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1 . * ? v ? . '* ? . ? ' ' * C- ~ <'r* ' ?^ ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER * - , . . . ? '. ; ,'.; ^>r-w V> * .>? . V ."i'< vV'.- if ? BY HUGH WILSON AND W. 0. BENET. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 7, 1879. NO. 9. VOLUME XXY. Death of the Prince Imperial, i. Frunc* ie sad to-day. Many a heart beats low; "Words that the passer stops to say Uome lingeringly and slow. Paris weeps to-day; London echoes her sigh? He went ?n a noble quest," they say; " Alas! that he went to die." n. France lor England fights, A Frenchman for England dies? Saddest ot all sorrowful sights; Spring, quick tears, to the eyes! The Prince Imperial died, Not in the heat of striie, With noble hearts on every side, Nor 8word to sword in honor and pride, But gasped away his life, Done to death in the desolate land By a savage and treacherous band. . III. rone he lies in the long, dank grass, TT;? insignia ol rank is gone; Stript and dying ho lies, alas! In the wilderness land alone. What is the thought that fills his soul As the blue sky draws his last laint glance Two words alone his thoughts control, " Mother!" and " France!" IV. How the knell swept over the sea, Heard with doubt and fear at first; When it was known a certainty? " Who will tell it at Chiselhurst ?" They sent the word, the dolorous word, To the stately mother who sate alone, Woe, oh, woe, lor the tidings heard, Who shall comfort her for her son ? V. She has wept and lasted sore, Sitting to weep and fast alone; Came a queen to her barred door, Fain with her would make her moan: JLh, great queen, on thy mother eyes The tears ol sorrow are hardly diied, Well ol you, in friendly guise To sit this sorrowing heart beside. Naught to say and naught to do, Sorrow's roots pierce lar too deep; Only keep her close to you?' Hold the laat-clench?d hands and weep, i VI. Mourn, kind hearts, Irom shore to shore, For the brave young life that's fled. Who can tell what golden store 01 hopes and plans lie with him dead ? Hopes ol glory and deathless lame, Hopes of lortune nobly won, A country's love, a well earned name, (jrueraons given lor great, unxu uune, Fled like a dream when one awakes, Lost to thought, like a tale that's told. And still the world the sumo road takes, Changing ever the new time to the old. *VII. Princes ol earth return to dust, ./ Kingdoms shake with rude alarms, Naught is there in which to trust? Wisdcm, strength or cunning arms. Turned like the dice by the player thrown, Vain and slight seem all earthly things; One doth guide and rule alone? The Lord of Lords, the King of Kings! ?JVew York Champion. AN "(JNLUOKY DAINell has come down to breakfast witl her "'grief muscles" in full play. Pethaps you do not happen to know wlia the " grief muscles are, though. The; are, on the authority of Mr. Darwin those muscles which, in some faces, ac upon the inner corners of the eyebrows drawing them up in a pathetic littli curve, and giving to the whole face ai expression of pathos which nothing elsi can impart. I have never seen a face ii which these same muscles act as per ? 1 T 1 4.1. iectiy as in xseus; anu :ws j. kiiuw uh signs of the times, I ask what is th matter, as an affectionate brothershould 44 This is going to be an unlucky day,' say3 Nell, with a deep sigh, and a mor< rueful expression than ever upon he pretty face. It is a very pretty little face, roun< and fair, rose-tinted, and dimpled < ravtr, lighted up by two deep blue inno cent eyes, and crowned by crisp wave Tf bright brown hair?a very pretty lit tie face, and generally a bright and cheer ful one. When Nell makes her littL speech about the "unlucky day," I knov what has brought the cloud upon it." 44 My dear," I say, sagely, *4 you ar too old for such follies. Have your re peatea youthtul perusals of Rosamom instillea no wisdom into your mind Do you not know that whether a day i lucky or unlucky depends upon our selves?" 441 wish you wouldn't be so deadl; wise," says Nell, with another deep sigh 44 That is the last and bitterest drop ii the cup of adversity. None of my il luck this morning was of my own mak ing?so, now!" 44 Suppose you tell me what thes dreadful tribulations were?" I say, sooth ingly, for pathos is extremely unbe coming to Nell's style, and I am prom enough of my little sister to .ike to se ker always at her best. 44 Well," says Nell, slowly, 44 in th first place I left my pet begonia on th window-sill, as I often do. It is : broad sill, you know, and I thought i quite safe; but the wind came up in th night and blew it down, and broke th pot. " Shall I go and see about it?" I asked half rising. "No," says Nell, shaking her head " I did it myself. Butdon't you think Cyril, there was a great earth-worm ii the pot. Of all things on earth, I hat eartn-worms; and there was the grea slimy thing wri<r?rling about on the lloo of my room. Iliad to take it up mysel on the dust-pan and throw it out of til window. Ugh!" " If the begonia was not severely in iured." I say, as Nell pauses for a littl shudder, "it was a very good thing tha the pot did break. The worm woul have killed the plant, sooner or later, i t otoiVI l^oro Tlwm incf ihmlr hm uncomfortable the poor thine must hav been, all cramped up in that little place As far as I can see, your first piece of il luck was very good luck for all three c you?the begonia, the worm and you. "Oh, the worm!" says Nell, scorn fully. * " But that is only the beginning I thought I never should be ready lo breakfast, for everytlv^g went wrong In the first place, I dropped one of m jet earrings, spent a quarter of an hou in hunting for it, and only found it a last by setting my foot on it and smrwli ing it. And only think. Cyril," crie Nelly, in a brisker tone, " while I wa looking for it I found my pearl ring tlui I thought I had lost while we were on boating last week. It was under corner of the carpet, where it migli have staid until we clean house again i WB.P. I hadn't just haDuened to see it." ' 5^* "Good luck out of ill again," \ saj "Bec.i ise. as this is a furnished house it mijjht have lain there forever if w leave it next spring." " I wish you'd liusn I" wans iNeu, ens consolately. "Can'' you let me be mi> eraMe if I wart t- ' There is nottiin more maddening 1'ian to have peopl persist in being ch erful over your mi? fortunes. It's my ill luck, and I don see why you need meddle with it." " It will be my ill luck if you don give me my breakfast pretty soon," eay, laughing, for Nell's eyes are twint ling in *pite of her savage words. Nell pours out the coffee while I-carv our favorite dish?beefsteak and mush rooms. Nell just tastes hers, and lays cloth down her knife and fork. you "That is the climax!" she says, with I ha the calmness of despair. was: I taste, and then lay down my knife absoi and fork also. pains "What is it?" I ask. necoi " Bridget has put sugar upon the steak cisol; instead of salt, she says. " Perhaps andyou will be kind enough to evolve a lit sight tie good luck out of this aleo." I h "No," I say, decidedly. "It is beyond that my power to see any good luck in having wrec your breakfast spoiled." batte "I thought so," says Nell, laughing, with "It is easy enough to be philosophical over over other people's woes, but when it droo] comes to your own it is a different mat- that i ter. Suppose you see how you like it j "I 1 C nh T I 4 yourseii r a piuuuuav tiiivu suiucuuuj I ncu i will invite you to lunch at Delmonico's, | that and you will have all the more appetite over, for not having had any breakfast. Oh! savs I forgot, though. You can't lunch at It i Delmonico's, for you must come home eveni early to go to the picnic. You won't brim forget?" Nell, I promise: and then, as the whistle mark sounds, I catch up my hat, and rush off still! to the station, which is only five minutes' after walk or three minutes' run from our thine house. grapl Nell and I, as you may judge from the has d above conversation, are brother and 44 / ? sister, and we live alone together, the then, jolliest, coziest couple that ever was seen. I adc So every one says, and if there is a litfcle Ne private worm gnawing at the heart of 44 J one of us, it is never confessed to any letter one, least of all to the other. The state lives of the case is this: I am a lawyer, with i Shi a tolerable practice for a young man. i but t Nell is a " tocherless lass," and the in- ! '4J come which I make just avails, with < on