Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

EXPBK1CNCE. Rm world was made when & man was bora. Be must taste for himself the forbidden springs: He can never take warning from old-fashioned things. Be must fight as a boy, ha mnst drink as a youth, He must kiss, he must love, he must swear to the trnth W the friend of hia soul; he mnst laugh to scorn Die hint of deceit in a woman's eves rh&t are clear as the wells of i'aradise. lad so he goes on till the world grows old, 1111 his tongue has grown cautious, his heart has grown cold; 1111 the smile leaves his mouth and the ring leavoa his laugh, tnd he shirks the bright headache yon ask him to quaff. Be grows formal with men and with women polite. And distrustful of both when they're out of his sight; rhen he eats for his palate and drinks for his head, And loves for hie pleasure, and 'tis time he wore dead. ?John Loylc O'licil'.y. SHADOWS. BY NTKETTE II. LOWATEB. On9 April mom the sky was bright, 'I he air was fu 1 of i aim, And o'er the weary, w nd-swept earth There fell a holy c:ilm. I sat amonq the bud.liux' tree? And drnnk the 1 eace they fiive, I feit at one with na tire's mood And knew it ;oy to live. A manly voice the silence ^oke. I loved its tones full well; But though my s^eepiuf; beart awoka I would not own the s; ell. How could 1 dre.nn of lone:v rears When just to brea'be and live Beamed fill the bliss tue bea;t could bear, The greatest earth could give? Bnt oh. my love, my long lost lova, Sometimes I sit alone. And fancy brings me back again Each c:idence of your tone, And backward to their hHd. n fount The startled life-tides SowOb, had 1 known that April morn That I should love you so! Lost Lina; < OR,? m rittto ivn tnp tiiu ui 11uit :i^\u iuii uiiJuuAi A Tale cf Two Continents. BY MKS. NINA LAWSOS. CHAPTER XXX. Tliomas delivered the message to his mistress, and said that his master seemed in an awful hurry and excited over something. Bay did not come back as he hal promised. It was long past midnight, Mid the anxious, weary little wife was standing at the window that overlooked the avenue, listening and straining her CjrcSf IV AX u v* her Kay. "I know something has happened? ometbing is wrong?or ha would be back long before this. I cannot endare this suspense any longer, for I know he is in trouble?something is wrong." The little fairy-like form, in its long white robe, with long golden curls flowing down her back, quietly glided lo her maid's room, and awakened her. "Get up, Lula, and dress me quickly, for I must know where he is." Lenora then went back to her own room, and pulled the long silken cord that would ring the alarm-bell. Faithiul old Tom was there in a minnte. "Thomas, vou must co with me in search of your master; you know-when he went away, and he has not yet returned. Something has happened, or he would be here before this; it is now past one o'clock; have a carriage ready instantly, and drive me to the city yourself. I can trust you." "All right, missus; I'll be ready iu jest a few minits, and you may allers reckon on Tom." In but a few minutes a closed carriage was driven from the Bristol mansion and rapidly flying toward the city. Its only occupant was a little pale, shivering woman, very richly dressed, but carrying a sad, aching heart. The carriage was driven to the hotel where Hay often lunch d, but he was not there, a-icl iiacl not b?en tnat nay. Thomas went to every hotel in the city, but Hay was not there, and the .Ensious little wife was compelled to receive the same answer every time. "Not been here to-day." Just as Lenora was leaving the hotel she had bien waiting at, a boy came running into the office anl informed the clork that a horse had been left at t livery stable, and that it belonged to the master of the Bristol mansion. H-? did not Sr.ow who had left it there, out the party had gone to Chicr.g >. This bit of news relieved Lenora EO.r.e'.vhat, and yet she did not feel altogether satisfied; her husband had gone o3' and never bidden htr good-by or said a word abont it; a thing he had never done before. "It is getting quite lat?, Thomas, and let us go home now; perhaps jour master will return to-marrow: n d mbt but that a message cime for liim while he was here and he was compelled to tart immediately/' Night had jassed and day dawned. Lenora had not slept all niglit, and there were great dark circles under her eves, which only addtd to her beauty. Th<\t happy smile had gone from her fac?, and now it was rale and tear?tained. About nine o'clock or half pa?t of the j morning after Kay's sudden departure, j Lenoia received a telegram tbat almost ! br.ike her poor aching heart. Chicago. I!L, Nov. 23, lbTC. Mrs. Bristol, of Bristol Mansion: Come immediately. Your husband is dtr.d?committed suicide. Pacific Hotel. 