Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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T CALM AND STORM. As, azure domed, And silver foamed, And flecked by many a snowy sail; The ocean lay, One Summer's day, Scarce rippling in the southern gale; I felt for me That life might be As tranquil as that Summer sea. But, as I gazed, The sea birds raised A cry of dol'rous, sad forebode, Athwart fair heaven Bla-k clouds were driven, And high the apgry billows rode. Ah, then for me, Prophetic sea, Thou told'st in truth what life must be. Now?azure domed, And silver foamed, Once more it tells the same sweet tale. And this shall last, When?life's samls past? For heaven's bright shore our souls set sail. Then smile, fair :ea, Less glad, le ? fre \ Than they who to that Har'oor flee! I ?Katharine Cooper. / THE BEAR PRINCESS. FROM TUK FRENCH. Behind the house, Serban sat dreaming upon a bench over which the lilac, formed a sort of canopy, perfumed with | their own fresh odor. The house was a tine building, with white-washed walls, and a roof of red tiles. It belonged to St-rbm's mother, the Widow I.epk witsch. and was situated in the Galician quarter of ZukofT, not far ""rom the Custom-hous:-, and very near the woods. ] > Damo Lepkowitsch was a powerful j woman, about forty yiars of age, whom < ever.boly both respected and feare.l? ? she whs respci ted because, ever since l the d-ath of her husband, she had managed the property and its dependencies 1 -it i? i if ---*1*.: i.i I 4i -1 j - an uy uerseu, uuiuvitieu uei uwu neiua i ( and carried on a little trade as well in ! t wood and tallow; her great gray eyes 1 made people afraid, as tl.ey heard her j voice harsh as the sound of a knife j passing o.'er a grindstone. Not knowing how to re.id or write s herself, she had taken care to send her 1 son to s hool at an early a^e. Scrban t kept her accounts and read the papers to s her; for the good w<ma:i, who co.ild t not m:ike out a single letter herself, burned with ciuiosity to kn;>w what was going on at Paris, at Vienna and other f remote place*. She loved Serban as a mother loves her only child, but she took care not to let him see it. Was ;t not enough to think of to wo k for his future from morning until evening? t * Serban was a dreamer The only thing which gave him delight was his violin? t his mother hid bought him the instru- t ment as an object ot distr: ct on?for she c thought her son was m lanch.ily only be- i cause he was too fond of solitude and 1 too much given to his own sombre thoughts. t Dame Lepkowitsch was far from sus- $ ptcting that h -r son needed a hand to i direct him, and that that hand must be the hand of a woman. For the time being his mother's hand s was sufficient, but later on it would ha e to be another's; that wa; certain. Lik : a child, he would have to be passed from one hand to another, but tbe thin? did 1 i. J- -i!J _ noi seem an oa jr w uu. tur il uiu u ?t appear to please this great strong youth, ^ with his girl's face ana blonde curls. He seemed to have a horror of everything i that wore tra'ling druses and long hair; and the moment that the fresh and b iautiful face of ayouni; girl appeared before 1 him, or that a sweet voi e spoke to him, 1 he made his preparations to flee. I He never frequented th3 ta em, never went to balls; he was never seen at the i fountain, nor at the evening spiuuing parties, nor at any of the favorite resorts I of the other young men. None of tho<e 1 amusements a' traded him. So thut after ] awhile, his mother became a little anxious. and particularly when she saw him 1 sitti g on the bench, as he was to day, < like some prince of fairy-t ile bewitched by a fairy. < He had been sitting thus in a bro-\n ] study for some time, when sud lenly a strange noise fell upon his ears a::d disturbed his reflections. A sound at o.ice ringing and ^et rae'ancho'y seemed, 1 tnrougn tne caira 01 ine evening, xo come from the market place, and break its < echoes magically against the h- uses and i among the gardens. There was gentle i harmony in the noisy concert. Serban got up, and, with his violin and bow still in iiis hand, he slowly followed the meloJio is summons, and crossing the huge gard ns, lie reached the Zukotf s'.re.t which leals to the marketplace. There, a compact crowd hadfo med in a circle?soldiers, servants, children? and in the middle stood a young girl of great beauty, who was making a big brown bear dnnce. While the latter was turning clumsily upon hi-; hind leys, uttering a grunt of sitisfactien from time to time, the young . girl was tapping a tamborine.thc booming 1 - of which, blending with the argentine clash of little bells produced a uniform sound characterized oy a sort of melancholy fury. The profile of the lithe voting girl wan splendidly outlined against the bright evening sky; it seemed like the head of some Byzautine saint relieved against a background of gold. Her feet were shod with dainty red moroc o shoes; she wore a r^hort strip *d : tuni", and round her neck, a slrinir of coral and silver pieces which fell over her richly embroidered garment. A piece of red cloth w;i9 gracefully twisted about her handsome dark head, and gave her i face a somewhat Orieutal aud prophetic ! aspect. The animal understood every one of i htr signs; he listened to her w!th the blind obedience of a slave who loves and fears his mistress; he sat down and gave his paw, rose up again, and tlie beautiful i girl st od triumphant upon his ru?ged back; he asvu.md all the posture> of a ' clown, and. at another signa1, began to I perform u kind of paitomime. To end with, he threw himself on the ground, ' pn tended to bj dead, and the young < girl stretched herself upon him, in the ' attitude of a conqueror that has overthrown his enemy. Serban sto d there without moving, i but he never took his ejus otl her. i "Don't go near h:r!" cried a neighbor, the tailor Atlas Mensch, "she h as proud ? ? A. wr.ilrl T lrr?rvTy V?or ?