Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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?> t Yj, s iTwixt Life and Death UNDER MEDICAL ADVICE. ?> _____________ A Story of the FrancoPrussian War. BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. ? CHAPTER I. THE GATHE11ING STOEJL / N a suncy Sabbath 7 A afternoon in the 4 f /\\fgr ^Jftncontb of October, ' iH |W]S70, tbe Cbevalier JUde Gavrolles and rNfii Blanche, a beauti y?un8 gifl heJf ? Ijf'S L tween seve nteen m3and eighteen yetrs ^gayLjga^l of age, attended service in the ,' ~"t Lady, in the little liillf 1 fflliff la village of Etretat, UlJu 1 la cililJil* 6ituated some ten er twelve English miles from the Beaport % town of Havre, in Normandy. There was a scanty congregation, consisting for the most part of peasant iromen, who, during the religions ceremonies, whispered mnch among themselves and otherwise paid unusually little attention'to the ministrations of Father Andre, the cure. The service over, all seemed . greatly relieved and pressed rapidly out; arto the open air to find the'churchyard Ijfv thronged with eager groups of villagers | who were eagerly discussing news just ^ communicated by telegraph from the seat , of war T1>? on/4 hia rtnnrrlitnr wcrn XUO VUC'aiiCX nuu W49 WWM^MW* "? ? < almost the last to leave. As they lingered ? in the porch they were joined by Father Andre, who salutedj them .with friendly P, WRoect ! Seen thns ruce to i?te. ?.n? cnevalier and * the little priest offered a striking contrast, f. lor the former was a tall, powerfully ? built man of forty-five, with erect, mili[ tary carri-jge and a face still preserving ' much of the freshness of youth; while tha latter, short, plump and rotund, was well on in the sixties, with a head that drooped between his shoulders and hair frosted' Over with silver rime. "Bad news, Chevalier!" cried Father Andre, nodding nervously at the groups in the churchyard. "You have heard of course?" "Yes. Father," was the reply; "the Ger mans are rapidly advancing, and we are ooo <o taste the horrors of defeat in grim arnest." Ab he spoke he glanced somewhat wistfully at the fair face of the girl, looking P*- eagerly and wonderingly into his?a spirit J : OflXlzed and softened reflection of his own face, without the lines left by time or aorrow. "Grim earnest, as yon say!" cried the little priest, with a pugnacious toss of the -Itead. "But let them look to it?let them lake care; they may go a step too far, these Oermans. Our bayonets will dig theii 'graves, though they were twenty timeB as ?uny!" The Chevalier sighed as he responded: After all, they are but paying an old ?fcu. We overran tbeir country as they | are overrunning ours." ~ ;7: "But it is different?it is widely different. The great Napoleon " j-^Sowed desolation and misery far and . wiae," interrupted the Chevalier. a great soldier, a miriculons j^BOldier!" ^ ' I t- soldiet, granted, but a little i man, Father. We are reaping now what be sowed oeiore we were oorn: Father Andre, perspiring violently, uttered an angry exclamation; then, conquer" fag his excitement, he forced a smile and added: r< "Ah! but I know?>0very ono knows?yon > ere a man of peace! From the first you ' lieve said we were in the wrODg. Well, it ?ay be pbBsible; but our folly, if it were folly, was expiated by the foolish Em1 peror at Sedan. Now it is another affair. $ The oountry is in danger, Chevalier. All \ true men are flocking; to the standard of ; our beloved France. I swear to you that g; if I were a few years younger, and did f not wear this black coat* I would be fighting at the front myself!" Once more the Chevalier glanced tenderly at his daughter, and his countenance grew troubled with some inner pain, p' "Will you dine with us to-night, Father ? - -?on 1? ?1__.l ? T AllUItJ l UD U6&CU. x uu>o ovmoiuuijj &,' ^ery particular to say to you." "Many thanks, Chevalier; I will come. 2 must crave mademoiselle's pardon a thousand times if 1 have frightened her with my warlike talk." 5-1'.' "I am not frightened," answered Blanche, with a gentle smile; "only I was Be thinking how terrible is war! Why cannot men love one another, and remain at peace?" Quitting the churchyard, the Chevalier ' -a&d bis daughter took a path which led ly a circuitous route up to the summit of Hie sea-cliffs. On the very tammit of the cliff, to the Tight of Etretat, looking seaward, stands file tiny chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde (Our Lady of Safety;, the door of which is pen day and night, and the altar of which is hung with all sorts of rude votive offerJags, made by the fishermen and those who ' there. Hither father and daughter bent their footsteps, and presently en'.crtog the little chapel, stood tor a few minutes in meditat on. Over the altar hung a rude picture, replesentiug shipwrecked sailors on a raft, -while above them, through an opening in file clond, appeared a miraculous vision of Our Lady