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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j $niepcni)cnt Jamiln ^tetuspapcr: Jfor % promotion of tbe political, Social, ^gricnltura! anb Commercial Interests of % SontJj. |terms--$2.50 a year, IS advance. VOL. 27. 7 YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY lO, 1881. NO. 6. ?viginat f aetrw. Written for the Yorkrille Enquirer. MY VALENTINE ; OR, LOVE AND SILENCE vs. SCORN. BY JOB. You may mock, or deride and sneer And shun and scorn me if you will; But loving yon, I can but bear Your treatment, be it good or ill. For who can brook the gloomy thought Of hating one ho once has loved, And by her whims be changed and wrought Into a serpent from a dove ! No, tnv anger thus shall never burn' At aught that you may say or do. Nor one harsh word for yours return, Neither when in or out of view. But silently 111 uear, unmuveu, Your bitter rage and words of scorn 'Til by my patience I have proved My love can stand a thunder storm ! I know there's blue blood in your veins, And that you hold your head up high ; But 'tis well poised, and full of brains Enough to accomplish all you try. Oh ! that your vanity and pride And imperious will were not so great; Then e'er with yon to be allied Would be indeed a blest estate. But 0 my heart, my soul, how long Ere this important truth you learn, That love that's lasting, pure and strong Can never dwell where passions burn ; But flee to a true and humble heart, Whose throbbings warm a faithful breastWhere joys will come and never depart, But therein take eternal rest. JU Original Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE LADY OF LINTON. BY WALTER MORGAN. CHAPTER XIII. The varied feelings which agitated Cyril's mind during his homeward journey, can be only inadequately described ; but their effect was visible in his pale and haggard face, whose worn and woefui expression seemed-to I . * .1 i ! I indicate days, ratner man nours, 01 suneriug. He reached home in the afternoon, and with a throbbing heart ascended the steps, scarcely daring to enter, in the dread of what he might find in store for him. His eldest sister met him in the hall, having seen his approach from a window, and ! hurried down to welcome him. Her face was pale and bore traces of tears ; and her quivering lips, as she tried to utter some words of greeting, betrayed her inward grief, which by an effort she kept from breaking forth. "L?u?" was the one word which Cyril \ managed to utter. "She is asleep now. She asked for you a | little while ago." "Is she no better ?" A sad shake of the head was the only reply. ( . Heavy at heart, Cyril followed her to the j sick chamber. A noiseless greeting took j, place between him and the watchers round , the bed ; and Mrs. Hope silently made room i ( for him to sit beside the pillow. His little sister lay sleeping ; so motionless, so marble like in her repose, that but for tin- , slight laboring of her breath, it would have , been easy to believe that Death had already j taken her to his icy breast. His signet was ] plainly set upon her brow; and Cyril noted, with a shudder, the faint, purple shadows al- , ready gathering about her eyes and mouth, j The end was very near. Would she know j ] him?give him cue glance or her recognition and love, before it came? Nearly an hour crept by, in oppressive, unbroken silence. No one dared moved, for , fear of disturbing the sleeper. The least ag itation, the least flutter of the nerves, might hasten the moment to which they were all : | looking forward with chill and trembling i ] dread. Yet au unspoken apprehension filled j j each one, that from this earthly slumber she j might insensibly glide into that more pro- | found repose from which she would never j' awaken ; that her frail bark, launched una-1 , aware upon the sea of Eternity, would leave j the shore without one parting sign, one j hand wave of farewell. Perchance it would j be better so?for her no suffering, no con | sciousness of a rending pang; but their hu- | man hearts longed for one more glance, one < more token of the love that was being drawu j out of their lives, which it had gladdened ; and beautified so long. Bv and bv. the child stirred. An exnres- ! 8iou of pain contracted her brow, and a low i moan escaped her lips. Her mother bent over her, anxiously watching; and* directly, j the painful look passed away, and opening j her eyes, she met her mother's gaze, and ; smiled. "Has Cyril come?" she whispered. "Yes, darling, he is here." Mrs. Hope moved a little aside, and Cyril took her place. Lou smiled up in his face as he bent to kiss her?a smile that nearly broke j his heart. "I'm so glad," she said, contented- j ly; then in a fainter tone, "I knew you ! would come. She clung to him, as though her slender arms would never loosen their hold, though, even then, the frail grasp she held upon earth and its beloved ones was growing momentarily weaker. The dear faces began to fade before her eyes. Cyril i felt a shudder pass through her frame? , another?then she put out one trembliug hand? "Mamma! where are you ?" "Here, my own one ; close by you."' "I can't see you?kiss?kiss me?" fii. i ti.n...I ?* .1.-. 1:? i.:? I v/u ; hicovmciuuiij ui umi [laiuug kiss, jixcssed by each in turn upon the sweet, pallid mouth ! The awful hush that followed", &s with strained glances and stifled breath, they stood with the young pilgrim upon the biink of that cold stream which she must cross alone ! Yet not alone, for angel ministers were surely waiting to bear her through. There was a tremor of the eyelids?one low, sobbing sigh?then an unseen hand loosened the last detaining cord, and the gentle spirit was free. The final moment could not have been more peaceful. The anguish was all for those who were left behind. - Cyril did not liuger in the room. With j one last kiss pressed upon the beautiful clay,1 he hurried off, longing to be alone. He shut himself op in his own little room?how solitary and forlorn it looked !?and gave way to his grief without restraint. Oh ! that he had never left home! Only misery, and grief, and self-reproach had come of his absence. | A record had been written upon the page of his life which no repentence or tears could efface. A record of folly, of wasted love, of wild hopes blighted and crushed, of sorrow, and shame, and duty neglected ; all