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fijlfe ?! ? | I ! ! Illl 11 hi ,,, ? .11.1 T |, | ,,, I II 111 I | |# | , , ,| ,? - ! ? 11 II II llll ill I I I ^ l ||gp - y j f WEEKLY EDITION. WIXySBORO. S. C-.. WEDNESDAY? OCTOBER -5. 1881. ESTABLISHED if THE BLACK ROBE. BY WILKIE COLLINS. ?ATTHOB OF? "THE "WOHAS DJ WHTTB," "IH2 11005 STOXE," " AFTEE DABS," "50 NAME," I "MAS AXDWIFH," "THE LAW AND TEE IiADY," "THE KEW MAGDALEN*/' ETC., ETC. CHAPTEB rr.?THE JESUITS. j Father Benwell rose and advanced t< meet the visitor 'with his paternal smile " I am heartily glad to see von," h< said, and held oi?t his hand -with a coming mixture of dignity and cordiality. Penrose lifted the offered hand respectfully to his lips. As one of the " Provincials" of the Order, Father Ben well occupied a high place among th English Jesuits. He was accustomed to acts of homage offered by his youngei brethren to their spiritual chief. "I fear you are not well," he proceeded, gently. " Your hand is feverish, Arthur.^ " Thank you, Father; I sun as well as usual." "Depression of spirits, perhaps T Father Benwell persisted. Penrose admitted it with a pleasing Ismile. I "My spirits are not very lively," ha |*aicL K Father Benwell shook Ms head in jentle disapproval of a depressed state pf spirits in a young man. F " This must be corrected," he remarked. " Cultivate cheerfulness, xthur. I am myself, thank God, a laterally cheerful man. My mind rejects, in some degree (and reflects hatefully) the brightness and beauty Bhich are part of the great scheme of reation. A similar disposition is to be Baltivated. A great trust is about to be laced in you- Be socially agreeable, Br you wiU fail to justify the trust, his is Father Benwell's little sermon. think it has a merit, Arthur?it is a Rrmon soon over." Penrose looked up at his superior, ?at?ar "Hpclt more. I He was a very young man. His large, Boughtful, well-opened gray eyes, and Bs habitual refinement and modesty of Bnner, gave a certain attraction to his Birsonal appearance, of which it stood some need. In stature he was little Bd lean; his hair had become preftatnrely 'thin over his broad forehead; Bere were hollows already in his Reeks, and marks on either side of his Bin delicate lips. Ho looked like a Brson who had passed many miserable Burs in needlessly despairing of himHLf and his ^prospects. With all this Bere^was something in him so irresistiOrc fmfhfnl ririrt sin?so sn<r<rA.ctiv<> Ben where he might be wrong, of a Birely conscientious belief in his own Brors?that he attached people to him Bithout an effort, and without being fcare of it himself. What would his Blends have said if they had been told Kit the religions enthusiasm of this Kntle, self-distrustful, melancholy man Bight, in its very innocence of susBpion and self-seeking, be perverted to Bngerous uses in unscrupulous hands? Ks friends would, one and all, have revived the scandalous assertion with Bntempt; and Penrose himself, if he Sid heard of it, might havo failed to Emtrolhis temper for the first time in Ks iiie. " May I ask a question, without giv? Bp offense?" he said, timidly. Father Benwell took his ha id. " My Ksar Arthur, let us open oil- minds to fech other without reserve. "What is Brar question?' " You have spoken, Father, of a great Bust that is about to be placed in me." I "Xes. You are anxious, no doubt, k> hear what it is!" "I am anxious to know, in the first lace, if it requires me to go back to Bxford." Father Benwell dropped his young .end's hand. "Do you dislike Ox|Drd ?' he asked, observing Penrose, attentively. S "Bear with me, Father, if I speak too Confidently. I dislike the deception Ir^ich has obliged me to conceal that I tin a Catholic and a priest." m Father Benwell set this little difficulty ight, with the air of a man who could Bake benevolent allowance for unreafcnable scruples. "I think, Arthur* Bu forget two important consul eraRns," he said. "In the first place Kz have a dispensation from yom inferiors which absolves vou of all refusibility in respect of the concealBt that you have practiced. In the t>Iace we conltl onlv nbtnin in Bation of the progress which our Bh is silently making at the uniBy by employing von in the capaBof?let ice say?an independent Hrer. However, if it will contribByour case of mind, I see no ob to informing yon that you will pstmctea to return to Oxford. Bieve you ?' could be no question of it. Bbreathed more ^freely in every Btho word. Be same time," Fatter Benwell B, "let us not misunderstand B. In the new sphere of action Bdesign for you, you will not Hiiberty to acknowledge that Btholic, it will be absolutely Bt you should do so. But Bnne to wear the ordinary Bnglish gentleman, and to Bstrictest secrecy on the Br admission tc the priestare further advised by Blear Arthur, read that ^Lrecessary preface to all B say to you.'* Bontained a few pages Bting the early history wn the days of the BM??MM?BBM??i-l II1IT ! ! eighth to have it all his own way tor iver" Penrose looked at Lis superior in blank bewilderment. His superior withheld a ay further information for the present. T/c-orrfliirtrr irv ifo fn-rn " Father resumed; "the time of expla[ aation has not vet come. I have something else to show you first. One oi the most interesting relics in England. Look here." Ho unlocked a flat mahogany box, rnd displayed to view some writings of rellnm, evidently of great age. * Yon haro iiad. a liitle sermon already," he said. " You shall have a little story now. No doubt you have heard of Newstead Abbey-famous among s the readers of poetry as the residence Df Byron? King Henry treated New stead exactly as he treated Vango Abbej! 