th care and economy, for the support of i what two. With no amount of figuring or j day.' calculating can I force myself to believe | 44 J tlmt it will nvail fnr mnre. Nell has I rnnfn never guessed ray secret, never shall ! I say guess it until the day comes when it j Ho need be a secret no longer. But though j fore she has never guessed mine, I have ai- j will vined hers long ago. I know that the i pract pearl ring which Nell treasures so fondly j to bu is the gift of young Dr. Gaston, and I j dear know that Nell's eyes are brighter and ' nothi her smiles shver and sweeter when he ! shadi is here. He does not come very often, ; I -w for the town where he is striving to j thouj build up a practice is ten miles away, j what and a young doctor must be always upon j Ii the spot. The prospect before him and wher Nell is vague?indeed, as va?me as my i lovec own. There is just one possible spot of | nevei light in our future. Aunt Jane?Aunt j nevei Jane Rumsey?is an old, a very old lady, j were She is infirm, she is irritable, she is ca- j could pricious, but she is rich. We scarcely mem know her, for she has never manifested the 1 any affection for us, hardly betrayed a ciedi consciousness of our existence, and Nell j one. and I are no toadies. We are her only e?urs living relations, though, and everybody ! leave says that sooner or later her money must i " V come to us. We never talk about it, j said, never build upon it, never mention the j whili possibility to any one. Why should we I "I talk of what may come to nothing? j her 1( I /\-1? :r V7I11V?ii ibCYCi uuw; j uuu I lapse into thoughts of the little girl know who is waiting patiently up amon" the j Miss New England hills, in the old college : the si town where I studied?the little girl at j she v whose existence Nell has never guessed, hersc Nell, nt home, is dreaming of Miles | justi* Gaston, whom she is to meet at the pic- j prosa nic this afternoon. I must not be late tions for the picnic, by-the-way, so I rouse tiling myself, shake off my dreaming, and go Croes to work with a will. in tl When I reach home again, tired in "Th mind and body from the effects of crowd- this 1 ing a long day's work into less than half don't a day, Nell is not watching for me, as I bad, fully expect to find her. Vainlv do I "I search every room of our tiny domicile, confe vainly do I shout Nell's name from the any ? top to the bottom of the house; silence W< and echo alone answer. It is very enou i strange, for I had made sure that Nell and f would be ready and waiting for me, dear t worrying herself, after her habit, with cribh i vain fears that I had missed the train, nine , We are to start for the picnic at half mist nighl t three o'clock, and it now lacks only a \y( . quarter of three. I am just about to forea] l- start out on a wild search through the qUjte i neighborhood when, from the window, [ I see her hurrying up to the door. She ]au?j i has come, evidently, from one of the th:v? 1 - neighbors' houses, and her face has a nf'm l* flushed, friglitened look, which for the ^d j f moment alarms mo. briiu ; " Oh, Cyril!" she cries, at sight of me, ment " I had no idea that it was so Tate, but I ing t [' couldn't help it. Oh, Cyril! After all, notic it wjis the luckiest tiling. Those poor Evid children! If Bridgfet haa not made that respt ' mistake, we should have eaten them, j " ^ ' and there would have been no picnic nor j kind * anything else for us." I <pj, s "Children? Bridget?" 1 exclaim, in !"Sui utter bewilderment. " Is Bridget one of | y<>z j the 'children'you are talking about? Intin L! And why on earth should wc eat her?" eo to k " Not Bridget?Mrs. Lounsbury's chil- like! dren. They nave been so sick! And tellir just think, only for Bridget's blunder we thim ' should have taken them, and then?" dears I " My dear Nell, do consider what you Br ' are saying," I cry, aghast. " I never eat to a s babies?never, I do assure you. And if quid you are in the habit of doing so pri- ! " Wi l vately, pray don't expose yourself in this it ? f way. Public opinion will never sustain Br * you." . stanc ^ " Now let me tell you straight ahead, and < ' and without any more nonsense, what I dint * mean, and then I must run up and dress, ings, About eleven ociock x saw rue aocior last. (' going into Mrs. Lounsbury's, and of whic * course I ran over to see what was tl?e have - matter. I found that Teddy and Mamie by a * had both been taken suddenly and vio- towr e lentlv ill. When the doctor came he a sp< asked what they had been eating. It l)r. ( e seens that Mrs. Lounsbury bought all huge L' that I left of the lot of mushrooms which part 3 a man brought to our doors yesterday, carri f You know how delighted I was to fret defec p them, and how vexed we both were that abru e Bridget spoiled the steak by her stupid half blunder." took Nell's face is quite white as she ends; hill f and for me?well, there are pleasanter Two 5 ways ot departing this life, even if you right i are ready to do so, than by means of were 11 toad-stools. one < 44 IIow are the children?" I ask. after less s 1 reflecting for a few minutes upon our es- 11< ' cape. the 1 1 44 Oh, they are out of danger now," wild e says Nell. 4* I left Bridget over there to 44 i help them, for they have all been more day' - or less sick. Now I must go up and luck, f dress I'm jroinir to dazzle vou when I the t come down; but you need not he alarmed. " Ar rt My costume combines economy and wise if splendor. You will he dazzled, but not ware v ruined." "C o " Perhaps some one else may be even whit ' more dazzled than I," I say; and Nell can laughs and runs away, blushing very righl prettily. I p " Ten "minutes afterward there is a crash argu i- and a shriek overhead. I fly up, four kille > steps at a time, to find Nell lyinir on the youti v floor beneath the ruins of a wardrobe, be or ; which she had somehow managed to were y pull over upon herself. The wardrobe snea r is in such a state of universal smash that that t it is very easy to clear away the wreck were and raise Nell in my arms. She opens our ? her eyes as I lay her upon her bed, and nam s asks, faintly: "What is it? Has the Nc world come to an end?" scan it "Not just yet," I reply; "but what her < }l have you been doing?" and |t Then her senses came back to her, and Of ^ she raises herself upon her right elbow, the " It was the wardrobe," she says. " I rush remember now. The door stuck, and I "1 j, was in a hurry, and tried to jerk it open. " Bu e Then the whole thing seemed to jump at paus me, and I was so frightened that I wor< screamed, and, I suppose, fainted. I'm mise all right now, though, and there's " i a nothing to hinder our starting." to tl le " Loofe at your dress," is my only But i- reply. " 't Nell looks, and nearly faints again; ton. for the IovfIj dress is soiled and torn for a 't beyond all nope of restoration. cal < I 44 It is better for your dress to be torn late than for your bones to be broken." 1 acci< say, consolingly; but Nell shakes her at oi e hp;id in dubious dissent. ' j It i- i 44 Bones will grow together again, but ohas ies won't," she says, ruefully. "I ( only knew the time and thought I ve spent on that dress, Cyril. It 1 made out of three old ones, and cost 1 lutely nothing, except time and r >; yet it was fresh, and pretty, and j tiling. And my hat matched it pre- 1 yr?straw-color and blue, you see; - Oh!" cries Nell, as she catches < of herself in the class. 