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VOL. 27. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 27, 1881. " NTO. 4.
JU Original
Written l'or the Yorkvilie Enquirer.
THE LADY OF LINTON.
BY WALTER MORGAN.
CHAPTER XI.
At this point in her narrative, old Priscilla,
whose voice had gradually assumed a more
solemn and mysterious tone as she went on,
paused, and looked fixedly at her listener.
A cold horror crept through Cyril's veins.
Something in her gaze?a dread forewarning
of what was coming?wrought fearfully upon
him. He neither moved nor spoke; but
waited mutely for the revelation he knew was
to follow.
At last she went on, drawing a little closer
to him, and glancing at the face of Lady Hepburn,
who still lay white and senseless as
stone.
"Thev stood there, looking down, side by
side, he just a little tiny bit nearest the edge.
" 'Yes, it's dark enough,' he said. 'Dark
and deep. 'Twould be a dreary fate to be
shut up there, eveu for a day. One might
cry aloud, and not a human ear catch the
sound of one's voice. So solid is this stone
floor, not even an echo would come through.'
"'Besides,' answers she, still in that low
kind of tone, 'I suppose nobody ever comes
in this room at all.'
" 'I suppose not,' he says. 'They do say
it's haunted, so all the servants are afraid.'
"Just then, I saw her make a step backward,
and lift her hand. My heart jumped
to my mouth, and I was about to spriug for
ward, but before I could make a movement
or a sound, something happeued that seemed
to freeze the marrow in my bones, and turned
me into stone.
"She pushed my master in."
"I heard a fall?a dull, heavy sound on
the floor below?and one low groan, then
nothing more. I wanted to fly at her throat
and strangle her; but I thought I'd serve my
end best if I could wait and bide my time. I
kept myself quiet, aud watched her lift the
door up. 'Twas heavy, and she strained and
pulled fearfully at it before she could manage
to make it stir?aud let it down again into
its place. She did this very carefully, making
no uoise, though it must nearly have broken
her arin^to hold its weight that long without
letting it slip. But she_got it fixed all right,
and then she turned her face toward my side,
and in the yellow light of the caudle 1 could
see it. "fwas like the face of a demon. Tm
free,' she said aloud, 'I'm free !' Then she
gave a look backward, over her shoulder, as
if she saw somethiug. It was her own evil
spirit, no doubt?and in a hasty, fearful way,
she went out of the room. I crept after her.
I wanted to be sure she would not return. I
saw her put the candle, which she carried in
her haud, on the laundry table, where they
had taken it from. Then I waited till I
heard her go up-stairs, and the back door
close, and I knew she wasn't going to return.
I went hack as fast as I could to the old empty
room, taking the light with me. I was shaking
from head to foot, but I had an unnatural
strength given me. Seventy years old, though
I was, I lifted up that trap door, and listened,
hoping to hear some sound. But I heard
none, and at first, I doubted not my master
was dead.
"I was well nigh distracted, and I didn't
kuaw what next to be after; but while 1 was
waiting and thinking, I heard another groan.
So I called aloud, putting my face down to
the opening, and my master answered me.
He'd been stunned only, and was corning to
himself, and pretty soon he was able to tell
me what I should do. I was to fetch a little
ladder that was outside in the passage, and
put it down through the door, and go down
on it and help him, for he was badly hurt and
couldn't move alone. I got the ladder and
found 'twas long enough to reach, though at
first I feared it was not. When I got it steady
I crawled down, holding on with one hand
and carrying the light in the other. I found
my young master lying with his leg doubled
under him, and he said he knew 'twas broken ;
but when I spoke of fetching a surgeon, he
forbade my ever breathing a word of what
had happened to any living soul.
"This secret is between you and me," he
said, when I told him how I had happened to
be there. 'You remember promising once to
stand by me, if any trouble should happen,
and never betray my misery to any body.
No one shall ever kuow that my wife tried to
kill me; and if one person finds it out, another
surely will.' I answered him that no
one need ever know. People could think it
was an accident. But he said his wife should
never be troubled by the sight of him again.
She had wanted to get rid of him, and his
presence should never more darken her eyes.
For that reason, he made me swear to him
not to betray that I knew of his existence. I
was to make believe that I didn't know any
more than other people what had become of
him.
"The thing was to get him out of that hole,
for I knew he would die if he stayed there.
But I found an underground passage leading
out to the open air ; and through this I crept
with him clinging to me, poor soul, dragging
his broken leg along, though he fainted twice
from the pain before we got out. By midnight
I had managed to get him to my own part
of the house, aud laid him on my bed ; and
then I knew he was safe for the present, for
no one ever came to my room."
"Aud he lived?" gasped Cyril, finding his
voice for the first time.
"Wait a bit?I haven't finished yet.
"I nursed him there in secret, not a soul
knowing a word of his being with me. He
had made me go back to the vault and take
up the ladder, and put everything as I'd
found it, so as nit to excite suspicion in case
of anybody going there. And she did go
there one duy?soon after it happened. I
found that out, for in spite of the care I took
of my master, I managed to keep an eye on
her movements still. I suppose she wanted
to make sure he was dean, or something;
for she listened at the trap door a long time,
and then crept away again, as softly as a
ghost."
Here the old woman was interrupted by a
loud ring at the door bell.
"Visitors !" she exclaimed, as she saw from
the window Lady Hungerford's handsome
equipage, with its prancing horses, standing
before the door. "I must be off."
'"One word !" Cyril called after her below
his breath, as she hobbled towards the door,
but with a warning motion of the hand she was
gone. The question which he so desired to
have settled was still unanswered?was Miriam's
husband still alive ?
Miriam herself, with a faint gasping sigh,
opened her eyes just as Lady Hungerford, in
her rich satin and lace, swept into the room.