*o! 1 Vinir tti one ia niiu. x auv?? uv? mvj call her the Eear-Princess. The best advice I cau give you is to keep out of her way." This warning came too late. As the young girl approached Serban to pick up the coins which had fallen at his feet, it seemed to him ihit she had suddenly pulled o.it his h art, and hidden it away under her magnificent dress. And when she had again put the collar on the bear and left the square with her animal, he felt as il he also were attached to a magical chain, and obliged to follow her in spite of himself. At the entrance of the forest, in the spot where stood the little cross beside which she halted in order to take a re-t and to share a piece of bread with her savage friend, she perceived that Sorbin was following her. 'What do you want?" she asked. "Nothing. I belong to the place.'' ''You are a musician?'' "Xo-, my mother has a home and garden in the neighborhood." 1 Then what do you want?'' 4 I want to follow you." "To fol'ow me! Are you crazy?" A smile played softly about the lips of the handsome girl. 'And why can't Is'" asked Serban, quite discouraged. "Bcrause I fo.bid you to." ' The road is free for everybody." "I shall take goxi care to compel you to go back hme. "You can't drive away your shadow. I am your second shadow. I pray you do not be so cruel. I can't help following you. She looked at him with her great sibylline eyes and did not answer. While she was eating, he also sat down on the grass a few steps away from her. When she had finished her meagre meal, .fchi rose up. She took the imperial road, and Serban, after watching the. young girl for an instant, followe I her j at the distance of about a hundred j vnrds He follow d hir from farm to farm, I from vi lage to vi.lige, irom one town to another; wher-ver she halted, or wherever slrj m t lc 1 er bear dance, he [ stopped. too. at.d never cea-el admiring tvr. He reste 1 in the same place where she passed the night?wh ther under a peasant's t at hed roof, or under the starry sky; he iu n -hed his thirst at the lime fountain as she; he assuaged his luuger whenever she and h^r bear took heir meals? to-day. perhaps, in a j'oomy tavern, to-morrow among the .tones of some old mined rastle. or perlaps, in a ditch under sonu wild sorb. lie ne er approa hed her except when ie felt her to be in danger?when a Irunkeu man would presume to attempt o take liberties with her?when she lappened to be in some very lonesome ?rvr Tvlwm thrnnnr}i thfl nio-hfc " "V..., , ?er> civcd the shining eyes of a wolf. On'C, during a violent i-torm, when he had sought shelter under the willows jorde.ing a stream, Serban hafl placed liruself near her, under a nut tree, nnd he ha.l spoken to him for the second ime. "What is your name?"' "Serban; and Leptkowitsch is my amily name! Aud you?" "My name is fa Una." "You are not of our courtryf' "No!" "Then, where are you from?" "From the mountains over there; near he Hungarian frontier." He asked her nothing more; then he >egan to look at her. He could not sai ite himself with admiring the adorable xe.iture, whose cha te face was illuinilated by two great dark eyes that flashed >en?ath her mhgnifice it hair. "But what do you want to follow mc his way for?" she continued, after a short ,ilc.vv. i'if ^ js simply a joke. I think t has been carried on long enough." "On the contrary, it is very serious." "I beg of you go back home!" she laid to him, in her gentlest voice. fljrban shook his head. "You won't?" "I won't." "And if I order you?" As she said thesj words she rose, and walked majestically toward mm. "And if I ordei you, will you obey nc?" "No!'' "Serban, do not provoke my anger! I lave been well enough able to tame my >ear, : r.d I can just as easily conquer ;hat obstinacy of yours." "I pray you, C'ardina, do not send me iway." The ])Oor fellow had half risen up, so hat he found himself on h's knees before icr. looking up into her face with suppliant eyes. Sh'* approached him and stood silent ;or a few moment-:. Suddenly her handsome fa-e resumed its inerri.uent agiia. "Stay, then," she said; ' but in that ;ase you will have to perform tricks, like [vanok, my bear." "Whet do you mean by that?" "I am g )ing to show you right now." She took olf the chain around the bear's neck and fastened it upon Serban. "Come, now.'' she cried, with a burst af laughter, "pay attention!?for if you don't work hard you will get nothing to cat, and if you show yourself disol.e lient I will punish you. I'p, now!" Serban got up. "Dance, my bear, dance!" She commenced to beat her tamborine, and the young man began to dance. b.?th of tlicm bursting with laughter, just like two children. * ' 1 i? ?