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About The Red Cloud chief. (Red Cloud, Webster Co., Neb.) 1873-1923 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 18, 1884)
"" '&aii!gaate'a3aaiKTr i "j ... n i ' " 1 .' '" ' 1 '"'!"""-J j- --5 i 1 4 THE BED CLOUD CHIEF. . C. HOSMER, Publish. BED CLOUD, 4 11 - NEBRASKA. ENSXARED. Deep in a va?t primeval wood MylmlfHlocayins cabin stood, its wills were mo.. y. and Its floor vvitu stain anu mold was darkened o'er. Therein I dwelt, aloof from care. -Alone with fancies sweet and rare. I-ons? after dawn I lay in bed And heard the woodpecker overhead Heat on the roof his rattling call. tW ti lrd ,he wJnd-waves riwj and fall, J mist from atar. worn keen and thin, taint memories of the world came in. At noon, the wood was strangely still: No tluttcnnsr winsr. no tapping bill; hadow and Punshlne side by side J)rowsed m slim aisles and vistas wide; hven the brook's voice, rich and full, seemed slowly lapsing to a lull. When nisrltt came on. the owl came, too: , II oo hoo. hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo-oo-oo!" J nd s-. taint footfalls, here and there. iietrayed the hesitating hare: w UiUt in the tree-tops, dark and deep, J he i ind sighed as a child asleep. Day-time, or night-time, all was well; With light or dew Cod's blessings fell, ror coaiser drenms I hail no room. My hivrt wa like a lily bloom. And e ery ong I sang was sweet As the blue violets at my feet. Hut at the last, all unaware. Unlucky bird: I touched the snare, . And tin the city's meshes wound) I My cabin never more I found. Nor thtit sweet solitude where naught. iave Nature, helped me when I wrought. Maurice Ti.omiitm, in JIariyer's JJaaazlne. MADElmllAEKED. BV JES'lK FOTHEROrtL, Author of "One of Three," "Probation," "The - tlWMeZcb." tc CHAPTER V.-CoxnxnEO. A man, " with a roundish face, and hair just beginning to turn gray," as she had .-aid, stood looking at them. He was a commonplaco-looking man, too benign in expression to be absolute ly vulgar, but certain. y with no graces of person or deportment to recommend . him. His face was round, his eyes had ' a certain shrewdness in them, his purscd-out under lip hinted at decision of character. He was observing Angela and Philip earnestly and grave ly; he must have seen the long devoted gaze of the latter, and the formidable p-illmlcs of the former (not being in Philip's state of mind with regard to i Miss Fairfax, nothing remains to the author but to describe that young lady's looks and gestures in the language of the other world), but the spectacle ap peared to call forth no expression, either of amusement, contempt, or in telligence, to his face; only one of a placid, but decided interest. r "That," said Philip, Muiling a little. "Oh, that is an odd. old fellow rather . muff. 1 fancy who once received an invitation to one of these Saturday evenings, and has attended them faith fully ever since. No one can tell what h' comes for, unless, as Miss Berghaus declares, lie is looking out for a wife amongst her friends." A wife! Ls he not married?" "On the contrary, he is a rich old bachelor, in the cotton-broking line, 1 believe." "How funny! and what is his name?" " Fordyce. George Fordyce. Poor old fellow! I often feel sorry for him. but 1 reallv believe he is an awful muff." "Ah!" said Angela, with a little smile, as if she had heard quite as much as she wanted to know about Mr. Fordyce. At that moment the man at the piano began to play a set of quadrilles. Ph'lip. with' a hasty apology to Miss Fairfax, rushed away, in an eager search for Thekla Berghaus. At last he found her, and by dint of unseemly haste contrived to forestall a second voting man who was also toward her. advancing "Miss Berghaus," said Philip, bend ing over her, "may I have the pleasure of this dance with you?" His face was Hushed; his eyes were eager; he looked very handsome, and very anxious for the favor he asked. Thekla looked at him, once, twice; then said, in a matter-of-fact voice: "Yes, I shall be very happy; a qua drille, is it not?" She rose, took his offered arm, and they went toward the ball-room, but paused in the hall. "Miss Berghaus, jdon-t think me very curious or impertinent, but tell me, who is Miss Fairfax? Have she and her sister had great misfortunes, or some thing?" Thekla looked at him again, and saw the same eager look in his eyes the same flush and animation upon his face. Was it the waning daylight that caused a change, or did her own fresh cheek fade a little? ' She was leaning against the table in tin middle of the