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lewis m. gbist, proprietorj Jnbcpcnbcnt Jfamilj Hctospapcr: Jfor t^romoJian of % political, Social, ^grtealtoral anb Commercial interests of % SoutI;. terhs?$3.00 a tear, in advance. VOL. SO. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1874. NO. 49. ?he jitorg ?die v. A BOTTLE AM) ITS VICTIMS" j r* ? ?r~ "Pshaw !" says the impatient reader, flirting the page over; "a total abstinence tract! | We've had a surfeit of these things." Just so; but a bottle, as it is my present, purpose to illustrate, may contain other matter quite as dangerous to the peace of mind of its victims as spirits or wine. My title is perhaps an unfortunate one, and certainly wants the i attraction of novelty ; but, as it expresses my meaning, I shall let it stand. It has never been my lot to meet with more | domestic happiness under one roof than is to ' be found in the family of ray opposite neighk bor, Captain Reuben Winslow. A bluff, gen ^ ial, hearty gentleman, of fifty or more years, i bearing about him, wherever he goes, that J air of unalloyed contentment, of satisfaction with his past life, and pleasant anticipation of; the future, which ought to be, though it is not always, characteristic of the retired mariuer ^ in easy circumstances. His wife, still a hand-I some matron, from whom a quiet cheerfulness, ' -- *- 1 ?- *1.tUn , 80 10 spcaa, seems iu rttumie unuugnuui me household, is, in every respect, worthy of her partner. A son, grown to manhood; two j lovely blonde daughters, the belles of our j street; and little George, who had flashed un- ! expectedly, like a sunset ray, into the after-, noon of their lives, are still at home with the j parents ; while their married daughter (Mrs. j Turner) lives but a few doors off, on my side i of the way. She is in and out at all hours of the day, appearing to have two homes, and to be equally happy in both. I sat conversing with the captain and his wife, one evening, as was my wont. The daughter and her husband had gone out but a few minutes before, and I ventured a remark upon a subject which had many times occupied my passing thoughts. "What a difference is sometimes to be observed in features and complexion among childreu of the same parents," said I, in a half- j meaiiauve way. Mrs. Winslow most opportunely had business to attend to up stairs at this moment, and left us alone. I have since thought that her feminine perception may have divined my meaning. After she retired, my friend looked in my face with a strange kind of inquisitive smile. 1 - "Yes," I blushingly said, as if in auswer to i a question, "I was thinking that, while all : your other children so strongly resemble each \ other, Mrs. Turner, though quite as beautiful and attractive in her way, is totally unlike them and you." "More like her mother, perhaps?" suggest- j ed the captain. "She does resemble her mother in some respects, I admit; but still I cannot help think- ' ing itstrange there should be such a marked contrast between her and the younger mem- I bers of the family." J "It's not strance to me at all," said he, drily, j "It wouldu't be strange to you if you knew what I am going to tell you. Sophia is not my daughter." "Not your daughter!" I exclaimed in sur-I prise. j "I'll warrant you have wondered a hundred j times how she could be mine, and now you j are yet more astonished that she is not. If it I , were not being guilty of an unpardonable ; bull, I might say that she ought to have been." M And my friend laughed at the crooked con- i! ceit. I must have looked very foolish as I sat re- 1 volving the matter in my mind ; but what could I say ? Mrs. Winslow's daughter?not | his daughter?but ought to have been ! He j took the matter coolly, at any rate?even : laughed at it. I had been intimate with the j family for several years, was present at So- : phia's marriage, knew that she had borne the ' name of Winslow, and bow tenderly she had always been loved, at least, apparently, by I both parents, and now?what could it mean ? "She was born," said the captain, seriously, | "while her mother and I were both victims of ; the bottle." I was conscious of having acted foolishly i enough before ; but now I was a mere driveller. If I had "put ray foot in it" at the oat- 1 set, I was now, metaphorically speaking, struggling knee-deep. Could I believe that the noble man before me, or, still less, his 1 gentle, lady-like wife, had ever been debased by intemperance ? My neighbor enjoyed my perplexity for a minute,and then, bursting into a laugh, "Come," said he, "since I have given ^ hints enough to excite your curiosity, it is but fair that I should explain ray meaning. I once did a very foolish thing, in a moment of i thoughtlessness, which cost both my dear Jane and myself years of misery. I have done my best to atone for it since ; and though we can never forget it, so many years of happiness have since passed over us, that I may be excused if I do laugh at the recollection. But you can judge of that for yourself. I acknowledge that I have never since been free j from reproach, though Jane has forgiven me ; long ago." The captain gave me his story, or coufes- ! sion, as it really was, on his part, making it: as brief as possible; but at subsequent times j I learned all the particulars, and, with his ! permission, will give it to the reader in my ' nwn wav. I At the age of twenty-five, Reuben Winslow, a reckless, care-for-nothing son of Neptune, was shipped as second mate in the barque Ajax, of Bristol, for a whaling voyage to the Indian and Pacific Oceans. But, for the first time in his life, he found as the day of sailing 1 drew near, that he could not leave home in his usual indifferent, thoughtless manner, i ^ He had no pareuts or near relatives living; but he had given all the wealth of his heart; to Jane Athearn, receiving in return the assu-j ^ ranee that hers would accompany him, | through storm and calm, wherever the stout ] Ul; Ajax might wind her devious course. Rich j in love for each other, but poor in worldly j chattels, they looked forward with high hopes j to their union at the termination of the voy- j age. So young Winslow dashed the film from j before his eyes, gave his first orders to his subordinates in a husky voice, aud sought temporary relief in the excitement of "Up anchor and sheet home!" while Jane, in her humble home away down in the country, shed tears over a cheap photograph of her bold sailor-boy, its most striking points consisting in the extreme blueness of the round jacket, and the greenuess of the* count' nance and at4 titude. Two mouths later the Ajax, having made j good use of