8 a.m. as Lienora's eyes rested on those ftw i words a scream of such awful agony rang through tho whole mansion tbat it Bent a chill to tho heart of every one in it. Even the heartless Jeannetto, who hal nil the while appeared anxious, and almost wild with fear, at the non appearance of liay. "was startle!.!, and a slight feeling of regret now entered her heart; l>ut she had begun her fiendish work, and now that her revenge was almost complete she intended to carry out her plan3. Every movement made in the mansion was seen by her, and on the day that Ray had received that cruel letter she was hid in the library, behind a heavy curtain, where she could see him when be read it, and I have the full benefit of her revenge. | She saw the haudsome face 6he j loved so well grow pale, and the look j Df unutterable pain that rested there I for hours. She saw him as he paced the floor, j and heard- him vow revenge upon ho j knew not who; and as he left the libra- j ry to go to the city a low, scornful laugh of triumph rang through the room, and Jeannette came out from her hiding place. . She knew only, top weH what .he was rushing into, and wnat would happen that night. That piteous wail that escaped Lonora's lips brought most of the servants to her room. As they entered they saw their mistress lying, as if dead, upon the floor. Jeannette was there, and recovered from the fricht quickly. "She has only "fainted; run for some crater and the smelling salts." But the salts and water were of little avail, for Lenora lay for hours in that unconscious condition, and Jeannette began to fear that the blow had been too severe for her rival. She did not care whether Lenora recovered or not, but she was afraid ol that ever-haunting rision, and believed that she would be struck dead. Finally she and the servants succe'-delin restoring the little mistress oi the mansion to consciousness, and what a bitter, bitter consciousness it was. All was lost to her now, and the world seemed empty. She wanted to die, and asked the servants why they had brought her back to life; she lay on the sola for some time, where they had placed her; there were now but little sigr^s of life, only occasionally the lids would rise, and a pair of such sad, dreamy eyes would gaze round (ho room, and rest that gaze long and wistfully upon the portrait of a tine, noblelooking man, that hung on the wall. The eyes were dry, and not a tear would c:>rne to her relief, and there was no cue there to speak a word of comfort to the heart-broken little wife. As she lay there many things passed through her mind, and she realized that she ha.l a duty to perform; aye, what a sad one, too. She must go for her dead husband. "Lula, bring me some wine, and then you must pack some valises, for I must go to Chicago on the first train." "My dear lady, I fear you are not able to take such a journey." "Yes, I will feel stronger in a little while, and no one can go to him but me; h^w much I wish Mother Bristol were here." She drank the wine and ate a little toast that the cook had sent up to her. In a short time she went into the nur* sery to sec her l>abe. "My little darling?all that is left on earth to me?as dearly as I love you, I pray God may take you from this cold, wicked world now, if your future is tc be as dark and sad as mine. "Father in htaven, can you not eee what I have to bear, and do you not pity me ? "Will you not send one spark of comfort to me now, in these dark hours? What have I ever done, Father, that 3 must suffer so, and love so much, and then lose all? I cannot believe that my darling took his own life. 2so;he was too good, too brave for that. Some one has killed him, and now he waits " * * ?i 1 t. .11 lor oaDy ana me in tne peariy nana 01 \ heaven. On, Father, either give me strength to bear my burden or take me to him now. Have mercy on me, oh, God!?pitv me!" Lenora had knelt by the side of t&e conch on which her baby lay, and had taken it in her arms and pressed it close to her bosom. As she ceased praying, the hot, scalding tears, like so many drops of blood, now coursed down her pale, sunken clie ks. Those tears were the first 6he had shed since that awful telegram came, and they seemed to relieve her, for she roso from her kneeling position and laid her babe back on the couch, and then returned to her room. Those few hours of untold misery had made a great change in her; she was now a woman, and had decided to brave .this gr^at sorrow the best she could. Lenora was no longer the girlwife, but a woman, saddened, as if she had lived years of sorrow and not hours. As 6he entered the room there was an expression on her face that had never been there before; she looked like an angel of light, saddened by the sins of the world. The valises were soon packed, and everything was ready for them to start to the depot. Thomas and Lula were to go with Lenora, but she did not say one word to Jeannette about going. Since the night of the ball, almost two years ago, !>he instinctively shrank from the dark beauty. Although she did not like Jeannette, yet there had never a shadow of doubt crossed her mind but that she was her friend, and j that she really pitied her in her great .trc-ulOe. The train was on time, and Lenora, with two of her servants, was rapidly whirling toward Chicago. It was rather late when the train stopped at the great city. Lenora was driven immediately to the Pacific Hotel ami ushered to a parlor by one whom she presumed was a p< rcer of the hotel. "Rooms for the night, lady?