Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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l - [. ■ v And mere ere others, lighter woes And trials which we bear. Bat which each heart, oppressed well knows, How sweet it is to share With some loved one, whose words of cheer Like strains or music greet the ear. Heaven’s richest flfesstngs then for him Who lingers at your side, Who lUtens while his eyes grow dim, AvA longs to guard and guide Life if too short to sigh and moan. As hearts must do that strive alone. THE WIDOW’S PLOT. . “No,” said Mr. Murray, in the lugu brious, minor tone to whieh he had accustomed himself until he had almost forgotten that he had any other, “I’m not very well, I never am very well, you know, Sister Sarah. In fact, I never expect to be very well/’ Sister Sarah, a plump, cheerful little widow, with bright brown^h&ir, eyes to match, and a dimple in either cheek, looked bewildered. “I’m very sorry,” said she. “All this is quite new to me, Brother Matthew. “I had always supposed that you were in the enjoyment of excellent health.” Mr. Murray shook his head in a pen sive. osciluiory way, which was very impressive. “Is it anything chronic?” asked Mrs. Hayward, which was the name by which the world in general knew Sister Sarah. “It’s a general giving way of the whoje system,” said the invalid. Dilmann says peculiarand*tttipMMteirted a case. “Bat,” meekly interposed Mrs. Mur ray, who was a pretty young woman many years her husband’s junior, “Doctor Monroe sa; u that people may to a great degree, control their ailments; and it doee seem to me that Matthew is disposed to take a gloomy view of his troubles, because ” “My dear Ethel, you know nothing about it,” said her'huaband, with an energy, which, considering the low ebb of his physical forces, seemed almost sopersatural—“nothing at all about itl And Monroe, although 1 do not deny that he is a good physician, ia too apt to advance startling theories. ••It’gjthe lault,of young practitioners. ’’ “But what is your oomplaint, Mat thew?” said puzzled Mrs. Hayward. “It’s the heart, they tell me,” said Mr. Murray, sighing: “the great head- centre of the system, you know. “And tho circulation of the blood seems defective, and altogether things are deranged generally!” “Oh, dear, dear)” said Mrs. Hayward her round visage gradually lengthen ing. “This isverybad—very bad, indeedl” “1 may live for a year.” said Mr. Murray, closing his eyes and feeling instinctively for tho camphor bottle, “or I may bo summoned to a brighter and better world in a month. “Or,” with visible enjoyment of the sensation he was producing—“I may drop down at your feet this next min ute.” Mrs. Murray’s pretty little rosebud of a face became full oi troubled uncer tainty. “Matthew,” said she, “I wish you would not talk in that way.” “My dear Ethel, how can I help it?” said Mr. Murray. “I am unuer a doom, and life seems receding from me.” “But you must not let it recede,” “Ethel,” spoke the husband, “this is at once irreverent and cruel 1 “Pray do not rack my nerves with any further discussion; and, Ethel ” “Well, dear,” said Ethel, witii tears in her eyes. “What has your cook prepared for the evening meal? “Of course, I have no appetiee—none whatever; but if there should be any trifles which might tempt me ” “Broiled quails on toast, my dear,” said Ethel, “I thought as Bister Sarah had just arrived (from a journey she might want something more substantial than a oup of tea.” But the invalid shook his head. “I couldn't touch a morsel of quail,” said he. “Sweetbreads, dear?” “Don’t mention them!” with a gesture of disgust. “And cream buisouits, witn honey in the oomb, and a little quwoe marma lade!” added Mrs, Murray, her wistful eyes fixed on her husband’s face. “All of them would be rank poison to a person of my precarious digestive powers,” said Mr. Murray. “It is very strange, Ethel, that that cook of yours displays so little discrimi nation.” “Couldn’t I order something to be cooked for yon, Matthew?” said the young wife, meekly. “I’m sure,” said Mr. Murray, “no one could ever comprehend how impossible it is to make a woman understand that the appetite needs to be surprised. “The idea of asking me to dictate my own supper.” “But you see, dear we don’t know.” “Borne people never know,” mid Mr. Murray, petulantly. “Wed, tell your woman if she can stew a few oysters to a turn, and make me a cup of black coffee, with a little dry toast and jnst a chip of broiled ham, and an egg or so, fried, ( might possibly And myself able to eat a little.” So Mr. Murray’s sapper went np to him, and came down a beggarly array of empty plates. “Poor dear,” said his wife, “he has such an appetite for an invalid.” “It’s my honest belief, ma’am, and Mrs. Hayward’s,” said the cook, “as master ain’t a grain sicker than you and I be. It’s all his notions.” “Jane,” said Mrs. Murray, “you must not talk so.” Bat when the oook had retired, Mrs, Hayw&ra cried oni— “Ethel, the woman is right,’’ “Eh?” “He isn’t sick!” declared Mrs, Hay ward. “fiat Doctor Dilmann asserts that he “Ah, but you see, Doctor Dilmann visits him every day, at three dollars a visit, ” said Mrs. Hayward. “What doee Doctor Monroe say?” “Doctors will disagree cometimes,” acknowledged poor Mrs. Murray, who had been blown about by the divers and sundry winds of differing argument that she scarcely knew what to