"Save me, Cyril, save me from the horrible
creature!" she cried tremulously, half starting
up ; then sank back and closed her eyes again
with a shudder.
"In Heaven's name, what is the matter ?"
exclaimed the visitor, as with amazement
depicted on every feature she looked from
Ladv Hepburn to the half distracted young
clergyman, who wished her ladyship at that
instant a thousand miles away. "Are you
two acting a scene from a tragedy, or what ?"
"Lady Hepburn seems ill?has been greatly
disturbed," stammered Cyril, fiuding it
necessary to give some explanation. "Your
ladyship may pernaps be able to assist her."
i He was about to leave the room abruptly,
j when she detained him.
"Mercy on us ! Don't run off in this way,"
j she cried. "What am I to do with a woman
in a faiut ? She's fainted, hasn't she? And
! you are as white as the wall yourself. Do
j tell me what has happened to you both?
| Something dreadful,"! know."
"I wiil send a servant to assist your lady;
ship," replied Cyril, and breaking from her
' detaining hand, he hurried off. To stay, anj
other instant?to stand as a target for the
I torrent of astounded inquiry and ejaculatiou
J trembling on her lips, was morally irapossi
ble. He met an attendant in the hall, desir|
ed that Lady Hepburn's maid should be sent
| to her instantly, then mounted his horse and
j rode off.
Oh, what a fever burned in his brain ! He
i felt as though he must surely be going mad.
! Was it a horrible dream, a nightmare, a de;
lusion of his fancy, that tortured him ? Could
the tale be had just listened to he true? If
so, there was but one course for him to fol
low?immediately to leave his present abode,
and fly somewhere, anywhere?the farther
the better, where no echo could reach him
of this record of crime and shame. But
what if it were false ? What if that old woman
were really mad, as Lady Hepburn had declared,
and her tale merely the fabrication of
au uusound mind? At this thought he
checked his horse, with the impulse to turn
and rush back. Was it not base, cowardly,
to desert Miriam thus, without having even
heard her vindication ? But no, he could not
face her now, especially in the presence of
Lady Hungerford. He must wait?must
give himself a little time to think. When
he should have somewhat recovered from the
bewilderment into which he had been thrown,
and could manage to collect bis thoughts a
little, he might be better able to decide what
to do.
At the rectory gate he was met by the
housekeeper, who had just come down the
garden walk.
"I've been looking for you, Mr. Hope, and
wishing you to come back," she said. "There's
a telegram come to, you, and some way I'm
always afrafd wheu I see one. They're so
apt to bring bad news."
Without answering, Cyril dismounted and
followed her into the house. The dispatch
was lying on the parlor table, where a light
was burning. He opened the envelope and
took out the enclosure. As he ran his eye
over it, a low groan escaped his lips.
"Louise ! ray little Louise !"
j "Anything wrong at home, sir ?"anxiously
asked the housekeeper.
"My youngest sister is very ill?perhaps
dying. I nr:st set off for home instantly,"
answered Cyril, feeling in his misery as if the
whole world were slipping away from beneath
his feet. He sat down by the table and lean
ed his head upon his two hands, the picture
of stony despair. His faculties seemed nurabpd
Hp Wrdlv felt ppnfthle of rousinp him
j ?x ? O
self to act.
"Dear, dear ! I'm truly distressed for you,
sir. But maybe it's uot so bad as you fear,"
said the housekeeper, with a laudable desire
to administer consolation.
"I'll pack your valise for you, Mr. Hope, if
you'll allow me. The early train, you know,
doesn't go until four, so there's plenty of
time." Cyril answered her nothiug, and she
went off on tiptoe to carry out her offer,
thinking how bad off the poor young gentle*
man seemed, and how sorry she felt for him
in his trouble.
Louise dangerously ill, and asking for him.
That was what the telegram said. His gentle,
loving little sister! Her image came
over his memory like the waft of a fragrant
breath from a purer world. How far she
was lifted above the turmoil and* strife and
darkness in which he waB struggling. And
perhaps her tender glance would never dwell
upon his face again. Perhaps, already,
her sinless spirit had taken its flight from
earth. A great sob arose in his throat, and
stifled him. Oh, if he could fly home on the
wings of the' ind, at once ! Eight long hours
must pass be.ore he could set out. Eight
hours of harr wing anxiety and enforced inaction,
joined to all the other torment he endured.
He started from his seat, and went
up stairs to his own room. He fouud the
housekeeper on her knees on the floor, busily
engaged in packing up his clothes.
"Have you seen these letters, sir?" she
asked, handing him two with the seals unbroken.
"I picked 'em up under your table,
and seeing they hadn't been opened yet,
thought you mightn't know of their being
here."
The postmark on each bore a date of several
days back. They were the same which
had arrived that afternoon, just as he was
setting out on his visit, but must have been
delayed on the way. He saw, with a pang,
that one was addressed in the handwriting of
Louise, and opened that one first.
As he read it its loving phrases, its expressions
of affection, stole into his parched,
fevered soul and agitated heart like soft dew
into the thirsty earth. Poor Lou! darling
Lou ! how fond she was of him, and how he
had neglected her of. late! 'KJyril, why
don't you write, when you know how I
always long to hear from you ? I hope
you are not forgetting me," she said.
