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- tfiJE SUMTER WATCH7 - AJS, Est?bil ?lied April, IS 50. .?vs ; ~ ?R?nsolidat?ft Ans. 2, 1881.1 "Be Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thou Aims't at. be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's." THE TUCK S?T/THRON, Established Jane, 1866. SUMTER. S. C., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1885. Sew Serics^-Yol. t. Ko. 22;:: ?'-J"'V-':.T ??btts2tt& OTory Tues lay, . SUMTER, S. C. per tannum -in advance. ADT?RTI8EMKSTS. p^n^?n^tion..l......^....-.$l 00 ,15very subsequent i?s?r??bn~.~.............. 50 - ^Ooatracts for Aree-nioutire,- or longer will be ttjfe&re&cea-rates. g??tt^HMW>nirftt?nnn y^irb subserve private LU^?&Sn>^ for w advertisements. *S&3&ibCrte8 of respect will be jd,notices of deaths pub Browns Iron ^I?fters ANS?VERJED. been asked tboosands i Iron Bitters care every laiepetable physician woald prescribe IMKi BS recognize Iron a?.-lhe best restorative eawat known to the proiess?a. and inanity of any -^??hyj^yiinj fr-n the assertion ^reparations o? iron than of any i in medicine This shears con ? ?rknoysledgod to be tba mast , . tsgocearfqlmeoicalpractice. It is, hevsvac ?Teinttkab?e'faet. zh\t prior-to the discor *y<a?BB?WN>SIROSi BITTERS no perfect ly mtimU i ?jory iron combination had ever been f onnd. -s?fflWSlROK BiTTERS?T?SS r".;.\.. ht*, '?che, or produce ooasti potion-?Il other iron . mm trrn r ? do- BROWN'S IKON BITTERS " grce^Mgfr&attoay BSionsBegs, Weakness, ?gpeiMta, JHmharia, CII?I? and Fever?, Ttredy?e?Bt:,&eneml Defc?ity.Pain in the .s ?i*>BacfcorElaib-s,Henda.cbeaad>>nrTiU gtorfcgell theoe armants Iron is prescribed daily. BRO JOTS 1 BOA 8!TTO$.?i*? ' ' /m^5?*' J??* 33 tharon?h medicines, it acts ejoei^. /When ta?ea by the first rrmptcci of benefit ja renewed energy. The muscles then become -^T*^-?T'. eNM"?-ii improve*, the bowel? sr? .icttve. S 'TT.'" ^^fi^6^ *** TisoaHy more rand and mirved, jfheeyeebegm at once to brighten : the skm dears ;y nea&hy color comw to the cheeks; cerronsrAss g^^^^M^oiapnees; functional derangements become regn OE^aadtf ?narstne mother, abondant sustenance StJJDi*6" i0r ?^d. Remeiiio^r Brown's Iron ronara ia the ONE Y iron medicine that is not in? i Mark and oronssd. red linea TAKE yo OTHER. DONT TRADE TJNTlfcjYOTJ HAYS ?XAMINE? -THE Cteneral Merchandise NOW BEING OFFERED BY Jo B. CARR. ^4? examination of our stock and prices 'ca?i "buyers, before making nein purchases iciU convince Sr -ce are offering 1JL7^BAMGAINS. ? SICE LINE OF PRINTS, Latest Styles, Very Low. CASHMERES. ?*Jie33sey J"ackets, 1 Corsets and Hosiery, ^^Steaeaed and Brown TJomespun, -d^fcLOW. CASING AND SHEETING "Different Grades; ail Low Down. Ladies' and Gents' Gloves, \ . / RENTS' SCARFS, ', C^-fenfe A??oic?LORED SHIRTS, rl?JlM)THI]SrG, ? foll line in the Latest Styles. 1 HATS AND SHOES, ??8?^S??i j|?I*rge Assortment of HATS FOR MEN AND BOYS, "F??fi HA?D-MADE SflOES FOR - Lftdie*,.Gents and Children. * IL - * ' .. .. GROCERIES. . A F?LL LINE OF HEAVY AND FANCY GROCERIES, AND Canned Goods Of Varions Kinds. DRIED FRUITS. Peaches, Apples, Cherries, ?c. ^ %!X?&?r?ue a?all,- next door north of Monaghan's. J. B. CARR, Nor 3_SUMTER, S. C. PEO?JST CULTURE. '^f^L$E^N FLOURISHES WHEREVER JL THE? HICKORY, grows, and a well grown tree, yields a net annual income of $2ytfr$50. ' Mr. A. C. Danie? of Crawford, .Gav, (Oglethorpe Co.) has a tree that bears j yjGto? TEN to FIFTEEN bushels of 6ne nuts. ! ,-. They s?l? readily at from S4 to 35 per bushel, j Thc treea begin to bear when six to eight .i-.ye?tt*"ot?.- J am now selling fine two-year j ./rifl?C8r'Ofnthe'"best and earliest bearing variety i >^t-*?^ioltowing very low prices : -w^tcif . 50 cents | &tt$>owa $*4.00 *^&ermkr lO.oo ?1 ^jerHtrcdred 15.00 Ko_ charge for packing. Trees ready for - ibfpnjent Jfovember 1st. -2?'-.'. - .. . S. W. PEEK.. Proprietor, *<?PLZ y - .- Hartwell Nurseries. 'T-f;- -, Hartwell, Ga. j ; '^^noVof t{The Nursery and the Orchard." , ^.'Prl?e ia cloth $1.25 per copy, in boards -$?.<K>- Send for copy and be your own ! "'Nurseryman. .*-ip'; ?" -' ' JOHN R. KEELS, Attorney at Law, SUMTER, s c. Will practice in adjoining i?i ^Oc^ecting made a specialty. * ~ mu m mm AT BOTTOM PRICES? wirepin w mum m OFFICE. SLINGS AND ARROWS B7 HUGH CONWAY. Av.thor of "Called Back;' "Dark Days? UA Family Affair," Etc. CHAPTER IX. A FAREWELL. ? went to my room, and threw myself mt?a chair. Here, unelldawn, I sat.puz zLng over Grant's words, and trying to j turn them into a key which, might unlock j tho secret door which stood between mv wife and myseif. My efforts were useless. I seemed like ona surr cnn ?3 i by stons walis, through, which there was no escape. Each way 1 turned, ? was met with some impervious obstacle. "For my saker' This concealment was for uiy sake! I am plunged ia to despair, i am told there is no hope. Yet ali this is for my own sake! The riddle grew more and- more difficult of solution. Grant could doubtless solve it if be chose, but would he do so? Not he. The next day I once more at? tacked him. I implored, commanded, even threatened; not one word would he speak. I was on the verge o? quarreling with him; but as I fancied it was erny by his direct or indirect aid I could find Viola, I restrained my very natural wrath, and on the subject oi Viola a sullen silence succeeded my use? less questions. I lingered on at the farm long after Eustace (?rant was weil enough to dispansa with mr services. "Where else could I go? From wa om. but Grant had I chance o? ascertaining my wife's present abode? I muse wait ?nd walch. A chance word, a letter, anything, might put me on the track. Moreover, I had a presentiment that Viola was not far away. People, when driven to their wits' end, put a vast amount of faith in presentiments. Much as I had learned to love him, severe as were the t wing as of reniorsa still felt for my murderous act, it was all i could do to force myself io believe that Grant was sin? gle- hearted in his determination of keepiag me in the dark respecting my wife. The more so, as it was my conviction that, could 1 once meet har, my pleading would be eloquent enough to bring her ; back to me, to begin once more tba nappy hie so strangely cut short. Only let me see her once more, take her by the hand, gaze into her eyes, call up the memory of those few short days when we were all the world to each other; sureiy I must then be told the truth, and conquii*. One morning Eustace seemed distracted and *.d at oa^a. He answered my questions absently. Presen tly he said : "Do you mind making a short journey for ma?" '.Certainly not. Where to?" "T want several things not procurable here. W*il you go to L'Orient for me?" "Of course I will But how am I to ge*, there? The diligence does not ran tc-day,n "Jean could drive you ia the light wagon, butthac would be tedious. I will try and borrow a horse.'