believe. “It’s a mere matter of habit," said Mrs. Hayward. “If I was to oonnt my pulse, and number my heart- beets, I could frighten myself out of the world in about six months.” “Ton really don’t believe, Sarah ” “I know I could cure him,” said the widow. “But you never studied medicine, dear?” “Not exactly the pharmacopoeia,” said Mrs. Hayward shrewdly; “but I am the seventh daughter, you remember, Ethel, and 1 know a thing or two if I can’t write M. D.’ after my name. “If you’ll give the case into my hands ” “Well,” said Mrs. Murray, “I will; so go on and do your wont—or beet.” So the pleasant autumnal weesa went by, and Mr, Murray took evident satis faction in growing feebler with every day. “How do yon feel this evening, Mat thew?” said his sister, tiptoeing into the darkened room, where Dr. Dilmann had loaded the little table with pills and po tions, and systematically shut oat eviry breath of fresh outer air as if it wero poison. “Poorly,” said Mr, Murray, •‘poorly! These little catching obstructions in the regions of the epigastrium are——” “Perhaps you’ve eaten too much dinnei?” suggested Mrs. Hayward. “Too much dinner indeedl” echoed Mr. Murray. “I, that have only the appetite of a sparrow? Where is Ethel?” he added fretfully. “It seems to me as if I never see any thing of Ethel now.” “Bhe has gone out for a little drive with Doctor Monroe,” said the widow. “Eh?” said Mr. Murray, “She was sitting with Doctor Dilmane last night, wasn’t she?” “Well—yes—I” “And they were visiting the Obelisk together the da; “I ^ mi ill llm i— mad Mrs. Hay- “I think she may as well go off with Doctor Monroe altogether,” said the invalid petulantly. ‘Oh, do you really think so Matthew?” cned Mrs. Hayward. “It will be such a relief to all parties if we can be quite sure that that is your real opinion!” “Eh?” again uttered the invalid. “Because,” added Mrs. Hayward, “you have warned us yourself that you have but a few weeks to hvo; and Ethel is still young and attractive, and Doctor Monroe’s pi aetice is improving. So he proposed yesterday and was accepted, and your sympathy is all that ” “What r cried Mr. Murray, jumping up with an energy that sent the medi cine phials and glasses tinkling in all directions. “My wife ” “Almost your widow, Matthew,” in terpolated Mrs. Hayward, theatrically. “Planning already lor a second mar riage after I am dead. “fiut 1 11 thwart their flue arrange moots, ” he cried. “Bend for Dilmann at once. “Ask him what he means by keeping me on this low diet. “Does he take me for an old woman? or a sick gu it “I’ll let him know that I am not to be trifled with. “Doctor Monroe indeed! ’ Apparently that night was the turning point of Mr. Murray’s disease, whatever the latter might be. He improved with a rapidity which was well-nigh marvellous—he flung his physio to the dogs, and assumed the daily cares of business once more. But he was resolutely fngid to his wife. “Dear Matthew,” said Ethel to him one day, “do, please, tell me how I have offended you?” “Woman,” he said, “you have been as false as yon are fair.” “Matthew 1” “And engaged yourself to Doctor Monroe.” “Never!” cried Mrs. Murray. “Sarah said so,” asserted the hus band. “She never could have told such an outrageous falsehood,” said Mrs. Mur ray; burstidg into tears. “I never did,” said the widow. “I said that Doctor Monroe had pro posed. “But I might have neglected to add that it was to me he proposed, not to EtheL “And we are to be married in the spring.” Mr. Murray’s pate despairing face grew blight as a May morning—he flung wide open his arms. “My own true wife!” cried he. And the next moment Ethel laughing and crying on his breast. But it passed for a slight misunder standing. Nobody ever told him that the widow Hayward had planned the little ruse which had so effectually aroused him from his growing delusion. Xbe Potomac Plata. was Preparations for the reclamation ef the Potomac flats are going forward rapidly In Washington. There has already been constructed about one mile of trestle work, and the tracks are being laid preparatory to putting on the locomotive now here which will propel the 40 mud cars now in course of being floated around by means of large scows to the trestle work on Kidwell bottoms. Work will be commenced there this week, should the weather continue fa vorable. The dipper which arrives here Friday will probably be the one which will be first at work. The scows will re oelve the mud. The gondola car, on which is now being placed two land-pile- drivers, is nearly ready ‘o go into setwise. The work of driving the piles on the the line of the Georgetown channel from near the south end of the Long bridge causeway up stream will be commenced this week. This is on the line where the sea wall will be constructed and which will form when complete a substantial wall of stone ma sonry work. There are now 160 men at work alto gether on the different, parts of this work, and more will soon be added. It is thought that by the 1st of March the whole force will be thoroughly organized, equipped and at work. The pile drivers, which will be in active operation this week, comprise one water machine and two land machines. The piles are on the ground, and nothing but unfavorable weather will be likely to interrupt the work. Six more carloads of railroad mm and two more track locomo tives have arrived. The men are impatient to