crowned now by this one bitter draught of woe. For his home ties were very strong; and the link which had just been severed had been, next to his love tor his mother, the strongest of them all. Happy Lou! he would gladly have changed places with her if he could. | There were 110 wild sobs, no passionate outbreaks of sorrow to disturb the solemn quiet of the house. The mourners went about with noiseless steps, feeliug as though any violent demonstrations would be out of place in the neighborhood of that pure and peace' ful presence, around which lingered an atmosj phere of perfect serenity and repose. Surely | the death-angel had never left his traces on a | lovelier image than the sleeping face of this gentle child. No look of pain, no rigid lines I were there. Each feature wore its natural expression, only more beautiful than in life, | and just the tender shadow of a smile lingered ! on the chiselled lips. Even the mother, in j whose heart this youngest-born of her chil J dren had always held so dear and sacred a i place, and to whom the parting from her | had been like rending soul and body asunder, gazed upou her with only sileut-dropping tears; reading in the placid brow, the closed eye-lids with their silken fringe, the little hands loosely folded, and in that faint, ineffable smile, the tokens of a peace so entire, a happiness so deep, as seemed to make the very idea of recalling her to earth a sacrilege, and forbade one rep uing or rebellious thought. Tlia ovonino umrp nn Tt WHS PrOwiUfT late, and leaving her two daughters to watch beside their lit le sister, Mrs. Hope went iu search of Cyri. whom she had not seen except in diat lirst hour of his arrival. She longed to nave him near her, to comfort him. It seemed to her more fitting that they should all be together at this solemn time, than that he should shut, himself up in solitary indulgence of his feelings. She knocked at his door, finding it locked, aud receiving no response, knocked again. "It is I, Cyril, love; may I come in ?" she gently called to him. After a moment's silence, a heavy step slowly crossed the floor. The door was unfastened, as it appeared, with a reluctant hand, and Cyril, with averted face, admitted her. "Dear child," she said, putting her arm arountj hira, as they walked together towards a sofa where he had been sitting, "I have come to be with you for a little. You know I have scarcely seen you yet." He made no reply, but flung himself wearily down, and leaned his head upon his hand. She took his other hand in hers and fondled it; but it lay limp and cold, and gave no responsive pressure to her clasp. "I am so thankful you came when you did," she went on presently, trying to draw him on to talk. "It would have been so much worse if you had been too late; and I was fearing all the time there might be some unforseen delay." "I dou't see ..hat there could be anything worse," he answered in a dreary undertone. "Worse than this?our loss you mean? It is hard enough, dear?hard aud bitter for us all. But it might have been far more hard, far more bitter, if there had been prolonged suffering, hours or days of agony, to witness and be unable to relieve. Think how calm, how peaceful, the end has been ; and then the joy at having jrou with her. That was the one wish, and it was gratified. I feel that we have much to be grateful for.And she was so saintly, so pure, 60 unfit for conflict with the world. Surely it is better that He who loved her has taken her thus early to Himself. "Aye, its better for her, no doubt," answered Cyril. "Life doesn't hold much that's desirable, or worth living for." There was a depth of bitterness in his tone that jarred upon the mother's ear. So accustomed to read the emotions of his heart in the inflexions of his voice, and in the expressions of his face, she judged now from both that it was not his sister's death alone that caused his suffering. Instinct, that wonderful maternal instinct, that seldom errs, whispered to her of something beneath and beyond this natural sorrow, that she was not able yet to fathom. Sh^ looked at him anxiously and long. For the first time, she perceived that he was looking very ill. "Cyril," she asked him after this scrutiny, which he did not appear to he conscious of, 'have you not been well lately ? Have you been working very hard?" "Working? No, mother ; I have done no work at all, to speak of." "You look so fagged out, I was afraid you might have overtasked your strength." "Oh ! no." Her tender tone, the caressinsr touch of her hand, invited his confidence ; but he felt as if he could not betray all his misery. He must keep it shut up within himself. "Did anything go wrong in the parish while you were there?" she persisted, still watching his face, whose changed look struck her more and more forcibly. It seemed so much older than when she had seen it last. "Nothing went wrong in the parish." There was a touch of impatience in his tone, as though he would fain have escaped from her importunity. "Then something has gone wrong with you. Forgive me, dear boy, if I press you against your will," she added, with a mixture of affection and authority, as she drew him nearer to her and kissed his cheek. "But I am so used to watching you?I can read your face so well?and I feel that you are hiding some thing from me now. If you are in trouble? any trouble that I don't know of?who so fit to help or advise you as your own mother?" "You can't help me, mother. No one can." His self-restraint gave way now, unlocked by the loving sympathy which from his childhood had led him to reveal every passing trouble, sure of finding counsel and comfort with the mother who had ever made her children's joys and griefs her own. By and by, as she urged him, he told her, in broken tones, all his unhappy story, reserving nothing ; his heart insensibly growing lighter as he spoke, for it seemed as if the very fact of her sharing his burden with him made it easier to bear. "My poor boy !" There was no reproach in her tone. Indeed she could find nothing to reproach him with. It had not been his fault that he 1 id been betrayed into so fatal a passion ? tho he had fallen blindly into so cruel a snare. She thought Miriam a wicked woman, but she would not say so. She knew .1 x u i ?i ... ... i?? mm il wouiu ue iiu bukhjc iu vjiu iu mm her blamed. As yet, he could uot realize