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lewis grist, proprietor. | ^it Jitbtptitbtnl Jfamiljj ftetospaper: Jfor % promotion of t|e political, Social, ^gricnltaral anb Commercial Interests of tfte $ottt|. | terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. VOL 24. , YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 36, 1878. - NO. 39. fleeted foctrg. FADES THE DAYLIGHT. Fados the daylight, and the shadows Slowly gather on the lawn ; Now the night falls on the meadows, And the light of day is gone. In the darkness which enfolds me Tender memories come once moreHow each thought enchains and holds me, Of the dear ones gone before. Not in pain and not in sorrow Think I of the loved ones gone; Every night has still a morrow, Darkness but precedes the dawn. Were it not for heart-ties riven, For the friends that come no more, There would bo no hope of heaven In the bright forevermore. So while shadows darken o'er me, Sit I at tiie close of day; Loved, lost features are before me, Faces which have passed away; Voices which made nappy laughter Come again in tones of love; Sweetly echoes follow afterTwilight angels bend above. Is it daylight which is fading? Light of day which now must flee? 11 IS UUt tut) uupm suouiu^ Of a brighter day to be. So when twilight breams have found ine, Twilight voices fill the air, Loved, Tost beings gather round me, And their forms are passing fair. ?E. Norman Gunnison. V _ Ik $ tang ONLY JONESr The officers of Her Majesty's Twentyfourtb and Eighty fourth infantry were Bitting round their mess table iu Castletown, the capita! of the Isle of Man, one evening more than thirty years ago?that is, all of them except one; but then that one was only Jones. Nobody minded Jones; even bis peculiarities had begun to be an old subject for "chaffing," and, indeed, he had paid such small attention to their chaffing that they had come to find it little pleasure, and after some weeks of discomfort, Lieutenant Jones had been allowed to choose his own pleasures without much interference. These were not extravagant?a favorite book, a long walk in all kinds of weather, and a sail when the weather was favorable. He would not drink? he said it hurt his health ; he would not gamble?he said it hurt his conscience; and he did not care to flirt or visit the belles of the capital?he said it hurt his affections. Once Captain de Reuzy lispingly wondered if it was possible to "hurt his honor," and Jones calmly replied that "it was not possible for Captain de Reuzy to do so." Indeed, Jones , constantly violated all these geotlemen's ideas of proper behavior; but for some reason or other no one brought him to account for it. It was easier to shrug their shoulders and call him "queer," or say "it was only Jones," or ^ even to quietly assert bis cowardice. One evening Colonel Uuderwood was dief cussing a hunting party for the next day. Jones walked into the room and was immediately accosted : ' "Something new, Lieutenant. I find there are plenty of hares on the island and we mean to give puss a run to-morrow. I have heard that you are a good rider. Will you join us ?" "You must excuse me, Colonel; such a thing i8 neither in my way of duty nor my pleasure." "You forget the honor the Colonel does you, Jone8," said young Ensign Powell. "I thank the Colonel for his courtesy, but I can see no good reason for accepting it. I am sure my horse will not approve of it; and I am sure the hare will not like it; and I am not a good rider, therefore, I should not enjoy > U" "You need not be afraid," said the Colonel, rather sneeringiy ; the country is quite open, and these low Maux walls are easily taken." "Excuse me, Colonel, I'm afraid. If I should be hurt it would cause ray mother and sisters very great alarm and anxiety. I am very much afraid of doing this." What was to be done with a man so obtuse regarding conventionalities, and who boldly asserted his own cowardice? The Colonel turned away, half contemptuously, and Eusign Powell took Jones' place. The morning proved to be a very bad one, with the prospect of a rising storm, and as the party gathered in the barracks yard, Jones said earnestly to his Colonel: "I am afraid, sir, you will meet with a severe storm." "I think so, Lieutenant; but we promised to dine at Gwynue Hall, and we shall get that far at any rate!" So they rode rather gloomily away in the rain. Jones attended to the military duties assigned to him, and then, about noon, walked seaward. It was hard work by this time to keep his footing on the quay, but amid the blinding spray and mist he saw quite a crowd of men going rapidly toward the great shelving Scarlet Rock, a mile beyond the town. He stopped an old sailor and asked: "Is anything wrong?" "A iittle steamer, sir, off Calf of Man ; she is driving this way ; an, inteet, I fear she will be on ta rocks afore ta night." Jones stood still a moment, and then fol-' lowed the crowd as fast as the storm would let him. When he joined them they were gathered on the summit of a huge cliff watchiug j the doomed craft. She was now within sight, | and it was evident that her seamen had lost all control of her. She must ere long be flung by the waves upon the jagged and frightful rocks toward which she was driving. In the lull of the wind, not only the booming of the minute-gun, but also the shouts of the imperiled crew, could be heard. "What can be done?" said Jones, to an j old man whose face betrayed the strongest, emotion. "Nothing, sir, I'm afraid. If she'd manage to rount ta rocks, she would have goue to i pieces on ta sand, and there are plenty of men who would have risked their life to save life. But how are we to reach them from this height?" "How far are we above water ?" "This rock goes down like a wall forty fathoms, sir." "What depth of water at the foot?" "Thirty foot or more." "Good. Have you plenty of light, long rope ?" "Much as you want, sir; but let me tell i you, sir, you can't live ten minutes down ! there! ta first wave will throw you on ta rocks and dash you to pieces. Plenty of us would put you down, sir, but you can't swim if' you get down." "Do vou know, old man. what surf swim j ~ * . " i ming is? I have dived through the surf at Nukuheva." "God bless you, sir. I thought no white man could do that same." While this conversation was going on, Jones ! was divesting himself of all superfluous cloth* I ing aDd cutting out the sleeves of his heavy ! pea-jacket with hie pocket-knife. This