1 Many^years since the lake at Newstead > was dragged, and the brass eagle which had served as the lectern in the old i church was rescued from the waters in I which it had lain for centuries. A secret ! receptacle was discovered in the body of the eagle, and the ancient title deeds of i the Abbey were found in it. The monks had taken that method of concealing the Legal proof of their rights and privileges in the hope?a vain hope, I need scarcely say?that a timo might coma when justice would restore to them the prope: ty of which they had been robbed. Only last summer one of our bishops, administering a northern diocese, spoke of these circumstances to a devout Catholic friend, and said he thought it possible that the precaution taken by the monks at >iewstead might | also have been taken by the monks at J Vange. The friend, I should tell you, f was an enthusiast. Saying nothing to the bishop (whose position and re- ; gponsibilities he was bound to respect), | he xook into his confidence persons ] whom he could trust. One moonlight ( night?in the absence of the present , proprietor, or I should rather say, the ? present usurper, of the estate?the lake ] at Yange was privately dragged, with ? a result that proved the bishop's con- { jecture to be right. Eead those valu- i able documents, Arthur. Knowing j tout strict sense of honor, and your < i j vi~ t SiUiniriUJic tcuuciut^ Ui iuuo<Jie.uv/i?, JL I wish you to bo satisfied of the title of 5 the church to the lands cf Yange, by ( evidence which is beyond dispute." ] With this little preface he waited ? while Penrose read the title deeds. " Any do oJjz on your mind?", he asked, ] when the reading iiad come to an end. ? " Not the shadow of a doubt." " Is the church's right to the prop- ? erty clear?" j " As clear, father, as words can make t it." ? " Very good. We will lock up the I documents. Arbitrary confiscation, ] i Arthur, even on tlie part of a king, can- < not override tlie law. "What the church ] once lawfully possessed, the church has * a right to recover. Any doubt about z that in your mind?' " Only the doubt of how ths church j :an recover. I3 there anything in this particular case to be hoped from the ^ Law?" * x " Nothing whatever." " And yet, father, you speak as if you , saw some prospect of the restitution of ^ the property. By -what cleans can the ^ restitution be made?" * ^ '-'By peaceful and worthy means,'' ^ Father Benwell answered. "By honor- 1 able restoration of the confiscated prop- -j erty to the church on the part of the person who is now in possession of it." . Penrose was surprised and interested. ^ | " Is the person a Catholic?" he asked. t ! , t eagerly. "Not yet."' Father Benwell laid a ^ strong emphasis on those two little i words. His fat fingers drummed rest- $ Iessly on the table; his vigilant eyes ^ rested expectantly on Penrose. j, " Surely you understand me, Arthur?" he added, after an interval. s rm 1 JLlie UUiUi :usc mu mj nuiu j.ai^a g of Penrose. c " I am afraid to understand you," he 3 said. f "THiyr "I am not sure that it is my better a sense which understands. lam afraid, Father, it may be my vanity and pre- = ! sumption." f Father Benwell leaned back luxur- s j iously in his chair. 3 "I like that modesty," he said, with * a relishing smack of his lips, as if mod- 9 esty was as good as a meal to him. 1 "There is po.ver of the right sort, * Arthur, hidden under the diffidence ' that does you honor. I am more than E ever satisfied that I have been right in reporting you as worthy of this most c serious trust. I beliovc ihe conver sion of the owner of Vange Abbey is? * in your hands?no more than a matter c of time." * " May I ask what his name-is V " Certainly. His name is Lewis * Eomavne." 3 " "When do you introduce me to j him?" ' s " Impossible to say. I have not yet been introduced myself." < "You don't know Mr. RomayneT * " I have never even seen him." These discouraging replies were made [ with the perfect composure of a man s who saw his way clearly before him. < i Sinking from one depth of perplexity to ' another, Penrose ventured on putting a I last question. J "How am Its approach Mr. Romayne?" I he asked. ' " I can og^answer that, Arthur, by 1 admitting still further into my con- 1 j fidence. It is disagreeable to me," ' I said the reverend gentleman, with the 1 | mosi becoming humility, " to speak of ' j myself. But it must be done. Shall \ i we have a little coffee to help us through 1 j the coming extract from Father Ben- * j well's autobiography ? Don't look so ' j serious, my son! When the occasion 1 I permits it, let us take life lightly." He rang the bell and ordered the coffee, ( as if he was the master of the house. ttfifl&MBMMi&jlith the most 1 Having sweetened liis coffee, with the closest attention to the process, lie was at liberty to enlighten his young friend. He did it so easily and so cheerfully, that a far less patient man than Penrose jyould have listened to him with interest CUAJfl'JiU J-LL. itLti LXJLWUUU'lU.t IV B03IAYSE. " Excepting my employment here in the librarv," Father Bonwell began, " and some interesting conversation with Lord Loring, to which I shall presently allude, I am almost as great a stranger in this house, Arthur, as yourself. When the object which we now have in view was first taken seriously into consideration, I had the honor of being personally acquainted with Lord Loring. I was aho aware that ho was an intimuta and trusted friend of Romayne. Under these circumstavwes, his lordship presented himself to our point of view as a means of approaching the owner of Yange Abbey without exciting distrust. I was charged accordingly with the duty of establishing myaell on terms of intimacy in this houaf , By way of making room for me, the spiritual director of Lord and Lady Loring was attached, iu some inferior sapacity, to a mission abroad. And hero I am in this place! 2>y the way, ion't treat me (when we are in the pressnco of visitors) with any special marks af respect. I am not provincial of our Drder in Lord Loriug's house?I am one 3f the inferior clergy." Penrose looked at him with admiration. " It is a great sacrifice to make, Father, in your position, and at your ige." "Not at all, Arthur. A position ol rothority involves certain temptations to pride. I feel this change as a lesson in aumility which is good for mo. For sample, Lady Loring (as I can plainly >ee) dislikes and distrusts me. Then, igain, a young lady lias recently arrived lere on a visit. She is a Protestant, md avoids mo so carefully, poor sonl, :hat I have never seen her yet. These rebuffs are wholesome] reminders of his 'allible human nature to a man who has )ccupied a place of high trust and comnand. Besides, there have been obstacles in my way which have had an jxcellent effect in rousing my energies, low do you feel, Arthur, when you jncounter obstacles ?" " I do my best to remove them, Father. But I am sometimes conscious of a >ense of discouragement." " Curious," said Father Bon well, "I an only conscious, myself, of a souse oi mpatience. What right has an obstacle ;o get in my way??that is how I look it it. For example, the first thing I leard, when I came here, was that ilomayne had left England. My introluction to him was indefinitely delayed; [ had to look to Lord L :ring for all the nformation I wanted, relating to the nan and his habits. There was an>ther obstacle! Not living in the house, [ was obliged to find an excuse for beng constantly on the spot, ready to ake advantage of his lordship's leisure noments for conversation. I sat down n this room, and I said to myself, ' Be.'ore