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TjEwisj m. c-4-rtis'r, An Jnbcprnbcnf jfiinuljj |tcfospapcr: Jfor tljc promotion; of tljc political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests-of fjtc Soutjr. |TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 19. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1873. NO. 45. Ilic .Item) idler. THE CARNELIAN CROSS. Henri Cardone was a young French artist of distinguished promise. His neat little domicile and his pretty little wife were situa-! ted in suburban Paris. One early twilight in , the month of November of a certain year, as he entered his home, his wife ran unto him, twined her plump arms around his neck, be- i stowing a full blown kiss upon his responsive lips, and immediately exclaimed, "Oh ! dear Henri! I had such a surprise, such an odd visitor, this afternoon?a man with such an inexplicable fancy that I have been waiting ! these two hours for your arrival, and (bestowing a playful cut thereupon) your cars." "And the ears have arrived, Irene, my pet. j I suppose your merry tongue will rattle away j as merrily as a newly wound up music-box ; and, once started, I shall not have an oppor-1 tunity to put in a word edgewise until you have run down completely. But for this odd man, with the 'inexplicable fancy.' Did he, utterly regardless of the divine set of his I trousers, go down upon his knees and beseech j of you to lly with him to some intensely rural retreat, there to subsist upon moonshine and \ his adorable moustache? And was it his inexplicable fancy that you should be aceompa nied by such little articles of available value as this poor hovel might afford ? Or, was he a wandering gypsy lord, who predicted that you were to be the queen of all proud France, t instead of one humble French heart? And: did he, just as he was about to surround your J august brow with the imperial crown, sudden- \ ly suspend it and take an inexplicable fancy j to have his dirty palm first crossed with a j crown of silver ? Or ?" "There, there, do cease your badinage," j said the pouting little woman, stamping her small foot impatiently. "You will never be- j come wise listening to your own wisdom." "Nor weary listening to yours, my charm- j ing sage," laughed the voluble Iienri, caressing her soft, brown hair fondly; proceed?! from this on I am all ears." "Well, let all ears listen. At about three ' o'clock this afternoon, as I was sitting intent upon taking the fiuest possible stitches in the | border of your fiuest cambric, there came a , sharp rap at the door. I hastened, opened it, and found myself face to face with a man of middle age, who bowed politely and inquired if he were on the Kue de Chalons. On being j informed that he was, he thanked me very af-1 fably, and was turning to depart, when his ! glance chanced to fall on this little carnelian j cross, which then, as now, was lying on my j bosom. He stopped short, gazed fixedly at. it, as though it possessed some terrible fasci-; nation, turned first deadly pale, then livid purple, and in a hoarse whisper articulated, i 'Madame, you will pardon me, for it is no or-j dinary curiosity that prompts the question,! but might I venture to ask how that trinket,' j nninting a trembling finger at the cross, 'came into your possession?under what circumstances?'"" "Well," queried Henri, in a low, interested tone, "what was my little wife's reply?" "Your little wife told him, sir, that it was i a present from her husband, and that it had been in her possession about four years. How or where you came by it, she could not inform him." "Theu he departed satisfied ?" "No, indeed." "Then he inquired your name, age, and profession ?" "Did he? I do not know whether I ought. to feel complimented or insulted. Did you tell him?" "I hesitated, and told him." "I wish you had not hesitated, and then not told him. Something of moment may grow out of this curiosity. But it will not matter. Then he departed?" "No; he stood absorbed in troubled thought a few minutes, as though weighing a deep problem, aud then said he had taken a very ' strong and eccentric fancy for the trinket, and asked if I would for a consideration part with it." "What was your reply to that very busi-! ness-like proposition ?" "That, being your gift, I should much dis-1 like to let it go." "Of course, that must have terminated the j conversation." "Of course, but it did not, though. It bo-j came more pointed than over." "Well, well, I am eager to learn the de- j nouement," said Henri. "If I am not at fault I in my surmises, something will shortly grow i ^ out of this affair that will interest a yery wide j circle. Give me the exact particulars. What j followed ?" "He said he was wealthy and did not value ! money ; and that he had conceived so strong a desire to possess the cross that, wild as the if-.. ?:-i-L i._ ?.1.1 ?t oner miguu seem, no \>utuu inn> ucmm i giving 500 francs for it." "Five hundred, purlieu ! The trinket is' not worth five francs," said Ilenri, excitedly. "The man is a lunatic." "I told the man that the offer was very tempting, but that I could not possibly accept it without first consulting you." "That was a noble reply, my darling," said Ilenri, drawing his wife close to his side, be- ' stowing on her an eloquent glance and sever- ' al passionate kisse.s. "Hereafter I shall con-j sider you cheap at 50,000 francs! What said old Croesus to your priceless answer ?" "At first he appeared much discomfited. After a little while he said he was going into j the country to remain a week ; and that he j should return this way, aud if in the mean- 1 time I gained your consent, or concluded to \ part with the cross without it, he would make good his offer. And then he bade me a re-' luctant adieu, went to a post-chaise that was 1 waiting in the road, got in, and drove off rap-! idly toward Chalons." "Finally we have the finale of act first," remarked Henri. "Yes," responded the musing Irene, toying with the object of so much discussion, which was in reality of but little intrinsic value, and in no way remarkable, excepting from peculiarity of design. It was of a clear, bloodred carnclian, the upright pillar being carved to represent a descending arrow, and the crosspiece a very fine wrought imitation of wings. " What attraction this bit of a thing, which,1 aside from being your 'gift, I look upon as worthless, can possess to render it so exceediugly precious in the eyes of the man, I can-1 not conjecture," continued the puzzled Irene. "I think I can furnish you with a clue to ?i. ~ r..tnvironrilinflri' infprnst." IUC JUUIJUtHIUU VI lino vavi ??v. ... , ^ remark Henri. "What