done, he passed some light, strong rope through > them. The men watched him with eager interest, and seeing their inquisitive look, be ; said : "The thick sleeves will prevent the rope from cutting my body, you see." "Ay, ay, sir ; I see dow what you are do _ 99 "Now, men, I have only one request; give , me plenty of rope as fast as I draw on you. When I get on board?you know how to make a cradle, I suppose." "Ay, ay, sir, but how are you going to f reach the water ?" e "I am going to plunge down. I have dived s from the main yard of the Ajax before this, o It was a high leap." a He passed a double coil of the rope around t his waist, examined it thoroughly to see that s there was plenty to start with, and said, j J "Now, friends, stand out of the way, and let I v me have^ clear start," raised his bare head a one moment toward heaven, and, taking a short run, leaped as from the spring board of a plunge-bath. Such an anxious crowd as followed that 1 leap! Great numbers, in spite of that dan- I gerous wind, lav flat on their breasts and 1 watched him. He struck water at least twen- u ty-five feet beyond the cliff, and disappeared ii in its dark, foamy depths. e When he rose to the surface he saw before 8 him a gigantic wave, but he had time to n 1 *1? if vAonkivl kirn ko. UrcabUO, ttUU UUIUIC 11 idavuwu uiui v..fv? WW low its centre. >It broke in passionate fury a upon the rocks, but Jones rose far beyond it. h A mighty cheer from the men on shore reach- a ed him, and be now began iD good earnest to t put bis Pacific experience into practice. r Drawing continually on the men for more n rope?which they paid out with deafening I cheers?he met wave after wave in the same n manner, diving under them like an otter and v getting nearer to the wreck with every wave, n really advancing, however, more below the t water than above it. r Suddenly the despairing men on board a heard a clear, hopeful voice: f "Help at hand, Captain! Throw me a t buoy." a And in another minute or two Jones was on deck, and the cheers from the little steam- v er were echoed by the cheers of the crowd on ^ the land. There was not a moment to be f< lost; she was breaking up fast; but it took " but a few miuutes to fasten a strong cable to f the small rope and draw it on board, and I then a second cable, and the communication v was complete. ti "There is a lady here, sir," said the Cap- v tain. "We must rig up a chair for her, she h can never walk that dangerous rope." e "But we have not a moment to waste, or we may all be lost; is she very heavy ?" a "A slight little thing?half a child, sir." tl "Bring her here." o This was no time for ceremony. Without f< a word, save a few sentences of direction and d encouragement, he took her under his left g arm, and steadying himself by the upper cable, walked on the lower, with bis burden, si safely to the shore. The crew rapidly follow- b ed, for in such moments.of extremity the p soul masters the body, and all things become o possible. There was plenty of help waiting tl for the seamen, and the lady, her father and a the captain, had been put in the carriage of Braddon and driven rapidly to the hospital t hall. Jones, amid the confusion, disappeared, v He had picked up an oil-akin coat, and when p everyone turned to thank their deliverer, he q was gone. No one knew him; the sailors o said they believed him to be "one of the mil n itary guests by his rigging," but the individ- tl uality of the hero troubled no one until the p daDger was over. In an hour the steamer ri was driven on the rocks and went to pieces, p 1 1 ? -v * j_l -:i aoa 11 oeiog, oy cms lime, quue oars, every u one went home. The next day the hunting party returned si from Gwynne Hall, the storm having com- h pelled them to stop all night, and at the din- p uer that evening the wreck, and the hero of u it, were the theme of every one's con versa- e tion. b ''Such a plucky fellow," said Ensign Pow- ft ell. "I wonder who he was. Gwynne says it he was a stranger; perhaps one of that crowd a staying at the abbey.'- a "Perhaps," said Captain Marks, "it was Jones." ft "Oh! Jones would be too afraid of his a mother." " Jones made a little satirical bow, and said, a pleasantly, "Perhaps it was Powell," at which a Powell laughed, and said, "Not if he knew it" st In a week the event had been pretty well b exhausted, especially as there was to be a r< great dinner and ball at Braddon, and all the b officers had invitations. The ball had a pe- w culiar interest, for the young lady who had 0 been saved from the wreck would be present, 11 aud rumors of her riches and beauty bad been rife several days. It was said the little a steamer was her father's private yacht, and d that he was a man of rauk and influence. n Jones said he would not go to the dinner, ft as either he or Saville must remain for even- a ing drill, and that Saville loved a good din- w ner, while he cared very little about it. Sa- tl ville could return in time to let him ride over it about ten o'clock and see the dancing. Saville rather wondered why Jones did not tl take his place all the evening, and felt half ? injured at this default. But Jones had a h curiosity about the girl he had saved. To tell 1< the truth, he was uearer in love with her b than he had ever been with any woman, and w he wished, in calm blood, to see if she was as n beautiful as his fancy had painted her during k those few awful miuutes that he had held her t< high above the waves. y She was exceedingly lovely ; just the fresh, innocent girl he had known she would be. w He watched her dancing with his brother of- t< ficers, or talking to her father, or leaning on p Braddon's arm, and every time he saw her ii she looked fairer and sweeter. Yet he had h not courage to ask for an introduction, and in V the busy ball-room no one seemed to think of a him. He kept his post against the conserva- b tory door quite undisturbed for some time, h Presently he saw 'Squire Braddon with the g beauty on his arm approaching him. As he tl passed, the 'Squire remembered he had not h been to dinner, and stopped to say a few cour- tl teous words, and introduced hi? companion. "Miss Conyers?Lioutenaut Jones." o But no sooner did Miss Conyers hear Lieu- ii tenant Jones' voice, than she gave a joyful cry, j b and, clapping her hands together, said : p "I have found him! Papa! papa! I ii have found him 1" Never was there such an interruption to a ! n ball. The company gathered in excited