Ye3, he had forgotten her ; he had forgotten
them all, in the mad whirl of thought and
passion which had engrossed him of lute. He
1 read through to the end, feeling sadly that
these might be the last words her hands would
; ever pen ; and having finished, took up his
mother's letter which bore a later date, and
I read :
My dkak Cyril:?Though feeling a considera!
ble degree of anxiety at your unusual silence, I
; am overwhelmed by a far greater anxiety, which
| I feel it iny duty to share with you. Our dear
j Louise alarmed us yesterday by fainting away,
after finishing a letter which she wrote yon, and
i over which she sat, I presume, too long. It was
a considerable time before we could restore her
i to herself, and then she swooned away again bej
fore the doctor could reach our house. On re!
covering from this second attack, she appeared
much prostrated, and continued very weak and
low all day. She had a tolerable night and appears
almost as well as usual this afternoon ; but
I must not disguise from you that 1 think her in
a critical state. The doctors strongly recommend
a change as soon as possible, and iWrite now to
ask you it by any means you can arrange so as
'to have her come to you for a little while. If
| there is room at the rectory, I suppose Dr. Rexj
ford would not object to your having her there
j for a few days. Indeed I*should not hesitate to
I propose it to him. I think your companionship
would be as beneficial to her as the change of air
and scone which the doctor thinks necessary, and
in your care I should feel that she was safe.
You know so well all the dilllculties which stand
in the way of my leaving home, that it is needless
for me now to enter upon them ;and I could
not send her any where^unong strangers without
me. Can you not help me carry-out the plan which
I have suggested? If there is no accommodation
for her at the rectory, or if any other obstacle, of
which I am ignorant, exists to the arrangement,
perhaps you can find a comfortable place near
you where she might board for a moderate sum,
and where you could have her constantly under
your eye. She talks and thinks of you so conlimialfy,
that I feel sure it would be and inexpressible
happiness to her to be with you, and
I happiness, as you know, is a great conducive to
health.
"I am writing this hurriedly, to send by the
evening mail. Louis sleeping quietly now. It
may be that I am too apprehensive about her ; but
this late sudden attack has made me very anxious,
and the doctor is so urgent for her to go somewhere,
that I feel it imperative upon me to carry
l out his wishes without delay.
"I sincerely hope you are well. We are all
concerned at not hearing from you for so long.
Write as soon as possible, and believe me as ever,
j with our united love,
"Your most affectionate mother,
L. II. Hoi'K."
How sorrowful and anxious they must all
have been, during this time when he had not
even bestowed a thought upon them, or taken
the trouble to write to.thera of his own welfare?
But now, if possible, he would atone ;
, would take Lou away from home, the narrow
city home where she was drooping and pining,
and carry her with him to some cool, tranquil
i country retreat, where, amid dowers and
birds, aud sweet rural sights and sounds,
i she might, under his loving cnre, gradually
1 recover strength, and look cheerfully upon
the world once more.
"Your valise is packed, sir," said the obliging
housekeeper. "I believe I've got everything
right, yid if there's any article leftDut,
why I'll take good care of it till I hear from
you, or till you come again. You'll come
back soon, I hope, sir. And now hadn't you
better lie down and take some sleep? You'll
have a good chance to rest yourself before it's
time to start; and I'll engage to call you at
half past two, so you can get a cup of coffee
and an egg before you go."
"Thank you, Mrs. Dale. Y'ou are very
good. I believe I will lie down for a while,"
replied Cyril, as he furtively brushed the tears
from his eyes. And when the housekeeper
left him he threw himself wearily upon his
pillow, worn out in body aud mind ; but not
to sleep.
[to be continued.]
^IbtcUancotts fading.
RECORDS OF THE LATE WAR.
f Special to the Atlanta CnnKtltution.]
New York, January 2?On the train yesterday,
I met a soldierly looking, quiet gentleman,
who is doing a more important work
for the South than any raau enlisted in her
service. It was General Marcus J. Wright,
who has had charge, for the past year or two,
of the collection, compilation and publication
of the Confederate archives. Geo. Wright
was called to this work by unanimous consent,
and has proved so admirably fit for the task
he has undertaken, that his selection seems to
be little less than an inspiration. Scholarly,
able, discriminating and courageous?of such
unblemished character as to command entire
confidence?he has made a superb collection
and has edited it with consummate discretion
and skill. He gave me the history of this
vast enterprise in a frank and yet modest way
that entitles it to transcription here.
"I suppose," he said, "that shortly after the
close of the war I had the largest collection
of Confederate records to be found anywhere.
I felt the importance to the South of an early
collection of this perishable material, and its
publication in logical and durable shape. I
knew that the records themselves would speak
with more authority to posterity than any
mere partisan or personal history couhl hope
to do, aud I, therefore, spent time and money
in collecting all that I could get. I had already
made an arrangement to publish what
I had, Mr. Davis having advised this course,
after expressing surprise at the completeness
of my collection.
Before this publication was commenced,
however, the government established a bureau
for the object of collecting and publishing the
records on both sides. This obviated the necessity
of my work, and I wrote to General
Townsend, turning over my collection to him
for publication in the government books.
Shortly afterward I went to Washington on
I other business, and found the Southern ConI
gressmen' dissatisfied because there was no.
Confederate representative in the bureau.
There were few Confederate records in possession
of the government except those captured
at Richmond and those sent on by me. Confederate
officers, as a rule, were disinclined to
send their records to a bureau in which they
had no representative, and there was great
(Tatifror thnt tho nti h1ir>n tinn umulrt hp murlp
"7? r" 7 ? ???
with our side of it weak and incomplete.
Casey Young, of Tennessee, complained to the
Secretary of War, who promptly saw the
reasonableness of the complaint and agreed
that a Confederate snould be appointed. Gen.
Towusend, to whom the matter was referred,
suggested ray name, and I agreed to accept,
under certain conditions, that were at once
complied with.. I entered upon the work,
and have bfcen engaged in it ever siuce."
BRINGING UP ALL THE RECORDS.
"With what success have you worked ?"
"With more than I could have hoped for.