- iL. 1 "I 3 in tne meantime me ueur imu approached th m, and stared at them in astoni-h r.c .t. Ca lina, in her childi-h glee, still kept cracking her whip. ' ('omc, Ivanok ? come on, ray friend, if you want to. llop! hop!' Tha anim ll rose on his hind legs and made as if he was about to em' race his young mistress. But Scrban, misund<rstanding this demou-tratioa of friendship and fearing that Cadina was in danger, placed liimse'f before her for the purpose of protecting her. Ivanok pricked up his enrs and gave vent to a deep growl, then, taKing Serban unawares, as the latter was threatening him with his violin bow?which, unfortunately for himself, he still held in his hand?rushed at him with a roar und seized him in his claws. Cardina shouted v.ith all her mi^ht at the auim.d, and flo<rgcd him with her whip until he let Scrban go; but the blood of the youug man a'ready crimsoned the grass, and pa'e to his very lips, he sank at ( adina's feet. Cadina stared at him in terror for a moment, then threw herself down beside him. "Are you dead?" she mutter; d, shaking him with all her strength. No; he 3till breathed; his heart was beating! The young girl at once regained her Ielf-pos?ession;*he dhew from her pocket the kerchief she was wont to wear round her neck of evenings, ai d tore it into strips. Then >he dragged Serban to the edge of the stream, washed his wounds with the cool water, and staunched the blood which had been flowing in proFusion, A few moments la'er, Serban opened his eyes, aud looked at her with n smile. She bandaged h:s head where the wound was, and after having fastened her bear to a neighboring tree, she ran across the fields and meadows to the nearest village which revealed its presence above the birch trees by the three gilded cupolas of its Greek church. When she came back she was accompanied liy a barber, who exercis d the profession of doctor in addition to his regular ca:ling, and by two men carrying a litter. After a second bandaging Scrban was I carried to the village, where Cadina had | engaged lodgings for herself and him, a the barber's house. The wounds were not very dangerous but poor Serban remained for more thar a week prostrate with a violent fever, Then, however, he began to get bettei fast, and after another week he was able to leave his bed. Cadina. who had nursed him day and night, led him outside the house for tht first time. He sat down beside her on the b^nch. His face beamed with happiness at being able to see nature again in all her brightness. "Now that you are cured," the young girl began, without looking at him? now thnt you are cured, you must go back to your mother, and I shall go on my way alone, with my bear." "You think I am willing to do that!" calmly replied Scrban. "No, no! J shall either go with you, or you shall follow me." "Why, what are you dreaming of?" "I cannot live without you?no! I cannot!" Cadina bent her handsome head closer to the young man, and fixed her great eyes upou him. "Why should I hide it from you she exclaimed with sincerity. "I also?I do not want any man but you; but you are rich, and I am a poor girl. What would your mother say: J\o, Serban, t\ at could never be!?you are not speaking seriously." "Doyou love me?" "Yes." "Then, that is all I want to know." Serban rose up; for the first time he looked rnergetic. After he had paid the bnrber lie had still some money left, and he hired a vehicle, in which he installed Cadina and her bear; then they took the road to Zukoff. On seeing Serbau again, his mother, who h id thought her son lost to her forever, sank down almost uncouscious. "Ana wnat is tnat you are onnging me?'' she asked, as soon as her senses returned. "A bear and a betrothed. Will you have her for your daughter-in- law ! If so, she will at once become rny wife; if not, I shall leave yDU and follow her and her bear." ' If she is a good honest girl." "Yes!" "If she loves you and you love her the same, my blessing upon her, whether she be rich or poor." C'ardina bccame Scrban's wife. The people of Zukoff were astounded by the change th it had taken place in Serban; he had beroms a totally different man, with joy in his eyes and merriment in his speech?a man, in short, whom everybody liked. Only Atlas, the tailor, was not a bit surprised. "What could be more natural!" incessantly repeated the village-folk?"he married a wife who has the gift of tamintv wild beasts, and whv shouldn't she ? o * have tamed him? It isn't without reason she is called The Bear-Princess."?Kio Orleans Times-Demoerat. Children and Natnre. Children have quick perceptions, and therefore are good observers or seers. The observations tfcey make, however, regarding the animals and plants about the n, while often in themselves quite accurate, lead to very incorrect conclusions. This is because children do not reason deeply. It takes a long time for them to lea:n that not once or twite, but a great many times, must one phenomenon follow certain other preceding phenomena to warrant the use of the logical teim9 effect and cause. Caution in forming deductions comes only with experience and education. Children have keen eyes for any strange pecu'iarities as well as for real or fancied resemblances, and are quick to appreciate the qualifies of plants. An enthusiastic botanist and teacher, speaking of children, said: ' They bow as to some fetich before nnicnnniK ulnnfv '' Mrtiistrnsitips in Nature fascinate them. Double apples, strangely shape:] knots from tr.es, grotesque roots, curious lichens adorn many "play-houses." Their re diness to get hold of the properties of plants explaius how it is that children (J>oys particularly, because they are more in the out-door world) find so many things to cat in the woods and fields. A boy accu-tomed to" tramp about will seldom go a hundred rods afieid before he begins to nibble or chew something that he find* growing in his path. Can you not recall a dozen wild things of which you were fond in childhood which long ago passed from your list of edibles? Sassafrasbark, both of twi<; and root, spice wood, 4 slippery-elm," the buds of the lindentree, the tender shoots from the spruce and larch, all tickle the palate of the boy or girl. Men whose boyhood was passed anywhere in Northern New England may recall how fond they once were of something which was called "sliver," the cambium layer of the white pine. In certain placcs it is the fashion to chew the leaves of the Anteunuria, ?? a-l??i? JlUIIJUII