* I favored tba horse. Twenty miles in old Boulay's wagon was not a tempting pro> peet. So the horse was procured, and I de? cided to stay at L'Orient for the night, and rida back the next day. My purchases could te sent by diiigene?. Grout gave me a list of the articles he wished bought. S!? aa OL them, it struck me, seemed superfluous and trivial, and all might lipve been ordered by letter. Thea I mounted &r>d rode alcnr the tableland, down the hill, through the sleepy little vil? lage, np the other hill an i away on tba uustv road to L'Orient It was a blazing hot day, so hot that I blamed myself for not having started oa my ride either earlier in the morning or later on, v. Lea th 5 pew ar of tba sun began to wane. ? wondered rhat Grant had hot suggested the latter course. That wonder came coupled with another thought, a thought which made my heart beat I remainbered how anxious ha had been that I should maka' the journey to? day, and contrasted that anxiety with tba importance of the errand. C<.uld it be that he was fer some purpose sanding me cut of the way? I rode slowly cn, giving this question full consideration; and the more I considerad it the mere I became convinced that my errand to L'Orient was a russ. - Having determined this, my mind was at once made up. I halted at the next farm? house, and stating that the horse was lame lert him in charge of the good peopla until I could send for him. Then rapidly I re? traced my step?, until I reached the tcp of the cliff from which ones before I had gaze i at the house which held the man on whom I had come to wreak vengeance. I threw myseif on tha turf, and for hours kept my eyes on the house or on the road which :ed to it If I saw nothing to confirm my suspicion? I could regain my h orsa and ride to JJ Orient after nightfall. Thare would ba a moon, and I could no doubt find my way. So, wirb eager eyes I watched and watched, until at last I saw, struggling up the bill opposite to me, a carriage, which muct have passed through St. Seurin. I saw it appear and disappear, according to the bends of the road, thea emerge on to the table land, and finally stop in front of the farmhouse. My heart leaped with delight I saw Graat come out and assist soma dark figures to alight i f.aw them eater the bousa. 1 saw the carriage and horses taken to the stables at the back of the farm. Then 1 rosa and wen: to meet what fate had m store for m? I descended the one bill, climbed the other, and walked brlkly toward the farm. 1 felt sure that the carriage seen by me had brought Vioia to my temporary home. Grant knew that she was coming; hence the errand un which I had been sens. I chafed at the thought of how nearly I hal fallen into the trap. About a hundred yards frcm the house I saw on my left bani, ?catad on a largs stone on the edge of the cliff, th* form of a woman. My heart beat so violen-iy, that for a moment I was forced to stand still. Changed as was her dress, unfamiliar her attitude, 1 should have kaown her among a thousand. At last after an interval of two years, lsaw Viola,' She wa* clothed in After an interval of two years J saw Viola, 1 j black-she, who formerly deteste! the sohi j ber hue! She was sitting wita her hands j clasped round her knee; her hoad b?*nt for? ward in a sad. though : fui attitude. She i seemed to be gazing afc the sea below, yet i seeing or hearing nothing. Noiselessly 1 cept over the soft tur/ until I was close to her. Now that the moment for which I hal longed hid c*r.io. what should I do? Cover her with reproach***? Coldly demand an explanation f lti&*s upon her returning at once co her duty ? No; none of these. My only thought wa? to throw myself at her feet, to clasp her in my arms, to cover her face wira kisses, to swear that, notwithstanding all the past, I loved her as ot ol j. In another second ? should have done all this. But suddenly she turnad her bead an 1 saw me. She started to her feet, and, with a low crywhichv-told of pain, even horror, turned |?BMAward the house. I foL^B fek her aad seize ! ber hand?B mm love! my wife I" I from me?" ?ut struggled to free earestr' I pleaded. "Tell ma all-I can forgivel Tell ms ] ins save "chat 3'on love nisi" She looked at mj; her eyes wera to fear. "Let me go," sha said hoarsely, shall die!" "Never!" I said, "until you hava tole all What does it mean? What am think?'' She laughs 1 wildly. "Think? T that I am false to you-thai; I love an< -that I hate you! Bat let me go. Ju let me go!" Her voice sank to piteous entreaty as spoke the last words. "Never!" I repente 1 I wound my i round her, end kissed har passionately, trembled in every fiber of her body, .when onca more har eyes met Tiiine, the in them positively frightened nie. Suddenly, by a suprema effort, sha herself from my arms and flo! raj toward tho farm. I wa; on the pain pursuing her, when a great revulsio feeling came to me. Wuat had I oona this woman should shrink from my toa should regard me with dread and hor I had lavished leva upon her; I was wi] to take hor to my arms without a wor< explanation, or an entreaty for pardon the misery sue Lad caused ma Yet she from me as if I ware soma noxious rep However deeply and blindly a man i love, there must bo a limit to his self-at ment; so, as J strodo into tba house, to i not ber, bu* Eustace Grant, my heart, full of black and bitter thoughts aga the AV oman 1 loved, I entered Grant's sitting-room witt either knock or warning of any sort, was seated, and, apparently, in earnest < vernation with a pale, s weet? faced won some ten years his senior, and who dressed as a Sister of Charity. He star to his feet, and looked at me like one asl ished. "You here, Loraine!" he cried. "Yes; I did not go: so far as i>'Orient. Grant moved toward the door. "Exe me,'* he said ; "I shall bi bac? IE a morae This is my sister." 1 ba lady bowed, i smiled pleasantly. "You aro too late Grant," I said, soi what coldly. "You cannot prevent meriting; it has takan place." "Poor girl!" ba said. Than turning bis sistar, spanking in Preach, "You 1 better go and find Viola." She ros?; and left tha room. Grant a I were alona. "Well!*' he said, calmly. "You hi seen her?' "Ye?, in spite of yonr subterfuge." "1 acted but for tba best, lt ..as oi this morning I knew they wera comii Soma absurd report of my recant illa had reached my sister. Not having has from me for weeks and weeks, she came learn tba truth.1' "Came from where?