begin, and all is activity and bustle about the storehouse and office at the foot of Thirteen-and-a-half street, where the machinery and materials for the enterprise is unloaded and adjusted for active opera tiona. PhAKTAnoi^hilosophy: “Remem ber, young man,” said Uncle Mom, “dat de best frien’ yer’s got on dis earth is a better frien’ ter himself dan he is ter you.” Tu garden Aauld be manured and plowed in winter so as to give time for the fresh manure tc be changed into plant food and to kill the eggs of insects. It is a prime nceesrity to a good crop of garden vege tables. • The life of Harem ladies can hardly be favorable to good health, even under the most favorable circumstances. They rarely take exercise, properly so called; in these days, indeed, many ate permittee to drive out, but only in shut-up carriages; but even that poor kind of exercise, is not partaken of by a large number, who are accustomed to the old-fashioned style ol living, borne pass years without crossing their own threshold. A lady (a native Ubristian, but one whose family kept up the old habits of seclusion which the Moslems seem to have introduced when they came into possession centuries sgo) actually lived within a mile and a hall of ttfe great river Nile, and had attained a middle age without having ever seen it nor, as she expressed no particular wish to do so, is it likely that she ever beheld those waters on which her country depends for its fertility, but probably died with out quitting her voluntary prison -tor in her case it. was not compulsory. Most of the wealthier establishments have some sort of garden, certainly, and qot a few have very good gardens, even in the heart ot the town; but the languid habits of tneir life are such that the ladies rarely walk; they prefer to sit in the ver andah and “smell the air,” os they say, and the gardener brings roses, jassmine and other flowers tied in somewhat stiff bouquets, and hands them to the slaves to present to them. The delight of strolling about to gather timers for oneself, or picking oranges from the bough, though hanging-in rich profusion within reach, hardly seems to occur to them; and some have been diverted and amazed at hearing that English ladies not only gather flowers for theinsetoee. but even like to cultivate Them and to pull up weeds, rake beds, and cut off blossoms with their own hands. Labor of any sort is looked upon by these caged birds of women as a thing for those compelled to it by poverty or dire necessity of some kind, never as a voluntary thing, still less as one which sweetens the life of man, when not in excess, more than all the luxuries ol idleness and wealth. Slavery has, no doubt, much to do with this contempt for work, but the languor of an inactive and purposeless existence perhaps does more. They wander listlessly trom room to room or sit for hours smoking, till the head must become more or less stupefied by the fumes of the tobacco—though it certainly is a lighter kind than that in use in Europe—and never seem to think of roaming about in the garden, even m the most delightful weather. “ W hat do you do all day long?” an English lady once asked a friend in a harem—a per son of more than average intelligence, be it said—who often complained of head ache, and was stouter than natural at her age, for she was then at most only two or three and thirty. “Why,” she answered, “I go and sit on that divan yonder, and then come hire and sit upon this one awhile,” shrugging her shoulders as she spoke. St. Anno*. Outside one of the gates of Rome— the resort ou Sunday and holiday-keep ing Romans, and, precisely, Porta Pia. through which Victor Emmanuel til his army enteied in 1870—there stands, halfway between two wayside eating and drinking houses, a little church, dedi cated to Agues, a young virgin martyr, who suffered death rather thau be mar ried to the son of the Governor of Rome, who was dying of love for her. She was only thirteen years of age; but girls of that age are women in Italy. So she answered his protestations of love by saying: “I am affianced to him whom angels serve, and whom the sun and moon adore. ” She was then threat ened—says her biographer—with being pnblioly dishonored in an infamous place, and then to be killed in a most cruel way. “My Divine Spouse, ” she answered —“the God of purity, whom I serve- will deliver mo from your impious de signs!” She was then thrown on a burning pile! but, laughing and singing praises of God, she defied the flames, which could not be made to bnrn her. She was then made to walk naked through the streets of Rome, and was alone exposed in a place of bad repute —the Agonal Circus. There her bail grew miraculously long and covered her like a cloak, and the Governor’s son was struck with blindness. At last she was beheaded. The place of bad repute where she was exposed was afterwards transformed Into a ohapel, and over it was built one of the most beautiful churches in Rome. It is not there, however, that she was buried. The Christians of that day took her body and buried it in a catacomb outside ol Rome. The catacomb bears her name, and over her tomb was built a splendid church during Constantine’s reign, and this church war restored by Paul IIL in the sixteenth century, and still later by Pius IX, It is in this little church that on every anniversary of her death are brought on cushions two little