lUUUUlU 111 UIUCI3, lUWllUblossoms. "Will ever lioncy taste as sweet as did the dainty droplets taken direct fiom some unfortunate bumblebee captured and dismembered by the boy seeking what he may devour?? Popular Science Monthly. How ft Soldier Rftn Away to Sea. One hundred and nine years ago, in the month of February, 1777, a young French guardsman ran away to sea. And a most singular running away it was. He did not wish to be a sailor, but he was so anxious to go that he bought a ship to run away in, for he was a very wealthy young man; and though he was only nineteen, he held a commission as Major-General in the armies of a land three thousand miles away, a land he had never seen and the language of which he could not speak. The King of France commanded him to remain at home; his friends and relatives tried to restrain Viim an*! nvnn tliA rAnr/iCPntativoQ nr agents, of the country in defence of which he desired to fi.i>ht did not encourage his purpose. And when the young man, while dining at the house of the Biitish Ambassador to France, openly avowed his sympathy with a downtrodden people, and his determination to help them gain their freedom, the Ambassador acled quickly. At his request, the rash young enthusiast was arrested by the French Government, and or 'ers were given to sei/o his ship, which was awaiting him at lior 'eaux. Hut ship und owner both slipped away, and. sailing from the port of Pa-ajes in Spain, tlie runaway, with eleven chosen companions, was soon on the sea, bound for America, and beyond the reach of both friends and foes. On April 25. 1777, he landed at the littlft nr?rt nf CJfinrrrptmvn ftt the mouth of the Great Pee Dee river in South Carolina; and from that day forward the career of Marie Jean Paul Rocli Yves Gilbert Motier, Marquis de La Fayette, has held a place in the history of America, and in the interest and affection of the American people.?St. Niclwbia. Wages in the mines in the Black Hills range from $2.50 to $."> a day. and arc regulated by tlie amount and character of work performed. ? CUSTER'S FATE," t I ' | AN INDIAN CHIEF S ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE. I Graphic Recital by a Sioux Brtve of the Horrible Scenes of Slau.rh; ter?The Bravery of Custer and His Men. ' The celebration of the tenth anniversary of the Custer massacre by a few of it< survivors took place on the scene of ' slaughter in Montana a short time ago. , The great Sioux Chief Gall went over j the field and described the manner in which Custer's command was destroyed. Gall is a fine-looking Indian, forty-six years old. lie was reticent at first, but finally told his story with dignify and emollon. Ilis acc. unt of the mcasacre contains many particulars not hcietofor given. He said: "We saw soldiers early in the mifcrning crossing the divide. When lieno and Custer separated wo watched then:, until they came down into the valley. The cry was raised that the white soldiers were coming and orders were give n for the village to move. Reno swept down so rapidly upon the upper end that the | Indian; were forced to fight. Slitting Bull and I were at the point where Reno attacked. Sitting Bull was the bi<f medicine man. The women and children were hastily moved down tue stream whvre the Cheyennes were encanped. The Sioux attacked Reno and the Cheyennes Custer, and then all became mixed up. The women and children caught horses for the bucks to mount, and the bucks mounted and charged back on Reno, checked him arid drove him into the timber. The soldiers tied their horses to trees, came out, and fought on foot. As soon as Keno was beaten and driven back across the river, the whole force turned on Caster, and fought him until they destroyed him. Custer did not reach the river, but was met about half a mile up the ravine now called Reno Creek. They fought the soldiers and beat them back step by step until all were killed." One of Reno's officers confirms this, saying: "It was probably during the interval of quiet on Reno's part that the Indians massed on Custer and annihi I lated him." Gall continued: "The Indians ran out of ammunition and then used arrows. They fired from behiud their horses. The soldiers got their shells stuck in the guns and had to throw them away. Then they fought with p'stols. The Indians were in couples behind and in front of Custer as be moved up the ridge,and were as many as the grass of plains. The lint two companies (Kcogh's and Calhoun1 j) dismounted and fought on foot. They uever broke, but. retired st-p. by step until forced back to the ridge, upon which all finally died. They were shot down in line where they stood. Kjogh's company rallied and were all killed in a bunch. (This statement seems borne out by facts,as thirty-eight bodies of Kcogh's troopers were found piled in aheap ) The warriors directed a special fire against the troopers who held the horses, and as soon as a holder was killed, by waving blankets and great shouting, the horses were stampeded, which made it irr,possible for the soldiers to escape. The soldiers fought desperately and nevfr surrendered. They fought stand'ug along in l:ne on the right. As fast as the men fell the horses were herded and driven toward the squaws and old men, who gathered them up. When Reno attempted to fiud Custer by throwing out a skirmish line, C'ustir and all who were with him were dead. When the skirmishers reached a high point overlooking Custer's field, the Indians were galloping around and over the wounded, dying and dead, popping bullets and arrows into ! thorn. When Keno made his atlaek at | the upper end, he killed my two squaws and three children, which made my heirt bad. I then fought with hatchet (meaning