I get up again, I mean to brush 1 fiicsns -LiU.pCJL LiUCUO uu J vi. xuj vay!' The state of the books suggested ;he idta of which I was in search. Be'ore I left the house I was charged nth the re-arrangement of the library, from that moment I came and went as ften as I liked. Whenever Lord Lorag was disposed for a little talk, there was, to lead the talk in the right direcipn. And what is the result ? On the irst occasion when Bomayne presents .itnself I can place yon in a position o become his daily companion. All [ue, .Arthur, in the first instance, to my mpatience of obstacles. Amusing, sn't it?" Penrose was perhaps deficient in the ense of humor. Instead of being imnsed he appeared to be anxious for Qore information. "In what capacity m I to be Mr. Romayne's companion?" le asked. Father Benwell poured himself out .nother cup of coffee. "SupposeI tell yon'first," he snggesfcd, "how Komayne is marked out, by labits and disposition, as a promising mbject for conversion. He is young; itill a single man; romantic, sensitive, lighly cultivated. No near relations ire alive to influence him?he is compromised by any illicit attachment, le has devoted himself for years past o books, and is collecting materials for ? work of immense research on the )rigin of Religion. Somo great sorrow >r remorse?Lord Loring did not menion what it was?lias told seriously on iis nervous system, already injured by light study. Add to this, that he is now vithin our reach. He has lately returned .0 London, and is living Quite alone at i private hotel. For some reason which [ am not acquainted with he keeps iway from Yange Abbey?the very )lace, as I should have thought, for a studious man." Penrose began to bo interested. 'Have you been to the Abbey?" he :aid. "I made a little excursion to that ?art of Yorkshire, Arthur, not long since. A very pleasant trip?apart, from .he painful associations connected with .he ruin and profanation of a sacred >laee. There is no doubt Tabout the evenues. I know the value of that productive pari of the estate which stretches southward, away from the bar en resrion round the house. Let us etnm for a moment to Itomayne, and o your position as liis future companon. He has had his books sent to him rom Yange, and has persuaded himself hat continued study is the one remedy or his troubles, whatever they may be. It Lord Loring's suggestion, a consulation of physicians was held on his case ihe other day." "Is he so ill as that!" Penrose exclaimed. "So it appears," Father Ben well replied. "Lord Lcaing is mysteriously silent about the illness. One result of ihe consultation I extracted from him, ^tat^iyou are interested. The docjfifred against his employing Mis proposed book. He was K^^sten to them. There Htara that they could jjhiented to spars Hatte, by em ploying an amanuensis. It was left tc Lord Loring to find the man. I wa* consulted by liis lord&liip; I was eve: invited to undertake the duty myself, Each one in his proper sphere, my son! The person who converts Romayne musi be young enough and pliable enough tc be his friend and companion. Yoru part is there, Arthur?you are the futur* amanuensis. How does the prospect strike you now?" " i. - -- t il I Tr m - JL DSg your paruoa, iataer: x ieai I am unworthy of tho confidence whici is placed in me." " In what way?" Penrose answered with 'unfeigned humility : "I am afraid I may fail to justify your belief in me," he said, " unless 1 can really feel tliat I am converting Mr. Romayue for his own soul's sake. However righteous the cause may be, I cannot find, in the restitution of the church property, a sufficient motive for persuading him to change his religious faith. There is something so serious in the responsibility which you lay on me, that I shall sink under tho burden unless my whole heart is iu tho work. If JL XCCi WVWUrlU AUI.1.. uc when I first see him, if he wins npon me, littlo by little, until I love him like a brother?then, indeed, I can promise that his conversion shall be the dearest object of my life. But, if there is not this intimate sympathy between us? forgivo me if I say it plainly?I implore you to pass me over, and to commit the task to the hands of another man." His voice trembled; his eyes moistened. Father Beuwell handled his young friend's rising emotion with the dexterity of a skilled angler humoring the struggles of a lively fish. ?Good Arthur!" he said, "I see much?too much, dear boy?of selfseeking people. It is as refreshing to inn f.o h&ir von as a drauffht of water tc ft thirsty man. At the same time, let me suggest that you are innocently raising difficulties where no difficulties exist. I have already mentioned as one j>f the necessities of the case that you' and Romayno should be friends. How <*an th>it be unless there is precisely that sympathy between you which you have 50 well described? I am a sanguine man, and Ibelieve you will like each Dther. Wait till you see him." As the words passed his lips the door that led to the picture-gallery was opened. Lord Loring entered the library. He looked quickly round him?apparently in search of some person who might, perhaps, be found in the room. A transient shade of annoyance showed itself in lus facc, anddisappeared again, as he bowed. "Don't let mo disturb you," he said, looking at Penrose. " Is this the gentleman who is to assist Mr. Romayne ?" Father Ben well presented his young friend. "Arthur Penrose, my lord. I ventured to suggest that he should call here to-day, in caso you wished to put any questions to him." 11 Quite needless, after your recommendation," Lord Loring answered, graciously. "Mr. Penrose could not have como here at a more appropriate time. As it happens, Mr. Romajne has paid us a visit to-day?ho is now in the picture-gallery. ?iio priests looicea an eacn otner. Lord Loring left them as lie spoke. He walked to the opposite door of the library, opened it, glanced round the hall and at the stairs, and returned again, with the passing expression of annoyance visible once more. " Come svith me to the gallery, gentlemen," he laid; "I shall be happy to introduce you to Mr. Romayne." Penrose accepted the proposal. Father Benwell pointed with a smile to the books scattered about him. " With permission, I will follow your lordship," he said. " Wh ) was my lord looking for?" That Wi s the question in Father Benwell's n ind, while he put some of the books a way on the shelves, and collected the scattered papers on the table, relating to his correspondence with Rome. It had become a habit o? his life to be suspicions of any circumstances occuring within his range of observation for which he