Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, Proprietor. | An |nbejjenbent Jfamiljf ftefospaper: Jfur flje ^promotion uf f|e |j(ilitteal, social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests uf % jSontjj. J TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IX ADVANCE. VOL. 20. YORKYILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, AIJGTJST 1874. ]STO. 34. $lte idler. TAKING IT FOR GRANTED. With marks of a rough, stormy life al over him, a rough man of about fifty years gray and sunburnt, sat in in my office, found him there when I went in one morning not long ago. "Here is somebody waiting for you, El well,' said Mr. Bigelow. I looked around, and the man rose and helc out his hand. "Averill?my name is Averill," said he looking sharply at me out of a pair of shrewc grey eyes. "I am an old friend of your moth er ; but I have uot met her for a matter ol fiveand-twenty years. So I thought I'd call and ask after her and her family." "I am glad to see you," said I. "Are yoi a relative of my mother?" "No," replied Mr. Averill. We were of the same name, but not connected?unless it maj 1 T nan/1 f/\ I'nna* IlOJ* Q rir 00 very UlSiniUIJI. X UOLU til nuvu uvt ?.V her folks, though, as well as I did my owe sisters, aud better, too. Let's see?where if your Aunt Augusta now?" "She is living with her children in Port land," said I. "Pretty well, is she, do you know?" askec Mr. Averill. "Very well when we heard last. Auni Augusta has good children aud a pleasanl home, and seems quite happy." "Um-ra-m-m ! That is nice," said Mr. Av erill, fumbling at a rough nugget of gold thai hung as a charm from his watch-chain. I hadn't much to do that day, so I talker off and on with my visitor till it was time t< go home, and then took him with me. I lefi him in the sitting-room and went to fine mother. She was mixing biscuit for supper looking through her glasses, and singing f snatch of some old half-forgotteu love-dittj of her youth. "Mother!" said I, breaking in upon hei song, "Come in the other room. An olc friend of yours wants to see you." Mother looked up over her glasses. "An old friend ! 'Tisn't any of the Maim folks, is it?" she asked. Because, if it was so much as a dog thai had trotted across the corner of the State o Maine, on his four legs, mother would hav< run, with her arms out and a smile of wel come, without stopping to even wash the dougl off her hands. As it was, with only an indef inite thought of seeing "an old friend," sh< went, with a dust of flour on her nose, anc without her company cap. As soon as she had stepped inside the sit ting-room door, she stood and looked at frei guest, aud he stood and looked at her. "It is Sam, as true as you are born !" sin said, at last. Then they both laughed, and then thej both wiped their eyes, though they didn'i seem like that sort of people, especially, Mr Averill. I never knew mother to forget her house keeping before, but this time she let the bis cuit burn till they were as black as my shoe 1 ?' "L : 1 nka 1 r HUU wiicu siic iiiiaiju smile uiuie oijq ^>uu .. sugar instead of salt, and left out the salarat us altogether. But her cheeks grew pink and her capstrings flew, and she, nor her guesl seemed to know the difference. "Oh, houey," cried my mother, hopping up from the tea-table as soon as she was seated "You haven't lost your sweet-tooth, have you Sam ?" "How you do remember!" returned Sam admiringly. "I should think I ought to," answered mj mother, with a girlish laugh. "The way yoi used to pick up walnuts to carry to the cross roads store and trade for molasses to. make candy of! Speaking of thecross-roads'store I wonder if you know our old store-keeper's daughter, she that was Sarah Curly, has losl her husband ?" "No, has she ? Strange I never heard ol it," replied Mr. Averill, appearing as aston ished as though he had been hearing from his old neighbors every week. "Yes," said my mother. "She married one of old Si Seaver's boys, the oldest one, Jonathan, and he died sudden?all at once ; well, it must be somethiug like half-a-dozen years ago?and left his wife and so many children? five children or else six, I don't know which." "You don't say!" ejaculated Mr. Averill, passing his honey plate for the third time No, evidently he had not lost his sweet tooth After supper, mother washed up the dishes and talked, aud Mr. Averill smoked his pipe and listened. It was the first time I ever allowed anybody to smoke in ray house, but 1 had nothing to say now. I even filled his pipe aud lighted it for him. And then he told the story of his life, which had been full of strange and interesting adventures. He was evidently a man who did not read much and who could not have written well, but he could talk ; not always grammatically, per haps, but always with force and fascination r i . l i It seemed tnat years ana years ago, ms father and my mother's father lived in a town in the valley of the Kennebec. My mother's father was a large farmer, and Mr. Averill's father was a very small farmer with a very large family. So his youngest son, Sam, cams to work for my grandfather. My mother and my Aunt Augusta were young girls?they were twins, and I suppose by the way they look now that they must have been pretty tl??n. - My mother was early engaged aud married to my father; but there was Augusta, and there was Sara; and where one was you might usually find the other near at haud. Sam never said anything; he was not of a demonstrative kind, but he knew how he felt and he supposed Augusta knew too. So the years budded and blossomed anc brought forth fruit, until at last Sara wenl down to Connecticut to take charge of a sawmill for an uucle of his. He wrote to Aunl Augusta and Aunt Augusta wrote to him aud now and then he came to Maine on busi ness, always going to my graudfather's be fori he went home, and carrying himself toward Augusta like an accepted lover. After a few years he found himself possessed of twelve thousand dollars, and immediately went to work to spend it. He wend abroad to England and Koine aud Egypt and Pari: ami Germany and Sweden and Russia anc everywhere. When he came home at last, i was with only fifty dollars in his pocket. S< next he went out among the copper mines o Lake Superior, and in time was again possess ed of twelve thousand dollars. "Now I will come home aud marry Augus ta, and settle down," said he to himself. Bu he didn't say it to anybody else. It nevei occurred to him that it was necessary. Meantime my Aunt Augusta had not stooc like a rose in a pot, waiting for the gardenei to come and pick it. She cast out her root: and threw up her