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LEWIS >1. grist, Proprietor, j ;|n Jitkpentat .familn ftetospper: Jfor % |romotion of f|e political, Social, ^gtienlfaral anir Commercial Interests of % Soot|. ]terms--$2.50 a year, is advance. VOL. 26. YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, JULY 29, 1880. NO. 31. ! ????????????? I?? ?Mi?> m mul PUTTING HIMSELF IN HER PLACE. AN ENGLISH STORY. * Mrs. Gray stood looking out of her window, while her husband put on his hat and gloves, preparatory to goiug into town. They had i risen from a nicely spread table, and the room was neatly and tastefully furnished. There was no indication of poverty there, yet Mrs. Gray's voice and manner were faltering as she asked for some postage stamps. ? ? > ' 1 ? L.._l 1 "tlOW many f aseeu tier HUbuauu, i;unijr. "Three will do. I thought I would write to mother and the girls." "Did you ever reckon up, my dear, how much you spend for postage stamps iu the course of the year ?" asked Mr. Gray, as he lit his frngraut cigar. "Well, let us see. You write at least five letters a week, which is fivepence, and fifty-two times five are twenty-one shillings and eightpence a year, to say i nothing of paper and envelopes. I haven't a correspondent in the world, outside of my business." "Your friends," said his wife, "live near you, while mine are in another county. Do you wish me to give up writing to them ?" r And her face took on an extra tinge of color. "By no means. I only mentioned the cost of the thing. But I must go. Good-bye." "Albert," said she, timidly, but earnestly. Mr. Gray turned back. "Can you leave me a sovereign ? I want to go town to day." "A sovereign !" exclaimed Mr. Gray, in astonishment. "What on earth do you want with a sovereign ?" "I knew you would wonder, but I have needed some money for a long time, to get some necessary articles." "I gave you ten shillings last week." "I know it f and I used it for materials to mtf phnrpli fair." ?TUI KV up iu; VUI v?iw?vM ?-. "Church fiddlesticks," said Mr. Gray, contemptuously. "Well, I cau?t see what you need a sovereign for." "Here is a list of what I need," said Mrs. Gray, handing a little slip of paper to her husband: 1 pair of kid gloves, 4s Od 1 pair of slippers, 4 G 3 pair of Balbriggan hose, G 0 Silesia, 2 0 Crepe de lisse, 1 6 Total, 18 2 "Crepe de lisse ! What is that?" * "Ruffling for the neck." "Will it wash ?" "No." "I thought so. A sure waste of money. What fools women are! What would a man think of putting a piece of stiff, white, papery nothing around his neck, that cost eighteenpence ? And nearly half a sovereign for gloves and slippers! Well, I must say, Annie, you are growing extravagnnt. I pay for your dresses, bonnets, and all the esseutials, without a murmur, that is," said he, with sundry recollections to the contrary, "when they come within reasonable bounds. But these little things, things which are of no earthly account, I should think you might do ^ without." k "They are what no lady can do without. The slippers are to save my nice walking jif boots. You yourself noticed my gloves last Suuday, and said you detested a soiled or torn W glove. Stockings are rather necessary in our I land, and " < "Say no more. But why is it that these wants come up all at once ?" "For the simple reason that, hitherto, I have bought them myself, with money earned by plain sewing. But since my illuess?in the autumn?it hurts my side to sew much, and I have had to give it up." Mrs. Gray enjoyed her husband's horrified look. "Plain sewing! Annie, I thought you had more pride." "I had too much pride to beg of you for what I could earn myself," said she, with some spirit. h "Well, here are seventeen shillings. Try I to make that do," and he hurried off. | Mrs. Gray sighed. "He means well," she said ; "but men seem to think women are like children?not to be trusted with any money." Meantime, Mr. Gray was soliloquising. "Strange, how extravagant women are. Annie is one of the best in the world, but she does not know the worth of money any more than a child. That seventeen shillings will be all spent before night. Women can't keep money." Mrs. Gray went to town as she intended ; but she walked instead of riding, in order to save her money. While in the town she felt faint and hungry from her walk, and would have liked a lunch, but she had no money to spare. "Ob, by the way, Annie, did you go to town to-day ?" asked Mr. Gray, at night. "Yes," she replied. "Spent every penny, I'll be bound," jokingly. "No, I have exactly fourpence left; but I walked both ways, got no crepe de lisse, and went without luncheon, although faint with hunger." Mr. Gray looked shocked. "Why did you not come to me ?" "Because it was out of the way ; and because, to tell the truth, I felt too cross." "Cross with me?" "Yes, with you," and poor Annie's grievances burst forth. "To be going along the street hungrier than any beggar, while my husband is known as the successful Mr. Gray. To have no money | in my pocket, because my husband thinks I am not to be trusted. Before I married you, I was in business, the same as you. That is, I earned my living by teaching, you earned yours by trading. Now, suppose when we married you had given up your business to assist me, or because it interfered with your j new duties, and I allowed you no money to ! spend, as you chose. I dressed you well, to j be sure, but gave you no money, without the j whys, wherefores, and whithers being inquired i into ; in short, treated you as you do me ?" "You exaggerate the case, Annie. Men and women are differently situated. I should 1 think you would be glad to be saved the j trouble of earning a livelihood." "But just consider the disadvantages of an empty purse. Put yourself in my place. How would you like it?" "Well if I had only to ask, first-rate." "Well, then, suppose you let me carry the pocket-book for a week." "But, Annie it isn't practicable. You couldn't attend to business at the ware-house." "Of course not. It is only your personal expenses I will regulate. You come to me for what money you wish to spend for yourself, that's all, and give me your word that wati will tol'D vw\ mnnoo fVrttvt tbo nfffno " J ,"",v ""-J "All right. I'll