was unable to account. He might have felt some stronger emotion on this occasion if he Lr.d known that the conspiracy in the library to convert Komavne was matcbs-j by the conspiracy in the picture-gantry to marry him. # * # i # * Lady Loring's narrative of tlie conversation which had taken place between Stella and herself had encouraged her husband to try his proposed experiment without delay. " I shall send a letter at once to Eomayne's hotel," he said. " Inviting him to come here to-day?" her ladyship inquired. " Yes. I shall say I particularly wish to consult him about a picture. Are w? to prepare Stella to see him, or would it be better to let the meeting take hei by surprise?" " Certainly not!" said Lady Loring. " With her sensitive disposition I am afraid of taking Stella by surprise. Let me only tell her that Eomayne is the original of her portrait, and that he is likely to call on you to see the picture to-day?and leave the rest to mo." Lady '.Loring's suggestion was immediately carried out. In the first fervor of her agitation Stella had declared that her courage was not equal to a meeting with Eomayne on that day. Becoming more composed she yielded to Lady Loring's persuasion so far as to promise that she would at least make the attempt to follow her friend to the gallery. "If I go down with you," she said, " it will look as if we had arranged the thing between us. I can't bear even to think of that ? Let me look ie. by myself, as if it was by accident." Consenting to this arrangement Lady Loring had proceeded alone to the gallery, when Romayne's visit was announced. The minutes passed and Stella did not appear. Lord Loring thought it possible that she might shrink from openly presenting herself at the main entrance to the gallery, and might prefer?especially if she was not aware of the priest's presence in the room?to slip in quietly by the library door. Failing to find her. on putting this idea to the test, he had discovered Penrose; and had so listened the intro ) duction of the younger of tlie two i Jesuits to Bomayne. t * * * * ? Having gathered Lis papers together ! Father Benwell crossed the library to s the deep bav-wirdow -which lighted the room, and opened his dispatch-box standing on a scvaU table in the recess. > Placed in this position he was invisible ! to any person entering the room by the hall door. ' "FTo lio/l cumn'A." Tn's iwn#v>*<? in flip (lis. 1 patch-box, and bad just closed and locked it, when lie heard the door cautiously opened. The instant afterward the rustling of a woman's dress over the carpet caught ' liis ear. Other men migh t have walked out of the recess r.nd shown themselves. Father Ben well staid where he was, and waited until the lady crossed liia range of view. The priest observed with.cold atten- 1 lion her darkly-beautiful eyes and hair, : aer n uickly-cha^^ . * grace of movement STuulv,- an?- in , evident agitation, she advanced to ths I door, of the picture gallery?and paused, 1 as if she was afraid to open it. Father J Benwell heard her sigh to herself/ ( softly: "Oh, how shall I meet him?' ] Sloe turned aside to the looking-glass 1 over tlie fireplace. The reflection of ' her charming face seemed to rouse her ^ ^ c courage. She retraced her steps and timidly opened the door. Lord Loring mnst hare been clor>e by at the moment, t His voice immediately made itself heard 1 in the library. j " Come in, Stella?come in! Here \ is a new picture for you to see ; and a c friend whom I want to present to you, 1 who mnst be your friend, too?Mr. * Lewis Tvomayne." The door was closcd again. Father 0 Benwell stood still as a statue in the f recess, with his head down, deep in f thought. After a while he roused him- e self, and rapidly returned to the writ- * ing-table. With a roughnes?, stra: g ly unlike his customary deliberation or c movement, he snatched a sheet of c paper out of the case, and, frowning t heavily, v,to te these lines on it: ? I " bmce my letter was scaled I have , made a discovery which must be com- ^ municated without the loss of a post. I greatly fear there may be a woman in j. our way. Trust me to combat this jj obstacle as I have combated other ob- f; stacles. In the meantime the work goes r! on. Penrose has received his first in- ^ structions,and has to-day been presented c to Eomayne." lie addressed this letter to Home, as he had addressed the letter preceding it. " Now for the woman!" he said to him- n self?and opened the door of the pic toe ^ gallery. 0 [to be eorr-vvd.J t] s] An Un gathered Harvest. The New York Tribune of a recent date says: Now, when the sumac is coloring the hills fron the Lakes to the ^ Gnlf of Mexico- withii.s rich crimson, jH thft fertile fcn (xTflTV nrt* " -. r\? rwv ? agriculturists to the scheme of the Agn-~~r^ cultural Bureau for making it a source , of real profit to the country. The * leaves of the sumac, are used, as our j? readers know, for purposes of tanning, , and the varieties spontaneously produced in the "dinted States, while not so valuable for this use as the Sicilian. J are hardy and bear the change of our climate. It has hitherto proved impossible to acclimate either Sicilian, ^ French or Spanish sumac in this country. The importation of foreign sumac averages 8,000 tons annually, outside of an ^ immense amount smuggled into the country; the imported article being j worth $50 per ton more than the native. ? I ^ ?!1 -1 J VJUT WUll SlUliUC a > vt ijuigt to the leather and fails to give it the ? snowy delicacy to which the tannic acid obtained^ from the Sicilian bleaches it. > Dr. Macufettrie, who has published an , official report oirtlrisaaaUer, states that this difficulty can be obviated by gather- ^ ing the sumac leaves in June if they are* % required for tanning white or very light leather; the tannin then present being smaller in quantity but of purer quality, and the value of the ground leaves being equal to the Sicilian. There is no reason, says the depart- ? meut very justly, why the $1,000,000 in ? gold paid yearly for foreign sumac ? should not be kept at home. The plant , grows like a weed on every stretch of ' poor ground or mountain :-ange, and it , requires but a little culture and skill in o harvesting to add it to our profitable r lesser crops. It requires to be kept , free from weeds; the crop should be gathered the year after planting, by breaking off all the leaves; after that year in Sicily the tree is either stripped ^ of all leaf-bearing branches and pruned v down to a straight stalk, or else, which T is best, hand-picked three times a year. At present the crop of American sumac is reaped almost exclusively by negroes f and poor whites, especially in Virginia. < Abont 8,000 tons are brought annually * I to the Virginia mills, carelessly gathered | and cured, and consequently worth I about half the value of the imported article. ^ A Small Heroine. 