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' ... ,t_l; - .. : . ' ' ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER As.a+-~*r. t,m ?s.;?? - ,.. S.ss ^ ,^v/ "! s. ' " ' *y -> ; ' * (i f"ln/ v BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILJ E, S. C., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1877. NO. 15. VOLUME XXY. """ * ^ 1 3 ~ ?ATTA1.n/1 TtTI fll VO/1 /?lr\f.V> YES! I'FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD. Suppose. a [He.] 8uppose, Fade tie, that I, instead of keeping tryst j With yon to-night, had staid away to doze, j Or jail upon Miss Brant, or play at whistSuppose ? | j ['he.] 8nppoFe, ^ Ytvi had ? Think you I should have cared ? j f Indeed, ' Ain't yon a bit concei don't take my rose? ! , A gift to me?from whom V Well, Joseph Mead, ( Suppose ? [He.] Suppose I 1' It ?? Then I'm to understand, Fadette? 1 ^ If I must read your words as plainest prose? j J1 My preneiioo matters not to you, and yet? j Suppose. \8 [She.] Suppose ! e Yoa are to understand me so ? You're freo ; [ fi Do, if you wish ! And oh ! the river's fro::e ; c What skating we shall have ! To-morrow we? j " That's Jose? h (He.] And Joso Be banged. It seems to me, Miss Lowe, that \ fi you ; n Are acting rather lightly; rumor goes i A Th*t he?but since 1 seem to Ijpre, adieu!? j a l_3ne.j nupyunc? j i |He.l Suppose ], Wc say good-night. i ? f {She. J - Good-night, sir, and good-bye ! ' n fTIe.] What does this moan, Fadette ? Are r you ? ^|Sbo.] We'll close (] This scene at once. My words are plain, sir, I h Suppose? j ti [He.] Compose Yourself, Fadette. I jj [She.] My name, sir, is Miss Lowe! j [He.] Come, come, Fadette, do look beyond : r j* fr> your nose, And? [She.] . Here's your ring, sir! fHe.} I receive it, though Suppose? : g [She.] Suppose | p You do, air V?you? i r [He.] Eaough, Miss Lowe; Farewell! ia 'Tis best; I've been deceived in yon, God j 8 knows! | C Coquetto! ft heartless flirt! a fc'aughty belle j ^ Who chose? ' i " [She.], Suppose ' : h Oh ! let's part as frienda! I hate you- there ! | b [lie ] F&dotte ! why, sweet, in tears! This j o * _. eur^y. shows fl You'll pardon me, a brute ! [She.] And Frank, we'll never i d , Suppose. l) . I a We; ; ? 00>? {I CHAPTER I. j a " Dart, Maitland, Dart & Co." i f? So the name stood upon the great j ^ brass plate ; and in these names had the ' u business of the bank been ptudeutly and | ^ profitably conducted for as many years ' a as the majority of the inhabitants of j ^ Hicrlvborongh oould recall. j ( ] Trade panics had laid ".ate many ! another long-established Lrm ; bank- j Bf ruptcy had swooped unexpectedly upon tl many a house where wealth had seemed j jj as limitless as here ; but the bank of t] Messrs. Dart, Maitlaud, Dart & Co. held > t< its head high above all treacherous: p, waters, and stood unmoved and utterly ^ secure after the heaviest, gales had j 0 passed. - " t< The name of the firm was a passport j of trust and reliance, as well was a ^ prompt introduction to the first society p of the country ; and the present repre- y aentatives were these: Manrice D-irt, s the senior partner, a handsome man of a fifty-three years, who imagined the p wishes, the weaknesses, and the hopes ! n peculiar to other men, could not move I ^ tiim now ; and Walter Maitland, both in appearance and manner, a strong con- , trast to his senior partner. Though but A ten years younger, he looked nearer ^ thirty than forty, and tiie tranfcness ol hie blue eyes, and the gay words so ? prompt npon his lips, seemed doubly frank and doubly gay, contrasted with ^ his senior's reticence and gravity. The , third partnar was one in name alone. His father's death had left him a rich i F share iu ihe bank, but his only inter-! course with it was the polite periodical i ? acknowledgment of its having swept j away the debta. which were the worst [, enemies he had had to fi</ht since he entered the army. About the "Co." there was, of course, that vagueness which is inseparable from the cognomen. * In the outer world it was supposed that1 3 an unlimited number of people had in- s vested fheir savings or then- patrimony | * on purpose to be considered "of the H firm." But among the clerks only one \ ^ case was known with certainty. He was | 4 neither the oldest nor the most ex-1 perienced, though the most cheerful, j * perhaps, and the most industrious. He | had deposited iu the firm the sum which j * his father, through a forty years' course | 1 of valued and profitable managership, i s had accumulated to bequeath to him ; 3 and so, being enabled to draw what j double! his salary as clerk. Tom Leslie j ] looked upon himself as a partner of no 1 mean order, but built lofty castles for a j' time when his name should stand upon ' the brass plate otherwise than as " Co." I * Cheerfully and constantly he erecte I 1 1 these ediflccs; but to attempt to lay 13 their foundations on /(. rri firpia, cither j by saving or speculating, never entered ' : Tern's head. With hu mother?a little | ' old lady, as hopeful, and cheerful, and , 1 trustful as he was himulf?Tom lived in ] a pretty white cottage 1 eyond the town ; j and here he had flowers all the year ! i round, and birds, tLat sang in the gloomiest weather, and a piano on which 11 he was no mean performer. Andas;f regularly as Saturday morning came k around, Tom, taking his hat, would say, 1 in the most natural manner : 1 " I think we should like a couple of j t the younger fellows out to dinner tomorrow?shouldn't we, mother? Their ! ( salaries are not like mine; and things are i < dear, you say." True, their saTaries were not likehis, but ; theu h? would not have the small, bright11 house, nor the small, bright mother, de-1 < nied any comfort he could think of. and 1 ' bo there was never one penny of Tom's ' salary left when the year was up. 1 nr twice Mrs. Leslie would in- i 1 i ruefully whei e her. son picked up j 1 ^leuinnerless clerks wliom he delighted ' ] to bring home to supper?or, as he al- ; ' ways called it: " to a little music." But her genial hospitality was, after all, [ i as prompt as his, and so, though she < kept the accounts, there was, as I said, j 1 never a penrfV of Tom's salary left when ' the year was up. |' file thinks that that ?400 a year of j i his is a king's revenue," thought Mrs. j Leslie, one Saturday morning, watching her son cross the road, drop his gift into ; the expectant hand of the crossing i < sweeper, and turn at the corner to nod j J . te her.y ' " He_jwill soon expect me to : adopt a few young men whose salaries 