Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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two houses, and Mr. English, as a mem ber of that committee, submitted a bill which provided for the submission of the question of the admission of Kansas under the Lecompton constitutio to a vote of the people of Kansas. The bill was accepted by both branches of Con gress, and it became a law. This aet referred the question back to the people of Kansas, and they voted against admission under the Lecompton constitution. After the passage of this bill President Buchanan :offered Mr. English an important position in his ad ministration, and a similar offer was made by President Johnson, with whom Mr. English had been in the House of Representatives; but both offers wcre .declined. Of the two Senators and eleven Representatives constituting the Indiana delegation in the Thirty-third Congress, only Mr. English and Thomas A. Hendricks are living. 5 His election for the fourth time, in 1858, was by a larger majority than ever, although few Democratic Con gressmen were elected in the North in that campaign. He attended the Charles ton convention, not as a delegate, but in the capacity of a peacemaker. Be fore the close of the convention he re turned to Washington. discouraged by the poor prospect for harmony. In 1863 he founded the First National bank of Indianapolis, one of the first to be organized under the national bank ing system, and the first to get its issue in circulation, and became its president, bolding that office till July, 1877, when he retired from active business. His position in regard to the question of the national finances is sufficiently set forth in an interview which he gave while he was president of the Indianapolis bank. He said: " I want our money to rank with the same standard recognized b all the great commercial interests of the world I want no depreciated or unredeemable paper forced upon our people. I want the laboring man when pay day, comes to be paid in real dollars that will pur ehase just as much of the necessaries of life as the dollars paid to the bondhold ers or officeholders, and with as great purchasing power as the best money in the best markets of the world. Honesty, in my judgment, is the best policy, in finance and politics, as well as in morals generally, and, if politicians would take balf as much trouble to instruct and en lighten the masses, as they do take ad vantage of their supposed prejudices, it would be far better.". Mr- English is a first cousin of Mrs. Norvin Green, wife of the president of the WesternUnion Telegraph Company. Remains of a(Giant Race in Ohio. A correspondent of the Cincinnati Enguirer, witing about the remains of a giant race found in Musitingum cotunty, Ohio, says: 'The mound in which these remarkable discoveries were made was about sixty-four feet long and thirty-five feet wide, top measurement, and gently sloped down to the bill where it was situated. A number of stumps of trees were found on the slope, standing in two rows, and on the top of the mound were an oak and a hickory stump, all of which bore marks of great age. All the skeletons werei found on a level with the hill, and about ght feet from the top of the mound.1 -Now to a more particular description of these antiquama remains: In one grave there were two skeletons: one male and one fema.le. The female face was looking downward, the male: being immediate,y on top, with the face] icoking upward. The male .skeleton measured nine feet in length, and the female eight feet.1 In anoter grave were also found two: skeletons-maile and female-with the female face looking upward and the. the male face looking downward. The2 male frame in this case was nine feet: four inches in length and the female *i~ feet. another grave was found a female skeleton which was incased in a clayi cofin, holding in her arms the skeleton of a child three feet and a half long, by the side of which was an image, which, upon being exposed to the atmosphere, crumbled rapidly. The remaining seven were found min single graves, and were lying on their sides. The smallest of the seven was< nine feet in lengtp, and the largest ten I One single ci-cumstance connected with] this discovery was the fact that not at single tooth was found in either mouth except in the one inc.ised in the clayi cOffin. On the south end of the mound was ] erected a stone altar, four feet and a ha]; J wide and twelve feet long, built on anc earthen foundation nearly four feet high, having in the middle two large flag-. stoncs, upon wbich sacrifices were un doubtedly made, for upon them were found charred bones, cinders y'nd ashes.c This was covered by about three feet of earth. This excavation was made un der 'the direction of the Muskingum CountyHistorical s-ciety, and thethings alluded'to in this letter, or dispatch, can be verified