-' "No; I have come for the body ol mv dead husband?Captain Raymond Bristol" The porter smiled rather strangely at her statement, but replied very promptly: "Why, madam, didn't the telegram | state that he committed suicide? He j came here about midnight last night < to meet a party?on business, I sup- . pose?anil this morning when I went | to call him there was no one in the i room, but I feunil a note lying e n a j table and a letter was lying beside it. i The note stated that the letter was to be sent to you, and that he was tir- d ( of lifo, and that the bed of the lake | would be a good re .ting-place. I tele- ( graphed for you to come because I thought, perhaps, you would want the body searched for." I As Lenora cnterei the t>arior hei j I face was heavily veiled and she sank down upon a large easy-chair, while ber head gently rested against the i back. When the porter ceased speaking she , made no reply. He waited for her to answer; still no response. The maid went to Lencra and gently shook her arm, yet she said nothing. The veil -was then raised, and Lula saw the pale, beautiful lace. "Ob, heavens! She is dead, sir." CHAPTER XXXI. Bnt Lenora was not dead; she had only swooned. Lula's words raDg clear j and loud, and startled the porter very much. He trembled, and evidently did : not know what to do. Thomas, the servant, had not yet come to uis mistress, ior ne waB waiting for her to send for him. "You are a vory strange porter, indeed, to stand there like a mummy at inch a time as this. "Why don't you stir yourself and get a dorte r for me? She is my mistress, and I am not going to let her die here, and in this manner." The maid's sharp tones and manner seemed to rouse the porter, for he rushed out of the room and down the stairs in double-quick time. ... ,i A doctor was there surprisingly soon, anil found Lenora in no condition to be removed from the hotel that night and perhaps not the next day. "But I must return to my little babe to-morrow morning, Doctor; she is all I have left in the world, and my heart is broken." The doctor did all he could for her, and she improved rapidly under his treatment. It was well that 8he had a li:tle strength, for the darkest day was aot yet passed. Parties were sent out to search for the body of Raymond Bristol, all to no purpose. Lenora knew not what to do; the doctor told her that as soon as she was strong enough the best thing sue could do would be to go home. "You can't imagine what a trial it is for me to leave this city, without his body, or even seeing him, but my babe will miss me, and I will return on the afternoon train." """ "* *" T* J _ 1 i. V - J- _ XI. ^ "les, l\irs. isnstoi; mat is mts ucov thing you can do, I think. In all probability the body will never be found." Oh, how sad the poor little wife's heart was as she left Chicago, nnd she was hurled rapidly on to a still sadder 6cene. A wreck on the road had caused a delay, and it was quite late before Lenora reached Michigan City. ISO carnage was tnere to meet her from the mansion, and a heavy mist was falling; the platform was dark, empty, and a cold, disagreeable wind whistled round the corner of the depot. "As our carriage is not here, Thomas, you must go and order one, that wo may get home as soon as possible." The carriage soon arrived at the dark, gloomy station-house, and in a rery short time it stopped at the mansion gate; all was dark, and the mansion looked deserted, indeed. Lenora went slowly and tremblingly ap the long w.ilk to the great hall door and entered; tho gas was turned bo low that she could scarcely see her way, and a feeling of utter wearir.ess, of some new trouble, seemed to weigh r?ATir onfllnionflr frinrl omil U|/UU llit UU U OUUiWVUVAj Vi ?v\* WVMM Slie went to tlie nursery first, closely followed by lier maid, but all was darkness, and nurse and babe were gone. Nothing more was left for the lone wife; her little darling that was so dear to her, and that was p.irt of herself and her lost, loving husband, had been iaken from her also. "Oh, Father in heaven, what dost Thou mean ? Wilt Thou, oh God, hide Thy face from me forever?" and she wrung her little hands and moaned in her agony of despair. She sank down upon a chair while her great, dreamy, sunken eyes gazed wearily round the room and rested upon a tall, dark figure in the door-way. Lula had lighted the gas, and Lenora could easily recognize the figure ia the door, for it was Jeannette, and on her face rested a look of scorn and mighty hatred. "Where is my babe, Jeannette? and there must be a letter here for me from my husband ?" "Ha! ha! Your husband! your babel Yes, yon foul murderess, you may -well ask -where they are. If you would but think you might guess. Both of their bodies are now at the bottom of Lake Michigan, and yours ought to be there also; you have killed them indirectly!" Jeannette etopped a moment to notice the efiect of her words, and to draw breath. The hot, fiendish breath almost fanned Lenora's blanched, cold cheeks; she sat motionless, while her eyes rested on Jeannette in a strange, wild, dazed fashion. "Father, have mercy; spare me a little." "Yes, you ought to call upon God for mercy; but, tlmnks to that God, your sins have found yoa out. About dusk this evening a man came here in a carriage and demanded of me your babe; he said that he was your lawful husband, and