11 Vis - ire less than his own. If he had but inlerited his father's saving nature !" She tried to regret this dolefully, but ,fter all she could not help the warmth >f perfect satisfaction filling her eyes. Even his practical father had rejoiced hat his nature was his mother's from he time that nature began to assert itelf in little Tom?"Little Tom " then ohis parents; "Little Tom Leslie"aferward among his school-fellows, "Litle Leslie " now among his fellow-clerks. On this nartieular Satunlav mominc. s he walked to th.e bank, Tom loitered a ittle in one street?a quiet street of landsome private houses, before one of , rhich stood a couple of cabs piled with loxes. Tom waited long enough to be ure that the cabs bore nothing but lug- ( age. Then he walked briskly on, and, ntering the bank excitedly, told his ; sllow-cierks of the arrival of the < olonel's household; and for fully five \ linutes forgot, in his excitement, to add , .is genial invitation for the morrow. When the coming of the regiment had >een discussed, and Tom's pleasant in- , itation accepted, he turned to his desk, ot to loiter again throughout the day. ( lU hour afterward, Mr. Dart drove up, , nd witli a quiet "good morning," assed through the bank to his own pri- ] ate room. Here presently Mr. Mait- ] md joined him, and, standing before ne nre, uiscusseu vanuuu uuiuh lu iu wu ( ews?among them, of coxiree, the ar- ] ival of the regiment. "Colonel Conyngham has only one ( aughter. We must help to introduce er. Young Dart, having once belonged , o the regiment, gives it, as it were, a ( laim upon us." , " The colonel's daughter will need but , ittle introduction," remarked Maurice ] )art, quietly. i CHAPTER n. j " Dart, Maitland, Dart & Co." * The names stood unaltered on the 1 Teat plate; yet?except the sleeping . artner, away in India now?each one epresented by that sign was perfectly 1 ware tnat a great alteration una uoeu to wine in himself ever since Colonel Jonyngham and his daughter had been iving in Highborongh. The strong bank 1 alls no longer limited his hope and amition. Beyond them stood revealed a E ome of love, and ease, and sunshine, , rightly possible, and in this future the . nly mission of the good old bank was to 1 iruish the home with luxury. . . It was a winter night. The bnnk win- * ows were bolted and barred, the great 1 ooks were locked in the trusty safes, ^ ud the manager was asleep up stairs, : ith the blunderbuss beside his bed. 1 !ut in his brilliantly-lighted drawing- 3 x>m at home, the senior partner sat lone?a 6triking-lookiug man in his I rening dress, with the hot-house flowers 8 iding in his coat. The room had been c. lied with guests up to this time, but J ow Mr. Dart sat alone before the fire, uried in a thought which deepened 8 linnte by minute, until the door was pened, and Walter Maitland re-entered * le room he had lately left. * ' i couia not neip coming uacK, nu lid, beginning hurriedly to speak, as if 1 10 words forced themselves from him T l his nervous haste. " There is one ling about which I must speak to you * >night?about which I have wanted to J peak to you a long time. I feel "?he J as leaning against the chimney-piece * pposite his friend, and looking with in- , mse ecru tiny into his quiet face?" that * have been dreaming a dream which a rord of yours could at this moment dis- 1 el. Teil me if a greater kindness than 1 our silence, though the kindness is 1 are to be the motive of that. Tell me t once, Dart. It cannot be very * ileaaant to you to see my anxiety. You . re far too good a fellow to feel pleasure ' a that." * "What am I to tell you?" inquired j laurice Dart, without meeting his com- j lanion's eyes. " Surely, you know. I said to myself rhen I met Isabel here in your house , o-night, I would find out if my fears rere well grounded; and if I could not liscover. I would ask you for the truth , >efore I left. Dart, end this wearing bus- ( icnso on me. It has been growing j hrougli all these months side by side ^ rith my love, and has become unbeara- i )leatlast." Maurice raised his head now, and met j lis companion's anxious, questioning yes. j "I am glad you have spoken, Mait- , and," he said. " I have guessed at rour anxiety, while I have felt my own, ind I hatfb often wished to vbreak the lilence we have held oh this one point. , fancied you had something to tell me. ! fancied so but now when I saw you reinter the room." "Indeed, no," exclaimed Walter, with lis usual frankness. " I wish to Heaven 1 L had. I wish I dared to say that Isabel lad given me encouragement enongh to nake me even hope. And I could not ?k her to?to love me whilo I felt that rou knew how useless it would be." " I do not know," returned Dart?his rords sounding very slowly after Waler's eagerness, yet all his self-command ailing to hide their new ring of hope. 1 Isabel has never heard a word of love rom iiie. She is gentle and kind, and filing always; but I cannot read be,-ond." " To me, too, she is bright and pleas int always," put in Maitland, restlessly, ! 'and I can discover nothing more. I; fancied you could put me out of one :)hase of this uncertainty." "And vou are very giad to find I caniot," said the elder partner. And then their eyes met, with a smile which was strangely wistful for such itrong and manly faces. "Dart," paid Mr. Maitland, "you are j ;he elder man?the richer?the better, j x?o. You shall speak first. Do it as joou as you can." " Seuiority has no claim in such a case f is this," said the senior partner. " We ; ;an wait." " I can wait no longer," put in the ' fonnger man, impatiently. " Anything will be better than this suspense. Why jn earth should wo wait? Isabel knows is both thoroughly now. She knows we are both old for this love of ours to t)e anything but deeply earnest. She j knows enough of us and of our positions to make her decision easy to her. So ' let us knoT/ the worst, or?best. lou ; Lave the right to speak first." "I will not take it," said Mr. Dart, ; speaking more quickly than he had yet ilone. "Let us write. Let ns write?: together." A few minutes silence, while Walter j thought thiR over?leaning his head on fchfl nrm which rested on the chimney piece. " Let that be decided," urged Maurice, j " We will write to-morrow. Let her re-! ;eive the two letters together, that ehe ! may think of us both together. Promise | me that your letter shall be ready for j to-morrow's post." f?3j?? r chapxeil in. The fire roared aud cracked cheerily in the private rooia at the bank, but neither of the partners had arrived. "I