1 ave not had the heart to tell her l the hat is an even more hopeless s k than the dress. Such a forlorn, ? red, dissipated-looking object it is, i one wheat ear perking up jocosely j the left ear, ana one forget-me-not ping dejectedly over the right eye, s sven Nell herself is forced to laugh, t is hopeless,"sighs Nell: and just t ;he whistle sounds, and we realize t the last chance of the picnic is "Theend of an unlucky day," \ iN'eil, as tne suntoucnra uienurizuu. is not quite the end, though, for the i ing mail is .still to come in. It i js a paper for me and a letter for 1 botli of which bear the same post- ( I open the paper whire Nell is 1 studying the direction of her letter, the manner of all of us. The first i ; upon which my eye falls-is a para- t I around which some careful liand rawn broad black lines. t Lunt Jane is dead!" I exclaim; and as I look at the date of the paper, 1 I, "Buried too, by this time." s II looks up with a start. a Lunt Jane!" she cries. "And my is from Fannv Blatchford, who r next door to her." i s studies the direction no longer, 1 ears the letter hastily open. c ust what we might expect, coming s lis day," she says at last. " Say you will, Cyril, it is an unlucky ' ' t lore than unlucky if your letter 1 tins the news that I suppose it does," 1 , gloomily. ( w the dim years stretch away heme as I speak?the years that it r take Dr. Gaston to build up his i ice, the years that it will take me 1 ,ild up mine; and all the time the little girl, of whom Nell knows c ;ng, waiting patiently in the 1 3ws of the old New England hills! ( Tench myself away from such 1 jhts with an effort, and listen to r , Nell has to say. 1 sn't it a shame?" she is saying, c i I come to myself. " If we never g [ Aunt Jane, it was because she ji r rave us a chance; and if she c r cared anything for us, at least we g her only living relations. We i hardly have exnected her to reberusin her will, I suppose; but ' east she could have done, for the s t of the family, was to die without j Then we should have had it in the 1 ;eof nature and law. But to go and 1 it all to this man?" r Whatman?" I ask, for, as I have t my thoughts have been wandering i 2 Nell talked. t don't know," Nell says, consulting i ?tter again. " Fanny does not men- t his name; perhaps she did not t r it. 'They say that your Aunt, r Rumsey, has leit all her money to t on of a man whom she jilted, when ji ras young. No doubt she flatteied i slf that it was a touch of " poetic p " hut T must sav I think the plain s lie justicc deleaving it to her rela- r would have been nearer the right t Of course it is all left to some s ius, to whom it will he but a drop t lie bucket," 6ays Nell, bitterly, ji at's the way things always go in ivorld, while we? Oh, Cyril, why ;you say something? Isn't it too and isn't this an unlUeky day?" suppose it is," I say, moodily. " I 8 ss I cannot see how we are "to find J ;ood in this." 3 spend our evening gloomily 1 gh, in spite of our efforts to cheer up orget. I read a little to Nell from [ ola " Elia," and we try a game of : >age, of which Nell soon tires. At 1 o'clock we bid each other good- ! t in sheer despair, 2 are a little more cheerful over the t kfast table. Things cannot look t so bad by the morning's light as ( did in the evening's shadows.' Nell t is a little as she ventures a hope ( to-day will not be quite such a chain j isadventures as yesterday proved, ] [ forbear to rebuke her. Bridget is j ijing in the hot cakes in install- { s, and as she sets the plate contain- x he third batch upon the table, we . e that she is looking at us curiously. ? ently she would fain speak, but , ict restrains her tongue. ^ Vhat is it, Bridget ?" Nell asks i iv- ; en the Irish tongue breaks bounds, i rp miss." she cries. " an' haven't i leard ? An'wasn't it a blissid thing i 2ly that ye tore yer dress an1 cudn't ; i this picnic?bad cess to it and its The milkman was just afther t' me all about it. Ivory wan o' !? niver a wan saved?the purty i! Och, wirra, wirra!" idget is on the point of breaking ingenuine how), but Nell's words, it" and eager, nip it in the bud: hat do you mean, Bridget! What is What have you heard ?" idget's tale is not easy to under1, diversified as it is by comments, jmbellished with interjections. By of painful and skillful questionhowever, we elicit the truth at That truth concerns the picnic to :h but for Nell's accident we should gone. This picnic was gotten up small party of friends from our own t. We were to have.gone by rail to 3t five miles distant, there pick up jraston, and transfer ourselves to a ! wagon which was to meet us. This 01 tlie;program me seems 10 uavo ueeu i ed out, in spite of Nell's and my 1 :tion. The excursion crime to an j pt eonclusiorl. however; for, barely s a mile from the station, the horses j fright, nin violently down a steep ( md upset the wagon nt the bottom. ] of tlie occupants were killed out- 1 so Bridget reports, but who they ( she cannot say. Of the rest not j escaped without injuries more or 5 levere. j loked at Neil. She was white to ] ips, and her eyes looked big and 1 Another incident of your ' unlucky which turns out the best of good I say, not having .-is yet taken in full sense of tlie catastrophe. < en't you rather glad than Other- < now that you pulled down the < irobe?" i /yril!" cries Nell, in a shrill voice, < :h I hardly recognize as hers. " How i I be glad? Two were killed out- i t, and Miles Gaston was there." i iause in horror. Then I begin to < e. The names of those who were i d are not known. Surely a rising < ig physician like Dr. Gaston would i le of tlie first to do menwoneu ji uu i victims. But even as I 1 k my heart sinks, for I remember Dr. Guston and another young man i i the only two who were not from i town, the two, therefore, whose i es were least likely to be known. j >11 seems frozen to a statue. She ;cly moves, scarcely speaks. Only dry lips whisper: "lou will go find out, will you not, Cyril, dear?" course I will go; butjustasl reach door I meet Dr. G:iston himself ing down the street from the station, fouhere? Thank God!" he cried, it Nell?is she hurt? Is she?" He no nnnhle to articulate the last i, but I hasten to put him out of his ry. tfell is here, all right. We didn't go le picnic. An accident prevented, vou?" t did not go either," says Dr. Gas"I was called out unexpectedly . professional visit. It was a criti ase, and I could not leave until too for the train. I only heard of the lent this morning, and came down see." is good to see the rosy glow which ;es away Nell's pallor as I usher Dr. Saston into the dining-room. It is goo A3 see the light of love and gratitud which shines from his eyes as he see ler. I leave them alone as I catch u hy hat and make my usual frantic rus. for the train, which again as usual mrely succeed in catching. At nicht Nell meets me at the door c ~ /V.?f o /vlnttr i jur I1UU5U. V/U 11CI liltc 10 <v gwni l !ier eyes a tender light such as I hav lever seen there before. She kisses m softly, then follows me into the lious md hovers about me daintily, wit) fistful looks and broken, half-whis jered words. "Cyril." she says at last, and tliei itops. " What is it, little sister?" I ask, fo lie shy radiance of her face moves m somehow to fresh tenderness. "Cyril," she begins again, "do yoi vant to get rid of me?" I stop short and look at her in amazf nent, feeling half guilty in my owi nind. "Get rid of you?" I say. "Wb las been putting notions into your head :hild? What should I do without m; ittle housekeeper?" "That is just what I have been think ng," says Nell, shyly; "just what old Miles when he wanted?" "Well, what did 'Miles' want?" isk, as Nell stops. " He wants, said Nell, hanging he lead low and speaking in a voice wliicl leems half stifled by her blushes?"li vants me to marry him in the fall." "Marry him!" I shout, in my firs imazement. " Marry him on his presen O TV. ~ A 1*4. ncomer xju yuu mcmuiu; n uict vi ocusts and mild honey? You will fin< iven those beyond your reach in winter rod?" "No, but, Cyril," says Nell, softly ' Don't be angry, but?it was to Mile hat Aunt Jane left her money. It wa lis father that slip.jilted when they wer )oth young. And so?you don't mind ^yril?" Mind? Why should I mind? It wa lot the money that I cared about. M; ncome will still be enough for two, ani sTell will he happy, and? "And, do you know, Cyril," Nell goe >n, " Miles says that he never T.voul< lave married m<r-to live on my money )nly for Aunt Jane's will we shouli lave had to wait still; ai.d weren't yoi ight? and wasn't yesterday the dearest >lessedestj3ay of the whole year, insteai >f the unlucky one that I, like a littl ;oose, called it? And so, if you can lini i nice motherly old housekeeper to tak are of you until vou can put somes wee ,-irl, such as you deserve, in my place?' I laugh out. I cannot help it. "Never you mind, Miss Nell," I say ' I will make shift to take care of my elf. Go your way, and never worr; 'our little head about your stupid ol< >rother." Well, there is little more to tell. Tin eport of the accident had been exagger it-ed, as reports always are. The twi vho were killed were the horses, whil lie passengers escaped miraculously Phere was one broken collar-bone, am iruises, scratches and sprains innumern )le?enough to break up the picnic am nake us thankful that we were no here ("especially as Dr. Gaston was alsi ibsent), but hardly enough to cloud ou lappinees seriously. The days of waiting are now over fo ill of