that poor Itay was the victim of your deep deception, as well as himself. He had sent for Ray to meet him at Chicago, where he had the proofs of your marriage. That /I -rr^rif. tA flltiAotrn puui) UCIUU^II WW and saw your lawful husband, and he proved to Kay that you were his wife. As soon as poor Kay realized his position he rushed for the lake, and now his body lies at the bottom." "Oh, pity, pity, dear Lord," gasped Lenora. "Pity? Not on yourself but on your victims. "What will my poor aunt say when she returns home and finds her house deserted and disgraced ? That child that sho soon hoped to see, but now never shall, was carried off by that man to be cast in those deep, dark waters with its father. You see what vou have done, and can certainly realize that you have no right here. I am now mistress of this mansion, and do not want it to be further disgraced by mi'i- nrAKPnpp Yon understand. I : Lope? Here is a letter that came for vou to-day. Henceforth the doors o! this liouso are closed to yon." [TO JJE CONTINUED.] Tlio Rat's Weapons. The rat i3 remarkably well equipped for the peculiar lifo be is ordained to lead. He has strong weapons in the share of four long and very sharp teeth ?two in the upper jaw and two in the lower. These teeth are wedge-shaped, (ind by a wonderful provision of nature bare always a fine, sharp, cutting edge. On examining them carefully, the inner part is found to be of a soft, ivory-liko composition, which can easily be worn iway and the outside is composed of a grass-like enamel, which is exceedingly bard. The upper teeth work into tlio under so that the centers of the opposed teeth meet perfectly in the act of gnawing, hence the soft part is beiug continually worn away, while the hard part keeps a sharp chisel-like edge all the time, and at the same timo the teeth are constantly growing up irom tne bottom, so that as they wear away a fresh supply is ready. Should one of these teeth be removed by accident or otherwise, the opposing tooth will continue to grow, and there being nothing to wear it away will project from the mouth and be turned upon itself, and il it be an uuder tooth it will often grow so lone as to oenetrato the skull. i'our-Tear-Old'B Religion* investigation Four-year-old asked if God made bim, and papa and mamma. Obtaining the answer, he aske.l: "Did (rod make the trees?'' "Yes, darling," said Lis mother. "And the birds?" "Yes, dear, go to sleep." "Who made God, mamma?" "Do go to sleep, dear!" "Does God wear a straw hat?" "Pet, go to bleep, you lr.iist go to sleep." A long pause. "Mamma, if God swallowed a fishbone would he choke to deff?" Exit mamma to repreo3 a disposition to smile. STOliY OF THE HAT. % head coverings of tele past HUNDRED YEARS. The Cared- of the "Stovepipe"?It Owes Its Existence to Philosopher Benjamin Franklin?Some Hold That It is the Best Bat. When Benjamin Franklin arrived in Paris as commissioner of the American colonies his plain Quaker hat with its broad brim and low crown must have seemed strange to the men he met at the gay French court, over which the unfor THESE DATS WEItE PICTURESQUE, tunatc Austrian Queen presided while her good natured, if weak, husband played childishly with the seething fires of the great volcano under his feet. For round about the American were the cocked hats, bordered with lace and sometimes trimmed with softly waving nlumes. -which swent and waved as the A"" ? A courtiers greeted and flattered each other. Yet Franklin's hat, a survival as it was of those Puritan hats which were a protest against the follies and fashions of a court as foolish and as fashionable as that of Louis XVI., was destined to furnish the idea from which was elaborated a hat which has now been in use for a century, and which will probably be worn as long as men shall remain as they are now. The silk, the plug, the high, the beaver, or the dress hat, for it is called by all these names, may fairly be said to celebrate its centennial in this year of 1800. The popularity of Franklin, and still more that of the country he represented, wa9 indicated by the style of hat "which was seen during the early part of the French revolution. But curiously enough, it was in England that the beaver hat was to find its true home. It was at fir3t looked upon as indicating revolutionary tastes in its owner, and on this account Catharine IL of Russia would have none of it among her subjects. When, however, Napoleon I. declared himself Emperor of the French and trampled out under the feet of his guards the last embers of the Terror his enmity to England caused a hat which had at one time been popular among the sans culottes to be at once adopted. Napoleon himself wore the cocked hat, which thereby became especially French and added to the English desire to wear something radically different BUT THESE ARE IN STYLE. The beaver hat?so called because the body, aften being made of felted rabbit fur, was covered with the fur of tlie flattailed dam builders? was in general outline like the silk hat of to-day; that is, it possessed a brim ana a crown, ijuc the variations demanded by fashion produced wonderful changes in the appear ance of the hat. As the brim was made wider or less wide the crown