lambs decorated with flowers and ribbons. They are blessed, and they are taken to the Pope, who sends them to the Con vent of St Cecilia, where they are shorn of their wool, which is afterwards woven into the pallium* worn by the Pope and Cardinals and some of the Archbishops. The Chnroh of St Agnes, ontside the walls, is known by the image of the lamb, which is outside the door. All visitors to Rome make a point of going to see it Funny T»<lng». Some very funny things happened at the coronation of the King of the Sand wich Islands. One of the highest offi cers of the army was sent around with the invitations. He stopped on tho docks to see some of the idlers who were attracted by curiosity to the pack age in his hands. One of them offered him twenty-five cents for an invitation, and in a short time he had disposed of the whole package, and pocketed a nice little sum, but some of the visitors who were present at the coronation astonished the authorities. The Ha waiian Gazette pictures the embarrass ment likely to arise when the titles of nobility are conferred. “It will at first sound odd to say, 'three pounds of sau sages, your grace I’ or mother says will your lordship match this pink ribbon?’ or'two and a half'pounds iff batter, fresh, Sir Charles, bat we will soon get accustomed to it. Besides we shall only be beginning with oar aristocracy where many of the older onee end. A washerwoman in St, Petersburg-was a oountesse. Many a scion of English nobility has split rails, minded sheep, or served drinks behind a bar in Amer ica and Australia. One here used to drive an express. The courtly nobility of France had, after the explosion of 1789, to betake themselves to foreign lands sad teach dancing.” A street-car conductor said to a New York man; “I was just thinking wnen I was at the theatre the other night that these fellows thrt write plays loose the best ohanoe in their lives by not passing a whole day in a street ear some time. Maybe some of them do, for men travc', up and down with me for hours some times, now and then making notes in a book, but not appearing to take notice of anybody, and then sometimes they jump out and get into another car with out seeming to know where they are going. This is one kind of crank, as we call them. These are not troublesome cranks, however, for they never ask any questions, and don’t keep a fellow en gaged talking the way some others do until the car, is several blocks past the place whore some old lady crank wanted to get out, and probably nisists on being taken back to the right place.” “Wnat is the most troublesome kind of or&nn you meet with?” “Well, the newspaper crank is a pretty bad one in .this way, that is he is liable to get you into trouble. I know how it is myself. I’ll tell you how it was. I didn’t know he was a reporter, and I talked a kind of confidentially to him, as I am doing to you now, way up to Harlem nearly. We laughed and chatted, and I didn’t think anything about it till the next morning, when the starter came to me with the paper in his hand and says: 'Look at herel What’s this you have been doing?’ And there was every word down T had said, with the number of my car and the time o^ the tnp and everything. The worst of it was I had made some remarks about the starter and gave something away that I snould not. There was no harm in it, bat it looked bad in print and different from what I had said, though he had got my words, for these reporters can mind every thing.” “Well, what was the result?” . “The starter had me bounced, of course.” A few mornings ago the rejiorter jumped on a Fourth avenue car at Fifty-fourth street. There sat opposite him a lady about 40. well preserved and good looking, thongh not attractive. She was dressed expensively, though not gaudily, and shone with a glittering display of diamonds. When the oar reached Twenty-third street, and cer tain parties essayed to board it, the conductor told them that the oar went no further than Astor place. At this announcement, the well-dressed lady, who had hitherto appeared as calm as a mummy, except that she was full- blooded, burst into a perfect storm of rage at the conductor. “You should have told me when I got on,” she said, her eyes flashing like her diamonds, thongh emiting a differ ent kind of light. “I did tell you, madam, said the con ductor, half terrified, “that this oar stopped at Astor place,” “I didn’t understand you that way,” she responded, as if the conductor was under an obligation to read her dreams and the interpretation thereof. She broke out into a tirade of abuse, which was continued almost without cessation until the oar reached Astor Place, and her plump form was half concealed in Coleman’s slush when she got oat to wait on the next ear. She launched a parting threat to report the conductor to Mr. Vanderbilt. The reporter then inquired oi the conductor why the lady was so choleric. Tee flout ea. During the ice months the route usu ally taken by European steamers is as far southward as the forty-third parallel of latitude, longitude fifty degrees. This route, however, is full' of danger from floating iceberga. Detentions are also frequent from March to August In striking contrast to this trans-atiantic route is that tested by Captain SI ack- ford. This route crosses the fiftieth meridian to the southward of latitude forty-one degrees. In 1875, during