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J. A. TURNER, EDITOR.[
VOLUME I.
INDEPENDENT PRESS.
“ Without Four, Favor or Affection.”
EATONTON, GA.
SATURDAY MORNING, SEPT. 9,1854.
Duty of the Southern Press,
and of Southern 11 friers —Correia trie
duty of Southern Readers.
Tlie press not only furnishes the
Archimedean lever, but also the ful
crum and the stand-point by which the
world may be, and is moved. A sa
cred and a responsible duty is imposed
upon those who control the Southern
press, and who wield the Southern
pen. The South has two formidable
enemies to contend against. Asa sec
tion she has to contend against the lu
nacy of the North—that lunacy which
is rampant upon the subject of negro
slavery—and as the portion of the
Union which contains the elements of
conversatism and commercial power,
she has to contend against the envy
and malignity of England, jealous of
the growing consequence, and prosper
ity of this mighty Empire.
Yankees and Brittons both wage
war upon the South, but for very dif
ferent reasons. Making all due allow
ance for the demagoguism and knav
ery which do undoubtedly impel North
ern leaders to work upon the masses in
their section, and cause them for ulteri
or purposes, to give out their venom
like fangless adders against the insti
tution of slavery, it is nevertheless
true that fanaticism is the soul of abol
itionism. Your Yankee abolitionist
preaches up free-niggerism because his
religious prejudices have been wrought
upon. lie is a lineal dcscendent of the
puritans, and his fanaticism is of lineal
descent from puritanism —from puritan
ism, that monster which disrobes Deity
of mercy and forbearance* which clothes !
the face of Omnipotence in anger and |
revenge, and all the malignant passions !
of its own demoniac heart—which mak- i
C3 the power of God of none effect, |
save to strike down to the depths of j
hell those who have excited hate —
which regards the bottomless pit as a
place in which to torture the victims
of its malice —which makes heaven a
place of reward to those who bow the
suple knee to it3 dictation —which
burns martyrs at the stake for heresy
—and which in fact wrests the whole
system of Jehovah, of heaven, of earth
and of hell, to be but one colossal
wheel whose axis is the universe, upon
which to break and torture those who
may chance to dispute that in their
hands are the keys of heaven and of
hell. It is this spirit of puritanism at
the North which is waging its warfare
against Southern slavery, for want of
better employment. It must have some
victim to torture. It must have some
object against which to level its infer
nal artillery—artillery which it would
fain make us believe is drawn from
the armory of God—bolts which it pro
fesses to believe come from Sinai’s
mount —but which are in fact darts
drawn from the quiver of Apolyon,
with a coat of mail furnished by the
father of lies. It is with this armory
that Yankee Abolition is fighting what
it falsely calls the battle of freedom,
but which is nothing more than the
battle of the demons of falsehood
against the gods of truth.
If this puritanism could find other
employment it would let slavery alone.
If it were suffered to burn blue lights
at Hartford, to enact blue laws in Con
necticut, to burn witches at Salem, or
to banish Baptist ministers from its
borders, it would cease its wail about
negroes. Or if it could form itself in
to one mighty organization of Know
Nothings, and gratify its natural pro
pensity by murdering Irish Catholics,
and committing riots, arson, and all
the balance of the catalogue, the result
would be the same. It must indulge
its disposition to persecute and torture.
It must have something against which
to vent its spleen. And hence its op
position to slavery.
Having shown what spirit it is that
impels Yankee Abolitionists, let us
look into the motives which actuate
British Abolitionists. We have al
ready said that these latter oppose the
Southern States because they see that
til a very as it exists in those States is
tke conservative element of the Ameri
can Government, and the source of her
wealth, prosperity, commercial great
ness, and power, One of England’s
% B®trlilg f miriutl:—gtkteir to fiterate, ffllitirs, ail'd iH fjtafiltjf
great, though perhaps eccentric think
ers, and one by the way, who has
sense enough, and honesty enough, to
pronounce negro slavery right, says
that “Commerce is King.” lie might
have said with equal truth, that “Cot
ton is King.” From the 30th of June
1852 to same day and month 1853, the
exports of the United States amounted
in round numbers t 05213,000,000. Os
this amount the exports of cotton
amounted to $109,000,000 —more- than
one-half of the whole value of exports
from this country. This forms the
key to unlock the philanthropy of
British Abolition. Britain wants to
break down the slave institution in the
South, because slaves make cotton and
cotton is king. She thinks that if she
can abolish slavery in the United
States, she will have abolished the
source of American greatness, and
thus have gotten rid of her most pow
erful rival. If this be not so, why
does not British philanthropy busy it
self over the slaves of Brazil ? In that
country alone are three millions of ne
gro slaves —a number equal to that of
the slaves in the United States. And
yet England never says any thing
about Brazil’s slaves. And why ? Be
cause that country does not stand in
her way—it offers no barrier to her
bloated and pampered ambition, while
America does.