was his general appearance ? That of a coarse, ill-bred person ?" "Far from that. He was quite tall, not over fleshy, well dressed, and refined in bearing and language. His countenance betokened much illness at some early period of his life or excessive dissipation." "Should your cross-enamored friend call again, and I should much doubt if lie ever does," said Henri, "I am the person with whom he must deal." "Why with you, dear?" "Because the object he is so extremely solicitous to possess has a mysterious history known only to myself." "And that same mysterious history affords a key to the solution of the seemingly insane offer of five hundred francs?" "I apprehend such to be the case. That cross was found upon a spot where, but a few days previously, a revolting crime had been committed. If my surmises are correct, this strange visitor of yours was the author of that i crime. Ifso. he and that little roil cross are old acquaintances, and lie would readily sacriliee several times the five hundred francs to compass its possession. Why ? Simply hecause so long as it remains in other hands 1 than his own, lie is painfully conscious that it may at any moment rise up in judgment before him, and cost him the more irreparable sacrifice of his head." "And you have kept all this dark mystery from me," complained Irene. "I have, but will 110 longer. I have refrained from making you acquainted with the j circumstances that are associated with my i finding of the trinket solely from a fear that the knowledge might cause you to conceive a morbid dislike to it, and, as it is really a pretty toy, I like to see you wear it. And now for the mystery. Do you remember the murder, six years ago, of a nobleman of the name of Comte de ?St. Armando, in the Hue de Germaine?" "Distinctly," replied Irene. All Paris was thrilled with horror at the mystery and bar* tlw. /lnoft Hut u-hsit Association can this cross have with that dreadful affair?" | "An intimate association. That cross was found by me on the identical spot of the murder, and but three days thereafter. If you will closely examine the underside, you will observe a small drilled hole at each extremity. ! From these holes I am led to infer that it was worn by the unknown assassin 011 the fatal night in question ; and, furthermore, that it was wrenched from its fastening by the hand of the hapless Coinjite in his dying struggle. Naturally enough, it fell to the ground, where ' I found it. To this day, in spite of the super- ! human efforts of a by 110 means obtuse police, and the incentive of a fabulous reward by St. j Ariuande's relatives, the murderer is undis-1 covered, and the whole affair remains wrapped in impenetrable mystery. After all these un- j revealing years, who shall say that the coin- , iug together of this man and the cross is not the working of retributive fate? Too well does the man of inexplicable fancy know that the little toy he so covets is adequate, if it I falls into proper hands, to work the crucifix- : ion of a great scoundrel." "Ugh !" shuddered Irene. "And I have been wearing it all this time, and admiring it, ^ totally ignorant of the terrible thing its blood- j red color symbolizes. I can .vear it no longer. ' Here"?removing from her shrinking neck j the chain by which it was suspended?"I can j now view it with no interest but that of horror ;" and she threw it nervously into her husband's lap. "Why, you little fool!" said Henri, in a jo- ! cose tone, "arc you going to faint? Are you afraid of it? It is just as harmless as it has | been, and just as beautiful." "I do not fear it," replied Irene, shrinking ; from it nevertheless. "I am not that foolish. I But I dislike it. Its innocent charm is lost ' to me forever." After weighing the matter in his mind until the specified week had nearly elapsed, Henri ! suddenly and sagely concluded to acquaint! the prelect of police with the story, in all its j beariugs, real and suppository. That astute j, functionary proved to be an intelligent and j patient listener, and was only too glad to de-! tail two subordinates to further a scheme that promised to result in the capture of the crim* j inal who had succeeded in eluding the pur suit of justice. Early in the morning, a week ' subsequent to that on which the supposed J criminal had called, Ilenri sent Irene into the j city on a visit to some friends, with the ex-1 plicit understanding that she was not to return until he came for her. Following close j upon her departure came the arrival of two j gendarmes, who were forthwith secreted in her ; but recently vacated bedroom, thereafter to : make their reentry in the presence of the cx-! pected stranger or not, as he might or might' not criminate himself in the interview with, Henri. All the preliminary arrangements being made, our artist detective took station at the ! window, and behind his closed blinds became ! a silent and intense watcher. He was a brave ! and resolute man ; but, nevertheless, an occasional misgiving flitted across his mind. The I business before him was of an extremely haz- j ardous nature. Should the supposed crimi- j nal prove to be the real criminal, his capture j would be likely to be preluded by a desperate ' encounter. If fatal, fatal to whom? Henri | thought of this, then of Irene, and closed his : pvm Then the thnimht of the frendarmes in I ' O " - D_ the next room, set his jaw, and in a spirit of grim defiance put all forebodings from him. Morning, noon, afternoon, and evening glided by with no result. Ilcnri yawned with impatient discouragement. His allies took to the bedroom floor and cards early in the forenoon. Hitherto the excitement of the chase had been quite strong enough to sustain Henri's interest. But now would the expected not j come at all ? A brief consultation with the , officers, who adhered to the opinion that he would come, and was much more likely to | make his appearance within the next three hours than at any time previous during the day, especially if he was a rogue, and was not lacking in the usual cunning, braced Henri somewhat. Lighting a lamp for the quondam , gamesters, and another for himself, he camped , on the lounge. He had got but comfortably j settled, however, before a resonant rap on the street door brought him instantly to his feet, j Schooling himself to meet the probable crisis with quiet deliberation, he leisurely proceeded to the door and opened it. From Irene's ' graphic.description he had no difficulty in re- i I cognizing his visitor. The expected man of j t the cross stood before him. IIis heart gave a i tremendous thump against his breast; but his I voice was steady and