do it, just to show you that it's easy enough. Here's the pocketbook." And he gave it into her hand. "But I'll take a shilling first to begin on." "What do you want of a shilling ?" "Cigars." "Well, there are four penuy-pieces. Try to make that do. Did you ever reckon up how much your cigars cost you in the course of the year ? Let us see, you smoke at least two a day, at an average cost of four pence a piece, which amounts to four shillings and A I ; eight-pence a week. Now fifty-two times j four shillings and eight-pence make twelve pounds two shillings and eight-pence a year, j to say nothing of those you give your friends. ! Twenty pounds will scarcely cover you expenses in that line/' "As our old friend Abigail Stillinga says, 'Who'd a-tbink it,"' said Mr. Gray, laughing; but he was surprised to find the sum so large. The next morning Mr. Gray had gone ! some distance from the house before he rej membered that he had only tenpence. - ? i /i*n I "I'll risk it," lie said to niraseir. rerI haps I'll not want to buy anything. I'll ! show Annie that a man can do without money." "Hallo, Gray!" cried a voice, interrupting his reflections. "What is the brain-study about?" It was his old friend, Frank Raymond. The two men had hot met since Mr. Gray's marriage, and as Frank was to remain in town for a week, Mr. Gray invited him home. He lit a cigar and handed the mate to Frank, as he did this. The two conversed of old times until they reached Mr. Gray's place of business, when they separated, Frank agreeing to be at the prays at six o'clock. Annie was apprised of his coming by a note from her husband. Going home, that night, as was his invariable custom he ran into Benson's to buy some cigars. Benson was surprised to see him drop the dozen he had taken up. "Are they not good?" inquired the dealer. "We think them our choicest " "They are good. But on second thought I will not take any to-night." Mr. Gray had always purchased his cigare as he used them; but now he wished he had a box at home. However, he decided to ask his wife for some money, and run out and 611 his case without his friend's knowledge. Tweuty-four hours had passed, and he had already begun to experience a feeling of shame, and a disinclination to ask tor money. A thought of Annie crossed his mind. "Pshaw, she doesn't have to treat friends to cigars," he muttered. Frank Raymond was already at his house, and Annie had a tempting little supper for them, and she was looking her prettiest. When supper was over he took his wife aside, and asked for half-a-crown, which she gave him grudgingly. Then he excused himself for a moment, and bought some cigars. They were wretched affairs, however, and filled the house with a villainous odor, for he had to get them at a new place, Benson's being too far off. The next day the two friends started out together, when Mr. Gray, with an air of having forgotten something, said : "Excuse me a moment." "I'll go back with you, if you have forgotten anything," said Mr. Raymond. Mr. Gray clapped his hand on his pocket. "I thought I bad forgotten my pocket-book, but I haven't," he said. "So it's all right," aud then hurried on, his cheeks tingling with shame at the deceit. But he could not risk having his friend go back with him and stand by while he asked for money. Mr. firav wa9 luekv that dav. He had do calls for money, and he had half dozen of those horrid cigars left, a couple of which he smoked in the street after his friend left him. In fact, he concluded to risk another day in the same way. But on this day he realized the old adage, "It never rains but it pours for from being asked to change a five-pound note, to getting his coat ripped, and asking for credit at his tailor's, the day was a series of mortification. Annie was unaware of all this ; in fact she thought her husband was failing to realize the situation ; so when, at night, Mr. Gray asked her for money to spend the next day she wickedly evaded the request until he was forced to prefer it before bis friend. "I want a few shillings, Annie. Please get them for me," he said, in an off-hand manner. "A few shillings! What do want with a few shillings?'" "There, Anrie, don't bother a fellow. I'm in a hurry." But with grave deliberation she drew out a shilling, and laid it down, then another and another, next a sixpence, next a fourpenny piece, and last threepence in coppers. "Let me see?three shillings?sixpence, a fourpenny-piece?a threepenny-piece, and here are threepence in coppers?four shillings and fourpence. Will that do ?" "Yes," and Mr. Gray hustled them into his pocket, and hurried from the room. He was in hopes his friend would inquire into the cause of the scene, when he would tell him of the compact and how it originated. It would then pass as a joke. But Mr. Raymond did not make any remark. Instead he thought to himself, "Good gracious, what a horrid grind she is! And I thought her so pretty. I never supposed Albert would have made such a meek husband. Catch me getting married, and having shillings doited out to me in that way." He pitied his friend's embarrassment, but did not appear to notice it. Instead, he chatred uuconcernedly of old friends and past times. Suddenly turning a corner they met two mutual acquaintances. Hand shaking and inquiries followed, and the four had so much to say that Mr. Gray decided to send a note to his partner, and spend the forenoon with his friend. Before separating, a little excursion to Brighton was proposed for Monday. Mr. Gray invited them, meantime to spend the evening at his house. The evening passed was a pleasant one. * Annie was in excellent spirits, sang and played and was altogether charming. "Mr. Raymond, remembering the money, decided that matrimony was indeed a snare when women were so deceptive. The next day, which was Sunday, Mrs. Gray, without being asked, gravely handed her husband two shillings. Mr. Raymond was present nut aia not appear to nonce it. He was apparently engrossed with the book he was reading. But he heard Mr. Gray ask: "What's that for? Oh, the contribution box. Thank you," he said. But to himself he added : "Why not save it to go with the shilling I have already, so as not to be compelled to ask for money on Tuesday ? Then if I succeed in getting some for Monday's trip without the knowledge of my friends, this absurd farce will end without any more unpleasantness." Monday morning came all too soon, for try as he would, he could not get the attention of Annie when he endeavored to broach the subject of the projected trip. Fidgeting with his knife and fork he cleared his throat at last and in a nervous way made the plunge. Mrs. Gray elevated her eyebrows. 