j n groups; and papa knew the lieutenant's voice, a and the captain knew it, and poor Jones, un- ! h willing enough, had to acknowledge the deed j n and be made a hero of. ! s< It was wonderful, after this night, what a j v chauge took place in Jones' quiet ways. His j v books and boat seemed to have lost their | charms, and for his walks, they were all iu : si one direction, and ended at Braddon Hall, h In about a mouth Miss Conyers went away, fi and then Jones began to hunt the postman, 1 I and to get pretty little letters which always u seemed to take a great deal of answering. h Before the end of the winter he had an in- a vitation to Conyers' to spend a month, and a b furlough being granted, he started off iu u orpaf c?1pp for Kent. Jones never returned to 1 ii e n - tbe Eighty-fourth. The month's furlough j r was indefinitely lengthened ; in fact, he sold a out, aud entered upon a diplomatic career un-, c der the care of Sir Thomas Conyers. j 8; Eighteen months after the wreck, Colonel ' n Underwood read aloud a description of the h marriage of Thomas Jones, of Milford Ha- h ven, to Mary, only child and heiress of Sir a Thomas Conyers, of Conyers Castle, Kent, ! and a paragraph below stated that the Hon- p orable Thomas Joues, with his bride, had ! n gone on to Vienna on diplomatic service of v great importance. g ./'Just his luck," said Powell. t "Just his pluck," said Underwood; "and t< for my part, when I come across any of those ii ellows who are afraid of hurting their moth-1 rs and sisters, and are not afraid to say so, I I hali treat him as a hero just waiting for his ipportunity. Here is to the Honorable Thom5 Jones and bis lovely bride I We are going o-India, gentlemen, next month, and I am orry the Eighty-fourth has lost Lieutenant Tones. I have no doubt whatever that he rould storm a fort as bravely as he boarded , wreck." NEVER INDORSE. I shall not soon forget the family of Israel )ay, who lived neighbor to my father when was a boy. Mr. Day was working cut as a aborer, and he had a large family dependent ipon his earnings for support, and sometimes, u our neighborhood, it was difficult to find mployment. The family was poor, and the trictest economy had to be practiced to furlish the bare necessities of life. T often wnnrterpd how it. hunnP.ned th fttfiUch , man as Mr. Day should be so poor. He ad no intemperate or extravagant habits, ,nd was a man of more than common educaion, and there was an air of intelligence and efinement about the entire family, that cornnanded the respect of their neighbors. Mr. )ay was industrious, but always seemed to ae a roan who had no ambition in life, and rho expected and desired no more than a aere subsistence for his family. No one in he neighborhood knew anything of his histoy. The family had come from another State few years previous, and while polite and riendly, they were very uncommunicative as o their former life, and there was something bout them that forbade inquisitiveness. I was at this time sixteen years old, and on ery intimate terms with Mr. Day's family. Lt the time of my story, he was helping ray ather on the farm, for a few days, and boardag with us. One day, when we came home rom our forenoon work, we found 'Squire Hack was to take dinner with us, and as he /as reputed to be the wealthiest man in the awnsbip, we felt quite honored. He was a ery genial man and an excellent talker, and ad an adroit way of flattering and making very one feel easy in his company. On this occasion he made himself very greeable. He praised the neat appearance of be farm and buildings, complimented mother n her good cooking, called me a fine, manly fllow, gave some small change to the chilren, and, by the time dinner was over, had ained the good-will of the entire family. After dinner, Mr. Black asked t? see the Lock, and examine the arrangement of the am and outbuildings; and, as father took ride in having good, well-fed stock, and one f the nro'st conveniently arranged barns in be country, he was glad to show him around nd was much pleased _with the hearty com lendation which M<\ Black bestowed upon hem. He finally made known the object of his isit. He had found a piece of very desirable roperty for sale low, so that there was no uestion that within less than a year be could tear several thousand dollars on it; but he lust pay all cash down, and he lacked two aousand dollars of having money enough to ay for it. He wished father to become secuity for him for one year, as he had found a arty who was willing to leud him the amount ' his signature could be had to the note. He did not give father time to think, or :arcely t# answer his question ; but took out is pocket-book and handed him a paper, suposing it to be the note which he had drawn p, and signed by himself, all ready for fathr's signature. I verily I elieve, if the paper ad been what 'Squire Black thought it to be, ilher could not have refused to sign it; but . so happened that he had made a mistake nd left the note at home, and had substituted nother paper for it. A share of vexation passed over the'Squire's tee wheu he discovered the mistake, but he t once recovered his good humor, and said, Never mind ; I will call again this evening," ud hastily mounted his horse and rrfde way. Father looked troubled, and turning to me lid : "I do not like to endorse for any one, ut 'Squire Black will be insulted if I should ifuse; and as he is rich, I suppose there can e uo risk about it. It is only coraplyiug ith a legal form, and I suppose I shall be bliged to do it; but I wish be had not asked le to do it." Before I could reply, the barn door opened, nd Mr. Day came out. He was pale and eeply agitated, and when he spoke, I should ot have recognized his voice. Calling my ither by name, he said : "I believe that you re iD danger, and if you will listen to me, I ill give you a chapter from my own history, iat I never intended should be known to any 1 this neighborhood." Father motioned for me to leave, thinking lat Mr. Day wished to speak to him alone, le noticed it, however, and said : "No, let im stay, for one cannot learn too soon, the isson that my experience teaches. I would j e willing that it should be published to the | orld, if thereby, some could be saved from ly bitttr experience. I overheard, as you now, what 'Squire Black said to you. Listen 3 my story, and then decide as to whether ou will put your name on his note. "Fifteen years ago, when I was married, I