To effect her purposes against south
ern slavery, which is American power,
England isjnaking a cat’s paw of Yan
kee fanaticism. Jonathan, a poor,
crazy, drivelling, snivelling idiot, is
allowing England to use him to cut
his own throat.
To accomplish the abolition of sla
very, the North is moving heaven and
earth. Her press daily and hourly
teams with libels and falsehoods upon
Southern institutions. Not an evil
deed is done by one of our citizens, not
a murder is committed in our midst,
not a misfortune befalls us, but, accord
ing to the Abolition press it is tracea
ble to slavery—an institution based
upon reason, upon human nature, upon
the philosophy of society, and -which
has the sanction of God, not only ac
cording to the dispensation of the old
testament, but according to the philos
ophy of Chiist, and his apostles.
Not only do the journals at the
North which are devoted to abolition
contain anti-slavery poison, but it
courses in the streams which flow forth
over the land with the deceitful spar
kle of literary waters. It comes to us
in Y'ankee Magazines, in Yankee
Quarterlies, in Yankee religious jour
nals, and in Yankee literary gazettes.
It is to be found alike in the Tribune
and the Saturday Evening Post —in the
North American Review and in Harper's
Magazine. And above all, it is to be
found in the Y”ankee school-books
which are placed in the hands of South
ern children. This is the Archime
dean lever of which we spoke in the
beginning, which Abolition is using for
the purpose of overturning Southern
slavery. And yet Southern editors,
and Southern authors, and the south
ern people are lying supinely upon
their backs, making, if any efforts at
all, very inadequate ones to counteract
the mighty surges of a maniac strength
to tear down the main pillar which
supports the South and with it sup
ports the nation.
The Southern press does not do its
duty. Southern authors do not do
their duty. Southern people do not do
their duty. We know very well—and
pity it is we do know it—that every
twenty, perhaps every ten years, Nul
lification or Secession, or something
else equally impracticable, and which
always proves itself so, makes a few
spasmodic efforts to resist abolition
fanaticism and therj. quietly subsides
into a dormant state to be stirred up
again after a while, and re-enact its re
diculous farce, much to the amusement
edification and building up of our ene
mies. Spasmodic effort is not what the
South needs. She cannot be benefitted
by jerks and by starts. A long pull,
a strong pull,* and a pull all together is
what would be of service to her. She
needs a constant resistance against the
doctrine of Abolition. Its philosophy
should be fought against. We want
journals to war against its journals.—
Wc need books to fight against its
books. We should have poetry and
song to breathe their inspiration against
its poetry and song. We need talcs
and essays in which shall rim a pro
slavery vein to counteract its tales and
EATONQN, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1854.
essays. In a word, we need that upon
which puny canters have -brought
contempt—that which has been made
by weak-backed incompetency a by
word and a reproach—to-wit: a south
\crn literature. A great man once said,
“I care not who makes the laws of a
country —the concern is as to who
makes its songs.” We want pro-slave
ry songs, and pro-slavery literature.
The Southern press should be con
ducted with an eye single to counteract
ing the influence of the Abolition press.
Abolition knows nothing of honor, of
honesty or of fairness in its warfare.
Such things arc not to be expected
from those whose constant practice it is
to violate openly, boldly and professed
ly the three chief commands in the
decalogue which forbid to kill, to lie,
and to steal. And Abolitionists cer
tainly do all three ; for they steal our
negroes, and then kill those who at
tempt to arrest them; and they swear
to a lie, in that they swear to support
the constitution of the United States,
and then escape from the obligation
thus imposed upon them under cover
of higher law. As we have said, there
is not an evil deed done in our midst,
nor a misfortune that befalls us, which
Abolition does not seize upon and de
clare it traceable to the institution of
slavery. The South is constantly at
tacked by its press in the most gross,
wanton, and outrageous manner. And
while we are defending ourselves
against their attacks, instead of pushing
the war into Africa, they are only pre
paring to make renewed, and grosser
attacks upon us.
