrown back the Federals day alter day as they.pressed on us?punishing them when they cams too near and stunning them when they charged us seriously. Enveloped for six or eight days in the continual smoke of battle, we had little idea of what was going on elsewhere, and when we surrendered 4,000 bayonets 1o General Grant we surrendered also 1,600 Federal prisoners that had been plucked out of his army during our retreat. Still, we all had the most perfect confidence in General Lee's ability and heroism and we knew that he had done all that mortal man could do." AN INTERESTING LETTER FROM GENERAL BEAUREGARD. I have just read the interesting letter of Judge Lyons, of Richmond, to Col. Magruder, " ^ 1 . ? ai n or Baltimore, reiauve to me mission 01 vuum Mercier, French Minister at Washington, to Richmond in the summer of 1862, with a view of bringing about peace between the Northern and Southern States. Shortly after the war I had the pleasure of meeting Judge Lyons at the Greenbrier Whice Sulphur Springs, and hearing him relate, in the presence of Gen. Lee, Governor Wise, Messrs. Peabody, Corcoran and ether gentlemen of note, the facts as stated in his letter. But it seemed to be the general opinion then that the southern States would not have been willing to adopt any plan of gradual emancipation of their slaves under coercion. The contest then engaged upon was one of emancipation from Northern interference in our constitutional rights, one of which was that of slavery. It was thought during the war that if we yielded to that demand we might soon be compelled to yielcfr to other still more vital to Southern prosperity. With the sad experience of the past and of the present, we see that we should have stood by the Crittenden resolutions and fought "for the Constitution in the Union." "With a Democratic Senate and a Democratic majority of the people in our favor, we could, I think, have opposed successfully any destructive measures proposed. But that is of the past. We must now look to the dangers of the present and of the future. A few years hence we will be able to indicate with certainty what the present Democratic majority in Congress and in the country should have done to counteract the centralizing tendencies of the Radicals, where, as at present, our wisest statesmen are much at a loss to know what measure to adopt to check in their mad career tnose designing politicians who seem determined to bring on another desperate struggle between the conservative and radical element of the country. A few days after the battle of Manassas, Prince Napoleon and suite, accompanied by Count Mercier, came in carriages from Washington to visit the battlefield. Gen. Johnston and I went with them to explain the positions and movements of the contending forces, which seemed to interest them much, esprcially the Prince, who had some pretensions to military knowledge, not at all justified, however, by his services in the Italian campaign of 1859. When the party was about to depart, on its return to Washington, Count Mercier, whom 1 had known before the war, and who seemed anxious during our several hours' drive to communicate privately with me, took me to one side of the Warrenton Turnpike, on which we were then, and was about to commence speaking, when the Prince joined us and put a stop (whether designedly or not I cannot say) to the interchange of sentiment which was about to take place. I have always regretted that inopportune interruption, for I am convinced that the Count had important information to impart which might have had some in fluence on subsequent events. When at Charleston, in 1862-63, I had occasion to meet several times some French naval officers, who were allowed by me to enter the harbor to confer with their consul. The captain of the sloop-of-war was a highly educated gentleman, who had traveled a great deal, and seemed to enjoy the confidence of his government. On one of those occasions he told me of the sympathy of his government in our favor, but also of the opposition of the French people to our recognition, owing to our institution of slavery. He said that he was not authorized to speak officially, but that lie considered himjBelf at liberty to say that if we were to proclaim gradual emancipation, zo take place during any reasonable period, lie i'elt confident that the French Government would recognize our independence, and would do all in its power, consistently with its international obligations, to secure the same recognition from other foreign governments. ] thanked him for his information, but told him that I did not think, under existing circumstances, and knowing the temper of our people, that such a proposition would be entertained. Still, I conferred on the subject with Governor Pickens and other inllueutial gentlemen of the State of South Carolina, who gave me, however, no encouragement, and 1 did not refer the matter to the Confederate Government at Richmond. While in Paris, in 1866, one year after our war, I had the honor of paying my respects to I the Emperor