ras not the poor man that you now know me a be. My father gave me, as my share of his roperty, two thousand dollars, which I had lcreased to three, and my wife receiving, as er wedding portion, one thousand dollars. Ve were both strong and willing to work, and rabitious to succeed in the world, and we ought a good farm, running in debt a few j uudred dollars. For several years we were j reatly prospered. We had good health and | he seasons were favorable, so that we grew eavy crops, and obtained very fair prices for ! hem. "At the end of five years we had paid off | ur debt and had nearly one thousand dollars i a bank, and we felt that we would be safe to i uild a new house, although we expected to j ut more than the amount of money on hand j 3to it. "Id the meantime, there had come into the i eighborhood one of the most companionable ]eu I ever met. He was familiarly known I s Captain Cole. He had been a lawyer, butj ad been appointed by the general govern- j lent to a lucrative office, which he held for j orue years, and had the reputation of being j ery wealthy. He lived in good style, and | ?as a general favorite in all the community. "When my house wa9 finished, I found my-! elf in debt seven hundred dollars, and as I ad given the contract to a carpenter, he to urnish everything, he needed all the money. went to the bank to borrow the amount ntil I could find someone who would let me ave it for one or two years ; and not being ccu9toroed to borrow money, it did not occur ! d me that an iudorser would be necessary, j ntil the cashier of the bank informed me that I was their invariable custom to require secu- j ity. Captain Cole, who happened to be in ; t the time, overheard the conversation and ! ame forward with a pleasant'good morning,' ! aying, 'I shall only be too happy to indorse for i iy friend, Mr. Day.' I felt both grateful and attered, and when, a few months later, I appened to br in the bank when he wanted ! n iudorser, I was glad to return the favor. "We had two years of prosperity, and I aid the debt on my house. I now deterjined to build a fine barn ; and as I had always paid my debts easily, and could not well et along with the old barn until I had saved he money to build the new one, I determined o borrow one thousand dollars; and happenng to meet Captain Cole, I asked him if he knew where I could get that amount for three years. He told me he did, and offered to become my security. The money was borrowed and my barn begun. "A few weeks later, Captain Cole called to see me. Like Squire Black, to day, be seemed delighted with everything he saw. His flattery put me in the best possible humor, and when he asked me to indorse a note of $5,000 for sixty days, and assured me that he could meet it, (or even twice as much) promptly to the day, I consented against my better judgment, and affixed my signature to the note. That act ruined me. Before the sixty, days expired, I learned that he was bankrupt. My farm was sold at a sacrifice, under the hammer, and when I paid the thousand dollars which I had borrowed to build the barn with, I was left penniless. "With my history in your possession, do vnti wrinHpr that T wan n.larmerl fn-riav whan I saw you about to fall into the same trap? I tell you I have a right to feel deeply oil this subject. Would that I could make my voice be heard by every youDg mau in the laud. I would say to him, shun, as you would a serpent, this evil which has brought ruin to so many families. I realize fully what it means to put my name on another man's paper, and it is just this?that I assume all the risks of his business, without any voice in the management, or any possible chance of profit if he is successful; but with a fearful certainty that, if from any cause h* makes a failure, my earnings must make it good, even though it reduces my family to beggary. Since my own misfortune, I have made this a matter of study, and I find that a very large per cent, of the business failures of the country (and nearly all among farmers) are due to this practice." The remainder of my story is soon told. My father was deeply impressed by Mr. Day's story, and before night I was dispatched to 'Squire Black's with a note from father, stating that after carefully considering the matter, he had decided not to sign the note. In less than a year after this, 'Squire Black was declared a bankrupt, aud in the final settlement of his business, it did not pay ten cents on the dollar. Father felt that he owed a debtof gratitude to Mr. Day, and be presented him with a good team and helped him to rent a farm. This encouraged him, and he worked so industriously, and managed so prudently, that in a few years he was able to buy a small farm, and baB since been able to support bis family comfortably. Many years bave passed since these events transpired, and I am now passed middle life, but I bave never ceased to be thankful for the lesson taught me by Mr. Day ; and in fulfilling his wish I would repeat the lesson which the story teaches?never indorse. fSgiscrUitttMUSi ftcatUujj. HARRIED DAUGHTERS. The Wonders of American marriage would, if they could be truly described, interest European people more than the rude and boisterous life described by Bret. Harte. It would astonish a Frenchman for example, to know that American fathers rear their daughters in luxury, smile on their marriages with penniless clerks, aud make absolutely no provision of a steadfast kind for the future of these daughters. The Frenchman might ask in amazement, not -why a poor husband is accepted, but how the daughter of luxury is to be provided for, and on what resources ber children are to lean ? He would probably be told that the father's mission ended with the daughters marriage ; be would see a complacent smile on the father's face as his friends congratulated him, and would slowly gather in that this complacency had two factors: "I have done ray duty by her, and it is over at last." TT/vr rmr norf iuo linen nnnand f.n :v.f.i nnnr t w* r? ,,v ~ r". i girls growiug up io scanty homes, ana marrying penniless young men. These girls are trained for the life that awaits them. They must be content with little all their lives ; but all their youth has been a preparation for such content. But a daughter bred in luxurious idleness, taught none of the economies that belong to humble life, aud then married without dower, deserves more pity than men usually bestow upon her. And her husband, full