'To Brighton ? Pray for what ? It is hardly the season for excursions." Mr. Raymond really pitied his friend's I evident distress, so he said, jokingly : "Why you see, Mrs. Gray, we want to get ! off for a time as we used to when we were boys." The lady smiled aud firmly replied : "Albert is, as you see, too extravgant by half. I cannot, in the present state of our finances, give my consent to his going." With these words, spoken with great com| posure, she walked oft', leaving the gentlemen | to themselves. I "By heavens, Albert, I never would stand I that," said Frank, vehemently. "To be tu tored like a schoolboy! Haven't you any money at the office? If not, call upon me for any amount, and let us hurry, or we shall be late." "No. I'm afraid I cannot go. I am pledged not to take any money from the office, and it would not be right to accept any from you." Glad of an excuse, Mr. Gray then told his friend the secret of his wife's conduct. "Whew,-so that is it ?" said Frank. "Well, I'm glad to have my faith in womankind restored ; but isn't she overdoing the matter ? Did you ever refuse her money before others ?" "I think I did last summer, when Mrs. Osgood was visiting her. They wished to go and see a friend living in Kent I thought it was foolish and told them so ; and finally refused ray wife the money. The truth is," apologetically, "I had met with some losses, and felt that we must economise." "Why not have allowed her to use her own judgment ? Perhaps she intended to economise in other ways," said Frank. "I believe she said something of the kind. But to tell the truth, I had got into the way of thinking that women needed to be continually curbed, or they would run into extravagances." "It's a shame to treat a high-spirited woman | in that way." "I realize it now fully, more fully than you can, unless you go through with my experi I ence. Annie said she had done plain sewing to pay for the things she needed, rather than ask me for the money. I understand it now; for I would far rather have earned the money for our trip by sawing wood than to have asked for it. Fancy having .to always ask." "Do you know, Albert, I am glad this happened. I may marry some time; in fact, I'm thinking of itstrongly ; and now I shall avoid the course you have taken. Otherwise, I presume I might have done just the same. I believe a great many men do." "Do ? Why, yes. My mother never had a penny without asking father for it, and she helped earn it all, and was prudence and industry personified. I'll turn over a new leaf. Ah ! here come our friends." Mr. Raymond, to Mr. Gray's great relief, said it would be impossible for him to go on the proposed trip, owing to unforeseen circumstances, whereupon Mr. Gray, in an off-band manner, proposed that as Frank could not go, they should all come to his house that evening again. "My wife will be glad to see you," said he. The week had passed,^nd "Richard was himself again," or could be if he chose. But his wife had mirrored his past actions so truly and forcibly, that he had no wish to repeat himself. Annie had taken care to curb his extravagances, by giving him always a little * ? ? -i J 1 ; : :_ less man ne assea ior, auu luvanaui^ untuning how he spent it; and, raeautime, reckoning up how much he had each day, with great exactness. "'Tis one half to own it," and the other half to reform, we suspect. "There, Albert," said his wife, "I am glad the farce is ended. Resume your prerogative." It was Tuesday evening, at half-past six precisely, when Mrs. Gray said this. At the same time she handed her husband his pocket book, aud then returned to her seat. Mr. Gray counted the money carefully, and then divided it into two equal piles. This accomplished he crossed over to his wife and placed one in her lap, saying: i "Henceforth we will share alike. Buy what you choose. I have faith in your prudence and judgment. I am not infallible. Why need I sit in judgment upon you ?" Mrs. Gray's eyes glistened with pride and happiness, as she replied : "Believe me, Albert, you will never have cniiu# tn rr>orrpt. this fnr now T shall have an opportunity to use my reasoning faculties." He never did regret it. I^iscenaiteous fading. AN ALPINE SUNRISE. MARK TWAIN IN SEARCH OF ONE. The guide-book says that the distance from the village of Waggis to the summit of Righi Kulm is only about three and a half hours' walking. Accordingly, when Twain , and Harris reached Waggis they thought there was no particular occasion to hurry, and so they proceeded leisurely to travel to the top of the Righi Kulm. They stopped , the first evening at the first inn they met, and resolved to be up early the next morning to sp? t.hft full effent of an Aloine sunrise from """ " ~ 1 the summit of the mountain. They did not awake, however, till half-past eleven, and , they set out once more, at noon, quite resolved to reach the top that same evening. At six, however, they felt tired, and as they were close to a comfortable hotel, they entered it, saying to themselves it would be quite easy to get up the next morning and walk to the summit to see the sun rise. They did not, however, awake until half-past three the next afternoon. They started, again disappointed, but still hopeful of reaching the summit, at half-past four. They lost their way, and climbed and climbed, and got wet amid the fog and wet grass. Close upon midnight they at last "struck" the Righi Kulm Hotel, in which a man blows a horn early in the morning to awake all those who wish to see the sun rise from the adjoining summit. Twain was delighted with this arrangement, for now there would be no chance of over-sleeping. "We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without rocking. We were so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred nor turned over till the booming blasts of the Alpine horn aroused us. It may well be imagined that we did not lose any time. We snatched on a few odds and ends of clothing, cocooned ourselves in the proper red blankets, and plunged along the halls and out into the whistling wind bare headed. We saw a tall wooden scaffolding on the very peak of the summit, a hundred yards away, and made for it. \Ve rushed up the stairs to the top of this scaffold, and stood there, above the vast outlying world, with hair Hying and ruddy blankets waving and cracking in the fierce " 'Fifteen minutes too late, at least!" said Harris, in a vexed voice. "The sun is clear above the horizon." " 'No matter,' I said; 'it is a most magnificent spectacle, and we will see it to the rest of its rising, anyway.' "In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before us, and dead to everything else. The great cloud-barred disc of the sun stood just above a limitless expanse of tossing white-caps, so to speak?a billowy chaos of I massy mountain domes and peaks draped in i imperishable snow, and flooded with an opaI line glory of changing and dissolving splenj dors, while through rifts in a black cloudbank above the sun radiating lances of diamond-dust shot to the zenith. The cloven valleys of the lower world swam in a tinted mist which veiled the ruggedness of their crags and ribs and ragged forests, and turned all the forbidding region into a soft and rich and sensuous paradise. We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. We could only gaze in drunken ecstacy and drink it in. Presently Harris exclaimed: " 'Why, it's going down !' "Perfectly true. We had missed the morning horn-blow, and slept all day. This was stupefying. Harris said : "'Look here, the sun isn't the spectacle? it's us?stacked up here on the top of this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, and two hundred and fifty well dressed men and women down there gawking up at us and not caring a straw whether the sun rises or sets, so long as they've got such a ridiculous spectacle as this to set down in their memorandum-books. They seem to be laughing their ribs loose, and there's one girl there that appears to be going all to pieces. I never saw such a man as you before. I think you are the very last possibility in the way of an ass.' -"'What have I done?' I answered, with heat. " 'What have you done? You've got up at half-past seven o'clock in the evening to see the sun rise, that's what you have done.' " 'And have you done any better, I'd like to know? I always used to get up with the lark, till I came uuder the petrifying influ ence of your turgid intellect." " 'You used to get up with the lark, 0, no doubt; you'll get up with the hangmen one of these days. But you ought to be ashamed to be jawing here like this, in a red blanket, on a forty-foot scaffold on the top of the Alps, and no end of peopleMown here to boot; this isn't any place for an exhibition of temper.' "And so the customary quarrel went on. When the sun was fairly down, we slipped back to the hotel in the charitable gloaming, and went to bed again. We had encountered the horn-blower on the way, and he tried to collect compensation, not only for announcing the sun-set, which we did see, but for the sunrise, which we had totally missed, but we Baid no, we only took our solar rations on the 'European plan?pay for what you get.' He promised to make us hear his horn in the morning, if we were alive." THE MOST YENOMOUS OF SNAKES. A recent arrival at the Zoological Society's Gardens in Regent Park, deserves special notice, apart from the fact that it is the first of its sDecies known to have been brought to England. It is a snake, called the echis carinata, about a foot and a half long, and of dingy gray. Yet, although in appearance neither interesting nor formidable, it is the deadliest of created things. This detestable little worm, which, looking at it, the spectator might make bold to say he could imitate very passably in cork and putty, is, nevertheless, one of the miracles and master-pieces of nature, for it is death itself, and carries in its tiny head the secret of destroying life-with the sudden rapidity of lightning, and the concentrated agony of all poisons. The echis comes to us from India, where it is tolerably common, b:>ing found in nearly every part of the peninsula, and feared wherever found as the incarnation of instant and terrible destruction. Fortunately, however, for man, it is not, like the kobra and the korait, a housefrequenting snake; its tiny size would give it a terrible advantage over human beings who live crowded together, as the natives of India do, in small, darkened rooms, while its -ag gressive habits would make it more fatal to life than its dreaded relatives. For this king of the asps, this modern basilisk, is not only venomous beyond conception, but is actively offensive. It does not turn to escape from man as the cobra will, or flash into concealment, like the korait, but conscious, perhaps, of its deadliness, deliberately keeps the path against its human assailant, and, putting its own 18 inches of length against his bulk, challenges and provokes the conflict. A stroke with a whip will cut it in two, or a clod of earth disable it; but such is its malignity that it will invite attack by every device at its command, staking its own life on the mere chance of its adversary coming within the little circle of its power. At most, the radius of this circle is twelve inches, but within it, at any point, lies certain death, and on the bare hope of hand or foot trespassing within its reach, the echis throws its body into a figure of eight coil, and, attracting attention by rubbing its loops together, which, from the roughness of the scales?hence the epithet carinata?makes a rustling, hissing sound, erects its head in the centre and awaits attack. No one having once encountered this terrible worm can ever forget its trupulent aspect when thus aroused, its eagerly aggressive air, 1 ? L!