quiet as he saluted the ;; stranger with "Good evening, sir." j! "Good evening, sir," responded the visitor,! scrutinizing Henri closely. "Is the madame j at home ?" "My wife is the lady to whom you refer, I : presume," said Henri. "She is absent on a 1 visit. Can I serve you in anything? Will ' you not step in, sir?" Henri threw the door j wide open, that the man might sec the room 1 was vacant, and hence might imagine him to ' o o he alone. "Ah ! you are the husband of the lady," re- , tnni-L-o.l t tin utruiwroi' vflvri !l f'tnl- nmriiur in flip iliuinvo v..v ....... ...iv. room, walked in. "I have the honor. Pray be seated." "I will tresspass upon your hospitality but j for a few moments?" i "No trespass, I assure you. Solitude is not the best of companions." Without removing his hat the stranger took f the proffered chair. "I can tarry but a short j time," he said. "Probably your wife has in- j formed you of an oiler she received a week i ago, for a small, fanciful earnelian cross that was in her possession ?" I "Yes, she did mention the matter to me, | and we both wondered at the strange fancy of | the man, and the excessive price he offered." | "Well," replied the stranger, with a forced i laugh, the fancy cannot matter to von ; and as for the price, if you get it, that ought to f satisfy you on that point. 1 am the man, and I renew the offer." "Ah ! No, certainly not, the fancy does not concern us, of course not," and Ilenri eyed1 the stranger keenly. "Hut you know that unusual occ urrences will set the least curious of mortals to surmising." "Of course, of course," said the stranger, j with strong symptoms of uneasiness. "People ' cannot help thinking ; that's what brains were \ made for. Hut to the point; if you still possess the cross, and will exchange it for the! sum offered, that sum is yours. Your answer? You will excuse my seeming abruptness; I : am pressed for time, and cannot dally." "I hold you perfectly excusable," said ; i Henri, drawing the coveted cros3 from his i pocket, and noting the eager flashing of the stranger's eyes as his gaze fell upon it. I)eci-11 ding to thrust the probe home at once, he dc-! s libcratcly added: "Another reason, other i than want of time, may exist to occasion your . I abruptness, my friend?want of confidence." i "What, sir!" ejaculated the man, starting < up in a threatening, and apprehensive way. 1 "Whatdo you mean by that remark ?" "Listen, and I will tell you," replied Henri,' 1 fully convinced that he was on the right track, j1 as his visitor indecisively sat down again. t "Listen, and I will tell you what I mean. 1 This cross, for which you have taken such an , inexplicable fancy, came into my possession I under very peculiar circumstances?circum-1' stances that invest it with extraordinary in-, < tcrest. Pausing a moment to note the effect of Ilis language, Henri fixed his burning eyes ! on the stranger's. Speaking slowly and em-1 plmzing every word, he continued : "I found ' tli is rrnss on the 3d of Januarv, 1810, on the : Rue deGermaine." During the utterance of the concluding 1 words of the above, the countenance of the listening man underwent a most appalling change, and dreadful, indeed, as though he ; had heard the sentence for his immediate ex-! ccution pronounced. The muscles of his face j twitched convulsively, his under-jaw fell, his I eyes rolled convulsively in their sockets as : though following the fantastic evolution ofV some horrid goblin. The paroxysm lasted but for a moment. . By ; a superhuman eflbrt of the will he recovered i his faculties, sprang to his feet, and, with the demoniac fury ofa madman, dashed at Henri,' hissing between his teeth, "Corse you, the tell-! ing of that tale is your death-knell." Just as his muscular hand closed oppres-1 sively on Henri's throat, he was violently j1 jerked backward, and he found himself in the , tenacious clutches of the two gendarmes. "So ho! my fine fellow !" ejaculated one of j the officers. "We arc altogether too deeply j concerned for the future welfare of your soul ( to permit you to perpetrate such a crime, i You have done bad enough to bring you to I1 hanging, and that is quite sufficient for our j purpose." The foiled villain glared suddenly from one ,! to the other, and made no attempt to escape. ' "That is right," remarked the officer who ' spoke before. "Take it easy?shows you to . be a philosopher and a man of common , sense." ( The prisoner coolly folded his arms and j ( stood silent. ' Xfnnsipiirfordone." continued the officer. I "as your friend seems to take kindly our in-1! terl'erence with this little plan to avoid you a j } long resting spell, you will, with equal disin- J terestedness, provide us a rope for his benefit, i, Unluckily, we came from town and forgot to j ( bring the professional bracelets?an uninten- j . tional oversight which, I assure you," address- j j ing the prisoner, "we deplore even more than ( you yourself can. In fact, we were rather ( uncertain of having the pleasure of your ' company on our return." J ( "Nor will you have that pleasure," growled , , the hitherto quiescent captive, suddenly stri- ! i king out with his two powerful arms, upset- j ting the officers, kicking over the table on i ( which stood the light, and leaping out into j j the darkness. As he vanished a bullet hissed i ( by either ear, but lie escaped unhurt. j, The report of the pistols hurried Henri < back iuto the room from which he had gone 11 in quest of a rope. < "Quick !" exclaimed one of the officers. , "The devil has outwitted and escaped us. We ; must be after him at once. It is Leone Breme, i the most reckless and ferocious of the many , cut throats who infested Paris six years ago. , lie most miraculously disappeared about the j ] time of the St. Armando murder, and the do-! | partment had given him up for dead. We < i must not allow him to have his length for a ' moment. Our first move is to lodge informa- < tion at the three heads of the police depart- ] ment. He is an astute dog of infinite re- ] o?,/l tlm urlinln fnt-PA nil flip Spoilt. will I . hardly suffice to capture him." | ] Breme was eventually taken. Butso adroit j I was he that he contrived to remain at large j 1 for three weeks after his escape from Cardonc's j < house. He was tried, condemned and executed for the murder of St. Arraande, several witnesses being found who identified him, and i . testified to having seen fastened to his shirt I bosom, ou the evening of the murder, that < blood-red cross. I Irene was never afterward persuaded to i wear it. It hung over the mantel in her bou-! I doir, and many an evening visitor has been I i beguiled by Henri with a recital of the two : ] dark episodes in its history which are em- ; 1 bodied in this story, and have departed shud- i < dering at the sanguinary hue.