how far she deserved reproach. He could not bring himself to believe that the whole of old Priscilla's tale was true. "I feel that it is at least due to her that I should write," he said, "even if I never see her again. Don't you think I owe it to her ?" No, Mrs. Hope could not think so. It seemed to her as if his only wise and right course would be blot this episode out of his life?out of his memory, if possible?at once and forever. But she told him she would think it over?would talk to him about it again, after a while. "It seems almost wicked in me to have brought such a subject to your notice at this time," he said, remorsefully. "But I have .been so wretched?and when you asked me, I could not help telling." "Thank God that you did, my own boy. What am I fit for, if I cannot bear my children's griefs as well as my own ?" she replied. And then, by mutual consent, the subject was dropped, and Cyril, feeling softened and soothed, went with his mother to look on the beautiful remains whose aspect, with all the memories they enshrined, lifted him out of the atmosphere of earthly passion and strife int* a region where feverish and unholy desires were unknown, and all breathed of purity and peace. The next day passed, and then Lou was laid to rest by her father's side. Her little room was empty, though the low willow chair, ' standing in its accustomed place, and the ' pretty trifles she had taken pleasure in gath ! ering about her, seemed yet to speak of her presence. And not only in this one spot, but all throughout the house, were scattered to' kens of girlish industry, of tasteful care, that : brought her ever freshly to their minds. Bits i; of fancy work, a framed drawing on the wall; ii and in one room not opened since her illness? ; sad memento !?a bouquet of withered flowers, , gathered and placed by her in a vase, after | walking in the garden for the last time. | Drooping and scentless, they seemed emblems ! of the blighted loveliness of her whose little hand, now lying beneath the sod, had plucked i them from their parent stems. Like theirs, | her young life had quickly closed ; but not 1 like them, she had been taken from au earthly sphere to bloom in a heavenly one, where her beauty should never fade. Mrs. Hope, in her sorrow for the dead, did not lose her sympathy for the living. She I had made her son's trouble and perplexity her own ; and after a little earnest thought, | she decided to take a step which must at once KUU ail IIUCC! LUIIIty UI surpcusc III mc ujttitbi. She would uot take it without consulting him, however, and one day, when they were alone, she aaid to him? "Cyril, I am going, with your permission, to pay a short visit to St. John's. Are you willing that I should go ?" St. John's was Dr. Rexford's parish. "You going, mother!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "But why ?" "Because, my son, I want to see Lady Hepburn?to find out for myself all that you ought to know, to satisfy you that you have acted rightly." "But suppose people should find outshould talk ?" "They shall find out nothing frcra ray visit. I shall merely be on ray way to see a friend, and stop at the Rectory to explain I why you have not yet returned ; for if you I will take ray advice, Cyril, you will resume your duties there as soon as possible. It will be the surest way to avoid comment of a disagreeable kind." "Oh mother ! I cannot go back." "Very well," said Mrs. Hope; but on thinking it over her son decided that she was right. It would be but a few weeks longer, at most, that#he would be required to fill the post he had vacated; and during that time he could keep himself as secluded as he pleased. His recent sorrow would be quite sufficient an excuse for his not going out. Mrs. Hope started on her journey the next morning; but she did not have occasion to go farther than the Rectory, where she found the housekeeper bursting with news that she lost no time in pouring into her ear. "Such a strauge and wonderful thing, ma'am, as has happened since Mr. Hope left! Sir Roland Hepburn, the husband of Lady Hepburn, who's been called a widow these ten years and more, has suddenly made his appearance again, nobody knows how ; but there he is in his own house, in the flesh, as those who've seen him can testify. Lady Hepburn's been at the point of death, and is still very low, But a triHe better. She's bad | brain fever. They do say as how he means to take her abroad, as soon as she's fit to be moved. But it's caused an uncommon stir in the parish, I can tell you." [to be continued.] i^liscfUiincotts gtcadiag. HOW TO MAKE OUT A BILL. The Syracuse Herald tells the following good story, which was originally from the lips of a well-known sexton and undertaker: He had a funeral to conduct for the family of Mr. M., a wealthy but eccentric merchant. When it was over he handed in his bill, made out after the usual custom. Mr. M. put on his eye-glusses, opened the bill, and read it clean through. "I see you have a charge of 830 for kid gloves here," said he; "how many pair did you buy ?" "A dozen," was the reply. "And here again you have charged 850 for scarfs used in the procession. How many scarfs were there, and what did they cost ?' "I had to have a dozen of them?two new and the rest cleaned and made over. Their entire cost was about 835." "And you have put down carriage hire at 850. How many carriages had you ? "Eight in all." "And they cost you how much apiece ?" "Four dollars." "Well, sir, I decline to pay your bill." The sexton was thunderstruck. The gentleman had never before been known to dispute a reasonable account with any one, and he was reputed very rich. "I could have gone to the store and bought all those gloves for 82 a pair myself," the millionaire went on, "or 824 for the lot. I could have hired ten 6carfs and had the other two made for 825. I could have got the carriages at the livery stable for 832. Twenty-four and thirty-two are fifty-six, and thirtyfive makes ninety one. You have charged me 8186 for articles I could have purchased myself for S91. I presume there are other items of the same sort elsewhere in the account." "But, Mr. M., I " "I decline to pay the bill, sir; take it back and make it out right." "But, Mr. M., 1 must make something on these affairs ; this is the only means I have of gaining a livelihood." "Make y.our bill out as you should, I say." i Sadly crestfallen, the sexton was about to i i turn away, when the merchant pointed to a ! seat at his writing table. "Sit down there," said he, "and I will teach j you how to make out a bill. In the first j place, enter the hearse, coffin, advertisement, j &c., as you have them. Then write: "One j dozen pairs, black kid gloves at 82?824 ; to i ! making two scarf's and repairing ten old ones, I 835 ; to hire of eight carriages at S4?832.' | Now you have your account correct so fur as ! it goes. But you have said nothing about. : your own services ; so write: To sexton's | service, 8100.' Is that satisfactory ? If not, ! m o l?o if Q 1 'irt ?9nn_ti'Ko foirflf *?