mulitated the soldiers.) The soldiers ran out of ammunition early in the day. Their supplies of cartridges were in the saddle pockets of j their stampeded liotses. When their I ammunition was gone the Indians killed j the so'.dlers with hatchets; a lot of horses i ran away and jumped into the river but j were caught by rquaws. Only forty| three Indians were kllcd altogether, but a great many woundones came across the river, and died in the bushes. We had Ogallalas, Mineconjous, Brule, Teton, Uncajapa, Sioux, Cheyer.nes, Araphoes and Grosventres. Wh:n the big dust came in the air down the liver (meaning Terry and Gibbon), we struck our lodges and went up a creek ;oward l tlie White Mountains. The Bi(; Horn j ranges were covered with snow. We I waited there four days, and then went j over to the Wolf Mountains." j It has been popularly suppose 1 that I Custer entered the river, but su< h was . not the case. ? I A Short Furlough. When the Twenty-Fifth Tennejsen Infantry was encamped near Wartrace, in the spring of 18G:>, a farmer from a neighboring county came in with a large goods box fiilled with "pies an' things." During his stay, he was approached by a soldier whom he had known in civil life, j who wanted to make use of his empty box as a means uf escape from carrp, that he might pay a short visit home. The farmer, n<,t being s ire ihat it | would be right to comply with the re-1 quest, though williug to accom liodate j I the man, made 110 promise, but pi irately ! referred the matter to Col. Huglics, who ! told him he had no power to gran: a furj lough to the applicant, but if he could get out of camp in the empty box, it would be a'.l right. He charged the | farmer, however, not to let his friend know that he was cognizant of his at| tempt to escape. That strategy had been attempted before, the colonel^was aware, and hodidu't choose to let it continue. The soldier went off in the dry goods box. As the wagon, with its un.suspicious-looking load, reached Duck River j the next morning, it was met amid stream by several mounted guards, who accused the owner of trafficking in whiskey to the soldiers. This he stoutly denied; but they told him they mus : make j search, which they proceeded at once to I do. Mounting the wajon at a given signal, J they hoisted the box overboard into the river. A a ^ Konrnr* fr* citilr n afrncrrrln tviia ' "" " "vb"" *". i ~ oo" ] hcnrd going on within, and an upheaval i of the top disclosed the frightened face I of the would-be truant. Cen. Bushrod Johnson and more than | half of his brigade lined the bank to witI ness the denouement, and the shouts of | laughte: and derision were, for a while, perfectly bewildering to the poor fellow, who stood i ;> to his waist in water, not knowing w ch way to go or what to do His pui .imcut, though modifying, proved s.- :!ary. for lie made a good soldier, at i served out his time without once ask in \ for a furlough or privilege of any kin 1.? Youth1* Companion. What Meteors Bring to the Earth. The meteors coming to our earth with out, excepting to their superficial vitrifi cation, undergoing any change, we art able, by subjecting them to analysis, tc derive from them some precise facts respecting the constitution of the bodies in space. The first fact, which (omes out from hundreds of analyses, is, that thej have not brought a single substance which is foreign to our globe. About twenty-one elements, all known to the (hemistry of the earth, have been recognized as present in them. Among these, iron, silicon, magnesium, nickel, sulphur, phosphorus and carbon, are the mo.it important. While they are all clad externally in a common livery, meteorites, when examined in their fractured ] arts, along with traits of similarity, present considernb'e differences. They have been classified, according to '.heir types, into four groups, according to the proportion of iron they contained. Those of the first group are com] osed almost wholly of iron, which is known as mcteoric iron. It is always alloyed with nickel and a few other metals, and contains carbon free or in combination, as in steel, with frequently aulpliuret and phosphuretof iron in scattered globules and grains. It is always recognizable by a single peculiarity in its structure. If we moisten a polished surface of it with an acid, we shall immediately observe the appearance of numerous straight lines, as fine and as I true in their parallelism as if mnde with an engraver's tool, and crossing one another in a net-work of regular geometrical figu:es. These designs, called the figures of Widmanstaetten, after the first observer of them, result from the fact that the metal is not of homogeneous constitution. It is composed of two alloys of iron and ni kel, in a crystalline condition, one of which, not being affected by the acid, stands out in relief from the other, which is attacked by it. The meteorites of this group are called holotiderites, or all iron, in. distinction from the others, which contain also stony matters. They are vastly more rare than those of the other groups. The stony substances of the other groups consist chiefly of silica in combination with magnesia and peroxide of iron, as peridote or pyroxene. If these silicates are in small proportion and thinly scattered through the iron, they are syssiderite*; if it is the iron that is in relatively small proportion and appearing only in isolated grains, they are sporadosiderites. In other meteorites, comparatively few in number, no metalic iron can be per ceived, and tlicy are caiiea nsicemes. The most interesting specimens among them are remarked by their dull-black color, and a general appearance like that of peat or lignite. Besides stony