University of South Carolina Libraries
A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c Vol. XI. WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 3, 1875. No.9 Tif NERALI 19 PUBLISRZD EVY WIRDNEWDAY MORNING, kt,.qewwrry 0. IL9 BY To*E- Fe GIRENKUt Editor and Proprietor. Terms% $%.i)Per JaU j"wjwaby in Advance. tz = aTer is store at the expiMaUOU C 07m The H mark denotes expination Of sub seription. CASTI"GA SHADOW. A wit.a"eped at a foundrY, where Some men were castin iron ware, And entering, saidt,"You all appear To be engaged in cating here ." 6"Yes,"1 ss.id the foreman, ettha"'s our lbiz.' The wit remarked, "I'm glad it is, For I have sought, and found at la.st, A plac to get a shadow cast." The iron man at onc replied* TWAt "Such a feat their skill defied;" But remmeDded him W pass To a fo=W#r where they worked in b~rass. LOVE UNBOUGHTO Like DiWo' kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is mot bought; Nwr voice mor sond betmays Ir's.deep bmkned game. it cone-the bewntiWb, the free, The crown of all humanity 1n silence and alone To seek the elected one. Oh, weary bearksl Oh, slumbering eyes! Oh. drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain Ye sball be loved agan!1 "o.00is Soc accursid by fat%, No one so utterly desolate, But wom:hbeIrthough unknown ?ue"ads unto his owV. "Baqo~s-uIf With =nseen wings Ange toibed Its quivering strings; And whispens in its soug 4, Wbois thon stayed so long?"' - Longfellow. THRWE TA No DEATH. I soo~i ~continned the services ol not," I rejoined, "if it has no moi foundation than this." And this was all that was said b< tween us on the subject. I was to well acquainted with the captain sudden whims to attach much in portance to this one. The captain remained at home thi time barely two weeks. On the mori ing that he left to take his vess( for another trip, just after he ha< taken up hishat to go, he called m into the chamber and shut the doo "Here is something, Fanny," h said, "that I want. you to keep safe ly for me till I come back." An he took a paper package from hi breast-pocket as he spoke. "Then are ten fifty-pound notes in it-fivi hundred pounds ii all. I will locl it up here in this bureau-drawer and give you the key." And he di< so. "No one would think of coming here for money." "Do you think you had bettei leave it here, Elijah?" I asked "Why not put it in the bank?" "I meant to, but I shall not hav< time. The money was only paii me last night. But no matter, th( money will be safe where it is, an there will beno danger about it; o if you don't think so, you may de posit it yourself." My uneasiness increased as th( day wore on; and about thre( o'clock the same afternoon, I tool the money and went to the bank determined to deposit it. The ban] was closed; all the banks wer( closed, for it was Saturday. I took the package home again replaced it in the bureau-drawer locked it, placed the key in m3 pocket, and resolved that I wouli not worry any more about it. Emil' called me to tea in a little while and though not hungry, I went in to the dining-room and sat with hei while she drank her tea and laugh ed and chatted in her vivacious way. The evenings were rather long and Emily and I sat together ix the dining room after the table wai cleared, she reading aloud, and : listening, as was our custom. Whez the clock struck ten she laid dowr her book ; andlItookxny lamp, ani bidding her good-night, went up t< my robmn. My chamber occupied the wholl front of the second story, and Eii ly had a back room upon the same floor. A bell wire ran from my noon to hers, so that I could summon he: at pleasure. I placed the lamp upon the bu reau, shaded it, and returned ani locked the door. Then I drew mn: easy cair to the middle of th< room, put on my slippers, and sai down for a few minutes before re tiring. And immediately I becamt vexed at myself tofnd that I was looking at the drawer that held the money, and that 1 was feeling ii my pocket to see that the key wa safe. The shade that I placed ove: the lamp confmned its rays within small circle, beyond which the bed the furnihure, the carpet, and the wall paper were obscure. In the corner, to the right of the door was an antique, high-backed chair a favorite piece of furniture. As : turned my own chasir from the bn reau, my eyes rested on this objeci andlIsaw by the same glance tha a human figure was sitting in it! I could not at first make ou whether it was a man or woman ;. only became conscious, as I sat il bewildering, dumb terror, that was confronted by a stranger ther in that semi-darkness-by some on who had hidden in the room fo some object. There I was, locke< up