never knew him bo late," remarked Tom Leslie, as if finishing aloud a puzzling conjecture. "Who?" Old Dart?" "Mr. Dart?yes." " Leslie feels it incumbent upon him to uphold the dignity of his partners," put in another clerk. "His breast swells proudly with a fellow-feeling." " What an idle set you are this morning !" remarked Tom, turning from his desk with a quick, kindly smile which mn/lp his facfl ho nleasant to look xipon. '1 As soon as I senior partner I shall give you all a sweeping dismissal." The listeners laughed, enjoying the absufdity of the idea ; and one or two questioned him, with mock anxiety, as to the treat he intended to stand them on the occasion. Through all the laughter Tom pursued his work, and Dart noticed this when he entered the bank, and though it was but very curtly he answered Tom's quiet greeting, jet before he reached the inner ioor he turned and spoke to him. " Cool outside, Leslie. Keep up good fires." "It is hard," he muttered to himself, "to pass him without a word." Then Mr. Dart let the spring door 3lose behind him, and, sitting down in his office chair, leaned on one arm only ?as very calm men do when they aro ill it ease, as well as tired. He was sitting so, looking moodily lown into the fire, when Mr. Maitland entered the room. The senior partner lid not turn to greet him, and even tvhen Walter stood upon the rug beside lim he did not venture to meet his eyes. " Maurice," began the younger man, 'I suppose I may congratulate you. It 8 rather hard, yet no one ought to do t so heartily as I?I, -who know what a i jood fellow you are and what?what a vife yi-u have won." A glance of surprise into his friend's 'ace, and theu Mr. Dart spoke in a few vords, as was his custom : " She has refused me, Maitland." " Refused you !" Walter repeated the wori's, though lot incredulously. Only truth, lie trrairflifo/1 flmm on who*j cuuxu unro nui^uwu w*wu ?.?v? i ladly. " She has refused me, too," ho said, i ' She has never cared for me but as a ; riend?simply and only as a friend." "In a few kind words to me," snid i tfr. Dart, without lookiug up, "she old me she had given her love elsewhere. I was trying, when you came in, o prepare myself to tell you, c I rejoice n your happiness, Maitland,'and now 'ou?you come and say the same to me." i Buried in one long, snd thought, the | jartners in the good old firm sat in their . ileut room, while the work and pleasure >f the world went on without. But the < lay's duties had to be gone through, and 1 hese were not the men to shun them j elfishly. \ "I suppose we had better settle with jeslie about his holiday," remarked Mr. i kfaitland that afternoon, sending to sum- j qou Tom to the partners' room. "He i r-*11 IrtOA ATTAVTT rtll /"if CJ11 TY? TTi AT if Vl Ck I tlil IURO CfCi ? v* uuuiiuu* m mv [ raits longer." ] "He should not have postponed his ] loliday; he had his choice. Well, Leslie, 1 plien do yon wish to start ?" inquired ] he senior partner, when Tom entered . he room. ] " You said about the middle of Octo- 1 >er, and this js the twentieth." 3 "Thank yon, Mr. Dart, but if it \ vould make no difference, I would ( ather take my holiday from the twenty- i linth." 1 "Then it is to be hoped you are , joing on a visit," remarked Walter j tfaitland, pleasantly; "for November lays are not the pleasantest for a ] ourist." " I am not going on a tour, sir." Tom ( lesitated only a moment; then both of lis listeners were conscious of a new ;arnestness in his,voice: 1 "I should like to tell you, gentlemen, ' vhy I want my holiday then. The twenty- , linth is to be my wedding-day." Mr. Dart returned quietly to his rmMtivKv Aft* ?rr*cft frnm Iiih seat and moved to the fire, turning his jock to Tom. Before the eyes of both ;he partners there hovered a face which uad led them, too, to dream of a possible wedding-day?dreams from which they liad so lately been awakened. It would be hard, with these memories ( rising back, to talk to their favorite clerk :>f his good fortune; yet it was not in Walter Maitland's nature to let any sel- ( fish feeling prevent him. "Indeed, Leslie," he said, "I am surprised; but very glad, of course, to hear it. I prognosticate every happiness for your wife. Of course I cannot do so for you until I know who she is." " You know her well, gentlemen," said Tom, flushing. "Her father, Colonel , Conyngham, is my mother's cousin. We have rarely visited them, except when they were alone, because?at my mother's cottage, of course?we could not entertain their guests. "We have always been?as old friends and relatives should hp.! and I have alwavs loved Isabel. But it was necessary for us to wait a little. Though it would be difficult for you to realize the fact, gentlemen, a marriage is an expensive debt"? " You can go, Leslie," remarked Mr. Dart, without raising his head. * " And the holiday, sir ?" "Take your holiday when you choose; only don't make such a fuss about it." "And is there nothing more you intended to pay to me, Mr. Maitland ?" inquired Tom. "I should say," remarked Walter, with a jealous anger in his eyes, " it is an irreparable mistake you are making to marry on your own income, unless you had chosen a wife in your own position and used to such a life as your mother's." " My mother's life was such a life as Isabel j, at Isabel's age," said Tom, and for a moment his face was really handsome in its flush of honest pride; "and Isabel has known what my mother's life is for many a year past. Would I marry her under any false pretenses ?" - i presume, men, mat luiss vjonyngham knows the extent of your income ?" asked Maitland, with compressed lips; " or have you, in your foolery, been representing yourself as a partner in this bank ? Her eyes are open to the folly of what she iB doing, eh ?" " She knows everything, sir," rejoined Tom, bis eyes much, puzzled, and a little angry; "and she does not call it folly." "You can go." The clerk left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. " They must have had harrassing letters," he said to himself, trying to account for the partners' impatience. "They have a good deal of anxiety which wo subordinates are spared." And thinking this he took his Beat and wrote away more diligently than ever, while his fellow-clerks wondered over his mood. " Leslie ought to go." Those were the words which at last broke the silence of the room which Tom had left. "Yes." Then the day'B work, went on to its close, and the partners, separating on the bank steps, went their several ways thinking very longingly of one to whom both had