us?for Nell and Dr. Gaston, fo nv little girl and me. Not the leas alked over of our memories is the epi lode of the unlucky day, which, w ancy, brought about the happiness c ill four of us.?Harper's Bazar. How Eugenie's Son Was Killed. A correspondent gives the folio win latement of LeetocF, one of the trooper vitli the French Prince Imperial whe: ie met his death at the hands of til Sulus, in South Africa: We went about twenty miles from Kop >ie Allein. When we were crossing th iite of the present camp, the neck be ween Incenei and Inqutu ranges, som jfticers overtook us. They went Ui th eft, and we went to the right. W :rossed a spruit, and went up a flat opped hill, where we slackened girths he Prince sketching. The kraal w same to last was about fifty yards abov ,he*iver. Here the Prince told us t >fl-saddle, and then the Kafir w:is sen nto the hut to see if any one was there rle went down afterward to the rive 'or some water and we had coffee. Afte in hour the Prince ordered us to saddl lp. When we had all saddled up h isked, " Are you all ready ?" and we* sai 'Yes." He then said, "Mount," and jus is were springing to our saddles th rolley was fired from the mealies. W lad gone to that very place to eatc >ur horses. . When we were saddlin ip, the Kafir, who had been to th iver to water the horses, said h lad seen a Zulu going up the rive iway from where the volley wa ired. I dropped my carbine and had t lismount for it. In remounting I wa anable to get my feet into the stirrup.' ny horse was galloping so hard fror "right. I lay across the saddle. 1 pa?se ;he Prince, but w:is unable to stop 10 rim. hav'ng no nower over the reins \s I got clear away from the kraal massed the Prince. lie then had hold r ;he stirrup-leather and the cantle of th saddle, and was trying to get his foe nto the stirrup, but his horse was goin *)o fast. I said to him, " Plen?2, sii lasten and mount your horse." He mad io reply. He had not caught hold of tli aridle; he could not keep up with tli lorse, and I saw it tread on him and tli Prince fell down. The Zulus were firin ill the time, hut I could not see them, law no more of the Prince. I followe Lieut. Carey. lie was leading at first 5Ut some of us passed him. We gal oped two or three miles, the Zulus trj ng to surround us. I saw Grubbe an Willis could not catch up to us, an isked Lieut. Carey to wait for them. II said: " We will cross the spruit and wai "or them on the rise on the other side. 3rubbe and Willis were 300 yards be iiind us, lor their hordes were knocke jp. Q.?Were any orders given to sto ir rally, or try to save the Prince? A. NTo. Q.?Did any of you mention tli Prince, or did Lieut. Carey say anythin him P A ?Mn* nil tlmt. T llP;ir Lieut. Carey say all the time wns: " L( as make bssK and go quickly." Tact on the Half-Shell. Whatever this subtle attribute may b sailed?this luippy knack of saying an :loing exactly tlie best thing that can h said and done under the circumstancesit is certainly a highly valuable one i every department of life. A lady < this city recently issued invitations fc i dinner party of twelve, and on tli morning of the appointed day, whe conferring with the head servant, a ver iccomplished and well-trained waitei she discovered that one of the twelv silver shells in which scalloped oystei were to be served had been misplaeei Rigid search for the missing artid having proved unavailing, the lady d< sided that sooner than give up that pai ticular course she would simply declii oysters when they were handed her an so the eleven shells would be suflicien It happened that when the oysters wet served at dinner by the same aecon plished attendant his mistress wns ei gaged in a very animated conversatio with one or two of her neighbors, an forgetting her determination she too one of the shells of oysters and set it b fr>p<i lioruplf Tf the servant's heart fe in consternation at this ho gave no e; ternal sign of it, but speaking in torn distinct though low, said, respectfully " Excuse me, madam, but you said" was to remind you that the doctor fo bade your eating oysters." His mistrei laughed and returned the oysters to tl waiter, saying in explanation to hi guests: "I am so absent-minded that have to engage Thomas to re me in b things for me sometimes," which, ii deed, was literally true. After tl dinner wis over the story was told 1 the lady to one of her guests from who the present writer had it.?Detroit Fr. Press. d How Sealskins are Prepared. A peep into a fur manufactory in hot weather reveals a busy scene. The fur p( Etliat commands the widest sale now is that of the seal, after it has been made q t into handsome cloaks and boas for ladies, ___] and into hats and gloves for men. The i skin is usually imported from England j* already dyed. Only one firm in the city dyes the skin, changing it from its na- t j tural tawny yellow color into the lustrous p velvety brown seen in the finished aru tides of apparel. ' The natural skin is H moistened after the greasy integuments has are scraped from the pelt, and then put mar n into an oven to hasten slight decompo- proc sition. This is preparatory to removing the _ the old, coarse hairs that stick out from cent g the fine thick undergrowth. The coarse in a hairs are to be removed and the under- pric u growth is to be retained. The skins in $Jt). the oven are closely watched lest they the should become too soft, and thus entirely 1856 jj ruined. When they are at a proper stage 0 they are taken out and laid on a board, Oi 1 ana scraped with a blunt iron knife that city ' pulls out the long hairs and leaves the mar undergrowth. If the short growth comes busi out with the coarse then the skin is, of awa j course, ruined. ing Then comes the dyeing. The skin is strei I painted with a solution, consisting prin- erty cipally of nutgalls from Smyrna, and mus r allowed to dry. It is then shaken and his h beaten, and painted another coat?often- twe; e times eighteen or twenty coats. At this ?teei stage the skins are packed and sent to fc this country. As they are unpacked in t bundles and stacked on the shelves in LqU the fur house they look not unlike the _j.oc ^ big bundles of overcoats that seamstres. ses may be seen in street cars carrying Qf j * to their taskmasters. When a skin is ^jie unfolded it is oval, and has at each side j two narrow, oblong slits. The skin tjjjn s looks as though it might be fitted to a tjie j e child eight years old by thrusting the jjan( child's arms through the two slits in the was ' skin and letting the tail hang down to co'm s the child's heels, while the upper part wor y projects above its head like an ultra- sup. 1 fashionable collar. The skins are always an(j cleaned before using by putting them s moistened into a wooden cylinder, like j those used in a court room for the jury ji ballots, only larger with sawdust. The j" ., ] SKin is ciejineu Dy ueing revoiveu m uic T 2 cylinder. It is taken out and nailed 1>or? upon a flat table to dry, being stretched P. j as far iis it will go. This was formerly fr?n e all that tlie skin was subjected to belore .u*j \ being cut for garments, but within a win- 8tU(j e ter or two it has been customary to take S^oi t out the coarse hairs that are broken off " ? by the process of removing them with a . 