herself. Only one other person was in the building?a very old woman? kneelicg before the picture, praying volu? Uv and telling her bends. Presently she lose to her feet and hobbled to the door, till muttering to herself. She paused on the cliff and looked down at the calm sea, moving ber bead painfally from side to :de. Tbe Chevalier and his daughter approached ber. "Good day. mother," said the former. "Were you offering up a prayer for some one out yonder on the sea.'" The old woman looked at him from bead to foot, then at the fair girl at his side. "My son is not a fisherman," she answered; "he is. a soldier." ~ Well, It is the same thing. There are perils on the land as well as on the ocean, ?nd jnst now worse perils. Where is youi on at present?" "At the front," was the reply. "Tbe food God only knows if he lives still." ?he added savagely: "The accursed Germans! I have heard that out there in Xiorraine. where the Prussians came, our & .folks poisoned the spring wellB. It was veil done?well done!" "Nay, mother; it was wickedly done, If done at all!" cried Blanche, indignantly. "But I'll never believe it of our brave , countrymen!" The old woman looked at her balefully. "It is all verv welL" she returned, "for fine folks like you to talk like that! You aristocrats look on while we poor folks are driven out to die. My son is a pe is int. I could not buy him a substitute; he had to go." "Let it comfort you," mid the girl, "that 3ie s fight ng for a noble cause!" "A roble Cnuse. What care I for the rause? I want my son. Had he been a fine Eatleman like bim beside yon, he would ve staved safe at home: but he was poor. mi nave saia, ana tbeyfooK mm from me f ?my Jean, my only son! Ah, it is an infamy! There h one God for the p oor and Mother for the rich; and it is the poor who must mfi'er for all the evil our rulers do!" 80 saying. and once more subsiding into it i?okeu aiutte.in^s. the Cione moved feellv away, raitierana aaugnter turned sadly and walked slowly along the summit of the cliffs. ' Blanche, my child, yon heard what the old *vomr.n said? She was right. In theso sac1 iiincs of war the evil falls only upon the iiaIi ova tlr\A I'nrttTC j'UUi , \? uiK. kilo llwu ui c 0|nuv.u> v^? wu auw " o it is not just!" She irnzed at him earnestly, as il not quite garnering nis meaning, D3fore she replied: "But it is not only the poor who are fighting now for the Fatherland. The journals are full of the names of those who are flocking to take service against the enemy, and the flower of our old nobility is among them. Many have gonfl even as common 6oldiers. Ah! but they are brave." The Chevalier's face flushed; but the Bush faded, and the old look of pain returned. "Come. Blanche!" he yud,hurriedly, and they walked on. After following for about a mile the foot. path along the cliffs, they turned inlandt and crossing the plateau of grass and thyme, came upon open fields, where all the summer the yellow colza had been growing. Presently they approached the shadow of fir woods. A modest gate opened to a narrow avenue winding: through the trees, and following this aveuue for some distance they came in sight of the old chateau which for many a generation had been the dwelling o>" -he family. It was an o^fl-fashioned house, with a grand old porch and terrace facing; the; I south, and surrounded on every side by woodland and belts of pasture. The garden I ir* frnnt nf if trna orror>/I in orrtipao anrl 6hady walks, and behind it were several orchards connected with the home farm.i Seen in the subdued light of that autumnal day the place looked somewhat forlorn and a little neglected; for the Chevalier de Gavrolles, though of old descent, was not a rich man, and found it necessary for' many reasons to economize his income.' One gardener, with occasional assistance from Houzel, the forester, had to keep the flower-beds and parterres in decent order; one old man servant or butler, in' addition to the serving maids, had to supei intend matters within the house. A certain picturesqueness was added to the chateau by a peacock in full plumage, who was strutting ou the terrace and screading hie irisetftail in the rosy sunset light. As they approached, BTanohe left her father's side and ran toward the bird, which greeted her with its harsh discordant cry. "Poor Blanche!" he muttered; "6he is so happy now!" He sat down on the terrace and lighted a cigar. His thoughts were traveling back! to the day when his beloved wife had died, leaving him a lonely widower, withi that one child. Since then Blanche had been the joy and comfort of his life, and they had dwelt together in solitude, seeing little or no society, and seldom quitting their country home. A student?almost a book-worm?he ha l belied all the tradi-, tions of his house by deolining at the very, outset a military career, for which he had neither taste nor inclination. He had held a commission during his youth and; seen some active service abroad; but when the empire came he had left the army,married and led the life of a quiet country gentleman. 