T
VOLUME III.
OXFORD, N. C., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 31, 1877.
NUMBER 5.
I’JIE ItO.TOA.fVCC AND ItKTlSIKl'-
’riON OF FUIillE.
Tlie vulgar straits to wliich the
moiiibei's of what was called “The
New York Ring” have been I'e-
duced by the public reprobation
and by legal prosecution, are al
ready hiding from the public eye
the fact that there has been en
acted w'ithin its vision one of the
most remarkable romances of vice
and crime that the history of the
world has recorded. We are apt
to tliink of America as exceed
ingly’ barren in all the elements
of romance. History has been
ransacked for skeletons of tragedy-
upon which to hang the poet’s
and the novelist’s creations; but
there is now’ passing into Ameri
can history a mass of material, as
remarkable for dramatic interest,
f,)r guilty’ intrigue, for the splen
did successes of vice, and for the
retiibutive visitations of justice
and public revenge, as the w'orld
has over knowm. For the future
moralist, as well as for tlie future
literary artist, a mine of wealth
has been prej)arod, which, a con-
tuiy hence,—perhaps ten centu
ries hence,— w’ill be explored
through every’ vein, to excite the
popular wonder, until the princi-
])al character wdll stand out like
a Mephistopheles—the imperso
nation of malign power and su
perhuman guile.
The history’ of William M.
Tweed, in its more salient inci
dents and aspects, is so remarka
ble, that even now-, when he lies
jjrostrute before the power of the
law, he engages a degree of the
])o))ular sympathy’, lie has been
so high, and he has sunk so low ;
ho ha.s had so many’ things and
so many’ men at command, and
ho is now so thoroughly’ stripped
of all power and privilege, that,
in many generous hearts, pitv
disputes with indignation the su
preme place.
It seems but a few months—it
is but a few years—since ho was
the most powerful man in the
State which has just cast its mil
lion votes. Thousands of men
stood ready to do his bidding,
and receive hi.s patronage. He
sat as a power beliiiul the Gov
ernor of the State. He shaped
the course of legislation. He
dictated appointments. He con
trolled public contracts. He held
the purse-strings of the metropo
lis, and enriched himself and his
instruments at wall, from taxes
wrung from the earnings of a
long-suffering people. He scat
tered his largess among the poor,
who blessed him for giving that
to which he had no right, except
the right of might. Everything
that could minister to his more
splendid than regal pleasures W'as
laid under tribute. Steam-boats,
sea-side chateaux, banquets and
resorts of sensual delight,—all
helped to illuminate a career of
despotism, such as no other
American ever dreamed of achiev
ing. His associates were his
tools I his tools were his benefi
ciaries, and bis power of reward
lay in his immunity of gigantic
theft. There has been nothing
like it in the history of any coun-
try.
Then came the onset of a free
press. Had it not been for this,
it is doubtful whether anything
but death, natural or violent,
would have rid the people of his
power. His dark deeds were
brought to light. The hiding-
places ot his power were exposed.
'Fhe pencil of tlie caricaturist
kept Ids personality before the
popular attention in every base
aspect and association. The Com
mittee of Seventy was established.
Legal proceedings were instituted.
The “ Ring,” which seemed to be
made of triple steel, burst, and
one after another, tlie men who
composed it ran away and hid
themselves. The chief conspira
tor remained, courageous and
confident to the last, to meet and
boldly battle with the law, aided
by the best counsel Ins stolen
money could command. He went
to prison, but not to prison fare.
He W'as an imprisoned prince,
with dainty’ viands on bis table,
served in fine apartments. Then,
when clouds that seemed impen
etrable gathered above him, and
staves that he had leaned upon
snapped in his hands, and hope
of victory’ and release died out
of his heart, he availed himself of
the liberty w’liich the executors of
the law had weakly accorded to
iiim to flee, A yacht awaited
him in the harbor, and, while we
w’ere all w'ondering, lie w'as mak
ing his w-ay’ in liis little vessel to
Cuba, far from the possibility of
successful pursuit. Ho landed at
last, but none of us knew where
lij was. Then the island became
too strait for him, and he left it
to learn that the world was too
small for him and the secrecy ol
h;s crimes. Landing at Vigo, in
Spain, lie found that his face had
preceded him, and that his person
could not be disguised. He w-as
arrested, and then a government
vessel was detailed to bring him
home. After tossing on the At
lantic through w'eary w'eeks of
slow sailing, and day’s and nights
of terrific storm, he comes back
into New’ Y'ork harbor, and drops
anchor for himself in Ludlow
street jail.