was given a fuller or smaller belt. The Constitutional Convention, whose centennial wo all celebrated last year, was attended by men who wore hats looking something like square-topped derby bodie3 placed on the brims of exaggerated Texan sombreros. These were not beavers, but may be numbered among the grandfathers of those hats which sheltered the heads of^ the men who volunteered for the war of 1S12. General Jackson in private life wore a hat with a bell crown and a rolling or rather narrow brim, on which the uenvcr iur luuui; u iuug, uiunuua uat>. This nap, by the way, was believed to be of sovereign benefit when one had cut one's finger and was applied as lint to stop the flow of blood. This particular form of bat is familial enough to us in the cartoons of the day. It was a good, solid article, warranted to wear well if properly made. Strange as it looiv3 now it was fashionatfic enough then, and doubtless the "bloods," as the ' dudes:' of the early part of the century were called, were well enough satisfied with their appearance. When Bolivar struck the blow which liberated the South American countries from the control of Spain, the fashionable hat was something like that which we wear to-day; that is. in shape,for the material was still beaver fur. In fact, the shapes worn by these bygone dandies were to all intents and purposes those of last j'ear, this or next. But beaver silks became more and more expensive, and to take their place the cotton plush?called Angora plush?was invented somewhere about the year 1825. As this was cheap the purchase of high hats became far more common, and the plush did not look badly for a Jew months. Tho fur THESE COVERINGS A TIE COMFORTABLE. hat, however, was tbe fashionable nai still; such a hat, for example, as that given to Hemy Clay by the hat makers of Brooklyn, -with a narrow brim and a tremendously high crown, having a wide bcl! at the top. This hat was black, and when it was presented to Mr. Clay was believed to be as perfect as a hat could be made. Calhoun wore a Panama, as did many Oi iue oouzucrn gentlemen 01 ills rime, wide brimmed and having years of wear in it. But when he came to Washington he gave way to the power of the high hat and added a beaver to his collection. Daniel "Webster always wore a beaver ex ' - - - .... . ccpt during his vacation days at Marshfield, and the pattern of his hat is still preserved. It was wide and flat in the brim, with a moderately high crown and but little bell in the shape. "Webster's hat was of silk, the material now used, and the style was first shown in a hat made by Townsend in London in 1836. He utilized the silk plush which had been invented in France, covering with it a body of muslin stiffened with shellac varuish. The silk hat speedily drove out the beaver from general use, although the latter has not been set aside yet, and is sometimes seen in our streets worn by a very old man who is conservative or & very young mau who 5s loud. The charge of the Light Brigade during that war which Louie Napoleon, or rather the Duke de Moray, provoked, in order to consolidate the Second Empire, was made by men, many of whom when at home wore hats which have fixed tho nicknamc of "stovepipes" on high hats for the generation now passing away. Perfectly straight up and down, high and perfectly flat in the brim, they resembled nothing so much as a section of sheet iron pipe. But the young men who left the drawing rooms and rushed to India as fast as transport or troopship *1inm ttrVxAn flirt nftTPO nf fVlA luum uanj tu^ux nuwu vuw uwttm w* ?mw i mutiny set the civilized world in flame, wore hats which were almost curiously unlike those of 1854. Brims that rolled until they touched the baud, and bells that overshadowed the brims, with long front and rear pieces, were the style then. In some of the old prints of the relief of Lucknow hats arc seen on the heads of as gallent men as ever bowed. Havelock wore a cap with a fluttering cape of linen, still called by his name, hanging down behind to protect the neck. The Civil "War in this country came at a time when the "stovepipe" hat was once more popular. The style seems odd as one looks at the old pictures of Lincoln and Seward and Stanton and Chase, those giants who carried on the Government durinc that period of trial. Lincoln wore a hat wmcn was ratlier high, with a straight brim and crown. At the beginning of the war, when ail the days of trial were before him, and when the great news came of peace at last, the hat was the same. Twice during the four years the fashion had changed, but we may well believe that the war President uau Ll\J nuiV yyj uvvtvv ?wv w?j of the Confederacy, wears a soft felt, in many of the pictures which are extant of him at the time. And when the German army corps drove the French before them and girdled Paris as with an evertightening belt of steel the mode had run once more to the extreme bell with the rolled brim. Steadily since its first Introduction the high hat has made its way, until now It holds a place from which it cannot be lightly shaken. It is the "dress hat," and more than that, it is the respectable hat. Solid men like it, and, oddly enough, fashionable men arc not willing to give it up. Many judges of headgear hold that it is, after all, the best hat in the world, and dcclare that it will never cnnnlonfcrl 'Rnf' urhilp fhfl man of UW U Itu kVVk< MUW w?