the time, lay becalmed in the : broad Atlantic, nearly under the Southern ! ? tropic. It was Sunday, and there was no work : going on ; but the officers, with clean shirts and newly-shorn faces, were talking of home,j and otherwise killing time as best they might, j The captain came on deck with a bottle in his hand, corked and sealed tightly. "I have written our report, with date and latitude, on a piece of paper, bottled it up, and ' here goes !" he shouted, throwing it, at the same time, over the quarter-rail into the sea. "What '11 you bet on our hearing of it again ?" < " Twould be safe enough to bet against it," , said the first officer. "I should say the chances | were about equal to my being turned into a whale." Whereat a general laugh went round the group. _ I "But we do hear reports of vessels in that way, now and then," the captain said ; "though of course the chances are a million to one j against it, in any particular case. Now you j throw another overboard, or any one else that I has any empty bottles on hand. Let's multiply the chances, just for the fun of the thing." Down went the mates to ransack for bottles, : and in a short time some six or eight, each I containing a written statement, with embellish-1 mentstosuit the fancy of the writer, were | committed to the ocean. "I've reported the Ajax with five hundred ^ barrels," said the third mate. "That's only: anticipating a little. If we haven't got it, we ' want it." This was not said in the captain's hearing. ' He supposed that all the bottles contained I bona fide reports, though he did not ask to look j at their contents. "My story is," said one of the men, "that i we have had a terrible mutiny on board ; that big black Sara has got command of the ship, and has driven the captain into the galley to cook mm. "What did you write, Mr. Winslow ?" the chief mate asked. "O, I'm not going to tell. If my bottle is picked up, it will astonish the finder more than any of them. But, pshaw ! we never j shall hear from any of them again." "No, there's not much danger of it," was j the careless reply. They watched the bottles, bobbing up and down in the swell, for some little time ; but, gradually carried to the westward by the force of the current, they had all passed out of view long before the favoring breeze filled the sails of the barque, and she again pushed forward on her southward course. Past the stormy headland of Good Hope, and across the great Southern Ocean, through Timor Straits to the cruising grounds about New Guiuea and the Archipelago of Solomon, where, cut off from all but merely accidental communication with the civilized world, we leave her and her hardy crew to pursue the objects of their adventurous cruise, and to battle with Leviathan in his native element. Months passed away?long, weary months to the true-hearted girl, who vainly besieged the local post-office?vainly swept her eager eye over the marine list of the Bristol Mercury, only to meet with disappointment, till "hope deferred made the heart sick." Only one let-1 ... . t 1 . K I 1. . J ! ter, written tnree weeus out irom nome, naa , reached her ; a true seaman's love-letter, filled ! with the outspoken affection of her stouthearted whaleman, with confidence in her enduring truth, with pride in his noble vessel and shipmates, with sanguine predictions of merited success and triumphant return. The precious document had been read over and again, till every word was transferred to the page of memory; opened and reclosed till the folds showed alarming evidence of weakness; I 3till its successor came not, and the Ajax had j been absent nearly a year. Still, Jane did not cease to hope, for her father, who had followed the sea himself, but had given it up in consequence of failing health, still thought that they had found a profitable cruisingground somewhere by themselves, and made a port at some out-of-the-way island. "When you do hear from the ship," said he, "she will be doing well, depend upon it." Jane was the pride of her father?his only companion and housekeeper. Her mother had died several years before; and the darling wish of the invalid widower's heart was that j he might live long enough to see his girl the f happy wife of some one worthy of her. Thus matters stood when Jane one day j bought, as usual, the Mercury, and hastening j home with it, paused not even to remove her | shawl and hat, but tearing it open, she cast ' her eyes upon the shipping intelligence, j With riveted gaze upon the paper, and the ; paleness of death chasing the rosy bloom from j her cheeks, she dropped into the nearest chair ! and mechanically read on. "What is it, Jane? News from Reuben?" | No reply. The breath came hard and thick j through the parted lips, the dilated eyes wan- j dered not from the item till the last cruel word was read, the last spark of hope dying ; out with it. The paper fell to the floor, and j the insensible girl was caught in the feeble arms of her father, as she sank under the blow | 30 heart crushing, sc suddenly inflicted. Fever and delirium followed, and for sever-1 al days Jane Athearn's life wavered in the ! balance. But nature, aided by medical skill j and the careful nursing of her father, and his j kind neighbors, at last triumphed. Reason J came back to the stricken one, and with it a : calmness and fortitude which were inherent with her, and might have averted all danger, had the fatal tidings been less abruptly communicated. With the captain's permission, I have copied from the printed slip which he still carefully preserves, as a reminder, he says, of the one great folly of his life : "Sad Marink Disastkr?Probable Loss ok THE 13ARQUK AJAX, AND ADD JlElt D15EW.?OIlip Condor, which arrived at this port yesterday, reports March 16th, while becalmed in the Bight of Brazil, picked up a junk bottle sealed tightly, which appeared to have been several months in the water. On opening the bottle, the following report was found: 'Barque Ajax, of Bristol, at sea, near the Cape of Good Hope. Aug. 1?six feet of water in the hold, and gaining upon us every hour. We have just got the foresail on her to send before it, but the gale, which has blown for two days, is still increasing. There is little or no hope for us.?R. W.' We have copied this from the paper itself, which is in good condition and still perfectly legible. The handwriting corresponds well with the signature of the second oflicer, Mr. Reuben Winslow, on the duplicate of the ship's articles. Had she reached either Cape Town or Mauritius, the news must long ago have transpired. There can be no doubt that the ill-fated barque has foundered in the gale at sea, with