I have succeeded in getting four times as
many records as the government had when I
went there, and I may say that the chain is
now nearly complete. The Confedefltte records
will be almost, if not quite, as full as the
Federal records, and this is more than any
one could have hoped for. I went personally
to the Indian Territory and succeeded in getting
the records of that department without
| the loss of a paper. I have gone everywhere
that I saw a chance of supplying a link of
I evidence. I succeeded in getting copies of all
| the records of the Southern historical society,
i of itself a most important collection. The
officers of the Confederacy have felt no hesitation
in entrusting their records to us, and
have helped in every possible way. I am now
having copies made of all Mr. Davis' papers,
and his attest put upon each copy."
"How will the publication be made?"
"As follows: Lol. K. JN. ocott, ot tne
Federal army, has charge of the Federal
records. He is assisted by Captains Hartley
and Craigie. I have charge of the Confederate
records, and Major Harvie assists me. j
| We take the events of the war as they come '
1 in order of time, treating each battle and j
: campaign separately. To show how we cover j
' a battle, let us take the first Manassas. First j
i we publish the official report of General Mc-;
i Dowell, who commanded the Federals ; then j
: the official report of General Johnston, com-1
' mander of the Confederate^. Then follow !
: the reports of the Federal corps commanders, ;
and the Confederate corps commanders.!
i Then come the division and regimental and ;
! company reports for each side. After this
is published the field notes from each side, j
and you have no idea how important and interesting
are these little field notes, scratched
off hastily in the heat of battle on the pommels
of saddles. They are like flashes of
lightning that show up the battle vividly.
After the field notes come the correspondence
: of each general commanding with his department
or president or commander in chief. By
! this process we get the battle from every possible
point of view."
"How many books have been published ?"
"There are three volumes about ready.
These nearly complete the history of the year
1861, covering the Charleston and Fort Sumter
affair, the battle of Manassas, and the
6ghts in the Peninsula. The whole serie|
j will fill from 80 to 100 volumes. The books
are printed in long primer, the letters and
orders being put in smaller type. We shall
I be able to move much faster hereafter and
hope to conclude the year 1862 by the next
assembling of Congress."
"How can these books be obtained."
"They can be purchased by depositing SI per
volume with A. F. Childs, chief clerk government
printing office, Washington D. C. The
volume covering any special campaign can be
ordered, or any part of a set ordered. Those
who wish any of these books will do well to
apply at once, as New York booksellers are
ordering heavily and will doubtless raise the
price very much. The government sells at
actual cost. There is one book of the series
for which there will be a demand. That is a
; complete roster of every commissioned officer
of the Confederate army, where he was enlisted,
promoted, and what bacatne of him.
i This will be the official record?and will be
; I valuable to the families of those officers who
i served?and especially of those who were
killed."
"What developments have you noticed in
the records so far?"
"I find a good many mistaken opinions
vanishing under the figures of the record. I
should have mentioned, that in closing the
records of battle, we print the official returns
of the force in each army, issued before the battle.
Now, it has been generally thought that
at the first Manassas the Federals vastly outi
numbered us. The records show that they
had only about 3,000 the advantage in point
of numbers, each army having about 35,000
men. I thought they had at least 70,000. I
suppose, as we complete the records of other
battles, we shall dispel many popular errors."
"You do not find that the same mistake
exists as to comparative numbers throughout
the war?"
"Oh, no sir. The records 3how incontestably
that for four years we waged a war with
the proportions of three to one against us.
The records show that the Federals had,
from first to last, 2,700,000 in the field. I
can only approximate the Confederate total,
but it is safe to say that it will not exceed
800,000. The study "wf the records on both
sides has increased my admiration for the
valor and prowess of my people, without depreciating
my estimate of the bravery of the
Federal troops."
"Don't the records show that the credit of
a battle is frequently misplaced ?"
"Yes. That is probably the most striking
feature of discovery. For instance, at the
battle of Richmond, Ky., a very brilliant
manoeuvre was executed by which General
Prestou Smith's brigade was deployed rapidly
and thrown on the flank of the enemy, giving
us a victory over an army double ours in
number, aud the capture of thousands of
prisoners. The credit of this has been given
to General Kirby Smith ; but the records
show that* General Preston Smith conceived
the movement and executed it on his own
responsibility, without the orders or knowledge
of General Kirby Smith. A great
many cases of this sort will be brought to
light."
"General Lee's, "Whose reports are the
dearest and best from the Confederate side ?"
beyond comparison. His papers are perfection.
He never wrote a line or issued an order
that did not have the same dignity and
perspicuity that it would have had if prepared
under the most deliberate circumstances.
The slightest scrap from him, bears the impress
of greatness. Of the cavalry generals,
Wheeler's reports are the most admirable.
Indeed, his are hardly equalled by any of our
generals. They are clear, complete and soldierly.
Indeed, when the records show what
perfect confidence all our leaders had in
Wheeler, and with what percision and fidelity
he performed his duty, he will be considered
one of the first men of the war."
"What papers are you most struck with
from the other side ?"
"Well, especially, I should say that Gen.
McClernand's report of Shiloh is the best
single official report, perhaps, rendered of a
battle during the war. But the papers that
fill me with amazement and admiration are
President Lincoln's. Ah, there was one of
the greatest of men. He, perhaps, trusted
less of his work to an amanuensis than any
other leading man. Nearly all his orders
were written by his own hand, and the origi
nals were forwarded, the copies of them being
kept. His letters to flooker removing him
from command was a masterpiece. Like
Hamlet to his mother, it is kind and yet
severe?and matchless. I think posterity will
adjudge Lincoln and Lee to be the really
great men of the war.