_w __ the town admires the "silk," his liking for it i9 as nothing to the devotion felt by the ragamuffin for the "plug hat." A Primitive African Gan. Among the trophies of Germany's past triumphs that grace the grounds which surround the Marine Academy building at Kiel none is of more interest than a cannon made by natives of Africa and captured from them in a battle near AN AFRICAN PIECE OP 0KDNANCE. Pangani. It has not the slightest contrivaucc for aiming, and its caliber is very small. The carriage is made of. wood. The wheels arc cut out of one ' .--I nra ' picco, approximately iuuuu, auu ui? fastened to the wooden axles with long rusty nails. The piece of ordnance ap- j parently would prove more dangerous to ' its owners than the enemy.? Utica 01tcrtcr. 1 Boston Suggestion for the National Flower. I ?Judge. ra\i?? Paupers Support Themselves. It lias just come out that it is the cus 1:1 in many London parishes for the i .1- nn.il- I > >'*r uunrus tu ^;iuviug . :c*rs with brooms and assign them to - vcertain crossings, making them | themselves from what they can j fit in this way, and thus reducing tho ' Mirkl'.ouse expanses proportionately.? : C.'tk\"jo Times. Had Changed His Mind. Wim 1 r 1 I Mr. Timon Tydc?"You promised me | Ixsfc year that you would give me anothei chance this summer." Miss 'Diliy d'Aller (expectantly)?"J j remember." Mr. Timon Tydc?"Well, Dilly dear, I won't you release yourself from that : promise?"?Puck. . " \* . 1 - v'?" ;- t: RELIGIO USJREADING. T1IE WORKERS AT REST. The workers were always busy, And their heads were'bent with care On their hearts lay many a burden Heavy and bard" to bear: They curried the griefs of others, And their eye* v.'ere often dim, As tliey looked on the world's great trouble^ Or joined in a prayerful hymn. The workers were brave of spirit And would not succumb to fear; Tliev ker>t at their posts of danger Though the days were dark and drear; Their hearts were strong and patient, And they lived for truth and right; And they met the'.r work witn courage. And did it with their luight. The workers were often weary, And they iometimes sighed "for rest, But the calls of life wer urgent And they needs must do their best; So the loyal-hearted servants "Worked on from day to day, And as those who wait for a guerdon, Pursued their onward way. At Inst to Hir> fnirlifnl sniritK Onrae a whispered word, "well done," And finding the work was over They vanished, one by one, Leaving the tasks to others, And. ending life's weary quest. They sought tlie feet of the Master And entered the Plaeo. of Rest. Oh! clad in that calm reposing Are the workers who have gone! Do they scud a thought of pity To us, who still toil on? Can they think of the burdens we carry Nor a shadow dim their smile? If they spoke they would say "Take courage It iu but for a little while.*" Who weeps for the labors ended? The hills were steep that they prcst, But the tedious journey is over* And now they have won their re3t; 3o they send us a cheery message,? Though still we tire kept in thrall, The peace and the joy or Heaven Will make amends for all. ? fMarianue Faming ham. tub rrxalty or unbelief. wont 1:11 fn fhp <rPV9f-r? rvith Fnss thfl famous stage-driver, two years ago; and I was wonderfully interested seeing the six hordes go around those curves. I often said to liim: 'Toss, you will tip us all over yet." "Ah?" said lie, '"you might think so. But you wouldn't if you only knew the power of this brake. See my foot, tbere; I never take my foot oft that brake?never. 1 can stop all the horses with this brake and my rein, no matter how fast we are going. I can bring tbem all up standing in double quick time." One of the California stage-drivers was on his dying bed. and he was somewhat delirious. As he lay there, they saw him putting his right foot out, feeling after something. They watched him. A look of agony wan on his countenance. Still he would reach out that foot. Finally, just before he breathed his last, he said, ,;Oh! oh!?I am?I am?I am?I am on the down grade, and I can't reach the brake?" Ana he plunged into eternity. Ob, how dreadful to be riding with Fops and have the braKe give way, with six horses and twenty passengers plunging thousands of feet down ? How dreadful! But oh, sinner the time is comine when von will see it is more dreadful to be on the down grade, and not be able to reach the brake, not able to turn from going down, down, down to death!?