which great quantiiies of ice were en countered, this commander began to experiment on running south to clear the fog, and in 1882, after making ten passages east and west on the Litter route, from March to August, inclusive, he encountered only one hour and thirty- one minutes of fog between Cape Hen- lopen and Cape Clear on the eastern passages, and on the western passages sixteen hoars srui nineteen minutes in all, and, he ados, “not a particle of ice has been seen during the entire season.” By the extreme southern route, as com pared with the Cape Race route, the loss of oistiuiee each passage is one hundred and sixty-three miles; but thia distance can be readily nnuh> up ip the time that the vessel would be hindered by the tog on the northern route, end the accompanying perils are avoided. Captain Shackford says that if the pub lication of his paper should be the means of causing one shipmaster to trv tha southern route, or deter one steamer irom ramming into an ice-field on the eastern edge of the Great Bank in spring of the year, ha will be amply repaid for any time and trouble it may have cost him. Aa the annual descent of the Arc tie ice over the Newfoundland Banks, so dreaded by seamen, may be expected to begin at any day, it would be well for navigators to profit by Captain Shaekford's experience. Olfl Jadgaa. While our Judges are doomed to re tirement at the age of seventy, Judges in England and Ireland have preaided in the several Courts long after that age. At present there are five in Eng land over Seventy—V loe-Chanoeilor Bacon, eighty-four; Mr. Jostioe Man ia ty, seventy-four; Mr. Jostioe Philh- more, seventy-three; Mr. Jostioe Grove, seventy-one; and Lord Chancellor Selberne, a little over seventy. The late Lord Chancellors St, Leonards and Campbell presided over the Courts of Chancery in admirable mental vigor at the agea respectively of eighty and sixty-nine, and the Irish Lord Chan cellor Plankett at seventy-four, and Lord Chief Jostioe Lefroy at ninety-one, The two youngest Judges in England now are Judges Cave and Bowen, forty eight and forty-seven respectively. The wonders in connection with the excavations now in progress at Hell Gate, in the East river in charge of General Newton, are, perhaps, known to but few of the many millions of peo ple of the country. Although one of the most gigantic feats of civil engi ceering and perilous undertakings, few persons residing within hailing distance of the great works have the slightest idea of the danger to which are exposed the human bees who are laboring, year after year, in the constraotion of a honey-comb out of the solid re«± form - ing the bed of the river, which when completed, will be filled, not with honey, but with the water now serenely flaw ing oyer its roof. A Journal reporter yesterday made an exploration oi the subterranean works opposite i.inety- seoond street The present operations were immediately after the termination of those at Hallet’s Point, consequently having been in progress about five years. At high-tide there was visible about 100 square feet ef Flood Rook, and consid- eiably more at low water. By the removal of this great barrier to naviga tion at this point, it is expected to secure 1,200 feet wider channel, with an average depth of twenty-six feet, permitting the entrance by way of the Sound of the very largest ships. The distance from the surface of the rook to the floor of the excavated chambers is about seventy-five feet, the descent being made by means of a winding staircase, with landings at intervals of about twenty steps. Once at tha bottom, a general survey of tha surroundings revealed a labyrinth of chambers or long tunnels, like avenues, hewn out of solid rock. Looking dosvn the length of these, the vision was lost in impene trable darkness in the distance. Glim mering lights fitted hither and thither having the appearance ot twinkling stars. Occasionally toon os of voices or of the clashing of steel were heard. The engineer led the way down one avenue some hundreds of feet, across another westward, then southward and again crossing eastward until they were upwards of three hundred feet from the mam shaft or about two hundred feet from the projecting surface of Flood Rock under the river proper, bearing toward the New York side and near the Nigger Head Reef. Some portions ot the walk were com paratively smooth and dry, while others were extremely rugged and not only wet, bat ankle and knee-deep in water. The torch illy served to show all these, being mainly intended to gnide the liearer through the different windings and headings, which are all lettered and numbered at their entrance, viz., “N. 16-N. 27—S. 9—W. 15.” etc. The reporter, consequently, after crawling through a low excavation, straightened himself only to step a foot or two into a stream or puddle, coming out of whieh he struck his head against some pro jecting rock or low roof. Then again, at certain points the water from the river percolated threngh the roof, Ire qnently extinguishing the torch, winch would be relighted from that of a miner, one or two of whom were met at almost every turn. “Clear the track north wardl” came through the darkness in sepulchral tones, and a moment afterward darted by a mule with a headlight, drawing loaded ear on which sat the driver. The road being clear, the journey was resumed. Suddemy a rush of