0 knife after heating, and also those hairs that are too short to be reached by the I process. The result is to make the fur ^ v " freer," as the furrier would say. That 1 1 it is softer and finer to the touch after ? the second operation, any one may dee tect by rubbing the hand over it. To do this, a girl is given a skin in the or".e [) morning, and seated at a table with a socu e dozen other girls all with skins. Her best . left forefinger is put under the pelt side n*11*5 j of the skin and the fur side bent over the dese r linger. The girl blows the soft fur to "e.c J one side and leaves the stiff, coarse hair ann t exposed. Then she clips the coarse hair nurs 0 with scissors. The operation is tedious thre r atid reauires a day or longer Jo finish a ?25( skin. The blowing and clipping of a {ier r tableful of girls makes a curious sound. l?ng r Then the skin is looked over for any '01' t imperfections. The slightest hole is or(" . sewed up. The sewing is commonly hav e done by hand, but a glove-stitching ma- plea if chine is used when possible. Then the fiit f(>r vpppivps the stcini He must be a T] man of experience. The extremest eco- ly i nomy is used in selecting different parts of t of the skin for various purposes. Even hol( K the bits of fur are saved" and sold for that s felting fur hats. Around long, low caui ? tables sit women who rapidly makeu p ease e sealskin cloaks from the pieces furnished mat by the cutter. The sewing is entirely nen done by hand. The stoutest of needles are e are used. In a separate room anothei and bevy of women quilt linings for the The e cloaks, and when they are fitted the not e cloaks are hung within a thick curtain of si e at the side of the wall and afterward mer taken to a storeroom and packed in ene< ' pasteboard boxes.?New York Sun. slioi moi In the Sewers of Paris. the ? In the famous sewer3 of Paris the equi traveling convenienctes are superior to or i: many above ground. The hand-cars r for passengers are neatly made and fur ^ 1 nished with cane seats. You may sit, 0f? 0 as in an Irish jaunting-car, facing either ?D0 9 side. Of the two otner seats, one faces ^ /ront, the other rear. Each car or truck cjaj has four lamps. The propelling power < n ' is men?four to a truck. They roll di- i , rcctly over the sewer, the rails being j " laid on either side. The sewer in some jja] ; places equals a good-sized mining ditch tj ? in dimensions, with a pretty rapid cur- j . rent. I cannot give the depth of water. jg*r * I had no ambition to take soundings. One investigating passenger tried it with " } his cane, bot found no bottom. After j, ' f that I was afraid of his cane. The air , ? ' ,rn^n rrnA o irnnH oti*nnnr LI1LUU?I1UUU (UU^VU . bvvv*> j. ] smell. The men smokecL The ladies je ' held perfumed handkerchiefs to their ' noses. Many ladies visit the sewers, f f It ,is considered entirely tlie " correct r \ thing "to do. At the Place de la Con- J ' corde we left the cv.rs and took the gon- WQ. . dolas. Tlie sewers and streams are * here much wider. Each gondola will "if ? hold about twenty persons. Our fleet j * numbered about live or six gondolas. < Each one carried a large globular lan- P e tern. So we sailed in tlie dim dark, pas_ sage. Save an occasional stationary " ? light, it was dark ahead, dark behind, ?ou T dark below, damp and obscure above 13 C1 The b.-irges rocked a little, but not one t agreeably. The motion was not excit- j" / ing It seemed like that which might 'ia(J come on a sea of molasses in slight agita- cou d lion. An hour and a quarter in the ll0r (j sewers of Paris is enough. You can al- ?vei e ways recollect the taste and smell after- lr0.1 it ward. When we emerged from the ar- ?01! ? tifieial bowels of Paris to the earth we be 1 doubly appreciated air and sunlight, and an d had no inclination to repeat our experi- SV D ment. W1V 1 resi o Sleep for the Restless. - r mg_ IT J. lie iv.ansas u-ity ouurniu iuus now lu ?n{] d woo sleep when one is restless. Sit jjlL>: it down in :in easy position, relaxing all ^0f( the muscles of the body, and let the unf head drop forward upon the breast, as ^ee low jus it will fall without forcing it occ Sit quietly this way for a few minutes, ij.. '6 freeing all the powers of the body, and a jjie <1 restful, drowsy feeling will ensue, which e will, if not disturbed, lead to refresh- ^ - ing sleep. If the sleepless fit comes ^ n on in the night one can simply sit up in >f the position described. Stiffness of any S()n ?r part of the body must be avoided, and ex_ it is well to bend the head forward after * ? n lying down, rather than to keep it jrjie y straight or throw it back upon the <\ pillow. The writer suffered several c years from sleeplessness caused by tj1j] 's severe pain and nervousness, and was js taught the above by a physician of great jf. 'j 'e experience and ability,and found through SJl]( it complete relhf. Many persons simi- Wft. f- larly afflicted within the writer's le Vnnw1r>f1(rp liavp tried it and always ,i? d with goct results. Where Did Shakespeare Get It. j^! Several writers have disputed William Harvey's right to he called the discoverer pre " of the circulation of the blood, but in ex, '' spite of all that has been said the dis- ^ tinction lirst conceded to him has always arc remained. In the June Atlantic a writer 0SL. " cites the interesting fact that while Har- f.u.| c" vey first publicly announced his dis- ^0i fs t'ovcry in 1(120. Shakespeare thirteen rjc; years cai lier (1607) has written in "Julius Gf' 1 Ofcsar," act II, scene 1, the following jtsc r" lines: ss Brutus (to Portia), ie You are my true nr.d honorable wile, 2r As dear to me as are the ruddy tlrope cllC I That visit my sad heart. pro r>r i larvey himself owned that he was in- dig i- debted in a measure to his former master, apj ie Fabricius, for his discovery, but Shakes- tak " * ? * ? - * r? _ iv I pcare could liave known our. iiuir oi j<>i i:i | Fabricius, since he was an Italian and for tc his works were not published until 1617, cia ; the year after Shakespeare died. in TIMELY TOPICS. jople would do well to be careful whal of stuff they apply to their teeth. A man scientific publication gives the lysis of a specific patented in Beln, which is wonderfully like that of age water, the only material differi being the addition of some perfume isguise the odor of the ingredients. enry Bessemer, the English inventor, taken out 160 patents?almost as ty as Edison?and one of them, his :ess for making steel, ranks as one ol most brilliant inventions of the ury. It converts pig iron into steel , few minutes, and has reduced the e of steel rails per ton from $200 tc Ten times as much steel is used in world now as was used prior tc tie of the characters in New York is "Mustang Charley," a young i of twenty-one, who makes it his ness to* lasso steers that have broken y from their drivers and gone plungthrough the densely populated its, to the danger of life and prop. "Mustang Charley" keeps a small tang ready in the yard attached to residence, and is said to receivf nty-live dollars for every runaway l* caught and returned to the owner. vs. Minta Barnard Hoffman, of St. is, aged thirty, married an old :er because he was reputed wealthy, could support her in the necessaries ife while she worked for a niche in temple of fame. In 1877 she pub3d a volume of verse and other gs that showed her to be clever in literary line. But recently her husi lost money and health, and she forced to abandon her idea of being " a second Alice Carey," and to k in the grocery for her husband's )ort. In despair she took morphine died. igland has one great place of agriural education?Cirencester College. 3 erected in an elevated spot, facing 1 Bathurst's immense and splendid : in Glostershire, while its" south t has a wide view of Writs. It con3 accommodations for eighty-five cnts, a museum rich in specimens of ogy, l>otany, etc., and near by is one le best laboratories in England formut of an old barn. The farm buildare on a very extensive scale. Genicn distinguished in the sciences coned with agriculture, in addition to regular staff, give lectures. The colis now thirty years old. iieen Victoria has introduced a new r for the purpose of raising "the fil position of nurses." It is to bo owed upon those trained female ;es who by their skill and conduct rve high recognition, and they will ailed, from the order, " St. Kathe's Nurses." Each St. Katharine's le will hold her appointment foi e years, receiving during that timf I a year in addition to the salary paid by the institution to which she be;s, and she will be permitted to weai life the royal badge or armlet of the ;r. Three thoroughly trained nurses e recently received the order, amid sant ceremonies. lie medical committee, which recent nade an examination of the healtl lie school children in ircvmence 1 that pupils are taken too young ; the vitiated air of the school-room! ses consumption: that epidemic dis a arc caught tnere; that the pre ure development of the brain cause: rous diseases; that the young mind: crammed with unintelligible studies that the method is too artificial : committee hold that children shouh be admitted to school under the agi sven. and that the hours of confine it and mental effort should be short 1. Children in primary school aid not be confined to their seat e than twenty minutes at a time, a end of which they should enjoy ai ill period of recreation out of door a doors. second fire at Irkutsk, the chief towi 'entral Siberia, has followed so closer n the first as to give grounds for jicion of willful incendiarism, espe ly as the destruction has this tim in chietly on the public buildings, in