all onboard." Bitterly and sincerely did Jane Athearn mourn the loss of the man she loved, for many months after her recovery front the first great shock. But time works wonders in healing heart-wounds; and whatever may be expected of the heroine of a mere romance, the observer of every-day actualities will not be astonished to learn that she neither committed suicide nor buried her young heart forever in the depths of the Southern Ocean. It is no reflection upon her judgment or her heart's that she declined to do either. Other cares stepped in ; the failing health of her only parent demanded her attention and sympathy ; his anxiety to see his darling married before he left the world of course had its weight with her. She listened to the suit of ; Andrew Morrison, captain of a coaster, aud j the close of the next year saw her united in j marriage to him at the wish of her dying father, whose last conscious act was to invoke '< a blessing upou the union. * * *' No young man's heart beat higher with fond anticipations of happiness than did our second mate on the morning when the Ajax, laden scuppers to with oily treasure, backed j her maintop-sail to speak a pilot-boat off the English coast. But the joy of the bronzed mariners swarming on her deck was equaled by the astonishment of the pilots at hearing the answer to their inquiry, "What barque is it r "You must be joking," said a voice, recog- j nized as that of the veteran pilot who took j her out when she sailed. "The Ajax went to the bottom off Good Hope, and the insurance money has been paid on her long ago." What could this mean ? mentally inquired I every man on board save one. It was true they had cruised on unfrequented whaling grounds, and had neither sent nor received letters since speaking a ship when three weeks ! out from England. But how should they know at home how and where she was lost?, if, iudeed, she had not been heard from at all,: a case which was not without precedent thirty ; years ago, though hardly possible at the pres- j ent day. Ileuben Winslow alone held the key to the mystery, and his heart beat yet more wildly with a new fear, as conscience sent the blood tingling to his cheeks. The words, "went to the bottom off Good Hope" brought to the surface his shameful secret, so long buried iu his own heart and almost forgotten?the bottle! What might have been the effect of the news upon the girl he loved ? was his next thought. A few words from the pilot, who boarded ; the ship, explained the whole misunderstand-! ing. But in most cases no harm had been I done but such as could be soon repaired. i Though friends had mourned them us dead, j the joy would be greater at the news of their I resurrection, and the novel circumstance would serve as a good joke to be laughed at in years to come. But Winslow, on making inquiries of the old pilot, learned that which hurled him at once from happy anticipation to hopeless despair. Jane Athearn had been married but a week before, had closed the eyes of her father, and had gone away with her husband an orphaned bride. The news had well-nigh crushed his heart even as the fond girl's had been by the cruel message which he had so thoughtlessly cast upon the waters. He had so looked forward to a bappy meeting?had thought of her always as his good angel and polar-star?had, iu the words of the old sea-song, "brought back her parting kiss as pure as he received itand now, to the pain of disappointment and blighted hope, was added that of remorse that he owed all this to a single reckless act of his own. Had she proved false to her vows without good cause, he might have borne it manfully, for his own conscience would have been clear. Mechanically he attended to his duties in working the ship up the channel; but there was none of his usual spirit in the orders which he gave to the crew ; no hearty response on his part to the joyous greetings which saluted the return of men risen, as it seemed, from an ocean grave. Au outward bound ship, all ready for sea, lay moored in the stream as they passed in. "She was ready to sail three days ago," remarked the pilot; "but her mate was taken ill at the eleventh hour, and had to give up the voyage. She's only waiting now to ship a mate." "I'llgo in her," said Winslow, desperately, "if they'll make me a good offer." "Do you mean that?" asked the pilot." "Mean it? Yes," was the dogged reply. "I'd sooner go to sea than go ashore now." Within an hour it was known at the office of Messrs. Wing & Co. that the second mate of the Ajax was up for a berth at the shortest notice. With the highest recommendations from his captain, he was just the man wanted ; the offer was a liberal one, for time was pressing ; a few hours sufficed to make up all his arrangements, and the next morning's sun saw Reuben Winslow at his post between the knight-heads of the Mogul, taking her anchor. A change came over the whole man from that day?a change for the better, however. Though the wild exuberance of youthful spirits was suppressed, his well-balanced mind was not oue to give way to "green and-yellow melancholy." Though his fondest hopes had been wrecked by a bottle, he had too much self-respect to put in practice the doctrine, "like cures like," by rushing to the bottle for relief. He turned a deaf ear to the rough, well-meant consolations of his quarter-deck comrades, who often repeated to him the hackneyed proverb, "As good fish are left in the sea as ever were caught." With a keen sense of his own wrong-doing, he lived for atonement; the reckless, impulsive hoy was lost in the sedate, thouglitful man. Tn devotion to the active duties of his profession he had no superior. Throughout the whaling fleet, whether "on Japan," or "off" shore," it was well known that no more nervous arm or truer lance was to be found than that of the Mogul's mate. And when, by an accident, he was raised to the supreme command, no young officer could have been better fitted for the position. Under his charge, the voyage was prosecuted to a successful end in three years, and his employers were ready to start him agaiu, with his choice either of the same ship or a new one. But a new tumult of feeling was stirred within him by a few words spoken by an old acquaintance whom he met in Bristol. Jane j Morrison had returned, a widow, to her old I home in the neighboring village. He could j give no definite reply to the flattering propo-1 sals of his owners until she had answered one ! question for him. With the entire earning of two good voyages standing due to him, with health, strength, reputation as an officer, and the high road to wealth open before him?was the one great