hall, and trifling with a paper-cutter which lay upon it, as she answered: "1 can easily tell you all about them. .Their father was a clergyman. Rev. "John Felix Fairfax. Vicar of Nenside, where the beautiful old abbey is, you Know. Their mother was a lady of title, who died many years ago. They have been brought up very quietly, but m great refinement, as you may see. Their father was a very learned man, and a great amateur of all kinds of beautiful and artistic and expensive things. He wasted a lot of money in pictures, and Venetian glass, and medals, and pots, and things, and when he died, about eighteen months ago, thev were left very badly off. They have a lilUc income a very, very little; not enough for one person to live upon entirelv. Angela, the eldest, has agreat talent for music; I'll get her to sing oon " I "Oh, thank vou!" said Philip, fer vently, at which Thekia's lips tightened a little, and she went on: And her talent has been very highly cultivated. For some time after their father's death they lived most uncom fortablv and unhappily, first with one relation and then another, till, at last, an old friend of their father's gotAn ' gela the post of music governess at the High School, and several private pupils as well. If she will persevere she may get on very well." "What a change from her former life!" murmured Philip, mournfully. "Naturally." replied Thekla, in the same matter of-fact tone; " but she is R-erv fortunate in being so soonandjo advantageously provided for. And Ma belle, her sister, goes to school. She is a sweet little creature; really a little angel of brightness and gentleness, and yet so clever and sprightly. I quite dote upon her." "But Miss Fairfax," began Philip. Yes, Miss Fairfax; what were yon going to .-ay about her?" "No doubt her sis'cr is a charming young girl, but she will never approach Miss Fairfax in in anything." "Angela is a woman; Mabelle is a girl. One can't compare them," was all Thekla would say. "We have known them for a long time. Papa used to go and fish at Nenside, and that was how we first knew them. I only found out the other day that they we're here, so near us, and you, too." " And .with your usual goodness you took compassion on them as you have done on me and Grace," said Philip, a light of unafiected admiration and cau did good-will in his eyes as they rested upon Thekia's face. "Oh, nonsense. Do you think Grace would really like to know her?" "I am absolutely certain of it." "Very good! She shall, then. Do j-ou know, Mr. Massey, that we have been talking so long here in the hall that the quadrille is over?" ''Impossible!" said Philip, looking up, and too preoccupied to obsere the long searching look with which Thelka favored him. Her fa-.e grew colder as the look grew longer. It was with rather a hard little smile that she listened as he muttered an excuse about being engaged for the next dance Mi.s Fairfax look for her and so left her. Angela was still seated on the same settee" as before, and bo-side her Mr. Fordyce, the man who had been look ing at them and whom they had been talking about. Miss Fairfax was in the act of bestowing i.ne of her long, inex plicable glances upon her companion, when she caught sight of Philip ap proaching, and the irlance continued to travel upward until it met his, and re mained there inquiringly, as if she won dered what brought him to her again. " Our dance, I believe. Miss Fairfax.", said Philip, ignoring Mr. Fordyce as completely as if he had had no exist ence. "Ours!" she repeated, with a start. " Did I say I would dance? I niut have forgotten." But she rose, took Philip's arm. and was going, turning round first to Mr. Fordyce to ask. in a low, gentle voice, for her fan, which he held in his hand. He gave it to her; and perhaps a sweet glance might have its glamour for the elderly Mr. Fordyce as -veil as for Philip Massey. Tiie latter led his partner to the 'ball-room, where the waltz was just beginning. After it was over, Thekla, as good as her word, took the opportunity of mak ing the Fairfaxes and Grace Maasey ac quainted. Philip, standing by, anx iously watched the proceedings, par ticularly the demeanor of his' sister Grace. Grace, as must have been ap parent already, was of a particularly candid disposition, and Philip, observ ing her, and knowing her different ex pressions, felt a thrill of bitter disap pointment as he saw the cold, unre sponsive look which crossed her face as Angela Fairfax, with one of her long est, most languishing glances, and her most honeyed smile, spoke some words which