by a number of witnessess who were present and watched the work as it progressed. It was pu. sued with great intercst and diligence, there I being the strongest incentive to prose cute the investigation, for such remar k i able developments in mound-opening I are very rae andi are therefore fasci nating in the extreme. Their future 1 labors were also rewarded with ad- I ditional developments, which, if they I do not throw additional light upon this giant race olpeople that once in habited this country, will at least stimulate research. What is now a profound mystery the result of the excavation may in time become the key to unlock still further ir.ysteries thv't centuries ago were com: mnonplace affairs. I refer to a. stone thait was found resting against the head of the clay coffin above described. It is an ir'regular-stiaped red sandstone, weagI' ng about eighteen pounds. being 1 str ndy impregnated with oxide of iron, and bearing upon one side two linen! ofieroglyphics. James Fisk, of Brattleboro, Vermont, the f:ther of James Fisk, Jr., has gone toN~i.ian to osrt'r the show business. is~ ad~ is a u;nn faflr, combining a gorden chairiot and a tent for holding 5 1ig >u~ mtips:L-'d for exhibiting a Jy Little Woman. A homely cottage, quaint and old,$ Its thatch grown thick with ,green and gold And wind-sown grasses; Unchanged it stands in sun and rain, And seldom through the quiet lane A idoistep passes. Yet here my little woman dwelt, And saw the shroud of winter melt From meads and fallows; And heard the yellow-hammer sing A tiny welcome to the spring From budding salows.I She saw the early morning sky Blush with a tender wild-rose dye Above the larches; And watched the crimson sunset burn Behind the summer plumes of fern i n woodland arches. h li e woman gone away Io u ai tar land which knows, they say, .No more sun-setting! I wcnder it her gentle soul, Securely resting at the goal, Has learnt forgetting! My heart wakes up and cries in vain, She gave me love, I gave her pain While she was living; I know not when her spirit fled, But those who stood beside her said She died forgiving. My dove has found a better rest, And yet I love the empty nest She left neglected; I tread the very path she trod, And ask-in her new home with God, Am I expected? If it were but the Father's will, ro let me know she loves me still, This aching sorrow Would turn to hope, and I could say, Perchance she whispers, day by day, " He comes to-morrow." Ilinger in the silent lane, And high above the clover plain The clouds are riven; Across t,. fields she used to know The light breaks, and the wind sighs low, " Loved and forgiven." TMP, OR ANGEL? My aunt Urania is a woman of great eergy and penetration. If she sets her sef to discover a secret, she never rests util she has enlightened herself down Oits inmost recesses. When my pretty frend Elizabeth Terry was holding us 1llin suspense as to her intentions with rgard to the interesting widower who >w speaks of her so affectionately as "my present wife" (significant not only ofa certain past, hut of a possible fture), Aunt Urania invited the wary Lizabeth to take a long country drive. And, my dear, Ihil have it out of her, ifwe don't get back till midnight," she id. They were gone only two hours, d my aunt entered with a triumphant m, the grays all in a lather from the ctorious haste of her return, while in song contrast was Elizabeth's serene iconsciousness. " How did you do it?" I inquired, at e first possible moment. "Did she nfess it all?" "Confess! my dear, not a word. She an't an idea that she has betrayed rself. I only asked her, quite casu ay, how ma.ny children Mr. Willi as s, and she answered "Three," with cla a look, such a sigh !" The event proved my aunt's acute ss, and made her more than ever to us i an object of admiration and terror. It was rather unfortunate for me that aant Urania put off her projected jour y to Europe for six months-the six onths which decided my fate in life. [hould have erjoyed them much more, d manged may affairs much more ;ootly, uninspected by her keen eyes, .advised by her keener tongue. I al always believe it showed a very rsistent state of feeling both in Harry d me not to retire discomfited from ~watchful a sentinel. "Yes, of course, your attachment to e child is very natural, my dear," she >uld say, "as I said to Mrs. Dubois )ly yesterday. 'Nothing,' I said, 'can emore natural. Susan Bardmore, mlery Bent's first wife, was like a sister omy niece; no friends could be more timate; and of course she feels very uch for the little bo.' "I wish you wouldn't talk so, aunty!" xclaimed. "Henry Bent's first wife! never beard that he had more than "Oh, no, not as yet, my dear, but it only a question of time; and pretty aeraly a very abrupt question, and ort space allowed for an answer. Of urse he must have somebody to iook :r that child; I never saw in all my e a child that needed it more. The a~t saucy, spoiled little wretch-a per c little imp!" 