been faithful. This was the first night for many months which either had spent without these bright, vague dreams of *hat his home might be with Isabel at its head; and their hearts were filled with resentment against the winner of the prize which they had coveted. "You knew this morning that she was to marry some oue else; why should your thoughts be harder, now that you know who has won her?" So a voice seemed arguing with them, but below nil onrynr tlmnftlitjl cnrorpfl HTV "J>- "ub*J """"O o~ " For him to be tbe one to gain her? he a paid servant in the bank !" CHAPTER IV. When Mr. Dart reached the bank next morning, -worn and harrassed after his sleepless night, be found that Maitland, contrary to his usual custom, had arrived before him. Though the two friends greeted each other as usual, most unusual silence settled presently upon them both. Eventually the senior partner, making au effort, remarked on the coldness of the weather, and his companion, putting down a letter which he held, answered leisurely. But his plea-ant blue eyes were restless and rather dim, and the moment the answer was given the silence wrapped them both at once. For an hour the office clock had ticked a solo in the quietness, when Walter Maitland rose slowly from his chair, with the Times unfolded in his hand, and, letting the paper fall, came and Btood upon the rug beside his friend, who had just re-entered from the bank. Very gently he laid his hand upon his senior's shoulder. "Dart, old friend ! I want to speak a few words to you in great earnestness. Since we met yesterday morning, I have grown to feel quite certain of one thing ?quite. The time has not in reality been very long, but it seemed so, anil gave me plenty of opportunity for thought; and what I have grown to feel so 6ure of is this : I shnll never marry now." " Nor I," replied Maurice, meaning it as men do not often mean the phrase, though they utter it as firmly. " I?fancied not. Now wo are both wealthy men, Dart," continued Walter, bravely and gently, "and this wealth we offered a day or two ago, to Isabel Conyngham. . You guess what I am goiug to say ? Shall she benefit by our ?love for her?" The senior partner looked up sl'v jly, questioning. A thought which . tad UI?V? rtll ^ *1. A uet3il mm Ckix JUigui iiiuuu v r? full meaning of these words quite plain bo him. "Yes, I see you have felt this," rammed Walter, quietly, " just as I have Felt it. I see that my words only came is an ending to your thought. I understand how it put it self to you. Leslie lias invested all his father's savings?all bis patrimony, as one may say?in our bank, and spends his whole days here most conscientiously, most trustwo* iLily. A.11 he draws for this cannot keep a house which we?you and I?like to picture as Isabel's home. And then his mother has to be" provided for. You tliink, Dart, that it would not hurt us, md could not make any difference to Captain Dart, who has no voice in any bank matters?if Lesbe had power to 3raw what would keep them more com fortably. In short?in short, old fellow! pou would make him equal partner with _ _ tf me. "With ourselves," said Mr. Dart, shortly?"with ourselves, you mean? If we were all equal partners "? "Let ub discuss it this afternoon. Think it over till then, Maurice " put in Walter, feeling that the senior partner should have time to make his decision ; " we will talk it over again." The discussion was duly held that afternoon, in the partner's private room; then Tom was summoned to hear the result of it. Though not a long interview, it was one impossible to describe ?for how could any words show the utter failure of Mr. Dart's efforts to maintain his grave reserve through Tom's extravagant, boyish, humble, proud, ridiculous gratitude ? Or describe Walter Maitland's persistent (though always disregarded) assurance that, as Mr. Dart had decided to make this arrangement, he was very glad to accede to it ? And, after that interview who could repeat the limitless promises Tom made to bis fellow clerks when be told tbem of bis marriage ? Or tell bow he reached home in half his usual time, and put his arms around his mother, with his eyes full of tears?just as if he had been thirteen instead of thirty ? But, above all, who could describe Isabel's mute, wondering gratitude to the two men she had given such pain ? "I am very, very grateful Tom," she said, appealing to him with tears thick upon her lashes ^ "but I would rather not talk about it?yet. Let me have time to think of it." Quick to understand her wish, and delicate in carrying it out, Tom left Isabel, delighted that his news had moved her bo, yet wondering over it a little, too?because the secret of the partners was so safe in the keeping of the girl whom they had?not unworthily loved. But hardest of all would it be to describe how brilliantly before Tom's eyes that night there came a vision of that identical brass plate, which really met him face to face, when, after his "holidays,"he first reached the heavy, familiar doors of the Highborouph bank ? 'Dart, Maitland, Dart & Leislie." " Co." was no more. m A Relic of Antictam. After the battle of Antietam, F. B. Reynolds, of Company F, Eighth O. V. I., from Clyde, Ohio, was reported among the missing. Nothing was ever heard from him, and his friends gave him up for dead. Recently a man in SVinrnfiVmror M<1 whn is Hnmetliinc of o> . ~ tin amateur antiquarian, and is getting up a museum of relics of the Indian and other periods, had Drougnt do mm u pocket looking-glass, which had been found in the grave of an unknown soldier on the battle-field of Autietam. The case was made of laurel, and on the inside contained Mr. Reynolds' name nnd former residence. The gentleman immediately communicated with the postmaster at Clyde, and sent the relic home to the frionds of the deceased, accompanied by a very feeling letter. There is no absurdity in approving as "well as condemning the same individual; for as few people are always in the right, bo on the other hand it is improbable they should be always in the wrong. KING JOHN OF ETHluriA. Hketch or an Afrlcnn King's Splendor the Outshines the Arnblan NI?hts--A Bai baric Banqneu [From the London Spoctator], Kin g John of Ethiopia is a strikin, and picturesque personage. As Kasss Prince of Tigre, claiming equal descen with Theodoras from King Solomon, h figured largely in the Blue books whic formed an exceedingly interesting bti little read history of the events whic] preceded the Abyssinian expedition; an that impression is deepened by the at