"Has Mr. Davis availed himself freely of
the records in the preparation of his forthcoming
history ?"
"Yes. He has had thousands of copies
made, I should say. His research has been
perfect, and he will hardly state anything
for which he will not be ready with his authority.
If Mr. Davis can only keep his
personal antagonisms out of his book, it will
be a standard authority."
"Have you the letter of Gen. Hardee declining
to take Johnstou's place as commander
of the army of Tennessee ?"
"Yes sir; and a most admirable letter it
is. It is a frank, soldierly letter, in which
the promotion is declined simply because the
writer felt thai he was not capable of Blling
the position. General Hardee's reports were
all models of excellence."
"Do you have any sort of disagreement
with Colonel Scott as to the arrangement of
matter or as to what shall be printed ?"
"None at all. Our agreement is perfect.
There is but one wish, and that is to publish
the records just as they are and let the
1 i _ j- A ?
wotk siiina on me recorus. sia jui vuiuuci
Scott, he is peculiarly fitted for the work he
has in charge. By education, temperament
and inclination, he is the very man for the
task. He is the embodiment of fairness."
I take the liberty of adding that General
Wright is all that he claims for Colonel
Scott. The people of the South may rely
absolutely on a fair aud square representation
of their case just as it stands. General
Wright will see that her soldiers, living and
dead, are put on the record they made for
themselves?and this is all that any of us
could ask. In doing this he will build a monument
to his comrades higher and whiter than
any yet uplifted to the sun, and will merit
the gratitude of every Southerner
H. W. G.
HOW TO EAT.
The notion that appetite is a low degree of
hunger, and hunger an intensified form of
appetite, does not seem to be borne out by
facts. The two desires or longings are different
in their nature. Appetite is the craving
of the apparatus of taste, and sometimes of
the-digestive organs ; while hunger is the demaud
of organism as a whole or of some of
its parts for food. Use the words appetite
and hunger how you may, there are actually
two needs to be expressed, and much mischief
arises from confounding them. The one cry
for food which we call appetite is an affair of
i habit or caprice, and may, for a time at least,
1 be stimulated by appealing to the sense of
taste, or promoted by certain cordials and
stimulants ; but, looking at the matter from a
physiological point of view, it is difficult to
i see what we can gain by exciting the organs
j of digestion to take food unless the system is
in a condition to receive it. The rational
mode of procedure wjuld seem to be to wait
the expression of a need in the system?in
short, to look to hunger rather than appetite
as an incentive to the act of feeding, instead
of exciting the palate and sense organs to '
take food when we have no organic reason to j
suppose thatgfhere is an inner need of it.
There are certain evil consequences of the j
civilized mode of feeding by appetite ou the
j basis of habit, which it may be useful to
point out. First, separating appetite from
hunger and developing it as an independent
sense or function, there naturally springs up
a fashion of life which may be described as ;
"living to feed." The purveyor of food j
j trades on the tastes and cultivated longings j
of the consumer, and the consideration what
! to eat and what to drink comes to occup^ a '
place in the self consciousness which it was j
probably not intended to fill, and in so far as j
this is the case, man is more animal and less
! spiritual and intellectual than he ought to
be ; although it may be conceded that the refined
taste of cultivated nature is less offensive
than the simple voracity of the savage.
There are some who contend that mau is the
gainer by the developments of his appetite.
If this be so the gain is a good not unmixed
with evil. Another drawback is that by
i severing appetite from hunger, we lose the in|
dication of quantify which nature gives with
i her orders of food. The man who eats a
regulated number of meals daily, with a duly
stimulated and organized habit, probably
eats much more in twenty-four hours than his
system requires, or the orgauism as a whole
is constituted to deal with.?London Lancet.
ANOTHER CHALLENGE BY TANNER.
Dr. Tanner, is in the city, and he dropped 1
in on me yesterday to inquire if I could give
! him the date of the letter in which his feat
of abstinence was spoken of. Those who saw
him in Clarendon Hall would not recognize
him to-day.
He weighs 170 and is brown and sturdy.
He starts off to-morrow to resume lecturing,
his tour running in a zigzag Westward, i
through Indiana to St. I'aul and Minneapolis, |
where he has friends and possessions.
"Well, are you going to fast again?" I said.
"Oh, yes," he replied, "if my challenge is
accepted. I have issued a challenge to any
six beer drinkers in Europe to fast with me
in London?not for any certain time, but
fonan indefinite time?to see which can hold
out the longest without food. If they can,
any of them, staud it for sixty days, I will
try and get along sixty one days. It is a
fast against time."
"To drink nothing but water?"
"They to be confined to beer and I to
water."
"It is generally held that there is nutriment
in beer, Doctor."
"Yes, I know; but I hold that this is a mistake.
I don't believe there is any more food
in beer than there is in water."
"What becomes of the hops, Doctor, the
malt, etc ?"
"Why, they are stewed and brewed till the
life is all cooked out of them. Fermentation
has killed then: for purposes of food."
"What makesyou think so?"
"Mainly from the obvious effects of both
beer and water. But I also have backers.
Liebig has made an analysis and announces
that in 730 gallons of the best Bavarian beer
there is not as much nutrimeut as there is in
five pounds of bread or three pounds of beef.
This, at five cents a glass, would cost 8584,
which would be expensive for a joint of beef
or a loaf of bread, wouldn't it? Wouldn't
it, now?"
I admitted the claim.
"What keeps the frame going," he continued,
stretching out his arms. "Electricity
! That is what does it. We are run by
lightning, and Edison might profitably make
some experiments on it. I believe I was kept
alife for those forty days by electricity obtained
from the air and water. Farraday estimated
that in a teaspoonful of water there
is enough electricty to make a good sized
flash of lightning. I claim that it is electricity
that runs this machine, and I am willing
to stake the machine on the correctness of my
theory."
