Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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v rj # WABamett ? i in - ?--rrij-i V nW i ??n f i ' I r ' ii "iif ' nil ? ' - if r ' " VI ? ?i IZ ? ? = ; ~ - ? ? ? ? ? ?? Z *" ?~ ^ ^ ^ ^ ~~ 1 "'' v '< : t! T ~ lewis lie. grist, Proprietor. fitirqpbtnt Jamil} Ittfospapir: Jot tyr $)r#toi>ti<in 'if t|t;; ipafititai; Sttral, ^.gricttltoral mil Cfltmntrdul Intofe jf f|t J5flii}|. ".jTEjtMSr^ls.ftO A tear, i?"4?VMCE. i gg 11 ' sansnsk m ma ' 11 ' ' =8 ' ' ' ,. . .: VOL: 17. YOBKVILLE, S. ^pffSffrAY, SEPTEMBER 7. 1871, ? I Sill 86' Jm#rigiHal frizc Jfojg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. A TALE OF BEFORE THE WAR. BY ALICE ARNOLD. CHAPTER IY. ; After leaving the Livingston's, Louis Velraonte went directly home. It was quite dark when he reached the house, and the front rooms were all ablaze with gas light As he was hurrying past to his own room, he was met in the passage by his sister Claudia, the b vnViAm urn \\a \ro Q1 roufl v I1UUU9U11IO UlUUdvc nuviu ??v umiv seen in the theatre. "Will not your gracious lordship spare us one evening of your society V she asked. " Cela depend replied her brother. , "Then it's ?^1 right," said Claudia, gaily,. "foT you couldn't think of going out!, when I tell you who is to take tea here." "Don't make too certain about that," said Louis i "but who is the wondrous magnet, ClaudeT "Can't you guess?" "Old Mrs. Holllngwood, with her seven hundred girls, I suppose; or divine Clara Isabel le Gammage, with her ceaseless bravauras; or?" " Comme vous tachez de me tromper" laughed his sister. "You know as well as do, Monseigneur, that Linda Witherton is coming here.. Her uncle is out of town, and upon you will devolve the onerous duty of seeing her home ; therefore, you see it is doubly important that you should give up your billiards for this evening." " Ca importe guere ! I'll do anything that's expected of me, Claude," was all Louis said as he passed on to his luxurious bachelor j apartment. Arrived there, he drew a comfortable cushioned arm-chair to the open window, threw himself in it, and lit a cigar. As he watched 1 the blue wreath of smoke curling slowly upf ward, his thoughts took something like this form. Poor, dear little birdlet! I wonder how it will all end 1 From the first evening of their acquaintance, Rosalie Livingston had possessed for Louis a singular attraction. The romantic circumstances of their meeting, and afterwards her exquisite personal beauty, her highly refined, poetic nature and perfectoriginality,combined to captivate his imagination as no other had ever done. Had she been in his set, Louis would not have hesitated an instant in making her an i offer of marriage; for, one of society's darlings, and having passed through countless flirtations, he felt convinced that he was now, for the first time in his life, really, deeply, and sincerely in love. Louis had been educated mostly abroad, and being away at school at the time of Mr. Livingtyn's failure, knew little or nothing of ^"the ciftHittstances Connected with-it. That Rosalie's family was well born he knew, and every thing about her seemed to attest her blood ; but then they had lost caste. His native indolence and dislike to anything like altercation, made him think with infinite disgust upon the violent scenes of opposition which would, he well knew, be the result of any rash step on his part, while his sensitive pride shrank from the thought of the reception his bride would meet with in "our set.". "Were I but independent of my father," he mused, "I would take my precious Rose away to the old world, where no one would know anything about her father; but there's the worst of it. I'm a luckless dog. I can't work for myself, and unless I marry to please him, the old gentleman will cut me off without a dollar. Aunt Bab, too, has set her eccentric old head on Linda Witherton, and gad ! a man can't live without money. Linda's a fine figure of a woman. She has three plantations and plenty of cash. I should be the envy of all her male acquaintances. But Oh! Rose, my own sweet love; Rose, my precious, violet-eyed darling; Rose, Rose, I can't give you up!" He threw away his cigar abruptly, and rising, paced the floor. The little ormolu clock on his mantel struck eight. He started. "It is time to go into the drawing-room," he said ; then washed his hands, and hastily a Unn* <*? fn/1 u'vfK nVi a!an paooiu^ a omiuiuia^u iv*i>m vuvivu cologne over hid moustache and lips, to remove the odor of his Havana, opened the door and went out into the passage. The drawing-room door stood ajar and the sound of extraordinary music issued therefrom. When Louis entered he beheld, seated before the piano, a very singular looking old lady. She must have been considerably past sixty ; yet she wore a dress of garnet silk, with black lace points. Her face was wrinkled and yellow, with small, deep-set eyes and otherwise sharp features; her hair, though very gray, was worn in curls, and upon the top of ?? her head was perched a jauuty little black lace cap. Every one in the room seemed to be paying the most respectful attention to the discordant notes which the musician drew forth. The Hon. Frederick Yelmonte and his daughter, Claudia, sat together on a sofa near the piano. Mrs. Yelmonte was standing on one side of the fire-place; and opposite, her face partly concealed by her fan, which she held as though to screen it from the fire, stood Linda Witherton, whom we now recognize as the blonde who had so attracted Rose Livingston's attention in the theatre. She was, indeed, as Louis had said, a fine figure of a woman. Tall, and very fully developed, she appeared to great advantage in a dress of \r?rip Louisa hlne silk, with a auantitv of foam-like white lace about the throat and bosom. Diamonds sparkled on her wrists and fingers, and a superb crimson camelia reposed upon her flaxen chevehire. Though in reality only eighteen, Miss Witherton had very much the appearance, and all the confidence of a woman of fiveand-twenty. As soon as Louis entered, she shifted her fan so that it rested directly between his mother and herself, and her countenance thus revealed to him, he perceived that the lips quivered with suppressed laughter. Louis was well acquainted with the character and opinions of the musician, and made a profound salaam to the piano feet; then went up to Miss Witherton, wished her 'good evening,' but spoke not one word more until the "Battle of Prague" was ended, when the performer beckoned him to her side. "Good evening, aunt Bab, how are you?"' he asked. "Better; much better, dear nephew^ thanks t to Dr. Slidel!," she replied. "Qh ! that won- I derful man. Really, Lucile, you stand dread- t fully ia your.own light by not employing Dr. Slidfell." ;i rva 1 "Rut Dr. Grant has been the family physician since. X was a young girl/' said Sirs. Vel- a monta, gently. s "All that is prejudice," said Miss Barbara, j I "Local?I mean personal prejudice. Promise 1 me, Louis, that when you have an establish* ii raent and a family of your own, that yon will r employ Dr. Slidell." !' I "I promise most certainly," answered Louis, 1 smiling. ( "And now," said Miss Barbara, "Miss y Witherton must play , something for us. Come, s dear," she added,encouragingly, "you needn't feel abashed before ma.".,,i "Ok! really,"- said Linda, casting her n laughing eyes demOrely downward and hu- I moring the old lady's absurd vanity,. fL could n not think of such a thing; I haven't the cour? ( agfc after what I hrfve just heard." if * f "Come, oome, that is very wrong," said r Miss Barbara, patting her ..