count gi/en by Mr. de Cosson?who, L company with the late Gen. Kirkham visited King John at his camp, near God dar, the ancient capital of Abyssinia, r 1873?of the king and his surroundinge The country, its people, their wives, am their faithr are not-like any of the Afri can types in other portions of the con linent. They remind us of the Old Tee tament Scriptures; the whole picture i like that of the tribes and the feuu which we find in the book of Genesi and the books of the Kings. Long be fore the king is reached, the travgle hears tales of him?his strength, hi wisdom, and his prowess in war. A Axum, the former capital of Tigre, h is shown the great monolith, sevent; feet high, and told how Kassa used i cast his heavy spear over it?a groat fea to do with an ordinary lance?and stil practises this exercise when he comes t Axum. There is little disposition f> "forward" a traveler, the disposition t tVioir mnnfrv fppA from thfi fllranctf being as 6trong as ever in the Abjssians but the king promises bis help and pro tection to all who shall be properl; recommended to him by the French con sul at Massowah, and the reluctance o intervening personages has to give waj When Mr. de Cosson had taken pos session oi bis tent, near the monarch' enclosure, the king sent him two jar full oi' a dreadful thinkable called tedge fifty " breads," an antelope's horn ful of salt and pepper, and a live cow,whicl was killed and cut up before his eyes, am the meat piled up inpide the tent. Hi subsequently visited the house of Mur cher, one of the king's interpreters which waB, like all the Abyssian houses constructed of wood and branches, am there he saw a pretty sight, that of Mur cher's horse forming one of the famil; circle. The beautiful, intelligent anima was lodged in a little thatched stall open ing into the house, his neck adorne< with a handsome chain, his food am drink given him at regular intervals in i clean earthen dish, the corn being ib< Rama an that of which the householi bread was made; he was regarded as i cherished frieiid and comrade. After thi civilities of the king's interpreters, cam* the good offices of the king's cook, win sent the honored guest four dishes o curry. The king's cook, who also act as taster, is a great personage; he mus be a priest, must have always led an irre proachable life, and is never permittee to marry. Next day at dawn came one of thi officers "Likamanguas," splendidly dressed in a robe of flowered silk, witl an India muslin kuarie, and silver mounlfed pistols in his sash, to inquiri after'&e traveler's health in hismajesty'i name. He was one of those who havi the privilege of wearing the Bame dres as his sovereign, and the dangerous dis tinction of going into battle similarly armed, so that the royal person may no be distinguished. Early in the after noon came Maderakal, another interpre ter, attended by an esquire, bearing thi royal sword and shield, to conduct thi stranger to the king's banqueting ball Drums and trumpets sounded; a salute was fired from a battery of brass howit zers as the guest entered the wooden rush-roofed building, of oblong form am vast extent, with a double colonnade o tree trunks Hading to the center, where on a divan, raised high and draped witl purple velvet,sat King John of Ethiopia cross-legged, a pair of English rifles cocked and loaded, resting on the cush ions to left and right of him, and hi: slippers of soli*, silver filagree on thi carpet-before him. By his side was i beautiful sword, with a sheath of velve and enamel; on his head the great tripli crown of Ethiopia flashed with gold ant jewels; his robe was a cloth of silver and over his brows hung a long veil o crimson silk, worn under the crown an< falling in heavy folds round the face 1 1 : 1, 1 -rrrr. j.lie uaiuanu opicuuui ui mau oucud no perfect in every respect. Here are Mr de Cosson's words, which fall, he says far short of his impressions: "On eithe: side of the throne stood two gigantii ennuchs, clad in shirts of purple an< green silk, and holding drawn sabres A swarthy guard of honor, dressed witl equal magnificence,* stood also witl drawn sabres, behind; while all aroun< crowded the great officers of stale an< noted warriors, in long robes of silk ant velvet of every color, the sc irlet scab bards of their swords gleaming with gol< and silver filagree, and their neck adorned with the skins of the lion an< black panther. The air shook with th< wild notes of tho trumpets and the rol of the drums." When Mr. de Cosson reached thi throne and bowed, King John shool hands with him, and bade him welcome Then the whole company seated them selves on the carpets (some which ou: queen had sent to Kassa, Prince of Tigra) ? J xi ?i. 1 UL1U LUG arrival >ytva ui opcuim iu tereBt. It was that of Ras Warenia, win had raled over nil Amhara as an abso lute prince until subdued by King John He presented a most striking figure a he walked up the center of the hall, i riflle in one hand and a richly ornament ed shield in the other. The conquerec Ras, tall, stout, very handsome, wore t splendid tippet of black panther skin enriched with clasps and bosses of gol< filigree, which the king had just givej him; a robe of the riehest silk; on hii right wrist a silver-gilt gauntlet, studdc< with gems?an especial mark of tin king's favor; a splendid sword, and hii carefully plaited hair was covered witl ' a thin piece of white muslin, attache< j by a golden pin. His feet, like those o I all present, were bare. Among the wilt I and snlenilid crowd was a veteran war rior, the oldest of the king's persona attendants, whose ninety years had no j dimmed the fire in his dark eyes no: j bowed the gaunt, tali figure, almost a ! straight as the silver matchlock in hii j hand, whose gray beard mingled with thi tAwny mane of the lion's skin throw] ' over his shoulder, and whose locks weri ! bound with a silver crown. It is diffi ! cult to imagine this splendid assemblag sitting about the throne of the king, wh< is a great soldier, a just judge, and i powerful ruler; of distinguished and re fined appearance, a fine horseman, i mastor of all athletic exercises; alik learned and practical in his religion, in ! terr-sted in other countries, and unques tionably the ablest prince who has beei i allotted to his own; and after an Arabia] i Night-like incident?i. e., the passing o I a long line of slaves bearing on thei I licuuo uaoacio wtwi^u j containing flat cakes called "tef," of ^ i of which they deposit one before each '* of the principal guests?all the effect of the beautiful and poetical scene being dispersed by the following proceedings, g Meanwhile several cows had been i, slaughtered on the threshold of the hall, it and large hunks of the raw and smoking e meat were placed on the baskets, the h stranger guest being first Served. Two t attendants then went round, one dish tributing knives from a case he carried d at his side, and the other offering an !