-L I lis restless cons, wnicn, iu cuuataui, uiuuuu one over the other, and rustling ominously all the while, stealthily but surely brings it nearer and nearer to the object of its fury ; the eye, malignant even beyond those of other vipers, and then the inconceivable rapidity of its stroke. For the echis does not wait to strike until it is within striking distance, but vents its malice in repeatedly darting at nothing, hoping, perhaps, to aggravate its antagonist into coming to closer quarters, or, more probably, as a mere expression of its own uncontrolable viciousness.?London Telegraph. ?? ON DIET. It is a well established fact that in every effort we make, however slight, whether it be muscular, respiratory, or mental, there is a corresponding loss of tissue. Now this waste, as it passes out of the body by the various excretions, is found to contain constituents, as nitrogen, carbon, various salts, etc., which are exactly similar to those which enter into the composition of the blood and tissues of the body; and therefore it follows, that in order to repair the waste which is continually going on, these constituents must enter into the food taken. Some articles are rich in nitrogenous, for example, meat and peas; some are rich in carbon, as suet, sugar, etc., while others contain both these elements in various proportions, and are called mixed, of which the best examples are milk, rice, potatoes, and various meals, as oat meal, wheat meal, barley meal, etc. Nitrogenous food builds up and repairs tissue, as tiesn, muscie, etc.; while carbonaceous food, by a process of combustion, serves to assist respiration, and is called the respiratory food. Certain salts are also necessary, to form and sustain the -solid frame work and nerve tissue, and these are found in common salt and various vegetables. Diet, therefore, to be wholesome and nourishing, must contain these three elements as well as some fat and water. But there are some other points about diet as well as its chemical composition, which require some notice. First, it should be regular and not hurried ; second, it should be sufficient in quantity; third, it should be adapted to age. Regularity of diet is most important, as nothing contributes so much to produce indigestion as irregular meals, and too much haste in taking them. For an adult,! three meals in the day are sufficient and should be so arranged as to have as nearly as possible an equal interval between each meal. Children require food more frequently. With regard to quantity, much will depend upon the nature of the work done ; the greater the work the greater the waste, and therefore the greater the quantity of food required to repair it. The quality of the food must also he good, and be of a mixed character, to fulfil the conditions already mentioned. Children require a different diet to adults. In infancy, milk contains all that is necessary for its nature; as they grow older, other matters have to be added, to give it a more mixed character. Finally, a healthy diet should be free from excess generally, and should not consist of one class of food only to the exclusion of others. Leadville.?The effects of high altitude are illustrated at Leadville. Cold water boils at 190 degrees instead of 212 degrees. Nothing that is eaten cooks at this temperature. All sorts of devices are resorted to for confining the water so that it will not evaporate till it can be charged with more heat. The ftulse runs high. Liquor quickly intoxicates, ungs have increased labor, and evaporation cools the body suddenly, subjecting it to catarrhal and pulmonary derangements. Though nearer the sun by over 10,000 feet, its heat is diminished, showing that the sun does not send fire to us, but chemical power, which, according to the density of the atmosphere, and in all inter-planetary space light and heat are absent. Leadville is rich in gold, but not in health.* Even flies cannot live there. + THE WASHINGTON. The immediate ancestry of George Washington must be sought at Sulgrave, Northamptonshire. At Sulgrave was a monastery, and it was dissolved by Henry VIII. at the same time as the other religious houses. A large part of its estates were granted to the ?j ..1 1 j L wasnmgton iamny; ana iu me uiu uuuiuu of Sulgrave is a plate of brass with Lawrence Washington and his wife incased on it, and also his eight sons and nine daughters. . Sulgrave is in a pleasant, rural part of England, not far from Banbury and Whittlebury Forest. The mansion of the Waahingtons was probably at one time the priors' dwelling and altered for their use. Part of it still remains, and is converted into a farm-house; and in a buttery-batch is a piece of stained glass with the Washington crest upon it. It is hoped that this picturesque relic may, in some future time, form a part of the present series. John Washington, of South Cave Castle, was the great-grandson of the lord of the manor of Sulgrave. South Cave Castle is reached by the railway that runs between York and Hull. Brough is the nearest station, and from there to South Cave is a walk or drive of three miles. The road is a pleasant one, and lies through a shaded lane, with here-and-ther? a long opening, and some comfortable dwellings, set in dark evergreens. A road that turns to the right leads us to Hull and the village of Rowley, which is qnite worth a visit, as it was*the veritable parent of Rowley, Mass., indeed all the inhabitants left Rowley York, with their vicar, and crossed the ocean to their new home. South ^ ^ * a i? : j uave uastie is a irujy uenguuui reaiueuue, and is well seen from the road. It has, of course, undergone some raodelizing since the Washingtons resided there; but the dimensions are the same, and the pleasant park is circumscribed by the same boundaries. Plate gla68*'windows have superseded the old-fashioned mullion and lead lights ; and pannelled doors have been placed in frames instead of the heavy ones studded with nail-heads; but an old engraving 1 saw in York, gives the same walls and elms; and doubtless the rocks are Jinneally descended from those that heralded springtime to John Washington.?Bel \ gravia. ? + FOLLIES OF FASHION. A carricature published in 1840 is still to be found in old collections, which represents a fine gentleman and lady walking hopelessly around a handkerchief, which the lady had dropped on the street. Both of them were too tightly laced