The New York Herald Newspaper, March 16, 1879, Page 6

IS CHRISTIANITY A FAILURE ? Wounded in the House of Its Friends. CHURCH MILLINERY CONDEMNED. A So-Called Finality in a Moving World. SOME STRANGE TESTS PROPOSED. CHURCH MILLINERY, ADORNMENTS AND PRO~ CESSIONS CONDEMNED BY LADY BLANCHE MURPHY. One of the best things written during this contro- versy on the failure of Christianity is a communica- tion from North Conway, N.H., written by Lady Blanche Murphy for a Catholic paper, but which the editor feared to publish after having put it in type. She therefore sends it to the Henaup. It discusses “church millinery” and adornments with a pointed pen. She denies the plea of poverty so frequently put forth by Catholics and by others for them when they want to shirk some duty and responsibility, and shows that Catholics spend more money on gaudy adornments, processions, &c., than would be needed to carry on the legitimate work of the Church at any time or in any place. In most Episcopalian churches ecclesiastical taste has been so well cultivated by those in charge of the details of ornamentation that these churches present almost the ideai of a Catholic church. A very few additions would be needed to fit them for Catholic worship. With Catholics, on the contrary, in ninety- nine churches out of a hundred, there is no difference between the flower vases, the candlesticks, the car- pets usedin the sanctuary and those with which they are familiar in the parlor. The statues and images used in the majority of their churches are hardly one step removed from toys ona large scale. The trap- pings of the altar are like those of a lady’s toilet table, those of the Blessed Virgin’s altar in May, the “sepulchre” on Holy Thursday, and the high altar during the Forty Hours’ Devotion especially. There isa painful irreverence and unfitness in such dis- lays. bi Rightly performed, says this writer, nothing is more solemn and grave than Catholic ceremonial, and nothing is more easy to dwart and travesty by fancy decoration and fancy music. The very means ignorantly used to enhance the beauty of their cere- monies are those that rob them of their significance, and of their impressiveness. What, for instance, can be less ecclesiastical than the presence ina pro- cession of anumber of girls dressed in ballroom tashion, with wreaths of artificial flowers and colored ribbons? The ceremony becomes a show. There are some churches in England where no female is ever allowed to take part in a procession, and no lay- man, unless wearing a cassock and surplice. It may be argued -that these canons of taste are arbitrary, and these distinctions too subtle; that the object of the Church is to attract outsiders, &c. Even on such low ground as this, there is much to be said against the particular mode of attraction used. To attract is not to pander; and these processional shows, and many similar devices, are a mere pandering to a sen- sational and unhealthy public taste. The Church should draw people to her by the gravity of her doctrine, the firm moral support she gives in time of temptation, the trust iu God and ireedom from earthly solicitude which should mark her children, not by theatrical tricks and showy de- vices. Above all there should be no 8: If the church is of wood do not paint it to look lke stone. And do not make candles of wood on the altar similate metal, nor put inferior candles in the place of pure wax. Most altars are of wood, painted to imi- tate white marble, and stuck over with moulded pro- jections and bosses to represent carving. It an altar as to be made ot wood, for lack of money to make it of stone or marble, why not put the sum squandered on the subsequent painting and flimsy ornamenta- tion into solid walnut, oak, cven chestnut, cherry or ine—anything that is real? Wood is quite as beau- ul in its way as stone, alabaster or marble. A table shaped altar is very beautiful, and involves less material than the ordinary panelled kind. Our correspondent gives some prices of vest- ments here and in England, showing that priests in America pay for these things at least three times gs much as are id in England for them. The present style of church millinery our correspondent says is dangerous, as well as inappropriate. Every one knows how often a church is in danger of fire, especially on the festival days, when an extra display of muslin and tinsel is made. The preventive ar- Yangements are more imperfect in churches even than they are in theatres, so that the risk to the con- tion in case of fire and the inevitable conse quence (# panic) is very serious, CHRISTIANITY LOST IN THE CONFLICTS OF CREEDS. To THe Eprror oy THE HERALD:— The greater number of the answers to this very grave question which have appeared from time to time in the Henatp have been objectionable because they have been written ina partisan spirit. The writers have treated the question from their own point of view, and have all regarded certain forms of religious faith as Christianity. Yet Christianity may, after all, be something not yet taught in any greed exclusively or covered by any existing church form. The whole world may have so far departed from the teachings and the life example of Christ himself as to have left Christianity without a faithful representa tive in the pulpit or at the altar, Before it can be said to have succeeded or to have failed one should be able to determine what Christianity is. May not the pure, divine, heavenly inspiration which began to establish itself in the hearts and minds of men by astern denunciation of the errors of the then exist- ing faith, which, miraculously, as it were, set aside the vices of Judaism, the learning of the Greeks and the Church power of the Romans, in its turn, have been supplanted by the substitution of temporal power for spiritual faith, and the acquisition of wealth in place of the disinterestedness of poverty? May not dogma have taken the placeof the love of God and the love of man? May not the introdaction of mysticism in lieu of the clear and common sense views of morality and integrity have choked off the growth of the true plant? The history of the human race for the paet 1,800 years is filied with the bitter hatred, the internecine quarrels and the furious zeal with which mankind disputed about the proper form in which a great Su- reme Being is to be worshipped. The libraries of aris, Berlin, Vienna and the cities of Italy groan ‘under the weight of the ponderous tolios about m ters now almost obsolete connected with what is still called Christianity. But have all these things about which, ho’ the so-cailed Christian world is still at war, with the pen, pulpit and press for its weapons and battle fields, anything really to do with Christianity? These things are important to the welfare of sects. They are vitally essential to the maintenance of the worldly power of churches and tubernacies, They must be kept up to provide moncy to pay the salaries of priests, pastors, organ- ists and deacons. They are needtul, perhaps, to se- cure the orpamentation of cities by handsome church edifices and cathedrals. But has not Christianity tor # long time been wounded in the house of its own friends? A great deal of learning has been and still is ex- pended on the attempt to prove, or disprove, the small and unimportant miracies narrated in the Old and New Testaments. In the meantime the great miracle of © nity itself, its growth and expan- sion from su emingly humbie origin remains ‘undeniable and indisputable. And