void in his heart to be filled or not ? Sorrow and toil had written their marks upon the pleasing features of the young widow, who sat bending over her work, with a bright little girl of two years playing by her side. Her union with Captain Morrison had proved an uucongenial one; and her life, while under the sway of his arbitrary temper, was little ; less than a continual martyrdom. But she ! had faithfully done her duty to her husband j up to the day of his death, from brain fever. | Bitterly had she regretted the step she had j taken iu becoming his wife, and the more so since the hour when she learned of the safe arrival of the missing ship, and the departure of Winslow on another voyage, almost without setting his foot on shore. When left, as she was, in destitute circumstances, she had naturally turned again to the home of her girlhood, and had since labored early and late for the support of herself and little So ptiia. She laid aside her work to answer a knock at the door ; and a tall man stood before her, who apparently made an effort to conceal his face, as he asked, "Is Mrs. Morrison in ?" The stranger entered, removed his hat threw back his overcoat, and turned his face full toward her. "Jane!" said he, in a tremulous voice; <?j ? "Reubeu Winslow !" There was a touch of gladness in her tones, as she spoke his name and offered her hand; then the old regret came back that he could be nothing to her now, and the unbidden tears started as she resumed her seat. "Mamma cry," said the little prattler, climbing into her lap. "0, Reubeu, that we should meet thus!" i she went on. "But I thought you were lost; and if you knew all, you could not blame me much." Winslow was puzzled. At finding himself face to face with her, he knew not how to begin : what he wished to say ; but here was a new : _l -P .1? a.. (?1J1 i.? ? ' plUiSti U1 tut? Iimitei. ummc lid mutu, indeed ! He had expected, if not reproached, at least a bearing of injured innocence on her part, and found, instead, apology and self- J abasement. ) Before he had made up his mind how to re- j ply, she asked, "How did you escape from your great danger off the Cape of Good ' Hope?" He comprehended all now. She knew not, as yet, that the report was a false one, but supposed the ship had been saved by some-' thing akin to a miracle. His tongue was loosened at once. "Jane," said he, "I alone am to blame ! I 1 was guilty of a foolish act, for which, God knows, I have suffered almost as much as I believe you have. A wicked act, too, though not done with criminal intent. We never A r,f? flnnA T-Tr\r\n k.,t n,Un ! weru 1 LI ail Y uau^ci uu UWUU Aiwp^i uui/ 11 Iivu ; that report was written were lying becalmed in the middle of the South Atlantic." She looked at him in utter astonishment. "Don't interrupt me, Jane," he continued. "I have been tortured by remorse ever since ; but I have gone on my way, striving to do right; and in all respects, save one, have been prosperous?more tha:a I deserved. I have sought you out this evening, thinking you knew the truth already, to ask if I can be forgiveu ; and if so, to ask, also, if the remainder of a life devoted to your happiness may be offered as an atonement for the one great wrong in my youth?" She bowed her head a.mongthe bright curls of her little daughter, while Winslow, in silence, awaited her answer. "Reuben, I have been much surprised?and I cannot deny it, shocked?by what you have told me; for, until this evening, I thought Ah - .-1a. Unr] oil ni tt n m n T f onomq tlf Ck Hit? lUUlli IlrtU ucoii all ujjt uvTil. XI/ OV/UUIJ iiv both have erred, and both have suffered deeply in consequence. For your wrong is no greater?indeed, it is not so great as mine in marrying Andrew Morrison when I never truly loved him. For you know, Reuben? indeed, I could never conceal it from you? that my heart was yours first, last, and always. Let our past errors be forgotten then, on both sides; and if you still wish me to be?" She placed her hand in his strong grasp. "From ray heart and soul, I do!" "I shall put my trust in you, as I have always done; and my child?" "Shall be mine?ours, Jane !" he interrupted. "She shall know no other father." And until grown to womanhood she never did. fPscfllMMUS ffeadiug. MARK TWAIN'S COLD. Mark Twain being invited to attend the anniversary exercises of a New York grammar school, lately, was obliged to decline, and sent the following letter, giving his reasons : Hartford, Ct., October 5, 1874. Miss K. W. While?.Dear Madam:?I regret exceedingly being unable to accept your kind invitation (also P. G. Duffy's) to be present at your commencement exercises, but the annoying and vexatious illness which still hangs about me, together with some business engagements, will prevent. The illness to which I refer is severe cold which I took in New York last winter, during the lecture season. Perhaps the recital of how I tried to cure this cold niay be of interest, and may serve instead of the few remarks you so polite ly asked me to make to the friends ana pupns. The first time I began to sneeze, a friend told me to go and bathe my feet in hot water and go to bed. I did so. Shortly after another friend told me to get up and take a cold shower bath. I did that also. Within the hour another friend assured me that it was policy to feed a cold and starve a fever. I had both. So I thought it best to fill myself up for the cold, and let the fever starve a while. In a case of this kind I seldom do things by halves; I ate pretty heartily. I conferred my custom upon a stranger, who had just opened his restaurant on Cortlandt street, near the hotel, that morning, paying so much for a full meal. Pie waited near me in respectful silence until I had finished feeding ray cold, when he inquired if the people about New York were much afflicted with colds. I told him I thought they were. He then went out and took in his sign. I started up toward the office, and on the way encountered another bosom friend, who told me a quart of warm salt water would come as near curing a cold as anything in the world. I hardly tliought I had room for it, but I tried it, anyhow. The result was surprising. I believe I threw up my immortal soul. Now, as I give my experience only for the benefit of those of your friends who are troubled with this distemper, I feel that they will see the propriety of my cautioning them against following such portions of it as proved inefficient with me; and acting upon this conviction, 1 warn them against warm salt water. It may be a good enough remedy, but I think it is rather too severe. If I had another cold in the head, and there was no course left me but to