1 Father Andre cams according to appointment, and the three dined together, waited | gn by old Hubert, the butler, who was clad in the faded livery of the family. More than once during the repast the talk turned 1 upon the central topic of public interest; and the lit'.le priest, waraied with wine, ] had occasion to reiterate bis belligerent . sentiments, to tl^e huge ^gltgfct"ayl ap-' i ' proval of old Hubert, wilo'uiinoai <i*oppM the dishes in the excitement of his ea^eJ sympathy. At last Blanche left the table, ' Hniiei t retired and the o gentlemen were f Text tEeir co$e? 1 Tor some minute? they talked on gen? ' eral matters: then, after an uneasy glanc? ' at the closed door, the Chevalier said: < "I wished to sp?ak to you, Father An- ' dre, on a subject which concerns the happiness of my dear daughter." i "Ah!" The priest's eyes sparkled, end he pursed I his lips knowingly. "Blanche, as you know, Is now nearly i eighteen. Should anything happen to me she would be aloae in the world. "The fact is, Father Andre, that I can- ! not quite acquit myself of selfishness and ; want of patriotism at a moment so threatening to the liberties of my dear country. I have hesitated for a long time, but now mv mind is made up. I have not drawn a sword for over twenty years, but last night I wrote to the administration, offering my services as an old officer and a volunteer." An impulsive "bravo" was on Father Andre's lips, but he ^booked himself, and assumed a look of extreme concern and I sympathy. "Jbut Mademoiselle Blanche? Does she know? Have you told her?" The Chevalier shook nis head. Unable to restrain his enthusiasm any longer, Father Andre reached out his hand and grasped that of his entertainer. . "It is a noble determination! Mademoi-j selle Blanche will offer no obstacles, I am sure." "I do not,think she will." returned the CUevalier, "wiien 1 nave made my duty plain to her; for though she is a child, sh-f has rare courage. What I have further to Bay concerns her future. During my absence, and afterward, if?if anything 6hould happen while I nm away, 6he Will remain here at the chateau." "Certainly." "Mere Fevereau. the housekeeper, is her nfor eVin U1U UU1 co, uji-uunv uui lull vi-UJ vwuv< ) p-w will never neglect her charge. For the rest you, old friend, will look in from time to time, to see that all goes well. Should she be low-spirited and anxious, you will comfort her, will you not? And, 6hould I never return " Tears rose in his eyes; but conquering his emotion, and brushing the moisture away with his hand, he proceeded: " Should I riever return, you will watch over her and protect her. Her worldly position will be secure?I have attended to all that?and she will remain mistress ef the chateau." "Nay.nay," cried the priest good-numoredly. "The good God will bring you safely back to mademoiselle. Yoa will kill a few rascally Germans, and return like a hero when the war is done!" "But you promise to do as I have asked you? You accept the commission as a 6acred tru6t?" "As a sacre 1 trust, Chevalier." Presently the prieut rose to go, for the evening was well advanced and Le was an early bird. Before departing he accompanied his host to the drawing-room, a large chamber furnished in the style of Louis Quatorze, and here they found Blanche all gilone, seated at the harmonium and singing one of the sweet old hymns once so popular in Normandy. They entered quHitly and stood listening, When the hymn was fiuisded the Chevalier bent over her and kissed her fondly. "I shall tell her to-night," he whispered to Father Andre as they parted at the porch. He returned slowly to the drawing-room and found that his daughter had drawn back the heavy window curtains and was gazing out upon the garden, flooded by the lays of the mil moon. The moonlight ciept in, shone softly upon her ftceand clung round her tall, slight form like a robe of mignetic brightness. Quietly and silently the Chevalier, joined her in th? recess or tne oriel-window, and they gazed out upo.i the night together. "Is it not beautiful?" said the girl, holding his hand and raising it to her lijiS. "Hark! I tn ink I can hear the sound of the pea." "It is the wind in the treetops," replied the Chevaiier. almost vacantly. Blanche, with a sad smile of infinite fon.luess, placed his hand against her cluek, and kept it there tenderly, while her dreamy eyes still searched the mooulight on the elteping woods. At Lst he could boar the suspense nc longer- Hot withdrawing his Band, he i * 1UUACU uuwu u^iuju iuo ia^o vi uid uau^uici and said in a low voice: "Blanche, lhave something to say to you ?something, my child, that may cause you some surprise, and perhaps a little pain. In a few days, my da:ling, I must leave you and go upon a journey." Something in the tone more than in the words startled the girl. She turned quickly, and with an eager cry