Philip did not hear, and held out her hand with what seemed to him an exquisite, timid grace. What could Grace mean? Philip did not notice that, though Thekla spoke pleasant words, her voice was hard; that, though her lips smiled, her eyes were blueas steel and cold as ice. He was most interested in the demeanor of his sister and Angela, and his eyes traveled from the one face to the other, and then settled finally upon that of Angela again, and remained there, till he found a igh breaking from his lips unawares, while his heart beat, and he thought could think nothing else "How beautiful she is! how beautiful!" The rest of the evening he spent in watching Miss Fairfax listening to her while she sang. Whatever her native talent or taste in the matter of music. Angela Fairfax had been too well taught to sing rubbish. Her voice was an ex ceptionally line one, and vocal music, like instrumental, has this peculiarity, that, provided time and tune and the conventional modulations of tone 1 c kept, an enthusiastic listener can always find passion, expression, depth all that he feels in his own heart in the sounds. So it was with Philip that night While she sang he almost closed his eyes, and listened in a kind of rapture. When it was over he opened them again and saw that she was surrounded by quite a little knot of admirers, who were pressing her to sing again. Her eyes stole a glance in his direction and seemed to ask, reproachfully: "Why are you sitting outside, and holding yourself aloof?" "When the evening was over, Angela and her sister and Philip and his sister walked home together, under the moon and the lamps, through the prosaic suburban streets of Irkford. which, for one of the party, had been so common place before, but which now could never be so again. CHAPTER VI. ANGELA'S REASONS. OIt AND AGAINST. When July comes to an end thecol legcs and schools of Irkford break up for their holidays, and there ensues a regular stampede of teachers and pupils and parents to the lakes or the seaside, continent or country "anywhere, any where out of the town" away from its dust, its smoke, its close anil stilling heat, from its rolling carts and omni buses, its dingy streets, out into the fields if possible, or to the fairseashore, or amidst the cool and mighty lakes and mountains. When August has fairly set in Irkford is wont to look empty; the squares are deserted, the shops little troubled by customers, whilst the young women be hind the counters droop and look limp and white and bleached like every other living thing in the unwholesome "heat of a town. It was the beginning of August in this particular vear of which I am writing. The day was Monday, and it was a bank holiday. The heat in the town was stilling: not a cloud was to be seen in the dull blue sky, save the dun-colored shroud of smoke which encircled Irkford, and through which the sun glared unwinkinjrlv,like a ball of mol- ten brass. Hot, hot everywhere! Hot in the monstrous warehouses; hot in the dim and dusty offices; hot on the hard stone pavements of the squares and in the narrow streets. Hottest of all, perhaps, in the rows of thinly built suburban houses, with their inadequate blinds and llimsy walls and ill-fitting windows. In the parlor occupied by Angela and Mabelle Fairfax they both sat this broil ing morning. The blinds were drawn down to keep the sun out; the windows were shut to keep the dust out; and yet it was hot stilling hot. "How awful it is!" ejaculated Miss Fairfax from the sofa upon which she had Hung herself, and upon which she lay, languidly waving a fan up and down her face rendered more pallid and marble-white than ever by the great heat. Nature Ls much kinder in this respect to some of her children than to others, and, as usual, arbitrary and capricious in her favors. For example, excessive heat did net give Angela Fairfax a red face, nor Philip Massey either it rendered them rather better looking than before: but its eftect upon the countenance of Mr. Fordyce was in deed lamentable. "How awful!' ' repeated Angela. " If it is half as cold here in winter as it is hot in summer, 1 shall die!" No answer from Mabelle, who sat at the center-table, her rapid lingers deft ly manipulating a straw hat and some black gauze an employment tending to produce stickiness of the fingers in that temperature, and who did not com plain of the heat, nor of anything else, tier sweet face was paler than it had been: her eyes somewhat dark and heavy; while in her whole attitude there was a drooping listlcssness, telling of weariness. "When I think