0 ? Children four years old are not, as a c ! rale, competent to be left alone witii ^ j "the'baby." Is there one in a thousand of such wee nurses that could have done ( 1 as well as the little Dakota girl did? It c is a story of the Western floods, told in i the Cincinnati Commercial: ^ She was a little girl only four years 0 old, and was left alone with a baby a f I year old while the mother went out for j | a day's work. While the good old I auntie was busy over soapsuds, she ? 1 heard some boys shouting,? j "The Di kota is out of its banks !" a ! She started bareheaded toward her t j dwelling, and saw the water whirling , ! around it five or six feet deep. The j i poor old woman was frantic, and a mem- c j ber of the life-saving crew took her in " and ferried her to the door. There was not a sound; the poor little ^ ones mnst have drowned. The mother's cries brought a curly head to the ^ window. j "Here we is, mammy ; I fetched sissy ^ up in ';he loft, 'cause there is water down there." ^ Then the baby was lifted up by the j small arms to see mammy, and in a few ? j minutes both the little folks were en- ( ! joying their first ride in a boat. . I * ? 1 'i Device for Arranging Flowers. A new device for arranging flowers, as given in Vick's Monthly, consists of a ] piece of cork about a quarter of an inch < thick, circular in form and perforated < with holes like the nose of a watering- < pot. The diameter of the csrk is made < to correspond to the size of the saucer or \ shallow dish with which it is to be used, j ] The cork floating on the top of the < water supports the flowers, whose stems i are inserted through the holes. For j the display of small flowers and those ] j having short stems, this method seems 1 I well adapted; possibly it may be better ] I than damp sand, though that is doubt- < j ful; but, as the cork may be'preserved, ] | it would always be at hand, arid it might < i not be convenient sois^tlmes to procure i t j sand. ^ i i ODD PEOPLE. And 0?l?l Ways of Making a Living. When the census taker cannot fin<' that a man has a profession or trade, h< is quite sure to pnt him down as a la borer, and in this way he covers uj many odd people and many odd ways o. making a living. "glass t' put in." Yon see him daily, and this parfcicn lar cry always attracts notice. It is al ways an old man, always a foreigner, and somehow or other all look alike. li is an odd business, this depending or accidents to onr windows. The old mac is not a glazier, and seldom sets a pane in- a new sash. In fact, he would J/? 1 7 1 ratner replace a Drosen pane, not uecatise there is more money in it, but because it delights his soul to hear the jingle of broken glass. As you walk to and fro you have an eye on pedestrians, buildings, carriages and the kaleidsscope of the street. v This old man has an -eye cnly for mndows. It is his trade to look for broken panes.'.Having discovered t?em it is his duty to solicit thejcb- of putting in mew ^oaes. While courage hitfi un'ess it is a front window. His mournful voice tells of repeated disappointments and cold refusals, and pet he is comfortably clad, reasonably fat and probably makes a fair living. It .Jll.l .1 11 ja.U.UUL uts iciucuiuweu muiuiie ui uuem bas been arrested for drunkenness, brawliEg, or other street offense, and from this yon may argne that broken panes bring a mantle of peace and a desire to dwell in harmony. "UMBRELLAS TO 1LEXD." Come, now, give me an honest answer. Haven't you got at least three vounded, crippled, smashed and terriled nmbrellas lying aroxmd the honse ? Df conrse yon have. Handles are jroken, ribs snapped, catches gone, md desolation gallops o'er the cover, 'sot one family in five ever has an nm>rella mended. It will be canied ibont with broken ribs, and fadtd :over nntil some gnst turns it inside out, ind then it i3 stowed away in the attic or mice or tossed over the alley-fence or the boys. And yet old "tJm-beriT 4-~ - i 3 lv dicuu maf-es a xxviug aiiu. years a look of contentment. Those ew and far between people who hav6 heir umbrellas repaired are yet suffiient to support a dozen umbrella-men[ers in a city the size of Detroit. They ake your umbrellR and return you Leither check nor rcceipt, and not once n a dozen times are they asked to give heir place of abode. They may have wenty crippled umbrellas under their rm as they take yours, but who ever leard of them making a mistake ? Back .e comes after a ten days' absence, and rom a score of repaired, reformed and ehabiliated umbrellas he selects yours rith steady hand, ducks his head in ourtesy and remarks: "Him all right?two shillin's." THE GREASE-SPOT }IA>". About three years ago the grease-spot lan suddenly presented himself to the ublic and asked for chance to make living. So far as known there are illy two in JDetroit, and they divide ii mL Lie vii/j uciwccu tuciii. JLIJ.9 grease- i pot man is not the chap who sells lit- i .e cakes of soap on the street and shows ae crowd how to remove paint and rease, but he goes from house to hotlse ith a bottle under liis arm and a speech 1 his mouth which reads : " Jfr-Tninf' have anv iove them in five mil tes without clislrbing a thing in the rooin. 1 removs aint or tar 01* grease or fruit stains om all sorts of fabrics without the ightest injury to the goods." "Where is the house without its greaseoots. Children arid bread and but;r and grease-spots dwell in nity together. If the carpets have scaped, dresses and coats have not. Saby's greasy hands have grabbed the attains, butter has melted into the over of an upholstered chair, and when Millie kicked on castor oil lis sent the * i :ii t Ji pOOJlIUi over ?jik ur uruauciuou. jl/chj our household skeletons, but admit our household grease spots and the Tease spot man. The contents of that ottle are applied with a brush or ponge, a few rubs and a twist of the rrist follow, and lo! the grease spot as been absorbed into the middle of extweek. He is a well-spoken man, is charges are reasonable, and grease as lost half its terrors since his advent. " v^J'Sij6L<D YOUR TiSS." Have jwlived ail your days without eeing a washdish with a rag pulled hrough a hole in the bottom? Haven't ou vourseif tried to Scop a leak in the in dipper with melted lead? Is there n old-fashioned mother who doesn't ;now that a pinch of dough will stop a ?ak in the wash-boiler? And the man ho sends leaky tinware to