*' "From Nautas. Sba is tho superior ol sisterhood there. She is my half sist Her mothar was a Frenchwoman." "Bat Viola? Why is Viola with ber?" "She has been in her charge ever sin sha left vou. It was to my sister I to her." A thought; crossed ma. "Surely," I sa: "Viola, a married woman, can bind hers bv no vows.' Sha is not one of "Dbe sist< hood?" "Tho sisterhood is a purely chantal ene. Persons can lenve it at discretic Viola lias baan m7 sister's guest, that is aS "Grant," I said, "I am now under t same roof as my wife. She-shall not lea it until I know everything. From her li I will leam tha maaniuj of har conda? Go a id sand her to ma." He said nothing. Ha l?ft tho room, ai in a few minutes returned,' leadla? ray wiJ She sank wearily upon a chair, with her fi sers nervously moving ons against t other. I had now tima to no ica wh changes the two years bad m ".do in he Beautiful a* she stilt wa-, it was not ti girlish beauty which had won my heart; was tho sad, sweat beaury oi a young w man who has sn if ors L Youth was sti fhere, but the gayaty and exuberanca < youth wera uiisttni. Vio1 a's cheek w. paler than of old; ber figure looked slight? altogether sha wa; moro * ethereal-mo; fragil* looking. F jr a whila she kepc h< eyes away from ma; thm, finding I did n speak, she lookai at m3. Har eyes we; lull of tears. "Eustace tolls rae you want to speak 1 me," she said. "Will you not spare ni Julian? I am very unhappy." "Unhappy! Spare you! Kow have ye spared me? Tin ; what my life has ba? from the day y cu laf c me-think of it, an pity me!" She pressad her hands to her brows, an I heard her sobbing. I could not bear t witness her grief. 1 kaeelad at her sida. "Viola," I whispered, "teii mo alL Li me know what black: cloud lies betweaa a Tell me why you left me?" "I cannot! I cannot!'' sha wailed. Heedless of Grant, who was still with u< ? I besought ber, implorad ber to enlighte me, or at least to say that she loved m I still; that, now we have met, we sh oui part no more, lu vain! Again and agai cer lips formed tba sad yet firm refusal A last she said: *!Ask me no mora, Julian; i is for your sake that I am silent." For my sakel Grant's parrot cry! I ro; in bitter anger and turned to Grant. "Tell her," I said-"tell this woman, wh bears my nama, and who is still my wife that nothing can maka life mora terri bia tx me than this concealment. Tell her ii what frame cf miad 1 mat you. Bid he spea?-. You have power ovar her. Sb will listen to you, if not to ma." "Viola," said Grant, ia a strangeTj solemn voice, uhe is right; we are wrong. I Ha must know the truth." See raised her white face. "Never never!" she moanel. "lt must be," continued Grant "He is ? man; and if there is a burden to be borne, he has a right to bear it. He must knov all" Sha streiche i ont har arms imploringly, "Eustace." she gasped, "think of thi horror! Lat him bata m J, cursi me, gc sway and forget me! ' "He must be toid," said Grant, firmly. She press? 1 har hands to her eyes, ani was silenc for soma minutas. 1 steel jd my heart, end neicher spoke ncr movel, although I saw the tears trickling through her ciosad fingers. Presently sha spo'ce: "Not until I have gone. Eustace; not until theship has sailed." "Sade! ! What ship?" I exclaimed, turn? ing to Grant. "Viola sails for Amaricanaxt week. Soma friends of her mother's live in New York; she goes t,o them. " I walked across to Viola. "Why clo you gof" 1 asked, fiercely. She seamed to trem? ble at thi change in my voice. 1 repeats! the question. "1 am too near-too near to England,'' she said, in a low, pained voie-?. . "Too uear to ma, you mean?'' "Yes! Thora must be thousands of miles between us." I stamped in my rae;?. I was triol past endurance. Her one thought, her only wish, seemed to be that of avoiiin-; ma. "'Go'" I csrieJ, "and may ? nev.*:- gaza again on your falso, fuir lace! Go! ani carry with you tha memory of tha lif.> you have ruinai, tho hopes you have blighted, taa iovtvyou havo thrown away! Gol" I I tum-;! on my beal, hut in tho small ! mirror ovar tha fireplace I saw Viola rise, I pple aud tottering, f saw Grant place his i arm round her an t support her. "1 cannot Lear it," 1 heard her say. "I can boar all for his sake, except hin re? proacher Eus tact?, when I ara gone lot lim know ail Not until I am gone. Julian, farewell!'' 1 turne 1 at th^ last word*; Viola was ? passing through tho doorway. 1 sprang ? i or wa rd, but Grant chocked ma. Tba tears j wyre ruiJiiiic down bis cheeks. "No," be said. "Leave her. No gool i can be done. You will kill her if you see ? ber again. Julian, lau ve the hou-e for an j boar; tbay wiU be gone by thoa. Trust me I -believe mc, it is betior so." "But 1 am to be told everything?" "Yes, when sha has left- England." "No. now! Tell me now! Whatever it may be that dividas us, I can sweep it away. 1 can hinder her from going". I can bold her to my heart aad keep her. Speak! If ' you are sworn to ke3p har secrat awhile, j for my sake, for her sstke. break that vow, j and let me know everything this m omen tr j He laid his hand on my shoulder. "Ju? lian, my goorji^^w^he said in voice full of feeling, "if you have any hops, abandon it. No io ve, no po wer on earth can bring Viola back to y ou P His words seemsi to turn my heart into lead. I said no more, but, obeying his request, left the house, But I waited at the roadside for the carriage to pass; I would catch one more glimpse of Viola before she left me, as Grant predicted, forever. At last the carriage passed ms. Viola saw me ; our eyes met. Her look was one of hopeless, yearning misery. Sha made a faint movement as if about to stretch out her arms, then iu a moment passel from my gaze. And this was our fare well I Conquering the impulse which urged mo to rush after the carriage, -ear my wife from it, and swear she should not leave me, I turned, away and struck down toward tba coast. H.