of the rectory, and Nenside. and the gardens, this is intol erable, and I could scream P1 pursued Miss Fairfax, who had a way of empha sizing the last words of her remarks. "No doubt it is pleasant at Nenside now," her sister acquiesced. "Pleasant! I should think so. Oh, this is a miserable life that I lead! How 1 hate and loathe it! Drudgery and slavery all day and all the week and for what? A pittance! That I that a Fairfax should ever come to such a pass!" "Dear Angela, people have been very kind to us. I am sure we seem to have lots of friends, and look how many pupils vou have already." "Vulgar wretches! Shop-keeper's children, the Dissenters' children, rind all kinds of horrid people's children." "I can't say that I see so much vul garity in them." "You are hopelessly devoted to what is low and horrid." "Indeed!" said Mabelle. raising her head with Hashing eyes, and a height ened color, and lips parted t utter some comment upon this gracious remark. Suddenly s.ie closed her lips, pressing them together, and bending again to her work, maintained long silence, after that one irrepressible " Indeed!" "At what time does this wonderful entertainment begin?" was Angela's next inquiry. "Halt-past ten they were to call for us, and it is half-past nine now." "Half-past ten: Imagine setting off on a day like this to a picnic! A bank holiday, too! All the town will turn out, and we shall look exactly like a Farty of cheap trippers. For roy part, can't see the pleasure of such expedi tions." "Why go, if you think it will tire you, and that you won't enjoy it?" "How ridiculous you are! Of course I must go. What could I do here all day? There will be two or three people in ad dition to our two selves. How sick peo ple do get of each other's society, to be sure? "Thanks for the compliment," "Well, you must own, Mabelle, you are hardly society for me you " "No, I suppose not. One may be useful as a milliner without being ex actly company lor one's customers." "Oh, as if t meant that! What hor rid things you do say. Yod know what I mean. You are a child." "I thought children got on best to gether, said Mabelle, nnokly, but with an odd curl at the corner of her lips. "What? At any rate there is one human be'ng to-day who will be more entertaining than my alored pupils and their del glTtful parents." Mabelle made no answer, but her del icate eyebrows contrajtjd. while An gela went on, in a more amiable tone, as of one inviting question or comment: "Poor Mr. .Massey!" To thiw also she received no reply, but Mabclle's face was flushed, and she gave an impatient jerk to the hat she was trimming. "" "He really must be a very good creat ure, despite his disagreeable sister,' continued Angela, discussivcly. "I: you mean Grace, I don't think she is at all disagreeable." " Not to yon, perhaps: if you had the misfortune to be twenty-two years old, and an object of admiration to her brother, she might favor you, too, with a share of her ill manners. Really, the way in which these sisters are jealous of "their great clumsy brothers is too ridiculous. They seem to think that ever woman who meets them will set her cap at them. Thekla Berghaus is Hist as ridiculous about Hermann, as if I would tool: at a child like him!" "The question is, whether a child like him would look at you. He seems to me to have no eyes for any" one but Grace Massey." " Grace Massey!" exclaimed Angela, with a deep flush, ".lust fancy! How deep she is! It would be a splendid thing for her; the Bcrghauses are so .:i." liLll. But thev are both children yet," ob served Mabelle. "So they afe!" assented Angela, again becoming silent for a space, until she slowly raised herself from the couch, saying: "It is time to dress, I suppose." "Dress for a visit to the country to spend the day in the woods?" "I hope you will have that hat ready in time; we have not so very long," re plied her sister. "I wonder," she add ed, pausing thoughtfully, while her beautiful eves rested reflectively upon the green table-cloth "I wonder how much a year people in Philip Massey's position get, and what prospects they have of preferment" "What can it be to us to you, I mean? ' said Mabelle, hastily. "My love, it is a great deal to me, for I am quite sure he is going to propose to me (and how enraged his sister will be!). And how could I possibly give him any answer unless I knew some thing definite in that respect?" "For shame, Angela!" said the girl, raising an angrily bushed face and flash ing eyes. "To hear you talk is enough to make one " But Angela, with a slight, amused