water is heard. A fissure in the rock has given way, and men hurry to the scene with great quantities of oakum, pieces of pine and tools, and in less than five minutes the flow of water is cheoxed. Thus they have to contend with unforeseen forces almost cont anally. “if by accident,” said the engineer, “an opening would occur of any mag nitude which we could not stop, the result would be terrible, for the great pressure of water would quickly enlarge the onfice and the escape of the men wonld be impossible. '* in the new chambers men are bus} drilling holes which at e charged with three ounces of dynamite. The con cossion caused by the explosion of these cannot be heard at the extreme portions of the mine, but there is a peiceptible vibration of the works. There are at present employed in the mine and on the surface 180 men. These are divided into three squads, each working eight boors, thus consuming the whole 24 hours. The day squad works from 8 a. m. until 4 p. m. , and the two night squads from 4 p. m until midnight and midnight to 8 a. v. respectively. The night squads do ail the minor drillings and all the blasting, while the day squads are engaged in removing the debris of the previous night, and drill ing the apertures for the great and final blast The men are provided wit|i rubber suits in addition to their own clothing, and with a miner’s hat having a torch attached, which is the only- light by which they perform their work in the pitchy darkness. A narrow- gauge railway extends through each avenue, upon which are run tram-cars for the conveyance of the rock and s ind to the main abaft whence it is hoisted by machinery and dumped into a lighter alongside the rocks, and ia in tain towed to a spot several hundred yaids down the river, where there is a hole 125 feet deep into which the debris is cast. Near the shaft is a large pas sage or room into which hot air is introduced for the purpose of drying the miners’clothes. A hundred suits hung there sizzing on the pipes. The temperature in the mine averages 70 degrees, and is very pure, the air ma chines and compreesera for working the compressed air drills being located on the surface, as are also the boiler and engine rooms used in hoisting. By this means the system < f ventilation u perfect. The boles now being drilled for the final blast are 10 feet deep and and three inches In diameter, and aa fast as drilled they are plugged with pieces of wood until the work is com pleted, when they will be charged with dynamite. These holes are generally bored in the upper portion of the pillarr, several in each and some in the roof rock. The system of explosion will be similar to that adopted at H&llettp Point. All the holes being charged, wires will be placed in each charge, the whole number being merged into one, which will be charged with electricity, from a powerful battery plaoed on the main shore, after all the buildings and machinery have been removed from the mine and the surface of the rook. Lieutenant Derby said that at the pres ent rate of work, if the appropriation asked for ia forth coming, everything wonld be ready for the great blast in October or November next; bnt if it becomes neoeaf ary to wait for the action of the next Congress, the force of men moat necessarily be reduced and the completion of operations will be delayed at least 18 montka. The slanting rays of a declining sun had already tinged the western horizon when Sir 'John Moore, then major in H. B. majesty’s service, entered a small hamlet in Minonaca at the head of a small detachment of troops. Orders were issued that the soldiers should be quartered upon the inhabitants, whose poor hats promised but scant oomfort and worse fare. Sir John, together with the officers not on immediate duty, turned eagerly toward the only inn which the place ooiud boast of. Wea ried with a long march, it was with some impatience he found their further progress impeded by a large ciowd col lected in the centre of the street, am’, it was with no gentle accents he bade them make way. A young gypsy had been dancing to the sound of the tambourine, and paused suddenly nt the interruption. Such a scene was no noyelty to the soldiers, but one and all forgot their weariness and reined in their horses. Sixteen summer sunz could scarce have tinged with a deeper brown the natural olive of her cheek, in which from modesty or excitement, the rich blood of the south was now mantling. Sir John looked ins admiration of the pretty figure before him, then, turning to the man who accompanied her, he said: “Bring your tambourine and the girl to the inn; yon shall be well re warded.” He spurrelTup his horse and was soon dismounting in front of the inn, where he hoped to secure rest and food. The dancing in the street continued some time after he had disappeared, and it was not until one by one the lookers-on had left that Zara and her companions sought the inn. Ushered into the pretence of the officers Zara danced with as mnch ease and grace as if she had not plied her vocation since early mom. “Can yon do aught else as well as dancing, Zara?” asked Sir John. “Can you, like the prophets of old, foretell coming events?” “That I can, benor,” she replied quickly. “No Zingaree woman can surpass Zara in reading the future. Your hand, Senor.” She took the hand he offered and examined the lines that crossed each other, “What a frown!” exclaimed Sir John. “Yon read no good therein. Am I. then, to die soon?’’ Will it be u.th or without honor? Come, good or bad, what is my fate?” “Truth is not always palatable, and may sound harshly in yaor ears, senor,” replied Zara. “Bahi Think, you I place my trust in year idle prophecies? A broad piece of gold shall cross your palm and may brighten my cnance, perchance.” “Gold cannot buy fate,* she replied, quietly. “My own name is written here. “A happy angary, fair Zara. If yon do but read the riddle so pleasantly, I most perforce bow in submission to your power. Are you to be my bride?” he added laughingly. The girl cast a quick scornful look into the handsome face of the young man and said firmly: “Didst hear that the eagle mated the daw, the lion with the fox, or one of yonr proud lords with a Zingaree? No; no; though side by side run the streams of our lives, they can neyer mingle.” “You have given me a problem to solve instead of unraveling the tangled threads of my future. 1 thought love and marriage were always the burden of a gypsy's story. Is there no love for me?” “Tbere is,” she replied, with all the fearless boldness of her race. “Love for one to whom you may not stoop, and to whom your love will prove a curse,” “She stands before me,” said Sir John, laughingly. “She peaks lightly of her own dishonor,” he added in Eng lish to those about them—for till then he had spoken m her own tongue. “Darest thou name dishonor and my name in the same breath?” the girl cried, passionately. “Thy life were not worth little at snob moment! Bnt,” she added, changing from the angry, revengeful tones to the free careless manner she had previously used, “the decrees of fate are unalterable. A base requital is foreign to thy nature, and thou wilt owe me much. Great in name and fame, thou shaft vainly seek to diown the memory of Zara, the poor Gypsy girl” “Do we then pa-1 forever, Zara?” “No. Twice it is written shall my presence save you; but woe, woe to both, when face to lace we stand for the third time. Farewell 1” Ere Sir Jonu could detain her she was gone, and in the continaod whirl of war she was forgotten; yet, in o»lmer moments she would haunt his memory like the recollection of a beautiful dream, and he found that part of her prophecy was true—he could not forget. Years had passed. Tho first hour ushering in a new day had just dawned on June 10, 1809, when Sir John Moore, then General of the Army in Spain, stole quietly out of his tent and strode impatiently toward the city gates. Then challenge of the sentinels was answered until the last outpoet was passed, and he found himself on the higk road. “This strange unrest, these dark forebodings, were better fitted for some sick woman or love-lorn youth than one of my age and position,” he uttered, “Yet Zara, who has foretold that no barm shall reach me until once more we stand face to face, has not appeared. Verily hath her prophecy been fulfilled. Her image baunts me to-day as it did in the days when, young and beautiful, she vanished from my sight! Hath she then no better claim to my remem brance? Do I not remember the day when, panting with the. fever of grievt one wounds under the Egyptian sky, I felt a cool, soft hand upon my brow, and I knew a woman’s tender care and rainistratioii? Then, again, in the mountain pass, when lost, hopeless, and ready to sink with cold and weari ness, whose unlocked for presence saved, and once safe, fled ere I could frame a word cf thanks] In vain, Zara, hast thou warned me that our third meeting must be fatal I laugh thy forbodmgs to scorn, and laugh and long for thy presence! Strange destiny that binds two lives by such strange ties! loving and beloved, yet forever aliens, the playthings of idle prophecy. This may not endure. 1 will find her, and she shall leaye the tribe. Halt! Who goes there?" he exclaimed, as a form glided stealthily through the darkness. “Zara!” he cned, as, springing for ward, he grasped the mantle the drew oloae about her; “Zara!” he continued, yon can no longer escape me. Speak I” “Nay, Sir John, that may not be, We cannot change our destiny. Side / by sida we soon will be, but it will be beneath the green sod. Our hours are numbered. The sun that soon will rnre for us will have no setting. Corunna s ramparts will be bloody and English valor will not prevail. “Cease, Zara, I will not believe thy enraged fancy. Yet, should such be the fate to-morrow holds, death will bo welcome But to you, Zara, it cannot bring the doom you would have me think awaits ns both.” “My end is nc less certain. 