the shop to >e repaired is a rare man. He woriJt arryit, the shop won't send for it, and, y-and-by we have $10 worth of tinware rang np for the want of thirty cents' forth of so!dei\ Now comes old "Men Your Tins." No aatter whether it's wash-day, baking lay or any other day in the week?call iim in. He'll take all tbe dishes into he back yard, scrape, clean and mend, mdfor a trifle yon are made good as iew. He won't bother yon with quesions or annoy yon with suggestions, nd bis visit assnres peace and harmony or months to come.?Detroit Free Press. Growth of the Opium Habit; The growth of the "opium habit" in his country is strikingly presented by ,n article in a September magazine. The lumber of opium eaters in the United 5t*tes is estimated at 250,000, fully onr-flftbs of whom are women. The ncrease in tbe u?e of the drug in the 3ity of Albany, X. Y., is a fair sample ;f the spread of the habit. Twentyive years ago, with a population of 57,>00, the annual sales of opium in Albany ^mounted only to 350 pounds and 375 ranees of morphia. Jsow, with a popuation of 91,000, 3,500 pounds of opium nd 5,500 ounces of morphia are sold mnually in that city. It is true that "Ti/iVi r.f 41-itiio djTifrs io mpdifiin il use, but tie suggestive fact remains hat the increase in the population of Ubany has been but .59, while the ucrease in the sale of opium has been 100 per cent, and of morphia 1,100 per :ent. One of the druggists of Albany s quoted as saying that, where twentyive years ago he made laudanum by the rallon, he now prepares it by the barrel. Jnfortunately, what is true of Albany n this respect seems to be true of the est of the country, and there is force n the writer's suggestion that it is time o regulate and limit the Gales of opium )y legislative enactment. "Let it ilone," and he fears that "opinm may, ire many years, be used as extensively n America as in China." *nqc ? Fidelity. Never forsake a friend. "When enenies gather around, when sickness falls jn the heart, when the world is dark and cheerless?is the time to try true friendship. They who turn from the scene o? listress betray their hypocrisy and prove i;hat interest only moves them. If yon ctave a friend who loves you?who has studied your interest and happiness?be sure to sustain him in adversity. Let him feel that his former kindness is appreciated, and that his love was not hrown away. Eeal fidelity maybe rare, but it exists?in the heait. They only leny its worth and power who have lever loved a friend, or labored to igakj >ne happy. Thega^^nd theJd?* affectionate anatne^SfrKM "eel tie Humaii Sacrifice In Dahomey. The "Wesley an Missionary at Dah< mey, the Rev. John Milnm, gives a nioi 1 sickening acconnt of the practices ( 2 the Dahomeyan King, Gelele,which fail - confirms the statements published pr< ) vionsly concerning the King's sacrifice! f Every year Gelele makes extensive sa< rifices in honor of the memory of hi father, the victims being prisoners c _ I war. The Dahomeyans make war o: " j the neighboring tribes and manage t capture a large iianoer 01 prisoners [ The custom last year lasted through I several days, there being a slaughte L every day and night. Mr. Milum wa s several times summoned to the palace ' and, though he saw no sacrifices, th ' evidences of them were unmistakable ' On December 31, after several day3 ha< ' been occupied with the revolting ceremo nies of the "custom," Mr. Milum wrote ' "The yearly custom made byKinj Gelele to his father Gezo is not yet fin ished, a number of important matter interfering and calling for the presenc* ! of the King to settle, it appears tha' forty human victims are reserved to com | plete the^ ceremony?twenty men anc guise or mercy, one-half will be lib e rated. Contrary to statements made by previous travelers, these human victims are all prisoners of war and have committed no crime, but have simph been unfortunate enough to be captured while defending their homes against the invading foe. The people, knowing my opinion upon the subject, are reluctant to furnish me with full information oil flio t.hnl f.at-A nlac.A : hnh I am strongly impressed that they are offered every day, for every morning I hear the King's crier crying the great names of the King, and beating his bell, and going through the whole ceremony that I described in connection with the poor woman sacrifice in the marketplace, and soon after I heard the tattoo of drums and the firing of muskets, which announces that the cruel deed is done. Moreover, the birds never cease to congregate in the region of the ravine where the bodies are thrown, close to the wretched hut in which I am lodged, and whenever the wind blows in this direction I obtain a most sickening smell of putrifying flesh, and I have but to go outside the walls of the compound to see the gorged vultures and turkey-buzzards sitting in grim silence in the trees near the dreadful place or on the wing circling over it. "The victims this year, as well as the last, are from Mikkam, a large town to the east of Dahomey, which was invaded and destroyed b v the Dahomeyans last year, and from which, it is stated by some intelligent natives, there were brought a little over 17,000 captives and 7,200 heads. I give these numbers as I have received them. I only know that it was a very populous town, and that all the women and children were within the Walls when it was attacked by the Dahomeyan army. This year the Dahomeyans sought in vain for a place to capture, the inhabitants fleeing from every town upon their approach, which accounts for the fact that the poor Mikkam people have become the victims this yea? to the sacrifice. I have no . desire to be sensational, but I should like the English public to look at the following facts: King Gelele began to reign about the year 1853 ; he, therefore, has been reigning about twentyseven years. During that time he has offered, upon a very moderate average, 200 human sacrifices yearly. It there-. his reign, in cold blood, at least 5,400 prisoners of war. If to this l>e added the thousands of heads brought home from war, I think the present King of Dahomey may be regarded as the greatest murderer living; and what seems suoh an extraordinary thing is that these sacrifices take place within sixty miles, and the towns that are desolated by this cruel people are mostly within 100 miles of the coast. It appears to ne that this is an evil nearly if not quite equal to the slave trade, and calls loudly to Ihe civilized Powers for suppression. The Dahomey an army is now clamoring to the King to be allowed to go back to Abeoknta for their next war. If they go, they may not