ina roomnalone with arnmar waiting, trembling, and expecting to hear him speak, or to .becom< the object of some violence. Fo although, as I have said, I coul< not distinguish whether it was mai or woman, I did not doubt thati was the former, and one of the mos desperate of his kind. And pre ently, as my eyes fell to the floor, saw a greatpair of boots thrust ou upon the carpet within the radius c the light. I do not know how long we sa there in the semi-dankness of th room, facing each other, but mc tionless and silent ; it might hav been three minutes or thirty. Th thought of alarming Emily sudder ly occurred to me, and I reache< out for the bell-cord. It should hav~ been within easy reach of the spc where I sat, but my hand failed t find it. A low chuckle came from the o< cupant of the old chair. "That was a clever thought < you, missus," came forth in a dee] rough voice, and in a tone of eas insolence. "Clever thought, man but bless your simple soul, do yo thinklI was a-going to leave the 'ee cord there for you to make noise with i Not by no means. It well to be careful when you'rei thu kin ofbinarm ;r -a -e so when you left me alone here be fore dark-I then being under the 3 bed, you see-I crawled out and o took a survey of the place." s "What do you want?" I asked. i He chuckled again, and replied: "Now that's good; you're a business s woman, marm; you come right to t- the point without any nonsense. I'm ,l going to tell you what I want. Be : quiet, marm," he said. "I don't e mean to hurt you if I can help it. Keep still and I won't. Let's have e a look at each other." - He removed the shade and Jook I ed at me for full half a minute, as s I sat in the glare of the lamp. He a was a large, brawny fellow, full six 3 feet high, and dressed in an old C suit of fustian clothes. His face was entirely concealed by a crape mask ; not a feature of it could I see from his neck to the crown of his head. He leaned one arm upon the bureau, and regarded me atten tively. "You don't know me," he remark ed, in an ordinary tone. "No, of course not; it is best for you that you shouldn't. I thought at first there was something familiar in your face; but I fancy I was mis taken. Well, to business, marm." And he assumed a sharp tone, and looked carefully at the bureau. "rve got a pistol here, missus"-and he slapped his pockeb ; "but you are too sensible a woman, I take it, to make me use it on you. I want that money. There's five hundred pound of it in this drawer; you have the key-give it to me!" I handed it to him without a word. "I'll leave you now in a minute, r missus," he said, rapidly inserting the key turning it and opening the drawer, "with many thanks for your good behavior. Is this it ?" He took out the package, and held it up. "That is the money," I said. "She might deceive me, after all," I heard him mutter; and thrusting his forefinger into the end of the envelope, he ripped it open, and pulled the end of the notes out into sight. "Yes, here it is. Now - IHe had thrust the package into his pocket, and was about to close the drawer, when his eye was caught by something within it. He started, thrust his hand into the drawer, and, taking out an object that I was Swell acquainted with, he bent over and scrutinized it, holding it closer to the lamp. Hlow I did wish that I could see the expression of his face at that moment! He held in rhis hand an ivory miniature of my husband's face, a faithful picture Smade by an artist years before at my request. "Whose face is this ?" the robber demanded, in a voice that trembled with eagerness. "My husband's," I replied. "Your husband's ? Yes, yes-but his name" "Elijah Croly." "Captain Croly ?" he demanded, Sin the same tone. "Yes." "The same who commanded the bark Calvert, that used to run out [ of Liverpool?" - I nodded my head. I knew that ,the vessel named was the last one t that my husband had sailed on the ocean before he bought his own t coaster; in fact, it was the same [ in which I came to England. 1 "And this is Captain Croly's [ money ?-this is his house ?