#*n n/\noul?ir umng 11 V1 vu iiiiavg?ti j uu uv/uciugi I j a fai,r sum. We shall not dispute about that, j What I object to, is not the amount I am called upon to pay, but the pretext under which it is demanded. Your first bill wasn't ] business like ; your second will do. Do you I see the difference ?" The sexton both saw and admitted it. He ' learned a lesson from that interview which he j never afterward forgot. * ? * * I Sunlight.?The sun, if you will only open j your house to him, is a faithful physician, who | will be pretty constant in attendance, and ! who will send in no bills. Many years ago ; glass was a sort of luxury, but now we can all j have good sized windows, and plenty of them, at moderate cost, and there is no excuse for ! making mere loop holes, through which the J suu can cast but half an eye, and from which j one can gain only narrow glimpses of the j beautiful outer world. I am sufficiently acquainted with the con1 servative character of many country people | to know that expressions of disdain will come I from some quarters when I mention bay win| dows. Nevertheless, bay windows are a good ' thing. Their effect is very much like letting | heaven into one's house, at least, ought to be ! like that, for it is nothing but absurdity and ' wickedness to darken such windows with | shutters or heavy curtains until only a strugi gling ray of sunlight can be seen. I If bay windows are too expensive, a very desirable substitute can be had by placing two ordinary sized windows, side by side, with J a wide capacious ledge at the bottom for seats ; or for plants. j A room with a window like this cannot | help but be cheery, and its effect in a simple i cottage house is quite sumptuous. There is, ! likewise, in its fuvor the fuct that it is less ex! posed than the deep bay window to outer heat 1 and cold. ! In a kitchen or child's bed-room, or in an j attic, where the walls are low, two half-win| dows set side by side and made to slide or j to open on hinges, admit a broad, generous ! light, and give an apartment a pretty and i pleasing rustic air. Let the builder endeavor to have all rooms ! in daily use, especially bed rooms and sitting i rooms, well lighted by the sun. "To sleep in ; unsunned rooms is the unrepented sin of half the nation," vigorously affirms a prominent writer. But this should not be said of that part of the nation living in the country far from those towering brick walls, whose steps take hold on basement kitchens, and in whose depressing shadows.many lives must necessarily be spent. . In the country, with the whole sky to draw from, leirthere be light! If any rooms in the house must look solely to the north for illumination, let them be the parlor and the spare chamber. People who come and go can be cheerful for a while in a northj windowed apartment, but the constant dwellj ers in a house need its sunniest rooms.?Farm ! Homes. t'OLD H1MLKS. The winter of 1779-80, says the Albany Argus, began a9 the present one did, and before the slight moderation in the atmosphere, Sunday, many of the older residents, whose fathers and mothers had told them many tales of that terrible winter, were speculating as to whether the present one would resemble it iu other respects. In 1779-80 the cold weath- I er set in about the middle of November, and continued until the middle of February, i During that long period there was not enough ] warmth in the sun's rays to melt the snow on i the ground, nor to affect in the least the fet- I ters of ice that bound the creeks, ponds and i rivers. One snow storm followed another i until, finally the ground was so covered that I it was difficult to go from place to place, and the ice upon the rivers at all convenient points I was used by men and teams and animals in I place of roads. The cold winds were so pier- 1 cing that wild turkeys were found frozen to i death in the forests and domestic fowls fell t frozen from their roosts. The deer and buffalo ( sought shelter from the blasts around the cabins of the settlers, and all kinds of wild < animals perished in the forest for want of \ food, which was buried under the snow. The { fierce wolf and panther, which usually skulked about the boundaries of the settlements i only by night, now came near in broad day- t light iu search of the bones and offal thrown t from the cabins of the settlers. No rain fell, 1 and the pioneers were compelled to get water i for drinking, cooking, etc., by melting ice and i snow. The Northern and Western rivers f were tightly bound by frost, and eveu as far { south as Nashville, the Cumberland was froz- ? en over with ice thick enough for the safe i passage of emigrant trains. The Delaware, at Philadelphia, had ice three feet in thick- t ness, and Chesapeake Bay and Long Island s Sound were frozen over. ( Another similarity between the present t winter and that of PT79-80, was the mild f * -i? iL.i ,i_-i uiu . nuruinn weauier uiui preceueu iu i? ucu i the cold began in November, 1779, the leaves 1 had hardly fallen from the forest trees, and many 0/ the trees aud shrubs were putting s forth new growth. The same condition of t thing was witnessed last Fall. The winters t of 1783, 1784, 1788, 1792, 1796 and 1799 are all reported as having been very severe, c "It is stated iu "Hildreth's Pioneer His- t tory," that on the 26th of December, 1788, the Delaware and Ohio rivers were both frozen over, and navigation was suspeuded upon them until the 18th of the following March. In 1792, when soldiers were sent to the disastrous battlefield of General St. Clair, to bury the dead, they encamped where Cincin- j nati now stands, January 23d. The snow was reported two feet deep upon the