matters, they contain carbon in combiuafeion with hydrogen and oxygen?a chcmical quality which has led to their being examined for remains of organic beings. But no trace of anything of the kind has been discovered:?Popular Science Monthly. A Queer Occupation. A Journal reporter was out on the river one night this week and missed the midnight car. Forced to walk home, he stopped to talk with a police roundsman, and it was 1 o'clock when he resumed his way. Just then a bull's-eye lantern was seen moving along the Woodward avenue car track, and soon two men were opposite the store in the portico of which the reporter and officer stood chatting. ' Wt lat do you find this morning?" asked the olficer of the man carrying the bull's-eye. 4,Dis vos not a worry good mornin'," was the answer; "youst a gouple of hankcrchicf, von pair of glove, von ?ano und two dollar. Maybe we gets more, ' ?1 fl\n miaiio ni?n UUl UUL3 Ull UUIY, auu Liat vuuuLU J,1Wcession moved ou. "What are those fellows doing?" queried the reporter. "Seeking what they may find. That's a pair of old regulars. They are on ! deck every morning, good weather or bad. They hustle along the street railways and put everything of value they can find into that bag they carry. That ! is, they profess too; but once in a while we take the liberty of examining their J clothes and have hit upon a bracelet, a watch, ring, charm or necklace that the 1 owner is very glad to h;ive returned. [ They do a thriving business. Young j fellows that catch the last car are often i three sheets in the wind, hilarious and ' unfit to transact business with prudence. They drop money, a cane, a handkerchief, a pair of gloves, an umbrella, sometimes a hat, and occasionally a watch when too stupid to have any realization of what is j go ng on. Ladies from the theatres drop a ' al awl or other wran. a bracelet, and | frequently other articles of jewelry.These I chaps make a clcan sweep of their route ! and very often glean a good harvest. A j | fair reward generally induces a return of , any valuable to its rightful owner, but i if that is not foithrora'ng the rule that ! 'finders are ke?pcrs' is enforced. There ' arc a number of men and boys in the city j that are in the same business. A good ! many stores ave swept out at night, and before daylight these sweepings have been gone through as carefully as if it were known there was a golc! dollar ic every shovelful. Kog piles are picked over, j and every gutter along the business ' streets is scanned with the same care, j All-night houses and gambling resorts ! are regarded as bonanzas and they are looked after front and rear. All the fellows in the business seem to be doing fairly well, and I never learned of but two that attempted to load their bags with anything they hadn't a right to pick up."?Detroit Journal. j David Davis and the Scamp. By one of the Judge's friends I am told | a story which has not appeared in print j yet, I believe. It Is, I think, characteristic of him, and showed that he was not | entirely deficient in humor. A confidence ! man, no doubt thinking that the bulky | form of the justice would make him an easy prey to his wiles, stepped up to him iu the Metropolitan Batik, one day, while ! Mr. Davis was depositing a large amount j of money in bills. It was an attempt at j the old trick of dropping u bill, draw- | ing the victim's attention to it in the hope of diverting bis watchfulness , from the bigger pile of notes about to bo , deposited by him, and make away with I them at the opportune moment. The , scamp dropped his .?5 note on the floor, J nudged the Justice in the side with his . elbow, and whi-pered: "You've dropped ; j something." "All right," quietly re-j marked Mr. Davis, who knew a thing or i. * ? 1._.. I two aDOlU Hie JJCUUV 1U nuivu | cious friend belonged; 'Til take care of j it.'' With that he planted his ponderous j foot and whole weight on the note, whilo j he handed in his deposit. That done, he | leisurely asked the confidence man to | pick up the note for him. The latter could not but grant the request. It waa with a twinkle of his eye that it disappeared in Judge Davis's pocket to find j its way on the following day into the j treasury of some charitable institution.? ) New York Tribune. Obstinacy in opinions holds the dog.! matist in the chains of error, without hope of emancipation. ' WOMAN'S WORLD. PLEASANT LITERATURE FOR FKMIVIVF. T? I? A nKT?Q She Never Gossips. I hate this gossiping about Folks who have gone astray; I always hold my tongue unleis I've something good to say. Now there's the case of Peter Snell (What, have you never heard?): He had some money left in trust To him, and stole a third. Oh dear! how fast the news did spread Of that poor fellow's fall; But I just said: "He's not so bad; He might have stole it all." And when Jane Ann McDonaldson ("What, really, don't you know?;, She that is Mrs. Jaek:-on now, Ran off with Patsy Rowe, Her first?he diei sooa after?who Was but a pe idler's lad (And you had better b'lieve her pa Ana ma were awful maJ), Her friends all cr:ed:,4How shocking! who'd Have thought it of Jane Ann?" I only said: "He might have teen A rags and bottle maa." And young Mulroy, who drinks a pint (Why, surely, you've been told?) Of something strong each day?'tis that That makes him look so old? Has one to take his part I turn The sad fa;t into sport. When it is mentioned, with, "A pint It is better than a quart." for i wont gossip?tuac 1 won c? It's never beau iny way; I always hold my tongue unless I've something good to say. ?Harper's Bazar. Tuclcish Womonat Home. In the house (says a writer in the Brooklyn Magazinn the Turk sh women appear to better advantage. They wear handsomely decorated slippers, or more often sit barefoot, atd the dress skirt is let loose to trail; the trousers are drawn down to the ankles, and the fcrijee thrown asilc with, the yashmak; and above all, the face is washed of its disfiguring paint, which is only worn in the street. The Turkish women then are seen to have smooth, polished skins, clear complexions, and a pretty color, though dark. 