"Have you received any acceptance of your
challenge to the beer-drinkers?"
"Yes, one man in Germany has responded
and says he will be there."
"Under whose auspices will this lightning
tournament be held ?"
"Under the superintendence of Dr. B. W.
Richardson, F. R. S., physician and sur- (
geon?old school, but a man of ideas and of i
courage?a first-rate man."
The doctor remarked that he was feeling ;
as if he could eat a cow, took up two chairs 1
and whirled them around his head in a spiral
twist like a pair of Indian clubs, said i
"good bye," and skipped out on his Western
campaign.?N. Y. Cor. Indianapolis Jour- <
nal.
A COURTING IN THE OLDEN DAYS.
Thirty years ago, Michigan people were a ]
frank and truthful set. Strangers could come (
here and trade horses with their eyes closed, ,
and breach of promise cases \rere unknown. ,
Folks meant what they said, and when they
gave their word stuck to it. ,
Exactly thirty years ago this month a ,
widower from New York State appeared in (
Lansing on business. That same business ,
carried him over to DeWilt, eight miles away. |
While on his way he stopped at a log farm- ]
house to warm, his cold fingers. He was ,
warmly welcomed by the pioneer and his |
wife, both of whom were well along in years, ]
and after some general talk the woman que- (
ried: I
"Am I right in thinking you are a widow- ,
err
"Yes." ,
"Did you come out here to find a wife ?" (
"Partly." . ,
"Did anybody tell you of our Susie ?" ;
"No."
"Well, we've got as bouncing a girl of |
twenty-two as you ever set your eyes on. ,
She's good looking, healthy and good tem- j
pered, and I think she'll like your looks." s
"Where is she?"
"Over in the woods there, chopping down ,
a coon tree. Shall I blow the horn for her?" ,
"No. If you'll keep an eye on ray horse ,
I'll find her." > j
"Well, there's nothing stuck up or affected ]
about Susie. She'll say yes or iio as soon as ,
she looks you over. If you want her, don't be ,
afraid to say so." j
The stranger heard the sound of her axe j
and followed it. He found her just as the j
tree was reaay to Tail, one was astoui, goou ,
looking girl, swinging the axe like a man, ,
and in two minutes he had decided to say:
"Susie, I am a widower from New York ,
State. I am thirty-nine years old, have one ]
child, own a good farm, and I want a wife. |
Will you go back with me?" I
She leaned on the axe and looked at him \
for half a minute, and then replied : (
"Can't say for certain. Just wait till I get (
these coons off my mind." ,
She sent the tree crashing to the earth, and ,
with his help killed five coons which were j
stowed away in a hollow. ,
"Well, what do you say ?" he asked, as the j
last coon stopped kicking.
"Irn' you'rn," was the reply; "and by (
the time you get back from DeWitt I'll have ,
these pelts off and tacked up and be ready (
for the preacher." j
He returned to the house, told the old
folks that he should bring back a preacher ; |
with him, and at dusk that evening the twain ! (
were married. Hardly an hour had been l
wasted in courting, and yet he "took home ;
one of the best girls in the State of Michi- i
gan.? Detroit Free Press. i
What Causes Gray Hairs.?Gray hair j
sometimes comes prematurely by inheritance, j
trouble or the large use of water containing ; i
lime. The sudden bleaching of a head of hair j j
is frequently caused by severe nervous
shocks, and numerous historical and traditional
cases may be cited in which sudden
fear or overwhelming news has turned the
hair white in a few hours. The case of Marie
Antoinette, is one of the most tender and
touching, for in a single night her rich dark :
hair was changed to a silver gray. A sepoy
of the Bengal array was taken prisoner in
1858, and the fright he received caused his !
hair to become completely whitened within
half an hour, the change being so rapid as to i
cause his captors to exclaim, in astonishment:
"He is turning gray!" Under the influence
of great fear or any great mental shock, the
blood recedes from the surface of the body
to the heart, and it is supposed the same in
fluence may cause the coloring fluid of the
hair to retire to the root bulbs where it remains
thereafter. Gray hair has been known to become
dark without the chemist's aid. In
1774, Nazarela, a man 105 years old, was
presented by nature with a new set of teeth,
and the restoration of the black hair of his
youth. John Weeks was blessed with a
regeneration of the color of his hair a short
time before his death, which occurred at the
age of 114 ; and Sir S. Sinclair, dying at 110,
rejoiced in a youthful head of hair during
the latter years of his life. Dr. Richards has
reported the case of a man who had three
changes of his hair from black to white during
his life, the first taking place when he w&
about 35 years old.
THE TALLEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
Chain?, a Chinese edant. arrived in New
York on an ocean steamer recently, and wa^
immediately pounced upon by the newspaper
men. A reporter called at the hotel where
the giant lodged, and saw, sitting on an improvised
seat of two chairs with heavy boards
laid across, a presence which seemed to fill the
whole room. Chang is, unquestionably, the
largest man iu the world. He is gigantic.
As he sat there smiling and nodding, his thoroughly
Chinese face looked fully as broad as
an ordinary man's shoulders, and as long, if
not longer than a flour barrel. His cheek
bones bulge out, and are as large as a fullsized
orange. He is thirty-three years old, is
the son of a w.ealthy silk and tea merchant in
Pekin, where lie was born, is well educated,
speaks, reads and writes English, German,
French, Italian and Spanish, and is thoroughly
courteous and gentlemanly. With Chang
is his "secretary," a bustling, busy, earnest
little Frenchman, named Neaud, who looks
upon the giant with admiration and delight.
"What is your exact height, Chang?" the
reporter asked.