*re I wandered about until late at night. Then, weary and miserably 1 rii-no-arc-J mvMlf ha fir tn tho fa y nc Grant, with a face full of anxiety, was awaiting my return. I threw myself inte a chair, buried my face in my hands, aud. I believed, sobbed. The disappointments of the day, tb3 threatened hopelessness of the future; tad completely broken me do^vn. I felt as a man must feal who is on the verge of suicide. "Eustace," I cried, "can you give me no hoper "My poor boy, it would be ern si to de? ceive you-none 1" 1 groaned. ''Lat us go away,'' I said. "Come with me to England-to London. I sha l go mad, and throw myself over tba cliff if I stay beref The next morning we started for England. CHAPTER X. "rr Etas BEEN* A DREAST, LET US FORGET IT." Curious as it may seam, I pressed Grant no more to make a premature revelation of the mystery. His warning word-, bis solemn assertion that I had nothing to hope for, when joined to the remembrance of Viola's grief and persistency in seeking to avoid me, had exercised a great effect upon me; so great that I began to dreid the promised disclosure. Until it was made, I could at least tell myself that someday matters would come right. The lock I had sean the last in Viola's eyes haunted me day and night. Tba last words I had heard her speak, "Julian, farewell!" rang in my ears. Both look and words told nie that she loved me, but told me that hopeless misery was to be our lot No wonder I began to wi3h to postpone the knowledge of the worst! "We went to an hotel in London. I was moody and miserable-a cheerless compan? ion' to the man to whom I now clung as for support and strength. Somehow, Eustace Grant seemed to be tba only creature to whom I could turn in my trouble for sym? pathy and aid. He was very good to ma in those days. He was more than a friend more than a brother. But, in spite of the compassion which I knew be felt for me, no word which encouraged the faintest hope passed his lips. Sympathy is precious, but I wanted hope. The days went by until I guossad that. Viola's departure must be near at hand. I grew nervous and sleepless. Wild thoughts cf firing tack to Frau ce and seeing her once mere shot through ma. To see her, tench even her bani once more, before I learned the fatal secret which I had by now brought myself to belia ve would part us forever. "When doss sha sail?' I asked Grant abruptly one night 'The day ofter tomorrow." "From where?" "From Havre." In forty-eight hours sha would ba gone. In forty-eight hours I should know why she had left rae. "Eustace," I said, "before I learn what thero is to learn, there is something I should like to do. V:oia is my wife. Whether sha has acted rightly or wrongly, I shall soou know; but lmust make soma provision for her future." "Yes,'' said Grant uThat you should most certainly do." "Come with ma to my solicitor's to-mor? row. I will give bim in structions." Grant nodded; sa 1 wrote at once and made the appointment. I resolved to do all 1 had purposed doing before Viola loft. Br this act I could at least show her that, whatever the pending revelation, might be, I lovel and trusted ber. I toid Grant of my intentions, and wondered he expressed so little surprise at what, undar the circumstances, might be well called generous, if not quixotic "It will be just and fair," he said quietly. 'Do it, as you suggest, at once." Tba next afternoon found us at my solic? itor's. Tha large tin box, labeled "Julian Loraine, Esq.," was pulla 1 down, dusted and opened. The notes which, two years ago. had been taken respecting the settle? ment were looked up and produce!. It was arranged that Grant should be one trustee; and my solicitor, in whom I put great faith, the other. Ail was to bs dona with as little delay as possible. I smiled sadly, perhaps Utterly, as I thought it was to be done fer the sake of ona who was eager ta put thou? sands of miles between us. ? was looking through some papers, among which I found one indorsed "Copy of Julian Loraine's wilL" I drew it out, openad it and hal i it toward Grant. '"Sas," 1 ?aid, "there is my title to all I possess. What a difference those few lines made to me at the tima! Now, little good, after ail, they have done maf "Shortest will I ever real, Mr. Grant,1' said the solicitor. "If every one made so simple a will as that, lawyers would starve " Grant, without much show of interest, took tha paper ia his hand and ran his ey3 over it Suddenly ha stopped short and stared at it like one who sees a ghost. Never before hal ? seea a iran's face aal bearing so changed in a single second. I was positively frightened. "What is tha matter?' I cried. He turnad to tha solicitor. .4{Will you leave us alone far ona minute?" he said; "only one minute?' The solicitor looked surprisai at the brusque request; but, nevertheless, court? eously vacated the office. Grant seized my arm with a grip of iron. "What does it mean-this.*'' ha asked, in a voice full of wild excitement As he spoke, he laid his forefinger on tba words "adopted so a I" "ilean! lt is English. It means what it says." "You are not that man's son?" ''You arr. not that mans .'ton.1* "N.> moro than you oro. I have always passed H i sue!i, an I never troubled to correct, the error. FerNap^ a^-. my origin isa humble one, 1 was ashamed to do so," 1 added, with a faint laugh. H . took no notice of my self-deprecation. ! * T'dl me all about yourself-as shor? as possible, bufcpiss over nothing." i Sa in a few wor ts I told him the story wine)), years ago, Julian Loraino bad told ni". How I wa^ born in mid-ocean, and in a curious way establisho I some sort of a claim \ on Mr. Loraine. M~ tale was but half fin I ished whan Grant lett mo, and I heard him hi tljo out'ir office shouting for t?l?graphia terms in away which scandalized the decor? ous clerks. Ho wrote two me-sages rapidly, threw clown a sovereign and ask?d for soim one to go at once to the telegraph office. Then he seized ma by the arm. "Come!" he cried; "all that trash"' meaning the business papers-*'can wr?* (Jonis with me." He swept rae out of the ciflae lika . fie sho?tad for a cab. and ia a moment * were tearing at full speed toward our bot? Had I not guessed that something deep : something concerning my own fate lay u der his excitement, 1 should have thcug that Eustace Grant hal suddenly go: mad. No; I kne w that he had made -cn discovery whick wrought a great chan: in everything. "What is it? Tell me,*' I said. "I canuct I canno: speak. Wait 03 i minute.1' "Tell me that it m jans gocd to Viola ar I to me." ; Hegraspel mr bani. "Julian," he sat ! "it means everything." I I sank back s?ceoslo*1. For a minn*--? < two I was willing to rest content with th bold assertion and a>k no more qua st lon j I said no more until we reached tu-j noto Grant carelessly threw money to tl cabman, passed his arm through miue, an led me to our sitting-room at a rate whit made rs the observed of all. Once thor he grasped both rn? hands and shook' thai vigorously. Then he leUt me. In a minuto he was back again. He hal ; two lottars in hi; bandi Ha gave me ona. j "Sha wrote this,*' he sail; "it is afir ! well, and was to have been given you whe I yen had learned all." ? I snatched it and would havo opened it. "Stop a moment," he said. "This ona : : a letter which on her death bod Viola mother told me to give her daughter on hi : twenty-first birthday. Tour wife real it J Mr. Monk's