'I hey are in many resj ects the handsomest race of women in the face, though they ha\ e absolutely nothing but rolls of fat by way of figure. The Georgians and Circas ians that you see among them are slenderly built while young, though the life of utter id'eness and constant gormandizing makes them grow fat also. The drollest thing is that freckles are considered the highest mark of beauty, and only the Circassians have them. The women eat much sweet food, candies and preserves, and drink inordinate quantities of Ferkys tea and milk for their complexion, and eat rice in every imaginable lorm. The Systematic Boston Woman. The Transcript gives the following sketch of a Boston houskeeper, drawn from real life: Her husband is a man of wealth, inherited and acquired, and is esteemed for his liberality and honorable busincsj habits, and s-LVs herself is a lady of refinement and superior intellectual attainments. They have eight children, ana Keep a DUtier, coacnman, ana seven female servant*. The butler receives his orders at a set time every morning for the provisions required during the day; each of the female servants has her specific duties assigned her, and is never called upon to perform others. The lady does not a^k the cooks or others what they may require, but scrve3 them under her own inspection, with all she knows is necessary, even to a poynd of salt or ounce of pepper. The coal, firewood, and even kindling paper are kept the run of?nothing possible is left to the discretion of the servants. She keep* the key of everything. The domestics have their own cook and take their meals together, at such times as will not interfere with the family arrangements. She ?ays the highest wages to her servants, liberal in giving them time to attend church or visit their friends,but demands prompt obedience. They have set times to rise in the morning and to go to bed at night. In the management of her family Bhe is equally systematic, so that system throughout is habitual. She is by no means a slave; far from it. She has amp'.e time to enjoy life, mingles more or less with the best societv, and always appears to advantage. Though no longer young, she is still beautiful, and enjoys excellent health. The Founder of Kitchengardens. At one of its recent meetings, Miss Emily Huntington told the youn^ women of the Evanston (111.) flower mission how she happened to originate the kitchengarden. She was a thoughless girl of eighteen, enjoying a butterfly life, when one day a friend who h:id asked her to drive stopped at a poor tenement building. "I noticed," said Miss Huntington, "that the rough little urchins in the neighborhood knew her and smiled at her approach. As she described to me the work of a rugged school of which she was Superintendent, she aroused <m interest in me so great that from that moment it became the ruling power of my life. This was the first suggestion to me of the great field open for woman's work, and from that time, through the narrow round of social duties which threatened to bind onedown.thecryof thjse poor, hopele?s, hungry (ues who needed help rang in my ears and gave me no peace." Miss Huntington then told how,as matron of the Wilson mission in New York, she one day visited the kit lien to find a scene of confusion, which gave the first suggestion in regard to kitchengar dens. 4"The children were peeling potatoes with tired, down cast faces, the servants angrily finding fault with their work, hot words were exchanged, and iuddenly a knife flew through the air. thrown by a child in unreasoning pas gion. I bide the children go out to play, and while they were gone sharpened their knives, put the ro:?m in order, and at the end of an hour called them ba. k. They came in with bright faces, rested, and ready to begin, and when I talked pleasantly to them, encouraging them, showing them the easy ways, and giving lessons with little rhymes to catch their fancy, they found that work was net all hardship, but could be as pleasant as play. "Gradually the work was systematised. It was so difficult to accomplish anything, tea: hing only one child at a time, ihut I began to be discouraged, when suddenly an acquaintance with kindergarten methods threw a flood of * ? -1 H'l _ i.1 V A. _ ! I lignt upon my mina. ine uiouguc or combining the kindergarten system with my own came like aa inspiration, and instantly the plan opened i:p before me and seized my thoughts till the idea became a possession. I could not rest till [ had laid the project before my friends, knowing that I would need help; and I went to Mr. William M. Evart's family, trhere there were a number of young laflies. ami discussed the plan with them. Mr. Evarts listened with interest, and when I had finished, said: 'Miss Huntington's idea is a good one: you must help her.' One of his daughters played the piano for me, and a number of young ladies were secu:ed as assistants, not without remonstrances from friends and - V:Vry^g! ' * - ~ ^- T prophecies of dangerous exposure to disease. And so the kitcheogsrden grew into its present form. As I hare said, my young ladies joined me and continued to work against the expostulation! '* rtf tVipir fripn^a nriH we rpsnlvprl in nvpr. come by one grand effo:t the opposition. So a reception at the mansion was arranged for