gazed into her father's eyes. "Father, what is it? Something has happened. Going upon a journej. you going?" He took her head between his two trembling handc and kissed her gently on the forehead before he replied. "To the fiontier^BJanche. The country is in danger, and I am going to take my place among the soldiers of France." CHAPTER II. BLANCHE. It was pome minutes before Blanche could realize the full significance of her futher'9 words; and even when she did so sne aid not weep ana wau in me manner of hysterical damsels. Her father had not misestimated her character; Ehe possessed both courage and self-control. Yet it would have been seen, had the sunlight been shining upon her, that the lifeblood had fled from her cheeks, leaving them white and cold as marble, and that in her eyes there was a fixed expression of horror and pain. Trembling violently, she clung to her father, as if she already felt the iron hand which was about to snatch him from her. "Father, you will not go! France has thousands upon thousands of soldiers, and I liave only you? Promise me you will stay?promise, and I know you will keep your word." "My word is already given," replied the Chevalier, gently; "and it pledges me to accent service ia the defense of mv couu try. My darling, I have hesitated a long time in my great love and oare for you; but the events of the last few days have decided me, and if I am now delayed I should feel myself little better than a miserable coward." "No one would think you that!" exclaimed Blanche. "All the world know? that you are brave.'' "Blanche, my darling, do not unman me. You know now which way my duty lies. Suffer me to fulfill it; you must! you will!" "It is so sudden, so terrible," shd replied. "And we were so happy here together. Oh, father, must you go?" "You know I must." "Then I will try to bear it?I will try to justify your faith in me. And in a little while you will come back to me, will you not?" "Yes, dear, God willing." As fie spoke he clasped her in his arms, and kissed her tenderly again and again. Both were strongly moved; both seemed to feel the Bhadow of an eternal separation. But with a strong effort the noble girl conquered her agony before it could conquer her, and sought with all her power to 11 rrVifnn +V?a Knrdfln nf Vior cnrrrtw The next morning when they met she was calm and resigned, though very pale. She had spent the greater part of the night in prayer, and sacred strength had come to her from the divine source of all onr smiles and tears. Her father looked at her in wonder; for he knew the depth of her devotion to him and realized fnlly the supreme effort the was making for his sake. Two days later came letters from the administration accepting his volnntry services ond bj^ding him to repair at once to pfatCy, almost calmly, Blanche Baw to the preparations for his departure; but on :he last night before the separation the mguish became too much for her and she kirlv broke down and sobbei noon his j'reaet. Then"taking from her bosom a small gold medallion attached to a slen~ Jer golden chain, Bbc placed it in his hands, saying: "Father, seel It contains my mother's portrait and mine. You will wear it, will I7/-.71 r?rtt9 PprVinno?flo.3 knows!?it will [>e a charm to keep you saf?, to bring yon back to me. On,* father, father!" she added wildly, "what shall I do when you are gone away?" He drew her softly to him, smoothing her hair with bis hinds and looking|into heT eye9. Blanche, my child," he said, "do not let nj be selfish in our sorrow; do not let us forget that ours is a common misery, shared by thousands upon thousands, not only here in France, but yonder in Germany, beyond the Rhine." "Ah, my father, you are good. Even in yonr great sorrow you feel for others more than for yourself. But all tho world knows ?even Father Andre has said it io the pulpit?our enemies are monsters, without pity ana without love." "Nay, Blanche," he answered, gently, "they are only Unfortunate men like ourselves, speaking a different tongue, but capable of the same holy alfections. They are not to blame, but the evil rulers who rrge them on. It is with a sad heart, my child, that I draw the sword against any fellow-creature; but the peril of France is my justification, and whatever blow I strike will be a blow of self-defense." [TO BE CONTINUED.] The Hemp Industry. Kentucky has heretofore been our principal hemp producing State, but the constantly increasing use of fibre for various purposes, and especially for binding twine, seems to de;nand for it a wider area of cultivation than it has previously, occupied. In the last annual report of the Secretary of Agriculture it is said there is no reason why hemp culture should not be extended over a dozen States and the product used in manufactures which now employ thousands of tons of imported fibre. In the manufacture of binder-twine alone there is an outlet for upward of fifty thousand tons of hemp anuually. Mauila