office while she was waiting fe you and while I was talking to Mr. Moni j When you read it, picture her feelings, an you will understand everything." Grant turned away and left me alot with the letters. Which should I ooen first? Viola's, c coursa. Sad though ic might be, it woul contain some word of love which would t precious to mo. I kiss ed it and tore it opei Here it is: "DEAREST-You will read this, ?nowie : alb Had we not met-hal you even tx . lieved ma faithless to you, I could have cai ried the dreadful secret to the grave, an you at least might ono day bava iona yourself happy again. You hava force the truth from ma, and tha truth shows yo ; that this letter is an eternal farewell A ? timas 1 thought, when years and years bav I passed, we might meet again. Dearest, i j can never b\ Even that hope is denied u= I Julian, fate has been cruel an i seams eve crueler now that yon must shara the sorrow and tha shame. Farewell." I laid the letter on tho tabla and opane the second packet. Another letter ia woman's writing; also two long narrow strips of paper. I read the iatter. "MY DAUGHTER-If I am dead, this wi] be given yon on yourtwenty-nrst birtbdav The name under which I pass is not m; owa. I am the wife-yon ara the daughte j -of Julian Loraine, of Herstai Abbey j Somersetshire. Kow be treated me, why j left him, are matters upon which I need no j speak. He was a fiend in human shape. shall never seo him aga Le. Ha does no ! know whether I am alive or dead. I tel you this, not that you may seek h'm am claim the right o? a daughter, but that yoi may shun and avoid any one bearing hi wicked name. He is rica, but riches do no bring happiness. Live your own swee lite, marry a good honest mau, and let you: true name, or the relation ship y on bear t< the mau who so cruelly wronged me, neve; pass your lips. If ever you feel tempted t< go to this mau and say, *i am your dango ter,' think OL mo and tho years of suffering he bas caused me. Let him die wiihou knowing he has a child so fair and lovin; as yourself. Your effeclionaie mother, "MARGARET LORAIN" Tba slips of paper wara certificates-one of the marriage of Julian Loraine and Mar garee, the other of the birth of Viola. Now I knew all-I rented still and pic? tured my poor girl's unspeakable borrot when she read that fatal letter, and learned that her hus ban I was ber father 4 .son bj what shewsupposai was a former wife. I seemed to see her struck down in the firs! flush of her wedlai happiness, even as 1 had been struck down. 1 seemed to enter iato ber thoughts, to feel th it it was im? possible she could meet ma again. Icould hear her agonized entreaties to Grant tc bear her away and bid.? har from me. J could understand now why she took nc steps to clear her nama in my cvas. How she aven wished me co think her perjure 1 and faithless, so long as tha secret could be kept from mc-x> lon; as I did not suffar as she suffered. Yesl I could understand what, rightly or wongi r, she and Grane had striven to do for my sake! On what a chance a life turas! Why had I never toll Viola the story $1 my birth and strange adoption? Why had I never told Grant? It wooli have cleared matters in a second. Strange to say, it had never occurral to me to mention it to eithar of them. After I had succeeded to my reputed father's wealth, my position was so assured-it seemed to me so natural to be thought and called the deal man's son-that ia sober truth my real origin had ail but faded from my mind. For years I had scarcely given ic a thought. But I ground my teeth now, as I reflected how a sraple chance might have made me speai, and so saved my wife and myself from more than two years of misery! Then tho iioa came to nn that every moment which elapsed before Viola learned the news was one of sorrow to her. 1 spi aa? to my feet and went in search of Grant. Goed fellow! I found he had already packed his portmanteau, and was busily engaged on mina "if you maV:e hasta wo shall just catch the Southampton train," ha sail. It thanked him by a ioek. I tossel thing; into my portmanteau higgiedy-pigg,et/, and in tLree minutes we wera on our way back to France. We were in plenty of time. Ialeed, as the boat did not ieava Southampton until nearly midnight, we might have waite 1 ior a later train. It vas Utter as it was. Although starting from Lende 4 at once meant pacing for hours the quay at South? ampton, lhal tho satisfaction of being so many miles nearer to Viola. Shall I ever forget that crossing! Tho night was fair. No thought of sie jp came to me. I sus on deck ail nig.it, gazing out over the sea; lcokin; out for the two great lights un Cap de ia Heve; list uing to tha steady, monotonous thump, thump; thump of the engines, und knowing that every revolution ot" me peddle-wheels was bear? ing me nearer to "Viola; or I leaned over the side of tho boat and watched tho hissing water flyiutr behind in a foaming v. hi.o j track I felt that 1 was being borna away j ?rom all my trouble-', ;:nd that tir path tue I sturdy ship plowed through tho moon? light/.} ! sea wa; ona which lcd mo to ua 1 speakable happines-.? I was alone wi'.h my ! thoughts nearly all ebb time: Grant, like a ! wise man, had.gone below to court s!vcp. j Perhaps, in spit-; of tito jo/ ha io!c in the i approaching happiness of his friend?, my \ cea**! ?s nul ort-repeated que*ticns becems a trifle monoton on s. He had to assure mo a thousand times that <>iv\ at least, cf his messages woul I re.":'h Vi?dn in RID . t > s::-, l:e~ departure. He bsd telegraph* I to i bj s'. vainer, as well as tc thc Hoff] deTEu ope, ;?r, vrl.icb he kuew ?.h? was stayi:tx. He had Limply enid, "On co account ?J to-uior row,'' and f >1& certain sba would c <un"or ! ma:11 h-r jo'irn * \ an I av r.i. cxplfi'ia'don*. ' WoaH WviH [cw w-:rds fr-rt I him change ber plan-:' Want should 1 dc ' if wj reache ! Havre after ibo American j steamer had sailed, and found that airer oil j Viola, had gone in her? ! "Do?" sail Grant "Take tlf> next beat ' and foliow her. it will be but the delny of j a wr>e.% r.n 1 the voyar^ will de von gool" But J conlft ?ot contnm r>i at o wit.li equa ? nimity fha though*: of Viola's spend"!-; ; another week in ignorance <>c tho truth. So ! Grant bari again au1, again to ?e~.