Napoleon, who granted me a private audience. He received me very kindly, welcomed me to France, and expressed the hope that, should I determine to leave the United States permanently, I would take up my residence in the'land of my ancestors. He asked me many question relative to the strategy and tactics of our principal battles, with which he appeared to be very familiar, and he seemed to be very anxious to ascertain correctly the ^tate of public opinion in j the United States relative to the struggle then going on in Mexico for the dethronement of Maximilian. He confirmed tbe views ex pressed lo me by that naval officer at Charleston, relative to the course that we should have adopted to insure success; but with na! tions, as with individuals, the passions, when excited, overcloud the judgment. "Those i whom the gods would de&troy they first make mad." Before concluding this letter, allow me to recall a little incident which occurred at Centreville, Va.( during the visit of Prince Napoleon at Manassas. . Gen. Longrtreet's brigade, one of the best then in the Army of the Potomac, was stationed at the former town, and happened to be drilling near the Fairfax turnpike as the Prince aud party were passing. Major F. G. Skinner,, one of the field officers of the First Virginia Kegiment;j#H)o had been educated in France under the auspices of Gen. Lafayette, a great friend of his father, came to the carriage of the Priuce to pay his respects to him and his suite. Major Skinner was also well acquainted with Count Mercier, who introduced him to the party. Just at that moment his regiment had arrived close to the road in performing some manoeuvre and presented its back to the carriages. It was one Of the oldest regiments in the service, and its clothes were rathe'r the worse for wear, especially about a certain part of the body. Maj. Skinner, rather disconcerted at first by the appearance of his gallant soldiers, soon rallied from his unpleasant emotion, and, with French wit remarked to the Prince and party: Messieurs, vous voyez Ja ia partie ae dob soldats que l'ennemi n'a pas encore vue et j'esp^re ne verra jamais !" which of course, created a general laugh. Maj. Skinner is now, I believe, one of your citizens ; he is or was not long since connected with the Turf, Field and Farm, published in New York. He writes as well as he fought, although mutilated in body he still retains the full vigor of his intellect. G. T. Beauregard. How. Far the Late Southern "Rebels" were Sinners.?The fact is that the rebellion was not, with the great majority of the southern people, in any sense of the word a sin. To have been a volunteer in the armies of the Confederacy, fighting against the Union, is not a proof of moral obliquity. Multitudes of the intelligent men who were in those armies-were as upright, as conscientious, as honorable as any of the men against whom they fought. Neither were they in-any true sense of the word traitors; on the contrary they would have been traitors if they had not been just where they were. # The prevalent political doctrine at the South before the war was the doctrine of State Sovereignty, as the prevalent doctrine at the North was the doctrine of Nationality. There were believers in the national supremacy at the North, but these were exceptions to the general rule. The great majority of the educated Southerners held the theory of State Sovereignty. They regarded the Government as only a confederation of sovereign States, and they thought that each State had the right to withdraw at pleasure from the Confederation. The northern man thought A'?1 ?lU?in?AA noa /Inn fn fKfi I 1(181/ ma Hupieuje uiic^mntD nuo Uu? w iiu? Government of the United States; the southern man gave in his allegiance to his own State. The northern man, when he was jn Europe, called himself an American; the southern man called himself a Virginian, or a South Carolinian, or a Georgian. This was not merely the dictate of local 'pride, it was the language of the deepest, political conviction. From their earliest yeanj-the southerners of this generation had been taught this doctrine, and they believed it just as heartily as the northern people believe the opposite doctrine. Those of them who took the oath to support the Constitution of the United States took it understanding that the oath was only binding while their States remained in the Union ; and that when their States withdrew from the Union they would no longer be citizens of the United States. Holding this political theory they came to the question of seccssioh. Some of them were in favor of secession. They thought it would be both right and expedient. Some of them were opposed to it, not because they doubted that their States had the right to secede, but because they deemed it a foolish and injurious policy. But when by a formal vote of its Legislature his State had seceded from the Union, the southern man had no longer any doubt as to where his allegiance was due. Stonewall Jackson was a citizen of Virginia; he was opposed to secession ; but when