[?. P. Hammond. HOW rniMITIVE CHRISTIANS PRATED. It will do us good to observe bow those early Christians did their praying. There is not one wordy, long-winded, rambline specimen of prayer to be found in the record which Luke has left to us. Just turn to bis account of the prayer-meetings which he has given in the fourth chapter of his Book of the Acts, or in the twelfth chapter. Compare them with the average prayer-meeting of our modern churches. At the first mentioned meeting the apostolic company had a specific want to be supplied. They asked God to give them "boldness to speak the word." Their printed prayer occupies just seven sentences. In the following sentence it is narrated that they were at once filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness. That was praving at a mark. They did not scatter their fare over an acre of vague generalities, as is the manner in too many prayer-gatherings. A distinct aim urougm lueir reijucai, tu vnc kiycu i'umu. "What they asked for they got. Isot a shadow of doubt appears to have crossed their minds that God could not give them 01 would not give them the very thing thej wanted. In drawing a cheque "at a bank we never put anything on the face of the paper but the sum "of money we require. Faith should be equally sim'ple and concisc wlieu it "diaws" on the Giver of all grace. Observe, too, that in that little assemblage in the house of John 3Iark the one aim wa? to deliver 1'eter from the dungeon. They prayed until they got lilm. In fact, the answer came so quick that they were taken all aback when Hhoda reported that Teter was actually standing at the front door! They told her she was erazv or had seen his angel. There is many an imprisoned soul, fast bound by Satan's chains, for whose deliverance we"are to pray. Nor should we cease praying until we see him at the gateway ci life," knocking for admission. SCATTERED FOISOX. In the large cities sml vi.lages there Is tn fimnntr thp npn I'UIlMdlJl tilUV.im.-i iv .-vrtiiiv* v,.v j.w p!c literature which Is, to say the least, very fur from healthful or useful. There are thrilling tales, lovesick novels, and publications who.*e general aspect is that of unreality ami unnaturalness, which are flung into every doorway, and pitched hither and thither, with the hope of inducing people to pur chai-e more of the same sort. Of course when they arc found by intelligent and judicious members of a family they go into the wa?tebasket or the tire, but" if they reach the youni', and inexperienced, and curious.no bi.e can tell the mischief which they are liable to do. The ruin of many a runaway boj or runaway girl, and the misery of many g runaway match, snd many a shipwrecked life, may he attributed to the influence of* these unreal and unhealthy publications, which are scattered like thistle seeds in every direction. Parents will do well to keep an eye on all such pestilential literature. The serpent is on the watch for a chance to enter their Eden, and only the constant vigilance will protect the young in.i inoYiwiPtuTil from their machinations Ilow often :hc Scripture commands us to be watchful, and how great the need for such commands we yet hardly understand. If c-ver there was a time when Christian men should have their eyes open and their wits about them the present is that time. Every art anil trick and device of Satan is practiced for rte eiving and deluding and destroying mankind, and Christians need to be watching all the time, lest some new and unexpected form of evil ari?e to assail and destroy the eonls and bodies of men. The best protection against evil literature is a ?iod supply of good, healthful books, pal in and periodicals. These sati>fy inquiiir.g minds, form a correct taste, and breed a settled disgust for the miserable trash which is so eagerly devoured by bookhungry children whose parents give them no proper mental food: ji:>t as poisonous laurel leaves arc devoured by sheep when they can find nothing e!>e to cat in the snowcuvercu pastur? [The Christian (Boston). The idea of waste has no place in the plans of God. and (he fact of waste no place in Jfisw.uk. Jt is the sign and fruit of sin, without which it could be found nowhere ?-' Tl. A T tiirou;:ii in." universe.?* .w-v,... . The loaves of the paw-paw tree are' employed by the negroes in washiug linen, as a substitute for soap. They also have ths property of rendering meat wrapped in them, tender, owing to the alkaloid papain which they contain and which acis as a solvent. "Uncle Dutr," a centenarian living near SheilielJ, Ala., has just died. He was with Andrew .Tacksoa in tho Indian war and helped to plot Sheffield over seventy years ago. His wife died in 1812, and every day up to his death he prayed at her grave. ./ . .-ICS HOUSEHOLD MATTERS. . fr A GOOD WAT TO WASH CHINA. To wash china, such as Dresden and Coalport, the fluted surface of which is hard to cleanse properly, use a very old( I soft shaving brush and hot soft watei^J and soap. To dry, dab it over with/fl^B very soft towel or old piece of linen until all moisture seems removed. The shav* ing brush gets into every little crevice* and is a very valuable little instrument for china washing. ? Brooklyn Citizen. ARROWROOT FOR SICK FOLK. When arrowroot is ordered for sick people this is a nice way to prepare it: "Wet one dessertspoonful of arrowroot with one teaspoonful of milk and rub it smoDth. Add one teaspoonful of powdered sugar. Put half a pint of milk ia, a double boiler.