Now we do not admire the system
of warfare adopted by the abolition
ists, and would prefer to fight in a
different and more genteel way. But
if we must “fight the devil with fire,”
we must. We advise our Southern
brethren of the quill now, as we liav c
advised them before, to cease to act so
much on the defensive, and to act up
on the offensive. Let us go to work
with a hearty good will, and attack
Northern institutions and Northern
opinions—such as Mormonism, and
Millerism, and Mesmerism, and Spirit
ualism, and Fourierism, and Atheism,
and Pauperism, and Kuow-Nothing
ism, and Free-niggerism, and Negro
pliilism, and Higlier-lawism and Scoun
drelism, and all the other isms which
are the result of Northern institutions.
It is a duty we owe our section not only
to ward off the attacks made against
us, but to “push the war into Africa,”
and rout our section’s and our coun
try’s enemies, horse, foot and dragoons.
And if this be the duty of Southern
writers, it implies a correlative duty
on the part of Southern readers. It is
that they support their own journals
instead of sending their money to the
North to supply anti-slavery prints with
the means to war against our section.
How many Northern journals circulate
in the Southern States ? Who can tell
how much money they draw from
slave labor, with which to break down
the institution of slavery ? The heart
of the Southern patriot must grow
sick, even unto death, when he con
templates that supreme toadyism, that
ineffable verdancy, that want of pa
triotism which induces the Southern
people to prefer Yankee Abolition
journals over Southern pro-slavery
gazettes. How long will the South
still pursue this suicidal policy ? How
long will the Southern Eagle shed his
plumes in the hand of Abolition to
wing the shafts which are aimed at his
own vitals ?
Ho the Southern people know that
the Southern Quarterly Review is pub
lished in Charleston, and is devoted to
the interests of slavery ? Ho they
know that Be Bow's Review is publish
ed in New Orleans, and from the ar
mory of its statistics going to show the
wealth of the Southern States, furnish
es more implements to fight the battles
of the South, than all other magazines
combined? Ho they know that the
Southern Literary Messenger is publish
ed in Richmond, Va., and is consid
ered by the best judges as the most re
spectable of American Magazines ? Yet
their claims arc slighted because with
the modesty which characterizes the
true-hearted and elmste maiden, they
refuse to make use of the blandish
ments of the harlot to win votaries to
their bosom; while the Northern Mag
azines put on all the lascivious tinsel
of gaudy attire, and unmodestly dis
play their charms; and the South
rushes into the arms of these prosti-
H'mio ITT FEtftn, JFY/ FOR Oft .1 FT ft C TIfKV ”■
tides of abolition. llow long shall
this be so ?
FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
[No. 13.]
All Things Speak of God.
The flower that blushes on its stem
Reveals its Maker’s name,
As caskets, that conceal the gem,
Bespeak the inward flame.
The babbling brook that sends its stream-
Its pebbly bed along,
Delights to kiss the solar beam,
And pour its praise in song.
The zephyr, that unfurls its wing
To fan the evening dew,
And coolness o’er the desert fling,
Bespeaks its Maker too.
The bird that warbles on tho tree.
And carols lightsome lays,
But lends its tuneful melody
To its Creator's praise.
I’he star that twinkles in the sky,
And smiles a gem of night,
Proclaims that lustrous orbs on high,
But shine with borrowed light
Spring of 1848. L. t.
FOB THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
BENTWOLD:.
A TALE OF FLORIDA AND GEORGIA.
BY T
(Continued .)
CHAPTER IV.
When Jake and Joe Ramsey had
fled, Mr. Bentley and Frank, very nat
urally, turned to gaze upon the pros
trate form of their enemy. The ex
citement attendant upon a contest such
as that iii which they had engag
ed, passed off almost instantly, after
the contest had ceased ; and the first
feeling which succeeded was one of un
mitigated horror and aiguish, at the
deed which had been committed.—
Frank felt horrified at tie idea that he
had been compelled to - alee away the
life of a human being, even to save
the life of his father—tin man whom of
all the world, he was tfund to defend,
at the risk of his own or other lives,
so long as he was not aging on the of
fensive toward any die. And Mr.