ground, and the Ohio river was so strongly frozen that the soldiers rode their horses across from Ken- . tucky 011 the ice. The 7th of February, 1807, known for years as the cold Friday, was the ground work for many a grandfather's tale. On the evening of the 16th, the weather was mild and rain began to fall as night set iu. In a few hours the rain changed to snow, which fell c to the depth of six inches, after which, a hurricane began to sweep over the land. It grew colder and colder as the night progressed, and the next morning the trees in the forest were cracking like the reports of guns, and everything was bound in letters of ice. There was no thermometer to register the cold, but the day comes down in history and tradition as the cold Friday. VALUE OF SNOW. When the snow is driven against our faces, or is piled by the wind into huge heaps, blocking up the highways and railways aud impeding travel, we are apt to look upon it as a nuisance, and jbrget for the time being j the valuable services it renders the farmer. Snow serves as a protection to grass and to ^ flip rnrOs of all nerennial ulants. and above " " "0 # " I I ' all this, it has a manurial value of no small j account. There id anj old Scotch proverb, that "Snow is the poor man's manure," which has beeu handed down and repeated through many generations. Plants cannot grow and flourish without a supply of ammonia, and this substance is contained in the snow, es- j pecially in the snows that fall in the Spring. Ammonia is composed of uitrogen and hy- *j drogen, and in its uncombined state, is lighter than air, invisible, and has a very pungent ' odor. Water absorbs it in large quantities, j and any one who ha3 inhaled the odor of the water of ammonia or "hartshorn," can " comprehend one of its peculiarities, at l. least. Ammonia is formed by the decomposition j of all organic substances, and more especially by the decay of animal matter. The gas thus formed is constantly passing into the air, and amospheric air generally contains a small quantity of it. Its affinity for water is < such that when it rains or snows, it is brought 1 , to the earth and enriches it. It has been no- ( ticed that in extremely cold climates, after ' the ground has been covered with suow for | < several weeks and the cold has prevented de composition and putrefaction, no trace of am- > monia could be detected in the air. Snow be- ( iug cold and porous is one of the best absorb- 1 ents of ammonia, and after a few snow storms, very little remains mixed with the air until j < it receives a new supply. But April snows i come after decomposition and putrefaction ' i have been resumed, and the accumulations 1 of winter,.undergoing this chauge, supply an 1 j unusual amount of ammonia to the air, and such snows are uncommonly rich in this im portant fertilizer. Prolific People.?Michael Hazzard, of H,! + t AiMin^tr Nlinot* V* u Q QOnt tA I iUUill lLCi IU, X I II Ik UUUlllJ, nullum, ling uv/nu .v j the Washington Republican, a picture of five | babies borne by his wife on the 18th of Sep ! tember, 1880, and whose combined weight I was 19j pounds. Hazzard is 39 and bis wife I 36 years of age. The Republican says : The j prolific powers of some individuals among mankind are very extraordinary. Instances have been found where children to the number of Bix, seven, eight, nine, and sometimes sixteen have been brought forth at one birth. The wife of Emmanuel Gago, a laborer, near Valladorne, was delivered on the 14th of June, of five girls. The celebrated Tarsiu was brought to bed in the seventh month, at Argenteuil, near Paris, 17th of July, 1799, of three boys, each 14$ inches long, and a girl 13 inches. They were all baptized, but did not live 24 hours. In June 1799, one Maria Luiz, of Luceua, in Andalusia, was successfully delivered of sixteen boys without any girls. Seven of them were alive on the 16th of the August following. In 1835, a Muscovite peasant, named James KyrloflT, and his wife, were presented to the Empress of Russia. This peasant had been twice married, and was then seventy years of age. His first wife was brought to bed twenty-one times?namely, four times of four children each time, seven times of three, and ten timpa nf twn in all 57 children, all then alive. His second wife, who accompanied him, had been delivered seven times, once of three children and six times of twins. Thus he had seventy-two children by his two marriages. ABOUT CUSTOMS. The origin of customs is a very interesting study. Many of our customs are so old that we cannot trace them, but others we can. For example, shaking hands. This is supposed to have originated in the days of chivalry. If two knights joined their hands, of course they were rendered unable to draw and use their swords against each otherfriends, aud no longer enemies. Lifting the hat is another custom that no doubt had a military origin. In old times soldiers wore helmets ; to remove the helmet) was to put the head at the mercy of another? in other words, to show trust and confidence in the honor of the other party. After awhile, to lift the hat, which was a remnant of the custom of removing the hel met, came to signify somewhat of the same thing?a trust in the courtesy and the friendship of the person met. Of course, it is now-a days, a mere act of of formal politeness, and may not always be intended iu its full sense ; but that is its meaning. "I bare my head to you ; you are my friend; you will not take advantage of my unprotected state Lo do me an injury." The military salute is said to have origina ied at tournaments. All the knights who nad ridden, as they passed the lady who had aeen chosen Queen of Love and Beauty, -aised their hand to the eyes as if to shield ,he sight from the dazzling loveliness of the ^ueen. "Good by" is a form of the old and fuller ixpression, "God be with thee," as "fare thee veil" aud "good morning," or "I wish you a jood morning." Bowing to another is also a remnant of nilitary days. When one army conquered mother, the conquerers selected the chief of he vanquished side, or some of the principal egions or regiments, and made them pass inder a spear laid across two others planted n the ground. Bending the head is, thereore, a sort of sign of humility before the person bowed to. Now-a-days, it is a formal ict, and signifies only deference and politeiess. In other countries