take an earthquake or a quart of warm salt water, I would take my nlmnrpj? nn flip earth ntmke. After this everv body in the hotel became interested, and I took all sorts of remedies?hot lemonade, cold lemonade, pepper tea, boneset, stewed Quaker, hoarhound syrup, onions and loaf sugar, lemons and brown sugar, vinegar and laudanum, five bottles of fir balsam, eight bottles cherry pectoral, and ten bottles of Uncle Sam's remedy, but all without effect. One of the prescriptions given by an old lady was?well, it was dreadful. She raided a decoctiou composed of molasses, catnip, peppermint, aqua fortis, turpentine, kerosene, and various other drugs, and instructed me to take a wineglass of it everv fifteen minutes. I never took but one dose ; that was enough. I had to take to my bed, and remain there two entire days. When I felt a little better more things were recommended. I was desperate, and willing to take anything. Plain gin was recommended, then gin and molasses, tbeD gin and onions. I took all three. I detected no particular result, however, except that I had acquired a breath like a turkey buzzard, and had to change my boarding-place. At this new place they suggested a different remedy to any yet tried. A sheet bath was recommended. I had never refused a remedy yet, and it seemed poor policy to commence then; therefore I determined to take a sheet bath, though I had no idea what sort of arrangement it was. It was administered at midnight, and the weather was very frosty. My back and breast were stripped, and a sheet (there appeared to be a thousand yards of it) soaked in ice water was wound around me until I resembled a swab for a columbiad. It is a cruel expedient. When the chilly rag touches one's warm flesh it makes him start with sudden violence, and gasp for breath, just as men do in the death agony. Itfror.e the marrow in my bones and stopped the beating of my heart. I thought my time had come. When I recovered from this a friend recommended the application of a mustard piaster to my breast. I believe that would have cured me effectually ifit had not been for young Clemens. When I went to bed I put the mustard plaster where I could reach it when I should be ready for it, but youDg Clemens got hungry in the night and ate it up. I never saw any child have such an appetite. I am confident that he would have eaten me if I had been healthy. After all this experience, you cannot wonder that I dread going to New York, and feel obliged to decline your kind invitation. Wishing you a successful and pleasant time, I remain, very respectfully, S. L. Clemens (Mark Twain.) Study of Nature.?When Smeaton was in search of that form best fitted to resist the combined action of the wind and waves, he found it in the trunk of the oak. When Watt was employed to conduct the supply of water across the Clyde to the city of Glasgow, he borrowed his admirable contrivance of a flexible water-main, fro n considering the flexibility of the lobster's tail ; and so when Mr. Brunei was engaged in superintending the construction of the tunnel under the Thames, it was from observing the head of an apparently insignificant iusect that he derived his first conception of the ingenious shield which he introduced in advance of the workmen to frnm hpircr rrnahprf hv t.hf? full jJIUVUlt bllVUI i?v/u. ?/v?. ^ w? J ing in of the earth. It becomes us, then, while we trace the operations of human ingenuity in adapting means to its proposed ends, to raise our thoughts tc that Divine Architect who has imprinted traces of His wisdom and power in all His works, causing the heavens to declare His glory, and the earth, throughout all its domains of land, sea and air, to show forth His handiwork. Three Millions a Year.?He dresses in ] black. His clothes are well made and fit him < perfectly. His only jewelry consists of a i ! plain gold watch, worth about 850, which he 1 seldom disturbs from its place in his pocket. 1 He loathes unnecessary adornment. Three small, linen-covered buttons appear on his shirt-bosom. No watch chain is visible. He 1 | wears a black beaver hat, which weighs half ' a pound less tliau the heavy gray stove pipes < j fashioia ordained should be worn this summer. J His hair is of a reddish gray, and is neatly j dressed at all times. His beard, which is more ' tinted with gray than his hair, is short, and is 1 trimmed regularly, so as to be kept at the same length all the year round. Where a f j cumbersome moustache ought to be a hair is j never permitted to obtain more than a day's j I growth. He is of a slender though compact ' physique. His complexion, is ruddy and be- 1 speaks the best of health. He always looks j as if he had ju9t left the toilet table. This man is seveuty-four years of age. In conver- \ sation his keen eyes are never taken for an in- J stant from off yours. His face bears the im- I press of prudence, discretion, self-confidence, 1 a calmness impossible to ruffle, and above all, of honesty and truthfulness. He neverspeaks loud enough to be heard ten steps from where 1 he stands. Eaves-droppers canuot catch even 1 the sound of his voice. He shakes hands with you cordially, nay, even warmly. He is politeness and courtesy itself. His conver- ! sation is always couched iu the refined language of the educated gentleman ; he uses no I slang ; he is witty, and at times vivacious; he is no teetotaller, but drinks only at meal J hours; his favorite wines are Johannisberg, ' from Prince Mett.ernich's private vineyard, I the like of which is not easily found in this country; he is fond of Sherry and Madeira ; ; his wine-cellar contains the choicest collection of wine in America. This mau's wealth is estimated at one hundred millions of dollars, made by him since 1834, in New York city. 1 He has no children, nor a single relative on 1 the face of the earth. He is the last of his \ race. It is A. T. Stewart. Praise the Children.?There is an idea 1 that praise is too good a thing to be given to : children ; that it is too rich for their mental and moral digestion. Some parents are so fearful that a child will grow proud that they 1 never praise him, and this course is often dis- 1 astrous. It is apt to produce too much self- 1 assertion?for self-assertion is a legitimate outgrowth of withholding commendation from , one who is entitled to it, or it will engender j self-distrust or melancholy hopelessness of dis- , position. Praise is sunshine to a child, and j there is no child that does not need it. It is , the high reward of one's struggle to do right, j Thomas Hughes says that you can never get j a man's best out of him without praise. You . certaiuly can never get a child's