actually capture the town; but they will kidnap unwary travelers, stop all agricultural operations, destroy all the farms, and spread desolation on every hand. This is what recurs dnrins the first three or four months of every year, the harvest months of the farmer. "I Lave but to refer to my detention and the inconveniences caused me to prove that the King disregards the terms of the treaty made with him in May, 1877. I believe it would be one of the greatest sets of mercy to thousands of poor, down-trcdden people, if the Brit ish Government were to annex the whole coast-line between Qnetta and Lagos to the Gold Coast Colony." Detectives At Weddings, j In the East detectives are employed | toN attend big weddings, it is their ! business to hover around the collection j of cohly presents and see that none of I the higMoned guests steal anything. S It is only^L weddings attended by the | very hightSfctajed that detectives are ; necessary, T^^fck^rathei^^^mpliment to peoj^^^f^fRoSpretefflSI^ any particular tone themselves. These detectives have to be men of intelligence and good address, and they are required to attire themselves ia swallow-tails of the regulation pattern, so that they may pass for guests and ex'1 "kiln flvarm'ciner cue no rcaiiun vfiHAo ? necessary vigilance. l*ct if they are young men asd converse intelligently, they must form a striking contrast to the Ja-de-da society fellows of the day, and this would bo suspicious in itself. But the intelligent detective probably holds his intelligence in check upon such occasions. Kleptomania, unknown to the lower w*lks of life, where they simply steal when they take something that doesn't belong to them, 13 an unfortunate malady that sometimes attacks i people moving in the higher circles, i and it is to guard against this that deJ tectives are engaged for these great events which dazzle the social world. They of course must be posted as to the peculiarities of guests and thoroughly informed on the subject of priceless^ gems. A The fair kleptomaniac approaches tjR table and takes up an elegant diain^H ring, which she is about to place ojH finger to study its effect. "PeruM^H madam," says the detective, gen? I adroitly taking it from her^H H your attention to the peculiar]? in this gem. This diamojfl Benares, one of the sacred|^ dia. For centuries it blaz!^ head of one of theimageM Gautama Buddba himsdi richest jewel in hisshi^B of the many wars in^H pie was piliaged came into the j of the famous Begj? , prized it above Jfl sions, but at lajfl i of it by one ot^fl ! Impej, of wj? cauley's es.^B and in yoi^| history return* to ter 9 LonJI I I c I n st The Shanghai lias been making a special in 7 vestigation which enables him to thrcK 3- some light on this interesting inquiry > Skilled laborers?artisans, workers a 5- trades, etc.?live mostly in the cities s where all prices are higher than outside Art and taste, although appreciated, ar< Q not paid accordingly. A painter ma; o win renown, and his name or his sea > may live after him; but during life h< h will be no better off than his neighbo: r who makes coffins. Painters of porce s lain, designers and weavers of the mosi i, exquisite patterns of silks and the ar 0 tisan who makes wonderful pieces o. !? enamel or "china," are satisfied if thej 1 put by enough for burial expenses; the - butcher does as well as any of them, : Gold and silversmiths and others whose I work' is peculiarly responsible do a - little better; the weaver or spinner oi 3 silk is probably the best paid day i. laborer, getting to $1 to $2 a day. The t average pay of skilled labor is probably - ?3 a week for a master, $1.50 for a I workman and fifty cents for '^youngsters hold goods; he pays $72 a year for i food, $36 for rent and sundries, $12 for clothing, and is rich with $36 left. The > ordinary workman, if unmarried, lives r with his parents or with some friend. ^ His effects may bo worth $15, and he ; pays $45, $12 and $8 for the three items ; above mentioned. Temales and youngsters are assumed to cost all they can earn. On the farm everybody must work, the children beginning at six years. Two and a-half acres of arable land, with a house built of mud and reeds and thatched with straw, and a cow, a few fowls and pigs, and some very primitive tools may constitute a well-to-do farmer's property. The 'soil will usually support the family, and twenty cents a day will pay for" their food. Rice, or bread, with vegetables and common tea5 varied by a little poultry or pork on festive occasions, makes /N ( lnn/^ TV%OTT TAO tilCll UlC t. JL llCii ImTIU VI 10X1U iniii t K/<s worth ?100, the annual working expenses may be $42, and they will produce about $160, leaving about $50 clear. In cotton the land wiil average 1,600 pounds at four cents; cost of cultivation and tax, $31; net yield, $33. if the soil suits cotton. A woman weaves one piece per day of cotton cloth, six to j nine yards, thirty-nine to forty-six inches wide; she spins one-third of a pound of yarn, at six cents for labor; six working days convert the raw fibre into one and one-eighth pounds of cloth, worth sixty cents. The farm laborer gets ten to fifteen cents a day, or seventy cents to $1.05 a week, in harvest time, besides his Lod, estimated at ten cents a day; by the month, $1.50 to $2, and board ; by the year, $12, '*and found." About 82 a year will clothe him, and he does well if he saves twice that in a year. For coolie labor, comprising boatmen, carriers, wheelbarrow men, etc., from five to thirty cents a day are paid; the carriers in west China, who carry for I twenty consecutive days 300 to 400 i pounds of tea on their back over a mountainous country, are considered well paid at twenty-five cents a day. The ordinaiy coolie earns $4.50 a month, and spends $4. Coal is mined entirely by hand and sells at the pit's mouth for $1 a ton. Gold diggers on the Han river, in 1870, were earning five to fifteen cents a day; seven men were estimated to wash twen+y tons of gravel, a day, Tiding three four cents a ton. Hotf a Murderer ?ras Discovered. A letter dated Post Boy, Ohio, to the Cleveland Leader says: This little station on the Cleveland and Marietta milrr>p..d. insfc three miles south of New comerstown, is located on ilie spot where a bloody murder was committed over half a century ago, and, in fact, it derives its name from the occupation of tbe murdered victim, lie being a "post boy" or mail carrier. The circumstances of this tragedy may be of interest to the readers of the Leader from the fact that the perpetrator of the crime was the first and only man who ever paid the death penalty within