is no better than hemp, and sisal quite inferior. When the market for binder-twiue was first created American hemp fitted the demand?the more carefully prepared article, straight or dressed hemp, being employed. About ten years ago the demand increased to a point beyond the 6upply, and to meet the exigency of the case other fibres were employed. Manila and sisal came into use, and as the consumption of binder-twine grew to its present enormous proportions these fibres held their position and hemp was relegated to the background. Extensive manufacturers of harvesting machinery are quoted as saying that there is no fibre in the world better ! suited to this use than American hemp. The usual course of procedure in Kentucky in raising hemp on blue grass sod is to plow about four inches deep in the fall or early spring; sow about the time to plant corn; sow broadcast thirty-three pounds of seed per acre, having first prepared the seed-bed thoroughly, aud cover by dragging with the harro .v as for any of the small grains. About one hundred days are required for the crop to mature. The fact that sisal hemp can be grown in this country was satisfactorily demonstrated many years ago, but the frost line sharply marks the northern limit of its cultivation.?Ncio York World. j A family at .Norristown, Pa., keeps fortr-eeven cats. Its name is carefully kept from the public, but it is undoubtedly well and unfavorably known to al] the neighbors. BLUECOAT BOYS. |; t CHARITY PUPILS OF ONE OP f LONDON'S INSTITUTIONS. t i [ How the Boys Are Dressed?Taught 1 to Take Care of Themselves? s Their Dining Room? Mode ot Admission. t "V Two boys who strode along the Strand * a couple of days ago attracted quite 1 enough attention to satisfy them, per- ? haps more. They were dressed alike, ? though one was a tall, black haired, jj olive complexioned fellow, not a bit ^ English in appearance, while the other c was rather short, had very broad shoulders, red cheeks, and short curly hair, in color about two shades darker than an ordinary halo. Neither of them wore anything but hair upon their heads. As they strode along at a good swinging pace the long and loose tailed blue coats -4- * ? ?~ ilinwlrr nKrtnf Will (J 11 Lucy VVUIC UicjJJJCUiaiiluiaiij uuwuv their yellow-FtockiDged legs. The coats were fastened about the waist by narrow leather belts that resembled old-fashijned skate straps. A dozen silver buttons?at any rate, they looked like silver?ran in a straight line from a point six inches below the chin down to the leather belt. A long and > narrow piece of white linen, which covered the top three buttons, represented a collar and gave the boys a clerical cut. Their stockings were yellow?a robust shade of canary. Their shoes were low and large. It seemed to be there was a great waste of leather in them, but this did not appear to bothor the boys. The pair were "Bluecoat" boys from Christ's Hospital echool. Everybody in London knows the school, and has often 3een the boys. Strangers always look at them with great interest, ask what they . are, and, having found out, pay a visit 1 to Christ's Hospital and walk over as 4 much of that interesting and ancient pile e as the gatekeeper with the black fop hat c with the 6ilver lace band will permit. s Londoners will not see so much of the c boys in future, as the school is to be re? 0 moved. * The school dates from the reign of Ed- 1 waid VI., and his statue is among the 1 many interesting features of the great c structure at which one can get a peep 6 between tall iron railings in Newgata a street. It was founded at a charity; that & Is, boys who could not otherwise obtain in education on account of the poverty ? of their parents, or the lack of them, * were to be given an education, and a 4 pretty thorough one, at Christ's Hospi- 8 tal. But as the years rolled on and gave j ^ place to others the real charity boy rolled v on too and gave place to others who ? A- 1 THE OLD PUMP. would be very indignant indeed were it insinuated that they were even on the most distact terms with charity. This change gave the Charity Commissioners ] an opportunity to step in and take a t hand in the government, and, according I r to their decision, a new site is to be ob- ! r taincd for the school. This site has not ' s been obtained yet, though good judges | s ?supposed to be so at least!?have been ? on the look out for some time. c The site of the present school build* c ings contains five and one-fourth acrcs, ^ and the buildinss, I tm informed, are tc \ \ be demolished when the new site has , r been procured and the present one has j been sold. I am told that an offer of t ?500,000 has been made for it. To de- ? molish the buildings will he to remove r one of the oldest and most interesting 1 monumeuts in London. So vast are these { buildings that in many of the corridors and other passages that are open to the ] elements the roar of London is unheard < or falls upon the air in a