University of South Carolina Libraries
"/ __s-s ' lewis m. hiiisjt. i',-?!?i?.t?r.i ~ ^^i*pm^^mti^*itbsj^r^^ ^ TERMS?$3.00 A TEAB, IX ADVANCE. 1_ ' |':! ' ' ....?'? ' v . i r.r.-, , ? y . . ^ " ^||^^^tf''><Til'! in '"?' ' "THf>y ' I,..!.!, . /:, < J. ... I - . . . i.i ] : '. "'. . _\ti?iu..i'i;. " ',u * ;';' _ ' _ 1 VOL. 16. ~~ "~ ~ ~~ ~ YOEKYILLE, S. C., THIJI^LXV, MAECH 3, 1870. _ ^ .. ? ' NC>. 9. . " - I I ? _ _ ___ i;) ,u__.^r(iii^8 #i!_. Vi__ ?,;.. .,..., . . , __ L.\j* .1^ ?&e $ton> Irltyt. HAUNTED HOUSE AT MANORBERE. It was eight and thirty years ago, and I had been married five or six years, when I went to live at Manorbere Lodge. The ship in which my husband had been first lieutenant was paid off He had got his rank as commander but had no immediate prospect of employment afloat, so his mind naturally turned to the occupation he loved best next to his profession?fox hunting; a passion for which , sport came to him by nature, as the second son of a Lincolnshire squire. His younger : son's portion, with my dowry and his pav, though altogether making up a comfortable , income, would not suffice for that very expen- , sive amusement, unless we could find a house , in a good situation, at a moderate rent; and ] we were looking for such a house, when one { day Dick came in, radiant with expectation, . to tell me he had heard 'of one beyond the } dreams of . avarjce; or rather of economy. If ( was in the heart of the shire9, within easy ( L ^w.4 waIa nonhfi nonifol cfo. rttVCU Ul burn? ill CH IftWJ uuu vu|/iM?A DVM ^ bling, and was all to be let by the year at a fabulously low rental. . * ] ?It is a maxim with rae that nothing is to be hacf for less than its value, so I was not quite so sanguine as Dick; but I agreed with him. in thinking it worth while that he should run i down and look at the place. i He went, and came back delighted. He | had spared no pains to find out what there } could be amiss with the house, but had come ( to the conclusion that it was almost faultless. ] Indeed, it seemed to him such a prize that he had feared to lose it by delay, and had taken t it at once for a year, certain. "I am sure we { will keep it, my love," he said. "It is an old house, a great deal larger and handsomer than : we want, but that does not matter." I was quite content so that h&"pleased himself, and * a very few days saw us settled at Manorbere. I found the place all that Dick said it was. j The house as it now stood had apparently been ( only a wing of the ancient mansion, rart of , the principal building had been completely * burned down, but for some reason or other a T portion abutting upon the present house had j been left standing, and was converted, the t lnwtwTYftrf: into a cart-house. and the first floor L into a place for carpenter's work,lumber, and-, \ so-fortn. On the ground floor the communication had been walled up, where a door had formerly .4 opened upon a passage running nearly the length of the present house. A similar corri- t dor ran along the first floor, and hdre the disused part of the house was divided from the , dwelling only by a strong oaken door, heavily * barred and! bolted. A staircase led up from the ground floor to this end of the corridor; but it was seldom used as we inhabited the v rooms at the other extremity, aild the servants' I chamber was also reached by a different stair. 1 The door itself looked as if it could resist eV- v erything exeept treachery in the garrisoned, f and even a traitor would have had some diffi- J culty in removing the defences, so rusted were they in their places. I 5" * There was nothing at all gloomy about the house. Hie rooms were large and light, with j1 the ample Windows, characteristic of English *j houses erected before the imposition of the ? window tax gave our builders their present traditions. Toe principal sitting room was a $ very large one on the ground floor, looking ? nearly soiuth. and catching all the sunshine in r its Bay^Wfaraows. TBfeeoptoAl on aTaised terrace, beneath which was a pretty flower garden, and there was a paddock with fine 81 trees beyond. The stables were of much later 8 date than the house, and were excellent. Of course, we soon made acquaintance with 8 our neighbors, and the assemblies to see the hounds throw off on a fine morning were very pleasant and sociable. We had no close car- ^ riage, and our house was at considerable dis- J * ^ a ar\ of firaf WO ^ lance irora any visiuvuit iauuu?, ou m u.u> declined all dinner invitations. But that sort * of thing never goes on long when those con- 1 cerned are still young, cheerful aud sociable,' and very soon we got into the way of going * frequently to dine and sleep at our neighbors' ; places. At the very first of these dinner par- c ties, the truth came out about Manorbere. 1 "It is very nice having you and Captain ? Macn?mara at Manorbere," said a certain live- ; ly Mrs. Brodrick to tne, when we ladies went x to the drawing-room after dinner. "I -S so hate having a house shut up; and, nLJfed, ? there was a talk last year of its being pulled x down, since nobody would take it." "But why would nobody take it? I think i it so charming," said I. " i "Well, perhaps it is foolish; but you know a great many people really do not like living y in a house that has such a name." 1 "A name for what V' < "Being haunted." "Haunted?" v "Good gracious ! did you not know about the ghost r'- ' I burst out laughing. "So that is the reason of. our getting it so cheap ? I am really 1 very muoh obliged to the ghost." " ? "How odd that you should not have heard t of it. But I am so sorry I mentioned it. You ? are so much alone there, I hope it won't t make you uncomfortable." "Thank you ; it only makes me laugh. But 1 do tell me the story of the house." "Hush!" said another lady, "don't talk 1 about it now. Here comes Mrs. Dormer, our 1 hostess, and she never quite likes the subject." ? My curiosity, however, being aroused, I 1 begged Mrs Brodrick, the first time an opportunity offered for a tete a tete, to give me par- 1 ticulars as our Hers parti at Manorbere. And \ this is the substance of her narrative. i "The last family that had lived in the house J was that of Colonel Fearon, a widower with 5 three daughters. They were a very pleasant 1 cheerful set; hospitable as far as their means, which were not very large, would allow ; and 1 ready to promote or to join in anything that 1 was proposed in the way qf social amusement. But unfortunately a few months after their arrival the Colonel got a bad fall, out hunting, and became for a time a confirmed invalid. He recovered, ultimately, but at that period it was feared that he never would be himself agaiu. His nervous system was so affected by the blow he had received on the spine, that he could bear hardly any noise or company, and he was so weak as to be reduced to a wheelchair in which to take air and exercise. The family had selected for their own occupation the same set of rooms we had chosen for ourselves, at the opposite end of the corridor from the condemned door, and the rooms near to it 1 were reserved for guests. The hitherto gay ' and lively house had, however, for some time j become quite changed in character, the girls giving up all society at home, uncomplaining- j ly, for their father's sake! Eleanor, the eldest, i thought, however, after a time, that it was a pity her young sisters, Effie and Lucy, should J be debarred from taking part in the gayeties suited to their age, which were going on du-! ring the winter; so the girls took it in turn to \ go out