-upon the back, fi "Young persons, like yourself, .cannot expect is to vie with tliose of matuifcr tastes; but I li have no doubt you do very ;Weli ior your' n years* and, in faot?pardoa me; dear?but it I is a species of vanity in you to refuse." tl "Oh! since you put it on ihol footing,"said a Linda, with a well-got-up hlush, "I must a make an effort; but I hope you willjbe indul- a gent and not criticise too severely." d "Rely upon me for that," said Miss Barba-1 h ra, complacently, as she screwed down the pi- j d ano 8tOol. . :c :. i tl Miss Witherton seated herself and ran her j ft fingers lightly oyer the keys,! j si j "What will you bay? ?" $he asked, vj d "Oh! anything, dear," said Miss .Barbara, b Linda struck a few bars, of "Old. Unele v Ned," but Claudia raised a warning finger, y and coming to the piano, selected from her b music a lively waltz with variations. b Linda took the hint and executed it bril- k liantly. The old lady was really delighted, o "Never say. that you can't play again, my ? dear," she said. "That is beautiful?really tl charming, and excellently well performed." d Just then the tea waiters being brought in, caused a diversion for which Linda felt very d thankful, as it gave her the opportunity she * desired to engage Louis in conversation. fi "You are going to -hear Parodi to-morrow w evening, of course," she said, as he helped her si to a maccaroon. .? ? a "Cela, depend, said Louis, quietly, establish- ti ing himself on an ottoman by her side, "I have often heard her before." si , "Oh! so have I," said Miss Witherton, t? with a little toss of her head, "but never in r< 'Traviata.' They say she is aw comble in t< ! that" w "I don't care about hearing any one else in h j 'Traviata,' after Grisi," said Louis. ti "I should like dearly to go, to-morrow even- n ing," said Linda, with a little sigh, "but uncle .is so,particular. He went to the .plantation n this morning, and won't be back until the day 1 fi after to-morrow ; so, although any number of A j gentlemen have asked to escort me, I must ii 1 ~ * ?? h ~ wtUL A /MII nf fno n uuiJLeui lijyaeii at uuuic, ui nitu a tjuicn k.u i ? at old Mrs. Lawrence's, for uncle won't hear tl of my going anywhere in public without him, fl or some married lady that he knows. En passant, what an odious custom this chaperon ri is!" ' n "You will go with us, dear, of course," said g Claudia, as crossing the robm/with' her tea- a cup and doily in her hand, she came and h stood beside Linda's chair. n Just then there was a ring at the street door jj bell. "Oh ! it's Charlie Crafton," said Claudia "he's going to start, to-morrow, on his Euro- i pean travels, and promised to come this evening and say 'good-bye." /You know him, don't you, Linda ?" . . - !? "Slightly," said Miss WitheTton, with a P little significant curl of her lip and an arch M side-glance out of Jter bold; height, grey eyes at Louis. ' .: '. ! u Rumor gave aB the reason for. Charlie Crafton's sudden desertion of his native city at the Si height of the season, a certain non-compliance on the part of Miss Witherton, the belle par excellence, that winter. : ? The door opened, and instead of Mr. Craf- a inn o K1 onlr Kav nnfirro/1 with fl. nftfp fill ft 1 silver waiter for Louis. : a "A lady's handwriting, and very graceful u characters, too," said Claudia, looking over her brother's shoulder as he reoeived it ^ "Who is your fair correspondent, Louis ?' "The dearest of widows," he answered, r glibly, as he recognized Rose Livingston's chirography, and walked off to a distant win- 8 dow to read it. f At its conclusion, he frowned slightly and j d bit his lip, then glancing up, perceived his ;11 mother's soft eyes fixed on his face. He met i her gaze with a smile, and thrusting the note e carelessly into his vest pocket, quietly return- k ed to his conversation with Miss Witherton. f As soon as tea was over, Aunt Barbara, ac- 11 companied by her nephew, the elder Velmonte, i t withdrew to the library, where they remained j overlooking business papers until it was time | h for her to go home. j r She was a wealthy, eccentric old maid, who lived all to herself, in her great house, without i c even a companion or a lap-dog, and from a whom the family had great expectations. She t was, therefore, humored in all her queer ! whims, and her wishes consulted on all occa- j t sions by them. Mr. Crafton did not call, as he had prom-j 1 ised, and Miss Witherton accepted of the in-! vitation she received from Claudia, seconded j1 by Mrs. Velmonte and Louis, to make one of j1 their party for "Traviata," the next evening, ? When Miss Velmonte was ready to depart, i the carriage was got and her great nephew ' deputed to accompany her. b ! "I shall be back presently, and do myself j the pleasure of seeing you home," he said to i 1 Linda, as he was going out. ( I "Nephew Louis," said Miss Barbara, when ? they were in the carriage together, "you are j 1 not going to disappoint your old aunt's dear- j J ; est wish ?" ! "I wouldn't willingly disappoint or cross ] you in anything, aunt Bab." "I believe you, dear child," said the old I lady, drawing a long breath ; "but?but?in ? ; short, it seems that you are rather lukewarm i i about that?that magnificent creature. Louis, i i \ dear boy, yo j didn't hang over her as fondly f 1 as a lover should, when she was at the piano; I and you had a good opportunity, too, turning j i I the leaves of her music, as vou were; but j i i then, to be sore, lovers in these days are not 1 I what they used to be in mine. (Louis thought 1 hatthey mast have been very diffe^ebt, if Hiss Barbara had ever known much ahout k hem.) Well, well, times must change."' Then dhe foil into a little reverie which ii asted a few minutes, after which, "Listen to me, nephew Louis," she said; "I e; im an old woman now, and though well pre- it erved for my years,' in all human probability may die at any time. Then, you knotf, near- s< y everything I have goes to your father. He h 3 my nearest surviving relative, and I would lot tfhange my present will unless my nephew, it Vedertck, were to displease me very serious- cm y, which I don't think he seems likely to do. r< )f course, you will all benefit by whatever tc 'our father gets; but you would like to have w t ornnl/in'f vnn V* I t OUICbUIUg lliugj^uuvuv, t?vuiuu v jvv. | ?.. Louis assented, and Miss Barbara continued. 