the limits of Tuscarawas county. "William Cartwell, a young man about eighteen years old, carried the United States mail on horseback from Coshocton to WestChester, and traveled what is now known as the old Cadiz road. On the ninth day of September, 1825, he was shot by a highwayman, who pillaged the mail bag and made his escape. A man named Johnson, who was hunting in the vicinity, heard the report of the rifle, and on repairing to the spot was horrified on discovering the lifeless remains of young Caxtwell lying by the I roadside. He raised the alarm and aroused the whole neighborhood, wnicn was soon laboring under the most intense excitement. In their mad frenzy the neighbors accused Johnson of the crime, and he was arrested and coni fined in the jail at New-Philadelphia, i Johnson protested his innocence, and J told the sheriff that, as socn as he ! emerged from the wood soon after hear! ing the shot, he caught a glimpse of the i murderer as he made hi3 escape, and he ! averred his ability to detect him iu a I crowd, be it ever so large. Accordingly (_the whole male population of the county wSSTNuested to report at the jail in New-Ir^jfc^lphia on a certain day, and there b^S^Bjfcied by Johnson, in order, if possibf. gnilty party. About thre& ^^^MtooDded to the request on the ap^^^^kfey, and by some strange infatua^^^^hrilty man j appeared among to know i the danger. _ lnfl i two files facing^B passed betwee^ scrntinizingj^ ; gaze. All^H and secme^B his eyes and, in.ML "That m was wereifl ! shojfl i *pim POPULAR* ?\ ^reports a remlH bj Mr. ISfeaadfi^AdaraH B v Postoflice Telegrap^~I>?|lJBH ; the existence of electric tidesnl^^^^l I graphic circuits. By long-continued 1 and careful observations he has deter- ! ' mined distinct variations of streDgth in y j those earth currents, which are invari~j ably presenton all telegraphic wires, folj lowing the different diurnal positions 3 of the moon with respect to the earth." r A fuller an d more satisfactory exposition . of the matter was to be given by the t author. S!/-inr?zj timfl flia T1CO nf CITT/lnsf. UiUO OiUUV WUW I4?;v V* E in mortar was recommended as superior r even to hair for tlie prevention of crack; ing and subsequent peelingoff of rough , casing under the,action of. storms and ! frost. Some one by the name of Siehr t says that his own house, exposed to pro longed storms on the seacoast, had r pieces of mortar to be renewed eacfc ' i spring; and after trying -without effect - a number of substances to prevent it, he r found "sawdust perfectly satisfactory. * i tit was first thoroughly dried andf sifted was made by mixing one part of cement, two of lime, two of sawdust and five of sharp sand, the sawdust being first well mixed dry with the cement and sand. An official publication of the German postoffice contains a report on the disturbances in telegraphic communication caused last August by a display of the aurora borealis. It is well known that both storms and the aurora borealis disturb the electric currents passing ever telegraphic cables, but recent experience " seems to prove that the disturbing influences of storms chiefly affects short lines, while the longer lines are more liable to be affected by the northern lights. There was a strong disturbance of the latter kind from the 11th to the 14th of August, 1880. It seems to have manifested itself throughout the greater portion oi tne nortnern section ci ine eastern hem1*sphere. sending off, how- I ever, a southerly stream in the direction 1 of Mozambique, which reached to Natal. It does not appear that the western con- fl tinent was affected. The general fea tures of the disturbance consisted in.. manifestations of the presence of strange currents ("earta currents," as they are called) of fluctuating intensity, the . | duration and fluctuations varying in different localities and the direction of recurrents changing frequently. Blimber Puts Uis Foot in It. Yesterday when old Blimber went v home to dinner he carried his newspaper v" with him and, as is his wont, read aloud to his family such paragraphs as afforded him opportunity for a growl, or to J how off his superior knowledge of men m nd things by commenting thereon for the edification of his wife and six daughters. M Yesterday the old man read aloud: jH "Hoop skirts are again coming into ashion. A sudden demand has sprang fl up that the factories cannot meeV though they are running to their full ^1 capacity." i "Now," said Blimber, "that is sensible. I am glad that the ladies have concluded to go back to the good old. fashion of twenty years ago. A modest dress! good, modest dress! No pailback or pinchbeck about 'em! Now, I-" _. ] Chorus of wife and daughters: ' Oh, j we must all have the jaew hoops'; We'll <3<vvn towia'?1^^ Are tEeiy to"be Trad -4 * Ahem! ah?broke m old iiiimber; "ah?well, I declare! Here is I something further." Beads: "Later ?Since the above was put in type we m learn that it is all a mistake about the revival of the fashion of wearing hoop skirts. It appears that the story of the revival was ail a hoax?the mere inverttion of some stupid xsaragrapher. The?" "To thin!" cried all the feminines of the family. "The 'later' is all your own invention. You are making all up as you go along." The paper was snatched from Old Blimber's hand; his miserly cunning fl was exposed, and he was laughed at, fl sneered at and scouted and flouted. It was shown that the paragraph was just as first read, and also was shown that there could be but one reason for Blimber's feeble attempt to foist upon H his auditors a "later." There stood poor old Blimber with hi3 "blushing honors thick npon him," Finally he said: *?*11 ?^ ( TfrtTT oTvoll JlOVO f.llA r.PW? hoops as ^ what they mar. I said I nas is fa70* of 'era, and I am, No more about i^rB not another word !" Peace was thus made at once?sgneo?| sealed and delivered?but the "womeiH folks" little suspected why old H was in such great haste to shut oft further talk on the subject?they h$M knew that he feared that they O&V suspect that many other paragraph^? had read aloud to them hadv tored to suit his views. He pad founM it a convenient means of making kno^vB his views in advance on a groat varie? of subjects and questions, and he difl not care to have his little game disco* ered, else there might be a general jfl vuiL mw nib it;a.cmuyi.i?^TTT7CTi (Xer.) Eniei'prise. Bearers at Work in Europe, fl Possibly some naturalist's, and a greM many other people, are qaite unawaiM that the beaver is still living in consicM erable numbers in a part of GermanjM file kn^^B^jj^oBritain, where thfl once itfl fcapts have beefl ^^ointrj?