two and two together, some neighbor ing matron being always ready to act as chap- j eron, when they joined her at the ball or { soiree. On one of these occasions two young ; friends, who had come to the same party from j some disfcurce on the other side of Manorbere, j had been offered a night's lodging at the latter ( place to save them the long winter drive after , midnight; and also that they might accompany the Fearons to a ball on the ensuing evening. Though it was not very late when the girls returned home, the invalid had retired to rest, and Eleanor was ready to follow his example, when she heard her sisters and , their friends coming up stairs, and went out in i her dressing gown to meet them, and see that i they had all things comfortable in their rooms, i The girls were in high spirits, and, though sub- < duing their voices lest they should waken their father, Eleanor feared trial some incautious ( laugh or exclamation might disturb him ; so \ enjoining silence by a gesture, she led the way i to the chamber at the further end of the cor- t ridor which had been prej^red for her guests, stirred the fire in a bright blaze, lighted the c candles, and told them now they might laugh ] and chatter their fill The young folks did not hesitate to avail themselves of the jperrais- J sion, and hung over the fire discussing, the party of that evening, and the prospects of s the morrow's ball, till Eleanor declared she a must take her sisters away, or they would talk 1 all night. She had twice risen with this inten- s tion without getting them to follow her, an,d a was now standing with the door half open ip a her hand waiting for them, when they saw her, t suddenly put her finger on her lips, and peep t cautiously out; then she set down her candle t and stepped softly into the passage. The oth-! t era ceased talking in Amunute,'aad loobedink S juiringly towardher. "What is it, Eleanor ?" t whispered Lucy, coming to the door. , p "The most extraordinary thing! I thought v [ heard the door open." ?i "WW said -Rffift. .q . ''Why, the great barred door." ^ . J { "My dear Nellie, you must be dreaming, i [t is time we went to bed, indeed," said Effie, c aughing, and taking up her candle. Eleanor i ook hers also, but instead of returning to her 8 room, walked straight up to the door and ex- t imined it, closely followed by Lucy, who v ooked at her in smiling wonder. d "Are you satisfied, dear ?" said she, pointing r o the cobwebs which in many places stretched s icross from the door to the lintel. * "Yes, I must have been mistaken. But it t a very odd." "What did you hear, Nellie?" eagerly asked t he others, coming to their room door. s "The first time I signed to you to be silent, a [ thought I heard footsteps coming gently and a cautiously up the stairs, and fancied it was one >f the maids. They know I do not allow them n o sit up so late, and I waited to see who it t vas, stealing uji this way where they have no p msiness. But instead of passing by this room f he footsteps seemed to stop at the top of the b tairs, and then the door turned slowly on its n be"." . ; . "Did you see it 7" asked Lucy. , g "O, no! It only sounded so. ? "The wind or something." c "Perhaps. Now go to bed, children." And f hey all separated. . j p The next evening one of their visitors, iBa- * >el Murray, being rather tired, declined to go " o the ball, and said she would prefer staying o keep company with Lucy, whose turn it ^ vas to remain with her father. After he had ? ;one to bed the two girls became so absorbed \ a a game of chess that the time slipped away a inobserved, and they then bethought them of ^ itting up for their sisters, to give them what ? 3 called in Ireland, "a raking pot of tea," on " heir'return. The bright idea was iramedi- a itely carried out. The tea things were set in ^ he guest chamber, the fire was made up, the " nairla cant frt h/vrl nnrl tlio orirla nn.rf.illl. ^ UU1UU OVMW VV WV*^ HUU HMV _ p undressing, met together wrapped in their ^ lressing-gown8 to enjoy the vigil. They had ^ irought up their chess-board and books, but " resently agreed that if they took a nap thev ronld be all the fresher by and by ; so, curl- P lg up on the sofa, they were soon asleep. ^ defect sileqcj^eig^R^-tiT^a^ na in the room nothing was hearoTbut the ~ oft breathing of the sleepers. Suddenly and Cl imultaneously, both awoke. Lucy's little dog ? ,t the same time starting from his slumbers jj ,nd pricking his ears. b "is it the carriage ?" said Isabel Murray. n "I don't know. Something woke me, but I ^ tan't tell what. Yes, it must be," continued -y liucy, as the dog went sniffing to the door, md she opened it and looked out "I hear ^ ootsteps, but there is no light. How quietly j hey have come in!" ^ Just then Pincher, who had run out when he door was opened, came cowering back ^ vith drooping tail, and at the same moment ^ lame the grating sound of a door turning on ^ usty hinges, and then quietly closed. Isabel 1 prang to Lucy's side, and, softly closing all )ut a chink of the door, stood listening, ^ Nothing more was heard. The girls looked at sach other, and drew a long breath. "There's lomething wrong here, Lucy," said Isabel. ^ Laicy quickly shut the door, and bolted it. "O, Xsabel, I am so frightened! Only think a f anybody can get in here in the dead of the ^ light 1 we may be all murdered!" g "We must tell Eleanor, and, of course, it ^ nustbe looked to. But the strangest thing :g] s, that the door seems as if it had not been a p?ned for a century." "0 dear! that's nothing. These people are v ip to all sorts of tricks? ' *( "What people?" " e "Why housebreakers and burglars 1" p "I don't think it can be a burglar," said Isa* 0 )el, "as he has been here already, and nothing c tppears to have been stolen. Perhaps one of ^ he maids has a folknver whom she lets in by ^ itealtb. What is there on the other side of c i.i j t? ,nai uuur ; 0 "I don't know. 0 yes, I do! A sort of a umber-room and carpenter's workroom." ' We ought to go to-morrow and examine it on 9( hat side. I do not think there is any danger f, or to-night, as the intruder, whoever he be, ^ seems to have departed. What's become of e Pincher? Did you shut him out!" v On examination, the dog was found under v :he bed, pressed closely against the wall, and ]( [jrembliug all over. Lucy had some difficulty p in coaxing him out, and even when she had ? *ot him in her arms her caresses failed to re- j, store him to his usual spirits. "Is he ill, poor fellow ?" asked Isabel. a "Only frightened, 1 think ; but he is usually e so courageous; I cannot understand it. You u may be sure he has seen some one who has r terrified him somehow. I wish the others 0 would come home!" & After this the "raking pot of tea" was not so ^ jovial an affair as they had intended. The ^ two watchers had not quite got over their c alarm, and the others heird their account with janxiety and uneasiness. Eleanor agreed that v the first thing to do was to scrutinize both r sides of the door, but cautioned them all to i ] keep entire silence on the subject meantime. [ j The next day they made their investigation : 1 of the carpenter's workroom, which was en- \ g tered by an outside wooden stair. Eleanor ! made the pretence of wanting a piece of old-; c seasoned wood for a drawing-board, which I e gave them an excuse for poking about unsus- j j pected. Not only was the door and all its : adjuncts as rusty and cob-web tapestried here j as on the inside, tut they found heaped against' it a quantity of wood yhich had been cut up I for making new hurdles. I "They might be put there ouly for a blind," j Isabel suggested in a whisper; so the astute Eleanor put a leading question immediately. "Have you not been a long time about those hurdles, Jones?" "Well, iha'am, the hurdles is ready, and has been any time these three weeks. It ain't my j ] fault they bean't put up long ago, and I'd be j i flad to get 'era out of ray way lumberin' here, j1 'erhaps you'd speak about it ?" | ] Eleanor promised to do so, aud remarking ) that her father's illness had caused some neg- , 1 lect of out-door worji, gave directions about j 1 her board and withdrew. 