branches and bloomed a: though it was enough to fulfill the laws o hpincand beautv for their own sakes. ?Q ? ? Iu that simple neighborhood work was sup posed to be the chief end of everybody. S( Aunt Augusta learned vest-making, andthet she went to Coos, where her brother Nathat lived, and set up for herself. Coos was a little crumb of a town in thosi days; but it held up its head and had it stores and its mills, aud its shops and itsgrea white meeting house on a hill, with gallerie on three sides, and square pews, and high bo: pulpit. The first Sunday after Aunt Augusta wen there, she climbed the hill, of course, and wen in the front pew with Uncle Nathan and hi wife. She was fashionably dressed in i black crape gown, a scarletshawl, and a white ba ! silk bonnet with pink roses inside. Her ! th cheeks were as pink as her roses, and her th eyes wero as black as her gown. ga There was no ueed that Mr. Keeler should thi . point her out to the young men, but he took the pains to do it. Mr. Keeler, the minister, ha r | was a little, lank mau, as plain aud gray as a tal door-bug, and so afraid of the pomps and sti 3 j vanities that he wouldn't wear buttons on his ne , ; coat. No sooner had his eyes fallen on Aunt | cej Augusta, settling herself in the front pew, \ bu j, like a variegated tulip, then he dropped the j tw subject he had started upon for his sermon, ba and began to preach against conformity to the j his | world. He was a siucere, earnest ma i, and j gei he Dreached with all his might, eraphasiz.. g j "h ? I A # ^ w P1 and illustrating his words by pointing with inc I his blunt finger at the scarlet shawl and pink j na j roses. So if anybody had neglected to look | tol ( I at them before, they looked then. j ' | Among those who were obedient to the nei 4 i ministerial forefinger was Abner Stanton, the it. ' village blacksmith. j I I Abner Stanton's heart was a good deal like to ' his iron?not easily melted?but when it once | ha had been hammered into a shape, there it was ag fixed and steadfast. And to-day Aunt Au-1 tin gusta's eyes went through it like red-hot ar- gu: ; rows as he peered around at her, from behind j an I ! one of the pillars in the gallery. i The next day he came to get a vest made. Ai t | The day after, he came to bring the buttons e(f 1 for it; and the day after that he thought, as jgli he was going by, he would call and see if she sta ! had everything she needed, and how soon the 1 " vest would be done. It was not two days be! fore he was there again to bring a letter. nie j | "I happened to see it at the post office when I went after my paper, and so I brought it otl * t along. I could as well as not," said he. he j : The letter was fiom Sam Averill, telling ! about the luck he had in mining, the weather, j tra [ I and the fact that he was well. Nothing more; pe< r j nothing about the home be was building in ; his fancy, aud the figure that was always cen-, by . tral in his thoughts. gri i i >> ?:.i ?.. Vniliun "v.-n11 nrp I we> | 1 nupt?| b&IU III J UHV/lU xiaumu) J wv. v . ..? ! not foolish enough to set your mind on such a da | rolling stone as Sam Averill. He has no con-j j I tiuuity to him." I he "If we are going to hunt for a man that J wa |. has no faults in this world, we'll have a long j p road of it," returned Aunt Augusta, bearing j pit j down the heavy pressing-iron upon her seam ; th< ' as though she were trying to crush the life out j j j of something. 1 the \ In less than a week Abner Stanton called j sot > | again. He thought perhaps Miss Augusta j ey< j j didn't know the swamp-pinks were out, and | pri so he brought her a handful that he got on | wo the way over from Cowesett. I 1 r Aunt Augusta had a weakness for flowers? j Ar she and my mother are alike about that?and i lov she put a cluster of the blossoms in her hair j at once, and auother at her throat, while Ab- j eh< r ner Stanton looked at her with admiration in j eye t every hair of his head. j ' "If you were a 6ister of mine, you should al-! an< ways sit in a rocking-chair and wear swamppiuks!" said he. the "Abuer Stanton is a most excellent man," 0nl quoth Uncle Nathan, when he had gone his yoi ' way, "an esquire and a head man in town. I am He's all wheat and no chaff. He'll make a | ha first rate of a husband, and the girl who gets | the ! hiin will get a prize." ; wo Aunt Augusta made some fierce clippings j yoi with her great tailor's shears, but she said ! gr* nothing, and presently went up stairs to an- i l0o swer Sam Averill's letter. I ' ' The next day Abner Stanton called to see 1 |0n j Uncle Nathan on business, and she sent her to ' letter to the office by him. So the months nai drifted along one after another, like pictures J Yc in a magic-lantern. Abner Stanton came of- j ten on one excuse or another, or on none. He | an | brought flowers aud berries strung on grass, ; and sweet flag-root and bitds' eggs. He was ser ' never intrusive with his love, but he made abi j. Aunt Augusta conscious of it every step she the walked, and with every breath she breathed. J'v P It was below her, above her, and all around j sid her. He often brought her letters from Sam, i ma ( and carried hers for him to the office. j to "All things are fair in love," said he to i nol , himself. So now and then he forgot to mail i j , | or to deliver one, dropping it in the fire in-! litt ! stead. At last, as his love grew hotter and j hei J more impatient, he kept them back altogeth- j lies . j er, and still never allowed Aunt Augusta to to 1 lose sight or thought of himself. I chi ' i rt a 111 i i Thus trie time passed, anaoain Avenu iiav- | ' i ing made and lost and made again his twelve dei ! thousand dollars among the copper mines, j Sta |! came home to "marry Augusta and settle | I t ,! down." I ori Suddenly one day he appeared before my gui | uncle Nathan, travel-worn and bi'own and car ,1 shaggy. My uncle received him with great, i of ,1 cordiality. ihg | "Sam, I'm glad to see you," said he. How 1 I s , have you fared all this great, long time?" am ! 