to that one might vestige of istianity re- mains at ail after the assaults made upon it, pot by those who have been denounced from the pulpits and colleges, but by those who stand in the pulpits and lecture from the college chaits—well known and ac- knowledged hypocrit on like the Scribes and Pharisees of old. your zealous contribators On tlris theme were to succeed in proving, to their own entire satisfaction, that no soul could be saved without the full rsion of the body in cold wa- ter, or that Henry i, never would have made a Protestant country of nd if he had been allowed to carry out jal views somewhat as King David bef: that the adoration of the the Almigtty to be overshadowed rot Himself in another form idolatry, or that the i ha question whether solar days of twent itself not having t le until «the day, is an evidence of shocking scepticism; or t Deliove that the sun appeared to stand sti Gideon makes it necessary to believe that th stopped turning on its axis —even if all these became @xioma, it would do nothing toward solving your great question. For, to repeat it, tm order to know whether Christianity las failed to improve the condition of the human race, it is first necessary to find out what Christianity is. And until that point, about which thore always has been such & difterence of opinion, shali begin to be settled, in practice and not in form, the question must remain tnanswered. True it is that there 1s one Christian sect claiming that all the rest of the world must ask no questions and come blindfold into their enclosure and then all will be fixed, But just now, as it seems to have a great i practical question on its mind, growing out of fithy bird NEW YORK HERALD, SUNDAY, MARCH 16, 1879.-QUINTUPLE SHEET. lucre and pooduaing whet is called debt, but not what is sup} to meant by that word in the Pater Noster, it can hardly expect a putient For, in truth, it seems # strange sort of ction that while Father Lambert is left in limbo by associate presidents of life insurance com- panies and trust companies and savings banks—his trouble being in his special line of business—another reverend Father, whose entanglements grow out of occupations in which he never was supposed to be employed, should call at once to his aid the attention of all his Church people throughout Christendom. In the meantime the right to think of this subject, so full of interest to all men, will be clearly main- tained. The Hxraup deserves and receives the thanks of all its intelligent readers, who number by the hundred thousand, for its patience in keeping its columns open for its discussion. It is in this way doing good to its fellow men. LEX, 18 IT AN IMPROPER QUESTION? To rue Eprrox oy THE HERALD: Christianity can never be a failure, though many so-called Christians are trying to make it appear 80, they being, as Christians, a failure themselves. Your question reminds me that asking improper questions is much easier than giving proper an- swors, When Luther was once askéd by a haughty mocker “what God the Almighty was doing before He created heaven and earth,” he answered quickly, in his pecuiiar style, that “the Lord was cutting rods in a birch wood to punish such impudent querists with.” There aro unfortunately many people in our days who consider the Gospel as obsolete and not fit any more for the progress of the present century. They are raising t. salves far beyond it, thinking that it ought to be improved; but those who think so, do they know ¢' something better to be put in the place which Christiemity now so firmly holds? During 2,000 years the arts and sciences have progressed, and yet we do not know more of God than Christ told us—that God is the most tect spirit and the Father of all mankind; we do not know of anything more sublime about tho destination of man than what Jesus taught us—that it consists of the continual endeavor to resemble, more and more, God, the Original of perfection; and we do not know of pore a more comforting about eternity than what Christ has aunounced—namely, that it is the hand of salvation, gloriousness, per- tection, rest and peace—the place of a just reward. Is it not strange that, if Christianity can actually be surpassed, it’ has not been done in 1,800 years? Everything human is improvable and in want of im- rovement. In that long course of time everything as been improved except Christionity, because it is not human, but something divine, According to Christ's doctrine there is only one improvement possible—that of man’s inner life—which can and shall continually grow and increase. Everything on this earth that has been and will be did pass and will pass away. Even the earth itself had to undergo great revolutions and changes on its surface and in- terior, and is not the same now it was after coming outof the hands of its Almighty Creator. Yet the words of Christ did not pass away ; they did not even grow old; they are without change or alteration— the only thing on earth which is not subject to the law of transientness. There is no book in this world which has been so otten attacked, abused, mocked, misused and pro- faned, but also none which has overcome so power- fully all attacks; none from which the arrows of wit rebounded so powerless and ineffective and which has brought to shame and disgrace all weapons of mockery, irony, frivolity and impudence, aud none which atier every dark night did rise again like the sun only to shine more brilliantly than before ex- cept the Gospel of our Lord and Master. Kither Christ or despair! Either He is the one He says He is; and then His word is the word of God and we are inexpressibly honored, blessed and saved through Him; or He is not the one, and then Christianity is a lie and deceit, and we may take the Bible and throw it into the fire, pull down the churches and curse the name of all names. But never fear of that. May every true and good Chris- tian live on, remaining quiet, firm and true in the right Christian belief until death—a belief which is containing already that which science and wisdom are searching in vain, ‘The discussions, cries and queries about Christianity around us will neither endanger it nor have any disadvantageous conse- quences whatsoever. Cc. H. A FAILURE BECAUSE A FINALITY IN A WORLD OF CHANGE. To THe Eprror oy THE HERALD: Christianity has undoubtedly done some good in the way of restraining vicious character, The awe, reverence and honor with which it has filled a great many of its believers have kept them from doing the harm that they would otherwise have done. Probably less henroosts have been robbed in conse- quence. Butit may be doubted that the religion has done much to directly improve the Christian part of the world. We have evidently reached a stage in our development when a religion founded on a primitive ghost theory, as the Christian religion is, finds itself losing its restraining influence and in- adequate to answer the demands of the time. Chris- gerated human “being whom Christians believe to have been the author of the plan to save them had promived it to the Jews, upon whom He looked with special favor. He watched over them, guided their footsteps and selected them as the only people upon the face of the earth whom He would deliver from persecution and to whom he would give instruction. The promised Saviour came andthe Jews are not saved. Christi- ity, from the very stand it takes, is atailure. It claims to be a finality. It, as it represents, it is the gift of God, it must be absolutely perfect, and