Bentley regretted, still more keenly,
the terrible necessity jjvhicli induced
his son to imbrue bis lands in human
blood.
He regretted the circkmstance more,
perhaps, than he would have done had
his own hands, insteadof bis son’s, done
the deed—for be bad been too well
schooled, to have bis peace destroyed
by tlie contemplation of an act which
bis reason and bis conscience both, told
him was perfectly justifiable. But he
knew that bis son was yet young, and
lie feared not sufficiently firm, to main
tain a calm and quiet conscience, con
cerning a deed which all men agree
in pronouncing a desperate one, even
when committed with the sanction of
tne law, human and Divine.
A short time however sufficed to re
store them to a full consciousness of the
perfect justifiablencss of their proceed
ing; and Frank said, as jhe turned
and met his father’s anxious and in
quiring gaze,
“The struggle is over, fattier. I did,
at first, allow my imagination to con
jure up foolish horrors, bit my con
science is easy, and my mind shall soon
be so.”
“Ah!” replied his father, “I am tru
ly glad to hear this from you Frank.—
While I would not have you pass
lightly over this thing, I would not
have you torture yourself for doing
what I certainlyshould have done my
self, if you had been five seconds la
ter.”
Still, in spite of these words, they
gazed, with feelings, to them before
unknown, on the body before them.
The servants of the house had wit
nessed the affray, but were afraid to
venture out, and the two younger Ram
seys had not thought of coming back
to assist their father—glad perhaps,
that he was out of the way, so that
they could the whole of his
property between them. It was not
stated, as it should have been in the be
ginning, that Mr. Ramsey was unmar
ried, or at least no one lived with him
as his wife and that his sons were the
fwtiTj.
|t. (Tale.
only white persons living in the house
with him.
At length Frank approached the
house, and summoned some negroes to
convey the corpse to the house, with
the view of sending for the officers of
justice, and laying the case before
them. Stooping to assist the negroes
in their operations, on touching the
body he found it was still quite warm,
and placing his hand on his heart, he
detected a feeble flutter. Astonished
at himself for'not having applied this
test before, he exclaimed to one of the
negroes:
“Go and saddle your swiftest horse
to ride for a physician. Hurry sir!
your master is yet alive.”
It happened that even this cruel
master had one slave who looked upon
him with affection, and he hastened to
obey the order, thanking God aloud,
that his master was not yet dead. As
soon as he was gone, Mr. Bentley and
Frank had the now fast reviving Ram
sey conveyed into the house, where
they used all the restoratives with
which they were acquainted, and soon
had the satisfaction of hearing the
man they supposed dead, ask for water.
They stopped the bleeding of the
wound, propped him in the most easy
position and then sat down to wait the
arrival of the physician.
They had not long to wait, for the
messenger had not spared his horse,
and it was not a great ways to the
physician’s residence. This physician
was a most estimable man, with whom
the Bentleys were well acquainted.
When he came in and looked at the
wounds he manifested a great deal of
surprise on seeing that the wound was
made by a bullet, and that neither of
Ramsey’s sons were present, while
Mr. Bentley and his son were waiting
on the wounded man with all the as
siduity which ought to have charac
terized the conduct of his sons. He
looked enquiringly at Mr. Bentley and
said:
“My dear sir; what does all this
mean?”
“Doctor,” was the reply, “my son
shot this man down about half an hour
ago —that is all it means.”
“What!” exclaimed the Doctor, who
was rather a nervous, fidgety man,
“you don’t—you—you—you don’t
mean that Frank shot a man in cold
blood do you?”
“No sir ; I mean no such thing. I
said nothing about “cold blood.”- My
dear Doctor,” continued Mr. Bentley,
seeing him about to speak again, “at
tend to this wound first, and then I
will satisfy all your curiosity.”
The physician, ns
in new countries are, was a skillful sur
geon, and he proceeded to examine
and dress the wound with a great deal
of dispatch. The bullet had passed
out, so that the trouble and pain of ex
tracting it was avoided. The patient
lay, almost like a log, during the dress
ing of his wound, never manifesting,
by word or groan, the least degree of
pain. After the wound was dressed,
the physician turned to Mr. Bentley,
with a most lively expression of eager
curiosity and said:
“Now sir I hope you will relieve
me of this suspense, by explaining this
mysterious affair.”