Virginia had seceded, he was still a citizen of Virginia, and he was no longer a citizen of the United States ; it was to the Old Dominion that his supreme loyalty was pledged, and when the Old Dominion declared war against the United States and called him into the field, it was loyalty and not treachery that made him gird on the sword and rush to her defense. A great multitude of the people of the South?the educated people, tne leaders of opinion?were in the same case. They were not, consciously, traitors to their country; their country was their State; it was to this that they had always been taught to pay their highest allegiance; and they followed their convictions, as brave men should. If the northern man, who believed in the I supremacy of the National Government, had done the things that the southern man did, the northern man would have been a traitor; but he ought to remember that the southern man's fundamental theories of the Government were wholly unlike his own, and that the southern man's acts must be judged by a reference to the political principles which he honestly held. But for the doctrine of State Sovereignty, the war could not have occurred. That doctrine the war uprooted; it is settled now that this is a nation, and not a confederation, and the obligations of loyalty must henceforth be understood in the northern and not in the southern sense. But they were not so understood at the South before the war, and therefore the fact of rebellion is not a proof of moral depravity.?Sunday Afternoon for August. The Height at Which Birds Fly.?It is much to be desired that something positive were known as to the height at which it may be possible for birds to perform their passages, but on this point we have (so far as I am aware) little information. The experiments made by Mr. Glaisher on the six pigeons taken up in bis celebrated balloon ascent, September 5th, 1862, (Rep. Brit. Ass., 1862, page 385), unfortunately admit of no definite deductions. ^ * 1 ---?- -it.- t. A xi Une pigeon tnrown out at me neigui 01 mrce railes "extended his wings and dropped as a piece of paper." A second at four miles "flew vigorously round and and round apparently taking a dip each time." A third between four and five miles "fell downward'as a stone." A fourth at four miles, in the descent, "flew in a circle," and then alighted on the ballooD. The two remaiuing pigeons wero brought down, and one was found to be dead! Perhaps a little more practice or "ex perience" was wanted, but, at any, rale, the results do not seem to favor the notion that birds can fly comfortably at those heights. Nor is this surprising, considering the well known effects of the rarification of the air at great heights. I of course pretended to no special knowledge of this subject,, but Mr. 8. W. L. Glaisher, F. R. 8., kindly informs me that at an elevation of 5 miles the density of the air is about 12.7 of what was on the earth's surface, at an elevation of 7 miles about 14.1, and of 10 miles about 17.5. I know not whether experiments have been made to test the endurance of a bird's life under such a condition as the last, but it could, of course be easily produced under an air-pump. It would not be so easy to test the power of flight under the same condition. It is only 4>UA4> 4-IIA rkAtran ho XTAVXT ffPOflflv UUV1UUO lUttb tuv I^VTTVi nvuiu ww t v* j vmv>j diminished, and I should be glad to .learn the results of any investigation of this kind. Physicians and physiolgists might here give ornithologists great help.?Nature. ? Origin of Bride Cake.?-It is not generally known that the'custom of having bride cake, without which, even in this day, any wedding within the domain of civilization would be counted as incomplete, is derived * from the most solemn of the three connubial ceremonies observed by the ancient Romqps. This was called confarreatio, and was performed by the chief priest, or priest of Jupiter; a formula .was pronounced in the presence of 10 witnesses, and the man and woman ate of a cake of salted wheaten bread, throwing part of it on the sacrifice, which was that of a sheep. The cake was termed far, or panii farreus, (corn or wheaten bread,) whence the name of the ceremony. By this form the woman was said to be possessed of her husband by the sacred laws, and became a partner of all his substance and sacred rites, those of the Penates, as well as Lares. If he died intestate and without children, she inherited all his property. If she had children, she received an equal share with them. The offspring of this ? form of marriage were designated as pairimi or matrimi, from whom were chosen priests and priestesses, especially the priests of Jupiter and the vestal virgins. The Emperor Tiberius wanted three priests of this pure lin eage, but could not gee tnem, owing w me general di3use of the ceremony in his reign. Confarreaiio was dissoluble only by a form of divorce, ditjarreaiio, regarded as its equivalent in solemnity. That bride cake is a relic of * confarreatw is evident from the fact that until two centuries ago