ling the barracks, the police offic the town hall. In truth, no incen ry could wish for a better field thai cities of Asiatic Russia in summerost wholly built of wood, dry as tin from the long drought, and utterl; rovided with efficient quenching ap atus. A fire which any New xor] ine would have got down in half ai r destroyed in July, 1870, the who! n of Yeniseisk, in North Siberia ring *20,000 people homeless at on iv. The flames, once kindled, flev n house to house as if along a trail gunpowder. " It was," says an eye ness, " like a great show of fire :ks." Driven by a strong wind, th consumed not merely the town it , but the woods which surrounded it many who had taken refuge ther ished miserably. . gentleman residing in Wakulli nty, Fla., by the name of Cox, wh< ultivating a small farm, upon arisinj morning recently was surprised t< [ that during the night his residenc . changed from a region where wate Id not be seen ana situated on th der of a lake. When he retired th ning before his house was miles awa; n any pond, lake or river, but upoi ig out next morning his surprise cai magined when, instead of his garden immense sink fifty or sixty yard are, filled with water, running ui hin eighteen or twenty feet of hi dence, met his gaze. During th ht this transformation occurred, leav not even a vestige of the tallest pine l other trees wincii were scanning 11 ir full majesty only twelve hour }re. These sinks, however, are no requent in that county. It has onl; n but a short time since that a sin] urred, more remarkable than the on i(led to above, in that it occurred upoi very top of a hill, one of the highes nts of land in the county. lajor Pinto, the African explorer, me h many strange adventures and sa'v ic curious scenes during his recen (edition through the interior of th at continent. "At the extremity c Kalahari Desert," he says, "we me h the great' Macaricari.' The grea ciw'icari is the most extraordinar ig that exists in Africa. At times i , lake full of water. At other time s dry, being covered with a layer o Why the lake at times contain ter and at other times does not canno i - J C tl, A accounicu lor, ;is uiu i;unj ucoouii not satisfactorily explain the tw is. Tin- great Macaricari communi ?s with Lake Ngami by means of th er Mafobele, which Baines say vs to the east, and Livingstone rc rfents as flowing to the west. Botl >lorersare richt, because, accordingl the rains fall into the Matobele o abundant in the Cubango, the water illate from one side to the other, t, perhaps, without a parallel in th rid. The Ngami and the great Maca iri are nothing but the overflowing the Cubango, which at last lose If in the desert by evaporation." i frrnof Hpnpnds nnnn t.he tim >sen fur needful exercise. When it i perly conducted the effect on th estive system is very marked. Th >etite is increased and more food i en in order to supply force necessar the maintenance of the mechanici ce. This increase of appetite is esp( lly noted when the exercise is take th? open air. When exercise is ue % ' dertaken,however, without due pi tion, or the bodily powers are exh ; by fatigue, the power of being a . take fooa is diminishe 1. This com t if the exercise is continued and the of taking food remains impaired, E of considerable danger, and the he often greatly affected, the force ' heart being much reduced. It , great importance, moreover, whei fatigue "is undergone, to see th _ J2 1 uuuujr puwcio mc tiiuiuu^ui.y icv. ' by rest befora an attempt is made t food, otherwise there Will be no ii L tion to take it, and if forced down ; not digest. An hour's rest, with [ of warm tea. will do much towa | storing appetite in these cases. I ' it should be a rule in all cases 1 period of rest should intervene b( 1 work and food. ? A Story Without a Moral. A story has gone the rounds papers about a certain good-h young fellow named Skinner, wh years ago, was kind to an unknow from Antigua. The other da; stranger died, leaving to John S' $750,000. Another story, which lieve to be true, was told latclj youne female school teacher wh traveling two years ago on the Pe ? - ? ? mVtAn nn AfllOT* <10 Villi lit rniuuou, tYIICU lUiumgi II apparently as poor as herself, wa denly taken ill. The girl delayi journey for a dky or two to nur stranger at an inn, and then went i way, and heard of the incident nc until last September, when she re i information that she was the hei fortune which would make her lortable for the rest of her life. The newspapers have been p around these cheering anecdol stories with a moral. We are not ' sure what the moral is. If it is tl are all to become amiable or bene 1 in the ccrtainity of a gooil fat a] i from fate in hard dollars, the mor 1 delusion and a snare. Your lucky ner is one white elephant in a hei million. The good Samaritan pai for the oil and wine, and was by so out of pockel; but we are not toi his neighbor whom he succored ei imbursed him for the same. We a even told that lie paid him by a i amount of gratitude. If we shouli i up John Skinner's good luck t readers as a specimen of the on dealings of destiny with the char everv one of them would produt good fellows he knows with big 1 open hands and lean pocket*. " ft giveth to the poor, lendeth to the 1 we all know; but it would be bad to invest in charity with the expec that payment would be made in and with Skinner's 10.000 or so peat that. Look about in any village, anc , your old Griper who owns the cc i ling shares of the bank stock ar i heavy end ot the local railway. A [ making chances come to him as , drift to the big limpet in the pool. j his neighbor, tne man best Knov . benevolence in the town, and whi , his shares of bank or railway [ Who leaves him a legacy? Thi . qualities which make him genial, ! lous, generous, render him a bac , ness man. His is one of those ff \ which money seems to shun; hi I turn out half-starved clergymc: daughters marry into houses b everything but love; it is on tb next to his that oil ;s struck; hi " riably just grazes good fortune, 1 never hits it. Yet the public dr ; him as freely as they would frc > town pump. Every case of mis 3 want in the county comes strai ' him, to drain on his sympath " purse. This man's lot is tlie one i * up to boys as the result of Good S 3 tanism; not the my thical Skinner' ' his gorged pockets. ; To show it to them fairly, tho 1 is just to state that this man ii e forsaken, never comes to want; h * dren never besr their bread. So " promise of Holy Writ is passed 3 who lends to the poor. You mus ? them, too. the real possession w t given to him in lieu of Griper's 1 and bonds. You will find no tra? 9 in his bare house or shabby cloth< it is hinted in the tones of his The content of this great possessii a his dead face, as he lies with ] y friends about him?the widow a i fatherless and the poor that he ] - livered. The payment made t e men is intangible; it holds no plae - market; yet the splendor of it si e their homes and out of their gra\ - a light in a dark place; it has ma ii little deed of the Good Samai - beacon through all the ages; it is: - makes a house, or a village, or the y itself a happy home for human - instead of a den of greedy, selfish k Let us teacli charity, good fello n care for our fellows, to our childrc e let us teach them, too, what the ,t is to be; not Skinner's, but a e which makes his paltry thous; v matter of indifference. ? New a Tribune. Desperate Fight with a Mad e Near Gold Creek, Faulkner c - Ark , and about seven miles fr< '? railroad, lives a man named P e farmer. One Monday evening, n ago, while Rhea and hifwife were in front of their door, two dog6 j a, over the fence and ran under the 5 Presently a terrific howling and f * began, and continued for some 3 when at hist one of the dogs darti i j 4i.? ?A e IC'iipt'U uver Hie lUlluc, nuu i.m r The other dog, a largo brindle 0 cidedly ugly type, followed as lar e fence, but stopped, turned arour f started toward Rhea with its raou n open. Rhea picked up an old 3 dasher, and as the dog sprang struck the beast on the head. S 9 for a moment, the animal recoil p only for a moment, for it spran/ 9 before Rhea had time to prepare ] e Rhea grappled the dog by the thr< . held its mouth as lar away as p> s and a desperate struggle begac 1 dog's eyes glared and its mouth < 9 the froth peculiar to hydrophobia t Rhea ran into the house and s< y turned with a case-knife, will k handed to her husband. The e pointed and dull-edged weapor n time and