“I will soon,” was the reply. “But
first you will surely tell us whether or
not Mr. Ramsey’s wound is a mortal
one.”
“Mortal? No—not exactly—that is
it will not prove mortal, if the patient
is kept quiet and free from excite
ment ; but if he indulges in his usual
fretfulness, his life isn’t worth a da—
I mean a straw.”
“Well” said Frank, “he has been
very quiet so far, and I hope he will
continue so.”
“But that explanation,” resumed the
Doctor. “Don’t forget that; and for
God’s sake don’t keep me on thorns
any longer.”
“We will remove to the next room
then, if you please,” said Mr. Bent
ley.
“I beg you will not go from this
room, gentlemen,” suddenly exclaimed
the wounded man, in a voice so alter
ed from its usual tone that no one
would have recognized it, without see
ing whence it proceeded. “I acknowl
edpe that the act of shooting me was
a perfectly just one; and it is a great
great relief to me to confess it. I will
tell you all about it, Doctor—”
“Don’t do it,” interposed Doctor
Stubbs. Don’? doit! You must keep
quiet. You must doit, sir,” he added,
seeing the other raise his head impa
tiently, and try to speak ; “you know
I never was afraid of you at your
worst, and of course I am not, now
that I hear you speak like a Christian
and a gentleman—for the first time.”
If ever people wei'e surprised, our
friends, Frank and his father, were.
In assisting the man who had made a
murderous assault upon them, they
had merely obeyed the dictates of their
compassionate disposition, without any
idea of softening and subduing the ob
ject of their assistance. And even
now, such had been the repugnance
and contempt with which they had al
ways regarded the man, that they
found it impossible wholly to over
come it. Mr. Bentley however, ad
dressed him, saying:
“I think you had better follow the
physician’s directions, Mr. Ramsey.
It would take but little excitement to
throw you into a fever, and that would
be dangerous.”
“And do you really care enough for
me to give me this caution?” asked the
thoroughly subdued old man.
“Certainly. Do you take me for a
heathen?”
“Ah!” sighed the old man again.—
“You will please excuse me for judg
ing you by my own bad heart. I know
so well that if I had found you or
one of yours at the point of death, I
would never have lifted a finger to
save you or them. But lam changed
now.”
“Name o’ Godbroke in the Doc
tor, “are }'ou two going to prate all
night and let me die of curiosity ?”
“Possibly they are Doctor,” said
Frank. “Indeed I think it altogether
likely.”
“And can you enlighten me, sir?’
answered the Doctor, speaking to
Frank.
“Never mind,” said Mr. Bentley,
“17? tell you all about it: so listen.”
And he proceeded to give him, in as
few words as possible, and in such a
way as to spare the altered feelings of
The old man Ramsey as much as pos
sible, an account of the rencounter
which had taken jplace.
As lie ended, the Doctor said, turn
ing toward the bed,
“And are you not thoroughly asham
ed of yourself, sir?”
But he was answered in a tone so
softened and repentant, that even he
was affected, and silenced.
“We must go Frank,” said Mr. Bent
ley rising at last.
“I am going to make a strange re
quest, gentlemen,” said Mr. Ramsey,
RAOViOOvally CIC lU.Uuiim —(*■■■ - —.-i , ft, -i ip , . |
It is that you will spend the night in
my house.”
To this request Mr. Bentley re
plied :
“It is impossible for us do so, con
sistently, Mr. Ramsey. Our business
requires our presence at the plantation
to-night, and we must start home early
to-morrow morning.”
“Well call in and see me as you pass
by—at least,” insisted Ramsey.
“We will do so then” was the reply,
as they took their hats to go.
“Won’t you shake hands with me?”
again requested Ramsey.
“Certainly,” was the reply, “and we
hope you will be well attended by your
servant. Indeed, if we did not think
this would bo the case, we would neg
lect our business to remain with you.”
“Dick there will wait on me faith
fully, poor fellow. But I don’t see
why he will do it, for I have led him
a dog’s life.”