sleepy murmur, j Lovers of the antique and of thearchi- j tecturally severe could spend hours in ( the great dining hall. It is the second \ largest hall of tha kind in London, that < of Westminster ranking first. It is 195 ] feet long from wall to wall. The ceiling ( is of oak, the great beams, black with < -IrtrtL-Jnrr nrinilopniia pvpn fit. thfi tre* a{SC' J/uu-v.v? - mendous height from which they look down. The sides of the hall are panelled with oak, also black, to a height of at least ten feet, and along the top of j one panel is a long row of tablets con- j taining the names of the various treas- j urers of the hospital. ] The stained glass windows, through \ the dark rich colors of which the sun- j light is softened as it streams, contain ] the crests of many of the Governors, while the central windows bear the Royal i Arms. On the east wall is a large paint- i ing by Vario, who began the work in \ 1684 and finished it in 1690. It was j painted to commemorate the foundation < and endowment, within the hospital, of ( the Royal Mathematical School by King 1 Charles II. by letters patent in 1673, and | shows the mathematical scholars pre- ] senting the Charter of Edward VI. On j the same walls are life size portraits, in , oils, of Her Majesty the Queen, commemorating her visit to the hospital in ( 1845, the Prince Consort and the Duke < of Cambridge. i At the north end of the hall is a galler i for visiters aud friends of the Governors 1 during an entertainment. On the face of 1 the gallery are the Royal Arms. At the ' other end of the hall is the organ and < u place for the choir. There, too, ara the arms of the school, two Bluecoat boys, placed there in the Jubilee year, and showing that, at that time, the school dated from Edward VI., 1553, to Victoria, 18S7. Underneath is the inscription: "Fear God and Honor the King." Five rows of oak tables stretch from ' one end of the hall to the other, and on each side of each row is a row of oak benches. At these tables the boys, of whom there are 750. eat three meals a lay. The boys lay the tables, demolish he food aad clear the tables. Against he east wall, about the centre, is an old ashioned reading desk. In this one of he seniors, or Grecians, a9 they a:o :alled, reads, before and after meals, hree times a day. The cicerone said the -V.; ((.oK/rirvMS ? uujcvb vvao aivruya ign^ivu^i The Bluecoat boys should be able to ake care of themselves almost any? pkere, for they are taught to do everyhing for themselves. They make their wn beds and make them well. In each lormitory there are fifty iron bedsteads, o constructed that if a boy happens to )o kicked out of bed he has only about iltecn inches to fall, though the cicerone lid not say that kicking each other out if bed was one of the usual amusements. J!! A BLTTECOAT BOY. rbe boys black their own boot3, and 'catch it" if their boots are not proprly cleaned, and if the blacking brushes io not looK at all times reasonably repectable. The monitors and first Greians are not compelled to clean theii iwn boots, some younger boy is expected o perform the operation for them, bul or this the younger boy must be paid, hat is according to the rules, and oi ourse the rules are obeyed. The cicerone aid that no fagging was practiced. He dded the saving clause, "so far as ] JIOW." To be admitted to the school a boy iust not be younger than ten or older han eleven years, The school is inended "for children of persons distinnished in literature, science or art, or a the service of the Crown, or those iho have rendered services to the public r to Christ's Hospital; for children of iverymen of certain city companies." Children are also admitted now by comletition, so that brain9, and not poverty, 3 an open sesame. Admission is by preentation of a Governor?tjjere are 300 Jovernors?or of the Council of Alaonors. According to the rules, no child shall ie admitted whose parents or relations lo not need assistance toward theeducaion and maintenance of such child. THE BOYS AT PLAY. There is an impression m some quarters hat this rule has not at all times been igidly enforced. No presentations cr Lomination3 are likely to by issued for everal years, as each Governor is retricted to one presentation in six years ?for which he may receive several huaIred applications?as under the scheme if the Charity Commissioners, the num>er of boys in the boarding school is to >e considerably reduced. To be adnitted, a boy must, of course, be iu jood health, be intelligent and be able o read and write and have, age con:idered, a reasonable knowledge of geography, arithmetic and grammar, iny boy should be able to pass the elimination. The boys have a splendid playground, [t is paved, however, so that cricket is jut cf the question. Football is the principal amusement, and very odd the joys look when they tuck up their long ;oats in order to be unhampered while :hev try to kick holes in the ball or in >ach other. After a game .they are much given to rushing to the old pump ind drinking from one of the oldest wells and of the purest water in London. ?London Herald. Resnlts of Impaction of Ear-Wax. Impaction of cererum, or car-wax, as t is popularly called, usually produces 10 more consequence than partial or temporary deafness. But Dr. Dalbey, of [owa, publishes a case which shows that :his apparently simple coadition may produce serious and even dangerous resrilts of a far-reaching character. The case was that of a farmer who had seen completely deaf in the right ear for iweuty-five years. One day, after exposure to dampness, an acute pain developed in this ear, followed by complete paralysis of the right side of the face. The ioctor carefully syringed it, and found that the ear-drum had been destroyed, md that the wax had worked into tho little cavities in the bone behind the ear, ind pressed against the nerve which controls the superficial muscles of the face. At the expiration of a few months 3f electrical treatment tho patient was entirely cured of his paralysis. This :ase emphasizes the necessity of mothers md nurses being minutely watchful in the care of the cars of children who arc ;ither too young or heedless to attend to the matter themselves.?New Tork Mail znd Express. Barbara Pretchie, of war fame, is buried in the cemetery of the German Reformed Church, near Frederick, Md. Her grave is marked simply by a stone that bears her name, age and the dat< "1862." Briers run wild over th? mound. A shark twenty-five feet in length was recently caught in the harbor of Panama, and its skin was half an inch thick* A New Baby Carrier. This most iDgeuious and useful little article is in reality a miniature hammock, which can he fistened round the neck at various heights by strong hooks. The baby being" placed inside the hands of the nurse are left perfectly free, the arms saved from aDy strain or subsequent ach A NEW BABY CARRIER. ing, and perfect comfort and safety are insured for the child. The "baby carrier" -weighs under three ounces, will wash and when not in use can be folded up into a very small compass and carried in the pocket. Every woman knows how, when tQe baby wants to be nursed, everything else must be put aside and every movement studied; therefore, the value of an article the use of which admits of a book or work being held and saves the arms from many an hour's aching can be thoroughly aDDreciated.?Ladies' Pictorial London. A Lecture on Trees Illustrated With au Umbrella. Here we have a form of the cypress? Hero the palm? And here the pine.?FliegentJe Blaettei'. Half Oak. Half Cherrj\ Near the old cemetery in West Alexandria, W. Va., a big tree is growing, which forks at three feet nine inche3 {mm fV?n npfAimrl A rina*nnf.l v if. i<a d ",u j white oak, but on examination it appears that above the fork it branches into two specie9, one a white oak and the other a white cherry, with the foliage puculiar to each. The oak is about ixty-five and the cherry fifty.five feet high.?Times-Donocrat. "When "William Penn sailed tip the Delaware, in 1682, there were aboul 3,500 white people in the province and territories, and on the eastern bank oJ the river from Trenton to Salem. A few wigwams and not over twenty houses were to be found within the entire limits of what is now Philadelphia. In 1684 the infant town had about2,50C residents, while iu 1699 Philadelphia and its Liberties had nearly 5,000 people. Between this period and 179C there are almost no trustworthy records of population. The Philadelphia Directory, published in 1785 by Francis White, contains approximately 3,900 names of citizens, while Mao Pherson's Directory for the same yeai has more than 6,000 names. In 179C the first census was taken, and the population was found to be 54.39L AKEW YORK girl has set a worthy example to all women. She was to be married and w*s ready to go to the altar wfcen her 1 usband came to her intoxicated. Sue loved the man, but refused to risk her happiness with one who would go to hid wedding in such a condition. She pointed to the door and commanded him never again to enter her home. It not only required courage but a great deal of common sense to do that, but it was the proper thing for the occasion. There are now in the deld 6,996 ordained missionaries and a multitude of lay workers upon active duty. The missionary work was begun within the memory of living people, and the missionary spirit was never before so uni, vereol among Christian people as now. >; ' ' ' ' THE MERRY BEGGAR.. I brave the day, I brave the night,. I throw my sorrows to the wind. And try to keep a cheerful mind. Although my coat is thin and light; Although my hat Is wondered at, Because I shaved the outer rimTo try and keep it smooth and trim; I laugh and sing, and whistle, too, When I have wind enough to spare,. But in the sharp and frosty air My breath comes short, my nose turns bluv My fingers freeze. And my poor knees Would knock together did they daray But still I keep a jaunty air. When bread is scarce and shelter poor I watch the sparrows, and I say ', . "I only want a meal a day." And if they turn me from the door I tramp for weeks And dodge the beaks, And with no money for a bed T 4??t r? n nwiVimntT AW a c Ka/1 A bljr (Ui tuwunaj vi a bu?w? .