1 "Fair to middling. Where's Augusta," re- ,ov( , turned Sam. to 1 | "Oh ! Augusta. She is all right. You go j 1 ; to the tavern and fix up, and I'll find Angus- tal 5 ta. I will be round in an hour or so and call Au , for you. Augusta will be proper glad to see an . j you, and so'll the rest of the folks. I don't f . j know when there has been such a surprise in I ' . I Coos before." \ to < j | So Sam went off with his honest heart to ; er j I ; find a razor and a wash-bowl, and my nncle aft< r Nathan did a very mean thing, lie went r; straight to Abner Stanton. "Abner," said er, ,; he, going into the smithy, out of breath, "Sam : "L II Averill has come, and you must go right up aw aud get Augusta to name the day, or you will wa |: lose her. "I'll keep him out of the way as afti long as I can." kec Abner dropped his hammer, without saying eitl ! a word, and went up the street, rolling down wil his shirt-sleeves as he went. An hour after to [ Uncle Nathan came home with Sam Averill. cuj t,; "Here is an old friend you will be glad to bin . j see, Augusta," said he, opening the door of ' I; my aunt's workroom, where she sat stitching ths ; the pocket of a primrose-colored vest, and tnu .! looking fresh as a hundred primroses herself.; foo ; "It's Sam !" said she, faintly starting to wo I her feet aud dropping her work. tin It was Sam. Sam came at last, with his j | long-smouldering love and his tardy speaking. pe< r "You are too late! An hour too late," cu| said mv aunt Auerusta. when he had told his ish j * J rp 5 j errand East. "1 have just engaged myself to am 1 j another man." j t "You haven't done right, Augusta," said nig > Sam. "You belong to me; you have always I v f belonged to me, and you ought to have waited old . till I came." the "You didn't say anything," returned ray . aunt, with a little pride. "How was I to fol t know what you did mean ? You never spoke the r1 a word." I 1 i "I took it you knew my mind," returned ! mi 1 Sam. "I never thought of anybody else. I tre r never should think of anybody else, and it goi 3 didn't occur to me that you would. You eri 3. must marry this person now you have prom- J f | ised him, of course. But it isn't right and it the ' never will be right." it i .! "Mr. Stanton is a worthy man ; just as good or ) as gold, clear through to the core. I have . 1 i always liked him, and you never said any- "b ) thing," repeated my poor aunt Augusta; "I she will be your friend, though, just the same." yoi e They said no more; there was nothing more hu s to be said, and in a month Aunt Augusta and tal t Abner Stanton were married. Sam Averill j yoi s stayed till after the wedding, and then he all c went off, and had never been hearel of again mc till to-day by Augusta's family. [ to t He went to California, throwing his whole agi t life into work; his work prospered, aud he ale s , had come back with houses and lauds and it i i l gold and mines?a rich man. He had come air ck to find Aunt Augusta, and learn how i e world had fared with her. For in all' i ose years of buying and selling and getting in, lie had kept the empty room in heart s at had once been filled by his love. ; ^ Aunt Augusta's married life had not been c T- 1 - ppy. 1119 very aangerous iur a man iu ie in a mean habit temporarily, for it will \ ok to him, and Abner Stanton's character t ver recovered from the twist those inter- g pted letters gave it. I don't know what,1 a t somethiug was always going wrong be een them. Even their children proved | 0 rriers instead of bonds. As he grew older ; j i natural economy and thrift became stron-1 r and stronger, until as my mother said,. e got so close that he could sit, and seven ire like him, on a three cent piece." Fi lly, one day, under some provocation, he J d Aunt Augusta about the lost letters. "You oughtn't to have told me that, Abr," said she. "You ought not to have told ^ I can never forgive you." She never did. Always after, there seemed , ? be something separating them, cold and " rd and transparent as ire,until.at l?et thoy j re?d to live apart. And so they did until } death of Mr. Stanton. Now Aunt Au- . sta was living surrounded by her children j d grandchildren, happy and comfortable, j 1 Mother brought down thus the story of j a tut Augusta's life, while Mr. Averill listen- i , eager and excited. When she had fin- , ed he knocked the ashes from his pipe, and _ rting up, began to walk the floor. 1 u "I will start for Portland to-morrow morn-! j and see what Augusta will have to say to j ? s. I am of the same mind I always was. u 'e never hankered for a moment after any r ler woman, and I am as ready to marry r"to-day as ever I was." t So the next day I saw him on the Portland in, gray with years, but youthful with ex- j; station. t This time he did not waste his opportunity ^ waiting to make himself fine, but with the ' e im and dust of travel yet upon him, he ^ nt directly to the house of Aunt Augusta's ; j ughter, with whom she is living. ; t "Where is Mrs. Stanton ? I want to see j r right away," said he, as soon as the door c s opened. j ? "You will find her here; walk in, if you 1 ^ sase," replied the housemaid, throwing open ! ^ J -f jl,? 1 J ; uuui ui tuc oibiuig-iuuiu. i r Mr. Averill stepped quickly forward. Yes, j ? ?re she sat, stitching away as before on | ' ne kind of primrose-colored stuff, with her j t js as black and bright as ever. But the j. inroses were faded in her cheeks, and she 8 re a cap on her head. i a "I have come for you, again, Augusta. 1 111 too late this time?" cried the irapatieut: e er. - j .. The roses came back to Aunt Augusta's : t ;eks, and the red-hot arrows shot out of her ?s once more. a 'Bless us! If it isn't Sara Averill, nose t J all!" she said, holding up her hands. ^ From twenty to fifty is but as a watch in t. i night, then the years are past; and it is !y when an old lady nods triumphantly at t j from the looking-glass, saying, "Here I J| i, my dear!" or when children that you ], ve nursed in your arms come around with j p i rights and duties of full-grown men and | g men, that you remember one is no longer ; a 4ng at fifty. But the sight of Sam Averill's i v ly hairs and wrinkles were as good as a : p king-glass to remind Aunt Augusta. j r 'Sit down, Sam," said she, "and let me j 17 of t?