other modes of saluta ,ion and showing politeness exist. For initauce, in some lands, two persons meet, drop lown on their knees, aud touch their noses ;ogether! It would be very rude to meet a Yiend and not touch your nose to his; he vould feel that you did not care for him any onger. In earlier days and in Eastern lauds, perions used to fall down on their faces before ithers if they wished to show them great espect. Customs are queer things, but it is well to ibserve all proper ones and if they are evil o try and correct them. m LONUSTREET AND THE SULTAN. Mr. Gleaves, of the United States navy, lescribes in a letter to a relative in Nashrille, Tenn., the ceremonial attending the preeutation of Gen. Longstreet's credentials to he Sultan of Turkey. '.'When," he says "an ifficer announced that the Sultan was ready, he minister, escorted by a pasha on each side, tnd the rest of of us falling iu an order reembling that in which the animals are said to lave entered the Ark, passed out of the room, ip the grand staircase, between files of rigid ifficets, 'all gleaming,' like Byron's Assyrima, 'in purple and gold.' Crossing a large aloon, handsomely upholstered and ornamened with a glittering chandelier, we bowed mrselves over the threshold of the audience oom and stood in the silent presence of Sultan Vbdul Hamid II, at present the most talked if, and from his political and religious suroundings, the most interesting monarch of ill Europe. Uen. JLongstreet was nrst preented, and made the conventional speech, vhich was interpreted by the minister of for :ign affairs, a shabby, stupid old fellow, enreloped in gold embroidery. The address vns very happily and charmingly delivered. The truth is, we are all in love with the old oldier, and feel very proud of America's epresentative. He was the finest looking nan at the palace, and the most finished :ourtier could not have borne himself better. \fter handing the Sultan the credentials, Mr. Heap was presented, aud then the officers in >rder according to their rank. Each one laving stepped up and made their bow backid off. When the audience was over, all jacked out of the Sultan's presence. Several ifficers of the palace were present during the nterview, and stood in a fixed line on his ight. The audience chamber wus large, but juite plain ; there were a few landscapes in >il and a Persian carpet in bright colors. But the gem of the room was a superb rug of ;atin, on the edge of which the Sultan stood. Having retired to the waiting room, we were presented to Osinan Pasha, the hero of Plevja, now grand marshal of the palace, and to he minister of foreign affairs. Sherbet was lerved and cigarettes. Soon an invitation lame down from the Sultan inviting the minstpra nnrf nffiners to dine next dav on the ulmiral's iron clad. Soon afterward we left he palace. Such was the presentation at ;he Imperial Court." A Lightning Bolt Writing God's Name 3n a Blasphemer.?Some of our contemporaries seem disposed to question the truth of Mir statement that a negro man who was killed by lightning last summer, in Campbell ! county, had the letters "GOD" on his body. Dr. Thomas E. Moorman, whose post office i iddress is Mt. Zion, Campbell county, furnish- j sd the Richmond Christian Advocate an account of the circumstance, as follows: "On the evening of the 6th instant, Perry Jones and George Brown, colored men, notoriously the most profane, wicked persons in the whole community, with three other colored persons, took refuge during the rain, accompanied by a good deal of lightuing and thunder, in a tobacco barn on the land of Mr. George Creasey. "From their several positions, one would have thought that two of the others were in more, and the third in as much danger, as Jones and Brown were. They, as their custom was, were engaged in cursing'and swearing. Suddenly the lightning descended upon them, and, while the other three were comparatively uninjured, Jones was killed, and Brown strickeu down senseless, and almost lifeless for a time. He revived afler a few minutes, and soon seemed to have regaiued all of* his strength, but was dumb and bereft of his mind for several hours. The lightning had set fire to his clothing, and he was burn' ed on his chest and left side and arm before ' the Are was extinguished. In his maniac effort i to free himself from those who were retaining j him, the skin was rubbed from the burned i flesh, and presented the following characters, GOD. A very close representation, to say ' the least of them, of the capital letters used in printing the name of Deity, while around and between them the skin was unmoved and apparently not burned. The above characters occupied the angles of an equilateral triangle, which, as you are doubtless aware, was in ancient days the symbol of Diety. This man, then, appears to have been branded with the naine of his Creator in the symbolic language, it may be, of his forefathers three thousand years ago, and in the printed language of the nation to which he belongs." Inherited Antipathies.?Cows hate dogs instinctively, from their earliest calf hood upward. I used to doubt, once upon a time, whether the hatred was not of artificial origin and wholly induced by the inveterate human habit of egging on every dog to worry every other animal that conies in its way. But I tried a mild experiment one day by putting a half-grown town bred puppy into a small enclosure with some hitherto unworried calves, and they all turned to make a common headway against the intruder, with the same striking unanimity as the most ancieut and experienced cows. Hence I am inclined to suspect that the antipathy does actually' result from a vaguely inherited instinct derived from the days when the ancestor of our kine was a wild urus, and the ancestor of our dogs a wolf, oh the wild forest-clad plains of Central Europe. When a cow puts up its tail at the sight of a dog entering its paddock at the present day, it has probably some dim instinctive consciousness that it stands in the presence of a dangerous hereditary foe; and as the wolves could only seize with safety a single I isolated urus, so the cows now usually make [ common cause against the intruding dog, I turning their heads in one direction with very unwonted unanimity till his tail finally disappears under the opposite gate. Such inherited antipathies seem common and