'Well, nephew, you know the plantation ei iy brother Roland left me, on river. tc toland, you remember, was a recluse. He ft ever married, and lived at great Woodstock, it was his fiyioj to saipa the place after King oj lenry lst'stnanor-house) all by himself, bu- tl ied in antiquarian researches, all of which, so tl ir as I know, resulted in nothing. But that! o] ( neither here nor there. There are valuable ' mds belonging to the place* and if properly m lanaged, it is a fine piece of property. Now, di -ouis, you know what my wishes are. On h< le day that I see you married, or if I am gj bsent from L , yob write and say, 'aant, I m married,' on that day, Woodstock is yours, \y nd ten thousand dollars to boot. Hush! in on't thank me. It is the dearest wish of my pi cart that you should marry Joel Witherton's aughter. It isn't solely for her ample for- bi ine* Loins; but she is bo strangely' like?her w ither. Well, well," the old' lady cohtinaed, di ghing deeply *, "you young people can't Gnerstaud this feort of thing, but in the old, old d( y-gone days* Joel Witherton was?h'm?a fr ery ardent admirer of mine. He was some tr ears younger than me* and I, scorning his rj oyiBh pretensions, laughed at his puppy love; of ut directly he became engaged to another, I hi new too late that no other man could ever V( ccupy the same place in my heart. Well, cr ell, it's all nonsense talking about those th MAW t T7A11 fin. Vil iliugd 1IUTT | UUU) JJVuiC) IIUMWT V* J WW. x.v.; uc on'f trifle with Linda's affections." th Here they stopped at Miss Barbara's own hi oor; and the garrulous old lady, still sighing rith the recollectiou of her romantic love af- f0 lir, was helped out by her great nephew and ai rent up to her sleeping room in the third bt ;ory, where, taking an old miniature out of n< trunk, she sat absorbed in the contempla- aj on of it till long after midnight. H Looking over her shoulder, we might see a w arewd, though rather handsome countenance, ) which Linda certainly did bear a strong th ^semblance; and cotgmporaries might have 0i )ld that Joel Witherton was a clever man w ho, having always an eye to the main chance, 8b ad courted firpt oap heiress, then auother, un- so il fortune threw Linda's guileless young lother into his arms. se As Louis rode home with the heiress that ga ight, he wast very gay and animated, and she 'la ill of soft, pretty, childish airs and graces. b( in hour later, when he found himself alone hi i his own room, he extinguished the light, Wl nd throwing his cigar impetuously out of le le window, paced restlessly up and down the fa oor in his slippered feet. di "Is Rose trying to flirt with me ?" he que- w ied mentally. "What the devil does she lean by putting me off in this style ? I've a gt reat mind to tell Claude I have a headache, nd go there to-morrow evening; but no, per- or aps that's what she wants, and by Jove! I'm re ot going to be played with by a mere child cc ketbat!" ^ i . 01 d( > CHAPTER V. hi "Rose, dear," said Helen, a few days later,. ntering theroom where her sister sat, as usual, ly oring over her MS.; "Rose, darling, there hi i something that I think I ought to tell you." dt "What is it?" asked Rose, without looking ei p.- hi "Louie Velmonte is engaged to be married," aid Helen, briefly. di "Well, what of that?" The girl spoke in a. seemingly careless tone, ut cheek and lips blanched all of a sudden, s she bent closer over her work. "1 Helen went up to her and throwing her b< rms around her whispered, "Darling, you bi lust not take this seriously to heart" b< But Rose, without speaking, broke from bi er embrace and hurried out of the room up I o the same garret where all of her and Beatis' childish sorrows had been wept out. hi Half an hour later, Helen, collecting up the T cattered MSS. which her sister had left, tc ook them up to the room. She paused at the loor, with her hand on the latch, and listen- " g, heard footsteps pacing the floor. tc Presently they stopped, and when Helen rn ntered, Rose was standing by the window, ler face ashy pale, with lips tightly com- cl tressed, her eyes wide open and tearless, and w he veins standing ont like cords npon her emples. tc Helen did not speak to her, but busied A lerself with various little matters about the | 0] ootn. After awhile Rose came to her, and of her j iwn accord laying her hand on her shoulder, I sked, "Helen how did you hear what you ti old me down stairs ?" Her voice sounded so hoarse and unnatural hat her sister was .startled by if. j n"It may be only a repprt, dear," she said | lesitatingly. "Won't you tell me how you heard it?" tl irged Rose, a little impatiently, as she sank a] uto a chair and clasped her hands tightly together. ; g, Helen looked wistfully at her and complied, j "It was that same horrid Mrs. Chandler," j he said. "She called at Mrs. Fraser's to-day | ust as I got there. Hattie was with a dress- j tl naker and kept me waiting sometime in the r Irawing-room; so, although I was examining i photograph album, I could not help over- sc learing her conversation with Emily, Mrs. w Fraser's eldest daughter, you know." E "Well, Em," shesaid, "you haven't played rour cards right this time." j f( "How do you mean ?" asked Emily. i si "Why, about Louis Velmonte, of course," P laid Mrs. Chandler. "You shouldn't bave ! ti waited for Miss Witherton to come home ii from Europe, for any one might have told you ;he heiress would back you all out of the c aeld. I saw them at theopera together Wed- r aesday evening. They arepositively engaged ; the wedding is to take place in June, and I h hear that Mies Witherton has already ordered c her trouMeau from Paris." g "This was what she said; bdtafteisgU, yon* ol now it,, may not be true;" ? ,->iii-: \ p Jfl have uo doubtthttt itis title," said Rose, ei 1 a hard, unnatural tone of voica > ol Holeo lookdd earnestly at her, and her own yes moistened and her lipe quivered. Then ol , was she burst intoa violent fit of weeping, pc "Oh I Itose, my darling, my sweet pet," she" o] )bbed, "I never saw yoa thus before. What, ti as come over you^ my precidus?" Rose reached out an ice-cold hand and put ci into her sister's, which Helen, clasping it i* mvulsively to her heart, chafed as though to y< store the circulation. A ghastly smile flit- J h :d over the younger sister's features as she m atched her; and just then the querulous tin* 01 le of the dinner-bell was heard. ' a\ "Batfce your face and go down, please, Jtlei- ti i," said Rose, "for I cannot; you will have ej > tell mamma I have a head-ache?it is no s? dsehood." . b< And