hence can admit of no improvement. = system that sets out with being a finality must fail. In a stationary environment, if that were possible, the system might succeed, but as the environment constantly changes such a system of religion must cease to be or munt fail in its purpose to be stationary. Though Chris- tianity has opposed every change for the better, it has been remodelled from year to year to keep within hailing distance of the progress of the time and thus preserved its existence. It is a failure from another view. In spite of its intention to always remain a finality it ought, by its high comprehen- sive purposes, to have been the chief pray of our Lr geome a. That it as always opposed every step in progress ev student of history knows. The part that Christianity has taken in civilization is the conservative one—a valuable part, indeed, but one which it assumed not to assist progression, but to suppress it. While Christianity has boasted that it was the chief cause of modern civilization it has at the same time de- nied the boast by muintaining its own particrpation in the progress. It # had not been for the applica- tion of steam to machinery, the printing press and a thousand other inventions, and if Christianity had not taken root among the descendants ot the Aryan race, we may weil believe that it would have been Gea of no civilization. Take for example the jestorian and Abyssinian Christians. The latter have been Christians for 1600 years, and are in just about the same condition now that they were then. Christianity is a failure because it does not accom- plish what it would if it were of divine origin, as it claims to be, Instoad of finding a ready acceptance it is having a hard fight with the increasing intel- ligence of the word, and the nyimber of its believers, relative to the Peer is on the de- crease, Its missionary work is a failure. The heathen converts have a most material conception of the re- ligion, and are not benelited by it except as it brings them in contact with more intelligent people. It I remember the figures correctly, it takes about $600 to teach an African savage to believe in a literal ever- lasting hell. It is a growing beliet among thinking and unprejudiced people that any religion that is based on an atonement must prove a failure. It may in its carly stayes be of great service in co-ordinating antagonistic tribes, but eventually its supernatural. ism wiil be its ruin, Ga. SOME DIFFICULT INTERVIEWING PROPOSED, To rue Eprron or tae Henacy:— Christianity is not merely a name, it ia a vital prin- ciple in the soul, placed there in a supernatural way ; it supersedes the natural in all things, It is free grace bought with a great price; too great to be pur- chased by anything that man can do. All he has to do is to accept iton the conditions offered. It was bought by the sacrificial death of its Founder. It is the only true remedy tor sin, of which all mankind have been partakers. Its congregated nuabers who believe and accept are the holy catholic church of Christ militant on earth, and in heaven the church triumphant. These are indisputable facts; not pri- vate or personal opinion. Thousands on earth and in heaven bear testimony. John, the divine revela tor, has left us the written testimony, Revelation vii, 9, 13,14. The Jewish nation tailed as a power, civil and ecclesiastical, because they rejected Christ, the Saviour of the world. Atailure! “None but he who has never felt the great powcr of this blessed Christianity could ever even think it a failure. Were it possible to interview all whe ancient worthies who have accepted this salvation promised to Adam, trom martyred Abe: to Noah, fron, Noah to Abraham, from Abraham to Moses, from Moses to David, and #0 on down the stteceeding aes to Christ and the Christian era, their verdiet would be victory over sin and death through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. ALL. West PHILADELPHIA. A FUTURE STATE AS A TEST. Ponta, March 12, 1879. To te Eprron or THe Hirnaty:— Will any of your numerous contributors on “Is Christianity a Failure?” please inform me whether or not the Bible is to be believed wholly? Tam in- duced to ask this question because I haye found so much contradiction in it, To prove my assertion permit me to quote a few chapters and verses from the Bible. By perusing the following verses you will see that in some places it speaks of a iuture world, in others it utterly denies the existence of any future whatever:—Psalms, xlix., 12, 20; vi, 5; Taxxvill, 10, 1, 125 cx¥. 11. Beclosiaalton, ll, 14, 19, 20, 21; ix., 5, 10, Jot sy 20; vil., 9; xiv., 10, 11, 12, 14. Joho, xiv, RaQuurtico. 1A Carolina Family Whose Members Must Ali “THE FIGHTING ALSTONS.” Die With Their Boots On. OLD TIME CHIVALRY. Strange and Violent Deaths of the Alstons Through Many Generations, “COLONEL BOB” MEETS THE PATE OF HIS RACE a Ea , Ariana, Ga., March 14, 1879, The killing of Colonel Robert A, Alston in this city on last Tuesday revives the memory of the most famous family probably of the old-time chivalry days—tho fighting Alstons of Carolina. The history of this audacious strain of blood is inter- wovén with the history of those turbulent days when gentlemen fought at the drop of a hat, and a slight movement of the pistol finger was the answer to all insult or insinuation—the close of all argument. ‘Tho Alstons were gallant men of gentle blood and usually large fortunes. They were free livers and utterly reckless fighters, and frequently became in- volved in difficulties that drained the'r estates with costs and forfeitures. Probably the best known of them, Colonel Ben Alston, had several affairs of honor and wounded his antagonist every time that he went to the field. He was an imperious, passion- ate man, and as cool under fire as ne would be in his drawing room. His most notable duel was with Hayne, whom he wounded in the knee. On one oc- casion he was visiting in Augusta, when a gentle- ian, mistaking him for an acquaintance, tapped him across the shoulders with a riding whip. Alston wheeled as quick as lightning. The gentleman apol- ogized in the most ample terms. Alston took the whip from his hands, lashed him across the back and then said, “Now, sir, your apology is accepted.” Of course a meeting followed. It is said that Alston once fought s gentleman who disputetl the age of some wine of which Alston had been boasting, one day asked him to say whether or not he was peaponaibie for those remarks. Dr, Stewart took the , and ‘while to reaa itg put his hand imto his holsters and drew his pistols. He jumped oT his horse on the side pre. site Alston and fired fato him. A desperate fight ensued, in which Alston was shot twice and his stomach so cut that his bowels protruded. He killed Stewart, however, po! 4 load of buckshot into him atter ne was prone upon the earth. He was taken to jail almost dead. He was a famous fiddler, and procuring a fiddle sat there ‘with his entrails protruding,” as he wrote to # friend, playing the old tunes of his boyhood. His servant gained admission to his cell and hada coil of rope wrapped about his body. With this he was going to try and escape, Suddenly a mob assault the jail, over- powered the Sheriff, broke in the doors and seized Colonel Alston. He was game to the last, and fiddled up to the ly & instant he was seized, his dauntless face looking full upon his assailants. He was tum- bied into a blanket, the ends twisted, and he was then hustled out of the jail. Once out in the street he was thrown to the ground, still enveloped in the blanket, and a hundred bullets were poured into his body. Thus died the last of the “Halifax Alstons.’’ They were a remarkably athletic and handsome race of men, Gideon, who was killed by Pelot, is always cited as the handsomest youngster of his day. It may be said, here that the young Cas- tilion who killed him was put into the navy as a midshipman and was drowned in the Mediterranean. Willis Alston was a man of wonderful strength. He once shouldered a load of 800 pounds dead weight and carried it through the streets of Sparta on a bet. His life was astormy one. His feud with the In- grams, a brave and powerful family, was the sensa- tion of Georgin for the time it lasted, He always carried his Fy ai with him, and escaped the whole difficulty with only one finger shot away. “This feud was dramatized under the title of ‘‘The Watch,” and sold largely. Its authors were never discovered or they would have been killed, the heroes of that day did not tolerate the publication of their troubles, ‘The manuscript was discovered one morning in the yard of a fearless widow, who published it herself ‘and soid it, making a great deal of money by it. COLONEL ROBERT A. ALSTON. Colonel R. A. Alston was a remarkable man. Filled with all the chivalry, fearlessness and hot-headed- ness of his race, he dreaded, above all other things, meeting an end like his ancestors. It was not fear, for an Alston does not know what fear is. He was as brave a man as ever lived. In the army, as one of Morgan's lieutenants, he was the most reckless and daring of them all. He once actually had a biscuit shot from between his teeth, but with a laugh he continued his breakfast. He said to your corre- spoudent once:—“I have a boy who isa hot-headed tellow himself, and I have taken my wife’s hand in m_ne many a time and knee'ed with her by his bed- side and prayed to God that I might be- meath him a legacy of peace and a quiet ieath.”” It was his highest ambition, as he has often said, to break the old tradition that ‘an Alston must die in his boots.” Once again, I was with him when he was going to the field to meet Colonel E. Y. Clarke, of a rival newspaper. "The challenge had been issued, and he was just going to take the midnight train. Suddenly, he turned to a dark wall, and, leaning his head on bis band, prayed aloud that God might spare him the death his people had died, and allow him to live in peace til » quiet throwing some of the wine in his face that he might get its full flavor. Colonel Bob Alston came of the family known as the Halifax Alstons. Their estates lay about Hali- fax, N.C., and they dominated that whole section for yeirs, They were enormously wealthy and travelled from one of their estates to another in al- most regal state. They had hundreds of slaves, and always travelled with a coach and four and a small army of retainers. The men were princely in their habits of expense and put the “code” above the Bible. The women were high strung and spirited. Mrs. Bob Alston, the grandmother of the subject of this sketch, always carried her own sheets and pillows with her when she travelled. and a case of loaf sugar. ‘I have known her,” says Colonel Tom Howard, a connection, “to put $100 on a cock fight, with her own birds, and then stand and watch the struggle to the death.”’ Colonel Willis Alston, known as “Honest Willis Alston,” the grand uncle of Bob Alston, fought a dozen duels in one winter, number- less quarrels having sprung from his assaults on a defaulting State troasurer. He killed two men and was himself frequently wounded. His favorite weapon was an old-fashioned “‘yager,” which is a sort of blunderbuss, carrying a double handful of buck shot, and of fearful execution. A volume might be filled with the bloody exploits of these two brothers, but I shall deal dhly ‘with the sons of Colonel Bob Alston, who were the later Alstons’ im- mediate ancestors. AN ALSTON MUST DIE WITH HIS BOOTS ON. Old Colonel Alston, who was himeelf killed in a duel, had three sons—Willis, Gideon and Augustus. Willis Alston was the father of Colonel R. A. Alston. Each of these brothers came to his death by vio- lence, or died, as the family tradition runs, “in his boots.” Gideon Alston, the first of the three to die, \| was killed in a peculiar manner. His brother Willis was in Nashville, on a lordly frolic, when he became very much enamored of the lady who afterward mar- ried Sam Houston—a Miss Trimble, I believe. He paid her assiduous suit for several months, and, while engaged in this dalliance, formed an attach- ment fora young Spanish boy, named Pelat. This boy was friendless and poor and Alston adopted him, taking him home with him when he left Nashville, ‘It appears that there was some feeling between Pelat and Gideon Alston; at any rate they left the house at night and went into the yard for the purpose of “practising with their pistols.” Gideon was then a college boy, having just turned sophomore in the State University. In a few moments after he left the house with Pelat he was found in the yard, with a pistol bullet through his brain, Pelat said that he had shot himeelf accidentally, and this is all that was ever known of the matter. ‘k FLORIDA TRAGEDY. And now comes one of the most remarkable trage- dies in the history of this section so full of tragedies, ‘There was living in Florida, then a primitive region, young Leigh Reed, a man of great ability, gentleness and courage. He was almost idolized by the people of that State for his gallant services in the fierce Indian wars, having by his skill and fearlessness sey- eral times saved the little colony from destruction by the Seminoles and their allies. A story is told of him that will illustrate his character and at the same time show how delicate was the sense of personal honor at that time. General Reed was a political op- ponent of Governor Call’s son and at the same time his personal friend. Political feeling ran very high, and on election day # Mr. White made some reflec- tions upon the integrity of Governor Call. Reed at once challenged him for a duel. The men went, were both desperately wounded and ‘behaved with great yallantry. fighting, I believe, with bowte knives, their ft hands being strapped together. Some time after- became involved ina diMiculty with the Igive the story as it was given me by R. A. Alston himself. He said that an article appeared in a newspaper reflecting on Governor Call, Colonel Augustus Alston, who was the leader of the Call faction, demanded the name of the author. He was furnished with the name of General who was the leader of the opposite fi at once challenged General Reed, and a mi arranged. The weapons selected were this deadly weapon being, as I have sard, a iavorite with the Alstons. Colonel Alston was attended by Mr. Kenon, his brother-in At the word “One” Colonel Alston’s gun ex 1, it being hair-trig- gered, The contents were discharged iuto the air, General Reed, aiming with deliberation, fired, and Colonel Alston dropped dead in his tracks, His sis- ter, a most spirited woman, was nearly crazod at the pews of his death, She secured the lead that had killed him, and with her own hands she moulded it into bullets and sent them to her brother, Willis Alston (the father of R. A. Alston), and implored him to come and avenge the death of his brother. She wrote that he had been murdered, and the Alstons adhered to this belief, although the general state- ment is that the meeting was a fair one, Gencral Reed using only his