natural enough. Every species knows and dreads the ordinary enemies of its race. Mice scamper away from the very smell of a cat. Young chickens run to the shelter of their mother's wings when the shadow of a hawk passes over their heads. Mr. Darwin put a small snake into a paper bag, which he gave to the monkeys at the Zoo; and one monkey after another opened the bag, looked in upon the deadly foe of the quadrumanous kind, and promptly dropped the whole package, with every gesture of horror and dismay. Even man himself?though his instincts have all weakened so greatly with the growth of his more plastic intelligence, adapted to a wider and more modifiable set of external ctrcumstances?seems to retain a vague and original terror of the serpentine form.?6'?. James' Gazette. Business Men in the Senate.?One of the noteworthy features of the new United States Senate, whieh will meet in March, is the unusual number of gentlemen connected with different business interests who will form part of its membership. Twenty or thirty years ago a merchant or a banker rarely sought, or, if he sought, succeeded in obtaining a seat in the Senate or House of Representatives. Previous to the war the planter interest was well represented in Congress, but Northern and Eastern business men and farmers were conspicuous by their absence. The lawyers had a monopoly of the positions of honor and trust, attaining to them as a rule by a regular .process of gradation and promotion from ti.e lowest branch in the Legislature up the highest office in the gift of the State. The ranks of the Congressional lawyers, however, are being steadily reduced, and the next Senate will contain probably a larger number of merchants, manufacturers and farmers, than at any period in the history of the government. Of the seventy six members who will take their seats in March, twenty at least are business men, while, in addition, three others have practically abandoned law to engage in commercial or other pursuits. In the elections which have just taken Dlace. five lawvers are succeeded by five gen tlemen belonging to the commercial classes. The business interests of the country?the mines, railroads, agriculture, commerce and trade?will this year have a larger representation than, possibly, they ever had in the highest legislative body, and the change cannot fail to be beneficial. In an oratorical way the Senate may not be so brilliant as in other days, but it will be more competent to legislate upon the great vital interests of the nation.?New York Herald. Good Advice to the Blacks.?Mr. B. P. Chatfield, of Aiken, concludes a series of letters to the Aiken Journal and Review as follows: "In the series of letters which I have written, and which you have been kind enough to publish, I have endeavored to portray, as correctly as possible, the direct results produced by political changes that have taken place in our State during the last fifteen years. It is well Jor us to review the past and be guided in the future by its teachings. I have endeavored to show the colored people of the State that their sudden elevation to political power has worked greatly to their disadvantage and has retarded their prosperity, and that the true course for them to pursue in the future is to work and accumulate property, educate their children, teach them habits of industry, keep on good terms with the white people, ignore State and county politics, so far as holding office is concerned. Until there is a division of white votes in the State? which event 1 think will soop take place?it will be utterly useless for them to array themselves politically against the party that is now in power. It would be placing themselves on a political color line, and they could not suc 1 T. ,1 f?r. ceeu. is ueiLei mat iucjr ouuuiu uui>, iui the party now in power own a large percentage of the property, and are more competent to govern the State and administer its laws. I helieve that the masses of the colored people are satisfied that it is better for them to have the State governed by the property owners, if they can feel sure of equal protection." Mr. Chatfield was a Garfield elector at the recent election. As he cannot be suspected of any leaning to the Democracy, the colored voters should heed what he says. A Clever Dodge.?The story, if not new, | is ingenious, of the careful Bloomsbury matI ron, who, having broken the cover of a butter ! dish, went to the china shop where it had been bought, and, with much artfulness, asked the proprietor if he would sell her a butter dish similar to her own without its cover. "Yes," the shopkeeper said, he would spare one to oblige the lady, but he must really charge her two shillings and six pence for it. "But the thing complete is but three shillings," urged the customer. "Just so," said ! the china-dealer ; "but you see, the cover is | absolutely valueless; it is the dish itself that ; costs all the money, and the sixpence I allow I is more than the worth of the cover." "You ! are sure of that ?" said the lady. "Quite, i Madam," was the reply. Dear me!" exclaimed the customer, "how silly of me, to be sure! It is really a cover I want and not the dish !" and putting down sixpence on the counter, she took up the cover and left the shop before the astonished tradesman could recover from his surprise sufficiently to speak. A Great Telegraphic Monopoly.?The s New York Times of Saturday says a new ; scheme of telegraphic monopoly has been per; | fected. A new company has been formed by I the consolidation of all the American com* , panies owning or controlling cable connections with other countries, under the title of the American Telegraph and Cable Company. Gen. Eckert is the president. On Wednesday last the certificate of association was filed i in Albany. This sets forth that the company is organized for the purpose of "owning, con* structing, purchasing, leasing, or otherwise acquiring, using, operating, and maintaining i a land and submarine line or lines of electric telegraph, partly within and partly without the limits of the State of New York." The capital stock cf the company will be $20,000,000, with power to increase the same, and the term of the association is fixed for fifty years. The new company proposes, with the co-operation of the consolidated Western Union Company, "not only to increase the existing cable