<u,"? r::o . that we should corfcaiiilv fini her at ITnvre I wi.b. his sisear, wiioaccempnnied her thither j anil had promised to sec ber saicly on bnar.l ; the steamer. : 1 hal other qu?tions lo ask him. smoni them when ho firs berne 1 the true reason ! ol' mv wife's sudden flight-bow he loamed i it lio was silo it for a while, then hi .sail | ! gravely: "Lorain-1, I will one? for all make a cleon ! breast- to yen A month after I had placed Vio a in rn.' sister's hands .1 ?aid to myself: j 'Itv- niau, wuosboull ha VJ mal J ber lift ; h:ipp3\ has ty his treatment forced her to leave him. Why should she wasto her life in grief? Ilovehor!' So I wrote to her I could not have spoken the words-I wrote and told her I loved her. I asked har what the voice of the world mattere 1 to us. The law mi rht free her from you, and we might be happy ! Her answer was to send me back my letter, accompanied Ly the papers which I gave you to-day. She knew that I would guard, the secret. I knew that sli3 left you, not because your love ha I waned. The hato If lt t:\ward you, the pas doa I felt toward Violn,-' turned into the deepest pit\*. I>ow you know ali. It was ??st after saying rhi3 that Grant bade me good night and left me to my own reflections. So I watched and watched until morning dawned, the.? broke broad ard bright; until the sun was well up; until at last we steamed into Havre, and I coud J step cn the broad quay and toll myself, that in a few minute J my wife would be weep? ing in my arms. Wereackei the hotel. W'o leamel that the ladies were still there. Grant'j tol> gram had dene its work, ?fy impulse was to rush in Foa^ch of my wife, tut Grant checked me. As he said, she knew n?tala;; his message had given no information as to the discovery he had made. Let him see her first, and convince ber that I was, without a shadow of a doubt, Julian Loraine's adopted son. Then I might see hr-r m soon as ? liked. I consente 1, and curbed my impatiens I sat in the cttrtirard of the hotel counting the minute;. Grant must have told her by now. She masc know what joy is awaiting us. She must be longing to throw herself into my arm?. Why am I not summoned! Perhaps the joy has killed Lerl 1 will wait j no longer! *j I rose, but at that moment Grant ap- | peared. His face told me that the good I tidings had worked no evil. Iran toward him. He grasp: 1 my band.. "Stay yet a few minute;,'' he said; "she wishes it." "She is well? There is nothing wrong?" "She is welland happy, in tea minutes you shall see her." Somewhat sullenly I rcsaat.-J myself. Presently, we were joinei by the s wc st- | faced Sister of Charity, who had for the j time discarded tho spotless linea insignia of ? her calling, and was dressed in simple i black. She talked on various subjects; but j if Ians werai at ali I did ?o mechanically, her voico bearing no meaning to my ears. At last she rcs), and I understood that she ! wished me to follow her. Grant wrung my hand as I passed him. With a beating heart I. folio wed his sister up tha wide stairs, followed her until she paused before a door, and placed her hand on tho haudla Then, turning to ma, she whispered: "Mr. Loraine, I know all the sad story of the last two ye irs. I know what this poor child lias suffered.' There are some grief > which are too a cate to bear even the men? tion of. Take her to your arms as if you had parted with her bat an hour ago, and uutil sha speaks of it let DO word of the lase two years pass between you." She made the sign of the cross, cpehad the door and left ma free to eater. What did I so ?? Viola, even as she left that morning so soon after our wedding. Viola in the very dress she wore that day. How well I remembered it-remembered its hua, its very material. Long afterward sha told me that during thos; moa-hs of separation she ha 1 treasured up ani kept always near her everything that reminded her of the few hapav days she had spent with rn?, before the fatal m?-'ake crushed her to the earth. Yos, I ssw Viola as of j old-even down to the sparkling rmg wh.ch { I had, it almost se?med to me that morn? ing, given her. Viola, mv I ve, my wife! The door closed softly bahia I me-the sister's care must have done the. x openel my arms. With a cry of rapturous delight Viola ran toward ma, and in a moment was sobbing and laughing on my brennt. "Daare;t,': fha whispered, when at last we found speech for more than ejaculations and broken words of love, "Jaare;t, it has been a dream-a black cruel dream!" She shuddered as sha spoke. Once more I pressed my lip ; to hers. "L it us forget it," i said. Then, hand in hand, cut ofthat long night of dark dreams we passed into the full day? light of the joy which life eau only know when brightened by Mich love as ou -s! THE END. Huxley On the Orlsin of Character. [Coorie Pa's ons Lathrop ] 'Nothing in this life, to me,'' s xii Pro? fessor Huxley, "is sadder chan the fact that ? a mau, watching the development cf his children, -> doomed to sea bis own peculiari? ties, his own faults-the things which ha condemns in himself-eropp ur out ni them. They may have hi3 good traits, too. But rothiag that he caa do will prevent th>*o old faults coming out in them. That illus? tra!e-3 tao immutability of law. Children inherit certain traits and capabilities They must go on and develop them. Thera is nothing more. They are bonada 1 by the elcmeuts which are born in ihem. A particular man receives a blow cn the hoad, you see. Now perhaps he recover.? from that blow; be is apparently perfectly* well; but toe effect of the b'.? v continues, j A sen is boru to the mau. What, has be? come of the energy e^pe.idai in that blow upon the man's head? Iz ii hound to con? tinua You cannot gat ri i of that. Tue per.?i*tonc3 OL' force makes it inevitable. Perhaps the mao's am gets alcur alt right, i and perhaps hi doa;-n'r-. But suppose thai j the sou. orthabon s son, turn; out to be a j iorger, or a cr.miual of seme sort-possibly a murderer. How do we know taut this is | noD the re-iul: ot tue original blow on the ! bea i. producing a slight ace: len al impras- j sion ou tee brain, the iorceoi which tsk^s ? the form of m .ral perversion in the offspring? Sir Henry Taylor gives this erampla of Carlyle's vigoro is ani reckless speech: Carlyle being ill ono day. Lad/ Ashburton j insisted tha? a certain Dr. Wilson shou.d I visit him. The ductor want into hts room and presently came flying ont again. Bxs account was that Carly la had roc:-: ved j him with a volley of invectives agntasc ? himself and his profession, saying that "cf j all tha sons cf- A icm the/- were the most | eminently unprofitable, aul that a man micht as well pour his sorrows into tba long, hairy car of a jackass" London's Man Dressmaker, rsew York "World.] The latest thing in Lmdou is a man dress? ? maker, CoL M., who has sprung into sud- j den notoriety in that difficult trade. He is | an impoverished baronet, who has for some j years sarved as one of the equerries of the queen: He is fi rd; condn to a duke and is j invited out to dinner everywhere. Dross- j making LS his special gift He designs them j all him elf, takes tha measures, trie; th un j on and fits tuarn, ani the la ly wh> tells me ? of them declares that his w.?rk is "elegant." j To have him maka one's dre-s is now tba j sw-!l thing in L mdon. Rather oil. though; j don't you think, for Lady H >ward co meet j her dressmaker at dm:nr ani have him ! wbi-psr, " I raa*t chango that trimming a > little. Tha effect is not exnetly what I | hoped r_ The Mlsslns; Vol ame [New York Rim.] librarians tho country over have be3n i seekin? t> discover v dunn 21 of Tue i Christian ?b orver an.l Bow join college is said to Lave been especially per i-tent in its I sorrell for the :ni5: ing b>;t. After looking i for it lor le i yjars it o.rcarrad to Librarian j Poole ot Cai cago to o:cinv.u) hi-- set, when ! he made tuc di covary that there hal n-?var j bren any v "durna 21, that v-dum ? 