Everything is in keeping and
complete. The nature of the
man W'as gigantic, or he never
could have aciiieved the pow’er
over men that he did. His crimes
were gigantic, in keeping with
his nature and the opportunities
which he made for himself His
command of the most skillful
counsel, and of luxuries and lib-
ertie.s while in prison, accorded
with Ills w'liole history. His es
cape upon the open sea in a frail
boat, his wanderings for a year,
his arrest bv a foreign govern
ment, and his return in one of
the proudest vessels of the Amer
ican navy, all harmonize w’ith the
events of his previous life. And
now he sinks into the helpless
pigmy that the reprobation of
forty’-four millions of people and
the irresistible power of tlie law
which he has evaded and defied,
can make of the most pow'erful
man. Thus far the drama is
complete in all its details and all
its relations.
We have more than once al
luded to the lesson of this re
markable life and career. To
public meti, it was a lesson which
was needed. There are many
among them who had ceased to
believe, in the baleful light of
Mr. Tweed’s example, that bon
esty is the best policy. They
had seen him mount from one
step to another, trampling all the
moralities under his feet; they
had seen him successfully’ throw
up the intreuchments of his pow'er,
and sit in apparent triumph and
security behind them ; they had
seen liiin w'rapped in luxury', with
a thousand pleasures at his com
mand ; they had seen him make
and unmake men; and all these
successes appeared as the result
ol conduct that took no counsel
of conscience, and a policy which
left honesty out of the question.
And, now, they have learned
exactly where cuch a course leads.
Tile confirmation of this lesson
may’ be found in the revelations
of personal character made in the
last presidential campaign. Noth
ing is hid that shall not be re
vealed. The dictates of selfish-
iies.s, no less than the demands of
common morality, make it neces
sary for every man to keen his
liands scrupulously clean, and
his record untarnished.
If the men in public life, and
the y’oung men who are soon to
take their places, have learned
the lesson which the career w'e
have passed in brief review is so
well calculated to convey’, Tw’eed
may' be of some use to bis coun
try yet. The tale is suffioieutly
illuminated w'itb dramatic inter
est ; the moral which it points is
unmistakable.—Scribner, for Feb
ruary.
THE EOVE OF TKFTII.
This love of truth will be of
the very last importance to you,
to guard you against the deceits
of the world. Man walketh in
a vain show. Untutored by ex
perience, the young particularly
are slow to suspect that the
prospects of good, of pleasure,
opulence, and power, which
stretch in rich luxuriance before
them, are an empty pageant.
Unskilled in the treachery’ of the
heart and the wiles of the tempter,
they can hardly be persuaded
that the gilded colors in which
imagination, adorns the future are
only a splendid drapery under
which are concealed disappoint
ment, sorrow, and vexation. They
have y’et to learn the emptiness
of pleasure, the agonies of porver,
and the vanity of wealth. Impe
tuous in their passions, ardent in
their temper, and ignorant of life,
they’ are prone to fix their affec
tions upon some of those beggar
ly elements which will crumble
into ashes at the touch of experi
ence.
The prince of darkness, intent
upon their ruin, plies Ids fatal
arts of enchantment to lull them
into a sleep of false security, to
exclude religion from "their
thoughts, and to conduct them by
deceitful promises of good, by’
lies congenial with his nature, to
the shades of death. This, my
young friends, is your position,
and it is one of immense peril.
The world, the flesh, and hell, all
conspire, by glossing falsehood,
to seduce you to perdition.
A covering is spread upon the
grave and the pit, and the ways
of sin are adorned with all that
can please the ey’e, fascinate the
ear, or enchant the heart. Your
security against these dangei-s is
conviction of the truth. The
word of God, which is preemi-
uently the truth, and itr winch a
truth-loving heart will lead you
to rest, ditsipatos tlie spell, reveals
the snare, and delivers IVom the
plot. It paints life in its true
colors, teai’s the mask from the
face of guilt, disrobes the world
of its gorgeous drapery, and
poirrts to Him who is emphatically
the way’, the truth, and the life.
—James JI. Thornwell, JD.B.
THE EITTEE HOESEKEEPEK.
She was such a wee tiling x’ou
would hardly have thought it.
Small oven for her y’ears, her
slender frame seemed baidly able
to endure the weight of cares tlurs
early’ laid upon her. It was won
derful what those deft little hands
managed to accomplish in one
short day.