laugh, had disappeared, and presently Mabelle heard her moving about in the room above, "dressing" for the expe dition they were about to make. "I have a good mind not to go,'' mut tered the younger girl, whose fingers, despite her evident agitation, never ceased their work. Mabclle's fingers were deft in the ex treme in all such matters as this; those of Miss Fairfax refused to bend to any such servile employment. "Really," she wa3 wont to say, when wishful to appear a very devoted sister, "when one has a sister with such in genious lingers, it makes one idle." "I have a good mind not to go. I believe Angela will break my heart if she behaves in this way. What is there in our life to make Ler miserable or dis satisfied, or to be ashamed of? And to flirt as she does with Philip Massey if she means to treat him as she treated Harry Baldwin--oh, I shall never for get his face that morning, after papa had told him Angela wished the en gagement broken off! Philip Massey is so true he believes in hcrso implicitly. I can not bear to see him deceived, but I can not bear to stay at home and imagine it all." With that she put the last stitch into her work, swept up her materials into a basket, and then ran up-stairs with the hat. "Only ten minutes to get ready in! Here is your hat, Angela," said she, laying it down, and beginning to get ready herself. "Are you going in that horrid thick serge frock and heavy hat?" ejaculated Miss Fairfax, with more animation than usual. " I suppose I must, uuless I decide to f;o in nothing at all," said Mabelle, a ittlo dryly, and looking with a some what envious eye at her sister's dress of cool white cambric, and fresh black bows, which her clever little fingers nad chiefly made. "Really Mabelle, you say things sometimes which are absolutely coarse. Oh, the hat looks not half bad, does it? Allons! QtCen ditcs vons, M. Massey?' and she made a reverence to her reflec tion in the looking-glass. It was the only thing she did rever ence so Grace Massey has since been known uncharitably to say: but girls are given to judging from appearances. Then Angela went down stairs, and Mabelle succeeded in getting a view of her own face, and ot the effect pro duced by the " horrid thick serge frock, and heavy hat," both of which looked decidedly unseasonable attire for a picnic on a very hot day in August. " I should not mind 'having a white frock and a straw hat," sighed Mabelle; " but what I have not got I can not wear that's certain. Where's my sun shade? Oh, here! Now, I suppose, I may as well go down." ."to be continued. A Difference. There is a wide difference between wanting to lead and wanting to be ahead in the world's highway; but it is a difference which is often lost sight of. The man who wants to lead knows where ho would like to go, and why, and he has a good reason for wanting others to follow him in that direction. But the man who wants to be ahead, cares less for the direction he takes than for his position in the column when it is finally in motion. His chief con cern for others is. that they all be be hind him. and that they recogniz ; his leadership. The one man is willing to start off all by himself, if need be, and to be found fault with by everybody to begin with.if only in one way and another he can ultimately bring 'others to his way of thinking and moving. He would even prefer that somebody else should be ahead of him, and have all the credit of leading, rather than that the move ment should fail in the direction of his dcterm'nation. But the other man wants to wait until there is a general agreement as to an advance movement, and then, when the procession is lonned. he would like to be wailed on by a committee, and asked to take the head of the column; for he prides him self on his modesty and his unreadiness to occupy a foremost place unless it is pressed upon him although he won ders, sometimes, that his fitness for leadership is not more general!- recog nized. The man who wants to lead more commonly succeeds in his pur pose than the man who wants to be ahead; for the world is waiting for leaders, and at least nine men out of ten would rather follow than lead. But by the time an advance movement is fa'rly underway some one has shown himself its leader, and then those who are following hjm are not likely to g- outride and hunt up a man to show off asdts figure-head. The man. who wants to lead is likely to be more earnest, and to be happier, than the man who wants to be ahead; for his mind is set on his life work, while the other man is discontented, and prone to grumble, because of the community's failure to perceive his right to pre eminence. To which of these two classes do you belong? Do you want to lead? If so, whither? and why? If you would lead, j'ou must struggle for lead ership. If you are worthy to lead, you will be willing to struggle. Do you want to be asked to take a foremost place in an advance movement which you have not organized and led? If so, thatdesire of yours proves your unfitness for the place you crave; and vou will probably bo measured at your true worth.