after Helen had left the room, she tyafaj k the bod with her ifcce pressed doWftwardr^jj^i le pillow, her temples throbbing as though [ ai ley wciuld burst, and her heart all heavy and w spressed With unshed tears. , Yet that evening Rose appeared at tea as ai jual, and though she was pale, even in the hi im gas light, no one could have goeased from te sr manner what a storm of sorrow tfas rahgin the girl's breast. d< The next day Helen coaxed her out for a st alk, and ap$pt.some of her own hard earn- m gs on a book that Rose had previously ex- hi resaed a wish for. di Rose smiled languidly as she thanked'her; in it as soon as Helen was .out of sigh t the'book re as put away in a , (drawer, where it lay for iys. vfith the leaves uncut, B Then itiwas that she turnedifer solace to the hi ?r children of her brain. The lovely ideal1 ec iends displayed themselves in their mortat- ai active guise, and newer and stronger image- w r emanated from her brain. In these days te ' sorrow, she wrote with more vigor than she 80 id ever done before. An impassioned fer>r, a burning pathos characterized, her dee- g* iptions, while a refined melancholy pervaded A ie whole style. Her great genius seemed to di ive received a powerful impulse, and in less ci ian a week she had qpipposed and written a m indred and odd pages pf foolscap. . oi Her mother and sister, did not interfere ; 88 r while Rose was writing her color wan high, p< id her appetite those days generally good ; g> it this could hot last. Mihd and body could so >t much louger bear the strain upon them, id nr?fl afternoon that Mrs. Livintrston and P] lelen were both gone out, having left Rose tl: riting in the parlor, she fairly broke down, at She had been passing, in imagination, trough a thrilling scene, and while working 1 it her cheek was flushed and her eye bright ec ith excitement; but the passage concluded, P' te dropped her pen and sank down upon the fa from exhaustion. Then the great reaction began to*make it- n< If felt; her face became huel^ss.Jjer. pulse nk to the lowest and her eyeUds (Lrooped, ^ ngtfidly, bvefr Umweariedf orre. Uoula i death that was coming to release her, as it id done Corrine? Only, in her case, he ould be more merciful, and her sufferings . as prolonged. Her pulse seemed to grow inter; there was a ringing in her ear that <0 owned all external sounds. All the outer , orld seemed far, far distant from her. ^ She heard not a ring at the street-bell or ^ eps on the stairway, and presently a sharp ,p at the door caused her to start up in an ag- ^ iy of nervous excitement. The knock was peated, and struggling to her feet, she was inscious only that the door had opened. Her ai ?ad swam, her vision was clouded; she made r le step forward, and with a faint cry, fell )wn sorrowing at the feet of some one who th id; just entered. 0I When Rose recovered her Benses she was ing en the sofa; a fan was waving over her ga ?d; her hands and face were wet with eau n( 5 cologne; and bending over her, with an ^ :pres8ion of the most earnest solicitude on ^ s face, was Louis Velmonte. "Are you better ?" he asked, as her eyes ^ velt wonderiogly on his features. For ahfcwer Ro3e breathed a deep sigh. Wlrere is Helen ?" she asked. m "I don't know," he said, looking troubled. (M STo one seems to be at borne. I rang : the ^ ill, and called for help as loudly as I could, ~ it no one came; so I raised the window and iokoned to the druggist's boy opposite, who rought some sal volatile and cologne water, fear you are very uncomfortable." "I fainted then," she said, without noticing of is lost remark. "Oh ! yes, IJreraembernow. ^ hank yon, Mr. Velfaontei" And she tried ^ > raise herself on her elbow. , "There, please don't," he urged gently. ai You are very weak, you see, and ought not fc > exert yourself. Shall I go home now, or hi iay I stay?" "" tc "Stay, if you wish'," she said languidly, losing her eyes, as though his presence there ^ ere a matter of perfect indifference to her. $ "in fact,"?he hesitated, "I?I don't likfc*^ > leave you aftd?ahd I won't; so there." Bf .nd he resolutely drew a chair up to the side 111 f the sofa. * "Do you feel well enough to talk ?" "Yes; I suppose so," she answered. tl "What brought you to this weak coudi- I on?was it the same old sprain ?" "I suppose so." , "I thought you must be well by now; I have ^ ot been here for such a long time." V( "Why do you come at all?" kj Involuntarily the words escaped her, and ie tone in which they were uttered was sharp hi nd fiill of bitterness. 1 - - . R "Because I could not keep away any Ion- j er," he answered with perfect truth. ! "Rose; why are you so cruel to me?.'' h, "I?cruel?to you f" . - ; i . tl His eyes looked down full intp hers, and in & leir olear violet depths he read all the histo- c{ f of the past week. . > * "Can it be true; did you regret my ab- ^ mce?" he asked, in a low voice, tremulous ^ ith emotion. "Am I so blessed ? Rose, t? lose, do you ;love me?" . -ir He passed his arm around her recumbent ci >rm and idrew her drooping head upon his 8' loulder. But Rose, with sudden and deserate energy, struggled herself free, and sitng bolt upright, confronted him with flash)g eyes. i . . .. |S "How dare you approach me thus?" she i h ried; "how dare you insult.me with your ca- j * esses?you, the betrothed of another ?" ? "Good God ! who told you such' a thing ?" ] e exclaimed, aghast. *'1 believed you suffi- ^ iently far removed from the world of petty li ossip and small talk to be beyond the reach si iippers and threw myself on tne oea lor a hort nap. I had scarcely composed myselfj rhen Isaac, whom you knew well as my bilard maker, came rushing into ray room and rid to me: "Mr. Nickerson, you had bettei f those absurd and* wholly unfounded reorts which, originating in, and circulated by oopty pates, are always current in certain dries." iT. ,i "You thought, perhaps," she ^tid in a tone t withering sarcasm, "that I was too far reloved from thef World to know its customs and pinions, and that you might* with safety, ike advantage of my inexperience." "By Heaven! you wrong me, Rose," he ridl. ' SI swear to you, solemnly, that I have - - - ? . i :x ever pledged my laitn to any woman, auu u ou refuse to bear me now, I Bhall live a ichelor to my dying day. Hush J for God's ike%don't speak yet; only reflect an instant-y aly think of what you do. If you forbid le^tdHope now, it will not be ipy life alone latyoti blast. Rose, let me look into your fes. I know you better than you know your(If; and if you make me wretched, yon will ^scarcely less unhappy yourself. Oh LRose, ^pe^^ee^ray beautiful, my darling, speak (PWky tfeat I may one day call yob mine, icfyour happiness shall be the study of my holtflftfc.' Rose, Rose!" He had sunk on one knee beside the sofa, ill possessing himself of one of her hands, is eyes glowing the while with