of enterprise aud capacity, takes up a burden whose weight love may lighten but cannotcarry. Business failures, broken homes, miseries, and crimes, lie behind this curtain. (Joramou sense is our boasted American virtue; but there is one subject to which we rarely apply it. If we did, we should see in strong light this simple law of duty : it is a father's solemn duty to secure to his daughter, as far as lies in his power, that state in life to which he has bred her. If he is poor, he has no right to give her the luxuries of wealth? no right as between her and him. If he is rich, his wealth ought to be taxed, and his forethought more seriously taxed, to provide for her a permanent income, which will procure for her that degree of luxury to which she has beeu accustomed. The doctrine, that the father's duty ends when the husband's begins, is a fearful delusion, full of the miseries which sometimes reveal themselves in divorce courts. This husband may be more thau a father in watchful solicitude ; but experience warns us from evevery page of life, that he may utterly fail in bis duty. Nature gave the daughter a father, and has appointed no hour when his duties cease. It is a fearful misreading of Scripture which finds such a limit in God's word. There is no satire so keen, if we had eyes to see and ears to hear, as that which is enacted when a fond father gives the penniless youth, to whom he also gives bis daughter, a sum of mouey to be invested in business. As though any of us could overlook for a moment the perils of business?the fact that, judged by experience, failure is the rule and success the exception, in few years the business will break down, and the young wife, with children at her knees, will realize a little what it is to be poor; and the husband, whose business bas broken under the strain of living expenses, will realize a little what it is to marry a portionless child of luxury. For she was really portionless. The European system of dower would have invested her fortune in the most secure way, would have kept it religiously secured to her and her children, so that whatever vicissitudes attend the business of her husband, her living would have been secure. A better and kinder way than the bi6ual one would be to rear these girls in kitchen and shop; to keep from them the sight of fine clothes and eostly dinners?to train them for the hard work of life. We have recently looked in upon one of these tragedies of our American life?the waste of a wife's fortune by her husband. We saw no shame in tbe man's face. "Her father trusted me with it," he said, when questioned; but there was absolutely no sign that he felt one twinge of dishonor, and yet he had done the oue meauest thing a man can do. There is no excuse for those who devour widows' houses, unless it be that the men unblushingly commit the greater crime of putting the fortunes of their wives in peril. Women have many just causesof complaint; but the cries some of them utter do not touch their proper woes. If those of them who know the real evil should speak, they would say: "Our fathers rear us tenderly ; hut they marry us without giving us practical advice, or means of independence, or security for the manner of life into which we were born. Our husbands take our portion of goods, and treat it in all respects as their own. Neither fathers nor husbands exercise any sufficient forethought for our helplessness and that of our children." We are speaking of the rule; there are many honorable exceptions, and as we advance in real civilization, there will be more of these exceptions.?Methodist. THE PRINCE OF HUNTERS. Dr. W. F. Carver's wonderful feats with the rifle in Boston, New York, and New Haven, have recalled some surprising events in his past history. While discussing his wonderful shots, one of his California friends recalled a conversation with Captain Charles J. Breuster, of Wolfs Rest, Neb., some months ago. Breuster went on a buffalo hunt with Carver in December, 1870. The Doctor contracted to kill 300 buffalo to ship East, Breuster furnishing men and teams. They traveled up the Republican for three days before they caught sight of buffalo. The Doctor led bis horse up a canon toward a herd numbering over 300, and on the alarm mounted his horse and gave chase. He kill* 1.1 1 L .1 _ ea twenty-cows ana inree caives oeiore me herd was fairly scattered. The cows fell not more than 125 yards apart. On the same day he struck a second and much larger herd, killing sixty-three buffaloes and wounding many more. The day's work footed up ninety-one buffaloes. In the 6ve day's shooting he killed 315, and all of them were shipped East. Breusler says he has seen him kill two buffaloes at one shot, going at full speed, the ball passing through the first and killing one on the other side. On his way home from this hunt, he had a very narrow escape. Breuster saw an old bull standiog on a divide. He asked the Doctor to shoot him, and he would take his bead home and have it set u p. At the time, the Doctor was riding a big American horse that had never had a gun fired from his back, and was very ugly. Breuster asked the Doctor to change horses, for he was afraid his horse could not catch him. The Doctor said : "If he does not catch the bull I will camp on his trailand away he went over the frozen ground at full speed. The bull saw him coming, and started ; but he caught him in a short run. The moment the rifle cracked the bull charged bim. The doctor's horse turning suddenly to the right, the cincture gave way, throwing him on the ground. He grabbed at the horse, and caught him by the tail. Away went the horse, bucking and kicking, the doctor hanging by his tail. The bull charged and tried to jump on bim, the blood flying from his nose all over the doctor at every jump. The race lasted for perhaps 150 yards when the bull stopped. The next instant the doctor let go. The bull saw him, charged again, and fell dead upon bim. Breuster reached the spot, and, with the assistance of the men, rolled the bull over, and picked the doctor up for dead. He was alive, but had one leg and two ribs broken. Breuster says he has seen the Doctor shoot quail and grouse flying, with a Springfield gun, calibre fifty. If be missed two grouse in twenty, he would think he was shooting very badly. Breuster was present when be made a match to kill five plovers out of twelve with a shot gun. and shoot from a horse's back, the horse to be on a