--8. S. Times. Novel ideas do not all originate in New England. A Frenchman is to be credited with a good one. He was recent ly burned out by a lire originating in the apartments of his neighbor, a widow, and well insured. It was shown that the fire was caused by her carelessness. So when she received her insurance money he brought suit for damages and won his case. If this principle is to obtain, we shall hear of fewer accidental fires. Indianapolis JqurnaL The Sealh Sectional. The war of the rebellion was fought from beginning to end by a Republican Executive, having for its support the loyal men of the North and a patriotic soldier'. Not one distinctly Democrat ic measure helped in the work of pre serving the integrity of the Union an I the supremacy of the Government. If there be any credit in having an undi vided country it is due wholly to the heroic efforts of the Republican party. Although, of course, there were many earnestly loyal Democrats, but they were compelled to go outside of their party organization to give their patriot ism effective force. It was but natural when the war was done that the bitter ness of the struggle 'should still rankle in the breasts o? the men and women who paid such a fearful price for uni versal liberty and an undivided country. There were many who cried for ven- Br-".-' ."w. . , , ., . wnoft- mnnv who wnnteii tno leaders of the rebellion nangeu anu ineir es- tatps senuestratod. '11. r. Tj . V Vll All V j. lie nuuuuiiL-uu party had it in its power to do these things, and Jefferson Davis, the Presi dent of the Confederacy, in anticipation that something of the kind would be done, made a desperate attempt to es cape, while other officials fled to vari ous foreign countries, all evidently im pelled by the idea that somebody would have to pay for the crime of rebellion and civil war. Men like beorge v. Julian and others, then prominent in the Republican party, were loud and persistent in their demands that hang ing and confiscation should begin at once, and be continued until something like adequate retribution be visited up on those active in rushing the country into civil war. The Republican party, then as now anxious to bury all the animosities of conflict in the "interest of peace and se cure a united people, turned a deaf ear to all these vindictive entreatios, and not one man was hanged for treason, nor was there any confiscation of es tates on account of overt acts of dislovaltv. The only men that went into banfshment went voluntarily, be cause they feared the consequences of their treason or were unwilling to live in a country made free despite their ef forts to divide it in the interest of hu man slavery. With a magnanimity un paralleled in such cases, the Govern ment rehabilitated the States lately in rebellion, and three years afier the close of the war every State in the Union participated in the Federal elec tion. As rapidly as was consistent with the safety of the Government the dis qualification of voters on account of treason was removed, and to-day there is but one man in all the land who can not vote because of his part in the re bellion, and his disability should be re moved, as it is a distinction above his fellows in crime that he does not merit. The South is solidly Democratic to day because the Republican party saw fit to restore to the people of the South all of their political rights, and for the further reason that it has charitably foreborne to interfere in cases when fraud and violence were boldly prac ticed by men shameless enought'to boast of their part in the infamous proceed ings. The soldiers of the rebellion are in the halls of National legislation through the liberality of the Republican party. Nine-tenths of the Democratic representatives from the South have to take the "modified oath;" that is, they ' confess that at one time at least thev were the avowed and voluntary ene mies of the Republic. If these things are not evidences of the Republican party's desire to bury sectional animos ities, they signify nothing. It is the