-you a are his wife ?" he asked, rapidly, a giving me no time to answer his r questions. "Yes, yes-I see it all. 1 Great heavens!I-to think what I ,was just about to do!I" He dropped into the nearest Schair, apparently faint with emotion; r but while I sat in deep surprise at I the unexpected turn that this affair : had taken, he said: "You have no t reason to fear now ; I will not rob t you; I will not harm you. Only -don't make a noise. Please open [ the door, and you will find Jane t your woman, I mean-waiting in f the passage." I obeyed. I did not know what t else to do. I unlocked and opened e the door ; and there, to my aston ,ishment, stood Emily Sands array e ed in her bonnet and shawl, with a e bundle in her han'd2-waiting, I have Sno u1bt, for a signal from within. :. She arted upon seeing me; but e the man immediately called to her t by the name of Jane, telling her to o come in. She passed by me as she did so ; -. and I whispered, "Oh, Emily, how~ could you betray me ?" ,fShe manifested no shame or sor ,row, though I know she must have y heard the whispered words; hex ;face was hard and unwomanly, and u its expression was sullen,and I could ~t not doubt that she had played the a spy upon my husband and myself, 's and had betrayed us to this man. a "I've a very few words to say tc doQ 'w"~dtemn u ! a you ma'am," said the man; and all the boldness and insolence had gone out of his voice, leaving it gentle and sorrowful. "Just a few words to ask you to forgive us for what we meant to do, and to tell you what has happened to change my mind so suddenly, and why we can't rob you, as we meant to do." He took the package from his pocket with the words, and tossed it into* my lap. "That money belongs to the man that I love and honor more than any other on earth. I'm a hard cus tomer, ma'am; we live by dark ways and doings, Jane and I; and I wouldn't have believed when she let me in here to-day and hid me, that I could leave the house without that money; but if I'd known whom it belonged to, I'd sooner have held out my right hand to be cut off than come here as I have, and for what I came. I used to be a sailor, and I was with Captain Croly in the Calvert. He was the very kind est and best master that ever han dled a speaking trumpet; and there wasn't a man aboard the bark but loved him. One night off Hatteras all hands were sent aloft to reef in a heavy gale; and when they came down again I was missing. "Where is he ?" the captain asked; but none of them knew. They hadn't noticed me since we all sprang into the shrouds together. 'Overboard, I'm afraid,' said the mate; and the men all seemed fearful that I was- lost. The captain hailed me through his speaking-trumpet; and there came back a faint, despairing cry, only just heard above the piping of the storm. Captain Croly never or dered any one else up; he cast off his coat, and threw down his trum pet, and went aloft before any one could get ahead of him. He found me hanging with one elbow over the foreyard, and just about ready to fall from weakness and pain: for my other arm was twisted out of joint at the elbow by a turn of the ropes. He caught me, and held me there till help came up from below, and then they carried me down. It was Captain Croly that saved me from a grave in the sea. Forgive us, madam, if you can. We will leave you in peace. Come, Jane!1" "Well," said Elijah, in his joking way, when he came home next after this eventful night, "you've not been murdered for that money, I see. Where's Emily?i Has she run off with it?" I handed him the package, mere ly remarking that the woman had unexpectedly left me, for reasons which were best known to herself. This was all the conversation that I had with him upon the subject ; he never knew 'What I have now been telling. Perhaps I did wrong ; but I was always reluctant to tell him all about it, and he died before I could make up my mind. But I never had any other secret from Elijah ; and I believe I never had an adven ture that made such an impression upon me as this did. sAYINGS. He is a bad man who lives for himself alone. He toils in vain who strives to please all. Method and order render all things easy. If you would be happy, be good. A kind wife makes a faithful hus band. Let the faults of your parents and friends lie still. Fools ridicule what they cannot comprehend. He who ridicules religion should be avoided. Pride is the destroyer of happi ness.. He who is in debt is a slave; then always pay when you buy. A malicious slanderer is a mur derer at heart. Speak kindly, for the law of kind ness is the best !aw. Shame springs from vanity and vanity from pride. Politeness is the expression of social virtues. Regard your reputation as the richest jewel. Nothing is given more liberally than advice, and nothing received miore reluctantly. "Fixing" in Arkansas means double-barreled shot guns from an ambush. Hope the best, get ready for the worst, and then take what God sends. Most people are like eggs, too full of themselves to hold anything else. iKnowledge and timber shouldn't be much used till they are season ed. The home should be like lullaby in thia nioq. headlone world. isetellneons. A BLOW UP. A NSSISSIPPI ENGMEER'S DREAM. The engineer of