1 sought your camp to-nig ht to betray a secret movement of tho enemy to which my tribe is pledged. I dared believe I could cheat the fate byftelling it to others, so that we might not meet. Hath it availed? A Zingaree’s vengeance is sure and swift ” “And has already overtaken thee, thou dark traitress r spoke a voice in the darkness, and before Sir John could draw a weapon, Zara had fallen to the ground, and her murderer had sped into the thick woods. “It was . .other who struck the blow," said Zara, faintly, ' Fart of the prophecy is fulfilled; the rest will soon follow. Bury me in the ramparts!” A sigh, a faint pressure of the hand, and Zara was no more. When, after the battle that proved so disastrous to the English, they lowered the body of their loved commander into his bloody grave, few noticed that a tresh mound of earth had been tram pled by tin jt feet, and fewer yet that the Gvpsy Zara lay side by side with bim she had loved, and in whose ser vice she had perished In Clon4 Lana. Mount Hood stands about sixty miles ^ from the great Pacific, as tbe crow flies, - and about two hundred miles up tbe Co lumbia River, as it is navigated. Mount Hood stands utterly alone. And yet he is only a brother, a bigger and smaller broth er, of a well-raised family of seven snow- peaks. At any season of tbe year, you can stand on almost any little Eminence within two hundred miles of Mount Hood and count seven snow-cones, clad m eter- J nal winter, piercing tbe clouds. There is ‘ no tcene so sublime as this in al! tbe world. The mountains of Europe are only hills in comparison. Although some of them are quite as high as those of Oregon and Wash ington Territory, yet they lie far inland,and are so set on the top of otbur hills that they lose much of their majesty. Those of Oregon start up sudden and solitary, and almost out of the sea, as it were. So that while they are really not much higher then the mountain peaks of the Alps, they seem V» be about twice as high. And being all in the form of pyramids er cones, they are much more imposing and beauliful then those of either Asia or Europe. But that which adds most of all to the beauty and sublimity of the mountain scenery of Mount Hood and hut environs is tbe marvelous cloud effects that encompass him. In the first place, you must understand that all this religion here is one dense black mass of matchless and magnificent forests. From the water's edge up to the snow-line clamber and cling the dark green fir, pine, cedar, tamarack, yew, and jumper. Some of the pines are heavy with great cones as long as your arms ; some of the yew trees are scarlet with berries; and now and then you see a burly juniper te nding under a load of blue and bitter fruit. And nearly all of these trees are mantled in garments of moss. This moss trails and swirgi lazily in tbe wmd, and sometimes droops to the length of a hundred feet. Ia these great dark forests is a dense undergroth of vine-maple, hazel, mountain ash, marsh ash, willow, and brier bushes. Tangled in with all this is the rank and ever-pres ent and imperishable fern. Up ard through and over all this darkness of forests, drift and drag and lazily creep the most weird and wonderful clouds in all this world. They move in great caravans. They seem literacy to be alive. They rise with the morning sun, like the countless millions of snow-white geese, swaus, and other water-fowl that frequent the rivers of Ore gon, and slowly ascend the mountain sides, dragging themselves through and over the topsot trees, heading straight for the sea, or hovering about the mountain peaks, like mighty white-winged birds, weary of flight and wanting to rest. They are white as snow, these clouds of Orezon. fleecy, and rarely, if ever, still; constantly moving m contrast with tne black forests, these clouds are strangely sympathetic to one who worships nature. Of course in the rainy season, which is nearly half the year here, these cloud effects are absent. At such times the whole land is one va->t ram-cloud, dark aud dreary and full of thunder. To see a show-peak in all its sublimity you must see it above the clouds. It is not necessary that you should climb the peak to do this, but aioend some neighbor ing hill and have the white clouda creep up or down the valley, .through and over the black forest, between you and the snowy summit that pricks the blue home of stars. What coloi! Movement! Miraculous life! A Great Parmer. Dr. Glenn’s ranch in California com prises about 60,000 acrei of land, and the number of acres ia wheat eaoh year ranges between 40,000 and 50,000. Reckoning an average of from 20 to 25 bushels to the acre, the aggregate crop eaoh year amounts to something more than 1,000,000 bushels. This enormous amount of grain requires vast appli ances for planting and bringing it to market; and the capital invested in machinery alone sums up a considerable fortune. During the harvest time there are employed on the entire ranch some 500 men. Dr. Glenn was general-in- chief of his foroe, aud bis ranch is divi dad, for convenience of operation, into nine smaller ranches—each with a dwelling-house, barns, blaoksmith shop and other necessary buildings. In charge of these are seven foremen, un der whom are sixteen blacksmiths, fourteen carpenters, six engineers six machinists, five commissaries and n merous. cooks and servants. The oo: mon workmen ure divided into gangs, and detailed where they are needed. There are needed 130 gang plows, 00 herders, to which belong 183 wagons; 6 cleaners, 100 harrows, 18 seeders, 0 threshers, 0 engines. Besides, there are many smaller instruments and veh icles, which cannot be classified. Co operating with their human brethren m the great labor are 1,000 work-horses and mules, with a kinship of brood mares and younger stock which have not yet achieved the dignity of lalmr. There are 32 dwelling-houses. 27 bams 14 blacksmith shops, and other struct- nree sufficient to swell the afforesrata to 100, The machinery oould not be replaced for $125,000; the work-horses and mules are worth $110 000; and the brood mares and young stock $75 000/ The ranch is. about twenty milts above the town of Colusa.