/\n It litiomc Ii'Itp bp rpnl nld tinips f ?. J?v. ...... ...... - , ? see you ODce more. Vou look wonderful p tural, but dear me, how you have changed ! u've grown old as well as myself." s But Mr. Averill was not to be diverted by rJ y side issues. o 'Augusta," said he, earnestly, "I made a t ious mistake once. It was not a mistake j v DUt my own mind, however ; that remains . ! same as it always was. Every women j n e ever seen seemed like a tallow candle be-, h e the sun when I think of you. I have c ,de my fortune, and all I want now is you , s come and share it with me. It is you, or h body, just as it always was." Maybe Aunt Augusta's heart throbbed aiy ,le with the old yearning toward the love of h * youth, but she shook her head with un* ] e iitating decision, as she put out her hand to ti stir the cradle, where her youngest grand-1 Id lay asleep. h 'It can never be, Sam," said she, "I won't a iy that it was all a mistake my marrying t! mton. He didn't turn out to be the man tl ook him for. He proved contrary and ti lery, and besides he wrote letters in dis- j t< ise. But that is all over and past, and j )'tbe undone. And now I am in the midst tl my children, withnny grand-children grow- a ; up about me, and I am in my right place. ' ti houldn't be contented to leave everything si 3 go off to a new country to begin the world o ?r atrain. as it were. I am too old an oak n be transplanted." o Well, after that Mr. Averill might have f< ked till he was at the age of Methuselah, | w nt Augusta had made up her mind, and 1 earthquake couldn't shake it. j ii so Mr. Averill went away alone. j o 'Well, Amelia, Augusta wont have a word n say to me,"said he, walking in upon moth- j p md me, as we sat at supper a few evenings a er, "not a word." ' h 'I want to know if that is so !" cried moth- c fluttering up after another plate and knife, j ay your overcoat right off" and sit right by p 1 have a cup of tea with us. Augusta al-; b ys was decided, nnd you couldn't turn her tl sr she got her mind fixed. She wouldn't >p you waiting very long for your answer, ,ier. Well, it is likely it is for the best; we 1 hope so," pursued mother, reaching over J put an extra lump of sugar in Mr. Averill's h ), as though to sweeten life, if possible, for h n- .... 't] 'It serves me right in taking it for granted ]< it Augusta understood my intentions. I ! p ist have been a self-conceited, inconsiderate j d 1. But it seems hard that a body can't b rk his way out of a blunder in a whole life- ; it le." j ? Mother looked full of sympathy, and drop1 another lump of sugar in Mr. Averill's e 5. To my astonishment, he seemed to rel- c it the better, as if life was growing sweeter ti 1 sweeter. j t! Mother and Mr. Averill sat up late that | t< ;ht; so late that as I had had a hard day e vent off to bed and left them talking over I times and purring like a couple of cats by j tl i kitchen fire. ; h After breakfast the next morning, mother | lowed me into the hall, when I started for e i office. i tl T want to speak with you, Klwell, just a h nute," said she, stroking my coat-sleeve ' a mulously. "What should you say to my 1 ing back to California, along with Mr. Av- b 11?" jb :,You, mother!" I cried, feeling as though h ; world had tumbled off its axes. "Why, u is Aunt Augusta he wants. It is Augusta, nobody!" h llYes, so it was," returned mother, humbly, c ut Sam says I seem more like Augusta, as } j used to be, than she does herself. To tell 1 e u the truth, Elwell," continued mother, - h mbler still, "I suppose it wouldn't have h cen much to turn me toward Sam in my ung days ; I always thought the world and h of him ; but he seemed to take rather d >re to Augusta. She was always nineteen the dozen, and I never could hold my own ainst her. And then your father came a mg, and I never was sorry it happened as '[ did. But now you don't need me, and Sara h d I have about concluded to make arrange-1 e nents, only I told him I must have a talk vith you first, and get your advice." Get my advice! Dear little mother! I im not idiotic enough to offer it if I had adrice to give. So she and Mr. Averill went ui and "made arrangements." Which arrangements were that day two reeks after a quiet wedding at the minister's, hey started off" for California together, to be;in life anew on each other's account, as blithe md joyous as two birds on the wing. |pscrH?uf0U!5 fftcaiUng. THE WHIPPING POST IN DELAWARE. The sheriff appeared. He is a tall, broadhouldered man, with an iron face, and a hieftaker's eye. Duties that are disagreeable o officers of his grade are usually intrusted o minor men, but, in this case, no one had >een found willing to be a substitute ; he himelf was compelled to administer the punishaent. He wore a square uniform cap, with , broad visor, and in his hand he carried the chip. This whip consisted of a yellow stock thirty nches long; to this were attached the nine eathern thongs that tradition declares effica ? -1*1 _ ! 1 ious ; they were aoout as iuick as a pencil, nd they were as long us the stock. The people gazed upon this implement with uriosity; and the sheriff, while waiting, ilaced some tobacco in his mouth, and he hewed it as those do that are laboring under reat inward excitement. Outwardly he was aim and serious. He threw several glances ipon the people, but he had nothing appaeutly to fear. Presently the first victim was led forth by he turnkey. He was the young man that lad been fixed in the pillory. His sentence iad consisted of three methods of punishment: he prison, the pillory, and the lash. He iad endured the pains of one, was about to udurethe pains ofa second, and then would ie ready to begin his period of incarceration, ie must have begun to think that his whisle had cost him dear. He approached the place where he was exacted to stand with great alacrity, whipping ff his coat as he came. The upper part of lis body was bare. He carefully folded his acket, and thrust it into the braces of the ilatform above his head. Then he faced the iost, placed his wrists in iron loops that were irovided for the purpose, some six feet from he ground and then stood ready. The sheriff'stepped back a pace or two, wuug out his whip in the faces of the people, ,nd made them fall back. They retired with ;reat precipitation, stumbling over one anothr iu their eagerness to escape. Thus, the irisoner and the executioner stood aloue in he centre of a ring. The turnkey read the name of the culprit, nd stated the number of lashes that he was o receive. The number was ten. He then lassed to the other side and stood ready to ount. The first blow was then given. The sheriff railed the whip behind him, and then brought t slowly forward with his forearm. The ashes followed the stock, and fell upon the ""nnon'o Kanlr olmnat QO nnD T"T f-i fl illfhpH 'I lOUII^I O UHVft U1UIVOU 144 \/uv* lightly and only slightly. The blow was not forcible one ; indeed, so lacking in strength .as it, that the people thought it merely a irelimiliary giveu to warn the victim to preiare himself against the terrors to come. But the second was just like it; so was the hird and the fourth. The lookers-on exiressed great displeasure. This was child's play ! This was the worst ort of foolery ! There were no shrieks ! ?here was no blood ! No, not even a scoring f the flesh ! At the tenth blow, and when he sheriff dropped his arm by his side, there k-as a general titter. The prisoner's back was flushed, and no aore. Had he worked in a sunny cornfield lalf a dozen hours, his flesh would have reeived a deeper discoloration. Had