passionate ihdentess, were lifted to hers; The citadel in which her great love lay hid3ii was assaulted and carried by storm. The rorig walls of her self-command and concealent fdll down as though they had been card ias&; and-the tedre that had lain so many iys coiigealing rotind her heart welled up to Tier eyes. Oh! potent love! ehild of the niftiest ages, how imperishable is the sway! Lbhis knew then that he had won the day. ieirose, placed himself beside her, and clasped srtb his heart Her beauteous head droop1 on his breast; his lips sought her again id' again) arid she, who ;for more than a eek,in hef'ferk,'despdir?iig sorrow, had ntred dot one! rib^n; Ti6tyIdy?n his arms and bbedfi^'flJ^; tM (ihiW ' ? The and had'stitik:to l^t, and the twilight ithered over earth and Sky e'er he rose to go. *ke clasped her hand in parting, he drew a atobiff ring from his third fiDger, and plang^ifcbfi hers, whispered, "As sacred as the airiage seal let it be; my darliDg, my love, ylnfeithht will be Soon.ToMtaorrow I will e your bahents. I am not sufficiently; com)sed now^'kr^FT want to think over my eafthappinesi alpde.11 And you must take me rest, my oWn darling." Then He pressed upon her rosy mouth one rolonged fci&s, m which it seemed as though ieir lipa;would; melt together, and In an inant was gone, ' " ' Scarcely had; the street-door closed upon Im, when Mrs. Livingston and Helen enter1 from Another direction. They found the irlor vacant;far*Rose Had gone to her room, lie was delighted for an opportunity to obey imyeven in a'trifle; and, besides, she really leded quiet, darkness and repose. ten }&ter, Helen bought her up some e confided her great happiness to her | 7 r * , i Helen did not seem to participate in it. ! child, child," she said in a tone of sinay, "My precious Rose, I can't help wishg that you had never met Louis Velmonte." "Helen, Helen, you are cruel," said Rose. Yhen I did not mourn unto you, you wept; it now that I pipe unto you, you do not mce. He loves me Helen, and that is all iat I desire on earth." "!kose, petite, he will never make you I would ritther be unhappy with m than happy with another. Dpn't say ivthing'more dbout it, Helen, please," said d&, a little petulantly. "You cannot syqiitliize with me; therefore, you had better let ie matter rest." And she turned and pouted 1 her pillow. -will, then, if you desire it," said Helen, dly; "but'believe me, little one, you will jyer fipd any one to love you half as much i jtfUir sister; and my love you shall always lye." i?rood-night! I want to sleep," said Rose, infl \T ^Good-night! my poor darling." [to be continued.] i,' . :jj. . patrllatwims ?r?ding. From Uic Atlanta Plantation. SHE BURNING OF~ COLUMBIA, S. C. who did it? A few weeks ago I saw the announcement ' the sudden death of Mr. T. S. Nickerson, ie former proprietor of Nickerson's Hotel, at olumbia, 6. u., and more recently in charge : the Screven House, Savannah. I saw this 3ws with regret, as he was a warm-hearted, niable, and benevolent mpn, and his aptitude ?rhis profession was remarkable. I have sard it said that there were more men born > make good Presidents of the United States, ian there were to be good hotel keepers. Mr. ickerson certainly was one. During the it he kept the best house in the Confederate tates, and although he was known to be a MjfjpriTyet, his uniform kindness to our ITSalrs made him very popular. He accumlated an independent fortune, much of hich was invested in his hotel. When Sherian was at Dal ton, I happened to be in Coimbia, and Mr. Nickerson asked me if I lought Sherman would ever reach Atlanta ? replied, Yes. He then said : "Do you think he will get to Columbia?" I replied: "If he ever passes Kennesaw fountain, he will sweep over the country like ie waters of a mill-dam broke loose, and the 2ry point he will make for will be Ltolnmia." At this Mr. Nickson looked concerned, and b asked me, in a very earnest manner, what would advise him to do in such an event aid I: "When Sherman gets here, make friends of le mammon of unrighteousness; place your oases, your horses, your wines, and everyting else that you have at his disposal and ik him to protect you. This is the only lurse for you to pursue. This may save you; know of nothing else." In due time Sherman reached Columbia; le city was sacked and burned, and NickerinjJike every body else, lost all he had. Afsr the surrender, at Charlotte, I was returnig home, and in passing through Columbia, illed on Nickerson. He was living in a nail house on the outskirts of what was once le city. He looked haggard, and I may allost say despairing. After bidding me welome, he said: "Well, Colonel, I took your advice. When herman got here, I turned over all I had to im and his stall; i wore niyseir aown in aitiog on thein, and at 8 o'clock, in the vening I went to my room and put on my get Mrs. Nickerson outrof thip hotel, they are going to btiiii this'toWA at So'doikf' He says he was so beWiktortd/that he simply remarked : 4,Great God, nol" "Yes they are^" said Isaac, "because I heard General Barnes and the officers say that the fire would commence at 9 o'clock, while I was waiting on them at supper." Nickerson said the boy's manner was so earnest, and his expression so _ indicative, or alarm, thai'; he rushed down stairs,^nd as. hft approached the office, he saw the staff officers | examining hishorse blankets. "Great heavens, gentlemen, what does i^iis mean ft- } sneeringreplieU: "Wejilat tbQUgUi; we ipopia appropriate these, as you, will not need them anymore.1' He then went'to'Gen. Barpea And begged him to save his,house, which he agreed to do, and ordered a detachment of .men to be in readiness. Nicketton then.commend to collect all the blanket* and had them saturated, and even procured anenwine.5- 1 Sure enough,'at 9 o.'olock, the rockets went' up and in ten minutes the whole city was in flames, apd thousands of poor wonjgn and ckil* < dren were running to awtiK^.sln^B>kiBgf|P9d' screamiug in despair. and alarm. ; Nickeraon succeeded in preventing^? flames, from/eaching his house for son^time, until n> hand: of soldiers came rushing inio-th? houseand called for him to bring out a> Confederate flag, which they had 'beard he bad. ! *Rrmgit hut, *dM^n you, or we:will murder you." He brought: it ; out, and. they tramped it under foot and then proceeded to cut the hose and fire his house. He said: "In ten minutes more I was a ruined man. I stood bewildered Afcd! bfokeri spirited^ lobkingupon tbeobarred'raineBof all that was left me of a long life of .energy and toil" And yet Sherman.says Hampton burned Columbia! . > A. j/B. A. A* t A QUEER ^tttfarrr. sevelf thousand men and no wompn?a stfltth'l'v masculine arrangement. A correspondent of thd 'Boston Congregationahst has discovered' coromiitiity numbering at present about seven thOireand souls, which . has flourished' for many centuries, though no, woman. has .ever been permitted or known to set loot in the country. Pew of the inhabitants,, he snys^hqye any definite Idea of what a woroah is. Ifre whcfe class of ideas and sensations ordinarily associated With the words mother, sister, wife and sweetheart, are to them unknown, and, what is equalising* ular, crime is also, unknown* or nearly!; so, while on every side are t? he Seen evidences of temperance, piety, and good order. 