- antelope's horn full of mixed salt and a red pepper, for us to season the meat i, with. All the company then set to, and t- began to devour the raw cow's flesh with a. the greatest avidity." This barbaric i. banquet, -with all its accessories of silken :1 robes, beautiful weapons, delicate i- fabrics, rich gems, dark, handsome faces i- with gleaming eyes and teeth, and braidi ed hair, the scene a camp, and the guests r fierce warriors, a conquered chieftain, s and an English officer, is a combination s whereon to exercise the liveliest fancy. i- m r Words of Wisdom. 8 fc That thou mayeet injure no man, dove-like be, e And serpent-like, that none may injure thee. y Choose your friend early because o life is short. J Of all the paths that lead to a woman's * love, pity is the straightest. ? History makes haste to record great deeds, but often neglects good ones. r Prefer loss before unjust gain; for , that brings grief but once, this forever. Provision is the foundation of hospiY tality, and thrift is the fuel of magnifl cence. f What is becoming is honest, and whatever is honest, must always be be coming. 8 The flights of the human mind are not 8 from enjoyment to enjoyment, but from j hope to hope. I nPWa ron/Io nt ronanfancB nrfl anwn in j youth by pleasure, but the harvest is e reaped in age and pain. Frequent disappointments teach us to , mistrust our own inclinations, and , shrink eeen from vows our hearts may 1 prompt. Happiness is in taste and no tin things; V and it is by having what we love that we 1 are happy, not by having what others - find agreeable. * There is in every human countenance * either a history or a prophecy, which a must sadden, or at least soften, every re? fleeting observer. j The world is all title page; there is no B contents; the world is all face; the man c who Bhows his heart is hooted for his } nudities, and scorned. rm . -f ? -J I me uiru ui wisuum ura iuw auu 9 his food UDder hedges; the eagle himself t would be starved if he always soared . aloft and against the sun. 1 Too qmch attention cannot be bestowed on that important, yet much 8 neglected branch of learning?the knowl7 edge of man's ignorance. 1 The reasonableness of a project ought to be its foundation; and hope, the ladB der only which conducts the architect to ? the heights of the building, g Meekness and courtesy will always recommend the first address, but soon r fall and nauseate, unless they are assoj. dated with more sprightly qualities. It. often depends on a trifle, not more . than the toss up of a penny, whether a 9 msn should raise himself to riches and 3 honor, or pine away in misery and want . till he dies. a It is a secret known to few, yet of no - small use in the conduct of life, that , when you fail into a man's conversa1 tion, the first thing you should consider f is, whether he has a greater inclination to , hear you, or that you should hear him. 1 The love of display which results * in vulgar ostentation is the result of ? selfishness, of a desire to excite the * envy of others rather than the wish to 3 share benefits with them?an effort to 3 appear great, without striving to be * great in reality. 01 A man's first difficulties begin when , I he is able to do as he likes. So long as i a man ia struggling with obstacles, he 1 has an excuse for failure or short-coming, , but when fortune removes them all, and gives him the power of doing as he ' thinks best, then comes the trial. Whatever expands the affections or enlarges the sphere of our sympathies, r whatever makes us feel our relations to B the universe and all that it inherits, in I time and eternity, to the great and beneficent cause of all, mustunquestionj ably refine our nature and elevate us in j the scale of being. 1 Cast an eye into me gay worm; 1 what see we for the most part but a set 1 of querulous, emaciated, fantastical - bpings, worn out in the keen pursuit of I pleasure?creatures that know, own, s condemn, deplore, yet still pursue their 1 own infelicity?the decayed monuments 9 of error, the thin remaius of what is 1 called delight. ? ?, I That Awful Bat. There may be people into whose bed room windows bats have not flown this r summer, the summer before, and all , the other summers as far buck as they - can remember; Imtwe doubt it. We 3 doubt, further, that there be people - who, when the bat arrives, have not . risen in their night garments of sums mer style, and turning high the gas i pursued that bat with pillow and canes - and even chairs, arousing the family in 1 terror of assnssius and giving the mun i on the other side of the street, who is , up with the toothache, a strong surtpi1j cion that Kirkbride 1ms established a l j branch asylum in their house. Bats s ' have been knocked down under these I; circumstances ; also have shins been s smashed and shins skinned ; but man, s: iu the end, has been victorious over the i ; bat?never. If.he picks him up with 1 ! bis fingers he lets him go again lmmef1 diately. If he picks him up between I j two sticks, and drops mm out one - window the bat soars into the air and 1! flies in at another. The bat cannot be t j persuaded to go away. He can't take a r ; iiint. Let him alone and he'll go homa a j and carry, etc. Tbe but, th^y say, is s I good for eating the night bugs which 9: are always so much interested in what II one is writing about. But whether the o | buss were made so long before the bat, -1 and increased so much ahead of him a that he hasn't had a fair show, or his ap3 petite is not powerful, there are plenty a of bugs yet to transact business. Let * j the bat look at the sparrow and; how a ' nobly he fulfilled his- contract with ree j gurd to the measuring worm. The - | sparrow, too, is an excellent bird, with - only one bad habit, that of getting up i! too early in the morning, while the bat ! ... i n?,i II j is UU1LCLUU Yt I 111 DYCIJ nxvauuMwuoj Uiiu f doesn't get up early only because he r I doesn't go to bed .?Philadelphia Press. Miss Maria Itoop'a 'Answer by Telegraph tq the Ofler ol a Heart and Hand. The New8 of St. John, N. B., tells the following interesting story of a recent matrimonial engagement that -was