"I have never been measured, Monsieur.
With our people it is a superstition which
takes the form of a religious creed, that no
man must be measured until dead. I would
rather die than to allow myself to be measured.
In fact, if I were measured I would die at
once, I fear. I am, however, somewhere in
the neighborhood of nine feet. I will stand
up and you can stand beside me and judge
for yourself."
CbaDg rose, and, rising, jt seemed as though
he would never stop. The reporter stands six
feet three inches in height. He, at Chang's
suggestion, put on a high silk hat and walked
under the giant's outstretched arm, near the
shoulder, without coming within two inches
of his sleeve. Then fixing the height of his
head about half way between the giant's
waist and neck, the reporter checked off three
feet at a guess, and found that the crown of
the ntiinumfln's henrf wo a snrelv nine feet
from the floor. His hands and feet were comparatively
small and very well formed. He
has exhibited before all the crowned heads of
Europe and Australia, and has been the pet
of several sovereigns. He wears a solitaire
diamond ring, given him by the Emperor of
Russia, which is valued at 81,400. Attached
to his chain is a gold medal given him by the
Berlin exhibition, which asserts that he is the
largest man of recent times. He also has
half a dozen immense diamond rings given
him by rajahs in India, mayors in Australia,
and potentates from all quarters of the globe.
While talking to the reporter, he suddenly
dived into his vest pocket, which was large
enough to hold an ordinary man's head, and
brought forth a ring with the official seal and
monogram of Francis Joseph inscribed to
"Chang." He also has a watch given him
by Queen Victoria, which weighs two pounds
and a half, and has a chain nine feet long,
which barely reaches around his neck and
down to his vest pocket.
RUINED BY RUM.
A highly respectable physician of Cleveland,
Ohio, is authority for the following story
af almost unbelievable depravity: An old
man in this city depends for support upon
the work of his daughter?his only child.
He was not worthy of that support, for he
was a slave to that most hideous of harsh
masters?the whisky bottle. He made no
efforts to earn an honest living for himself,
although able of limb and sound of mind,
but was almost a constant dweller at whisky
shops and loafing corners. His daughter
went out to sew, and her father compelled
her every day to give him a quarter to buy
liquor. With that money he always went
jut evenings to blow his coin, his health, and
his brain into whiskey jugs, leaving his child,
tired and tearful, in a house frequently cold
md dark. By her toil she secured a'sewing
machine, and did her sewing at home. She did
jverything in her power to draw her father
jut from the folds of the monster that with
i thousand arms was dragging him down.
The neighbors reasoned with him and scolded
him, but to no avail. He regularly slept in
i gutter or crawled home from some saloon
in the morning, to bear to the poor girl the
sight of "the old man's drunk again."
One day, when all the streets of Cleveland
were covered with ice, the daughter slipped
md fell near the public square, She was
picked up badly injured, and carried to one
if the hospitals. Her fall was too much for
her frail system, weakened and run down by
unceasing toil, poor food, cheerless days and
nights of sorrow. For several days she tossed
in fever, and, although kindly cared for, she
Snally died. The father missed her daily
pittance for his rum, and pawned the sewing
machine to buy more liquor. The poor dear
girl was buried quietly, no one going to the
paupers' graveyard except the undertakers
ind the father. The ladies who lived neighbors
to the girl made a beatiful wreath to be
put upon the coffin, and gave it to the father
to be placed there in the grave. That wreath
be sold for liquor. At night when the rum
cravings came on strongest, the old man secured
a horse and wagon, drove to the
ijrave where his daughter was buried, dug
up the earth, tore the emaciated body from
its resting place and conveyed it away to the
storage room of a medical college. He sold
it there for a miserable pittance?a few dollars?with
which he went again to kneel
down before the frightful idol to whom he
uffered up health, happiness, home, his only
shild, and his own soul. Humanity so su^k
i ! _ 1 1
is nappuy semom seen.
With the price of his faithful daughter's
body that man, the physician says, is now
debauching himself.
NEW LAWS OF THE STATE.
An* Act to regulate the penalty of Bonds given
by County Commissioners in the various counties
in the State.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of
Representatives of the State of South Carolina,
now met and sitting in General Assembly,
and by the authority of the same :
Section 1. That the penalty of all bonds
hereafter given by county commissioners,
heretofore or hereafter elected, shall be ten
thousand (810,000) dollars, by each commissioner
of Charleston county, and two
thousand (82,000) dollars by each commissioner
of every other county, except the county
of Horry, in which the bonds of the county
commissioners shall be one thousand (81,000)
dollars, each, and the County of Colleton,
in which the bonds of the county commissioners
shall be two thousand (82,000) dollars
each.
Sec. 2. That all Acts and parts of Acts inconsistent
with this Act be, and the same are
hereby repealed.
Approved December 11,1880.
, The North Pole.?Some people have
&sked what good can result from finding the
j>ole ? The late Professor Henry is on rijcord
as saying the magnetism of the earth req uires
more observation in this direction than have
been made; that we cannot complete our
knowledge of the tides of the ocean, or of the
winds of the globe without finding the pole;
besides that, the whole field of natural history
will be enriched by it, especially botany,
geology, and minerology. The facts about
the effect of the extreme cold on animal and
vegetable life cannot be but interesting. As
Professor Henry said, it will lead not only to
enlarge the sphere of mental pleasure of man,
but will promote the application of science to
the arts of life. Professor M. If. Maury puts
i t in this way :
"Within this polar area the tides have their
cradle, and whales their nursery. There the
winds complete their circuit, and the currents
of the sea their sound, in the wonderful system
of oceanic circulation ; there the aurora
is lighted up and the trembling needle brought
to rest; and there, too, in the mazes of that
mystic circle, terrestrial forces of occult power,
and of vast influence upon the well-being
of man, are continually at work. It is a cir~
^ ox j] ALO J /v? I ? ? *A AM^AH -U fA
i~ic ui lujeieiiea, huu i>uc ucouo tu uiku iu, \aj
explore the untrodden wastes and secret
chambers, and to study its physical aspects
has grown to a longing."