the steamer George Washington had occasion, before starting out of New Orleans, to mend the boilers of his boat, and for the first time he discovered the worthless material out of which: they were manufactured. The iron was almost as brittle as pewter. On the passage up, of course, after this discovery, the engineer watched every movement of his engines with suspicion; he kept the water in the boiler at exactly a proper stage, the valves all clear, and the pressure moderate. When he went off watch to obtain sleep, and resigned the care of the engine to his assist ant, he always cautioned him to ob serve everything closely, for that the boilers were not to be trusted. One night, when about leaving the engine, he noticed that his as - sistant appeared very sleepy-un usually so, indeed; and he wanted to tell him again to keep his eyes open, but had repeated the caution so often during the trip that the second engineer began to get testy; he thought the chief doubted his ability or carefulness. The former having tried the steamand examined the pumps,. surrendered his watch and turned away to seek his berth; but he could not help muttering to: himself that he had nevei bedrW seen his partner look so sleepy. On second thought, he resolved not to turn in; but, as the night was mild, ha rolled 1imself in his blanket, and taking a seat on the boiler deck, near the chimneys, re solved to doze out his term of re lief from duty where the slightest noise of anything going wrong would arouse him. As he looked out into the dark night at the glare of the fires reflected upon the water, and the bubbling waves, caused by. the steamer's course, he fancied he could see evil spirits,sporting in the muddy tide, as if'xuiting over a doomed cargo of victims, whom the hissing element below was about to consign to destruction. With these fancies flitting through his brain, he fell asleep and ^imme diately his spirit wandered back to duty; he was again, in thought, try ing the valves or watching the en gine, and exulting within himself that his skill made the terrible agent forcing them along to move like a well-trained steed in harness. Seating himself, with conscious safety, near the engine, he. looked at the moving machinery, and in wardly began calculating the speed with whi3h the boat was moving. Presently he wished to rise from his seat to touch the valves; but to his horror he found that he was un able to move-a power against which he struggled in vain, held him fast. He tried to shout, but his tongue was immovable. In the meantime the engine labored away, its clank sounding to his agonized senses like the .hollow knell of a rapidly approaching and dreadful doom. The engineer wept at the im potence of his struggles to break from his thraldom; a cold perspira tion stood upon his body at the thought that 150 human beings were slumbering on board in uncon scious ignorance of their impend ing and horrible fate; and yet, know ing this, with all the skill to save, he sat there powerless, bound hand and foot by some fearful spell. The boilers began to redden with. the fierce flames which the heedless firemen were stirring up beneath them; and the engineer groaned with anguish at the terrible thought of how they were feeding into strength the fatal element. The confined giant Steam uttered his shrill shouts through the throat of the 'scape pipe, as if in fiendish exultation that he had for a time escaped from the controlling power that had kept him in check; and the boat leaped through the dark and bubbling waters, every revolution of her huge wheels causing the la den hulk to quiver from keel to pilot-house; the dark line of the shore was skirted with fearful ra pidity by the laboring steamer. Soon the water appeared to be en tirely exhausted in the boilers, and her helpless engineer could see the iron bulge with the awful tension within; while a gaseous smell, be tokening the frightful proximity of a fearful explosion, sickened his senses and added to his horrors. He yielded up his thoughts for a moment to his Maker, and in the next they were in his home, far away, where, unconscious of his danger, all that he held dear were peacefully sleeping. Uttering a prayer for their safety, he held his breath in frightful suspense for the dread explosion. It came ! A report and cnusin which almot hrW him from his chair, shook slumber from his eye-lids, and leaping like a madman upon the lower deck, he rushed to the engineer, dashed his assistant headlong from his post, and raised the safety valve. The firemen, alarmed at the ex plosion and the wild manner of the chief engineer, fedfrom their posts. The latter counted