run. The match was for $1,000 a side. He won the match, killing ten out of twelve. Breuster backed him to shoot against Watson from Texas for $1,000 a side, the match to take place in Keitsville, Ark., six shots apiece with a Colt's revolver, calibre 44, distance 30 feet. They shot at a ring the size of a half dollar. The Doctor shot six shots in the ring; Watson got five in; his last shot cut the ring in two. On the return home they stopped at Girard, Kansas, and went prairie chicken shooting. The Doctor killed thirty chickens with a pistol, in one day, without a dog, and shot them all flying. Breuster thinks he can shoot with a pistol better than with a rifle. He is one of the finest horsemen in the world, and shoots a bow and arrow as well as an Indian. He has been deer hunting, and, jumping seven deer, killed them all with a Winchester rifle before they could get away. A WORD FOR ROMPING GIRLS. ' Most women have a dread of them. Mothers would rather their little daughters were I ?ii_J .u:? Qn? t'ttlicu aiijriiiiug ciou buau iuiupo( ahwj o?j to them : "Be very quiet now, ray dears; don't rum or jump, and be little ladies." As if a healthy child could be still; as if it could take time to walk, or step over what carae in its way ; as if it could fold its hands in its lap, when its little heart is so brimful of tickle. It is absurd and wrong, because it is unnatural. Children, girls as well as boys, need exercise; indeed they must have it, to keep in a healthy condition. They need it to expand-tbeir chests, strengthen their muscles, tone their nerves ; develop themselves generally. And this exercise must be out-of-doors, too. It is not enough to have calisthenics in the nursery or parlor. They need to be out in the sunshine, out in the wind, out in the grass, out in the woods, out-of-doors somewhere, if it be uo bigger than the common or park. Suppose they do tan their pretty faces. Better be brown as a berry, and have pulse quick and strong, than white as a lily aud complain of cold feet and headache. Suppose they do tear their clothes; suppose they do wear out their children shoes: it don't try a mother's patience and strength half so much to patch and meud as it does to watch night after night a querulous sick child ; and it don't drain a father's pocket-book as quick to buy shoes as it does to pay doctor's bills. Indeed, we don't believe there is a prettier picture in all the wide world than that of a little girl balancing herself on the topmost rail of an old zig zag fence, her bonnet on one arm and a basket of blackberries on the other, curls streaming out in the wind or rippling over flushed cheeks, her apron half torn from her waist and dangling to her feet, her fingers stained with the berries Bhe had picked, and her lips with thoee she had eaten. Mother, mother, don't scold that little creature when she comes and puts her basket on the table and looks ruefully at the rent in the new gingham apron, and at the little bare toes Bticking out of the last pair of shoes. Wash off her hot face and soiled bands, and give her a bowl of cool milk and light bread; and when she has eaten her fill and eot rested, make ! her sit down beside you and tell what she has seen off in those meadows and woods. Her heart will be full of beautiful things? the sound of the wind, the fall of the leaves, the music of the wild birds, and the laugh of wild flowers, the rippling of streams and the ! color of pebbles, the shade of the clouds and the hue of the sunbeams?all those will have woven their spell over her innocent thoughts, and made her a poet in feeling, if not in expression. No, mothers, don't nurse up your little girls like house plants. The daughters of this generation are to be the mothers of the next; and if you would have them healthy in I body and gentle in temper, free from nervous i affections, fidgets and blues ; if you would fit j them for life?its joys, its cares, and its I trials?let them have a good romp every day ! while they are growing. It is Nature's own . specific, and if taken in season, warranted to ; cure ails of the girl and the woman. fiST The boy who is late at the breakfast j table, late at school, and never does anything ; at the right time, stands a poor chance to be a prompt man. The boy who neglects his duties, be they ever so small, and then excuses himself by saying, "O, I forgot, I didn't think!" will never be a reliable tnau, I THE DISCOVERY OF QUININE. The discovery of the medicinal properties of cinchona bark is enveloped in great obscurity. All that we know about it for certain is this: Before the year 1638?that is to say 150 years subsequent to the discovery of America?not even the Spaniards were acquainted with the febrifuge qualities of cinchona bark ; but in this year, or thereabouts, the Countess de Chincon, the wife of the Spanish Viceroy of Peru, was cured of a violent intermittent fever, by drinking an infusion of the bark, and this led to its introduction into Europe. Were the natives acquainted with it? Humboldt answers this question very positively in the negative, and refers the discovery to the Jesuit missionaries, who, being in the habit of tasting the bark of every tree they hewed down, at length discovered the precious febrifuge. Other authors ot repute contend that the virtues of cinchona bark were known to the Indians, long before the advent of tho Spaniards ; but the question again arises how they Bret became acquainted with its properties. To account for this, a ridiculous tale has been invented that certain animals, while laboring under fever, happened to gnaw the bark of one of the cinchona trees, and was cured forthwith. Far more probable is it that some cinchona trees, having been laid prostrate by the tempests in a pool of water, and the latter becoming charged with the medicinal principle, some person laboring under fever drank of this water, was cured and published the result. But, however this may be, it is certain that the remedy first became popularized in Europe, through the agency of Count de Cinchon, Viceroy of Peru, whose wife was cured of intermittent fever by its administration. The new remedy, however, was badly received in France and Italy. The faculty set their faces against it. Physicians who dared prescribe its use were persecuted, and it was only the patronage oi Louis XIV, which ultimately rendered it popular in France. This monarch suffering from intermittent fever, was cured by an English