to be able to stoop to pick it up. T - it- - ??i mnr> oa JLU ILitJ iirst J'COia Ul bins ucutuij, ui?U| ug well as women, strove to exhibit the wasp-like waist, which was held in admiration. Even as late as twenty years ago, it was common for a fashionable lady to put on her hat before her corsets, as she could not lift her hands to her head after they were laced. The press and even the pulpit attacked this suicidal folly. It has almost disappeared among educated people. Women in this country have become familiar in statues and pictures with the ideal forms of beauty which the world in all ages has admired. They have learned how hideous to an artist's eye is the lean, consumptive waist which was once decreed by fashion. There are one or two ways, however, in which the fashionable dress of to day still injures health and deforms the figure. One of these is the high, ungraceful hat perched on the back of the head. An eminent aurist attributes the rapid increase of diseases of the ear to this recent uncovering of the ears by women. Another is the massing of a heap of unclean, dead false hair upon the back of the head, the heat of which frequently injures the scalp and produces an affection of the brain. The most common and ludicrous error is the high-heeled narrow shoe, which women not only wear, but put upon their helpless children. The muscles of the instep and foot are completely displaced by these shoes. It is impossible to wear them a year without deforming the foot, displacing the toes, and crippling the muscular power of the leg. Some time, probably, our women, better educated than now, will learn the beauty of thenatural foot and of a free, light step?a charm which few American women (except those with red skins) cail boast.? Youth's Companion. The Education of Wild Beasts.?The veteran animal tamer, Alfred Still, says that too much whipping makes a wild animal sulky and vicious, but a certain amount of whipping is necessary. To train a wild beast, he ,AnAr.f1?. "/in miiof "firof molro lln nn. OaiU 1 btCUUA J | jyu iuuau uauv ??w -v quaintance from the outside of the cage, and get the animal acquanted with your face; but above all, with your voice. They become accustomed to voices sooner than faces, and are governed more by sound than by sight. Having got accustomed to your beasts, and they accustomed to you, your next step is to train them to their tricks. Though these tricks are simple, they require a great deal of time and patience and a good deal of whipping to accomplish them. The lions are the smartest of the wild beasts. You can train a lion to do the ordinary tricks of the trade; jumping through hoops and over gates, standing on his hind legs, and so on?in about five weeks' constant work. It will require about a week longer to teach a lioness ; and a leopard, which comes next to a lion in intelligence, about six weeks to learn the same feats. It takes about seven or eight weeks to teach a tiger, and a tigress from eight to nine weeks, while you can keep on beating and teaching a hyena for four months before you can do much with him. The most difficult thing to do is to teach a wild beast to lie down on him, without his trying to make you lie in him by eating you up. Kindness?that is, anything but ordinary civility?is absolutely thrown away upon a wild beast. With a tiger, or tigress especially, all affection is literally wasted. A tigress is as apt to eat you up after an intimate acquaintance of six years as one of six weeks. As a rule, the whip is the most efficacious instrument for training. It can be used quickly, and it hurts. If I were to drop ray whip the beasts would fancy I had lost all my power over them and would first pounce on the whip and then go for me. Four tigresses trained are estimated to be worth 832,000 ; but a good tiger unbroken, is not worth more than $2,500. Lions are worth about $2,000 to $2,500 each ; panthers, $600; jaguars, 8400; hyenas, $250, if untrained ; leopards, $250 to $400, according to their kind." Sign of the Weather.?Dew is a sign of fine weather, and is never seen except under a cloudless sky. Wind and clouds are sure preventives of dew, for the simple reason that clouds are able to retain some of the solar heat; and, as they can give forth warmth the radiation from the earth is checked, and the warmer temperature preserved. Wind evaporates the moisture as fast as it appears; and if the wind is westerly, there is little dew or cloud to be seen. The contrary is observed with easterly wind, but a west wind blows over a vast expanse of land, and having lost its vapor, dries up any moisture it may come across; while an east wind, crossing the Atlantic, is full of vapor and sheds d?w on all sieves. These remarks, of course, apply chiefly to particular localities, but the influence of a west wind may be seen in the spring. Dew is more copiously deposited in the spring and autumn than in summer, as there is usually a great difference in those seasons between the temperature of day and night; iu the spring, however, there is a small deposit of dew when a west wind prevails; but in autumn, during the soft in* fluences of south and east winds, the earth is covered with moisture. It has also been observed that there is a greater formation of dew between sunset and midnight Baby is Dead.?"Baby is dead!" Three , little words passing along the line; copied somewhere, and soon forgotten. y - & ii t l j .out aixer an was quiet, again jl icaucu mj head upon my hand and fell into a sad reverie of all that those words might mean. Somewhere?a dainty form, still and cold, unclasped by mother's arms to night. Eyes that yesterday were bright and blue as skies of June, drooped to-night beneath white lids that no voice can ever raise again. Two so ft hands, whose rose-leaf fingers were wont to wander lovingly over "mother's neck and face, loosely holding white buds, quietly folded in coffined rest. Soft lips, yesterday rippling with laughter, sweet as woodland brooks fall, gay as trill of forest-bird, to-night unsponsive to kiss or call. A silent home?the patter of baby feet forever hushed?a cradle bed unpressed. Little shoes half worn?dainty garments? shoulder-knots of blue, to match those eyes of yesterday, folded away with an aching heart. . A tiny mound, snow-covered in some quiet grave-yard. A mother's groping touch, in uneasy slumber for the fair head that shall never again nestle in her bosom. The low sob, the bitter tear, as broken dreams awake to sad reality. The hopes of ffiture years wrecked, like fair ships that suddenly go down in sight of land. The watching of other babies laughing, dimpled, strong, and this one gone! The present agony of grief, the future emptiness of heart, all held in those three little words, "Baby is dead." Indeed, it is well that we can carelessly copy and soon forget the many words so freighted with woe to those who receive and send them. And yet it cannot harm us now and then to give a tender thought to those for whom our carlesss pen-stroke is preparing such a weight of grief. System in Housekeeping.