11 "No light thrown on the mystery yet," she j < observed, as they walked away. "That door j. cannot have been opened for years, I am posi- j i tive." The Murrays were to leave the Lodge 1' lext day. "I shall move into that room tonorrow. When the servants know one of the amily is close by, they will hardly dare to arry on any clandestine meeting." "But that's no good," said Lucy; "if it is >ne of the servants the man will be let in elsevhere. Dear Ifellie, do get to the bottom of t Ira sure if you do not, I never can feel hat we are safe for a single night." "My child, it is not proved that anybody lid come in. On the contrary, it seems imjossible." ..; "We will watch to-night, anyhow," said Sffie. When night came, however, Eleanor deired her sisters would go to their own rooms, is she thought so many of them together could lardly keep quiet enough to avoid giving ome warning to the mysterious visitor. She ilso begged the Murrays to go to bed as soon is they were ready $ and they had done so, hough they could not sleep. And now, in he dead of the night, she sat in their room, he candle closely shaded, and the door ajar, ireathlessly awaiting she knew not wnat. iho had, without saying, anythiifc about ft, ?rought with her one of her father's pistols, [he fire burned low and. fed; and everything pas profoundly still, when the ominous creakug struck on their terrified ears. Eleanor [uickly seized her candle and ran into the >assage, followed by the other two, who had nstantiy sprung out of bed. Footsteps were listinctly audible descending the stairs. "Who 9 there ?" demanded n.ieanor. "Answer, or j. hall fire!" No voice replied. They ^qld heir candles over the balustrade, hut no one pas to be seen. At the same moment Lucy larted from her room, and came down the coridor to join the group. "Is it broken, ?" said he, hurridly,. "Broken. "What ?" Lucy ran past them to, he stairs, bidding them follow. "Look here," said she, showing them a bread, the two ends of which lay across the tair. "I tied this to-night to the balustrade, ,nd fastened it into the wall at the opposite ide. You see it is broken in two." "My child," said-Eleanor, "a cotton thread aight easily snap, merely from being stretched oo tight. This is no proof of any one having tassed by. Indeed, I am certain nobody did, or I was out on this landing before he could y any possibility have got down stairs, and I aust have seen him.".< .. ?: "How brave you are, Eleanor !" said Isabel, lancing at the pistol, and thence to her calm ace; and shivering with fear and cold she rept back to bed with her sister. As she careully bolted her door inside, sne coold not reress an exclamation of thanksgiving that this ras to be their last night in Uiat dangerous ouse.; Eleanor now declared her conviction that be mysterious noises were produced by some ccult vibration or echo, as is not uncommonIr the cose in ol4 houses, and ^hat they had eard nothing alarming. Lucy, however,, rould not be pursuaded. Though she did n.dt penly assert her incredulity, she venturedfby erself to the terrible spot next night'v^hen 11 had retired, and tied a packthread firmly ) the balustrade, fastening it with a tacn; to be opposite wall. 'Waking in the morning lmost as soon as it was lignt, she immediate* T ran to look at her trap, aha hurried back ta> lleanor with the intelligence that the packiread was broken ! ; "How those stairs creak, at the end .of the assage!" said Eleanor to her maid, as she as dressing her hair that morning; She-had bogen that moment because, from the pos^otniVfm. WUkitto \beiL-tfCciip&F'beniiiajlier hair, her mistress could watch the expression f her countenance in the looking glass, "I eard them creaking quite loudly under someody's footsteps after I came up to bed last ight. I can't think what took any one that "None does go that way, never," said Mrs. Vilkins, emphatically. \ "It is not the proper way, certainly, as here is the back stair from the offices. But have heard persons going up, or down, while he Miss Murrays were here." " X "I'll undertake to say that you were mifc*iken, ma'am. Not a servant in the- house rould go up or down them stairs' after dark, lot for a thousand pounds, ma'am." "What do you mean, Wilkins?" "I mean, ma'am as they hacra bad name, .'hem's the parts that's haunted." "Haunted ! Rubbish. Who put that into our head?" "You may call it rubbish, Miss Fearon," aid Wilkins, resentfully; "but words can't Iter things. Them stairs is haunted; all that nows about the place wilftell you as much ; i hrah, as lived here with a former family, she new it well. But she don't mind, because i he says the ghost never did no harm as long I s it wasn't interfered with." ""I thought you had more sense, Wilkins," ras all Eleanor replied, as she left the room a go down to breakfast The thought, howver, did come across her that this story had erhaps been impressed on the minds of the ther servants by Sarah, in order to'keep the oast clear of any operations she might wish o carry on under the rose. What these could e, Eleanor could not divine, but she did not sel altogether comfortable. A vague feeling f eiianifinn and doubt took nossessmn of her. nd, with that subtle infection which some atribute to animal magnetism, her uneasiness seined gradually to spread through the whole imily, the Colonel alone remained unaffected y it. Her sisters became silent and abstracted as if always on the watch. The maids ,-ent about in pairs, and, were found holding whispered colloquies behind doors. The but2r, under pretence oT black-beetles in the iantry, "which he could not abide nohow," ot permission to remove his sleeping quarters a to closer proximity, with the footman. At last, Eleanor felt it necessary, unwilling s she was to annoy him, to speak to her fathr on the subject. Her fears of any ill effect pon him were soon set at rest. The Colonel's lervous malady was purely physical, and the Id habits of ready decision and actiou reasertcd their force when called upon. He lisened to his daughter's statement with attenion, questioned her carefully, and came to the onclusion that a thorough investigation must ie made. Without further loss of time he yrote to the inspector of police for the district, equesting him to call privately at Manorbere jodge as soon as he could; and desired that n the mean time the subject should be entirey dropped, so that the nocturnal intruder hould not be put on his guard. The inspector soon made his appearance, ;ausing himself to be announced as the build:r from Barton, come to see about certain re )airs; in this character he was able to go >ver every portion of the house, after holding i conversation with the Colonel and the lalies. Before he left it was settled that two :onstables should be sent to pass the night at he Lodge unknown to the servants. They vereto be let in by Miss Fearon, at a door >pening from the terrace to one of the sitting ooms, after the house had been