* j < ^UscrUanrous ftcatlhuj.j; THE ARREST OE COUNTERFEITERS. | J A correspondent of the New York Herald, ! | writing from Knoxville, Tennessee, under;? date of the 21st ultimo, gives the following j I information concerning the arrest of counter-1( feiters in that locality : 1 The arrest of counterfeiters in this section is being pushed forward by Colonel Whitley's force with unabated vigor. The squad of! Secret Service men and United States Mar-' slmls sent to Union county arrived at May- ! nardsville on Monday about midnight and re-1 ruaincd secreted in the woods about one mile j and a quarter from the place until two of the j Secret Service men, who had been sent for-' ward in advance, should return with informa-' tion as to the exact location of the parties. | Monday being the opening day of the county Court, the accused, seven in number, were all j found to be assembled iu the clerk's office, evidently bent on "making a night of it." j This being ascertained, the squad rode rapid-1 Iv into town and surrounded the building, while two men entered, and, going to the clerk's room, presented their revolvers and informed the party that they were under arrest. The surprise was so great that only one of the prisoners thought of resisting, but he wasspcedily quieted, and the whole party ironed and brought away. They arrived at Knoxville about noon to-day, after a hard ride of nearly \ seventy miles over the roughest kind of mountain roads. As they rode into the city the . streets were lined with a curious crowd, who i followed the prisoners to the United States Marshal's office, and saw them safely lodged, under guard temporarily, until they could nritniivo Ko?1 i n / Info 1111 nf llir-v wpvp to 1 be locked up. When the facts became known j 1 as to who the prisoners really were, the ex-1 ( eitemcnt increased to fever heat. ! < Among the prisoners are A. A. Snodderly,' j ex-United States Commissioner and United I States Revenue Collector, and a Lieutenant; of Tennessee cavalry during the war. He is i at present Clerk of the Circuit Court of Union ,: county and Assistant Postmaster at May nards- f ville. He is an intelligent looking man, of l stalwart proportions and fine physique, not: ( above thirty-five years of age, and is possessed i of considerable wealth. The charge against 1 him is that of dealing in counterfeit fifty cent < Lincoln and Stanton head stamps and SoO counterfeit legal tender notes, series of 1809. j i J. J. Sellers, Justice of the Peace for t Union county, a well-to-do farmer of some 11 means, and a man looked up to among his t neighbors, ns above reproach. He is charged 11 with dealing in counterfeit fifty cent notes of. 1 the Lincoln and Stanton head issues, and 11 dso with selling counterfeit Mexican silver dollars. Nicholas Sharp is a well-to-do farmer, who. Lold the Secret Service officer to whom he sold counterfeit money, that he had been dealing in "queer" thirty-five years and had not been caught yet. lie is over sixty years of lge, and is charged with dealing in fifty dollar counterfeit legal tender notes, series of 18GD, and fifty cent counterfeit stamps. J. M. Myers is a young man of limited experience in the business of counterfeiting, and not being with the party arrested at the Court House, it was necessary to send a Secret Service officer, who knew him, to his house. When the officer rapped at the door, young Myers arose, and, on being told who was there, wanted to know what the matter was. The * ? i 1 1 I otlicer replied mat lie wisncu iu uuy ?ume more "queer." Myers at once came out and actually made a deal with the officer, who paid him marked money and then arrested him. The other prisoners are persons of no special importance. In Granger county, II. G. Short, John Wilson and Thomas McLanahan were arrested. Wilson has formerly been a Justice of the Peace. They are charged with dealing in fifty cent counterfeit notes and $50 counterfeit legal tenders. All of the above named prisoners were brought before United States Commissioner Aiken and held in the sum of 85000 each. Six of them were locked up iu default of bail Three more persons will conclude the number of arrests to he made in the immediate vicinity of Ivnoxvillc. It is supposed these latter will he brought in some time to-night and the Secret Service men engaged here will then leave for North Carolina to assist in completing the arrests there. It is thought here that these operations have struck a blow against counterfeiting in this locality which it will require years to recover. THE BANKRUPT LAW. \ In 1867 the Congress of the United States passed an act providing for a uniform system of bankruptcy throughout the United States, generally known as the bankrupt law. The principal feature of this act was the granting to the debtor a free and full discharge from all his debts except those of a fiduciary character, upon his surrendering to his creditors all his property, to be administered through the bankrupt court. It was made the duty of the bankrupt court to set off to the bankrupt an amount not exceeding $500, and to dis tribute the remainder of bis estate amongst his creditors according to law; aud finally to grant the bankrupt a discharge, which would operate as a legal bar to all debts contracted previous to the filing of the petition for bankruptcy. This act was passed before the reconstruction of the Southern States, and without reference to their interests ; and yet, if it had been the purpose of Congress to provide special relief for the Southern people, after the disastrous results of the war, nothing better than this law could have been devised. Thousands cf our people found themselves suddenly reduced from wealth to poverty, with a debt jpon their shoulders which crushed out all liopc of success for the future. This law came to their relief. It stripped them of their property, it is true, but it wiped out all previous indebtedness, and gave them a clear chart for the future. Many declined to avail themselves of the benefits of this law, because it required them toabandou theexemptionsallowed by our State homestead law. At its last session, however, Congress amended this law, granting to the bankrupt all the exemptions lllowed by the homestead law of the State in which the bankrupt lived, and the original exemption of $500 in addition?so that a discharge in bankruptcy in this State, ns the law now stands, gives the bankrupt a fee simple citle to SI,000 worth of real estate, and SI,000 