empiric named Talbot, by means of a secret remedy. This was no other than cinchona bark. Louis XIV. purchased the secret for 48,000 livres, and bestowed, yearly, a pension of 2,000 livres on the Englishman, besides giving him letters of nobility. Three years subsequently the remedy was published. It was a highly concentrated vinous tincture ot cinchona bark. Cinchona trees grow in the densest forest of Peru. The task of discovering them, removing their bark and conveying the latter to the place of export, is troublesome, difficult and dangerous. In these forests there are no roads. Frightful precipices intersect the path of the cascarillero, or bark gatherers, across which it is difficult to pass, even while unembarrassed by a load. So soon as the treasure of bark has been secured, these difficulties and dangers proportionately increase, so that the comparatively low price at which cinchona may be procured is, in itself, a matter of surprise. Seeing Himself Drunk.?A friend gave me lately the experience of a skillful professional man, in about the following words: "My early practice," said the doctor, "was successful, and I soon attained an enviable position. I married a lovely girl; two children were bo:rn to us, and my domestic happiness was complete. But I was invited often to social parties where wine was freely circulated, and soon became a slave to its power. Rpfnrfl T was ownrfl of it. I was a drunkard. My noble wife never forsook me, never taunted me with a bitter word, never ceased to pray for ray reformation. We became wretchedly poor, so that ray family were pinched for daily bread. "One beautiful Sabbath my wife went to church, and left me lying on a lounge, sleeping off my previous night's debauch. I was aroused by hearing something fall heavily upon the floor. I opened my eyes and saw ray little boy of six years old tumbling on the carpet. His older brother said to him? 'Now get up and fall again. That's the way papa does; let's play we are drunk 1' I watched the child as "he personated my beastly movements in a way that would have done credit to an actor 1 I arose and left the house, groaning in my agony and remorse. I walked off miles into the country?thinking over my abominable sin and the example I was setting before my children. I solemnly resolved that with God's help I would quit my cups, and I did. No lecture I ever heard from Mr. Gough moved my soul like the spectacle of my own sweet boys 'playing drunk as papa does.' I never pass a day without thanking my God for giving me a praying wife, and bestowing grace sufficient to conquer my detestable sin of the bottle. Madam ! if you have a son, keep him, if you can, from ever touching a glass of wine."? Dr. Cwyler, in Evangelist. Daughter and Wife.?A bad daughter seldom makes a good wife. If a girl is illtempered at home, snarls at her parents, snaps, at brothers and sisters, and "shirks" her ordinary duties, the chances are ten to one that when she gets a home of her own, she will make it wretched. There are girls who fancy themselves so far superior to their parents that the mere privelege of enjoying their society in the fyouse, ought to be all the old people should have the assurance to ask. While their mothers are busy with domestic duties, ' they sit in the easiest chair, or lie on the softest sofas, feeding on cheap and trashy I novels, and cherish the notion that they are very literary individuals. The household drudgery is too coarse for such fine ladies as they. The business of their parents is to provide them with nice clothes, and to be content with admiring their handsome appearance in the intervals of labor. Girls of this sort are very anxious to be married, that they may escape the disagreeables of a home where they are held, more or less, under subjection; ! therefore, they are smiling enough to eligible bachelors, quickly smoothing down the frowns which alone they give to the members * - * n i l li of their own tamines. a caner wno aoesn i have a chance of seeing how they behave as daughters, may be excused for fancying them loving and lovable beings ; but one who does see it, is foolish if he commits himself by suffering marriage to a girl of this sort. She is not fit to be the wife of a worthy man. If she will not assist her mother in the domestic labors, and badgers the servants, is she not likely to be equally slothful and ill-tempered when she marries ? If she now thinks herself too fine to work, it is safe to expect that her views as to that matter will radically change i if she becomes a wife? The Ring as an Ancient Symbol of Rank and Power.?The ring was part of the insignia of royalty, like the sceptre of the crown, in ancient times. ' When Pharaoh raised Joseph to the highest possible dignity ' in Egypt?only himself on the throne being greater than his minister?he took the ring from his own hand and gave it to the young He- < brew, in token of the authority bestowed upon him as a ruler over all the land of Egypt When Haman, weary of seeing Mordecai sit- i ting at the gate, obtained permission of Ahasuerus to carry into execution his vile scheme i for slaying all the Jews in the provinces, he ] received the king's ring as his warrant; and ' it was with the ring he directed all official letters to be afterwards sealed. The present 1 uses of the ring as a keepsake and as a mar- j riage token, are simply relics of the signifi- i canoe, prestige, and power that once were i associated with the ring. In Emergencies?If a person falls in a fit, and begins to snore loudly, with very red face, it is apoplexy. Let him be seated so as to favor the blood going downward, away from the head; apply cola cloths to the head, or cushions of equal quantities of snow or pounded ice and common salt. If the person is perfectly still, face pale, and there is no perceptible breathing, it is a fit of fainting. Do not touch him, except to loosen the clothing; then keep off five or ten feet distant, so as to allow the air to come in; make no noise, and there will very soon be a calm, quiet return to consciousness and life, for it is only a momentary cessation of the circulation of the blood of the head. But suppose there is a very violent motion of the bands and feet, and all sorts of bodily contortions, it is epilepsy. Let the man contort until he is tired; you ean't hold him still; all your efforts only tend to aggravate the trouble and to exhaust the strength; all that ought to be done is to keep the unfortunate from hurting himself. There is no felt suffering, for as soon as he L > ?. 