closed for the light. This was easily effected ; and the nen with dark lanterns, were stationed one at ;he foot of the stairs, the other on the landing in If-way up. They had been here in perfect silence and darkness nearly half an hour, when the sound of a heavy door grating on rusty hinges made the one on the landing grasp liis truncheon and hold his lantern in readiness. Footsteps came softly down and something seemed to brush softly by. He struck it it as it passed, and at the same time turned an his light, calling, "Look out below, mate!" Nothing was visible. There was a low moaning cry as he struck, but he felt no resistance. The man at the foot of the stairs heard the sound, quickly turned his lantern on in that direction and rushed down the stairs as if in, pursuit, followed by the other at full speed. The noise roused some of the household, . who, when they had summoned courage, to appear, were confounded at Ending themselves met by guardians instead of distnrb&s ofjftie peace. -s v:.?n??f?iq I , The two policemen were utterly putzled. Both had distinctly heard the great,door open, and the descending footsteps, as well as the cry, like theory of some one' in fear of Sain. Each had felt something flit by, but oth described it as more like a^cblcl blast1 6f wind than.any bodily thing; They had; both run to try and prevent Jts escape^ but on; reaching the end of the passage, where it was' crossed by another in the form.of a T, nothing was to be seen. They were quite certain that no dobr had beeri opened "on either aide,, and this part of the house terminated iff the Cross passage, the only access to theprincipalsifc*' i ting i rooms .lind vestibule :being through a. passage-room, or the kitchen, which was built; fast The"^ rooms were exammedf^^^ traces of any invader were perceptible in either. While this was going on below, Eleanor, who sat up in her father^ room, had, at the first sound of any movement,' gone at * ' '.J l_il !J_ once'to tne oea rooms occupied dv inemmu?, every one of whom, including the suspected Sarah, she found auietly asleep. " After this signal failure on the part of the police, the ghost became an established fact, and the place became uninhabitable. Servant after servant gave warning ; Mrs. Wilkins; became hysterical; ,the 'cook took - to' drinking?' her spiritswas that low," she said , in exouse; and except the social Sarah, who ''never kno'wed the ghost to do harm as long as it was let alone, everybody was more or less unnerved.' " ' I A few weeks after these occurrences the Colonel's medieal attendant having advised his trying some new galvanic treatment) the family had to mpye np to town. Effie.anc^ Lucy were glad enough to ;go,. both sharing, to a certain degree,'ih' the' alarip felt by the servants, though tech in hte different way. Effie inclined the soptenatural view,'While Lucy held fast tb her' burglarious theory, for, she paid; "How could a ghost, an immaterial being, break her thread and,string?" It was now in the Spring, and most of the neighboring families had left the country; so .1 4 ine jf earons nau uui umujr auicuo t*j uia&ct except among the few poor people with whom 1 they held relations, Manorbore being remov ed from any : closely. inhabited .part of the country. There was an old bed-ridden woman to whom the girls hadshowwkindcetfe, and they went over one morning to pay her their fare' well, visit. The family .had been much liked, and their, sudden, departure was a regret to all "Ah, said the old dame, "1 Keerd'. hHk)w you was gbi^to flit! Well; it will be a loss to me, though 1? did not see ye often,1 'bein' at a distance, but'it was something to ,, think of, that I might ftave a look of yotur bright feces, when you ^topped in your rides to say a kind word, or bring me a little dainty nows and thens. J-'m main sorry to lose ye, young ladies, buyl aint noways surprised, pone does stay long at Manorbere. The ghoet ^ivesalfon'em" - ^ aon't seem to believe 'us, when we say itrioh acapimt of papa's, health tjiatwejire. goujg away i>ut you know he came totnepe ptofts expressly tor^unting; and as, since his -accident, he has il&er becii able .to,OT out, "Tffi? is nbTh tog ll& 1""' "fc *'Ah I yes. No aoirt)t there's Yetfttotitii I There's always reasons. ^But still it comes to J this, none stay in that hous^; and it's my be lief the ghost drives 'em away, say what they will." t__ "But what is the ghost ? What does it do ? What brings it there? Do1 tell us," said Effie. Well, ladies, I can only tell you what I've heerd. You see the Clendons?the family as Manorbere belonged to?yras always a badish lot. They were all wUd;* from father to son, and the}' drank^^nd^ney gambled, and they was nrbad'W'ays from year's end to year s end, and run through most of their money. And then they would go abroad out of the way, and tho place was shut up and let go to rack and ruin. The old.... house was -pulled . down because it was not worth repairing. (It had got into the creditors' hands by that.) Ah! it was & fine place.was the Dodge when I first remember it, afore the trees was cut down, and the park ploughed up, and sold off " bit by bit." . "How long ago was that ?" <i A motJn, r\f fiA-w trance nf niorVinr aiYtv .a. maiw,i ui j j j maybe. When the last Clendons came back here to bide, there warn't above half left. But the- great house was there still; only part was shut up, because it wasn't sound and safe. They was a gladsome set, them Clendons, but the gentry about did not take to them much, and I don't think they cared whether they did or no. They had their friends ixom London staying down here for months together, and French folks: and the goin's on at the Lodge was the talk of the country. There was gaming, and dancing, and playing, it was said, going on every night; and there was some new dances they had leanied in France, and they was thought undecent here in England. I must say they were pleasant to look at, all those people,?pretty, and . gay and merry. I would go out to my gate to see 'em come by, such a many together, all talking and laughing, riding and driving, and picnicking about. They didn't care what they. Bpent, you see, the Clendon's didn't, for they didn't pay anybody, and they knew it couldn't last; so*it was a short and merry one for them. They lived mostly in the new wing, what is the house now. It was called new, though I heerd say more nor a hundred years old; and they threw two rooms into one to make the! drawin'-room where they had their dances and romps. Well, the flearest neighbors ttr&FflV 1 the Perigals, of, Dour Grange.