Democratic party alone that will not let sectional issues die. It is the Demo cratic party that is unwilling that the majority should rule in the South. It is the Democratic party that, by murder and fraud, has solidified the South so as to make it possible for a desperate mi nority to capture Federal control. It is the Democratic party that denounces all Southern Republicans as "knaves," and that regards them as the lawful prey of the fellows who carry the elections by uid of lash and shot-gun. It is the Dem ocratic party of this country that dares not pronounce against the assassination of reputable Republicans, murdered be cause thev dared to vote in open elec tion. It is the Democratic party that nominated Tilden and Hendricks. Han cock and English, that has no word of condemnation for the infamous Demo cratic mass-meeting at Hazlehurst, Miss., which passed resolutions warn ing the sons and brothers of a Repub lican, assassinated by a Democrat, that they could participate in politics only on peril of their lives. It is the Demo cratic party that has deliberately aligned one section of the Union against the other and that will not consent to fair elections in any Southern State. Each of these charges is a fact that can not be truthfully denied, yet even to mention them is to invite the cry, "bloody shirt." The Democratic party is determined that these issues shad not die. Only a fortnight ago one of the Southern "members, a boy of ten years at the close of the war, took the" "modi lied oath" when he entered upon his duties as Congressman. When asked why he did so he replied: "Our people arp better pleased if their representa tives refuse to take the 'iron-clad oath.' " In face of all these things it is folly to expect that sectional issues will disappear. The South is not willing that they should be lost sight of, and the Democratic party of the North dare not condemn the numberless monstrous iniquities perpetrated by their fellow partisans in the South. The people of the South are not willing that their rep resentatives in Congress should swear that they never bore arms against the Union. Thc "bloody shirt" is flaunted on every opportunity, and repeatedly flapped in the face of men who were never disloyal in their lives, and if they dare resent the insult they are taunted with being unwilling that "the war" should be forgotten. If it were a political insult only, this could be condoned. If it were a wrong only upon the Republican party, it might be overlooked:. But it is more than this it is a deliberate and persist ent attack upon the fundamental prin ciple of the Republic. When by threats of violence, by defiant assassination, and by systematic fraud, a determined and desperate minority ride down a less impudent majority; the integrity of the Union is again as much in jeopardy as it was in the early days of 1861, when this same party, in the very same sec tion of country, attempted to aeeut by violence what had been refused it at the ballot-box.. Then, as now, the Demo cratic party of the North winked at the unlawful acts of these fellows in the South. Now. as then, the Democratic partv of the North is confidently calcu lating on carrying the next Federal election by means of sectional issues predicated on a South made solid by means that no honorable man can de fend anil no conscientious man refrain trom condemning. Ind. Journal. The Solid South. While some courageous Democratic papers deny that the election of Carlisle was the result of the work of Southern Congressmen, it is yet very generally recognized and proven by many occur rences of minor importance but similar tendency, that the Southern States will try their best to continue as a solid political factor, and that their success in the election of a Speaker from anion their own people was a manifestation ol this policy. And the more this factor is recognize'd, the more grows also the feeling in the North that the time has not yet come to place the Government in the hands of anybody who would be advanced by the old Confederacy di rectly, or whose actions would be se cretly controlled by it. The very fact that the South is '''solid" in allgrea! political contests proves that it con siders its own interests as paramount and will use its strength in the first line for their advancement. That in case ol a Democratic victory the b'outh would rule is a matter of the greatest cer tainty. The great Democratic flood title of lat vear brought 1U4 Democrats into the House of Representatives, ol which one hundred cime from the old Confederate States, and