the boilers two or three times, looked upwards to see if there was any floor left over head, and then, puzzled to account for the report, czst his eyes around, vainly endeavoring to discover what it all meant. His assistant gather ed himself up, and then politely in quired what he meant by flooring him in thatinceremonious manner? "Tell me," shouted the chief; as his form quivered with excitement, "What has exploded ?" The screams of agony on board the wreck of another steamer, then floating by, returned a thrilling an swer; the old Steamboat York had brst her b6ilers within fifty yards of their boat, and the cries of her shrieking victims curdled the engi neer's blood, as he listened to this real finale to his terrible dream. A S I N G U L A R HALL UCINATION. There dwells in New York city a la dy, who, in all respects, seems a sane and sensible woman. She lost, five years ago, an only daughter of great fromise, seventeen years old, and the idol of the mother. Since her child's death she has had the room Isie used to occupy cleaned daily tnd the untouched bed pulled to pieces and made over. She sits be fore a vacant chair at the table and carefully fills the=nseplate, and spring and fall buys the newest and prettiest things for "Addie," giving away the last year s garments, "Ad die" having done with them. There is no appearance of mental gloom or disorder about her, yet she car ries this vagary into every act of her life. Riding out, no one ever sits beside her, as thAt seat is filled by the imaginary, air-drawn daugh ter. When seats! are taken at a theatre, her husband always gets three- You see. the vacant. chair between them, where she sappoaes the dead "Addle" sits and views the performance. She is cheerful and happy, and asked a friend of mine, the other day, for the pattern of a wrapper, saying "Addle" kept her room so much it would be ser viceable, and several days later I saw the poor mother busily braiding a Cashmere sack for "Addle." She will speak with all rationality for hours on all subjects, but suddenly excuse herself, saying she mnst go to "Addie" for a few moments. Sit ting beside the empty bed, (to which her daughter was confined for two years before her death,) she clasps an unseen hand and talks for hours with her phantom child. It is a strange case, but by no means a sad one. since her tender ministration to this viewless "Addle" makes the mother's heart rejoice. To all in tents and purposes the daughter seems to be with her constantly. Her husband contemplates taking her abroad, and the lady is already packing up "Addle's" things. (New York Letter. SYMPTOMS OF MAIDENLY CELIBA c.--When a woman begins to have a little dog trotting after her, that's a symptom. When a wo man begins to drink her tea with out sugar, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to read love-stories in bed, that's a symp tom. When a woman gives a sigh on hearing of a wedding, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to refuse to tell her age, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to say that she's refused many an offer, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to talk about rheu matism in her knees and elbows, that's a symptom. When a wo man begins to find fault with her looking-glass and says it doesn't show her features right, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to talk about cold draughts, and stops up the crevices in the doors and windows, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to change her shoes every time she comes into the house after a walk, that's a symptom. W-hen a woman be gins to have a cat at her elbow at meal times, and gives it sweet ened milk, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to say that a servant has got no business with a sweetheart, that's a symptom. When a woman begins to say what a dreadful set of creatures men are, and that she wouldn't be bothered with one of them for the world, that's a symptom. If you want ,vbiskey at Benning ton, Vt., ask for "prepared lauda num." A -s --+xerir -----. sret Arsad exteriorisr mort preyt renal than attrant nine [Detroit Free Press.] HIS DYING HOTHER SAVED HIM. A TOUCHNG STORY. He had been missing from the Potomac for several days, and Cleveland Tom, Port Huron Bill, Tall Chicago and the rest -of the boys who were wont to get drunk with him couldn't make out what had.happened. They hadn't heard that there was a warrant out for him, 'hadn't !mown of his being sick for a day, and his absence from the old haunts puzzled them. They were in the Hole-in-the-Wall Saloon the other morning, nearly a dozen of them, drinkng, smoking and playing