^ Very strict folks they was, to be sure. Never' no junketings nor gay doin's.was heerd of in that house; no laughing nor singing, except if was hymns, but always grave faces and solemn voices. And as to plays or dancings or cards, or, for the matter of that, games of any sort; thought them things was so many traps laid by the Devil to catch souls. It was always preaching and praying that went on there; so yoimay suppose, ladies, what the Clendons ani -* * -il. T> 1 ! j their (101118 was 10 uieiiu mr. rerigai saiu 'they stauk in their nostrils,' and he alwayi looked as if they did; and the more the Manorbere people racketed, the closer. the j Perigals kept to their strict ways. As ill luct j would have it, just afore this time Mr. Perii gal's sister-in-law died, and her daughter bein' left an orphan, come to live with her unci and auut at the Grange. Poor child! I did pity her. She was a bit flighty in her ways, nut she had always been used to a cheerful home and young folks for companions, and the Grange was no better than a prison to her. To make a long story short, she somehow got knowledge of the Clendon ladiesa It was quite innocently at first She met tiem j driving out, in a lance where they fegfl got into some srait with the ponies, or lost thair' i way, I think. She tried to direct them, flity jthey didn't understand quite, so they te&ftd her to get into the pony-chaise, and go aldlg I o' them, and show them, and she did. j was a pretty creatur, and taking, and to we? i they, to do them justice; and when ;she g<4j ! down and left them, they said they hojfcd t# i see her again. Lu'J o-Ti "Hor uncle and aunt were in a Bad way when they heard what had chanced. She diA not make any concealment abou^t at first! ai (H'dothhik she was drtiv to it after along o' their bein' so very strict and hard upon h< "atfhume. She did lead a dreary life of iSt ' She was never trusted out alone after tl RT She was not strong in her health, and iBl 2 had a pony to ride which was almost her oi lypleadire; but she never went out withoi t the old man-servant behind; to see her <k ihe to no harm) unless Mr. Perigal was w tkher himself One day who should she fa I jn with, but. a picnic party from Manorb< re, and;the ladies she had met the day they lo t themseIv68 come up so free and pleasant, ai i ashed her to join their lunch. She come no ind old Richard with her pretty coaxing Wi yn to keep ' it secret from her guardians ; ai i'SQ by little and little she got to make m etings with her iiew friends. . . Bad friends th jy . was to her, but I don't think they meant hd-any harm. THey liked her and thought tp ij&Use her: only they led. her, into deceit ways. One of the' :jroung ,gentl4Udfen with her pretty face, and got aJ^sthejlPnhingof her ;-and one day when gSU^^dandng; on the grass, he wanted her though she was used to fiance in her own home, and. cotild foot it in a couhtr^'i&nce with the best of 'em. Bless her, she was as lissom as a &iry! ** So, then, they said they zanit teach her; and she took to it like natur,' anrt mM tioro nfcxror n'aa emu thin or an ftalirrht, HiI\4V(?U? 7UV?V ^w.f V*. Iimr j MV T"?p*"" ful. ^ Then they told her they. practiced it cVery night at the Lodge, and she must come, there and make one of them.. For a .little time she stood oht that Bhe' indsh't, and' she dursn't, and what would come:'df it if uncle and aunt found out! Well, and, if they did they can send you to Bogey/ said > Clendon, who never feaje$. God nor devil. ? And they, all laughed , at her, and persuaded of her, so at last it wassettled how it should be. After she was gdne'ti) her room at night?there was prayerrEt the Grange1 at half-past 'nine, and when over , the house was Shut-tip,'and all the lights Was-put.out, and every body went to bed?she was to, slip; out by her window; and her young man vpas to meet her, and take her to Manoroere/and in by the old part.of the house, and through the door at the top of the steirea? (what's barred up this matiy a year now) and so down to the dancing room-; and when their jinks was over, some on 'em took her home again, all on the sly. ^"1 dpn'thiqm kmg this went on, Ifcit npt-piany.times I should think, or she'd likely got caught It would haye been best for her if sheTiad, poor thin?! But one nigty as she was whirling rohnd and found with her lover, and his-ana round her, he felt her lean heavyall of >at sudden, and then slide away to the ground. They all stopped in a fright, and lifted her to the sofa; biit no burnt feathers nor vinegar, nor anything else, try what they might, would 'bring her to. -Ehey rode off like mad for a doctor, and he come galloping back with 'em; but he coold do nothing. She was dead!" - ? . ' ' i "Good heavens! how shocking!'' cried Kffie. MAli f mil mftv ontr-un > i?nfc rtff like that in themidst of Iier sins!'': : >u / .1 << "Therc/is no sin in dancing," said Lucy. 1 "But there is in disobedience, miss, and deceit! The doctor hdsaid it was disease of the heart; bbt Mr. Perigal; he never. woiild beflemiadedibut what it was a judgment on hejwld he cursed the fJlendoris and alt their imps misleading the unwamore strict and serious,than at the Grange, and the house R^npnrarliece after their fashion, anu they jpoked oti her aS a lost soul. Though for my part I can't help tliinking the Almighty might mayhap, have mercy on a poor misguided child!" ' ) ' ' 1;| | ' ' "You are a better Christian than they were," said Lucy; "but what waS the fate of the Clendons ?" she asked. "Well, even thev seemed sobered like by that shocking night s work. The party broke up soon after; and all went away fori. good. The fapaily neve* .come back, and; I've heerd as how the last on em died in forrin parts. The creditors come and took possession, and the property was cut up and sold off. Several duFerent families has had the house, but none for long. They do 9ay, that of a night when all is quiet, that old door is heerd to open softly, creak, creak, and then by and by, they come oreeping up again, and sounds as if it was to shut to. But nothing is ever sepn."'"* *" '*' t . T Effie listened to this recital with a sort of fascinated terror, and repeated it, with all its minor particulars to her father and Eleanor wtyn they got home. ... j ***?4And you really believe it is a ghost, going to ab^l, do. you, my credulous little I^ffip ?" said the Colohel, pulling her ear playfully. Brrt *the noises, papa ! " We. nil heard them." : "I have no doubt you did, and that the noises exist, though We have not been able to account for. them. But don't you see, my dear girh, that it was the noises that were the cause of die ghost; not the ghost that was the cause of the hoises ?" When we got home, of course, I told all this to Captain Macnamara, who, likeall sailors, loved a ghost story. . But neither of us was troubled with nervous terrors. On inqui3j we found that the sad story of the poor lite truant girl was substantially true; and thm the matter passed from our minds. It a' *i ^<* it' , j was now April, very nne weamer, ana warm for the time of year. Tempted by the beauty of one fragrant evening we had lingered on the terrace, on returning from a stroll in the gaiden after our usual late dinner, till I was gu;te tired. So leaving Dick to finish his last eigptr/I stepped into the drawing-room by the window, and sat down to the pianof forte. It wa3 quite dusk in doom, but I did not care to ring for lights till he came in, so I continued ttwing little bits of soft music by heart, till I fell^rpoa one of an old set of Beeth.waltzes, which had not come into my Bead for tflong iirae. While I was playing, I heard the door to which my back was turned open gently; but no one came in. I thought it was my husband, and that he was stopping to listen, as the waltz was an old favorite of his. . > ...f . , : "Is that you, Dick ?" said I. "Will you order tea T' No answer. I turned: round, and there, looking in at the half-opened door, as if the person were standing behind it, I saw a face so strange, so wan ana wistiui loaning, mat 1 uttered an involuntary cry. In a moment, Dick sprang in at the window, and I pointed at the door. "Who is it?" said I, faintly. He went to the door. "There is- no one here." It opened into an ante-room, which he crossed, and looked out into the corridor. . "What was it, dear ?" said he, coming back. "You look scared." I told him what it was. "The housemaid coming to see whether the room wao put to rights, I suppose." "I suppose it must have been. But, 0 Dick, you can't think how