best out of j him without praise. Many a sensitive child, ( we believe, dies of hunger for lack of kind ( commendation. Many a child starving for | *l*a ou aiii/1 r?iirn ftltlQ nff me praise n paxcub ouuuiu sivyjf < uug vu , eagerly after the designing flattery of others. ' To withhold praise where it is due is dishon- ^ est, and, in the case of a child, such a course ( often leaves a stinging sense of injustice. | Motives of common justice as well as regard ] for the future of the child should influence , the parent to give generous praise to all who . deserve it. Of course there is a difference in the constitutions of children ; some cannot bear so much praise as others, and some need ( a great deal. It should never be indiscrirai- , nate. We remember a wonderful woman who | taught school in one village until she had ed- , I ucated a par; of three generations. She was one of the most successful of teachers, but her i success lay iu her gift of praising with dis* , crimination. A bad boy who was a good , scholar, got praises for his brilliancy sandwiched between her abomination of his bad ( behavior, and so was won to a better life ; and ( we recall a good girl who had no gift for , learning rapidly, but who was saved from ut- j ter despair by the praise she got for her unti- , ring industry. Into the discouraged heart of ( the children the praise of the teacher came , like sunlight; and the virtues, like fruit, can ( only ripen in sunshine. Where the Laugh Came In.?One of the professors of college was very fond | of telling funny stories to the class by way of , illustration. After a time the class laid their J heads together in private, ana nit upon a pian i of operations which they anticipated would confound the story-loving "prof." According- ( ly on the following day, when the latter had introduced his invariable anecdote with "and , that reminds rue, young gentlemen, of a very , facetious illustration," the class sat bolt up- j right to a man, and listened to the telling of a j really funny story without so much as a smile. | The professor concluded with a loud "ha! , ha !" in which not another voice joined. j The poor man was dumfounded. What , j could be the matter? The anecdote was fun- } I uy enough ; and why didn't the boys laugh, , | as usual ? He raised his spectacles from his , j nose and looked at them, sitting there before , | him as dumb and vacant-faced as so many , oysters. Plainly, they did not get the point . of the joke. So at it he went again. , "You will see, gentlemen, that the fun of , this little story lies in the very absurd idea j that?ha! ha!?the man should carry the ] donkey, and not the donkey carry the man." , And still there was not a smile; his audience } looked the perfection of hopeless stupidity. Gradually it dawned upon the puzzled "prol." that the boys were making a fool of him ; and 1 he thundered, in no gentle tones, "Let the re- < citation proceed !" It did proceed ; but not < three minutes later, when some trivial little i mistake occurred, which ordinarily would not i have been considered in the least laughable, i the whole class burst out in one tremendous I prolonged peal of laughter, which quickly ap- s prised the "prof." of the full extent of the de- j liberate cruelty of the joke. He dismissed the I class in a rage, and of course abandoned his i habit of illustration ; but it was long before i anything like amicable relations were restored < between him and the boys. i - ( Daniel in the Hands of a Friend.? ( Nantucket people enjoy a reputation for < i smartness, and even Daniel Webster found < | his match there. The story as told by Mr. ] j Webster himself, is as follows: The court t : held a term on the island periodically. There { ! was not much litigation; but the suits were t ! heavy, relating to ships, whale fishing and oil. j | The judges and lawyers usually went over t j from the continent and spent a week or ten ^ j days, and finished the business of the session. ? One day one of the Frieuds of the island ? called at my office in Boston, and said, "Friend Daniel, what will thee ask to come down to Nantucket next week aud plead a r : case for me before the judges?" ? j "I will go for a thousand dollars." i "That is too much, Friend Daniel." t | "But I will have to go down Saturday, and e j perhaps remain the whole week following. I t i would as soon argue the whole docket." s "Well, Friend Daniel, if thee will argue f such cases as I will present to thee before my ( case is called, I will give thee a thousand dol- r lars," and so the bargain was struck. r "My client went to Nantucket, and fouud his t case at the foot of the docket. He went from s man to man and saw all who had cases on c the docket, and said, "What will thee give c me if I'll get the great Daniel Webster to a plead thy cause?" He took retainers from a f dozen men. Some gave him a hundred dol- i lars, a?d some five hundred dollars. He had c j grace enough to give me the thousand dollars c | as agreed, and paid my expenses into the bar- e I gain. I argued the docket right through, for 1 plaintiff or defendant, until I reached my slient's case. He struck the balance* and admitted as the steamer left the wharf that he had got his case argued, and pocketed fifteen hundred dollars besides." National Characteristics? At a recent i dinner party some one quoted the witty para- j lox that "an Englishman is never happy ex2ept when he is miserable, a Scotsman never it home except when abroad, and an Irishman never at pfeace except when at war." The late Sir Henry Holland, who was present,! followed with a story of an Englishman, an Irishman, and a Scotsman, who were represented as looking through a confectioner's window at a beautiful young girl sewing in the shop. "O!" exclaims Patrick, "do let us be spending a half-crown with the dear crayture, that we may look at her more convaniently, and have a bit of a chat with her." """" * __:J T?i ??T I ou extravagant uog, sum uuuu, x uu 3ure one half the money will do as well; but let us go in by all means ; she is a charming girl." "Ah! wait a wee," interposed the canny Scot; "dinna ye ken it'll serve our purpose equally weel just to ask the bonnie lassie to give us twa sixpences for a shilling, an' to inquire where's Mr. Sampson's house, an' sic like? We're no hungry, an' may as well save the siller." This anecdote was told by the distinguished physician to illustrate the difference among the populace of the three kingdoms with respect to temperament?the Irish ardent and impetuous, the Scotch comparatively cool and cautious, while the English are perhaps a fair average between the two. We may recall