211 i*11 MAM iUni L A MAtMAIVlkAM CUIlies 1>U lie will Kll jruu iuat uc iciucuiucio nothing of what has passed, appears to be the only calm and self-possessed person in the crowd, and is apparently as perfectly well as before the occurrence. Dizziness often comes instantaneously, and we begin to reel before we know it. Shut your eyes, whether you are walking the street, looking over a precipice, ascending a ladder, or climbing to a ship's mast-head; the fear of dizziness disappears instantly if you look upward.?Hall's Journal of Health. ? ? A Solid Acre of Silver.?One of the most remarkable mines in the California gulch, is a lead three feet in thickness, the ore from which yields from 240 to 270 ounces of silver to the ton and like a coal bank in stratification of limestone, dipping about 15 degrees. Two openings -have been made at points 600 feet apart, and sufficient ore is in sight to make millions of the "dollars of our daddies." The owners have gone far enough to know that there is a full acre of the ore in one solid body, and some conception may be formed of the amazing riches of this discovery by a brief calculation of its dimensions. A cubic foot weighs 180 pounds, and as the ore lies, 12 cubic feet make a ton. There are 43,000 square feet, which with 12 cubic feet to the ton, make 10,900 tons, worth $250 per ton, or the enormous value of $800,000. The Crescent is another mine worked like a coal bed, the ore lying horizontally in the large room that has been opened, the roof being held up by heavy timbers, with very stout caps and tugging poles. The ore breasts from one foot to three and four feet, and ocziaaiAna it. wamj fina anaaimMI ftf Vinm nilvfif VOOIVURIIJ TWIJ uuv u^vviiUvww v? ? ? ? w. are found.?Rocky Mountain Tourist To the Girls.?Never marry a man who has only his love for you to recommend him. It is very fascinating, but it does not make the man. If he is not otherwise what he should be, you will never be happy. The most perfect man who did not love you, should never be your husband. But though marriage without love is terrible, love only will not do. If the man is dishonorable to other men, or mean, or given to any vice, the time will come when you will either loathe him or sink to his level. It is hard to remember, amidst kisses and praises, that there is any thing else in the world to be done or thought of but love making; but the days of life are many, and the husband most be a guide to be trusted?a companion, a friend, as well as a lover. Many a girl married a man whom she knew to be anything but good, "because he loved her bo." Ana the flame has died out on the hearth-stone of home before long, and beside it there has been sitting one that she could never hope would lead her heavenward?or who if she followed him as a wife should, would guide her steps to perdition. Marriage is a solemn thing?a choice for life ; be careful in choosing. Rich Men's Sons?The president of one our largest banks said to us, a day or two since, that a rich man's son had just left his place, and he was the last man of the kind he should ever employ. The man was faithful, honest, and fulfilled intelligently and well all the duties required of him ; but just as he had become accustomed to his work, be found out it was too confining, and a raw clerk had to be put in bis place. A bad look for rich young men ; but it is the old story repeated " *1 .t -1.1 A? T* ; lor tD6 inouaanaiD lime. JLI nuu meu a suuo will not endure the drudgery by which nearly all their fathers secured money and position, they must take a secondary place in the next generation ; and oftener they drop ont of sight amid the idle, worthless herd, if, indeed they escape an association with loafers and criminals. What say the labor reformers to facts like these, for facts they are, without question. Nearly every man in any leading position in the community, began life poor. Let the sons of our rich men take warning, and go to work honestly and faithfully every day, if they hope to 611 the positions so honorably held by their fathers.? Chicago Tribune. iSF Hon. George H. Pendleton made a campaign speech in Columbus, Ohio, on tV?j 10th. Concluding, he said: "Let us remember and duly approve the fact that President Hay^s, in the midst of unusual embarrassments, has withdrawn the federal troops from the state houses of Louisiana and South Carolina, and thereby restored self-government to those States. Let us remember and duly applaud the act that he has spoken a word for civil service reform. However ineffective, however thwarted, with whatever reserve spoken, however ludicrously executed, it was at least a word spoken in behalf of an essential reform. These acts deserve the warmer commendation, for they were done against special opposition. They have alienated partisan friends, broken a united support, and divided, perhaps fatally, the republican organization. They have demonstrated the utter impossibility of the republican party reforming itself, and if he has destroyed it, he has filled, as I think, the measure of a good man's use fulness to bis country." Work for It.?Ruskin never said a truer thing than this: "If you want knowledge, you must toil for it; if food, you must toil for it; and if you want pleasure, you must toil for it." Toil is the law. Pleasure comes through toil, and not by self-indulgence and indolence. When one gets to love work, his life is a happy one. Said a poor man in Brooklyn the other day, with a family of eleven to provide for: "If I were worth a million dollars, I should not wish to do much different from what I do now every day, working hour after hour. I love it a thousand times better than to rest." He has for nearly half a century been surrounded by workers, and has caught the spirit of industry. He loves his work as he loves his food and sleep. He is happy who has conquered laziness once and forever I The Howard Association.?The Howard Association, of which so much is heard at present in connection with the relief work in the fever-stricken cities of the South, is composed principally of heroic young men, who volunteer their services and go from place to place to nurse the sick. * The society has its headquarters at Memphis, and is not a standing organization, but an association formed in the emergency of the moment. The name is taken from John Howard, the English philanthropist,