weird, and ghostly and odd; the face looked 1" . "Why, so does yours at this moment, love ; and most faces do look pale and queer at twilight, especially peeping in at the door. Let us have lights." ' He rang the bell. The servants came in with the lamps and tea, and I persuaded myself I had been mistaken. But somehow I did not like to think of that face at the door; and I shunned making the inquiry, whether the ?hensemaid had looked in. A few weeks later, we were to go up to town i;o spend the London season with my parents, who had taken a house there; and we had engaged to pay visits to various relations in the country afterward^ before returning to Manor- 1 bere for the club-hunting in September. The members of the hunt who happened to be still remaining in the neighborhood had got up a parting dinner, at which Captain Macnamara was to make one. It took place at Barton, a town five or six miles from us, and at an early hour, because some of the party had a long ' ride home afterward. I dined alone at our usual time. I walked in the garden a littler ' with our favorite terrier, Fussy, and then I sat lazily enjoying my tea and a new book till ' I found myself beginning tdtfdc^ -: Looking at my watch, I saw it was already eleven o'clock j and knowing that ray husband might be expected home in half an' hourjar so, I preferred waiting for him to going to bed; so I went to the piano to rouse myself. Fussy, who was very fond of music, sat up, stretched Himself, j and followed me to tne. instrument, where he placed himself at my feet. After playing several pieces/ the old Beetbovten waltzes recur- ' red to my ndemory, aad:I began them. ' , , I must'make the confession that after the j that very unjdeasaat^ace had j facing any one who might come to the door. , There was only one lamp in the room; on my , reading-table, so the other end of the spacious j apartment was imperfectly lighted. Looking up as I played, to my astonishment) I saw in' r the distance what I. thought to be two whit^ ^ mice capering about on the floor. I lefj the ] piano and went to the spot, but nothing was omd TVi?a /1J/? nrtf nnmrioA m<?. or nat urally the timid creatures would runaway at the slightest movement; but being Very fond of animals I wanted to discover them, and 1 sought under the sofa aud chairs, and in eve- * xy corner of the room. All in vain.. At. last, hoping that if I kept qifiet they , might come pgain, and wondringat the music , seeming to. attract them, I sat down ontje more j to my Waltzes. In an instant, they were again '< going round and round with the greateH reg- j ularity ; but the moment I stopped playing, or moved from my place, they were gone, j This happea^d. three or four times, and the ^ oddest thing was that Fussy, who was rabid j after rats and mice, instead of flying at these ( little creatures crept close*to me and crouched , trembling by my side. I was glad of it, for ! I (Jid not wish to have the pretty dancers killed ( anfl I had just recommenced my tube fourth '] time when the door opened, and my husband j entered and waltzed up the room toward me, j while the little creatures kept time with him , perfectly, seeming to follo.w qis steps. j'Dick! Dick I" saicf I, Without stopping my j music;' "looktherel ' Did you ever see any- '] Ihmgso "curious P'-7 .*(T"? thu/, 1 .? 1 pe paused, looked in the-direction indicated j by my eyes, and thezi; ih a' tone bf titter amaze- , ment, exclaimed? \ r. .'i. c' j'Feetl byheaven.!" . : .h . ] ; ^What?" cried I, starting up. i jHe stood as if petrified. Nothing was to be ,j seoi of the strange apparition. I told him what had happened, ana thatl believed them to be white mice that I bad seen. : r '' fMioe!'; said he. '"As sure as I stand here, ' if Was a little pair of feet in white satin shoes. : Gdback and play.* .{ > i i ' i . I did so. in: TThere ineyare again,by heavens! Come quickly. . . ; , ', Iran to the &ha bf tHe room, but no trace oflhem appeared.' ' korf mnmino' we started for London in the fad expectation, of returning to Manorbere eajy in September' But we were summoned mlfie aouuiito-trtisrpfov-'ed Ito be tne death-bed of my dear father, and changes in the family arrangements consequent upon that event kept us some weeks away.. During this time an uncle of my husband's was appointed to the governorship of a colony and wrote to offer hit nephew the post of naval aidrde-eamp, which he gladly accepted. Before the year was out, we had sailed for our new destination. When we, came back' to Enjgland, the haunted house had ceased to exist. A railway company had bought it and ruit its iron road clean across the pretty garden. The house was razed to the ground, the' trees were felled; and corn now grows on the s'ceheof t^e ghost's waitz, .. For some time;Dick and I kept the story of the; ghost's waltz strictly to ourselves; but the public mind is now so well prepared for the reception of marvels, that! have no hesitation in desiring its acceptance of this ari ^hentic little story. ' Accustomed, -as every one is,nowadays, to hear?though certainly not-to see?how gentlemen who print their indisputable experiences can elongate themselves, flatten. themselves, graze themselves against ceilr in^s, and flit in and* out of three-pair-pfts.tair windows; how instrnments of music'can play for their own amusement in odd corners out 1 of humanity's reach, or fly about in the air/ * while human beings float among them; bow hands,, unattached (like retired colonels) can gather flowers and crown poets; and how spiritual beings can return from the grave, to enioy a game of romps under a loo-table, or talk more dreary nonsense than they talked in life, if possible; there surely can be no difficulty in believing the simple fact of a poor little pair of feet in white satin shoes returning^ this world, at the summons of a favorite tune, to finish a dance unexpectedly cut short by ruthless Death! ' "V How Cannibals Cook.?Some French soldiers were lately taken prisoners by cannibals in the South Sea Islands, and one of them was killed and eaten. His comrades describe the process: The Kanakas first decapitate-. their victim ; a matter of .no small difficulty, r considering the bluntness of their hatchets. 1 Ten or fifteen blows are necessarv. The body is then hung up to a tree by the' feet, and the blood allowed to run out foran hour. Meanwhile a bole a yard a"tad a half deep and a 1 yard vide, is dug in the ground. The hole is linedwith stones, and in the midst of them a great fire is lit. When the wood burns down a little and glows with heat, it is covered over with more stones. The man is then cleaned out and divided into pieces about a foot long, the hands and feet being thrown away as worthless. .; The pieces of the man are placed on the leaves of a large rose tree peculiar to the tropics. The meat is surrounded with cocoa nuts, bananas, and some other plants, noted for their delicate flavor. The whole is then tied together firmly, the fire is removed from the pit, the meat is placed in i among the hot stones, and this, carefully covered, is left to cook for an hour. Women do not partake of this warrior's feast. Men alone are permitted to enjoy so great an honor and so rare a delicacy, which is another striking instance of the tyranny of the male sex, and demands the appearance of some South Sea Stanton or Anthony to claim'equal rights for the women. * Power of Music.?The effect of music on the senses was oddly and wonderfully verified during the mourning for the Duke of Cumberland, uncle of George III. A tailor had