it was made of wheat or barley, without fruit. We should think that, with the revival of, and love for, the old, 1 young women of classic culture and taste would insist that the bride cake should be of the ancient sort. It might add to the serious and sacred character of the occasion. ' ^(Vhat is in the Bedroom ??If two per sons are to occupy*a bedroom during a night, let them step upon weighing scales as they retire and then again in the morning, and they will find theiir actual weight is at least a pound less in the morning. Frequently there will be a loss of two or more pounds, and ^ av- ^ erage loss throughout the year will be -more than one pound?that is, during the night there is a loss of a pound of matter which has gone off from their bodies* partly from the lungsand partly through the pores of the skin. The escaped material is carbonic acid and denavoA animal matter or noisonous exhalations. This is diffused through the air iu pafrt, and in part absorbed by tbe bed clothes. If a single ounce of wool or cotton be burned in a room, it will so completely saturate the air with smoke that one can hardly breathe, though there can only be an ounce ofJpreign matter in the air. If an ounce of cotlon be burned every half-hour during the night, the air will be kept continually saturated with ' the smdke unless there be an open door or window for it to escape. Nowj|he sixteen ounces of smoke thus formed is rar less poisonous than the sixteen ounces' of exhalation from the lungs and bodies of the two persons who haTe lost a pound iu .weight during the eight hours of sleeping, for while the dry smoke is mainly taken into the lungs, the damp odors from the body are absorbed into the lungs and into the pores of the whole bodjft , Need more be said to show the importance of having bedrooms well ventilated) and thoroughly airing the sheets, coverlets and mattresses in the morning, before packing them up in the form.of a peatly made bed ? * Attachment to the Newseapebs.?-The strong attachment of subscribers to well conducted newspapers, is fully confirmed by publishers. " "Stop my paper"?word? of dread to new beginners in business?lose their terror after a paper has been established for a term of years. So long as a paper pursues a just, honorable, and judicious course, meeting the wants of its customers in all respects, the ties of friendship between the subscribers and the paper are as hard to break by an outside third party as the link which binds old friends in business or social life. Occasional defects or errors in a newspaper are overlooked bv those who have become attachec'. to it through its persual for years.. They sometimes become dissatisfied with it on account of something roKirtii v>oo alinnpJI into its columns. and mav stop taking it; but the absence of' the familiar sbeet at their home or place of business, for a few weeks, becomes an insupportable privation, and they hasten to take it again, and possibly apologize for having discontinued it No friendship on earth is more constant than that contracted by readers for a journal which makes an honest an earnest effort to merit their continued support. Hence a conscientiously conducted paper becomes a favorite in the family. Speak Short.?An aged minister said to a young brother, "Speak short. The brethren will tell you if you don't speak long enough." The counsel is good, good for speakers and good for hearers, good for writers and good for readers. -Length without breadth and thickness is very poor recommendation in a sermon, a prayer, or a newspaper article. The power of condensation, abridgment, and elimination of useless matter is greatly to be coveted. When a man has five minnfpfl in. which to sneak, he will usuallv consume one or two of them in telling the people what he is going to say, or in informing them that he has "been thinking" of something which he proposes to relate. If men who have something to say would say it, if those who have had thoughts would speak them, and those who' had something to write would write it, omitting prefaces, introductions, and useless and unmeaning remarks, much time and space would be saved with no loss to any one. But how hard it is to be brief. It takes gallons of sap to make a single pound of sugar, but the sweetness pays for the condensing. A little word said and remembered is better than any amount of weary, casual talk, which men endure and gladly forget.? The Christian. ? " It has been reported that if a single grain of wheat produces fifty grains in one year's growth, and these and succeeding crops be planted and yield proportionately tne produce of twelve years would suffice to supply all the inhabitants of the earth for a lifetime. In twelve years the single grain will have multiplied itself 244,140,625,000,000 times. His Medicine.?An old bachelor being ill, his sister presented him with a cup of medicine. "What is it?" he asked. She answered, "Elixir athmatic; it is very aromatic, and will make you feel ecstatic;" "Nancy," he replied, with a smile, "you are uery sister-matac."