'What Anthony, Stanton, Woodhull: 4 Company will say to this moat outrageous,, diabolical: state of things,-must be left tathe imaginations We. can only repeat the account- asiwegotri^i and w,iU leave the destroying of the common^ 3 ..m ty 10 me wrongea sunragtew. . mi-./ The home of thja eeoeniriq .bnt happy peo? pie is in the Easternmost of >the three penin-< aulas, which projectl from the North coast of the yGreek Archipelago.. It was anoiehtly called Acte, now Monte Banoto, and is about forty miles in .length, and> from two to-nine miles across. It terminates in Mount Aihos, a conical mass of limestone rising abruptly to a height pf six thousand five hundred feet. ' ^etyveenithiB bold headland and the coast ifr.a^ beautiful plateau, clothed throughout with.': woodland, which is gay with'flowers, ricb witb odors, merry with song-birds, and canopied by die brightest of,all bloeekies. cnfeWntea fields are all diversified with groves of oak and chesuut, while olive and fig trees are there indigenous. To this secret paradise the sons, but not the daughters of Eve are admitted, and such has been the custom as far back as history reaches, the peninsula being religiously guarded at all points against the approach of woman, no matter how saintly she might be. ! The territory has been consecrated to a monastic confederation of Greek Christians. They have twenty-three con'vbflta and on the lull-sides and all through the defiles and ravines are scattered innumerable crosses and retreats, cells and hermitages. Though these conventual house are bound together, by the: tie of religious seclusion, the history of each is independent. Two of these monasteries claim Constaritine as their founder, two others the Empress Pulcheria. Not one of the twhnty^ three dates its foundation later than the twelfth century. These fraternities had the prudence to submit to Mohammed II., prior to the fall of Constantinople, and received from him a promise of protection, which has been respected ever' since. Though the domain is part of the Turkish Empire, not a rod of it is claimed in property by the Sultan, or a Mussulman subject. An annual tribute of $7,500 is paid by <he peninsula, toward which i the different societies contribute their- share anrnrdinc t/> an aaaaftamant daterimned hv their representatives. Each convent sen^s a deputy to a diet, which manages general' interests, and holds its sittings at Kayars, a small town occupied by carvers of crosses, and the residence of a solitary Turkish official who collects the revenue. The inmates are natives of every part of the Turkish Empire where the Greek language is spoken, and are consigned to the societies either in infancy or in early life by their fanatical parents. Th% first years are spent in tilling the land, tending the vines, helping in the housework, or engaging in some handicraft. For three years the candidate is a probationer; then, if he has proved able to keep the monastic vows, he receives his first tonsure and becomes a monk. The discipline is severe, ordinary church services seven hours a day, extraordinary fourteen, and sleep'tive. One hundred and fifty-nine days in the year they have one meal only a day, and at this eggs, cheese, fish, wine and oil are forbidden. The prohibition against women extends to ' the sex universally. From time immemorial no cow, mare, goose, duck, hen, or female of any kind, Has ever been permitted to make acquaintance with hill or valley, farm-yard, or kitchen, in the Mt. Athos territory. In selecting meat for the table the greatest care is taken to have it of the male variety, and a body of soldiers is employed by the societies to keep the sacred shores from being desecrated by the tread of any female whatsoever. Yet, in spite of all these stringent regulations, the birds continue to mate, and feminine fieaa and mosquitoes to rear their yonng, to-the everlasting scandal of all the pious old bachelors on the peninsula. , There are in the. convents some good libraries^ .cojitaioipg about fifty ' thousand volumes in all, and manuscripts seven hundred vears old are bv ho means un coiiimon. Altogether, these venerable ipale nuns have a jolly time of it. The Fiest Saw Mllli?The oldpracbice in making boards was to split, up the logs with wedges; and inconvenient as.the practice wafi,: it was no easy matter to persuade ^ ,,worla that the thing could be done in any better way. Saw-mills were first used in Ed tope in the fifteenth century, but so lately as 1555, an Ambassador, having saw a saw-mill in j France, thought it,a novelty which required a I particular description. An aversion to 1^i bor-saving machinery has always agitated 1 England. The first saw-mill was established . i T\ i 1 + nAti ? ? / x I dy a .uuicnman, in 1000; duc me puuuu uutcry against the new-fangled machine was so , j violent, that the proprietor was forced to dei camp with more expedition than ever did Dutchman before. The evil was thua kept . out of England for several years, or at least , generations; but in 1767; an unlucky tim ber merchant, hoping that after so long a 1 time, the public would be less watchful of its interests, made a rash attempt to construct another qrilli The guards.><$ the, public welfare, however, ware on % ^.anda, conscientious mob at once coUeotedp?^,pulled the nii^fn pieces. THE EIACE of em'iipg strafcERMR. It hag been popularly reported tfiut the first interview Detween the two commanders took place under ail apple tree, which baa consequently been crowned with historic agt sociations. This is false. The facfis, thai on the morning of the 9th of April, Gen. 1^ with a single member pf his staff, was resting under an apple tree, when Gen. Babcocfc, of, <^en Grant's staff, rode up under a flag of. truce, saying that ifGmX^"remaijiea wbeca. was the only interview under or near the apple tree; and it may be mentioned here that the following day Cot Marsh all, who attended Gen. Lee on the occasion, was surmyd to find Federal soldien hacking at the tree, and was amused at their idea of obtaining from it CobneTfiticfaJ5t house for the interview. Colonel Marshall applied to-the first Witban hfcAA&i 'Mr. Wilmer McLean, and was directed to a house vacant and dismantled'' fib -refused to use it, and Mr. McLean then offered to conduct him and theOeneral to his own house, a comfortable farm-house, with a long portico and convenient sitting-room, furnished