some one roiled on the sheriff's daughter, she would iave blushed a finer red than that. In fact, the lightness of the punishment >'as a serious inconvenience to the prisoner imself. It was impossible for him to show ndurance when it was clear there was nothing o endure. By his manner he invited admiration for is fortitude, but all the ease of his carriage, s he left the whipping-post and returned to he jail, went for naught. The deepest pain hat he received was, no doubt, derived from he failure of an opportunity to show himself ~ i? i J uc a uci u. Now, there can be no manner of doubt that he purpose of the Delaware statute was fully nd satisfactorily accomplished by the use of he punishment described. The statistics how that very few people are whipped a secnd time, and, as castigation is imperatively iade a part of punishment for certain classes f crime, it is right to say, therefore, that very 3w persons commit the same crime twice dthin the jurisdiction of Delaware courts, 'lie attribute of this method of treating crimlals that produces the effect, is the exposure f the prisoner before the public under huliliating circumstances. The actual bodily ain endured is unimportant, and does not ct in any case as a detriment. It is his exibition before a heterogeneous multitude that onstitutes the real suffering of the culprit. t __ 1?! _ V *1? .. 1.. htfno oonlr f a oim. ill uriei, nit; L/eniwtire aiutuito o?n m sujr ress aud abolish crime by fixing an indellile stain upon all who commit sins against :ie laws.?Appletoris Journal. THE HAIR AND ITS FASHIONS. When the "fervor of the summer's day" raws nigh, there is heard throughout the uid, a general clipping and cutting of the air, principally confined, however, to the litle ones and their fathers aud brothers. The )ng, flowing tresses, which have beeu the oet's favorite theme from earliest times, as escriptive of female loveliness, are rather a urdeu to the fair possessor during thescorchlg days which are characteristic of our imerican summer. As the hair is a conspicuous feature, almost, very variation in the arrangement thereof hanging the personal appearance it constiites, especially with the ladies, is an impormt part of the toilet, and has received rueri}d attention in all nations, ancient and mod- j rn. In every age, a fine head of hair has been - l _ t* I Iiought an ornament, ana a sign 01 vigor, ealth and beauty. The Scriptures record the esteem which the arly Hebrews had for beautiful hair, and all lie busts and statues of Grecian art which ave descended to us, represent the heroes' nd heroines1 luxuriant locks. Mourningand funeral rites were symbolized y the ancients by the neglect of the hair, or j y cutting or pulliug it out, and shaving the j ead was a badge of degradation imposed pon criminals, and as a mark of servitude. It was formerly the practice to remove the air of the condemned, before ex^utiou, in onvicts both of high and low degree. Louis CVI when upon the guillotine, implored his xccutioners to spare him this disgrace, and is request was so far acceded to that only is back hair was removed. The diversity in the manner of wearing the air, which taste, fashion, and convenience isplay, is even greater than the varieties of '*ade and color. The Hebrew women braided their tresses nd secured them with gold and silver pins, 'he Roman maids and matrons dressed their air with pearls and gems, garlands of flow-, rs and bright ribbons. False curls were i worn, and Virgil, Cicero, and other classical 1 f j writers mention the use of hot irons for curl- 1 j ing and crimping! Even the much-abused j I false-hair, for which our modern belles and v beauties are so often denounced in terms of r ; unmeasured severity, was worn by the Greeks, j a ! Assyrians, Persians, and Romans. The 1 " Egyptians resorted to wigs in preference to ' e their natural hair. In France, during the extravagant reign of Louis XIV, false hair, j extending half-way down the back, with a | v profusion of curls, became the mode, and to j r such an excess was this fashion carried, that t it was deemed a breach of etiquette to appear ii j in one's natural hair. "There is no new ii thing under the sun," saith the preacher, and j we find that modern fashions but follow this j I . ancient rule. I si THE MARRIAGE TIE. v One good result at least may be expected j a ! to accrue from the Beecher-Tilton scandal. 11( } It must tend to enhance the sanctity of the j marriage tie. The New York Commercial h comments on this subject as follows: j Pnr unmfl t imo tV?o**o koo koon g?ou?!ng . g j up in worldly circles, if not among religious ' d ! people, a laxity of thought and expression as j to the relations of husband and wife. The ; p 1 free-love mania has developed a toleration of! a i easy divorce that has had a most pernicious j p influence upon the family. The independence ! of the individual has been pushed prominent- tl ly forward, to the exclusion of the mutual de-11 . pendence of wedded life. As a natural result f i we have had a terrible harvest of social crime, j } 1 The awakening has been sudden and painful. ' : At the shattered hearthstone of a divided ' h ; family, where names that have been long and j li ; widely honored are trailed in the ashes, the I 1< i American people are met by the question i h whether freedom of the passions is worth the ! b ! painful cost by which it must be obtained, j o | There is an advance which is not always real ! n i progress. Sometimes it necessitates the con-! il | fession of a mistake and swift step backward. | " i In the days of our fathers marriage was en- j g ; tered into "soberly, discreetly, and in the fear 1 o ! of the Lord," as a covenant that was to last I v j with life. It was understood to be a compact j e of mutual duty and obligation. The matron " was honored as one of the jewels of the land, j and the rearing of her family was considered J a blessing to the State. Society, as well as 1 the law. sternlv frowned upon any lapse from ti I the letter of the wedding contract. Personal I a I purity was not only honored, but was demand-! J j ed of any man who expected the confidence t< j of his fellows. There was not so much of the It | feverish activity of life then, and perhaps r | there was less knowledge diffused abroad, but v the home was the centre of the nation's pros- b perity, and its integrity was jealously guarded, ti It would be difficult to prove that anything d has been gained by the advancement of the tl social theories that have been preached in the s last twenty years, while the one sad story of c which everybody speaks to-day shows that s much has