By the death of her mother
when she was twelve years old, a
baby brother and a younger sis
ter were left to Bessie’s care, and
it was she who prepared her fa
ther’s breakfast, and tidied the
house and placed his slippers by
the fire before’lie came home at
night, wearied with the labors of
the day’. She alway’s met him
with a bright little face and sun
ny smile, and looked proud and
pleased, as well she might, when
he called her his precious little
housekeeper.
Bessie’s mother was a gentle,
Christian woman, and she had
early taught lier child to love the
Saviour and to tiy and obev his
commands. Every’ night babv
Willie folded his dimpled hands
while he and Katie knelt at Bes
sie’s knee and lisped their childish
prayers After she had given
them their supper of bread and
milk, they were put to bed; then
Bessie lighted the lamp and spread
the cloth for her father’s supper,
and had everything in readiness
by’ the time she heard the well-
known footsteps outside. Katie
called her “little mamma,” and
Willie echoed the endearing title,
“ ’ittle mamma,” till it became a
by’-word in the neighborhood.
One afternoon, good, bustling
little Miss Wimple came in with
her knitting work, to cheer the
lonely child, as she said and give
her a bit of advice. After satis
factorily adjusting her spectacles,
her keen eyes searched every
corner of the room in the vain
hope of spying out a spect of dust.
With a somewhat disappointed
air, she was about returning to
the neglected stocking, when she
spied on the top of the mantel
clock a slight instalment of that
well-known foe to a model house
keeper’s comfort and reputation.
“Here, child, give me the dust-
brush,” she quickly exclaimed;
“old eyes can see what young
ones overlook.”
Bessie, with her usual sweet
ness' replied, ‘T saw the dust.
Miss Wimple, but father has for
bidden me to climb upon the chair
as I fell once and hurt my’self.”
To tell the truth, this active
little maiden lady was somewhat
meddlesome. Nothing delighted
her heart more than to draw
insidious comparisons between
her own snug home, which was,
it must be confessed, the very
pink and perfection of neatness,
and her neighbors’ less perfectly
households. But, as they all
said, she had “no one to put
t lugs out of order wlien once
th !y’ were set to rights.” One
ti ed and harassed mother was
even so bold as to retort upon
her one day’, “Try it y’ourself,
Miss Etlielinda, and see if, with
tour noisy’ boys trampling through
tlie house, you can always keep
it spick and span clean.”
As Miss Wimple had a most
thorough dislike for “boys," she
did not deign to reply’, but only
sniffed by way of emphasis to her
contempt.
Her occasional fault-finding did
not affect Bessie’s peace of riiind,
however. She still went on in
the even tenor of her way’, and
while her little brother throve and
prospered under her care, her
father always found a pleasant
liome, with a bright, cheerful
little maiden as its presiding mis-
tress.
Long after Bess’e h id grown
to woman’s estate, slie still pre
served the enviable title of the
frdthful little housekeeper.—U. Y.
Observer.
The Book of Job—Biblical
critics seem agreed that our own
Book of Job was written . in the
East. I call that, apart from all
theories about it, one of the gran
dest thing ever written with pen.
A noble book; all men’s book!
It is our first, oldest statement of
the never-ending problem—man’s
destiny, and God’s way’s with him
here on earth. And all in such
free, flowing outlines; grand in its
sincerity, in its simplicity, in its
epic melody, and repose of recon-
cilment. There is the seeing
ey’e, the mildly understanding
heart. So true, every way’;- true
eyesight and vision for all things;
the horse,—“Hast Thou clothed
his neck with tlmnderf—he laughs
at the shaking of the spear!”
Such living likenesses were never
since drawn. Sublime sorrow,
sublime reconciliation; oldest
choral melody, as of the heart of
mankind;—so soft and great,—as
the summer midnight, as .the
world with its seas and stars!-—
Carlyle.
A Beaijtipiji, Thought.—The
sea is the largest of all cemeteries,
and its slumbers sleep without
monuments. All other grave
yards, in other lands, show some
distinctness between the great
and the small, the rich and the
poor, but in the great ocean oem-
etery’, the king and olown, the
prince and peasant, are alike un
distinguished. The same wave
rolls over all; the same' requiem
by the minstrels of the ocean is
sung to their honor. Over their
remains the storms beat, and the
same sun shines; and there, un
marked, the weak and powerful,
the plumed and unhonored, will
sleep on until awakened by the
same trump.
Till lately, a dischrged recruit-
at Stirling, wHo labored under the
monomania that he had received
a chai’ge of the public walks in
that burgh, called recently at the
office of one of the local journals
to report that “all was right.”
“Why dinna ye get married,
Jock?” inquired some one. They
say I’m daft,” was the reply, “but
I’m no sae daft as to do that,”