ninety-four from the Nort h. But of the ninety-foul latter many came from strong Republi can districts, and were elected because the'r Republican opponents were either personally weak, or were defeated be cause the'general clamor for a moment ary change did not meet their earnest attention, and they succumbed in many instances merely because fhey had too much reliance on their own and their Eirty's strength. Of these ninety-four emocrats it may then be safely as sumed that not more than sixty or six-tv-five can ever be re-elected, while the chances are that the number of Southern Democrats will be increased to one hun dred and five. The probable proportion of Southern Representatives to Northern will therefore be nearly two to one. In the Senate the South is even stronger yet. The Democrats have not got the majority of this body, but thev lack only two votes. Should they gain these, then the Democratic representa tion will consist of four-fifths Southern and about one-fiffh Northern men, il Maryland; West Virginia and Missouri are counted Southern States, as they might as well be, considering the spirit shown on all occasions by tneir repre sentatives in Congress. What power would a Democratic President from the North have under such circumstances, should the Southern majority decide on legislation favorable to its own inter ests? And would not such a President by the very nature of things be under certain obligations to the South which would have furnished three-fourths ol the Electoral Votes necessary to his elec tion. The reign of the Democratic party under' the present circumstances means nothing hut the reign of the South. Even should the President, the Vice President and the Speaker of the House be Northern Democrats, still the South ern Democrats, possessing the large ma jority of their party in the law-making bodies, would make the politics of their party and decide the course it shall fol low. Burlington Bawleye. - A Remarkable Canvas?. The Democrats are giving themselves a good deal of needless trouble about the prospects of a hot contest in the Republican party over the Presidency. The chances for a bitter contest T6 just now all with the Democracy. There are Pendleton and anti-Penale-ton men in Ohio, Butler and anti-Butler men in Massachusetts, Tilden and anti-Tilden men in New York, and radical differences of opinion on impor tant questions among the Democratic leaders at Washington. When the Bourbons adjust their own differences and escape from the embarrassments ol quarrels and feuds of long standing it will be time enough for them to con cern themselves about the prospective quarrels among Republicans. x In the meantime, the Republican party is giving attention, as usual, to the issues before the people, and ia grappling with such new questions as come to the front. The indications are that when the question of nominating a candidate for President comes up in order, it will be disposed of in a way to give the Democrats a greater amount uneasiness than they now affect over tlio prospect. So far as the discussion of possible candidates is concerned the Republicans have the advantage of the Democrats in the matter of courtesy. Very little is being said of candidates, but that little is in good spirit. Even the marked changes in opinion of the hot partisans of 1880 do not afford that amount of amusement they would were not the ex pression of opinions clouded a little by the suspicion that strategy was at the bottom of the business. The truth is that in its preliminary stages the present canvass is one of the most remarkable in the history of the Republican party. If there are animos ities they have been adroitly hidden. If there are pronounced preferences for candidates they have not been ex pressed. If candidates themselves ara in training they are working in secret. The spirit of the canvass is in marked contrast to the white-heat work of 1880. Then every man had from the beginning his candidate, for whom he was ready to do and say almost anything. , There was no hesitation in. taking sides. There was a sort of eagerness to get into the hottest of the fight That all this is changed now means that Republicans are thinking more of a candidate for thejarty than of their own individual preferences. But be cause they are doing this must it be a sumed that there is in the party an ele ment of weakness not present four years . ago? Common sense would say that the very opposite was true. Chicagt Inter Ocean. ' .? .: :4fH- &T .Sf--1 Xtff .?. Wrt" v r-ilJui..i iiijjp ZZ W1 s Bk2 j'kL 2& ysjtfy.