worth of personal property. Moreover, the Supreme Court of the United States has recently decided that a State can lot pass a homestead law that can shield the property of the debtor against debts contracted previous to the passage of such homestead law That decision rests upon the ground dint the Constitution of the United States forniilc nnv Sfnfp tit nnw nnv ln.iv imnniriinr t.hfi ""J " "" |?? J j o obligation of contracts. The Constitution, however, rloes not forbid Congress to pass any relief law that it may icem proper; and hence, although the State homestead may, and probably will, fail as to old debts, it does not necessarily follow that die exemptions allowed by Congress to bankrupts will also fail. But on the contrary, the Constitution gives the express authority to Congress to pass a bankrupt law, and as Judge Liives says: "It is the essence of a bankrupt law to give exemptions and to grant a disjlmrge. Neither can he done without invaling vested rights, and destroying the obligations of contracts." Chief Justice Chase in delivering a dissenting opinion in the legal tender case says: "It Is true that the Constitution grants authority to pass a bankrupt law ; but our inference is that in this way only can Congress discharge die obligation of contracts. It may provide for iscertaining the inability of debtors to perioral their contracts, and upon the surrender )f all their property may discharge them," 12 Wallace 457.) Justice Fields who also lissented in the legal tender cases, uses simisir language. We think, therefore, if the question is ever jarried before the Supreme Court, the homestead exemptions to bankrupts will be susained. There will be a strong effort made at the lext. session of Congress to repeal this law, md in all probability the effort will succeed, ft will have served its ends so far as the South s concerned, and we see nothing to regret in ts early repeal.? Greenville Republican. Homh Tiiouoiits.?How delightful it is to lave a home, though it he most rude and nimble ! If the occupants are contented and lappy they are much better off than those ,vho live in mansions or ride in carriages for ruin show, and fare sumptuously every day. It is to be admitted that contentment is to ie found in all stations of life, from the man ,vbo earns his bread by the sweat of bis brow .0 the rich banker retiring from business, but inhappiness is also found iu the same walks >f life. Happiness and contentment constitute the rue love of home wherever found. The youth about to enter the duties of life nclines to go out "and see the world." He i -. ? i 1 i^ _r ~:i:_i. ;raveiS until nunareus 01 xuiies intervene ueiwecn liome, him and his native place. All is strange to him and strangers look coldly on lim. Then the feeling for home comes back ,vith all its force, and he is forced to say "if I >nly had a friend to speak to." A letter ;omes from home. How precious tho missive ! Nearer home it would be a trifle. Now, it is jeyond value. Those who have to battle with the world md among strangers to maintain a living hftve i dreary lot. Strangers can be friendly when : Yiendship costs nothing, but who will offer a mine? Not the wealthy, for they look dis-! lainfully upon all such as being beneath their lotice. Who, then ? The person may be lonestand industrious, still the world makes j alculations according to wealth acquired. Go back to the days of childhood. IIow nany of us thought our parents cold, stern md severe! "^he paternal roof was not then ippreciated. It is not only when the cares of he world encircle us, like the fohls cf the am i iconda, that we feel what we have lost. Pa cntal advice went unheeded, but the remem- j nance of its neglect brings, in after years, I the stings of remorse to add its weight to the burden of which presses us down. Oh ! that the past could be recalled ! How different our lives would be. But it cannot be. To i "err is human" and so it will be to the end. j The world moves on. We must fulfill our mission. Let us do the host we can. It is all I we can do. If true love brightens our homes, 1 happiness and contentment will follow. Let * happiness reign in our midst for there is noth-; i ing but what can be comprehended by it. Patience is a great helpmate to those who are doomed to battle with the cares of life, for 1 nothing can be gained suddenly. Whatever our lot in life may be it is the I best always to look on the bright side, because ; it is right. Times may be hard, but it will \ make them no easier to wear a gloomy countenance. "It is the sunshine and not the j cloud that makes the flowers." We do not live to enjoy worldly pleasure alone, and rise i our souls welfare ui the luturc. 1x0. mere is a future and our life here is but the beginning. Then let our thoughts be pure, our ae-1 I tions manly and honest, and we shall have ' happiness in this world and the next. TRAVELING FEMALES. IIOW ONE OF Til KM TORMENTED A MAN. "31. Quod," of the Detroit Free Press, "took | j charge of a lady" on a railroad car the other j : day, and thus details his woes: Perhaps the man meant to do me a favor j J when became up to me at the depot, with a : spinster hugging his arm and wanted to know ! if I wouldn't take charge of her from Chicago j | to Detroit. Many men think a railroad jour- i j ney is reudered really pleasant by the compan-1 j ionship of an unprotected female. She insist-1 j ed on counting her baud-box and traveling : | bag as we got seated. She counted. There ' were just two. I counted and made no : j more nor less. Then she wanted her parasol j put into the rack, her shawl folded and her ! , band-box counted again. I counted it. j j There was just exactly one band-box of it. As j we got started she wanted to know if I was I sure that we were on the right road to Detroit, i ; I was sure. Then she wanted her traveling ! I bag counted. I counted it. By this time ; j she wanted the window up, and asked me if ; | it was'nt a hot day. I said it was. Then ! she felt her money and found it was safe, though she Wiis sure that she had lost it. While counting it she related how Mrs. Graff, in going East five years ago, lost her purse and ?3. She wound up the story by asking me if it wasn't a hot day. I said it was. Then she wanted the band-box counted, and I counted him. He was still one band-box. There was a pause of five minutes, and then she wanted a drink. I got it for her. Then she j wanted to know if we were on the right road I to Detroit. I assured her of the fact. The | brakeman here called out the name of a j station in such a distinct manner that the la| dy wanted me to go and see what the name J really was. I