just right in firing atter the explosion of Alston's “‘yayer.” At any rate it was very well un- derstood that Willis Alston would seck revenge for his brother's death, 4s the family for generations had made one of all their quarrels. ‘The first meeting be- tween Alston and Reed was dramatic. The Legusli- ture had just met, and Reed had been elected Speaker. He was a young man, of exceptional power and popularity, and his iafe promised to be brillinnt and illustrious. He had invited his friends to tho usual legislative supper, and the banquet was in progress, everything going merrily and well, Suddenly a tall figure, mufied in a swing: ing cloak and with» slouch hat drawn down over the face, stalked through the open door. Without a word it made for the head of the table, where General Reed was sitting. Instantly cries of ‘Alston! Alston!” arose and ran down the table. At these cries the cloak was thrown back and Alston was revognized. Reed rose from his seut, and, whipping & pistol out of his pocket, levelled it at his assailant 1 fired. ‘The ball struck Alston in his uplifted , carrying away two fingers. This did not stop kite, he closed on men could be parted Reed was cut pretty severely, and Alston, I believe, wounded again. Alston wis taken from tho room, and for some months nothing more was heard of the matter, One day General Keed was walking down the streets of ‘Tallahassee whon ire was fired upon by Colonel Alston, ‘The coutents of one barrel of a shotgun was poured into hi nider, and as he turned to contront his assailant the other load went into his heart. He fell and died, Colonel Alston's friends say that he had given Reed notice that he intended to kill him on sight, KILLED BY A MOB, Willis Alston went to ‘Texas, whete he lived for death could claim him. He never believed, however, that this would be granted him, Itmade him gloomy to talk of it, but to his friends he would say that he knew his destiny was to ‘die the Alston death.” He even had a superstition that a certain man was going to kill him. There had never heen any trouble between tuem, but Alston always said, ‘That man is my fate.” The man was his friend, and never became anything else. Despite these gloomy thoughts Alston was a devout believer in the code. After he had joined tue Church ne still adhered to his belief. “It is a peacomaker,” he said. In South Carolina, where the code stood above the State law, there never was so quiet and decorous a community. In Charleston county there.was not a murder in eighteen years, and the files of the Charleston Courier for nearly twenty-five years do not show the use of the word “liar” or “scoundrel” or any similar epithets a single time, ‘There were no street fights orrows and no assassinations, A high codeof honor was established, »nd it made even cowards brave men. He used to tell of a Carolinas judge (Mr. Pettigrew), who, having two men before hiin for try- ing to fight a duel, said:—‘Gentlemen, it will take mean hour to write out these warrants. In the meantime there is a steamer at my wharf that can take you out of my jurisdiction, so that you can complete your work before I ‘could hold you.” Colonel Alston never fought a duel himself, though he issued and accepted several challenges. The con- servative spirit of these latter days almost always seitles these matters without the exchange of shots. While Alston would have died before he would have submitted to adishonorable compromise, Ikuow what stubborn heroism it required to carry him into an affair of honor, He shrank with horror from such test. His whole life was overshad- owed by the memory of his ancestors and their bloody ends. He was a recognized authority on matters of the code, and was usually called into all prominent affairs. While he was tenacious of the honor of his principals, he never stickled tox, technicalities, and usually succeeded in adjusting the differences. Only once was he second ina fatal meeting. He attended young McGraw, of Charleston, and loaded the pistol that killed Tabor. There had appeared in the Charleston Mercury a communication assailing Judge McGraw, signed with a nom de plume. Contrary to the usual practice of demanding the name of the author of the offensive article, Alston demanded for McGraw satisfaction of Labor and his two editorial associates, holding that the gravamen of the offence was in the publication, The name of the author was offered and declined, Tabor then announced himscif responsible. McGraw, through Alston, challenged some time, He settled near Brazoria, There was & Dr, Stewart, who for some reason or other, pursued the matter of the Reed killing and used remarks de- rogatory to Alston. Alston hearing of it wrote the remarks down, and mecting Stewart on the prairie the three editors, naining Tabor first. | The parties went to the field. At the second shot Tabor jumped straight into the air, fell upon his back, shivered and died. McGraw was unhurt, and the affair stopped there. und been tenguageetncame al Alston en, in many personal en- counters, but never had been seriously hurt. It was harder for him to take an insinuation of insult than for almost any one else; but he always repressed his anger, and, if possible, avoided trouble. He was 6 fine talker, a genial gentleman, of winning address, and those saved him from many ditliculties that his impetuosity would have led him into. His tavorite maxim, however, was the saying of Sir Boyle Koach, “The best way to avoid danger is to meet it plumplyi” and his boldness ottea sufficed where extemporizing would have failed. In the trouble that led to his death, after he had been sent off by Cox to arm himself, his first impulse was to get a double barrelled shotgun and go and look Cox up and kili him. He was thoroughly acquainted with the violent habits of his enemy and knew best how to meet them. He was dissuaded from this course, however, by Governor Colquitt and others, He was very much depressed at the idea that Cox was hunting him down, and scemed to have # premonition of what was coming. He said, throwing himself into a chair in the Treasurer's of- fice, “It is awful hard to know that a man is d xing ou and that you have got to kill him or be Killed. d tead of going off to arm himself he went into a restaurant to yet some dinner. He ate heartily, but was very much worried, At length he was persuaded to take # pistol, getting one that he had never seen betore, a self-cocking six-shooter. When he entered the Treasurer's office he seemed relieved to think he had found a retreat from the trouble. No sort of personal fear moved him, but the idea of bloodshed seemed to sicken him. he saw Cox enter and half draw his pistol ata man evidently mistaken for him he seemed to know that his time had come, He grew a shade paler and his face hardened and grew stern, His first word, though, was an appeal, “I am not going to have any difticulty with you,” he said; “you must let me alone.” Cox still’ per- sisted, however, growing angrier all the time, At length, when he stepped back and closed the door ‘and said, “I will force you, sir,” he seemed to give up all hope. Captain John Nevins, his friend, who witnessed it ali, describes the scenes that fol- lowed:—“Colonel Bok rose quict and calm, just like he was going to make a speech. ‘Chere was not a tremor about him. ‘All right.’ he says, ‘we'll have it out right here. Are you armed?’ With that he drew his pistol. Cox's was already out. I threw myselt between them and said, ‘No you don’t, gentie- men!’ Colonel Bob thrust’ his’ hand over my shoulder and fired, striking Cox in the mouth. At the same time Cox fi nd the ball went through my whiskers. ‘l'Neir hands nearly crossed as they fired, I still held them apart. ‘They fired again by me, and Athen turned them loose. Cox was jumping’ and dodging around, but Colonel Bob never moved. He stood straight as a statue. After he had shot his fourth shot he turned his face to me and smiled culiar smile he hos. As he turned he pulled ain and his pistolsnapped, ‘Then Cox fired again, aud I saw & red spot ooze out in Colonel Bob's temple. Cox was trying to cock his pistol again whea I jumped in ayd threw him back, cateh- ing Colonel Bob. He sank in my arms. When I turned Cox was sitting in a chair spitting blood, with his pistol on atable, He said, “Iam a dead man.” 1 cut Colonel Bob's shirt open.” State Treasurer Raynor says that Alston put both his hands on Cox's breast, and said, “Ed, for God's sake, let us have no difficulty. I don’t want to kill you; you shouldn't want to kill me.” ry ‘THK ALSTON DESTINY. Alston had @ peculiariy winning snd handsome face, aud a semi-military manner, He stood like a statue while shooting, his handsome face set and stern, With the old Alston fire blazing from his eyes, turning his erect figure by mititary halt wheels to present hix side always to his shitting enemy. Atter he had been shot dowa Mr. Ed Mer- who knew of his forebodings about dying with his boots on, said, “He shall not die in his boots, by God!" and tenderly took them off. ‘The scene at the death bedside was affecting in the extreme, Only the most intimate iriends and the family were admit a force of po-. lice beating back the host that surged against the doors. As it was evident that he must die in afew jnoments Mrs, Alston asked Governor Colquitt, who was kneeling by the bedside and who was devotedly attached to the dying man, to pray. With a voice broken with emotion, holding Alston's hand, the Governor prayed aloud, while every head in’ the room was bowed every eye streamed with tears, And thus without @ shudder, with hardly 4 moan, jis face peacetul and half smiling, he died. In his bed, his wite and friends about him, prayers coing to God with his fleeting soul, and onty the ghastly biue-red hole in his teniple to tell that the old Alston destiny had overtaken him and that he had left the old Alston heritage to his son es two brothers; one a prominent Alabam- nd the other living ou his piace=both most ex- t gentlemen. He leaves « wite and four chil- 4 devoted and admirable family, They have @ fine plantation; but the noble generosity of Colonel Aiston’s lite leaves little else. He was a true man, 4 gallant friond, a rising statesman, The whole city and thousands of friends throughout the Union mourn his death, Cox is getting better) but will bo sont to Jail to await his trial, PARIS AT THE THEATRE. Sarah Bernhardt---Her Fan- cies and Caprices. FUGITIVE AND IDOL. Her Successes as Actress and Sculptress. A SKELETON IN THE BEDROOM. Pants, March 1, 1879. The audiences of the Paris theatres are diyided into two very distinct categories, two classes diame- trically opposed to each other—the class dirigeante and the class dirigée—the class which makes reputa- tions and the class which consecrates them. The public of the class dirigeante is relatively restricted, It is composed strictly of the persons who make it a point of being present at all the first representa- tions of new works—a public in itself sufficiently peculiar to justify my devoting to it an article on an- other occasion, It exercises the functions of judge, I will not say of justiciary, It glorifies or condemns tho pieces and their interpreters; its decrees carry with them fortune or ruin; it has # hundred jour- nals to record its sentences and a thousand tongues to'circulate its flats. Profiting by its unrestricted power it exhibits all the caprices of tyranny. It has as horror of successes Which are too prolonged and crushes its idols in less time than it took to create them. One evening it assists at the début of a chanteuse of operettas. The débutante has but little voice; she has struggled against a sort of chronic hoarseness; as a comédienne there is room for improvement, but she is pretty, adorably pretty, fair, delicate, with caressing blue eyes and a mouth beaming with the sweetest of smiles. She might be taken for a portrait by Greuze issuing from its frame. Every one admits that she is charming. ‘How droll her gestures are,” you hear on every side. ‘‘How comically she walks and bends her body forward like a marionette. The voice, even though rather voilée, is far from being disagreeable.” From one day to the next she be- comes celebrated. She is the diva, la diseuse a4 la mode, She is feted everywhere and overwhelmed with bouquets. The reporters publish her biography and the illustrated journals her portrait. This lasts for two or three years, at the end of which time the star begins to pale and to fade out in the Parisian firma- ment; the sameness of her actions palls. All that appeared charming at first now appears totally di- vested of charms. People’s eyes are closed to the artist's qualities in order that they may see only her defects. The public of the class dirigée ects as chorus, It is strong in number, but it never uses the strength which it thus possesses. It does not care to manifest its independence; it admires what it is told to admire; it goes where it is told to go; it is but a reflection, an echo. When the idol is broken it does not trouble itself even to collect the pieces. ‘ MLLE. SARAH BERNHARDT. An artist who has admirably appreciated the dan- gors of these sudden caprices of the public taste is Mile. Sarah Bernhardt. She knows that her indis- putable value does not protect her against them, for the taste for a particular artist soon changes into lassitude, and to guard against the fancies of the public Mile. Bernhardt has become moge fantastical than her audiesces, She exhibits herself daily under a new form. She is not merely an actress but a sculptress, @ painter, a writer, a poet and an aero- naut. The consequence is that we hear of nothing but her multifarious talents. Of all the actresses of Paris she is the one whose noisy as well as brilliant reputation seems to be the most solidly established. There is even in my opinion a great deal of exag- geration in the worship of which she is the object. Seductive as she is, great as is her talent, the artist is certainly not equal to her reputation. Tall, thin and straight and exhibiting none of the plumpness of the woman, fair in complexion, with a mouth full of promise, scnsual Lips, a hooked nose, and eyes with wonderful expressiveness, Sarah Bernhardt is o charmer in the fullest sense of the word. She sheds around her an atmosphere of incomparable attrac- tion. She not merely knows how to draw people within the circle of her fascinations, but to hold them there. Born of a Dutch mother and of Jewish origin, she combines with the semi-masculine energy of the children of the North the Bohemian instincts and the vagabond humor of the Semitic race, Her voice is one of the gentlest and most caressing that it is possible to hear. A critic said of her, “She re- cites verses just as the nightingale sings. She is her- self the muse of poetry.” “CE N'EST PAS MALIN.” Educated in a convent at Versailles, she entertained for a brief period the idea of becoming a nun. But after a little reflection she arrived at the conclusion that she was not calculated for a contemplative life. “Then,” she said to herself, “I will be an actress.”” And she began by giving to her name of Bernard, rather common one, an original character by adding to it sn “h” and at.” From Bernard she consequently became Bernhardt, after which she entered the Con- servatoire. She could never obtain a first prize ther®, ‘The year of her first examination a first prize was given to Mile. Lioyd, now a rather obscure pen- sionnaire of the same Comédioc Frangaise of which Sarah Bernhardt is one of the pillars. “Ce n'est pas main,” exclaimed Sarah, when the jury had announced their decision; ‘she managed to make herself agreeable to all the members of the jury.” “Si ce n'est pas malin,” retorted Mile. Lloyd, “why aid you not do the same?” Nevertheless the jury of the conservatoire has ron- derod a verdict which the public of the time hastened to confirm. Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt made her début at the Théatre Francais on the same evening as Mile. Lioyd. She had no success there, while her rival was loudly applauded. Mile. Bernhardt remained but a short time in the Rue Richelieu and accepted an en- gagement at the Gymnasse. But she had scarcely entered there before she distinguished herself by her manner of quitting it. Onc evening just as the piece was about to commence the director received a de- spatch couched in the following brief terms:— Tant pis. Je pars on Espagne, ~ SARAH BERNHARDT, Happily at this period the fugitive belonged to a class that it was easy to replace. The director did not even think of claiming from her the penalty of 10,000 francs stipulated in her engagement. HER FIRST SUCCESSES, She returned from Spain, accepted an engagement at the Porte St. Martin, where she played and sang in fairy pieces of which nobody now preserves any recoliection. Then, without any other transi- tion, she went and proposed herself as a tragedienno at the Odeon. That theatre was at the time controlled by two associate directors, MM. Duquesnel & Do chilly. The first, finding her interesting and un- common, engaged her without even consulting his tuner. M. de Chilly saw her for the first time on he evening of her début at the second Théitre ie “What! he exclaimed, is that the tragédienne that they seek to impose on me? Why, she is no woman; she is merely a bug of bones,” ‘This director had a horror of thin women; embon- point was with him one of the highest of qualities, aud it frequently happened to him during his long career to judge of the talent of actresses by their physical weight. is partner, M. Duquesnel, defenden her, “she is thin, no doubt,” he said, “but never mind that; she has the stuff in her, ail the same.” ‘The young tragédienne remained at the Odéon, It was there that she formed herself; it was there that she had her first success, Her thinness, even, which had proved so displeasing to M. de Chilly, nelped her wonderfully in the “Passant,’’ where she played a travestied part so well as to be really taken for & boy? She has, therefore, never done anything to put flesh on her bones—quite the contrary, And since she made her first appearance at the Odeon she has nevor ceased to grow thinner, nor will sho ev to do #0 until her spirit abandons its omseot velope. As to the numberiess pleasantries of which her extreme meagreness i8 daily the object, she is herself the first to laugh at them. She often even invents them and sends them to the newspapers. ‘They began by saying that I was thin,” she is in the habit of ob- serving; “It was only after that that they said I had talentt If 1 had been fat they probably would never have made the discovery.” Far trom seuking to con- ceal her thinness by the artifices of tho toilet, which would deceive no one, sho was the French ———— woman who wore the tight fitting dresses, the charm- ing style of which has become so general. ‘A FANTASTIC EXISTENCE. Although she was already in possession of a fair share of notoriety the young tragédienne continued to lead at the Odeon the fantastic sort of existence te which she had accustomed herself. When in the evening she had half an hour to spare it was gored in a restaurant in the neighborhood of the theatre with the viveurs of the Quartier Latin, Those who loved her regretted to ‘see her thus indulging her Bohemian instincts. One day Geffroy, the eminent comedian and ex-societairs of the Comedie Fran- ise, who was then fulfilling an engagement at tho Ddeon, said to her in a paternal tone, “What a de- plorable sort of life you are leading; you, who are an intelligent woman and who has such a fine future betore you.” ‘#élas! mon cher am,” she replica; “no one is more keenly alive to the fact than I am, But I am = dying of ennui, The theatre is not sufficient to fill my existence, What am I todo?” “Work more and employ your leisure in a manner worthy of you; read good books; give yourself artistic occupation. Just look at m; case. I have always painted. That has sustained, aided and at times often consoled me." “You are right,” replied Sarah. ‘I will try.” And sho de- scended to the foyer of the artists, There she found # sculptor—a friend of the establishment, a man of great talent, who happened just at the moment to be spcaking enthusiastically of his art. Sarah listoned to him attentively, then’ she suddenly left the toyer and returned to her dressing room. ‘Clemence!” she culled out to her dresser, as she en- tered the room. “Quick! Go and buy me some modelling clay!” And during the whole evening she applied herself to kneading and model- ing the clay with as much earnestuess as inexpe- rience, From that time out she modelled inces- santly—at first, of course, very badly, then better and better, thanks to the advice of the artists who came to see her, And now she cxhibits at the Salon groups, statues and busts, before which there is al- ways a crowd. BERNHARDT'S INTELLECTUAL COURT. Mile. Bernhardt quitted the Odéon in pretty much the same manner as she had leit the Gymnase, sud- deuly and without notice, to retutn to the Comédie Francaise, no longer as the young laureate of the Conservatoire, but a8 an artist. upon whom the direction was justified in tounding great hopes, ‘These hopes she has realized. Her success at the Frangaise has been an affuir of progressive stages, but it is now as complete as it is possible for it to be, Since Kachel, to whom her admirers, blinded by their eythusiasm, too often compare her, no temale artist has ever occupied at that theatre a position to be compared to hers, ‘Chere his consequently been formed around her a veritable court, composed of men, young and old, handsome end plain, but every one of them intellectual, for has an insur- mountable horror,of fools, and no consideration, no question of int it, can induce her to tolerate the homage or even the presence of imbe- i matter what may be his rank, Around her are to be found assembled peo- ple of almost every class and profession—financiers, writers, vaudevillists, artists, politicians, Even diplomacy is represented in this little cenacle of friends, admirers and lovers, Mile. Bernhardt in- habits, in one of the new quarters of Paris, the Ave- nue de Villiers, at a short distauce from the Pare de Neuilly, a beautiful little hotel which she had built tor her. Her time for reception is generally in the afternoon. In the morning when the weather is fine she rides out on horseback, after which she attends the rehearsals at the theatre. When the als do not necessitate her presence she attires herself in # male costume of