been lost. The lesson is timely, t There was danger that the less thoughtful o part of the community might drift into senti- q ments that would permanently injure the in- h tegrity of the family. But none can look t upon the desolation that has been wrought in t Brooklyn without acknowledging that the p good old paths of the fathers were the safest s for the citizens and the Republic. t k A Big Doctor's Fee.?The son and heir ? of the late Edwin Stevens, Mr. John G. ? Stevens, although he is the possessor of almost j unlimited wealth, being worth some ?75,000,- c 000 has, until very lately, been a'most unhap- t py man. He has been afflicted since his birth s with a peculiar wen, which has increased year ^ by year, until it covered a large portion of j. his face and neck. It was a most unpleasant c object, being covered with long hair, and r strangely resembled an animal. No man 'j could see it without a shudder, and ladies t have fainted at the sight of it. Of course Mr. t Stevens felt the affliction most keenly, and Q it had, naturally enough, a very depressing effect upon his spirits. What was his immense wealth to him ? Any workman in his employ a was more to be envied than he. He became morose, and almost melancholy ; society that a he was exceedingly fond of, he studiously avoided, and, although a young man, he became j, I almost a recluse. The best physicians and t j surgeons of Europe were consulted,-but they u all said to remove the wen could but result in I death. Although his life was so miserable, I still there was a hope, and he bore bravely up 1 against repeating disappointments. Deliver- j ; ance came at last, and a few days ago an ; / - i ...u:-i. l ,j? 1.:^ I Y operation was periormeu which h?s uauc mm i jj ! a new man. Dr. Willard Parker, of this ! j city, had faith to believe the wen could be j ^ ; removed. He told Mr. Stevens so, and the j c | young man, grasping at the straw, promised j j him 8150,000 if he would perform the opera-; ^ I tion successfully. He did so, aud has earned i i the everlasting gratitude, as well as the money ; j of the young millionaire, who is now pro- j j( i nounced out of danger. The operation was i t| ; performed with electric knives, and it is said I ^ | that when the horrid tumor was removed, the i ! skin beneath was sound and smooth as that j j of any other part of the body. Notwithstand-1 ; ing the cloud that ha9 huug over his whole i ^ [ life, the young man has had his love affair J w I like the rest of us. In early youth he was be- i ! trothed to a little girl, the daughter of one of, his father's dearest friends, who always loved ! him, and sorrowed with his affliction. While ^ i the hateful thing was upon him, it is said, Mr. I Stevens gave up all idea of being married, j but, uow that it has been removed, we shall I expect soon to hear of great wedding festivi- 0 i ties in Hoboken. ? | p j Perfumes.?It is generally supposed that p ; all the essences of flowers are produced by n j distillation. This is far from being the case; | a j some of them would be seriously injured by j y such a process, and are caught and fixed, as ; p j it were, by what may be termed a fat-trap, j y 1 In the flower season at Canues, plates of glass j g are thinly covered with clarified inodorous ! 0 fat; upon or uuder this fat the flowers are ft placed, and the power this substance has to ; ft | absorb and retain perfumes is astonishing, i j, On these sheets of glass the most delicate ' odors are thus fixed almost as securely as, on tj the collodion prepared plates, the most deli- : n cate pictures are retained. In this way the w jessamine, the violet, the tuberose, and orange p perfumes travel across France, and arrive j c, here as pure as the day they were given forth j n from the flowers themselves. The emancipa-' c] tion of the odor from its imprisonment is very > n, simple; the fat, cut into small cubes, is placed i f in spirits of wine, and the delicate essence im-! n, mediately deserts the coarse fat for the more 1 sniritual solvent. | k Mr. Piesse, in his interesting work on per-! 01 fumery, says that, "while cultivators of gar- i ^ dens spend thousands for the gratification of, the eye, they altogether neglect the nose, i Why should we not grow flowers for their j hi odors as well as colors?" And we may add gi that ladies may easily utilize some of our own ; n waste gardeu perfumes. Heliotrope, the lily ! tr of the valley, honeysuckle, myrtle, clove, a< pink, and wallflower perfumes, such as we get el in the shops, are made-up odors cunningly ct contrived from other flowers. Yet they may hi be made pure with a little trouble, "I want; w heliotrope pomade" says Mr. Piesse in despair; j w "I would buy any amount that I could get." fa And the way to get it is very simple. If i li there is a glue-pot iu the house, and it hap- [ ti pens to be clean, fill it with clarified fat, set j ni it near the hot-house fire, or auy other fire, I si just to make the fat liquid, and throw in as ! w many heliotrope flowers as possible ; let them si remain for twenty-four hours, strain off the w fat, and add fresh ones; repeat this process hi or a week, and the fat will have become a >omade a la heliotrope. 11 The same process may be gone through j j vith all the other flowers mentioned. A lady 1i nay in this manner make her own perfume, i ,nd we may add, in the words of Mr. Piesse, j I one that she cannot obtain for love or raon-,; y at the perfumer's." I Paper Money in Hayti.?Soulouque,1 < /hen Emperor of Hayti, was the imperial 11 epresentative of the policy of inflation, and 1 I hat vivacious writer, James Redpath, tells,, i n the Boston Daily Advertiser, what came of! I t: | Shortly after Solouque proclaimed himself I Cmperor, a cabinet meeting was held to con-1 s ider the financial situation. The treasury 1 /as almost empty. The counselors discussed j ( arious plans for its relief. They did not j I gree any better than our own financial doc- j ? jrs. ? Soulouque sat silent. Amazement sealed j ? is lips. I ( "Your majesty," said Solomon, who was re- j 1 nrdoa ao hi? ablest minister, "what shall we i { o for money ?" i ? "My God !" shoot?