'Aunty! He is a perfect little angel," u I. "As fcr care, Coralie keeps him beautiful order, and he is entirely d'thy and happy here in the country. m'i it is all very well to say, 'Of couvie emust have somebody to take care of e child, of course he must marry,' hen you know that if he had no child ao would say, 'Of course he must narry, poor fellow! he is all alone; if ehad even a child to care for, it would ediffert.L" For my part," I added, Imue second mairriages." Oh, you do," said Aunt Urania; fd then ensued a pause, broken by bumping at my door with little closed uw/ me i, let me in, Nora," said Ie dour little voice, in just his mother's sweet, imperative way. And the ncirg eyes that laugh up at me out of iat fair little face are Susie's very eyes. 1want you, my own Nora," said the rling. " There is a little calf in the )rn, and papa'says I can go to see it, d on must take me." "ioity-toity!" said Aunt Urania. 1iat is a pretty way to talk to a lady. ist take you, indeed." "Papa didn't say just that, did he Bardie?" I asked, annoyed to feel my ti coloring under aunty's keen eye. "lHe said I mustn't go unless I had h best of care; and I know he meant u because Coralie is very careless; he ad she was yesterday, when I got my oots wet. And the old cow butts at eif I go nar her. So you mnst: come, Nora darling; Bardie wants you so bad!" Who could resist those eyes?-that coaxing voice? I had followed just such eyes and voice all my life, and I followed them now. So did Aunt Urania, with her most investigating spectacles perched on her nose. " Well, Bardie," she remarked, cheer fully, "if you say we must, and papa s s we must, why, we must." Bardie stood stock-still, with an evil look on his face. "I didn't mean you," he said. " Oh, my dear little boy, that wasn't polite," I whispered; but he only gave me a hug, and turned to aunt with a seraphic smile. "You'd better not go. The cow is quite a dangerous one," he said, in a very civil tone. " And she doesn't like red things; they make her furious. She just runs right at them and tosses them." " What is the ch d talking about, oss what? I'm not a red thing, I hope." "About your legs," s. . dBardie," yery distinctly. " You hol1 ., our dress up so high that the cow will get mad. I shouldn't wonder if she killed you." Aunty vouchsafed no reply, but strode majes-ically on, scorning to veil by one half inch the somewha unnecessary conspicuousness of her long scarlet stockings. Bardie looked at her very hard. " A very cross dog lives in the barn," he remarked. "He bites people. Not young ladies, Nora darling, nor children -he i s real good to little b:ys, but other people he bites." I could not speak, and I did not dare to laugh. Auntie's face was awful. " I am going to the barn," she said, briefly. We made our way through the ducks and hens, skii tino perilously a yard full of pigs, and tremilingly passing a small window in a shed, where protruded a great head, with short horns and soft beautiful eyes, but a low rumbling note proclaimed that it was the bull, the ter ror of our field walks and grove picnics. Not that we had reafly encountered him in the body, but in the spirit he always seemed to haunt the next field or be screened by the shadiest tree. " Oh, Bardie, I don't like the looks of him," I whispered. " fake hold of my hand; I'll take care of you," said the little knight; and we passed the monster that looked yearn ingly at us in our freedom, and gave a resounding bellow that shuddered through and through me. Bardie laughed at my fears. "What are you'fraid of, Nora sweet? He has got a big ring in his nose, and can't do anything. Anybody can lead him about. Papa said once that if you ould only put a ring on a person, you could lead him by his nose.'' "What's that?" said Aunt Urania, from behind. We entered the barn, full to overflow ing with sweet new hay, and fragrant with its perfume, and with the breath f the patient cow that lay contentedly in her corner, with her head raised in watchful care of her little weak-legged scrawny offspring. I had never seen a ery young calf before, and was disap ointed. "Veal!" pronounced Aunt Urania. And not particularly good at that. I hould say."