another illustration, given by a celebrated poet. When George IV went to Ireland, one of the "pisiutry," delighted with his affability to the crowd on landing, said to the toll-keeper, as the king passed through, "Och, now, and bis Majesty? God bless him!?never paid." "We let's 'era go free," was the answer. "Then there's the dirty money for ye," said Pat. "It shall never be said that the king came and found nobody to pay the turnpike for him." Thomas Moore, on his visit to Abbotsford, told the story to Sir Walter, when they were comparing notes as to the royal visits. "Now, Mr. Moore," said Scot, "there you have the advantage of us. There was no lack of enthusiasm here; the Scotch folk would have done anything in the world for the king but?pay hbo tnrnnikfl !" S6TA baby is a very tender thing, people say, but most of them are very far from knowing how tender. Imagine how nervous pou are in certain states?when recovering from illness, say, when the fall of a book or the dam of a door makes you quiver and feel faint, as if some one gave you a blow. That is the way a young baby feels at its best. A puff of wind will set it gasping, its little breath blown quite away. A noise makes it shiver, a change of summer air makes it turn death-cold. A baby is the' most nervous of beings, and the tortures it suffers in going to sleep and being waken by careless sounds when just "dropping off" are only comparable to the same experience of an older person during an acute nervous headache. Young babies ought to pass the first months of their lives in the country for its stillness no less than its fresh air. But where silence is not to be commanded, baby may be soothed by folding a soft napkin, wet in warmish water, lightly over the top of its head, its eyes and ears. It is the beat way to put nervous babies to sleep. I have tried it hundreds of times for a child so irritable that paregoric and wliln/. Dirrnn nn 1 tr marlp it wlHpr OWnlfP 31/ULlUUg OJlU|y \JLMIJ w ?V >> .V.V. A fine towel would be wet and laid over its bead, the ends twisted a little till it made a a sort of skull-cap, and though baby sometiroes fought against being blindfolded in this way, five minutes usually sent him off into deep and blissful slumber. The compress cooled the little feverish brain, deadened sound in his ears, and shut out everything that took his attention, so that sleep took him unaware. Teething babies find this very comforting, for their heads are always hot, and there is fevered beating in the arteries on each side. Cut this Out.?Every person should know how to treat a flesh wouud, because one is liable to be placed in circumstances away from surgical and veterinary aid, where he may save bis own life, the life of a friend or of a beast, simply by the exercise of a little common sense. In the first place, close the lips cf the wound with the hands and hold them firmly together to check the flow of blood until several stitches can be taken and a baudage applied. Then bathe the wound for a long time iu cold water. "Should it be painful," a correspondent says, "take a panful of burniug coals and sprinkle upon them common brown sugar and hold the wounded part in the smoke. In a minute or two the pain will be allayed, and the recovery proceeds rapidly. In my case a rusty nail had made a bad wound in my foot. The pain and nervcus irritation were severe. This was all removed by holding it iu smoke fifteen minutes and I was able to resume my reading in comfort. We have often recommended it to oth crs with like result. JLast week one 01 my men had a finger-nail torn out by a pair of ice-tongs. It became very painful, as was to be expected. Held in sugar smoke twenty minutes, the pain ceased and promised speedy recovery." Esquimaux Wife Catching.?The marriage ceremony of the Esquimaux is performed curiously. When a boy kills a bear, it is considered sufficient proof of his ability to maintain a family ; he is therefore told to go ind catch a wife. Watching his opportunity it night, he pounces on a victim and attempts to carry her off. She, however, struggles and shrieks until she has collected around her a ;roup of sympathizers. She then turns upon ler captor, and bites and scratches until he Is compelled to release her, then she darts off uto the crowd and attempts to escape. The cxpectaut bridegroom follows her, but not unmolested. All the old women take scourges if dried seal-skin and flagellate him unmercifully as he passes, making, at the same time, ivery effort to arrest him in his course. If, lespite these littlejmpediments to matrimonial bliss, he should catch his victim, the bi,ing and scratching scene is renewed, and in ill probability he is compelled to release her, ind the chase with its attendant discomforts s resumed. Should he overcome all obstacles he third capture proves effectual, and the dctira, ceasing her struggles, is led away imid the acclamations and rejoicings of the isserabled multitude. Raisins.?Spain is the greatest producer of ^ aisius. Those styled Valencia raisin3 find 1 ;reat favor with all classes of English people, i few years ago a crop of twelve thousand ons, for the supply of the world, was considired large; now London receives twelve housand tons out of a total of twenty thou- j and tons that are grown. These raisins also ind a large market in the United States and i Canada. The improvement in the article ] nost observable of late years is that of renoving the stalks before shipment. As no iseful purpose has been found as yet for the talks, they are generally burned. Muscatel, >r table raisius, from Malaga, vary widely in [uality. lney are Known as "layer, "Duncn ind "loose" raisins, the best being picked i rom the stalk. This sort is largely used in : America. The finest growth of Muscatels 1 :oine to this country in decorated boxes, with < colored paper and lace edgings, increasing the : ixpense of packing to the extent of one dol ar and twenty-five cent9 per ton. The Sul- | / tana raisins, produced in Turkey, are cured in the sun, a light sprinkling of oil being eraployed to prevent the too great evaporation of the moisture, and also to assist in the preservation of the fruit when packed and shipped. Olden Times.?Who among our extravagant young ladies in these boastful times ever gave her lover, as Cleopatra did, a pearl dissolved in vinegar, (or undissolved,) worth 8400,000 ? Then there was a Paulina, one of the,ton in Rome, who used to wear jewels when she returned her visits worth $300,000. Cicero, who was comparatively a poor man in those times, gave $1,500,000 for his establishment on the Palatine; while Messala gave $2,000,000 for the house of Antony. Seneca, who