-?There is nothing morewdiscouraging to the young housekeeper than her first attempt at mastering the details of her work; she looks with amazement at the calm faces of her friends, who seem somewhat to have made the secret their own. By and by she finds out for herself that it may all be summed up in these words: "Eternal vigilance is the price of a well kept house." She realizes what Werner wrote about his garden: "Eternal vigilance! The spider, the moth, the flour bug, the red ant, the black ant demand it!" She thinks that if somebody had framed it for her motto, instead of "God Bless our Home," or "Eat, Drink and be Merry," she might have got on better. One of the first things she learns is that system is absolutely necessary; not the relentless system which decrees that Friday shall be sweeping day though the heavens should fall, but which considers calmly the whole business to be despatched ; portions out the work as wisely as possible, and then adheres to the plan as closely as may be. Of course at first mistakes will be made; keep this comforting assurance in mind, that housekeeping does not come by instinct to anybody. However easily some may seem to get along with it, they have acquired that ease by hard and varied experience. I? one is in dead earnest about becoming a good housekeeper, occasional failures will help on the work; an ordinarily bright young woman will only once steam brown bread in an ungreased tin, or build a hot fire, with a new oilcloth under the stove, and leave no ashes under the fire in the stove. It is a positive fact that in time one who has an actual distaste for housework may come to regard her kitchen as a laboratory in which careful manipulations will produce exact results. Mexican Beauties.?All the social upheavals in Marino for the Dast sixtv vears bave failed to mingle the blood of the Indian with the blue blood of a certain element of their conquerors and the descendants of their conquerors. This is guera element, which has held its own inviolate amidst the surging passion surrounding it, the temptations which nothing but a haughty pride of race wouid have resisted. There are two types of gueras. The first has some very distinct characteristics. The face is spirituelle, and has that subdued expression which invariably results from religious meditation, and in color as white as alabaster. The flesh is faultlessly white, tinged with a refined but herflthy appearance. The eyes are usually dark, large and lustrous, and the hair abundant and black as the raven's wing. The teeth are white as snowflakes. The rubias, the second type, are superb specimens of womanhood and are so called because they have auburn or golden hair, which in some instances runs into a flaming rich red color. The eyes are often deep blue, soft and entreating in their expression. The flesh has a sunset tinge to it, wbich is a more warm and sensuous nature than that of the paler hued women. Near the town of AguaCahente, State of Sinaloa, there is a village of rubias, the young women of which are matchless in their style of beauty. Tall and graceful, with richly rounded busts, symmetrical forms and a step as light and elastic as a fawn's they move about, the very symbols of the poetry of motion. They have something in their manner and style similar to the higher class of Russian women, whom they greatly resemble. The rubias, like the gueras, live mostly in the interior, where the climate is more mild and genial, while the dark races inhabit the hot regions along the coast. Cause of Headache among School Children.?A German physician, in a paper read before the German Association of Natural Historians, discusses headache among school children. He says the principal cause of headache is intellectual over-exertion. He attacks the present system of education as tending to produce mental confusion, instead ofjiocreasing knowledge. He protests against night study as causing an exhaustion of the brain, so that new ideas cannot be really grasped, while confusion is produced with regard to subjects that have been studied during the day. The same views were recently expressed by an eminent American physician. Both critics are on the right track. The results which they deplore are owing to the ambition of parents and scholars themselves, rather than to the work of teachers. The teacher, under present methods, suffers as much as the scholars. The greatest present evils of the schools are crowded rooms and bad air. These alone would produce headache, and render a child unfit for study and the teacher unfit for her or bis duties. Our teacaera are shut up in a box with a great ! number of scholars, who exhaust the oxygen, ! especially in cold weather when the windows i are closed. When this happens scholars and teachers are reduced to a struggle for exis tence, and if anything is learned it is at a great expense of vital force. Improvements iin school buildings are going on slowly, and it is ! possible that in ten or twenty years teachers and scholars can enter a school-house without danger of slow poison with carbonic acid and gas. Business Proveres.?Never sacrifice safety to large expected returns. Never borrow money to speculate with. Never make a loan on importunity. Never loan a borrowing friend more ths.n you are willing to lose if he can't pay. Never speculate deeper than you are able to lose if you lose it all. Owe no man anything. Be satisfied with a moderate rent to good tenant. Keep well insured and watch your policy. 