and invitations extended to outside friends. When I arrived that evening carriages lined the streets foi two blocks, and entering I found the air heavy with-the fragrance of thousands of flowers and the room full of interested guests. Our c'asscs gave creditable exhibitions, creating astonishment in the audience, and after that nothing but praise and good will and hearty co-operation awaited us. Fashion Facts. Lace dresses are more flowing than formerly. . Etamine with wide meshes is combined with woolen lace. Beige and Cordc de-la-raine are combined for girls' wear. Cotton crepe cloth is almost as effective as the millinery crepe. Transparent bo inet3,parasols and mantles are the present faLcy. Natural flowers for millinery purposes are much affected in Paris. \\ hite and ecru cotton grenadines are among the summer novelties. Challi, etamine, foulard and India silk are used for girls' nice dresses. Surah is employed for vests, plastrons and panels on dresses of vigogne. White dresses for home wear are in general use by persons in mourning. Cam el's hair cloth, in light colors, is combined with bright-tinted surah. Dark blue is one of the most fashionable colors this season. It is seen in all shades. - V. Fine, thin tweeds with tiny checks are used as skirts, with a drapery of plain material. Tufts of colo-cd ribbon daintily put together for the hair are to be seen on every hand. Coral, salmon, piDk, heliotrope, doverrrmT nnrl fnwn r?rtlr?r nrn thft fash. b 'V ionable colors. /. "[ Three box-plaits in the front of skirta are often seen. The present tendency ia toward increacing fulness. Ladies continue to wear little fancy rings, set for the most part with very small but very bright gems. Long overdresses with scant draperj are trimmed with large bu'tons or with discs of passementerie braid. Flannel and serge, in combinations of red and white and blue and white, are favorites for seaside costumes. Stripes are still in the ascendant and are a ringed in all manner of stylesperpendicular, horizontal and oblique. India muslin, with tiny blossom deomna oro mn/ln tin AVAP Kofiof A /rtnn/lo oigug, a 16 mau? I/uiaoiu ivuuw tions correspond ing to the ground tint. Morrar-board and rocked hats are worn abroad by youag and pretty girls. The styles are, to soy the least, exceedingly trying. Paris modistes are trimming foulard * dresses with pinked flounces of poult* de-sole in the several tints of the figured fonlard. Boots and shoes are now expensive articles, owing to the rich embroidery in beads and silk with which they are adorned. In many cases the crowns of bonnet? are encircled by wr; aths of small flowers with bows and ends of ribbon or lace falling across the centre. There is a tendency to. cluster ring3 again, a favorite being a large colored stone in the centre with small diamonds set around it, or vice versa. Paste pins and ha'r ornaments are provided in many new designs, while gemmed fire-flies find brilliant dragonflies are placed prominently in several of the bows and aigrettes. Some loose waistcoats are made of folded crepe lisse to simulate the front of a gentleman's shirt, and are closed at the side of the neck with a cluster of picot-edged gauze ribbon. Net flouncing is being made in all colors, and handsome designs are wrought out upon them. For instance, a brown ground will be powdered with cream Sowers, a white with brown foliage and flowers. Ornamental ha:rpin? are now worn not only to dress the hair at home, but on the street to kiep the bonnet in place. When employed for this latter purpose these pins are usually of gold or silver, with tops plain sometimvs, but oftener carved or decorated by a knot or ball. The pin; are s.u k vertically into the hair at the back, and not through the bonnet as au ordinary bounet pin would be. 0J<1 Instill ce of Kleptomania. I heard an odd instance of kleptomania in high life the ether day, says a writer for the New York News. The victim of this predatory malady is a wealthy widow, whoocc.ipiei one of the stateliest mansions of the west side, sne counts her fortune at over a million, and has ample means to gratify every -wish. Yet she suffers an irresistible impulse to tilch whatever she takes a fancy to, no matter how cheap or ins gnificant it may be. Two of her m st recent thefts have been of a steal bead purse and a diamond necklace, the one w.uth a few cents and the other thousands of dollars. The range of her depredations will be p?rceivcd to be a wide one, and her ideas impartial. She rarely steals in public places, her frays being made in the houses of friends, and so well is her weakness known that a constant watch is kept upon her from the time she enters the house until she leaves. When one of her thefts is discovered, the loser of whatever the missiug article may be quietly calls upon her and demands its return. It is given up without resistance or apology, and the thief exhibits no embarras-mentor shame at the discovery of her spoliation. In the case of the diamond necklace, the detective who was called in, and who traced it to her, found her wearing it in her own house. When she was informed of the nature of his mission she surrendered the flashing trinket, saying, peevishly; "D<Hr l'no, dear me, how impatient some pfeop!e arc, to be sure." A Play in Three Acts. ACT I. A hotel at the sea-side, Some music, and a ball, A partner for the landers, A smile, and "Come and calL" ACT II. A row upon the harbor, A stroll a-down the pier, A "Call on me next fall in town; Now, won't you, that's a dear?" ACT III. A lofty brown-stono mansion, A richly furnished room, A servant-girl who conies anon And tells you, "?"ot at home." ?George William Ogden, in the Century. ? --