brought to a happy climax by telegraph: Miss Maria Roop, author of a series of pleasing New York letters that appeared in the News some months ago under the title A "Glimpses of Gotham," was married in Boston on Saturday last. Capt. Roop, a distant relative who sails an English ship, visited Mr. John Roop's a few weeks ago fc* "DftirtMflliAHA XT Q on/1 UJLZ lilt) Wtfcjr w x oiixouuiuj mi f uuu met his fate in the person of the young lady -who is now his wife. - He 'came, saw and was conquered. He returned to New York and began to load for Java, but sang " Her ' her sweet smile haunts me still," and whistled "The girl I left behind me." Would she marry him and go on that long and lonely voyage to the East ? He wrote to her, and proposed that she meet him in Boston the next week, marry him, and sail for Java. His boat was on the shore and his bark was on the sea, or loading at the wharf, and she must decide at once. The letter was received in the morning, and had not been read more than half a dozen times (such letters require a great deal of reading, it seems), when a dispatch arrived to the followiHg effect: "Please answer my letter by telegraph?yes or no." Any &iri can promptly say yes or no to the offer of a hand and heart, but when such an offer is doupled with a three days' notice of marriage and a sea voyage to the East Indies, the case requires a little more consideration. So she took time to consider, and added strength to the saying that the woman who considers is lost, for when the afternoon of the same day brought her another dispatch, which was simply "Yes or no?" che went to the telegraph office and wrote " Yes " on a blank. The operator knowing nothing of the vast importance of that monosyllable message, placed it on file for transportation, and the most anxious man in' New York was soon made happy by its reception. The lady left here on Friday morning last and met and married the captain at the residence of a relative in Boston. Their wedding tour will be a long one?around the world, but not in eighty days. The Chinese Joss and Temple. A traveler writes : We enter a temple whose outside is adorned with gilding and lacquer, and quaint designs of birds, animals and unreal monsters. They have a religion of some sort, a Wang _*_n: l tieng (a very juseiugcui/ vjmucoc mm whom I am acquainted) assured me, with churches and endowments as in England; that is to say, they have the system, but not the faith. I had supposed all along that the curiously constructed temples, sacred io Joss, had more or less of a religious character abouV"fheip?,bnt I was now undeceived. My habit-on passing these edifices was to call in and see what was going on, and one day found out that Joss was uothing more than a fortune-teller, after the manner of the Oracle of Delphos. When inside the temple we see the figure of Joss placed on high, with ornaments of peacocks' feathers, whilst long streamers of colored ribbons, pictures and flowers; presents of tea, oil or opium; lighted tapers in colored wax; joss sticks burning slowly and sending their perfume around; h^aps of joss paper smouldering in trays : bamboo boxes with bundles of small sticks, on one end of which are inscribed certain qabalistic characters, surround the figure. At certain hours in the morning the temple becomes sacred It is the hour of divination. Any one now about to undertake a journey or mako a purchase, and desirous of knowing if he will arrive in safety or make a profitable investment, comes to Joss. He pays his obeisance by profoundly bowing and salaaming; then lights a certain number of matches or tapers and*makes a present. After a while, when it thought Joss is conciliated, the suppliant takes a box of marked sticks, and, after shaking them about, selects half a dozen, and passes them to the priest or Sheong-to (son of heaven) in attendance, who refers to the book of mysteries and. there reads the will of Joss. If he is warned of misfortune he forbears the journey or declines the bargain, and waits for a # more fortunate day. If Joss advises otherwise, and a good profit the result, the happy merchant makes a substantial present. Joss is, therefore, as will be seen, a fortune-toller and nothing more, and I ftiionnff.fi in nnlv n. sensible, cunninc ? ? J - , w fellow, who prefers to live by the credulity of his neighbor rather than by the labor of his hands. One Form of Rudeness. A flagrant breach of politeness, and one which is most annoying to refined and sensitive people, is the very general practice of one's conversation. The impunity with which this is done has degraded rational, conversation, which ought to be the greatest charm of social intercourse, into a proving farce. A mau or wbmau who has anything to say that is worth saying, desires to say it in his or her own way; and those who have brains to appreciate it, will be equally desirous of hearing it without interruption. Yet it is a common thing for a parlor conversation to partake more of the babble of Babel, than a conversation among rational beings, who are supposed to know and i nnnrpfiiate what each othes says. One , begins to relate an incident, and before he has finished two sentences, some parrot in fine clothes chimes in with her senseloss gabble, breaking the thread of dis course, and compelling the narrator to i begin again, or abandon the attempt to j instruct or entertain. This is the grossest impoliteness ; it is j asjcoramon an occurrence as conversation j itself. It is not much to say, that nine out of every ten people who indulge in this habit are incapable of carrying on a rational conversation on any useful topic, and indulge in these breaches of etiquette by way of covering their retreat and hiding their ignorance. We suggest to young people?and old j ones, too, for that matter?that here is a j promising field for social Yeforin. Never ! interrupt a, conversation by interjecting : remarks, however appropriate and witty | they m&y seem. All sensible people | -will respeca you, and conclude that you | have good sense, and know how to use it j to the best advantage. The most trivial circumstances are able ! to put an end to our gratifications ; they nre like beds of roses, where it is very, unlikely all the leaves should be smooth, ! and even one that is doubled suffices to i make us uncomfortable. I ___ j There is nothing truer than physiogj nomy, taken in connection with mannei, Profitable Corn Growing. . The average yield of the corn^crop is about twenty-seven bushels per acre for the whole country. This includes