Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, September 26, 1878, Image 1
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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,