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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. '
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