-and when it boils stir iii carefully the arrowroot and sugar.: Let the mixture boil for three minutes, It can be served either hot or cold,? ?' New York World. VINEGAR FOJl SAT,AD. Vinegar used in a salad should always be flavored with some herb. In a French cooking book, over a century old, thia recipe is given for vinegar for salads: Take of tarragon, savoury, chides, es* chalots, three ounces each; a handful of the tops of mint and balm all dry an$ pounded; put into a wide-mouthed boM tie with a gallon of best vinegar, cork if close, set it in the sun, and in a fort* night drain off and squeeze the herbs| let it stand a day to settle, and then strain it through a filtering bag. TEA E7 ITS PERFECTION. It is not everyone who knows how to I make tea. "When it is required strong?I M one teaspoonful to each person and onfliI for the pot will not be too much. ! earthern or agate iron teapot is best. Sea; that it is perfectly clean and dry, and; make it as hot as possible before putting, in tea. Be sure your kettle boils, ancl use soft water if you can get it. Put the required amount of tea in the pot, pou& the boiling water upon it enough to cove^ the tea, let it stand four minutes, then add enough more water to make what' tea you desire, and in three minutes more it is ready for use. ' > ] J PEACH JELT/T. Pare ripe peaches without disfiguring* them and place them, either whole or cut, in a mold of sweetened jelly. Th? jelly may be calves' foot jelly, home*, made or canned, or gelatine may be used 31 A- iV- J! -l! ' HCCOruing Kj me uueuuuua aucuuipoujing each package. Either of these jol?, lies, palatably sweetened, should b? partly cooled; chill an inch layer of it ii^ the bottom of a plain, flat mold, up oik the ice; then arrange some peaches uponj it and chill enough more around them to keep them in place. Procced in this way until the mold is filled and keep tha jelly in a cool place until it is needed" forf the table. Serve it like other jellies.-* Chicago News. TWO CULDTABY SECRETS. A French cook, whose achievement in cooking vegetables is something note* worthy, says the secret of all his excel* lence lies in two things that are not com* monly known to American cooks. Tha first is in cooking things long enough*, Americans, he says, cook their vegetablesjust about half long enough. Wheri rnnlra fTpnflpallv devote two hours to the preparation of a dinner he gives four, and where they boil things half hourg? he boils them whole hour3 and more*; The second secret after the hearty boiling is in the use of meat stock to flavor vege^ tables. This is added to the vegetable* while they are still boiling and longj enough before they are done to let th* flavor of the stock be thoroughly ab?j aorbed by the vegetables. And ther? are no vegetables, he finds, that are not more gratifying to the palate as well a? nourishing to the body for the addition of a little strong, clear stock while cook* ing.?New York Sun. I "" ??? / WATER ICE RECirZ3. Water iccs are cooling ana rerresmng. desserts; being very much lighter than creams they are moro wholesome. In prepariug the 9yrup, says 3Irs. E,. R. Parker in Courier Journal, the tim6 the sugar and water boils must Le note^ exactly, the scum removed, and th4 syrup strained while hot, and then coole^ before adding the fruit piece, or th? fresh fruit flavor will be lost. A mucl* longer time is required for freezing than creams or custards. After being frozen^ the dasher should be taken out, and th?water ice well between with a paddle^ theu the freezer should be covered, re^ packed in ice, and let stand two or threa Wtion frncVi frniif- Mnnnt he ob*. liWUi O. H UVU * ? >? , tained, jelly may be used ia making watek g iccs. H Grape "Water Ice?Boil a quart of crater fl and a pound of sugar together for minutes. Pulp grapes to make a pint ol^H juice, add the pulps and skins to the ^ syrup, strain through a seive. Lst cool, pour in a freezer and freeze. Lemon Water Ice?Boil a quart of water and a pound and a half of sugar together; chip the yellow rind from three lemons and one orange, add to the syrup, boil live minutes and set away to cool.r Peel one orange and five lemons, cut in quarters, take out the seed and squeeze out the juice; mix with the syrup, strain through a cloth, turn into the freezer ani , '7 ' freeze. * Ruspberrv "Water Ico?Add a pound or sugar and a quart of red raspberries with the juice of two lemons, stir and let stand an hour, strain, pour over a quart of -water, pour in a freezer and freeze. Ginger "Water Ice?Pound four ounces c? preserved sugar to a paste. Cut two ounces more of the ginger in thin slices, and with a quart of ice lemonade, beat until well mixed. Cover and stand aside two hours. Pineapple Water Ico?Pare two largo pineapples, grate and strain the pulp, grate until all the juice is extracted, add ? a pound and a half of loaf sugar, and stir until it dissolves; add the juice .of two lemons with a quart of ice water, pour in a freezer and freeze. tvwnf?r to.i?remove the seed JL/flUiCWiJ 'r l**>- * from a gallon of ripe dituisons, press the pulp through a seive, ndd a pound of I sugar and stir until dissolved; pour over I a pint of ice water and freeze. I Orange Water Ice?Put a quart of J water and a pound and a quarter of4|j sugar on to boil for five minutes. Chip^H the rind from two lemons and three oranges, add to the syrup and boil five minutes; stand aside to cool. Peel four largo oranges and two lemons, cut in halves, remove the seed, and squeeze out all the juice; mix with the syrup, strain, put in a freezer and freeze.