an order for a great number of black suits, which were to be finished in a very short space of time. Among his workmen was a fellow who was always singing "Rule Britania," and the rest of the journeymen joined in the chorus. The tailor made his observations, and found that the alow time of the tune retarded the work; in consequence, he engaged a blind fiddler, and placing him near the workshop, made him play constantly the lively tune of "Nancy Dawson."' The design had the desired effect the tailors' elbows moved obedient to the melody, and the clothes were sent home within the prescribed period. jjpgfMroMttig j^ggjai rm> rwenv^;f^eiu.r '} ; ; ' 3 rf. WIVES AND THEIR HOMES. There are few passages in any periodical that afford more pleasure in their perusal than "Our Saturday Night" Few sketches from any pen' contain more gems of sweet thought, more hefkrt-quiveringg than the reverie entitled "Worth of Woman's Love." I/?t the world censure as it may the editor of The Democrat, we, irnd die who is ''monarch of borne?queen .of hearts," will not believe the heart utterly depraved that cap guide the pen to. trace, "women would be better andhhppier if men loved them better and were more true, [f men wohld strive as much to make home happy as they do to seek happiness elsewhere, thie world would be better." Those seem strange words to come from a man's pen?but they are true. And. many a meek-eyed, sadhearted woman has left such thoughts crowding heart And brain, as, day by day, she treads the dreary round of duty; performs protect a^ lone as life shall last,'* if she ishappy, and he ?ill almost consider you insane, or ^T^bytmntend to insult him. "Happy? Why, of coursq; I never refused a request she over made; and she is surrounded hy all that wealth can procure. Who is there to prevent her happiness ?" Ah, when will men learn. that surrounding with all that wealth can procure, bestowing now and then costly jewels or Sumptuous fare, jannot make a woman happy ? There are many wives in our great land"?and many nappy, cheerful, loving, and loved ones, who make sunshine in heart and home. But there ire many, too many, in cabin and palace, who inly exclaim when the night shades fall, 'Thank God, another day ended. One less in this dreary journey of life 1" And why ? Is it not woman's duty to be a good baker of bread, and darner of socks ? And should she sot be cheerful and happy that she has some, one to give he^a shelter from the flriving stdrm, andJt<r'provide her with food wkl clothing? Is it not he^jfluty and pro* mce to keep the house he h?f-provided in srder ? To see that the fire is burning brightly afid the hearth cleanly swept ? Yes; but is there not a duty due her?'. Wheif at the boly altar, did he promise to "love?cherish ind protect" a mere housekeeper, ntuaeyymaid and Vftolr? Not so, saith He who'*gave the command divine?but "We will make for bim ft helpmeet and companion." And is'it taking qf her a companion when he enters the home over which she presides, simply to eat'of the "bread" her hands have prepared, without thinking to say "good morning," or bestow one Sn?9e or caress. Ail the day long she has been bending over the needle?stitch, stitch?until heart and brain have grown weary ; or'walking untiringly up and down the quiet room to loll , the restless moanings of A sick infant. JNot only all the day, hut through the long nights/gently husking the okniil/) /^tolnvlwl Pni Lauib WJj Jvoit OilUUIVI MV UMVUt WVU. ?L/UV be comes and goqp, and stops not to whisper those 'Useless words" that fell from loving lips, and bfeathe: worlds of rbeanihg to the fond heart. t?nd make life less dark. Loving yprcU and fond,:ceases. cost, so little! why ate they so sparingly given tojhose who would prize them1 more than the brightest gem or costly attire ? ' iBF IiDo men wonder that the rosy cheek has l?t^HJTO?mr-^the dark efe Is it nothing to spend the long day in toff/ preparing some new surprise for the one dearer than life, and then to greet him with joyful smile, only quivering for the soft sweet words of love and thanks?his approval all the reward desired?and: at last receive a htlrried "Oh 1 don't bother me. I am tired enough now ?' That is all, but enough; and it is thus a woman's hope and life go out : \ All the day long map is in the busy thoroughfare, meeting new faces, passing through new scenes, having, none will deny, his own bUrdens to bear. But if he has trials and perplexities, he has also opportunities to forget them. But her own household is a woman's thoroughfare; and if husband speaks a harsh, unlipd ^rord, or hastily slams the front door without a nod or a smile, she has naught to banish die remembrance, But it follows in the. nursery, and the kitchen; glistens in the bright tears that fall upon the little garment she is quietly stitching. 1 -1 '7* Yet this daily routine of home duties would be to her the holiest, happiest of tasks-did she know that when the twilight shadows fell one would come withjbrave words of cheer, crowning he^wlt!|riteye "anti happiness, ana strengthening'her anew for the morrow's harden, with soft words of praise. She fetens in vain for the fall of loving footsteps ?Uhe door, and a sudden, "For mercy's sake cilfl never enter this house without hearing tnw child cry? Seems to me it does nothing but ^squall I" or may-be some such words as these: "Mary, will you sit forever over that needle? You certainly must be the slowest iewer in the world, for you are always stitchipg, stitching, and never seem to accomplish much." Never accomplish mucn! Open these bureau-drawers, lift the lid of that great trunk, and see the piles of well madfe and carefully folded garments and ask whose busy fingers have done them all. Waal that remark kind to address to the patient, untiring woman who sits alone day after day, with not a moment to rest or read the nfany books and papers for which she is craving ? Oh, how earnestly she longs for the da^r, when "the hurry is passed," she.devote a few hours at least to thecultivauonSrtfctf'higher faculties of brain. But no?the temptation is resisted, and she says, sijnply i "Duty first?then pleasure." Is it for this she bade farewell to father and mother, honor and love ? Is this the realization pf her girlish day-dreams? Ah, no! The bright pictures traced by Fancy's pencil, were a cosy fireside, a happy home, of which she was "queen" indeed, and a "manly form at her side she saw," from whose lips fell only words kind and loving. Eargerly the hours were counted, until he should be home, after the bumr hours spent in the great, bustling world, peyond almost the.influence of home; for when the "little mpon dropped behind the western sky," he was hers?hers alone. How gladly she closed the blinds and drew the cur tains, to shut out all sounds from the noisy world outside, in which she then had no part. How swiftly flew the bright golden hours, as she sat besiae him, listening: to the loved voice reading the daily news, or passages from some favorite author I Ah, that "were an Eden indeed ; and there-would be such, "if men would Btrive as much to make home happy as they do to seek happines* elsewhere." Life is too short to be wasted in coldness and loneliness; our loved one* stay with us but a short while at most Then love them more? make home-happier for them while they are here. 80 soon as you have hastily eaten supper, don't take your hat and huriy off "down town," to spend the evening chatting or "euchre playing," at the club, never thinking of how the long, weary hours are passing to her who sits at home alone. . Do you think her human nature never yearns for companionship? Never wearies of solitude ? Do not marvel that some become devotees of fashion, or heartless coquettes; it is often, too often, to stifle that starving cry of their human hearts for the love and homehappiness you deny them. . If you would be happier, have, them "happier and better," be more true, more gentle, and loving to those entrusted to your care. Love more * m within the influence ox nome-woriu, nuu uie .great world beyond will soon cease to charm. 