~ Bardie did not understand the rophecy. "Isn't it lovely?" he cried. " I wish apa would buy it for me, the dearest ittle thing! What makes it look so fnny and wet?" " It's mother has been giving it some hing which is 'rood for all little chi] ren, Bardie," said my aunt. "Par ticularly for little boys. A good lick Bardie understood this time, and ooked vengefully at her. Then snap ping the fingers of his minute hand to the old dog, that lay near flapping a eavy good-natured tail against the ard boards, he uttered a low but per fectly distinct " St, bo-yt" Up jumped the obedient Bruce with a lumsy leap, and ran, barking loudly, to the door, where he supposed the un seen enemy to be lurking. A unt Urania deted. " Did you do~ that, you little rascal?" she asked, not quite sure, however, for she had been watching my successful effort to climb to the top of a great ountain of hay, where I now sat amid the fragrance of dried clover leaves, and felt in paradise. It was an admirable point of view, but not a convenient place to render as sistance in an emergency. And thus it happened that I could see the cow, growing uneasy at the hubbuh, rising to her feet, and finally, with a threaten ng look, advanced a step or two with lowerea horns. I could see it all, but was powerless to help, and could only screan: " Aunty ! Bardie! the cow! the cow !" Quick as a wink Baraie slipped past the angry animal, and, as he expressed t, "shinned up" the haymow, where he perched himself triumphantly beside me. Dignity and age alike forbade the execise of shinning to aunty, notwith standing Bardie's opinion of her length of limb. She wavered, tried for one brief moment to "look the animal in he eye," but a forward movement on he cow's part put that idea to flight, and she turned and fled, pursued only a ew steps by the disturbed mother, who saw her to the door," with a loud moo of dismissal, echoed in distant hunder from the small window wherein gleamed the bull's excited eye; pursued also, I am ashamed to say, by a derisive agh from Bardie, who stood on one leg, baancing himself with a pitchfork, and shriekeai out: "I told you she hated red things. Isn't it fun!" We snuggled down in the hay and lt the cow quiet herself by a vigorous return to her nursery duties, and then I whispered a little adw'onition toBardie on the subject of his behavior to aunty. it was by no means the first time I had rebuked my small charge, and he took tvery penitently; though when I found myself saying, "It isn't like mamma's little boy to act so," I camne o a full stop, with a sudden remem brance of Susie's inveterate naughti ness when Aunt Urania was in the question. He liked to hear about mamma, the sweet bibt, unknown image, whom oy b.it f had ever brought to his mind, and L.e lay with his head in my lap. istening to my stories of our child ih play and adventures, until the pleased smile grew vaguer and softer, and the lcng lashes drooped lower, anal he slept, looking more than ever like wandering cherub of heavenly rear hn,as I sat, doubly prisoned by the foe beneath and the friend above, I ard anqui1, nexpected fovotsteanid Henry Bent entered the barn with amused and perturbed face. The cow had settled to a comfortal nap, the flies droned in the sunshiu and in the quiet noon hush he wot have turned away without discoveri us, but that a low girlish giggle, which I instantly felt ashamed, reveal our retreat. He looked up, laughing. "Oh, the you are, safe enough; but where is r small boy?" " Here, too, I said, in a very lc tone, and he vaulted upon the hay, a: saw the pretty sleeping boy; and 1 face softened into the mingled sadn< and brightness which I often notic upon it as he looked at her child. "I met Miss Scudamore just nc with a horrible tale of danger and in behavior. It is all right, I see. B what does possess the child to behave badly to her? He is a perfect lamb wi you. " "He has it by inheritance," I sai with a smile that ended in a sigh. " 1 never looks so like his mother as wh the irresistible naughtiness comes ov him, which Aunt Urania has the unfc tunate talent for evoking." The same smile was reflected in I face. the same sigh in his voice. " True," he said, "you see, as Id the wonderful likeness in everything " Why do you never talk to him Susie?" I said, with a desperate plun into the difficult subject, for I had nev before mentioned her name to him sin the baby was left motherless. " It not right, Harry, to let him -row up ignorance of that sweetest of creatun He is, as you say, her living image; ought to know and love her, yet hardly knew what the word motl meant until he came here to me." "I could not, I could not," he a swered, much moved. " I am glad y do. I knew you would do him go this sumrer. I cannot tell you t comfort it is to me to have him in t country, and with you. I knew y must love the little fellow, for you by his mother well." "Loved her, yes," I said, my tes suddenly bursting forth. " I can't g used to doing without her, Hiarry; can't get over it." "I see," he said. "We are felloi mourners, Nora." The little head stirred; one or two my tears had fallen on the sweet bal face and wakened him. He sat up ax rubbed his eyes, amazed. "What a funny place ! what longico webs!" he said. "Oh, I rememb now, the cow. Is she all right agaii Why, papa, where did you come from " I came from the city, Bardie. Wh( I reached there this morning I foux the man I wanted to s?e was ill, ax wouldn't come to