was only a plain philosopher, was worth $120,000,000. Tiberius left a property of nearly $120,000,000. Cce3ar and Marc Antony both owned wonderful fortunes. Why they talk about a man's failing in New York for $1,000,000 as if it were a big thing. Cmsar, before he entered any office, when he was a youug gentleman in private life, owed 81,000,000, and he purchased the friendship of Quaesor for $2,500,000. Marc Antony owed on the Ides of March, $1,500,000, and paid before the Kalends of March. This was nothing; he squandered $720,000,000 of public money. And these fellows lived well. Esopus, who was a play actor, paid $400,000 for a single dish. Caligula spent $400,000 for a supper. Their wines were often kept for two ages, and some of them were sold for $20 an ounce. Dishes were made of gold and silver, set with precious stones. The beds of Heliogabulus were of solid silver; his tables and plates were of pure gold, and his mattresses, covered with carpets of cloth of gold, werestuffed with down from under the wing of *_;j T. A__l_ 4>QA AAA ? ???? in kaan a paririuge. it iuua ?ou,yuu a jrea? tu nvvf. up the dignity of a Roman Senator, and some of them spent 85,000,000 a year. And yet they talk of the extravagance of modern times. ? Origin of Surnames.?For a long time persons bad but one name each, but as mankind multiplied it was found convenient to add another name, for the sake of more readily and certainly distinguishing one person from another of the same name. For some time the geperal family name was added to the first name. Thus David was called David the son of Jesse. In Greece and Rome the father's name was often subjoined. In England, also, our forefathers often added the family name, but in so doing they added the word son at the end, and not at the beginning of the father's name. Thus, John Williamson meant John, the son of William ; Thomas Jackson meant Thomas, the son of Jack} and James Harrison meant James, the son of Harry. The Welsh people very often add a second name by a repetition of the first; thus, Thomas Thomas, William Williams; and sometimes they use another Christian name, which originally was probably the paternal name of the family. Thus, Charles Williams was, probably at its first use, Charles, the son of William. Sometimes a second name was given to a man from his trade, as John Baker, William Butcher. Sometimes names were taken from places, towns and countries, as John France, William England, Thomas Carlyle, Ralph Bolton. Sometimes names were wickedly and contemptuously applied to persons, and were fastened upon them and their children forever ; thus, Crookshanks and Sheepshanks. But the sources of surnames are almost endless. Robert Burns' Father.?If the sweetest poet of Scotland did not live a good life, it was not his father's fault. Unquestionably Robert loved and reverecced his father, but he did not always follow his counsels, and this fact made the old man sad on his deathbed. William Burness was a poor man, and the children which came to him increased while they brightened his poverty. He determined that they should have an education, and sent Robert to school in his sixth year. A few years later he undertook to teach him and his brother Gilbert himself. He wafc a wise man in his simple way ; he treated his boys as if they were men, and lightened their labors on the farm by entertaining and instructive conversation. Burns was alive to the necessity of learning, and to the thoughtful anxiety of his father, who, in turn, wa^ alive to his genius. "Whosoever may live to see it," he said to his wife, "something extraordinary will come from that boy." They were a happy family. The parents loved each other and the children ; and the children loved each other and their parents. William Burness was a grave man, not averse to innocent gayety, but naturally of a religious tone of mind. Christianity was the rule of his household. He was the "sire with patriarchal grace," whom Burns has painted so lovingly in "The Cotter's Saturday Night;" and the three tunes that the cotter's family sang were the only tunes that he knew. - Who are your Aristocrats??Twenty years ago, this one made candles, that one sold cheese and butter, another butchered, a fourth thrived on a distillery, another was a contractor on canals, others were merchants and mechanics. They are acquainted with both ends of society, as their children will be after them?though it will not do to say so out loud; for often you shall find that these toiling worms hatch butterflies?and they live about a year. Death brings a division of property, and it brings new financiers; the old gent is discharged, the young gent takes his revenues, and begins to travel?toward poverty, which he reaches before death, or his children do, if he does not. So that, in fact, though there is a sort of moneyed race, it is not hereditary; it is accessible to all. Three good seasons of cotton will send a generation of men up?a score of years will briDg theui all down, and send their children to labor. The father grubs, aud grows rich. The children strut, and spend the money. The children in turn inherit the price, and go to shiftless poverty : next their children, re-iuvigorated by frt i plebeian blood, and the smell of the clod, come up again. Thus society, like a tree, draws its sap from the earth, changes it into leaves, and spreads them abroad in great glory, sheds off to fall back to the earth, again to mingle with the ortil onrl at lorxrth tn re-annear in new dress , 4VW5? rx ? and fresb garniture. Keeping Meals Waiting.?Little things often interfere with our comfort very much, aud one small annoyance is for men to delay coming to dinner when called. Sometimes they have an hour's work which they will do before quitting, and then go to find the dinner cold and the cook discouraged. Nothing is more disheartening to a tired woman than a table full of dirty dishes au hour and a hah later in the day than usual. Punctuality is a virtue men should learn if they are uncertain about coming to their meals. Any woman worthy the name of housekeeper will be regular with her meals, if it lies within her to have them so. Handling Bees.?In regard to handling bees without danger from stings, Mr. Moon, of Michigan, uses cotton rags to smoke his bees with, before opening the hive. He once transferred the bees from three hundred hives without getting stung. He handled them with impunity, fearing them no more than if they had b^en flies. First blow in the smoke of the cotton, and after they have hummed their submission, open the hives and do the work, when not a bee will offer to sting, unless it gets pinched, y