after the bare style of (be times. The house was about half a milh distant from Gen'. i IieeV camp; The Confederate commander was attended only by one of his aidiXlolopel Marshall, a youthful, boyish-looking scion'of the old and illustrious Marshall family of Virginia, who had been the constant companion of Gen. Lee in all bb campaigns, and as bis ]>rivate Secretary. had done good literary service inthe preparations oif the reports of battles, etc., which j are now historical Wifh flrtml. tVippp wore several of his staff officers,1 and a number of federal generals, in-: eluding 0*d and Sheridan, ftbo entered the room, and joibed' in the slight; genera) conversation that toofc place. The interview opened without the least ceremony. The atory has been frequently repeated, that Gen. Lee :tendered his sword, and that Gen. Grant returned it with a complimentary remark. . There was on snch absurdity. (Ten. Lee wore his sword (which was not his usual habit,) and upon the exchange of salutations, Gen. Grant remarked, "1 must apologize, General, for not wearing nav iwordipit/had gone off in my baggage when I received your note." . Gep. Lee bowed^and at on'ce, and without further conversation, asked that Gfn. Grant would state, in writing if he preferred it, the terms on which he would receive the surrender of the Arnraqfiljfaithorp .Virginia. Gen. Grant (Complied, by sitting at a table in the room,.and writing with a common lead-pencil thVnbte so well remembered.? Old and New, forAwftuL w!-. i r-?Wrti ? ' LOVE. A well known authoress says: "Many wo-* men suppose that they love their* husbands^ when, unfortunately, they have not the beginning of an , idea what love is. Let me explain it to. yon, my dear lady. Loving to be admired by a man, loving -to be petted by him, loving to beoareseed by bib^and loving to be I tS^ma^Sew^n^a woman SLr no power of I i?.* . _ii it. ii i :?1? iuving at un?Lucy uiay aix ucoiuipiv ucvauoc she loves herself, fovea to be flattered, praised, caressed, coaxed, as a cat likes to be coaxed and stroked and fed with cream, and have a warm corner. But all this is not love. It may exist, to be sure, where there is love; : generally does. But it may also exist where there is no love. Love, my dear ladies, is self-sacrifice; it is a life out of self and in another. Its very essence is the preferring of the comfort, the ease, the wishes of another to one's own, for the love we bear them. Love is giving and not receiving. Love is not a sheet of blotting paper or a sponge sucking in ev-rything to itself; it is an outpouring fountain, giving from itself. Love s motto has been dropped in this'world as a chance gem of great price by the loveliest, the fairest, the purest, the strongest of lovers that ever trod this mortal earth, of whom, it is recorded that be said, "It is more blessed to give than receive." Now in love there are ten receivers to one give*, i There are ten persons-in'this world who like to be loved, where there is one who knows how to love. That, Oh! ray dear ladlep, is a nobler attainment than all your French, and music, and dancing. You may lose the very power of it by smothering. it under a load of early self-indulgence. By .diving just as you are all wanting to live?living to be pitted, to be flattered, to be admired, to be praised, to have your pwn way, and to do that which is easy and agreeable?you may lose the power of self-denial and seff-sacrince; you may lose the power of loving nobly and wortbily.and become a mere -sheet of blotting paper all your life. How to Rube a Husband.?Above all things, if a wife wishes to make home attractive to her mate let her keep a sharp eye on the cook; nothing makes a male creature more discontented with his house than had dinners, ill-served; if there is anything that will make him swear (and there generally is, my dear young lady, although his temper seemed so angdie; when he .was a .wooing,; it is a cold , plate with hot meat, or a hot one with cheese. Neglect of this sort is unpardonable. Again, it may not be possible to five dainties, out it is easy to avoid, monotony y a careftil'study of the cookery-book; and it is quite astonishing how the monster man can be subjugated and aasuaged.by a judicious v&riatien of his meals. The creature may be allegorically pictured lightly led by a fair lady with a wedding ring through his palate. Indeed, there are a thousand ways to lead him, if women would show a little tact, with which they aw so faliely eredited. Opposition, (Motradictiony makes him furious; he Btampa, he roars, and becomes altogether dangerous Whereas, treat him tenderly, 0, wife, and you shall wind him round your marriage finger. I have seen wives miss their chance of gaining what they have set their eyes on a thousand times through sheer stupidity ; they know that a certain line of con| duct is sure to anger him, and yet they wil fully pursue it, when smooth and easy victory awaits them in another direction. Tact! Such women, I say, have not even instinct. Birds of paradise, for instance (potto be rude,) would act in a more sagacious manner.? Chamber's. Journal, . Truthfulness at Homje.?Of all happy households that is the happiest where falsehood is peyer thoygty of, . All peach is broken up when once it appears there is a liar in the house. All comfort is gone when suspicion has once entered?when there must be reserve in talkand reservation' in belief. Anxious parents,:Who are aware of the pains of suspicion, .will place general coqhaence in tUrni. nliiUmn on/? ranfiiira whflf fVlAV Hfl.V WUWI VUUU1V11) MUU 4WVI1V ii^lfv -mwj ^ freely, unless there is strong reason to distrust the truth of any one. If such an occasion shonld unhappily arise, they muBt keep the suspicion from spreading as long as possible, and avoid disgracing their poor child while there is ohance of its cure.by their confidential .assistance. He shquld. have their pity and assiduous help, as if he were suffering under some hodily disorder. If he can be cured he will become duly grateful for the treatment. If the endeavor fiiil, means must of course be taken to prevent his example from doing harm, and then, as "I satid,: the family peace is broken op, because the family; confidenceia gone. I fear that, from some cause or another, there are bat few large'families where every member is altogether truthfal. But whei? all are so organwd and- so trained as to be wholly reliable in act and-word, they are a light to all eyes and a joy to afy'hearts. They are public benefits, because they are a point of general reliance; and they are privately blessed within and without Without tneirJUie is maueeasyi ?y umrecMu wi?Y wu within theirhome and their hOtcts they! have thpaeouxityrif . rectitude and the gkrifieee of innooence;? ?<*?*?<, Martinaou. ?rn . ?- . . . ?.M? fc. *?