Frank and his father shook hands
with the old man, and moved toward
the door. As they were passing out
of the door, Mr. Ramsey called to
them:
“Tell Juba he need not fear me any
longer. lam an altered man. And
Mr. Bentley, there is something on my
mind, which I would like to tell you
when you come by in the morning, if
I can muster the courage—and am
still alive.”
“I shall certainly call for a few mo
ments in the morning,” said Mr. Bent
ley, as lie and Frank left the house.
That night, however, they concluded
that, as they had ridden so far, and
were' not expected at home till the
third clay from that, they would ride
over the plantation the next day, and
see the prospect for a crop. They did
so, and on the morning after that they
set out on their return. Halting be
fore Mr* Ramsey’s gate, they left their
‘TERMS, $2.00 A YEAU-
NUMBER 21.
horses with Howard, and entered the
house. They found the old man get'
ting on very well, so far as his physi
cal comfort was concerned; but he
seemed, from the expression of his
eye, to be suffering from the pangs of
remorse for some terrible crime,
1 here was no one in the room with
him, save his fathful servant Dick.—
When he perceived the entrance of his
visitors, he extended lira- hand lan
guidly and said:
“I am glad you have come, at last.
My sons refuse to stay in the room
where I am, and I don’t ka®w that
their presence would be any satisfac
tion to me any way. Still you know
I can’t help regretting that they should
desert me so unfeelingly. Great God l
how the sins of our youth are visited
upon our heads in our old age. How
terribly am I rewarded for the way in
which I raised my children!”
He continued, after a short pause,
“Oh remorse! Did you ever know
the pangs of remorse, Mr. Bentley?
But no. Why do I ask the question?
You have never been the wretch—the
wicked God-defying wretch that I have
been.”
He was proceeding in thi3 strain
when Mr. Bentley interrupted him,,
saying:
“You are exciting yourself too much-
Remember what the Doctor said. Has
he been to see you this morning?”
“You are right,” was the reply. “I
must keep cool. Yes the Doctor has
been here this morning. lie says that
I am doing well enough, but he knows
nothing of the wound that is here,”'
striking his clenched hand upon his
breast. “He knows nothing of that*
although it has been festering there for
years.”
Seeing Mr. Bentley about to speak
again, he said :
“I will calm myself.”
“I hope you will,” said Mr. Bentley,
“It is absolutely necessary that yog
should.”
“Yes I know,” he answered, “but
it is impossible for me to say what I
wanted to say to you and keep calm.”
“Then postpone it till you see me
again. I am not so very inquisitive
that I should suffer much suspense.
Still lam very anxious to hear what
you have to say.”
“Let me tell it then. Let me tell it.
It will relieve me. I can tell it with
out too much excitement.”
But Mr. Bentley saw too plainly
that the subject to which he continued
to allude was one on which it would
not do to allow him to converse, in
his present state, and he prevailed on
iaXUX to oaso it bxz uroinlsln£r ID- SHEE
him in the course of a few weeks,
when he would listen to all he had
to say.
With this the old man finally con
cluded to rest satisfied. As soon as he
laid aside this exciting subject, he sunk
into a moody stupor, from which noth
ing in the ordinary way of conversa
tion seemed to rouse him. Perceiving
this, Mr. Bentley rose to go, and as he
rose, the sick man raised his head
quickly and said : v
“You are not going without hearing*
my tale?”
“You know,” answered Mr. Bent
ley, “that we concluded to let that mat
ter rest till I come down again, sever
al weeks hence.”
With a confused look, the old man
said:
“Oh —Yes—But—Well, I suppose
it must be so. Good-bye to you both
then!”
And he again fell back on his pillow,
with a listless groan. Frank and his
father shook hands with him and lelt
the house.
They travelled fast and reached
Bentwold in time for dinner according
to promise. They gave a faithful ac
count of all their doings to Helen and
Mrs. Bentley, who turned pale and
trembled at the recital, and uttered
words of womanly sympathy, for the
poor wounded old mafkwho lay with
out the presence of a sifigle
to soothe his anguish.
CHAPTER V.
While the family at Bentrold aril
waiting the arrival of their J|xpccted
guests, let us learu something |nore es
the owner of so delightful a residence
and the head of so pleasant a flimily.
Horace Bentley was born in Geor
gia and belonged to what in A*nsKca
—or any where else, for that matter —
constitutes “one of the first^lmilies."