town for three day and so I posted back to you." "That was right," said Bardie. "'I me and No"a." "Yes, to you and Nora," said Harr with a kind smile at me. " But, Bardi the first person I met was Miss Scud more, who told me a very sad tale. am afraid my little boy was very sau< and disrespectful." "Oh, papa, it was too funny to e her run withi her red stockings. I to: her not to come. I told her the co might kill her. But Miss Scudamnor why, she scudded more than ever," at he went into a fit of mirth at his fir attempt at a pun. I responded to the sa.ly with a weal minded laugh, but his father 'ooke awful. "No more of this, sir," he said, in voice of strong displeasure. "If yc can not behave properly to the ladies, this house, I will send you away wit your nurse, and not let you come hei again. I will not expose them to ti prtness of a naughty little boy." Bardie cowered under the sevex glance, and clung to me. I looke piteous "Do not encourage him, Ellinor, said Harry, in a softer tone. "It is great misfortune to a motherless chi] to grow up among strangers and sei vants, who spoil him, and then dislik him because he is spoiled." But 13 stroked the little penitent head, an then suggested that a hay-rick was nc the coolest place on a summer noox and that dinner must be nearly ready. "Yes, papa; but first I want to as you something. Wil] you take us, in and Nora, to drive this afternoon? Th horses aren't haying to-day, and ~w want to go so much. Please do." Harry laughed, and stole a glance a my face which I dare say revealed azt oyance as well as amusement. "Not to-day, Bardie. I am going t take you over to the hotel to p.lay crc quet with the little Temples." " Will you come, too, Nora?" aske Bardie.. " No, dear; I called there last night, Isaid, and I drew a long breath at th idea of a quiet afternoon. Bardie saf nd Harry away-away for the lon evening, my heart whispered. Soph emple and tea at the hotel, and a lon evening walk, and who ca:: tell wha else? And with a jealous pang fo Susie, I thouxght, " If only 1 might hay Bardie, I wouldn't care." So, after Aunt Urania had settled her self for her afternoo~n nap, I changed m: dress and rested awhile, watching fron y window until I saw Harry and Bar die walking across the fields; Corali followed, and I said to myself: ". thought so; he will be untrammeled ! nd 1 carried my water-color box an< sketchin z stool uut to a beautiful spo at the end of a rambling old garden where a low stone wall divided th< straggling flower borders from the pas Lure beyond. There were shady tree: and soft overgrown clumps of bushe! and undergrowth, so that the retreat though not very tar from the house, wa: entirely seclu:ded, and it commanded lovely little glimpse of wood and river with soft blue hills beyond, and in th< foreground the white spire of the vil. lage church shooting up through thi< 7reenery. Such a qjuiet afternoon to sketch ani paint! No little tormenting fingers tc meddle and "joggle," no .perpetual ittle tongue to ask unceasing ques. ions; only the silence, and the sum mer music sweeter than silence; th( soft whispers in the trees, the droning bees, the chirp of a bird; even thc spring of the grasshopper in the grass al my feet was distinct in the golden hush. Yes, that hazy light was beautiful, the >portunity perfect. Why could I not make use of it? Why could I not paini instead of sinking back, after a few list less efforts, with a heavy heart and clasped hands, and let the full weight oj my lonely life fall on my spirit? M3 father, always away, glad to be free from any charge of me; Aunt Urania well she meant kindly, and was good to me, but what a bore! Susie, my hosen friend, my heart's sister, whc gad led arLd loved me from childhood, tone into the land of shadows, and none m0tae her ace in my life forever. n Even her sweet little boy would be taken from me no doubt before long, le and given to some other woman-some Le, Sophy Temple! And Harry- But Id just at that stage of my reverie, when I e ag felt the choking in my throat, and the of hot tears in my eyes, I heard the same be ad well-known step close beside me,,and ro Harry Bent, flushed and breathless, re threw himself on the ground at my 1a feet. "I thought I should find you in this e w lovely spot. May I not come too?" he ad entreated. s ts "I thought you had gone with tl ss Bardie." ed "Yes, I left him there playing with is the little Temples. I made a brief call a w on the ladies, and then gave Bardie the is- slip. I wanted to get back, and only i at hope he will not discover my retreat. b so Everybody is lazy to-day except you, th Nora. You have yrour work laid out in a very notable way, though after all I gl d, I do not see that you have doue much." n le J "Some days are unlucky," I an n swered. I did not feel in the mood. w er 1 But I will sketch now," and I began to sl r- work in