again against the a t throat without drawing blood or ing its fury. The strong grasp man kept its teeth away, but suet t could not last long. Again the v entered the house, and this time r< t with a shotgun. Cocking it and i e up to the floundering dog, she pla if muzzle close to the animal's nan t fired. There was a seemingly adc ,t glare of the eyes, but no sounc y gun was again fired and the anil t dead. s f He Thought So. ? The man in charge of the big ll at the water works realizes that s a curiosity for most visitors, am 0 callers express surprise and inte l" foels pleased. The other day a s e came in for a look around, and li 9 oral make up satisfied the engine j" he was a person of deep thouglH 11 man to appreciate the merits of r y machinery. The stranger view r engine from every side and ang 3 sat down. Then he reviewed it a a another rest. Then he walked e the building in a wise way am * back for another inspection. F s long hours he hardly had his eyes 3 ponderous machinery, but -was ready to go. Taking one last 1 wallced up to the engineer and sai e "Say. mister, this'ere injine i s steam,"don't it?" e " Why, of course," was the e answer. is "Well, I thought so more'n ] y hour ago," continued the man,' is just as well to be sure abou J- things. There are so many wir n around now-a-days that one c t- certain of nothine "?Detroit Pre epara- FOB THE FAIB SEX. au8ted ible to " Buu " Fuhlon BTote?. flition, Very rich brocaded sashes are the power latest importations. They come in rich is one Persian colors, either very dark or very alth is light, and are often woven to simulate of the two rows of narrow ribbon place.I is of together. There are also many soft i (rroot twillpH sashes in the eavest Roman bars, at the or in tartan plaidsror in contrasting, xuited ttripes. The plain-colored sashes are of \o take the richest satin ribbon, about seven lclina- seven inches wide, and there are also it will twilled soft silk sashes of single color, a cup These are verj simply arranged either rd re- directly on the back, of the dress or else ndeed, just in front. that a Very pretty sashes for dark green or .'tween navy blue wool or grenadine suits are the genuine Scotch tartan plaids of soft silk, arranged as a widely-folded belt in the front of the dress, and tied in a the larirft knot on the left side, with long earted hanging ends. It is not necessary that 10, ten the plaid should appear in any other n man part of the costume, though there is a ir this decided fancy for borders of the Scotch sinner plaid on the skirts, and also for a three we be- cornered neckerchief of the same, to be r of a worn knotted in front, in sailor fashion, o was The gay sashes worn on little girls' nnsyl- white dresses are held by bias bands of oman, embroidery four or five inches long, 1 s sud- sewed on low down on the side seams, sd her or else five bands are placed at regular . se the intervals around the skirt. Insertion an on her inch wide, with edging of the same > more width each side of it, forms the band, oeived Simpler white muslin slips with plaited r to a front and loose back have muslin strings com- a fourth of a yard wide sewed in the side seams ana tied behind in an exassing tremely large bow. ;es as The fans most in vogue are eleven , quite inches long from the handle onward?a lat we more graceful size than the large, volent heavy fan lately in use. Brocaded silk inuity is the fashionable mounting, and is nl is a chosen in small French designs, in in15kin tricate Persian patterns, or in the bril- ' rd of a liant Turkish colors. Only one side of d cash the fan shows the brocade, while the op- 1 mucn posite side is plain gros grain of cream, d that mastic gray or some other delicate tint, < rer re- chosen with reference to the dresses of re not the wearer; in some instances thebrodeeent cade is made of the trimming of some d hold special dress. The sticks are of light ( 0 our wood, such as olive, and the ornaments linary on the outer sticks are incised in quaint [table, pre-Raphaelite designs. These fans cost :e 100 from $6 upward. Lower-priced fans of learts, the same brilliant coloring are of printed 'e that satin; these usually follow out rompaL<ord," dour designs and colors, such as the policy chintz figures of rose-buds on pale blue itation grounds. The sticks are of lignt maple . cash, wood highly polished, and the price is rcent. $3.50. . There are two sizes of white lace bows 1 it is worn at the throat; that for morning >ntrol- and plain wear is not more than four id the inches broad, while the large Louis loney- Quatorze bow worn on dressy occasions newts measures eight inches from tip to tip. Take For the latter a yard and three-fourths ra for of Breton lace, which is three and a half jre are inches wide, is required, also a strap for stock? the center of bias Indian muslin about e very five inches broad.. The Breton lace, credu- with needleworkedscallops on the edges, [ busi- and'a large flower pattern, makes up imilies most effectively. The lace is first cut in is sons two pieces, each of which is gathered Q ? to a tiny heading of the muslin, and each are of frill is then doubled like a tassel. The e farm muslin-gathered ends are next sewed to e mva- meet each other on a strong bit of stiff but he muslin an inch square, ana the India aw on muslin bias piece already provided is >m the tightly folded over them lengthwise, jery or thus concealing the joints. ght to y Pat Tour Shoulder* Back. to hold Much of the proverbial slenderness jrJK" and physical frailty of our girls, as coms, witn pare(j with those of other nations, has , .. been charged to intellectual habits and a npwr overwork in study. It is unquestionh i 'xh]y true t'iat they need more out-door V8 *1,1 and more education in bodily developraent. talinw Many American girls, through inathioli U to t'ie way carrying themutn)>Vs se^ves' unconsciously contract the habit 01 Dnnging me auouiucxa iui wuu ?? >? hnt 8tooPiDK* -The position not only dis' . p tracts greatly from their appearance, but voice. jg ajSQ ve pernicious in point of )n is in jieaith. J * v nh The celebrated Aaron Burr,in a letter to ion his daughter, Theodosia, afterward the n siir-h w^e "overnor Alston, of South Caroi,'" Una, wrote as tollows on this subject: lines in " Your habit of stooping and bringing ' your shoulders forward on to your broiist 'GS 11KC ?* * ?!.. waii V?nf i'q nlarminfr Hp flint" UUI' UU1J uiouiiunw juu, uu> ............0 if ?. on account of the iiyury to your health, ill that The continuance of this vile habit will ?li'orM certainly produce consumption, then licino^ farewell pleasure; farewell life! heists "This is no exaggeration; no liction to w^hin excite your apprehensions. But, setting n-hut aside this distressing consideration, I reward am astonished that you have no more nrice P^de in your appearance. You will cerands a st'n^ y?ur growth and disfigure York your person." There is reason to believe that Miss Burr gave heed to this admonition of her good lather; for she afcerD ward became renowned for her beauty ?' as well as for superior mental endow,'ouncy, ments and accomplishments. im ;he Lhea. a Ot long Snubbing Two Tounff Snob*. sitting Lina Morgenstern, the founder of the umpea "Kindergartens," attended the court house, held in the castle at Berlin, in celebraighting tion of the emperor's f olden wedding. time. Royal pages, gorgeotls in scarlet and 2d out, white favors, were in attendance at the away, doorway of the throne-room to spread of de- out the trains of the noble dames and as the damsels privileged to appear before the id, and presence, ana perxorm mc uuiu^c m th half courtesies prescribed by etiauette. These churn high-born youths executed their funcnt him tions with admirable featness whenever tunned the ladies requiring their ministration j cd, but happened to be ambassadresses, peeresses, j : again or even members of the numerous unhimself titled aristocracy; but when a lady of Dat and the middle class presented herself at their ossible, post, they were observed to hang back, i. The When Lina Morgenstern's turn came ?mitted to enter the throne-room, she paused k. Mrs. at the portal, expectant of the assistance Don re- eagerly afforded to her predecessor, a ch she countess, out in vain. Turning sharply blunt- round upon tlie proud youths who dis1 went dained to notice her, she addressed them, nimal's " Who are you, youns gentleman ?" " I lessen- am Prince H ." " I am Count K ." - - .. TTT.11 TT onrl PnnrU 01 me vv ew, men, x wuvv ii ...... i a grip K , be so pood as to arrange my train woman properly." With cheeks-as red as their turned liveries, the youthful nobles hastily did rushing their office.?Lo ndon Tele.grah. ced the iks and ? iitional w ^ _ 1. The In a ot Rattlesnakes. mal fell a party of ladies and gentlemen went to High Knob, two miles from Lord's Valley, Pa., recently on a whortleberry excursion. One of the party took along engine a small black and tan terrier dog. While he lias hands were gathering berries the dog 1 when wandered off into the thicket, and was rest he soon heard barking. One of the men tranger hurried to the spot, and saw the dog with lis ,gen- a big rattlesnake in its mouth, shaking it ;er that fiercely. He seized a stick, and, taking a ; and a few steps forward, was startled by a loud nonster rattling noise a few yards to his right, red the Giving a glance in that direction, he saw :le, and scores of rattlesnakes coiled, and soundnd took ing their rattles. He took a small fish around horn, which lie had tied to his belt, and I came blew it to call together the rest of the or two parly. Soon three other men arrived, i off the They armed themselves with sticks, and, at last moving cautiously to within reaching ook he distance, began the battle. When it was id: over, the victors counted thirty-eight uns by dead snakes, measuring from two and a half to five feet in length, and some haramazed inc as many as twenty rattles. That section abounds in rattlesnake halt nn d*>ns. The largest is at the loot ot mil "hut it Hill, six miles northeast of the valley, t these Tt was at that den that Sam Helms, a id-mills noted snake tamer, captured most of the an't be snakes which he exhibited throughout e Press, the country. 1 Not by Bread Alone. A wonderful secret, oh, summer, Is yours! that your breath o'er the land Can fill it to fullness with tragrance; That it blooms 'nenth the touch ot your hand That the earth and the rocks and the river* firing their tribute at "'mr command. But a charm that is gra* ?er, oh, summer, You wield: and I fain would know II there's balm to hearts that are aching In your wonderful winds that Mow; If there's health to the soul athirstfng In the streams that you set allow ? v Do your evening dews, oh, summer. Fall also into the heart 7 Have yonr resinous spicy odors A spiritual healing art? Cob the soul as veil ns the body >. In your ministries have a part? Is it true, indeed, oh, summer, That ypar sunsets' purple and gold, Your brooks, your meadows, your roses Your breezes so sweetly bold, Ripe fruits and yellowing harvests Have a ministry two-fold ? / It is trae! it is true, oh, summer! And I feel the heart of me Grow strong and glad with the virtues Of your spiritual pharmacy; And all of your glories contribute To my immortality ? ?Carlotia Ptrrjr. ITEMS OF UTTEBEST. < " lrutn is migniy "?augnty Bcarce. Toronto Gossipcr. Murrain is carrying off Colorado cattle by the hundreds. Iowa has 100 creameries or butter factories in operation. Many men seek appointments, but few seek disappointments. $ ' In this world bravin' is too often mistaken for brains.?Boston Transcript. Snitz wants to know if the sons of the desert pitch their tents with gum Arabic. ?Corry Herald. t The Philadelphia Public ledger is said v t to liave the most handsomely fitted up \ editorial rooms in America. A printer's devil is seldom a blockhead, but from force of circ instances he is an inkcmpoop.?Gate City. Take a true view 01 me; oe proua uuu you have work in the world's busy path, and do it well and honorably. A Western editor alluded to his rival as "A fellow who represents seventeen flk distinct kinds of a born fool!" During tholast fiscal year therfl was a total increase of 318 new money-order > postoffices in the United States. Always some hitch about it?A har-^^ riess.?American Punch. Always some^^ * itch about it?A mosquito's bite. " Let it be recorded," said the newspaper reporter to the teamster whose load of wood was overturned. ?Riggs. Baron Lionel Rothschild has bebueathed to George Fordham, his jockey, $1(^000, and an annuity of $1,500. A woman at Fort Collins, Col., gavs a supper to all the young men in town who , hadn't drank anything in sixty days. In the next Presidential race, perhaps Han lan and Weston would make the best time, but they won't run. One rows and the other walks.?Norristmn Herald. Newspapers seem to have originated ia China. The Pekin Oazette, the oldest daily in the world, was issued about A. D. 1350. It is still in existence and is an official journal. The unseen, and therefore unexpected, is -nfeat surprises us, when -suddenly developed. It is for this reason that, unlike the obvious bark of a tree, the audjien bark of a dog startles us so, especially of a dark night. Of the class of 1829 at Harvard University, twenty-eight out of the fiftyeight original* members still survive after fifty years, and of the corresponding class at Williams College, eight out of eighteen?nearfy one-half in each case. She held firm ly on to the ropes and c;ayly warbled: " Oh, George, isn't this just nice? Now, really, I think this just too exquisite for anything, with the cool * ul nJlwAww *noin in Drcezt's rjjuwiu^ omtij ivuiu little fairy goblets, and?The dash denotes tire moment she swallowed the billow.?New York Star. The young lady who married her father's coachman says she was driven to it.?Scth Soiccr. But hereafter she intends to hold the reins herself.?New ^ York News. Wheel bet she'll manage her hub.?Pliiladclphia Sunday Item. V''., Spoke in like an oracle!?Lukens. What felloes you are for wagon your tongues! TO-DAT. Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and rosea, Casting out the thorns and chart". Let us find our sweetest coaifort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand removing All the briers from our way. Nine men met _on the Hooker prairie. in Polk county, * la., ior me purpose 01 killing alligators, with gigs, guns, an axe, one grubbing hoe aha one hook. The party killed 224 alligators, 220 of > f which were from three to twelve feet in length, the average length being seven feet. All were killed within the space of half a mile. A bather will step up to the water, | stick in one finger, give a shiver and run. But the house-fly, made bold by the feast between daylight and breakfast, I will drop right into a cup of hot coffee without a word. People might get a little peace and a preat deal of satj isfaction by keeping a cup of hot coffee by the bedside during the morning hours. This advice is given on the ny. Mc j Gregor News. Proving the Likeness. There lived in Brussels a celebrated I painter named Wiertz, whose eccentricj ities were such as to give him the name of the crazy artist. That there waa method in his madness, the following anecdote shows: After having finished a portrait of the I old aristocratic Countess de Arpos, who I pretended to be only thirty when nearly I sixty, she refused to accept the painting, j saving it did not look anything lik<> herself, and that her most intimate friends * * ' ? ? - - ?i- r? would noi recognize a smgm icaiuic u* her on that piece of canvas. Wiertz smiled kindly at the remark, and, as a true knigiit of old, gallantly reconducted the lady to her carriage. Next morning there was a grand disturbance in tlie Rue de Madeline. A big crowd was gathered before a window, and tlie following was whispered fra?Q ear to ear: " Is the Countess de Arnos really in jail for her debts?" Wiertz had exercised a little vengeance toward his noble but unfair customer. As soon as sbe had refused tlie | portrait, he set to work and painted a few iron bars on the picture, with these words: "In jail for debt!" He exhibited the painting in a jeweler's window, in the principal street in nmi thp pft'pct was ins:an IJLJL UOOV. 1U| Ikuu v*? taneous. I A few hours latc-r the Countess wiw : back at Wiertz's studio pouring inveo! tivrs on him at high pressure?"to have I exhibited her likeness under such scanI dalous "?etc. " Most noble lady," was the artist's {reply, "you said the painting did not ; look anything like yourself, and that | your most intimate friends would not i nave recognized a single one of your j features in the picture. I wanted to tost I the truth of your statement, that is all." j The portrait waa taken away, tho city I laughed, the artist charged double price, j ana gave the amount to the poor of t)?e J city. j J