2J closed j with December. iS?l; and' v..dum J 2-J bagan ! with January, 1322; the change- bein.; ra ide j that the volume might correopjud with the ! ya ar of tho century. ! Tho Kiggest Cheese of ATI. According to T.ie Toronto Mail, the big- ! gest cbecsa ev9r mada in tha world was manufactured in Canada in 136S. lt weighed j 7,<)0'J pound?. Thirty-five tons of milk wer* j nsed. Another cheero of Canadian make weighel 4.003 pounds. This puts Canada ; ahead of New York. j A Financial Si'^n. [Chicago HeraKt.] With seats in the New York -tock ox j chango selling for $34,000 it begins to looi^j as though there was retur ting coufilanca" that the nsxt run of suckers v/ouid be farg& What Our Editors Say. Greenville Kos. Our esteemed cotemporary at Charles? ton laments thus : 'The State Legislature, or the senate at all events, is wonderfully unselfish. It derived no earthly benefit from the import duties collected at Charleston, when the State had seceded, but it cheerfully agreed to pay the surety of the collector the amount recovered from him by thc United States on account of such duties. It warms itself daily, in whole or in part, with Mr. Asher Pal? mer's stoves, but refuses, point blank to pay for them. There is no selfishness there.' Thc difference between Mr. Palmer*? claim and Mr. Colcock's was that Mr. j Palmer had no estimable gentlemen and influential politicians to buttonhole leg? islators in his behalf. Furthermore, Mr. Palmers claim is a business matter of the present ; Mr. Colcock's is a shad? owy thing of the past, sanctified by thc rust of years; the glamor of tradition and so forth*. The majority of our sen ate and house may ignore the now and be very blind to the hereafter, but the heretofore always com mauds their rev? erence, their votes and any needed ap? propriation. They live in and legislate for bygone conditions and dead years. Thc argument *wc ought to do it be? cause it used to be done" invariably prevails. Columbia's Graded Schools. Columbia Register. We sincerely wish that thc members of our Legislature could possibly spare the time to go through our graded schools and see with their own eyes what they are doing for the education of the people. And by the word people we do not mean any one class, rich or poor, high or low ; we mean al! classes. "The children of all classes are found in our graded schools, and the education re? ceived is of. the very best and most ap? proved methods, and we have occisi?n to know personally beyond, all dispute that they are highly efficient. NoJiiHter schools exist to-day io any part of the Union. Such is the testimony of Dr. Corry, so long in charge of the Peabody fund, and whose business it was to know exactly what these schools were doing. Such is the testimony of Dr. Mayo of Boston, who bas visited every school in the South and is familiar with the whole scheme of j&opuiaj^fkieation over thc whole Union,' as well as abroi^^ 'ttilmington Star. The Democratic House ought to take up aod pass the Hoar Presidential Suc? cession bill before it adjourns fora frolic of two weeks on next Monday. The House is responsible for the murdering of the bill in the last Congress. The country is in earnest in the matter of having the succession fixed. -With s?cb a fellow as John Sherman io the Chair and the uncertain lease of life delay is very perilous. If President Cleveland should die before the Congress meets 5th January. ?886, Sherman would be President. It is in the power of a Dem? ocratic ?Iouse to prevent it. The Register CfiSoe. Newberry Observer. Tt is quite a big concern-^much big? ger than one would infer hom seeing only the Register newspaper. The office is devoted largely to job work, State printing, book-binding, etc., and its newspaper enterprise seems to us to be subordinate to these in the estimation of thc management. We think this is a mistake. The Register ought to be a bigger paper than it is. The paper ia high-toned and reliable, but has not much enterprise ; very little variety ; is quite deficient in its news service ; is too small; is thoroughly local in its sentiment and poi icy-and is in com? plete accord with the powers that be. We feel sometimes, we would like to take hold of the Register, or some other daily newspaper of State circulation, and shake things up. We would like to show up the selfishness and the grasp? ing policy of Charleston and Columbia ; to belabor some of the pet schemes of these cities thai seem.io ih'?nS they have a lien on the State Treasury and look to it for aid and support-for instance, the canal, the college and the citadel ; to stir op some of the .hobbies of the administration, especially the educa? tional hobby ; to advocate the cause of the people as against the politicians who spin out fine theories and pile on heavy taxes; to insist bu more common sense and less high flown sentiment in the conduct of public affairs. There is suc? cess awaiting ?ny man who, with capi? tal enough, will make a vigorous, inde? pendent newspaper at the capital, with an eye to thc good of the whole State, regardless of the wishes or sentiments of Cot G m bi a, and free from ail partisan alliances or political aspirations. The Charleston Fair. Columbia Record. Thc Centennial Fair at Charleston, which opened about one month ago, closed on Saturday night. The fair, it seems, was far from being a financial success. In fact, if reports are correct, thc receipts will fall short of the expen- j ses. This is unfortunate abd certainly j not thc fault of those who had it in j charge. They left nothing utidone, j spared, neither pains nor expense, to ? make it attractive. The exhibits were j numerous and varied, and consisted of j specimens of almost everything of in- j forest to the people