earnest, partly to get ~J of the fo searching eyes which seemed read my tis troubled thoughts. " Rest instead, Ellinor, and let us talk pa o, awhile. " "Yes, talk: but I can work too. I of want to make this picture; the view is ge so lovely, it haunts me." er " Ah!." said Harry, "thereis a picture $ ce which haunts me-a pieture I lately si: is saw, and I can think of nothing else; a in woman, young, fair, and with the is s. sweetest mother face; and a little pe ae child." sE he " A Madonna?" er "Perhaps so. The child was asleep. be Such repose, such confidence in his hc n. whole attitude and expression! Evi >u dently the one right spot on earth to >d him was his place in her arms. And be she looked like a brooding dove. Nora, ar ae I can never tell you what I felt when t >u I came upon you so suddenly to-day hi ad with my little sleeping boy, nor what a d revelation from heaven came to my rs heart that thus it might be-must be. I et I said we were fellow-mourners; can th I we not be fellow-comforters?" I could not speak; the sobs I had Pe suppressed, the trouble I had been fight- ov ing, had their own way now. ha of He looked at me in doubt and distress. ma )y "What is it, dear Ellinor? Do I hurt fa d you? do I shock you? Have you no heart to give me? No, I- will not ask in b. anything now. Calm yourself, sweet 2,( er chiid; rely upon me. I will not say wl another word, if it distresses you like pr ) this." IS: n "I must speak," I cried, with a des d perate effort. " Harry, Harry, how can Ad you ask such things of me, when you s, know that you can never care for any body again as you did for Susie?" n 'o "I know," he answered. "When you know that I am no more th to be compared to her than this little. e common flower at my feet is to be com- s / pared to an exquisite half-blown rose, tC I petal after petal laden with sweetness, down to its secret golden heart?" Sir " Yes," he answered, picking the lit- bri tle common flower and holding it to his ter elips. "~It is not the rose. But it is ler dheart's-ease. It has its own mission, its tot ,own perfume." ofBria"Icid "Addo not speak oBade"D cried bei ttemnpt me with him. I ihhe and I 3 .could go away together to some secret y ~j place, and I could have him always." dii d "Dear, you may have him always. . aNo other woman ever shall."th a A long pause ensued. I determined an u ogrow calmer before spea&king again- the h It was so hushed that we could hear a Sthe stirring of some little rabbits in the tha ebushes behind. He looked at me en- a etreatingly. 1 shook my head. an e"No, no, Harry; do nor ask me, .do At e not tempt me. I am not much of a girl, hu dknow, but I am worth more than that-. do, ,, I ought to be first in the man's heart an Iwho marries me. No, do not speak. soi a'You know I cannot be first with you, r Sand so Icannct marry you. Oh, dear!" gr, ~I sighed, " there is nobody on earth ey e with whom I am first~ nobody who ev eloves me best of all." dThe stirring of the rabbit became tvoety excited, and with a great P0 crushing of leaves and parting of tha Sbranches, and rending of little blouse, The Bardie tore himself irom his lair, and of e flung himself upon me. " Yes, yes, my fan edarling Nora," he cried, with tears, tici C kissing my head and face and hands, " IBo love you the best of all, my own Nora tI want you. Go away, papa. Marry - me-marry Bardie, Nora, dear!" and be threw his arms around me and buried 9 his head in my neck. "Yes, Nora," cried Harry, clasping his armsround us both, " marry Bardie; marry us both. We do want you; weA can't possibly live without you. There is nobody on earth, there never will be,l a whom we love half so well. Sweeth a Nora, say yes, and make Bardie and me perfectly happy." 7 They had conquered. My heart yielded to both father and child, and I t made a full surrender, with my head on r Harry's shoulder, and my arms around a his child, and my tears all kissed away; and a wonderful sense of home and be - longings, and fullness and content, i glowed through and: through me, and 1 felt as if Sussie's smile came down in - the sunbeam, irradiating the whole scene, and blessing the new part I was g to take in the lives which her death had left wrecked and stranded. SAunt Urania came to meet us as we returned to the farmnhoase, putting on her spectacles of oiscovery as she came. | But it needed no glasses to see what had -happened. Dewy eyes, disheveled c tresses, happy, agitated faces, told the ea whole story, even without ibe help to of the ecstatic child in a wofully torn Ta blouse crowing over his victory, and gp hardly waiting to get with!n earshot us before proclaiming the secret in his clear or high voice: an " She's going to marry me, Miss Scud. dymore; she promised she would!I And then, as an afterthought, he added : th " Oh, and papa, too." The Philosophical1society, of Glassow ni i to hold an exhibition of gas