facilities between this country and Europe and to extend southward thecables which now connect this country with Cuba and the West Indies, so as to secure the great coffee trado of the United States a direct telegraphic communication with Brazil, but also to lay cables under the Pacific ocean from San Francisco to Honolulu. From Honolulu one cable will be laid under the North Pacific to Japan, connecting there with the cable from Itoki to Shanghai, in China, and another under the South Pacific, by way of Ellice's Islands and the Friendly Isles, to New Caledonia, and thence to Brisbane, in Australia, where it will connect with the Australian and New Zealand cable system in one direction, and with the Australian and Straits system in the other direction," 4 A Fatal Habit.?The capacity of the chest may be diminished by the habit of stooping, or by the abominable practice of tight lacing. The grace of the wasp like form in a woman is almost always gained at the expense of the lungs. The tight belt and the armor above it fatally compress the air-cells, and forbid all easy union of the acid of the air with the currents of the blood. The lung need not be enlarged from its natural size, but it cannot spare one inch of the space that it naturally fills. Anything which thrusts it away from its proper dwelling, where it has room and freedom, is bad and dangerous. Consumption is the proper sequel of the corset. Tney go with each other as harvest follows sowing. A quick eye can tell the internal state of the breathing organs from the form of the fashionable woman, without any auscultation or percussion, any inspection or palpitation. And no absurdity can be worse than for one who binds the ribs in steel to inflation and long inspiration as tlie preventive of disease. A lung that is compressed cannot take in as much air as one that is free, and the attempt to 611 it overfull only strains and pains its delicate cells. The lung is hot to be treated like a bale of cotton; and any wound to its elasticity provokes its decay. The war of hygiene upon tight waists must be positive, pitiless and unceasing, for fashion is in nothing more destructive to human life than in this. The American Girl.?The defects of the American girl may be done away with by giving less prominence to the purely intellectual or purely practical side of her education. For while one class1 of them are striving to solve the problem of life by educating women intellectually, there is another class which is shouting for education in domestic matters. While the Professors at Harvard are reioiciner over some, eirl who can take in #"V O " w# # their philosophies or their mathematics, the newspaper editor sings the praise of her who can roast a turkey, bake bread or make her own dress. Neither gives the poor girl any chance to exist, but only to work with either hand or brain. No one says to ber: "You are not only yourself, but possibly the future mother of other beings. Do not, therefore, allow yourself to be driven by either school of apostles beyond what you may do easily, comfortably or pleasurably. The healthy balance of your nervous system is far more important to you and your future family relations than all the mathematics or dress-making, or even roasting of turkeys. Occupy yourself steadfastly, but without strain, without hurry and without emulation. As the apostle said (and it must have been meant expressly for Amercans), 'avoid emulation.' Find out first what you do best, and even if it does not come up to sombody's else standard, learn to content yourself with that.?Atlantic Monthly. Return of Captured Guns.?Capt. Jas. T TiMiAff /?a rvimon^inrr a TTnitaH State* I U* U'JUQ(fb| WU4Ul?uuiiig wuw steamer New Hampshire, at the naval station at Beaufort, 8. C., makes the following report to the secretary of the navy, under date of January 25 : "By order of the department, I delivered to the Beaufort Volunteer Artillery, the two brass field-pieces captured by the navy at Hilton Head, November 5, 1861. The return of these pieces, after nineteen years' captivity, to this company, was most gratifying, not only to the company, but the whole community of Beaufort, S. C. Yesterday was set apart as a day of rejoicing in commemoration of this event; a salute of nineteen guns was fired in your honor. As this company represents the State of South Carolina and her Governor, I returned the salute gun for gun. In the evening a banquet was also given in honor of this event. The only invii;ed guests were the officers of this vessel, and they were requested to appear in full-dress uniform, which marks a most happy and cordial sentiment on the part of x these people. Everything passed off in the most pleasant and cordial manner. I hope the department approves of returning the salute." ?? ? - Women in Massachusetts.?There is but one county in the commonwealth of Massachusetts where the number of men exceeds or even equals th at of women. This is the county of Franklin, in the northwestern corner of the State. In Suffolk county, which includes the city of Boston, there are 20,00(1 more women than men in a total population of less than 400,000. . In Nantucket, however, the disparity is greatest, there being five women for every four men. The excess of women over men in the entire State is over 75,000. Beg* Thurlow Weed describes Aaron Burr as quite a small man, very graceful in movement and courteous in demeanor. A small hand and foot. Not spirited nor dashing at all, but his manners were full of repose and his voice was soft and musical. He would strike one at first as being slightly effeminate, but he was not so; ha was a bold, strong, capable man. In conversation?till the last ten years of his life?he was brilliant + Bedouin Maidens in War.?When a i tribe of Bedouins go out to fight, it is their custom to place one or two young maidens on the best horses at the front These dusky Amazons encourage the desert cavaliers by their cries and gestures, and plunge into the thick of the fight Wherever the damsels lead, the Arab cavalry follows; but if they are killed or captured, their followers lose heart and retreat 8?- When Doctor H. and Lawyer A. were walking arm in arm, a wag said to a friend : "Those two are just equal to one highwayman 1" "Why?" asked his friend. "Because," rejoined the wag, "it is a lawyer and a doctor?your money or your life 1"