>?** I brave the day, I bravs the night* I throw my sorrows to the wind, 'Tls wise to keep a cheerful mind And screw your courage for the fight. And so, kind Sir, In case you err, "With overpity, worse than none, Just hand a copper and have don * ?Nina F. Layard, in Longman's^ PITH AND POINT. 1 Herd In confidence?Tame deer.-* Puck. Appointed to fill a vacancy?Tour dining table.?Puck. The hounded man usually goes to th? dogs.?Piiiiburg Pott. Birds never quarrel over a difference Of a pinion.?Yonkert Gazette. Occasionally the wisest owl hoots at the wrong time?Atchison Globe. A lounge is sometimes used in thfr bed's-stead.-*-Binghamton Republican. It takes the yellows to give the peach growers the blues.?Baltimore American* The modern girl often lontjs for sucl* a Boaz Ruth had.?Binghamlon Repttilican. i Always forgive your enemies?espe?: cially tho3e you can't whip.-'TcakXf Sifting*. Hunger may sharpen the wits, but it. . puts a vicious wire-edge on the tempefJ ?Pack. "When I work I frequently play?'} "What is your business?" "I'm a flra* man."? Yankee Blade. There are people who get credit foir f ; being good simply because they havd poor health.?Rami Born. A paradox?That the horse in tha tread-mill 6hould keep on straight ahead, and yet be always-turning. "When men say ' 'short accounts make long friends" they do not refer to banc accounts.?JSTew York Herald. A life-size picture of the penitentiary should be kept in the. office of everj State Treasurer.?Qalvaton Jiews. The New York murderer thinks thafe "electrocution" is not only a poor worfl but a tough sentence.?Chicago Timet. \ The man who hasn't the capacity tfl| attend to his own business always finds others to do it for him.?Galmton Nevoti The sports of children may satisfy the! child, but they usually spread a wave of riio^nnfonf thrnnwh tha whole neicrhbirf* hood.?Puck. ? I The pickpocket is a living example of the truth that in order to succeed ia life one should keep in touch with his feli lows.?Beaton Courier. i She?"Don't you sing? Why, hoW stupid of you!" He?"If you'd ever heard me you'd thiuk it was everlasting smart of me."?West Shore. The quickest way to convince a person; of the accuracy of the Darwinian theory is to show him a summer boy with hiii hair clipped.?Binqhamton Republican. i * Two men looked at a branch of bay, ] And bath for fame did itch; Pate gave to one the crown of leaves^ AUUUCUC1 guw liug onnvu. ?Puck. i There are said to be nearly six thousand pieces in a modern locomotive?especially when the engineer fails to Beg the rear lights on the train ahead.?Chicago Post. If you will but notice it, there sraf more learned fools in this world thaa ignorant ones; or is it because they hava better facilities for exhibiting their foolJ ishness??Boston Transcript. Briton?"If you are such a rampant! American I should think you would re-' main where Americana are most appre-j dated." American?"I do?in London.. and Paris."?Kate Field's Washington, ; He slipped the ring upon her hand, And kissed bis bonny bride; And the Etrains of the same old wedding march Went outward wirti the tied. ? Washington Post. * An actor makes real love to a pretty girl in private life. "Dearest, I love you devotedly. I implore you to listen! to me?I?I?I?goodness gracious,' Where's the prompter?"?Fliegtndc BlattA ter. Miss Summit?"Have you heard the dreadful news about Miss Ringster? Yes* terday she jumped out of a three storywindow and killed herself." Miss Pali-' sade?"Oh, isn't that awful? "What did she have on?"?Cloak Review. William the Wanderer (.it the kitchen window, sniffing the delicious odor ofj the cooking dinner)?"Beauteous maid,] I smell?" The Cook?"I knowye do; an' if yor don't go away from here I'll' put the boord av hilth on yer."?Jury. ; Probably the hardest, most trying thine: which can befall anyone in thisj world is the endeavor to decipher the; important memoranda he has jotted; down with such confidence of being able to read right oi when he wants to use them.?Boston Transcript. A memo*r of the Fire Brigade Committee of the County Council at the Guildhall banquet observed to a neighboring' Alderman: "Theacoustics are very bad in this hall." "Really!" replies the latter. "You surprise me. I can't smell anything."?London 2'ruth. "So you mustered up courage and called upon-.her last night?" "I did." "Did she seem pleased?" "To tell the truth, I was so nervous that I didn't no-; tice, but I guess she was pleased, for as I got up to go I saw that she looked very happy."?Nex York Press. A The tax comissioners in New York re-1 ceive $4000 a year each, except the' President, who gets $5000. : - .. .