There is an unknown area of 1,131,000
square miles of the surface of the.globe that
is now a blank. We cannot tell whether this
area is land or water. This question, among
others, these explorations will determine.
A Fish Story.?As a gentleman was fishing
in the mill-dam below Winchester, Va.,
he accidentally threw his line across a strong
white duck, which, suddenly turning round,
twisted the gut around her own neck, and
fixed the hook of thedropperfly in her breast.
Thus entangled and hooked, she soon broke
off the gut above the dropper, and sailed .
down the stream with the end of the fly trailing
behind her. She had not proceeded far
before a trout of about a pound and a half
took the fly effectually. Then commenced a
struggle as extraordinary as ever was witnessed?a
duck at the dropper and a large
trout at the end of the fly. Whenever the
trout exerted itself the terror of the duck
was very conspicuous; it fluttered its wings
and dragged the fish. When the trout was
more quiet the duck evidently gave way, and
suffered herself to be drawn under some
bushes, where the shortness of the gut did
not allow the trout to shelter herself. The
duck's head was frequently drawn under the
water. By chance, however, the gut got
across a branch which hung downward into
the water; and the duck, taking advantage
of the purchase which this gave her, dragged
her opponent from his bole and obliged bim
to show bis head above water. Then it became
a contest of life and death. The trout
was in its last agonies, and the duck in a very
weak state, when the gut broke and suffered
them to depart their own way.
? ?
Analogies of Nature.?The cocoanut is,
iri many respects, like the human skull, aithough
it closely resembles the skull of the
monkey. A sponge may be so held as to remind
one of the unfleshed face of a skeleton,
and the meat of an English walnut is almost
the exact representation of the brain.
Plums aDd black cherries resemble the human
eyes; almonds, and some other nuts, resemble
tbe different varieties of the human
nose, and an open oyster and its shell are the
perfect image of the human ear.
The shape cf almost any man's body may
be found in the various kinds of mammoth
pumpkins. The open hand may be discerned
in the form assumed by scrub-willows and
growing celery.
The German turnip and the egg-plant resemble
the human heart. There are other
striking resemblances between human organs
and certain vegetable forms. The forms of
many mechanical contrivances in common
use may be traced back to the patterns furnished
by nature. Thus, the hog suggests
the plow; the butterfly, the ordinary hinge;
tke toad-stool, the umbrella ; the duck the
ship; the fungus growth on trees, the brack
et. Any one desirous of proving the oneness
of the earthly system will find the resemblances
in nature an amusing study, to say
the least.
Stick to It and Succeed.-?Perseverance
is the main thing in life. To hold on and hold
out to the end is the chief matter. If the
race could be won by a spurt, thousands
would we&r the blue ribbon; but they are
short winded, and pull up after the first gallop.
They begin with flying, and end with
crawling backward. When it comes to the
collar work, many take to jibing.
If the apples do not fall at the first shake
of the tree, your hasty folks are too lazy to
fetch a ladder, and in too much of a hurry to p
wait until the fruit is ripe enough to fall of
itself. The hasty man is as hot as fire at the
outset, and as cold as ice at the end. He is
like the Irishman's saucepan, which had many
good points about it, but it had no bottom.
He who cannot bear the heat and burden of
the day is not worth the salt, much less the
potatoes.
We ought not to be put out of heart by
difficulties; they are sent on purpose to try
the stuff we are made of, and depend upon it
they do us a world of good. There's a sound
reason why there are bones in our meat and
stones in our land. A world where everything
was easy would be a nursery for babies,
but not at all a fit place for men. Celery is
not sweet until it has felt a frost, and men
come to their perfection not till disappointment
has dro) ped half a hundred weight or
two on their t ;es.
? -
JS?" Ex Confederate Generals are, many of
them, achieving fame and fortune in rosier
paths than of olck Major-General Marmadlike
is a Missouri railway commissioner, amd,
as a bachelor, lives comfortably in St. Louis
on a salary of $5,000 a year. General J. B.
Gordon, as counsel for the Louisville and
Nashville road, gets a salary of $14,000.
Major-General B. F. Cheatham, has a hand
T/innAflOrtfl rionftro 1 TAAmKfl
SUIIJC 1 til III 111 JL CUUCCOtC. UVUVtOA JL WW
practices law, and is very rich. General
Basil Duke is a lawyer in Louisville, and has
a good income; General Bradley Johnston
is also getting rich in the same profession in
Baltimore. All the sons of Robert E. Lee,
except one, are moderately successful farmers
in Virginia. The exception, Custis Lee,
succeeded his father as President of Wushington-Lee
University. General Jubal Early
is living quietly at Lynchburg in comfortable
circumstances. General J. C. Pemberton
has become a resident of Philadelphia, is an
invalid, and bas written a book on Vicksburg.
Novel Gambling.?A novel means, of
raising money was made use of at a charitable
fair just closed at Patterson. A ha.ndsome
silver jewel casket was provided, to be
awarded to the person guessing nearest to the
number of beans contained in an odd-shaped
bottle, the guesses being ten cents Apiece.
Over four hundred persons tried their luck.
The winner was a little girl who bought the
last guess and who shut her eyes and took a
number on which her pencil chanced to strike.
The number of beans was found to be 2,565,
tfce very number the little girl had selected.
The highest number guessed was 5,100 and
the lowest 320.