the large yield of the rich prairie States where an average of forty to fifty bushels per acre is usual. In the Eastern, Middle and Southern States, the yield is very lew and on the whole does not surpass ,'ifreen bushels per acre. Yet in isolated cases in these States many good farmers produce seventy, eighty or even one hundred bushels per acre, and many ambitious farmers are trying to reach a higher limit yet. Tliis^ not at all impossible; it is not even improbable. It is reasonable to go further and say that the very high yifeld is not at all difficult to attain. Indeed it is very easy to figure out a crop of one hundred bushels of shelled corn per acre, and we do not think it much less easy to reduce the figuring to practice. Thus , if we can grow three stalks to a hill, with the hills three and a half feet apart, we have 3,700 hills and 11,100 stalks per acre. If every stalk should bear one gooi ear there would ba 11,100 ears per acre. One hundred good ears weighing twelve ounces each would give one bushel of shelled corn. Therefore this crop would amount to 114 bushels per acre. The only requisite for this pro- * Stable crop then, is that we should raise a variety of corn that produces no barren stalks and that will carry one good ear only upon every stalk. This seems to be a very simple matter, but many fanners would be surprised to loam how small a proportion of stalks in their fields carry even one ear. We have been selecting seed, and by all other means have been endeavoring to grow corn that should produce two good ears per stalk, and yet we have not succeeded in growing any that will on the average produce more than one^ear To.1 every two stalks. With, the easy powibility of reaching one hundred bushels per aore if only fertile stalks were grown, yet farmers look upon one who talks of such a crop as too enthusiastic, if not foolish. It seems nsthough we had been all this time pursuing a wrong idea, or following a wrong couise, and neglecting the most palpable and plain path to success. It is not to fertilize oar ground so richly as to grow luxuriant stalks with two or three ears each in place of one; but to grow moderately sized stalks, each having an ear in place of those with none.'1 In passing through a' fair-looking field of corn a number of stalks without ears will always be seen. . It is . these that dilute and lessen the value of the crop. Can we get rid of these by any means?. It is certainly onr. business to do it if possible, just as we should weed out of our yards hens which lay no eggs, sor/s which produce no litters, cows without calves or mlik, and mares without foals; or cut out from oar orchards trees that yield no fruit. As no farmer would tolerate such worthless stock so he should no^j^x^e In his cornfield. Among oth< r manr useful suggestions made by Dr. E. L. Sturtevant, of Massachusetts, who is one of our most" scientific and practical farmers and agricultural investigators, we owe to him an idea that we think may be turned to the greatest advantage in improving our corn crops. It is to change the present character of this grain by a course of selection and breeding similar to that through which we . have brought cur live stock to such a high degree of profitable excellence. It is simply to discontinue the growing of barren stalks and prevent them from fertilizing the seed of tue proline ones. To do this, all those stalks which show no sign of an ear or silk (which is the female flower) when the tassel or male flowers appear, should be topped so as to deprive them of their powers of reproduction, should be emasculated in fact We should lose nothing by this, because we should at least have the fodder, which is all we should get under any circumstances, but we should have the very important advantage of fertilizing the other plants with pollen from prolific stalks. Hence, we might expect in a very short time to so change the character and habits of the corn as to have every plant prolific and productive of at least one ear. If in time we could give the plant the habit of bearing twin ears, or three, four or more; and by the required system of fertilizing the soil secure so vigorous, a growth oh to mature these ears perfectly, then what a gain should we have made. To grow five acres of corn yielding 500 bushels would cost no more than it now costs to grow five acres yielding one hundred bushels, excepting the increased labor of husking and storing the ears, and only a fourth as much as it now costs to grow the 500 bushels on twenty acres. It is a very trite thing to say that the greatest profit lies in producing the greatest yield with the least possible labor and expenso ; yet fanners do not seem to look at it in that way, or else they are contented with very small profits, for it is plain to be seen that the small crops grown do not ' pay any adequate prieo for the labor of raising them. And so spend one's labor in growing fifty barren corn-stalks out of every hundred we grow, seems, unluestionnbly, to be u very poor business. We hope our readers will give this matter the thought and attention it deserves. -There is nothing to lose by I - 1?1:--~ moona /if l'mnrnvinff r>ro uuupblii^ IIUS2 UiV'?UO VI ? posed, and there is a vast Rain possible from it.?New York Times. Household NoUe. To Clean Paint.?Take one ounce of pulverized borax, one pound oi sim.ll pieces of best brown soap, and time quarts of water. Let it simmer till the h >ap is dissolve*!, stirring frequently. Do not let it boil. Use a piece of old flannel, and rinse off as soon as the paii t is clean. Tliis mixture Ls also good for washing clothes. Waterproofing Cloth.?Imbue the cloth on the wrong side with a solution of isinglass, alum and soap, by means of a brush. When dry, brush on the wrong side against the grain, nnd th? n go over with a brush dipped in wat< r. This makes the cloth impervious (foi a long time) to water, not air. Waterproof Boots and Shoes.? I r.mooo.lnil mioniril;' rtiaK fiicht OUUCeSI UiiiOCC\l Vtl) vuv J Q . r beeswax, six ounces; resin, one ounce. Mix together. Calico Made Transparent and Waterproof.?Take six pints of pale linseed oil, two ounces of sugnr of lead and eight ounces of white resin ; the sugar of lead must be ground with a small quantity of it, and added to the remaintier; the resin should be incorporated , with the oil by means of a gentle heat. The composition may then be laid on calico, or any other such material, by means of a brush. There are ninety public und one hnnilr?'d and eighty private banks in Gerjinny.