cards, when in walked Ugly Sam. There was a deep silence for a moment as they looked at him. Sam had a new hat, had been shaved clean, had on a clean collar and a white shirt, and they didn't know. him at first. When they saw that it was Ugly Sam they uttered a shout and leaped up. "Cave in that hat !" cried one. "Yank that collar off!" shouted another. "Let's roll- him on the floor," cried a third. There was something in his look and bearing which made them hesi tate. The whiskey-red had almost faded from his face, and he looked sober and dignified.. His features expressed disgust and contempt as he looked around the room, and then revealed pity as his eyes fell upon the red eyes and bloated faces of the crowd before him. "Why, what ails ye, Sam?" in quired' Tall Chicago, as they all stood there. "I've come down to bid you good by, boys !" he replied, removing his hat and drawing a clean handker chief from his pocket. "Wha't! Hev ye turned preach er ?" they shouted in chorus. "Boys, ye know I can lick any twolof ye, but I haint on the fight any more, and. I've put down the last drop of whiskey which is ever ed off. I've taken an oath. I'm going to be decent !" "Sam be you crazy ?" asked Port Huron Bill, coming nearer to him. "I've come down here to tell ye all about it," answered Sam. "Move the chairs back a little and give me room. Ye all know I've been rough, and more too. I've been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler, and a loafer. I can't look back and remember when I've earned an honest dollar. The police hez chased me around like a wolf, and I've been to jail and the workhouse, and the papers has said that Ugly Sam was the terror of the Potomac. Ye all know this, boys, but ye didn't know that I had an old mother." The faces of the crowd expressed amazement. "I never mentioned it to any of ye, for I1 was neglecting her," he went on. "She was a poor old wo man, living up here in the alley, and if the neighbors hadn't helped her to fuel and food, she'd have been found dead long ago. I never help ed her to a cent-didn't see her for weeks and weeks, and Iused to feel mean about it. When a fellow goes back on his old mother he's agittin' purty low, and I know it. Well, she's dead-buried yesterday ! I was up there afore she died. She sent for me by Pete, and when I got there I seen it was all day with her." "Did she say anything ?" asked one of the boys as Sam hesitated. "That's what ails me now" he went on. "When I went in she reached out her hand to me; and says she: 'Samuel, I'm going to die, and know'd you'd want to see me afore I passed away!' I sat down, feeling queer-like. She didn't go onand say as how I was aloaf er, and had neglected her, and all that, but says she : 'Samuel, you'll be all alone when I'm gone. I've tried to be a good mother to you, and have prayed for you hundred o' nights, and cried about you till my old heart was sore !' Some of the neighbors had dropped in, and the women were crying, and. I tell you, boys, I felt weak!" He paused for a moment, and then continued: "And the old woman said she'd like to kiss me afore came death, and that broke me right down. She kept hold of my hand, and by and-by she whispered: 'Samuel, you are throwing your life away. You've got it in you to be a man, if you'll only make up your mind. I hate to die and feel that my only son and the lasf, of our famnily may go to the gallows. If Ihad your promise that you'd turn over a new leaf; and try and be good, it seems as if I'd die easier. Won't you promise me, my son?' And I prom iaadhe.bov.anld tat's wat H ADVERTISING IRATESe Advertbsementsinseuted at the raft of" per square-one inch-for fint iserdon, and 7c. fo r each subsequentinszation. Double Column advadisomence tenpr cent on abovse. Notices of meetins, obituaries anhtibute respect, samw*ws Pwopqm -wordhIMu ,advertisements. Special notices in local coug go colat perine,. AdvertisemAul not marked with the num ber of insertions will be kept in tIM forbid and cluarged __c_rV-_2lZe SPeCWa cotracts made with. lop adver Uisers,* withlTHbefeucion on-&* ra. JAR PAINVIW Done 1111121ansgd * TarmsCuh.. AMEBXGU7T O NG The Efnglish-languageis an ex ceedingly difficult one for. 6rueign ers to. learn, becaase. it contins many words whi-ch.have mre than one meaning.. This - ambiguity is well illustrAted,by the remark of an editor in'his financtial'-Article that IIX6ney.is close, bat not dose enough to reach." A foreigner .would ,need -to be wellI acquain tW. with#e lahugel in order to appteWdste such- k son tence as thWo.,."IV: ;es a peat differ4ece in a zt_b%s'ife, whetber glasses are use over. or U46ii;, h~ nose." The word glass is -vewrplx ing to foreigners, as an. arritted Frenchman once expo'anded to his English friends, who )saw" more reason for laug1ing at 'hise ofi sion than for chaww41 1afin-. guage. "9why have.you so. many, mean ings to your word- glass) 1-*0 ask ed. "I call fragasadhsr vant brings me A- mirro0r.. "It-0-not that,' I say. "' 0,'..he says 'you mean.