went. It was Calumet. She j wanted to know if I was sure that it was Caluj met. I put ray hand on ray sacred heart and | assured her that I would perish sooner than ! deceive her. By this time she wauted the i traveling bag counted, and I counted her. She figured up as before. I had just finished counting when she wanted to know if I didn't think it was a hot day, I told her I did. We got along very well for the uext half hour, as I got her to narrating a story of how she got lost in the woods eighteen years before; but as soon as she finished it she wanted to know if I was sure we were on the right road to Detroit. I told her I hoped to perish with the liars if we were not, and she wus satisfied. Then the parasol fell down ; she wanted me to change a ten cent piece, and the window had to go down. When we got back to Marshall she wanted to know if the place wasn't named j after court-martial, and whether it was barely " --.1-1- a'? * it. - MtAn "W11 flj l'notnoil [)0.SS1I)10 Ullll II1U SUIWUU ?VU3 miu iiiomu ui j Marsha". The band-box was counted, and he 1 was just one. Then the window went up and i she asked me if, i' my opinion, it wasn't a hot day. I replied that it was. Then she related a story about hei uncle, and auother about a young lady who had been dead several years. During the day I counted the band-box three hundred times; raised the window thirty times; said it was a hot day until my tongue was blis: tered; arranged the parasol twenty-one times; i got her sixteen drinks of water ; and inquired j the names of thirteen stations. She said it ! was so nice to have a man in whom a stranger | could place confidence, and I dared not reply for fear of bringing out another story. When ! we reached Detroit I counted the things three times over, helped her off*the cars, got a hack, I directed her to a hotel and told her the r.anio ; of the stret, price, name of the landlord, head , waiter, porter and cook; assured her she was not robbed or murdered ; that it had been a ! hot day ; that Detroit had a population of j 100,000 ; that the fall term of school had com: menced ; that all Detroit hack drivers were | honest and obliging; that it was quite warm, i Poor woman ! I hope the landlord didn't get | out of patience with her artless ways. JOHN WESLEY. It is estimated that 12,000,000 of the human race are taught weekly the lessons of religious experience wrought out in the active intellect I of John Wesley ; that no part of the known ! world has been unvisited by his disciples ; that I the tide of reform set in motion by his pure I and lofty energy is still in the ascendant, is 1 moviug onward with ceaseless vigor, and shows no traces of decay. Wherever the : Anglo-Saxon race penetrates it is pursued and ; softened by the influence of its unassuming i saint. In Australia and South Africa, in j America and the islands of the Pacific, the I genius of Wesley is ever active. His schools and churches have belted the world with an j illustrious chain. His writings have been i translated into nearly all the languages of Eu! rope, and are made familiar to the worship! pcrs of Burmah and of Buddha. Since Lu' ther no other man has exercised so wide, so | benign an influence upon his race. Nor is it I unjust to assert that but for his English sucj cessor the reformation of the German teacher | i would have lost much of its eflectiveness, and might have sunk into an empty formalism, at j least in England, amidst the corrupting alliance of ohurch and state. It was the aim of j Wesley to withdraw religion from the control j of the great and the powerful, of statesmen or j ; of bishops, to make it the light and the solace 1 of the workshop and the cottage, the alms-1 i house and jail; to diffuse its sacred teachings j ! among the people, and preach, with saintly J | earnestness, the Gospel of the poor. , As contrasted with all other successful teach- j | ers of a faith, whether true or false, it is a stri-! j king trait of Wesley's triumph that he was: , never aided by the p|vil power; that his dis- i I ciples have never wielded the sword of perse- I , cution, or gained any victories but those of : I ! peace. History, indeed, has no record of any I < 1 other great religious movement, except the j 1 ! founding of Christianity, that was not perfect-: ] ed in violence, and sealed with the blood of j 1 its opponents. The Greek Churoh was plant- j' ed in Russia by the civil power; the Romish j i Church won its supremacy by bitter wars and 1 endless cruelties. Bernard and Dominic en-' i forced their teachings by the sword ; Xiuther i and Calvin were often sustained by the arms 1 of their adherents ; the dark and wide-spread i ( brotherhood of Loyola obtained its ascendency i s by arousing in every land the fiercest flames ' ( of religious persecution. But of the millions j t of devout believers who have lived and died ; f in the simple faith of Wesley, not one has ' 1 yielded to any sterner influence than the pow-! 1 er of X)iviue love. As the vast wave of reform 1 has swelled from the poor cottage at Epworth i over England and America, over the Pacific s and the Indian seas, it has never needed a Con-1 stantinc or a royal protector; has been gov- j erned in its holy victories by human hand. BRIGGS' BLESSING. Thomas Briggs, asserts the detroit Free Press, has a boy-baby about ten months old,1 who is admitted at the beginning of this article to look just like his father, and to be the smart-1 est boy-baby of his age in Detroit. The other morning the child was sitting on the floor, playing with five or six big coat buttons on a! string, and taking an occasional nibble at an apple to bring out his first crop of teeth. Mrs. Briggs and a neighbor were talking away only as women can gossip, when the baby hid the buttons under a mat and started to finish the apple. A bit of the skin got in his throat, and he gave a cough and a whoop and pawed the air and rolled over on his head. "Oh, them buttons! he has swallowed them buttons!" cried the mother, as she yanked him up and shook him. "Pound him on the back!" yelled the other woman, trying to hold the baby's legs still. "Run for the neighbors!" cried Mrs. Briggs. "Oh, he'll ' -1 'I--- alia -an (lie; screaiiieu wi? uuici, uo out ..... And the neighbors came in and made him lie on his stomach and cough, and then turned him on his back and rubbed his stomach, and joggled about all sorts of ways until he got mad aud he went to howling. Then a boy ran for Briggs, and Briggs ran for a doctor, and the doctor came and choked the baby, and ordered sweet oil aud a mustard plaster, and told them to hold him on his back. Everybody knew that these