white flannel, which fits her to perfection, and without interrupting her work of modelling she herself 0) the door ot her studio ta visitors, Tnis studio one of the handsomest. in Paris. It is not merely the largest apartment of her house, but it may be, called the hotel itself, for al] the other rooms, boudoir, dining room, pelit salon, bedrooms, merely radiate trom it, and are in @ meas ure sacrificed to it. There the mistress of the house accumulates Oriental stuffs, costly carpets, Chinese and Japanese curiosities, old bibelots and rare books, A superb palm tree is planted in a monu men! cloisonné vase. Over a vast chimney piece of carved oak is to be seen @ portrait of Mile. Bernhardt, life size. On every side the attention of the visitor is attracted by marble statuettes and clay busts under glass shades. a wide staircase, with balusters, ascends to within acouple of metres ot the ceiling. It leads to «small door, over which grimaces the antique tragic mask. Occa- sionally, when indisposed or fatigued, Mlle. Bern- hardt receives her visitors in bed. Lherefore, all her triends are familiar with the bedroom, where the artist’s eccentricities have allowed themselves full fling. The walls are covered with black damask, the bed is black, the furniture is all b.ack. It wants only a few church tapers to convert the room into & chapelle ardente, A WOMAN'S STRANGE FANCIES. In one corner, close to an enormous Psyche dra with black velvet, stands a magnificent male skele- ton. This skeleton, which leans toward the as if admiring itself in it, is not exactly calculated to inspire people with cheerrul feelings, but on that point Mile. sernhardt has her own peculiar ideas, ‘The sight of Lazarus—that is the name she gives to the skeloton—suggests to her no gloomy thoughts, for the idea of death has no terrors for her. Quite the contrary. A good deal has been said about coffin lined with white beter in she really exists, and only a Bernhardt actually posed photographer as a corpse. The coffin was placed on ‘trestles for the occasion and surrounded by lighted tapers, Tai round it stood the tamily—the little sisters and little cousins of the pseudo deceased, photographed in an attitude of grief, as also afew Iriends who affected to be sobbing. The prvofs of this mortuary photogra h will be given to a few inti- mate triends only. tis certain that these strange fancies are not all due to a desire on the part of Mlle, Bernhardt to keep public curiosity on the stretch, Some of them are attributable to a serious intirmit; of health, At tines the energy of the artist is domi- nated by this cause, ‘The fainting fits of Sarah Bern- hardt have beay legendiary at the theatre. There is always an uncertainty as to her being able to piay out aréle, It happens to her but too trequently to faint in the middle of 4 performance. Last year, during a representation of the “Etrangére,” it seemed to her that she received less applause than. usual. In the third act, in which her great monologue is spoken, she got vexed, lost her head, got confused in her re- cita.ion and ended by having @ nervous attack. She returned to ler dressing room and insisted upon re- turning home, which whe did. It became necessary to send for the Commissary of Police, who made @ formal note of the departure of Mile. Bernhardt, and a heavy fine was imposed on her, which she will probably never pay. Atthe theatre all are that the fecling which she inspires is that of fear. Aggressive by nature tree in her language, she is not a woman to shrink trom publicity of any kind, She arrives at the rehearsals armed with a small walking cane, the flourishes of which become more or less accentuated, acco! to the character of the observations of the author of the piece or of the director. The latter could never habituate him- self to the menacing adjunct of the fair actress. Sho is usually escorted to the performances by her full staff of triends. The one carrics her gloves, the other her fan, # third raises the train of her costume, a fourth presents her with a sinall pocket mirror. Before making her appearance on the er jhe takes: with her a few pieces of ice, which she we to melt in her mouth, This is intended as a precaution against the spitting or blood to which she is subject. She attributes the same virtue to champagne, and never drinks any other wine. ‘A CHARACTERISTIC ADVENTURE. ‘The columns of the New York HeRatp would not suffice in space were I to recount iu detail the life, the caprices, the passions and the weaknesses of this strange creature, who 18 at times a great tragédienne, always @ great artist and woman of incomparable seductivencss, I must not omit to relate to you in this connection a characteristic adventure of which Mille, Bernhardt was the heroineand which will serve to complete her portrait. In occurred in the Pyre- nees. Sarah had gone to pass a season at Bagnerres de Bigorre, She saw but few people. In one of her excursions she inet a superb looking monk, still young, whom she managed to engage in conversa- tion, under the pretext of asking her way. The monk was not merely a holy man, but a man distinguished in manners, highty informed aud eloquent in his mode of expressing himself. He pleased the actress, who, on. hor. side, interested him by her wit and originality of Liege 7 ‘The two often met in the picturesque places which they mutually frequented, fhey abaudoned themselves to long conversations, in which science, art, literature and philosophy were alternately dixcussed. But one day they spoke of dangers of the theatre. Mile. Bernlardt was surprised to find that the monk had undertsken to convert her. In an instant a diabolical but feminine idea struck her, She determined in turn to ovil this monk who sought to turn her to good. And she 0} posed to all the exhortations of the holy man all resources of her coquetry and seductiveness. He resisted for # long time, but finally succumbed asked her for # rendezvous anywhere but in the open i ‘This rendezvous was fixed to take place in an isolated hut perched on @ mountain peak at six o’clock in the morning. When arrived there the hut was unoccupied. The monk had not made his appearance, and the people who had let the cabin to the actress had all taken their departure according to promise, She passed an hour waiting. At the end of that time the door of the hut opened slow! and Sarah perceived on the threshold another mo: still graver, still more majestic, still handsomer than him that sho knew. “1am the superior of the convent that you want to profane, my child,” said the newcomer with unction. ‘Sarah shrank back torrified. “He that you sro waiting for will not come,” com tinued the monk. é “He is dead.” “On that day,” adds Milo. Bernhardt whenever sho relates the story, “it seemed to mo that I was playing the last act of the ‘favorita,’ CUSTOM HOUSE AFFAIRS. Collector Merritt received the following figures from the Auditor, showing the sums of duties col- lected during the month of February, 1878 and $7,914,963 48 . Bea,d62 05 IMCTO@A8O.. 66. cs eeee eee ae $914,404 BS ‘The change in the head of the Eighth or Public Store division has been crdered by the Collec.« Ko into effect to-morrow—Colone,Wilham A. Joues, recently appointed Deputy CollecTor the rotuuda from special deputy naval officer, to sitecoed Colonel Knox. Afee will relieve Mr. samuc as, Blatchford, who is transformed to the goods, captured on board of the Havana 4! au were received :—17 boxes cigars, leans oO ull, 96 bottles brandy and 1 silk umbre! to