of thc city aud ; State An orchestrion was purchased ? for ?3,500 to furnish music for thc fair. ? The orchestrion is au instrument now j much used in public parks and halls in | the large cities of the North aiid West, j I ti shape it resembles a large church j organ, but when set in motion furnishes ! music equal to that of a brass band of i sixteen or twenty pieces, imitating the horus, flutes, trumpets, drums and cym- j hals. It sectus tous that the orch.es- j frion alone should have attracted largo \ crowds each day to witness its unique : movements; anti hear it discourse music j The art department of the fair. ?c.J cording to accounts, was a 'thin? of ? beauty' and contained many beautiful ; and some queer and quaint, exhibits, in- . eluding reiics of antiquity. Among ' fliese relics was a fragment of the cnn that shot off the arm from the statue of Pttt~-H*r-4J$0. .Those familiar with j South C?rct?c? history will remember that the Pitt statue occupied a,pw?tjon at . tlie intersection of Broad and Meet? ing streets in Charleston during th? Revolution. A shot,fired fronaJStHe'rf Battery on 'Tames' Wand, near a ?junij? of trees called the 4??^^ld^eii;.lrit^es'.', tonk' off one of the arms. "The Pitt statue has been recentljr?.repbec?zim Washington Park, not far fr oin. wb er? it original! j stood. Man j. otberjreljcH of the Revolution were also "exhjb?tec!. The specimens of hanc?-work and Kief? ing hy native artists were perhaps the most beautiful over gathered together in one place in the State. . With these facts under coniiderat?oTi' it is hard to a oder stand why* t?&K3&fc te???al Fair of Charleston iras'not'* grand financial "recess. It certainly deserved to be a success fnancia^ljr,. Perhaps this is the wrong season ot the year in Charleston. Perhaps it fe^oiT ed too close upon the State Fairfield fa1 this city, which was largely attended by people from a?l portions of the. State., or perhnps tbere were too many other places of amusement ic Char??sfon. The fair committee should give it an? other trial about February. ? [ Religiorr in the te&?si?ni?i ?n esteemed friend and bro?her?end* us the statistics to show the religions make up of the General Assembly jof Sooth Carolina, which may . interest some of ?t?r ; re?'ders. The Se?ale tl composed of 35 members; who are clas? sified as follows : Baptists, 10L? Jtfetb odists, 9; Presbyterians, 5 ;, Episcopa? lians, 4 ; Lutherans, 2-making a fo'tajt of 31 cbureh members, wbrje4 are.flirt connected with any ch arch". Of t frese four, at least two of them are faver?felj; inclined to the Baptists. The House of Representatives is composed of 122 members, divided in religious senti? ment as follows: Baptist?, 31 ; IV?etk odists, 20; Presbyterians, 17 r Episco? palians, t'? ; Associate Reformed Pret? ty terians, 5 ; Roman Catholics,. 5,1$ Lutherans, 3-making a lotat. of 99 church members,"while S?^rr?^^noV^??? necte.4 with' any church. In the Senate and House, there are 130 church mem* bers, or more than four fifths of the entire Legislature, which fact wilt doubt? less make ? favorable comparison w?tH ' any other State. It is gratifying-that so large a proportion of Our law-makers are those who delight in the law of God and the measure of their responsibility is in accordance with their profession as the fo?lowera_of^?m_Who isajle io make them wise inItfT'itttuJp^lfapZ Hst Courier. ? '?.>??' Things Worth Knowing: . Ile re are some flgdres ?nd rules very handy to know and have at hand in theiriind of .on paper: A rod ia 16 1-2 feet, or o 1-2 yards. A m ile ia 320 rods, , A mile is 1,760 yards.. AT mile is 5,280" feet. ? square foot Ts 144 square inches. A squ?fe yard contains 9 square feet. A sqrj?r? rod is 272 14 square feet. An aer? con? tains 43,560 square feet. Au acre contains 4,840 square yards. " Art acre, contains 160 square rods. *' A section, or square mile, contains; 640 acres. A quarter-section contains 160 acres. An acre is S rods wide by 20 rods long. An acre is IQ rods' wide by 16. rods long. An acre is about 208 34 feet square. A solid foot contains 1,728 solid inches. ? pint of water weighs one pound. ^ ?| solid foot of water weiglis 62J.-2 pounds. ? gallon of water holds 231 solid inches. A gallon of " milk weighs 8 pounds 10 ounces. Aljmit of water holds 2*7-8. solid inches (28.875.) A barrel (3112 plions) holds 41-8 solid feet (4 211.). A solid foot contains nearly 7 1-2 solid pints [7.48.; A bushel (struck) con? tains 2,150 solid inches. A bushel (heaping) contains 1 14 struck ?r?st? els. A struck bushel contains about 114 solid feet. A Friend as Is a Friend. Hostctter McGinn is is a man who promptly takes up for his friends.. He has got into innumerable fights by championing the cause of men" vwitK whom he was on friendly terms. Noth? ing pleases him so much as a chance to. fight for a friend. One day McGinn's' friend Swipes, who is ari inebriate, ex? perienced a feeling of remorse, and he said to McGinnis : Do you know, f?oslettcr, what I think about myself?' ? *1 have no idea,' replied McGinnis. 'When, I think that I am a mi.-era bie drunken sot, who doos not deserr? to live.' 4L;oo? here, Swipes,' said McGinnis,' threateningly, 4I ain your friend, and you must not talk that way about your? self or I'll hold j?? personally responsi? ble.' After that Swipes always spoke of himself in McGinnia' presence as a perfect gentleman. - Texas Siftings. ?-??- I M??i - Two Kinds of Giris. There are two kinda of girls, sayri thc llome Visitorz "One is the kind that appears best abroad-(he girls that are good for parlies, rides, visits, balls, etc., and whose chief delight 'Xi in such tilings. Thc other is the k?iuf that appears best at home-the giris* that are useful ami cheerful in the diii??ig-rooni, sick-room, and all the precincts of home. They diner wide? ly in character. One is often ? tor? ment at home, the other a blessing 1 one is a moth', co'nsi?nY?i?g everything about her; the oilier is a sunbeam; inspiring light and gladness all around her pathway. Tn which of those ciasses do you belong ?" 1 Titer -Oe en ii : The New York edi? tors are a good deal like the,Beaver family up in the mountains of Penn>yl vaoia The gmd o!J pastor of the" province had long Inbored with the old man Beaver and his boys but they con? tinued in thV'ir wicked way?. Finally ? rattlesnake bit ?Tim. and the o?d pas* tor v?as sent for in "ha.? te to help bini over thc border, in his prayer h?i said:* 4 O Lord, we t'na'.nk theo for rattle? snakes; s<md one in' la e lill,* one tn bite Pete ami DVn*. and an 'awful nig one to bite tile o\d man", for no*.!i:n> but* rattlesnake* w'?ll' ?ouvert the BeaVcf f.?miSy; y