six big buttons were lodged in the baby's throat because he was red in the face, aud because he strangled as he howled and wept. They poured down sweet oil, and put mustard across him and wept over him, and the mother said she never could forgive herself. Boys drove by, calling out: "Slab wood for sale!" and the scissors man went by shouting, "Sharp! sharp!" but that distressed crowd held the baby down and shed their tears over his whole length. The old doctor was looking serious, and Briggs was thinking that he hadn't done anything to deserve such a blow, when one of the women pushed the mat and discovered the buttons. Then everybody laughed and danced, and they kicked the sweet oil bottle under the bed, threw the mustard plaster at the doctor, and Mrs. Briggs hugged the howling angel to her bosom and called him her"wopsy top-, sy, hopsy dropsy, popsy little cherub." SWIMMING IN THE SALT LAKE. There are no fish in the great Salt Lake. The only living thing beneath its waters is a worm about a quarter of an inch long. This worm shows up beautifully beneath the lens of a microscope. When a storm arises the worms are driven ashore by thousands and devoured by the black gulls. We found a pure stream pouring into the lake. It was filled with chubs and shiners. The fish became frightened and were driven down the brook into the briny lake. The instant they /-.iinKnfl ifa tunfora tliov onmo to tlio snrfnoA belly upwards, and died without a gasp. The water is remarkably buoyant. Eggs and potatoes float upon it like corks. Mr. Rood and myself stripped and went in swimming. I dived into the lake from a long pier, which had been built for the use of a small steamboat that formerly plied upon the waters. The sensation was novel. The water was so salty that my eyes and ears began to smart, but so buoyant that I found no difficulty in floating even when the air was exhausted in my Jungs. As I struck out for the beach I felt as light as a feather. In spite of all I could do my heels would fly out of the water. I found it impossible to stand upon the bottom. The lightness of the water and the surging of the waves forced my feet from under me. A person who could not swim might easily drown in five feet of water. His head would go down like a lump of lead, while his feet would fly up like a pair of ducks. The water is as clear as the water of Seneca, so clear that the bottom could be seen at the depth of twenty feet. When we reached the shore and crawled out upon the sand in the light of the sun our bodies were qnickly coated with salt. We were compelled to go to a little stream from which we had driven the j ohubs and shiners and wash off in the fresh i water before we put on our clothes. Our hair was filled with graius of salt which could not be washed out. Mormons occasionally visit the lakes in droves for the purpose of bathing. Many of them say that their health | is improved by leaving the salt upon their bodies and dressing without wiping themselves with napkins. Asking a Huh hand's Blessing.?In Bazaar Township, Kansas, a few weeks ago, the citizens of that township were startled by the rumor that the wife of the well known Baptist preacher had gone to Texas with her husband's hired man. She previously bore a good reputation, had lived with her husband fifteen years, and was the mother of three children aged respectively 13, G and 4 years. Her husband became aware that all was not at all right, and a few months ago paid and dismissed the man who was the cause of his domestic unhappines3 ; and he went, but only to a place near by, where he procured a new wagon. Then he bought a horse of his former employer and with another horse, procured somewhere else, he rigged an outfit for Texas, as he said. When he was ready the lady coolly informed her husband that sV; loved George better than himself or children, and was going with him. The husband remonstrated and told her that when the reaction came, which surely would come, she would be most miserable. But nothing would induce her to be separated J from George ; she thrust away the little chil- j dreu wiio clung to lier necx, ana nernusonna j with a heavy heart, divided his household goods with her, giving her and her paramour half of such things as they could carry. He also told her she could take some books from his library if she chose. She took only her Bible and hymn book. The husband expressed the hope that she might read her Bible and profit thereby. At ten o'clock or thereabouts, in the darkness of the night, the exploring pair started off, piously requesting the deserted husband to pray that they might have a safe and prosperous journey. What Men need Wives For.?It is not; to sweep the house, and make the bed, and j darn the socks, and cook the meals, chiefly j that a man needs a wife. If this is all he j needs, hired help cau do it cheaper than a wife. If this is all, when a young man calls to see a lady, send him into the pantry to taste the bread and cakes she has made; send him to inspect the nedlework and bed-making; ^r to put a broom into her hands and send j L?...IlnAfo nffo fiunK fliinrro nro l'm. ! Ullli IU >>1111^33 IkO UOC? ?JUUii bUitigg tww <u? portan*, and the wise young man will quietly J look after them. What the true nmn most j wants of a true wife is her companionship, I. sympathy courage and love. The way of j ife has many dreary places in it and man j ic'eds a companion to go .with him. A i nan is sometimes overtaken with misfortunes ; ; le meets with failure and defeat; and he needs ' i >ne to stand by and sympathize. He has \ some stern battles to fight with poverty, with I monies and with sin ; and he needs a woman ;1 ,hat, while he puts his arm around her and j i eels that he has something to fight for, will' 1 lelp him to fight; that will put her lips to j i lis ear and whisper words of counsel, and her . i land to his heart and impart new inspirations. J 1 Ml through life?through storm and through 11 unshiue, conflicts and victory, through ad-'' verse and favoring winds, man needs a woman's love. The heart yearns for it. A sister's or a mother's love will hardly supply the need. Yet a man may seek for nothing further than success in housework. Justly enough half of these get nothing more ; the other half, surprised above measure, have got more than they sought. Their wives surprise them by bringing a nobler idea of marriage, and disclosing a treasure of courage, sympathy and love. - How to Make Stalls for Cows and Oxen.?Now is the time to make preparations for building stalls for stock. It should not be neglected until cold weather, as the ani imals will frequently need protection during the cold and stormy nights of autumn. Stalls should be wide enough to admit of the animals turning in them, the sides closely boarded up, the floor raised seven or eight inches above that, nf the nassape wav in the rear, with an | ?