1 A. ? MM** UttainAOa mliA /IAOQ i\ BVBr UULIBUil th LUU.U UU uu?u?w nuu uvi<s not manage his own. Avoid a second mortgage for a fresh loan. He that maketh haste to be rich is nat wise. Poverty is no bar to marriage if both parties will work and save. The gods help those who help themselves, men or women. God promises nothing to idleness. A. man must ask his wife if he may lie rich. Little coins, like little drops of water, will fill a bucket. As we sow in temporal affaire we shall reap. Short settlements make long friendship. Fortunes are made by earning and saving. Money easily gotten is soon spent. Money earned is money valued. It is easier to loosen up good property than to reestablish it. In discussing business disagreements keep cool. Less wisdom is required to rmake money than to keep it securely when made. The Danger of Beauty.?Just as the possession of money is likely to be a severe test of character, and one which may prove a hindrance rather than a help to the- spiritual life, so there is a like danger ini the rich endowments of personal beauty, or grace of presence and speech. To personal beauty, considered merely irora an artistic smuupuiui there may be added, of course, those signs of true nobility of character, and of a winsome and lovely disposition, which make the face beautiful in the true sense. But as the having of money exposes the possessor to many temptations unknown to the poor, so the possession of physical beauty carries with it dangere in the line of pride, and love of approbation, and selfishness, and devotion to worldly pleasures and avocations, which can only be overcome by the exercise of for greater vigilance than is demanded of a "plain" person. Rich natural endowments in other lines similarly carry with them increased perils and multiplied temptations. If you know that you are handsomer than mcst people, then do not forget that you are beset with difficulties and temptations which do not beset most peoplo. To receive all ' personal gifts as coming from their true source, and to remember that with each special pc?3session goes a special responsibility and a ' special set of dangers, is the duty -of every one, and it is a duty whose non-performance is soon followed by the discovery that the mis-use of blessings can be made quickly to ^ transmute them into curses. Morality op Good Living.?A man of the kindliest impulses has only to feed upm indigestible food for ti few days and forthwith his liver is affected, and then his brain. Elis sensibilities are blunted; his uneasiness makes him waspish and fretful. He is like a hedgebog with the quills rolled in; and he will do and say things from which in health he would have recoiled. Sydney Smith did not exaggerate when he affirmed that "old friendships are often destroyed by toasted cheese, and hard salted meat has often led to suicide." Even so intellectual a man as William Hiiz"litt, writing to his lady-love, could say: "I never love you so well as when I think of sitting down with you to dine upon a boiled scragend of mutton and hot potatoes." Justly did Talleyrand inveigh against the En glish that they had one hundred and fifty foyns of religion and but one sauce?melted butter. The celebrated scholar, Dr. Parr, confessed a love for "hot lobster* with a profusion of shrimp sauce." Pope would lie in bed for days at Boblingbroke's, unless he were told that there were stewed lampreys for dinner, when he would rise instantly and hurry down to the table. Gandel ate enormously, and when he dined at a tavern he always ordered dinner for three. On being told tl at all would be ready as soon as the company should arrive,, he would exclaim: "Den bring up de dinner, prestissimo! I am de company." ? ? The Human Manufactory.?A man may eat and drink heartily all day, says an unknown writer, and sit and lounge about, doing nothing.,* in one sense of the word ; but his body must keep hard at work all 1he time, or it will die. Suppose the stomach refused to work within ten minutes after a hearty dinner, the man would die' in convulsions in a few hours ;; or cholera or cramp? colic would rack and wreck him. Supposing the pores of the skin?meaning thereby the glandular apparatus with which they are connected?should go on a "strike," he would in an hour be burning up with fever; oppression would weigh UDon the system, and sc-on become insupportable. Suppose die liver become mulish, the appetite would be annihilated, food would be loathed, torturing pains would invade the small of the back, and !;be head would ache to bursting. Suppose i.he kidneys shut-up shop, and danger most imminent, sufferings unbearable, and death more certain, would be the speedy and inevitable result. If the little workshops of the eye should close, in an hour he would not shut nor open them without physical force, and in another hour he would tie blind ; or if those of the tongue should close, it would become dry as a bone and stiff as steel. Learn About the Pulse.?Every intelligent person should know how to ascertain the state of the pulse in health; then, by comparing it with what it is when he is ailing, he may have some idea of the urgency of his case. JParents should know the heallth pulse of each child?as now and then a peruon is born with a peculiarly slow or fast pulse, and the very case in hand may be of that peculiarity. An infant's pulse is 140; a ch ild of 7, about 80; and from 20 to 60 years, is 70 beats a minute, declining to 60 at fourscore. A healthful grown person's pulse beats 70 times a minute; there may be good health down to 60; but if the pulse always exce-sds 70r there is a disease ; the machine is working itself out; there is a fever or inflammation somewhere, and the body is feeding on itself; as in consumption, when the pulse is quick, that is over 70, gradually increasing, with decreased chances of cure! until it reaches 110 to 120, when death comes before many days. When the pulse is over 70 for moniihs, and there is a slight, cough, the lungs are affected. There are, however, peculiar constitutions in which the pulse may be over 160 in health, ?rw