&trn bler.' "While-he is6gone, to" fetch It,' 1 turn to thed1cUionaiy,Mnd read 'Tumbler, one who 'tumiiJes; t nML6 want that; 'part of 1o9k,'.nor thAt;. "Via ~ W~A tI~A Tb1Y~Thnt me! She died holding my hand, and I promised to quit the low business, and go to work. I came down to tell ye, and now you won't see me on the Potomac again. I've brought an axe and I'm going up in Cfdat wintr There' was a 'dead silence for a moment, and then he said: "Well, boys, I'll shake hands with ye all around afore I go. Good by, Pete-good-by Jack-Tom lim. I hope ye won't ing any bricks at me, and I shan't never fing any at any of ye. It's a dy ing promise, ye see, and I'll keep it if it takes a right arm!" The men looked reflectively at ach other after he had passed out, md it was a long time before any )ne spoke. Then Tall Chicago lung his clay pipe into a corner, md said: "I'll lick the man who says Ugly Sam's head isn't level!" "So'll I!" repeated the others. &DVERTISEMENTS AND NEWS. A cotemporary speculates upon bhe possibility of a future news paper that will depend upon its 3irculation for its business. It de scribes an Irish journal which is 3irculated gratis and depends upon its advertisements for its revenue. Journalism, like every other -pro. fession, is in a state of progress. There is no knowing what enter prise and public taste may accom plish in the future. -'here have been all kinds of experiments with ewspapers, but the highest type of journalism is based upon the fact that the reader desires the news as well as the advertisements. In truth, there is no difference be tween these two classes. The ad vertisements of a newspaper,-says an exchange, are as much news as the telegraphic columns. Take the "marriages and deaths," for 'in stance. We question if one-half the readers of a newspaper would not rather see the cable dispatch es omitted- than the . "marriages and deaths." Take- the dry goods ane.~thb1uainogaaadvertisements,. also, that enter into-so are, part of our daily life. Their omis sion from sa newspaper %oukd make a deeper impression upon the gneral public than to leave out a Senate debate on Louisiana. And so we might go on through all the departments of advertising. They represent the wants of the people, and the- people are as much interested in the wishes and desires of their neighbors as in the great facts that oc cur from day to day in the outside world. A paper publish ing advertisements without the news, or publishing news without advertisements, is like a man trav eling on one leg. It is imperfect. It does not satisfy the people, and is far from representing the true type of journalism. SILENT MEN.-Washington nev er made a speech. In the zenith of his fame he once attempted it, fail ed, and gave it np confused and abashed. In forming the Consti tution of the United States, the la bor was almost wholly performed in committee of the Whole, of which George Washington was the chairman; but he made two speeches during the convention of a very few words each. The conventi.rn, however, acknowl edgd the master spirit, and histo rians affirm that had it not been for his personal popularity, and the thirty words of his first speech, pronouncing it the best that could be united upon, the Constitution would have been rejected by the people. Thomas Jefferson never made a speech. He couldn't do it. Napoleon, whose executive ability is almost without a parallel, said that his greatest difficulty was in finding men of deeds rather than words. When asked 'ho w .he maintained his influence over his superior in age and experience when commander-in-chief of an army in Italy, he said, by reserve. The greatness of man is not meas ured by the length of his speeches and their number. Sincerity is to speak as we think, to do as we pretend and profess, to perform and to make good what we promise, and really to be what we would seem and appear to be. It is an excellent instrument for the early dispatch of business, by creating confidence in those we deal to deal with, and saving the labor of many inquiries.-Tillotson. Don't throw your opinions in everybody's teeth. You may set it down as orthodox (although it sounds like a paradox), that the more freely you bestow your opmn [ons on your neighbor, the less minia he will have of yon.