*l Sioulouquo, ~ rut?1 rofanely, for he was the head of' the Church ! s well as of the State, "Mon Dieu! why j | rint more !" And they did. The "legitimate, wants" of be country were supplied. Money was easy, 'he poor had plenty of it. Flush times in layti. The presses ran night and day. rive V Empereur ! But one day Soulouque had to leave. He ad reigned twelve years. I happened to ind on the island three or four days after he ift it. Money was very easy. Haytian dolirs were worth nearly three cents apiece. I ought half a bushel for small change. In ne day I was a millionaire. I never had so j mch money in my life before. I reveled in ;. But it was no joke to spend it. That unsettled values." It did seem so wicked to j ive five dollars for a poor Havana, and to be | bliged to pay fifty dollars for a dinner. Yet re did both in Hayti, because money was so j asy, when all that the State had to do was to print more." Hottentott Dogs.?We find in Our ~)umb Animals that travelers who have visi3d the Cape of Good Hope give wonderful ccounts of the fidelity and sagacity of the lottentott dogs. They are chietiy employed 3 guard their master's flocks against the lions, , jopards and tigers, which abound in the sur- ( ounding country. No dog, single-handed, \ rould be a match for one of these fearful \ aaata- nn<l therefore the nowers of combina- . ion and organization are developed in these j ogs to a remarkable degree. At night, when j he flock is assembled in one place, four dogs tation themselves as sentinels at equal distan* es along the line of danger, and watch in a itting position, the head stretched out to catch he slightest noise. Nor does their power of rgauization end here. All good defense retires a patrol, and the four dogs take turns, iourby hour, in walking up and down before he camp, listening to aud watching intently o give immediate warning of the enemy's aptroach. If a tiger or a leopard comes in ight, the sentinel utters a cry of alarm, and he other dogs instantly assemble, and throw hemselves, en masse, upon the intruder, who inds their united strength too much for him. sometimes, however, the enemy comes in force, n which case the dogs utter long, plaintive ries, to call to their assistance the guard of l he neighboring flock, who respond to the ignal, and expect similar aid in the hour of langer. These remarkable dogs have no exernal beauty to recommend them. Their olor is a dirty gray. They have square paws, minted nose, stiff ears, and very rough hair. [?hey are, nevertheless, regarded by the Hot* entott as members of his family. They have heir rights by the fireside, and are taken care j f and fed like the children of the house. Fowle's Bedbugs.?Not many years ago, , brother official and myself were obliged to >ass through the city of B. We arrived late ,t night, and were received by a diminutive, Id, bald-headed (though his scraggy gray leard was dyed the well-known tint that nirate of silver gives) Irishman, who pressed 1 Wo I ! 19 IU SICCp limb u igiib uiiuwi uia uvuiiuii, ras a stupid, blear-eyed, ignorant-looking | ustomer, and held an insignificant position s deputy something under the government. I lis importunities at length prevailed, and ' .re soon found ourselves between as dirty and i ively bed-linen as ever covered mortal man. j After stauding the torture for a mortal half ( our, we lit our candle, and viewed our late . ouch. Gods of the insects, what a sight!,' ledbugs, from the size of a cranberry to a: alf dollar, lively fleas, and a few gray-backs, i nimated the scene. We quickly douned our j lothiug, and in the darkness of the night si- < mtly stole away, woke up a barber, took a ] borough hot bath, and proceeded to the' lansion House, where we lodged in peaceful eeurity. The next morning we were walking in the j uburban districts, near a large pond, when, bserving an enormous snapping turtle slowly rending his way to the water, I exclaimed : J "What a huge turtle, Plal!" j "Pshaw !" sneered Hal, not'forgetful of his | ight's experience; "he's only one of Fowle's i edbugs taking a morning bath." 1 Old Letters.?Never burn kindly writ- j s ;u letters; it is so pleasant to read them I i ver when the ink is brown, the paper yellow i 'ith age, and the hands that traced the friend-; f words are folded over the hearts that! rompted them, under the sod. Above all, i * ever burn love-letters. To read them in i 1 fter years, is like a resurrection to one's J outh. The elderly spinster finds in the imassioned offer she foolishly rejected twenty J ears ago, a fountain of rejuvenescence. On lancing over it, she realizes that she was uce a belle and a beauty, and beholds her 'a )rmer self in a mirror much more congenial ? ) her taste than the one that confronts herj 1 her dressing-room. The "widow indeed" erives a sweet and solemn consolation from , le letters of the beloved one who has jour- j eyed before her to the far-off land, from 1 ^ hich there comes no message, and where she opes, one day, to join him. No photographs i 9 m so vividly recall to the memory of the j lother, the tenderness and devotion of the tiildreo who have left at the call of Heaven, 0 3 the epistolary outpourings of that love.; v he letter of a true sou or daughter to a true j. lother is something better than an image of v >e features ; it is a rellex of the writer's soul. ! s mcp all loving letters. Burn only the harsh j s, aes, and in burning them, forgive and forget j j< mm. a ? Naming a Child.?One evening at the j ouse of Dr. Aruot, (1850) Mr. Rowland Hill ive some curious traits of the wretched igno- a ince of a population of nailers in some cen- j , al district of England, with which he was :quainted. A clergyman exerted himself to j v feet an improvement, and took particular ' u ire to get their children baptized. One day,} a aving come to baptize a newly-born infant,! ? hom he understood to be a boy, he asked j1S hat name he should give the child. The j ther was quite at a loss, and had no prede- j] ctious on the subject. "Shall it be a Scripire name?" Assent. "Well, what Scripture [ j ime ?" The man agreed at the minister's j s iggestion that Benjamiu would do. As he ! ^ as retiring, afterwards, he heard a great! muting, and turning back, met the father, ho exclaimed: "Sir, it wunna do?it maun f 3 done agaiu?the bairn's a wench /" o Wooden Toothpicks.?Five hundred million is about the number of wooden toothpicks sold by the Boston house which controls the whole business in this country, and the number increases enormously each year. As the article was scarcely heard of half a dozen years ago, this affords a striking example of ihe readiness with which the American public :akes to anything which has the advantrge of cheapness very decidedly in its favor. A box loldiug 2000 sells for twenty-five cents, while he same number of quill picks would cost ibout four dollars. This is at the rate of 80 'or one cent. More orders f ; toothpicks come from ho;els and restaurants than from all other lources combined. There is now scarcely a lotel but uses them, except in the most remote listricts of the "back