7 < - ; IOLKE. <>j?i .*'? > The White House Stables.?The executive stably near the F<5y Department, are fitted up with every comfort and luxury f* the equine members of the Presidential establishment. There are twelve animals of varions degrees of beauty and value kept here for the use of the President and his family, , with four carriages, besides an array of (men wagons, buggies and other equippsges. The horses include coach teams, trotters, racers, saddle horses, and two Shetland ponies for the exclusive use of the executive's juveniles. The aristocratic looking Nubian who has the honor of presiding over this establishment takes delight in showing visitors through, and in descanting upon the merits of the different animals. But not the least attractive feature is the stunning liveries of this same Ntibian and his worthy coadjutor, who ocoupies the position of footman. The coats are of a rich * ? M. 1 .J : ..HI J J Olive Drown, wiut oroaa iappeu?, cuss, iou g^gye?, the^whok ^rofaaely^overed are encased, render attention to the character \ of the pantaloons unnecessary. Blach stoveXbats, with broad bands and silver buckles, I . n the heads of these servants of presi* dential grandeur, and complete their outfit. All the carriages bear the initials "U. S. 6.," in monogram on the panels.?N. Y. Sun. .RatherNeatly Done.?A distinguished and accomplished burglar, confined in jail in New York was recently so nnfbrtnnate as tofall into the unrelenting hands of an industrious newspaper reporter, who tints depicts His senses were very keen. His nerves never shook. His touch was delicate and his step as light as air: He: related one of his ' exploits. In New York he got into a house one night, and made his way to-the bedroom where the owner and his wire were sleepingin . bed. Beside the-bed was a child's crib. iBy accident he overturned the crib and spilled the child out on the floor. The young one began to cry. He was in a fixiafraid the pa-; reuts would: awakem i Hcdecided instantly what to do, and did it He picked up the ' child tenderly,, foiycaiA- )hc,"fc;iriifiiriad me of my own darlings*" and replacing ft in the ' cot, he rocked it to sleep again;/ This performance occupied half an hour, for the child was restless. He then went through the room and raked up $5000. 1 > All this, i mark you, without "incidental musiq," unless .one might include under that head the vocal remonstrances of timinctignant ' baby. { / fT ^ ' I1 y, iUAHV JUAMJB XWATJSUr A iMJIM.?~JX IUUN remarkable escape from instant death occurred a short time once, at theNew York Mine, in Marquette county,, Michigan.. The Mwmg Journal says: One of the miners was engaged in charging aa immense hole, fourteen feet in depth, in which he had to put a charge of eleven kegs of powder, to wfcphwas attached a fuse, thought to be of sufficient length to enable the man to make good his retreat when fired. By Some mishap the fuse coiled at the1 instant it was ignited, tnefire coning ift contact with and igniting the fuse at the hole. The consequence was an instantaneous explo-; . 8|on, throwing out, as estimated, euite300 tons ,vJ of rock. The man that touched off! the fuse ^e"of and 4 in the midstof masses of rock.thrown out by the blast Singular,as well as fortunate to relate, with the exception of a slight scratch on | two of his fingers, he was entirely uninjured. The man maintained a remarkable coolness and presence of mind under the circumstances, evinced by his singing out to his oomra' des to keep back, as they were running op to the scene, expecting to find' him blown to atoms. "Keep back," said he, "perhaps it hasn't all gone off yet, and you'll get. hurt" -?? ? i ' How to Choose Black Silk.?As this is a point upon whi8H most ladjies.possess little or no information, the following correct test will be found advantageous: When a woman is about to choose black silk, it is well to pull a thread out of the "tram" or "filling."' She must try the strength of the thread. If it breaks easy the examination has gone far enough; it is*wisdom to look farther. We will suppose the thread has been tried, and | that it indicates some backbone. Then it is I necessary, if the woman is right brave, and dares to do such a thing with a handsome pair of clerk's eyes bearing down on her like ' a privateer upon a poor little merchantman, to seize the silk by the comer and rob it just as the washerwoman would'do when She intends to remove a stain. If this awftfi ordeal be performed to perfection?remember some muscle must be brought to play?the silk is honest and legitimate. If it is heavy with dye, if held up to the light, slight traces of disaster may oe discerned. The Power of Monosyllables.?'To one whose attention has not been drawn particularly to the subject, it will be surprising to call ' to mind how many of the most sublime and comprehensive passages in the English lanmmiM /lAnmrf. nlinllv nr r4iipflv ftf mnnnovlln. w??' j ? Dies. Of the sixty-six words competing the Lord's Prayer, forty-eight are of one syllable. Of the seventeen words composing the Golden Rule, fifteenth are of one syllable. The most expressive idea of the creative power of Jehovah is expressed entirely in monosyllables : "And Goa said let there be light, and there was light." One of the moet encouraging promises of Scripture is expressed in fifteen words, all but one monosyllables: "I love them that love me, and those that seek me > early shall find me." i. . , + A Model Town.?"The town of Berkley, Bristol county, Massachusetts," says the Taunton Republican, "has no gambling house, no rum hole, no habitual' drunkards, young or old ; no lawyer, and but one physician, but one constable, with fees hardly sufficient to feed a mouse; two churches, two Sabbath and six day schools. No town in the county, according to population, has furnished a greater number of liberally educated professional men, nor more competent teachers, male and female, than Berkley. There are but four paupers, who nearly earn their own living on a good farm owned by the town. Taxes are light, with a small town debt There is not a family in town but has a comfortable home and comfortable food and clothing." An Eye to Business.?An Illinois undertaker sent the following entertaining note to a sick man: "Dear Sir?Having positive proof that you are rapidly approaching death's gate, I have therefore thought it not imprudent to call your attention to the enclosed advertisement of my abundant stock of ready-made coffins, and desire to make the suggestion that you signify to your friends a wish for the purchase of your burial outfit at it) my esiaDusnmeuw A Bad Label.?Tom bought a gallon of gin to take home, and by way of a fable, wrote his name upon a card, which happened to be the seven of clubs, and tied it to the handle. A Mend coming along and observing the jug, quietly remarked: 'That's an awful careless way to leave that liquor)" "Why?' said Tom. "Because somebody !might come along with theeight of clubs and take it" .'Vji \ -rsiaa 1