>!; ..An AwyMA^ou, groaY.?AjflOBthtf-n correspond en tflof the New York. Jc&meU of ComWee writes"A young Englishman, repres^ting a Birmingham Hardware house, owning the Mobile branch, started out with two friend* op a fishing and hunting expedition on the bay, very near Mobile In the course of the day they saw an immense alligator sunaim himself on a log. One of the Dartw'shot m^^ptneTETougii where the brain oiight tT~" be^and it rolled oyer ah if dead. The, merchant iiwiftecl, upon, taking it homp,;io "stuff you hnofe .^d 8#id it to England!" Thpy managed, after considerable effort, to roll; it into,the boat, .and although the boat- was fif-. teen feel long, the alligator waa.a.lictle longer. The Englishman sat jastrijie.of, tif, ^oj$y and started .cornpanions that he wquld make themopep their eyes in MpHjle and Birmingham, at, the sight! of such a monster. Mfe^p'tinie the (alligator slowly recovered from' bis stupor' occasioned by the buljfetin His brain, li$ed his head, took a survev of the situation, opened his jaws and madeatreat for his captor. Quickly sezing a spread umbrella from the band of a companion he thi^ it into the month of his prize. The alligator became frightened and gracefully slid overboard, nearly 'upsetting the boat . When asked to go alligator' bunting fbemerchktitrpersists in answering' that he hhs nbt lost any alligator?." Ft: :1 II .. :t- -6w?i HowCobJks ?&e hfade.?Cork is received from Spain and Portugal in the form of slabs, a few feet, in length'/ sortie of w^iph fre over two'inches thick Ahd a foot or morp! wide. The slabs are sliced up into square pieces by . a circular SAw. Instead of teethi at the periphery, the circular blade is ground to a thin, Sharp d<Jge, which Will Wt siabe of cork; without removing a* kerf, fester :thatr a saw will cdfr-'plahtntito piece# -of eijiial ;sfee.:' T&e, square pieces krfe theri1 held by the b^Ads of boVs in' ak&d oflatfre,t0 8hcn'ap6sition that the sharp m thin'Wtrf tfhiillow^ mandrisl [ will Atrtl perfectly ifoMJ cork fn ahim' stanti' Mandrel? *df varibussize#!are emblbyi' ed- to ctrt* "com of the desirw1 size. Each cork is'then pladed by little fingert' in corresponding recesses, in a feed wheel! of1 Sh Automatic machine, where YthA corks are tiered by the removal^of Af tWh' AhAving' feeid'the periphery of oaie end. 'The shaving fe amoved by the sharp edge of a circular cutter over two feet in diameter, which reVolves horizontally, The edge- of every instrument that [Outs cork is brought in contact with material to* be out with a very drawing stroke, as such a spongy material oould not be cut satisfactorily by a< crushing stroke. Thick slabs of cork are out into large corks, while the thin ones are worked into corks of a corresponding sjze. . ; k ? ; Dyspepsia and its Remedies.?Dr. A. O'Leary lectured recently at Cooper institute, New York, on "Dyspepsia." Indications of disturbance of the stomach are, hesaid, caused by the fermentation of food. No one should eat cabbage boiled with meat, or onions with steaks, as they create biliousness.- Cabbage is one of the best articles of food when it is cooked properly. .It should be boiled in pure water, Asa cure fot.dyspepsia-he recommends a teaspoonful of carbonate of soda, which. neutralizes dhe acid in the stomach. The causes of dyspepsia are the-usBiof batter, grease, gravy, and eating -too hastily. Dyspepsia does not. come from large'eating. Those afflicted with it should take a short stop after dinner. The liver has much todo^ith dyspepsia. Whenever the white of (the eye.shows a yellow tinge, it pr^eeds from>the liver;'tenderness in the pit of the stomach is an indir cation of ta diseased.liger. A slight pain uiv der the right ,Tibs, find back of -the shoulder blade, also proceeds from the liver. Those that are prone to this:diseascshould not sleep too much, or enjoy too much heat?too much heat tends to enlarge the; liyer. j Fruit : and vegetable diet is the best that can be adopted, but persons of a weak constitution should add to it meat once a day, but not oftener, and bread if properly made. Persons affliMaA Wifli dvonanaia ahrtnlrl nnt llflP Ofllo A11VWU T? A HU V>JUlfVl'VkW mm** m ? met r*Z>l .'i How to Cure Stammering.?Lute A. Taylor, editor of the Lacrosse (Wis.) Leader, who has been an inveterate stammerer, writes as follows about the way to cure the habit: "No stammering person ever found any difficulty' in singing. The treason of this is, that by observing the measure \ of .the music?by keeping time?the organs of speech are kept in such position that enunciation 1b easy. Apply the same rule to reading or speech, and the same result will follow. Let the'stammerer take a sentence, say this one, 'Leander swam the Hellespont,'and. pronounce it by syllables, scan it, keeping time with his finger, if necessary, letting pach syl^hje occupy the same'tiine,thus, T*e?an?der?swam?the? Hel?lea?pont,' and he will not stammer. Let him pronounce slowly at first, then faster, but still keeping time, keeping time with words instead of syJlableSxjanaJie willjbe^uift to find that, by very little practice, he will read without stammering, and nearly as rapidly as persons ordinarily talk or rega. Then practice this in reading and conversation until the habit is broken up. .Perseverance and attention is all that is necessary to perform a perfect cure.": Beyond Per Cent.?General Craft, one of our prominent lawyers, was bailed, while passing IVfeeman's jewelry store, by the proprietor, with. "General.1 come in here a mo ment; we have somethifag for you to solve. If a man brings his watch to be fi*?d, and it coste me ten cents to do it, and I keep it a week, and chaise him six dollars, what per cent do I make? We have been figuring, and make it nine hundred per cent, and have only got up to one dollar. ;How much do you say it will be at six dollars," "Well," replied the general, "I do not wonder at your perplexity; for it is well known, and the celebrated Babbit calculating machine has demonstrated, that at certain points in progressive numbers the law 'governing them changes. In. this case the law would change, and long before it would reaohthO six dollars it would run out of per cent and get into what is known as larceny /"?Harper's Magazine:-' I Q f ' I ?C ,/? ?tj / SunPrihtikg on Fboit.-?Boys and girls 1 if you wish to astonish any membere or the family or any coming guests, by some day allowing them to discover then? initials 'heatly printed on a pear, peach, or apple, as it hangs on its branch, this is the way* to carry out your plan: Just before the fruit ripens cut the desired letters from a sheet of thin, tough paper,, and paste them on the side of the fruit most exposed to the sun. When, in course of time, you remove the paper from the ripe surface, you will find tne letters aistujcuy marked upon iJ. There are other -ways of printing fruit, but this is the most simple.^ 1 . , Hearth and Home.