country," where the latrons of the house are satisfied with a sharp;ned match, or the like. Wooden toothpicks ire made of white poplar, and are all made it one factory in Maine. The refuse wood is lone up in bundles for cigar lights. So great ias been the popularity of cheap wood toothlicks in this country, that the experiment of ixporting them is soon to be tried. ~K t 'Vi' unr.a mmFITiTha lmili mteenth centuries there were few public fesivals, triumphal processions or perambulaoltATira in tu Kinh trained animals did not iiug ouuna .u ^ iccupy a prominent position. A Spanish jhronicler gives an account of a procession in Brussels in 1549, organized for the eutertainnent of King Phillip II. The band were itationed on a large car; in the centre sat a luge bear playing on an organ, not consisting >f reeds and pipes, but a score of cats, inclosid in separate boxes where they could not novo; the tail of each cat was drawn out hrough au aperture, and tied to a string cor esponding to one of the keya of the instrunent, so that when the bear struck these keys he cats' tails were jerked, and the poor creates howled in a most dismal manner. There vere tenors and bases, and they were trained o mew in concert. Poodles and monkeys lanced to the strange music, "and," the chroncler goes on to say, "although King Philip vas the most solemn and demure of men, he :ould not refrain from laughing on beholding his strange sight." Several other styles of :at organs were afterward invented, and in >ne of these sharp points or needles were subitituted for the strings ?Hearth and Home. * " * " TT.1_ A Little advice to r armeks.?xiejp four wives iu every way you can, trivial bough it may seem to you. For instance : seep an extra pair of shoes or slippers in the lall or entry, and always remember, change four dirty boots before entering her clean ooms. Then you may be sure of a smile of welcome, as no dirt will be left after you for ler to clean up. Iu the evening comb your lair as carefully as ever you did in your courtng days, put on a clean coat or dressingjown, and when you take your paper to read, io not read to yourself and leave her to lonelome thoughts while sewing or mending, but emember that she, too, has been working lard all day, and is still working. Bead to ler whatever interests you, so that her inter?sts and opinions may grow with yours, and that shd may comprehend something besides love stories, of which too many have read more than they should. You will both be happier, and being a farmer's or a mechanic's wife will not be such a dreadful tiresome and lonely life as many girls have every reason /% iVtinlr if ia ? IIU IT IV bUlun IV iUi Power of Bearing Heat.?It is generally supposed that the human frame cannot endure great heat, aud if exposed to it will soon sink in exhaustion. This is true in hot climates, to which people have not been accustomed. But in this case the effect may be due to influences from vegetation, or to some disturbances of nature. It is certain that artificial heat, far greater than the heat of the sun in the torrid zone, may be borne without special suffering or harm. The British Journal of Science says that men in iron establishments work without inconvenience with the thermometer constantly at 120 degrees, and in pits for making the Bessemer steel at 140 degrees. In Turkish baths the shampooers are often busily engaged for four or five hours in succession, with the temperature at 110 degrees. In the Red Sea Reamers the stoke hole marks 145 degrees, ind in enamel works the operators are compelled daily to endure a heat of 300 degrees, rhe elastic power of the human body in accommodating itself to extremes is wonderful. All Sorts of Men.?Tiiere is a great difference in men. Some are true-hearted and inauspicious asNewfoundland dogs; others are ike rat-terriers, always nosing around under he impression that there is something going in they don't quite understand. Some are iobb and generous; others thoroughly mean md contemptible. Some others are overrun vith vanity and egotism. Some are invariaily kind and considerate; others go about vith their eyes shut, in utter ignorance of the rouble they are giving by their carelessness. Some are slow and steady, and to be dependid upon; others are quite brilliant but unreiable. Some have a taste for detail, and atend to all the minutiie of a subject, while ithers care only for great principles, and rejuire a thing to be gigantic before it arrests heir attention. Men of genius are always inconifortable to live with. Absorbed in one ubject, they ignore trifles, and trifles make lp the comfort or discomfort of life. A Worcester boy was engaged in nocurnal cherry-stealing a short time ago, and vas observed by-the owner of the fruit, who, innoticed by the young rohher, placed a largo tuffed dog at the foot of the tree aud retired o watch the result of the strategy. The boy lesceuding observed the dog, and then the un commenced: he whistled, coaxed, threatened unavailing, the animal never moving, ind finally the youth accepting the inevitable, ettled down to passing the night in the tree. ^fter some hours had passed wearily enough o the lad, morning dawned, and the proprieor of the tree coming from the house, asked dm how he came to be in the tree, to which he boy auswered that he took to it to save limself from the dog, who had chased him [uite a distance. It isn't healthy fora smaller loy to say stuffed dog to that youth now. Valuable knowledge can be obtained nly by personal effort. Every one must traerse the hills and valleys for himself, and it s only by unremitting application and perseerance that the attempt will be crowned with uccess. But to the devoted, perseveriug eekers success is certain. The state of miud 3 such as to insure the best use being made of uy accessible helps, and of the exercise of ugeuuity aud application in surmounting ifficulties, even in the absence of all foreign id. Whatever may be his present deficienies and disadvantages, the person?especially he youug person?who is so sensible of the alue of knowledge as to apply his heart to nHpratanHincr?tr? spplr fnr it. ns fnr silwpr. .......?B ?? ?- -- --- ?' ? J ud to search for it as for bidden treasures? ssuredly shall not seek in vain. Knowledge i the prize of application. An Iowa paper reports the following as he actual form of a marriage service in a 3wu in that State: "Join your right hands. )o you want one another?" (They both auwer "Yes.") "Well, then, have one another. fou're man and wife." t&F Some of the papers want a bald-headed 'resident next time, because we have not had ne since Martin Van Buren.