-- ( i " O # i outward pitch of about three inches in the 1 length of the stall, the entrance of each closed I with two-leaved folding doors opening inwards, i There need be no rings, stanchions, or any ty, ing or fastening by the head. No animal not absolutely a fool will stand head down hill. As all the bovine animals have their little itches and inconveniences to attend to as well as ourselves, aud would be better for the use 1 of their tongue, with which they can reach nearly every part of their bodies, this freedom I of the stall seems to be a common-sense arrangement, besides providing comfortable quarters in all cold, stormy weather. The J stalls need not be expensive, being all made of ; rough materials, with a sufficient opening | above the folding doors to afford free ventila[ tion. ? ? | I Newspaper Borrowers.?Our readers ! will sustain us in the assertion that we have ' never indulged the common newspaper prac[ tice of talking about people particularly to their faces, but there are some dwelling on this mundane sphere whose contracted minds and pinched souls render them the objects of aversion and scorn, and it is impossible to refrain from hurling a malediction at them ! whenever they appear to one's miud. And all of those mean folks, we maintain, is that I class of people too miserly to subscribe to a newspaper, but rely upon borrowing from neighbors. Borrowing, forsooth, begging, aye, decently purloining what the miserable sura of three to five cents would procure a right of title in, and save the perpetrator from the reproach and scandal of his neighbor. We think it as genteel, and certainly more laud able, to borrow a tooth-pick or a brush trom a neighbor than a newspaper, and we advise our subscribers, when they are troubled by these questionable beggars, to rebuke them by sending a three cent piece. Of course the reflection embraces those whe practice it systematically. Dreams.?If a man dreams the devil is after him, it is a sign that he had better pay his subscription bill. If he dreams of an earthquake, and a turmoil generally, it is a sign that he is going to be married. If he (being a married man) dreams of some fearful mysterious danger, it is a sign that his mother-in-law is coming to spend a few days with her darling daughter. If he dreams that his head is in danger, and that his hair falls out, it is a sign that he will have a quarrel with his wife. If he dreams of being accosted by a strange man who insists on taking him with him, it is a sign that he had better know all the policemen. If he dreams of speaking familiarly to a ghost with horns and tail, it is a sign that he had better reduce his liquor bill. If he dreams of making a fool of himself, it is a true sign it is so. A Columbia, Pa., clergyman, while preaching his sermon one Sunday evening, perceived a young man and woman under the gallery in the act of kissing each other behind a hymn book, and did not lose his temper. He did not fly into an unseemly rage, and call upon the sexton to rush up the aisle and disband the rioters. No! he remained calm. He beamed mildly at the offenders over his spectacles, and when the young man kissed her for the fifteenth time, he merely broke his sermon short off in the middle of "thirdly," and offered a fervent prayer in behalf of the "young man in the pink necktie, and the maiden in the blue bonnet and grey shawl, who were profaning the sanctuary by kissing one another in pew No. 68." And the congregation said "Amen." Then the young woman pulled her veil down, and the young man sat there and swore softly to himself. He does not go to church as much now as he did. A New Version.?A stranger officiated at one of the churches in Belchertown on a cauuaiu in flia ovveonoo fvioronrnlflr ICUCUt UilUUftUIj 1LI bUV mucvuvv v* m?v ivgmtwi clergyman. His afternoon discourse was a new version of the "Prodigal Son," unique and novel. The reverend speaker represented liira when leaving home as arrayed in the height of Parisian fashion?"in silk hat, broadcloth coat, kerseymeres, kid gloves, and French calf boots"?and, after a life of unparalleled extravagance, dissipation and sin, conspicuous among the fruits of which were "the graves of two beautiful maidens," his victims, his property being spent and his servants deserting him, he was seen one morning "out in the middle of a lot, on a rock, his silk hat knocked in, broadcloth coat out at the elbows, French calf boots out at the toes, kid gloves gone, hogs all around him, and he chewing the pods." Good Ministers.?John Ploughman once said : "I never knew a good horse which had not some odd habit or other, and I never yet saw a minister worth his salt who had not some crotchet or oddity. Now these are the bits of cheese that cavillers smell out and nibble at, this man is too slow, and another too fast; the first is too flowery, and the second is too dull. Dear me, if all God's creatures were judged in this way, we would wring the dove's neck for being too tame, shoot the robins for eating spiders, kill the crows for swinging their tails, and the hens for not giving us milk. When a man wants to beat a dog he can soon find a stick, and at this rate any fool may have something to say against the best minister in England." ? The Secret.?Some one asked Mr. Astor, in his old age, to tell the secret of his success in making money. "Very willingly," said the old gentleman. "Just draw up your chair, and we will put out the lights as we can tnlk just as well in the dark." "0! I see," said the man; "the secret is in saving what others waste?" "Yes ; the way to gain a million dollars is to begin by saving the cents. They will soon turn to dimes, and dimes to dollars." If you desire to become a millionaire, buy you a good strong purse large enough to hold the pennies, and let frugality furnish you a pair of strong strings for it. Then, with industry and perseverance,, you may soon be able to make a good beginning for a comfortable fortune. + + JPaT The following tender missive was picked} up in the ladies' sitting-room of the railroad lepot at Fonda: "Dear Charles, do you loveme as much as you did at a quarter to 12 last night? Say you do, dearest, and it will give?/v /lAmn art/1 fa/>lrlo tViavr* nnlrJ? 1IIC BjJUlt LU {JU VIUU4I ?UU vuvmv muvui vvivi beans left from yesterday." Charles' answer will undoubtedly run somewhat in this wise: 'Dear Susan, I do. Tackle them beans."