apparatus a sn a large scale next autumn, and it is intended also to make a display at the I same time of the apparatus which willj ~ illustrate the progress made in electric i lighting, in telephonic communication, c in the manufacture of mineral oils, inm water measurement and regulation, in hydraulic engines, in heating and venti lation, etc. There can be no doubt that this exhibition, taking up, as it meansFv to do some of the most important prob- P lemns to which man's attention is given IT at present, wili prove of great service toTA those who have to deal practically with O sanitary appliances. A rat poison is advertised that will make rats go away to a neighbor's house a die It fills a want long felt. ITEMS OF INTEREST. Patience is the art of hoping. Tea culture in Florida is receiving at ntion. Samuel Johnson defined nonsense to " bolting a door with a boiled car t." The Territory of Montana has already oduced upward of $147,000,000 in d, and $6,000,000 in silver. An English firm sold 8,000 fireproof fes in Turkey before it was ascertained Lat the filling was only sawdust. A leading hotel in Dundee, Scotland, furnished throughout with furniture ade in Grand Rapids, Mich. The average yield of potatoes in 1879 the United States is stated to have en only sixty-nine bushels per acre. Talk of fame and romance-all the orv and adventure in the world are )t worth one hour cf dcmcstic bliss. The law should be to the sword hat the handle is to the hatchet; it iould direct the stroke and temper the ree. In Paris the fashionable shade is " sul tur." There is one other place where, o, it is fashionable.-New York Her The deficit in the postoflice depart ent for the fiscal year of 1879 was ,407,916, which is less than any year ice 1866. An oatmeal factory in Dubuque, Ia., shipping over 45,000 pounds of meal r week to Scotland at a cost of venty-five cents a hundred. It is wonderful how silent a man can when he knows his cause is just, and >w boisterous he becomes when he Lows.he is in the wrong. Two hundred and seventy-two trains rive and depart from Chicago every ,enty-1our hours. Forty-four railroads ,ve offices in that city. Grace-" I am going to see Clara to ,y. Have you any message?" Char :te-" I wonder how you can visit at dreadful girl? Give her my love.' Missionaries report that a town near kin, China, seems about to come er en masse to Christianity. They ,e been reading Cyristian books, and my families have destroyed their nily gods. Philadelphia has 472 public scuiools, structing 103,567 pupils by means of )70 teachers, only seventy-seven of aom are men. The value of the school operty owned and in use by the city nearly $6,000,000. "Goods at half price," said the sign. Tow much is that teapot?" asked the I lady who had been attracted by the nouncement. "Fifty cents, mum." guess I'll take it then," she said, cowing down a quarter. The dealer her have the teapot, but took in his n before another customer could mue in.-Boston Transcript. An exchange says that the king of m lis coming to this country, an?d will ng his suit with him. Wel he'd bet ,unless hie has a friend here who will d him one. The weather is entirely >changeable for a man to come so far ay from home without his suit, and, ides, people might mnake remarks ut him.-Midletown Transcrizt. Did you ever notice the little rag iflin in the street with a supremefy ty face ? Taffy, bread and butter d mo,lasses form the groundwork for e accumulation of dust and grime, d his cheeks look like twin maps of 3 oceanic archipelago; his hands and ists look like animated tree roots, ey are so dirty, and his feet and kles partake of the mud they contact th. Of course you've noticed him. td he is the lightest-hearted bu.nchi of man nature you ever saw. Dirt esn't strike any deeper than beauty, d within his heart is as clean littlea il, and a great deal treer one, as ever w inside the neatest and slickest ang devotee of soap and waetr that r lived, washed and suffered.-New ~ven Register. Why is it," writes " Lilian Maud ' itingly to an exchange, "why is it t all the nice men are engaged?" 3y're not, Lilian, they're not. Several us are still in maiden meditation cy free. Was there anything in par il that you wanted to know for? kand Courier. }5 CENTS, TREATISE 01 THE HOBSE I-418 DISEASES. ~ontaining an Index of Di ss, which gives the Symp m, Cause, and thie I3est -eatment of each. A TIable v'ing all the principal drugs ed for the Horse, with the dinary dose, efreets, and tidote when a poison. A .ble with an Engraying of e Horse's 'Teeth at differ t ages with Inules for tell g the age. A -valuable 0o1 tion of Receipts and ach other valuable infor ttionl. 21sent post 0-Pll OOpaid to a ny ad ess in the Unite d R tates or *250CEN TS. CLUB RATES: eCopies - - - C 1.00 n Copies - - - 1.75 enty Copies - - 3.00 e Hundred Copies * 10.00 &ddress, 14 anWorth St..; N. Y.