Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, proprietor, j %it Jnbepenbeitf Jfamiln ftetospaper: Jor tjje promotion of tjje political, Social, ^.grienltnral ani Commercial Interests of t|e Sont|. TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 28. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 1882. NO. 1. foetrn. Written for the Vorkville Enquirer. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. BY AS4PH. My frail, weak bark Is dashing fast O'er a rough sea and dark, And before a wild, tempestuous blast, Where none are near To give me aid, Counsel or friendly ciieer. As Earthly joys flicker slowly out and fade. The clouds hang low; The winds howl loud; And tossing to and fro, The hissing waves on each other crowd Against the wind And vex the storm, Till, like an angry fiend, They each the other deride and scorn. Aj', and they've force My bark to strand ; Yet I've resolved my course To keep till I've safety come to land, Nor turn aside For wind or wave, But ever strive to glide Safely through all storms that round me rave. For life's short day Will soon have past? Its glories fled away? And dark oblivion o'er all else be cast; Vnf in thA All must agree, If right, fierce storms but send The brave and true to :i tranquil sea? Where no storms come, Nor rude winds blow, Or waves in anger run ; But there, in joyous beauty ever flow In great delight Without alloy, Till in full fruition bright, Our sweetest hopes all ripen into joy. Then, Oh, my soul, Be brave and true, Nor e'er lose self-control; But, hero-like, thy onward course pursue, Nor once let drsad Possess thy breast, But ever press ahead Till you have found a port where you can rest. I see the shore ; The winds have stilled; The billows rise no more; And each laughing ripple with peace is filled. I'll toil no more. But now take rest On von bright, golden shore, And ever live and reign there with the blessed. lite ftori? MUx. THE PROPHECY. An Episode that Won a Wife. "Give me a man who has courage! In my eyes it hides a multitude of sins." "You are such an enthusiast on the subject, Louise," said Blanche Underwood, as she stood before the mirror in their private parlor and adjusted her ruffes, "in looking for that quality, you'll overlook the want of some | other, and find that you have made a grievous blunder." "Can't help it, if I do. It's my nature to worship that quality?in a man especially? though I admire it in any one. He may be plain looking, but he is glorified forever in my eyes if he displays true courage," and Louise Rand passed her white fingers lightly over her wavy black hair, and resumed her reclining position on the lounge. "And you don't think Redmond Clark has courage?" Blanche said, interrogatively, turning to look at the fair, flushed face of her corapauion. "No, of course I don't," said the other, with renewed animation. "I never saw any of these blonde men show courage?don't believe it's consistent with their natures. If Redmond Clarke ever gains my love, he will have to prove himself a man by some unquestionable dariog." "There is a moral as well as physical heroism," quietly suggested Blanche. "I don't think my cousin is deficient in the former." "I want to see them combined," said the imperious beauty. "Physical daring is the outgrowth and seal of moral courage. But we shall have to drop our discussion. Here comes the gentleman himself." tm?i J _ .? j .i ?i.?? !,/? mey nearu a ireau uu me eiauo, tucu vuc door swung open and Redmond Clarke entered. A careless, free and easy exterior, a gentlemanly bearing. Undeniably handsome, if one admired the style Louise professed to despise?blonde mustache, indolent looking eyes and very brown hair. "Have you beard the news, ladies ?" he asked, as he threw himself, with an easy grace, into the depth of a comfortable chair, and ! pushed back his heavy hair from a broad, j white forehead. "No, I didn't guess they dealt in such a j commodity in this.quiet place," said Blanche. ! "Perhaps it isn't local news," suggested ; Louise, idly wiudiug some bright worsteds, while Redmond Clarke noticed the contrast between the glowing colors and her snowy fingers. "Yes, it is local news with a vengeance. A j prophecy uttered hy a seer sixty years ago : regarding this town, is on the eve of fulfill-1 ment." "Please explain," said bDth, with growing interest. "To-morrow night this hotel, known as the Cohassett House, and a space of two miles from it, in all directions included, is to sink, and, instead of the inhabited village, the morning sun i3 to rise over a broad expanse of water, which has covered the doomed inhabitants." "Pshaw!" said Louise, impatiently. "We are unfortunate in the selection of'a place to rusticate," pursued Raymond, watching Louise closely, without seeming to do so. "We came here to escape being bored by fashionable society. If we are swallowed up by the miniature flood aforesaid, society will be rid of us, which would be a loss on both sides." "Perhaps we had better pack our trunks and leave on the strength of this threatened danger," said Louise, with quiet sarcasm. "Suppose we make a short visit to Ashdale and return?if the place still stands?when the dangerous period tias passed,"' laugnea Blanche. "There's the dinner bell," and the conversation ended somewhat abruptly. The trio descended to the quiet, cool dining room and took their seats at the table. "It is said that the first put of the prophecy has been literally fulfilled," a gentleman was saying, as they entered. "We may reasonably expect the rest to be true also." "What are the circumstances ?" inquired a middle-aged lady. "I have heard only the last part of the story." "I will tell you. Sixty years ago, a traveler shopped here at a hotel, where this one now stands, and eugaged board and lodging for a fortnight. But the first morniug he made his appearance with a face white With horror, and informed the landlord that he could not stay, as he first intended. He narrated that during the night it had been unfolded to him that a horrid murder had been perpetrated withiu the walls of the building, a short time past, aud that all the children afterwards born here should die in infancy. Further, that a new hotel should be erected on the site of the one then standing, in fifty years, and in sixty the hotel and part of the town should be engulfed, a further lengthening out of the curse." The middle-aged lady looked much impressed. "And all this occurred where we now are?" "Yes, the Cohassett House now stands on the spot where the dire prophecy was uttered, and we now wait anxiously for the final consummation." "Have you made allowance in their reckoning for leap year ?" flippantly inquired a youth who sat opposite the serious gentleman. "You should not jest under the shadow of a great calamity," said the first, impressively, J regarding the youthful unbeliever severely through his glasses ; then to the lady?"the traveler was observed to have jet black hair the night before, in the morning it was snowy white." Part of the people at the table looked serious ; part were amused. Among the latter was Redmond. His eyes twinkled suppressed amusement, but he concealed it. Blanche and Louise had been interested listeners to the narrative growing somewhat dignified by the discussion at the dinner table. i nxr l - ? u r i:?? "1UU ?UtJ IJUYV UJUUli ivuuuauuu iico OCneath this apparently idle gossip. 1 believe discretion will be the better part of valor on our part." Louise, from under her long lashes, shot a withering glance at the man who loved her, but did uot deign an answer. She could not make out this man. She believed that sometimes she half despised him. "I believe I shall take the stage for Ashdale," announced Redmond the next afternoon, looking at his watch. "Have a little business there to which I wish to attend." Louise flashed a quick glance from her i large dark eyes. "What! going to leave us to. take care of I ourselves?" said Blanche. "We want you to help buoy us up when the water rises." "O, I shall return to-night. I have no idea of being absent from such an interesting adventure," he replied. "That is, if I can possibly see the gentleman I am seeking just five minutes. Good-atternoon, ladies." and he bowed himself out of the room gracefully. "There ! I am not surprised at this action on the par of Redmond Clarke," said Louise. "He will d vt come back here to-night. I say, as I have said before he is a coward." "Why, Louise, this move of his has nothing to do with the superstitious tale we have just heard." "I believe it has." The secret desire to think and believe high and lofty thiugs of his name; drove her to sudden anger at any suspicion cf the opposite. "Who ever knew one of the36 blue eyed, blonde-moustached men who had a spark of true courage," and she looked anything but a feeble character herself, as she paced the floor rapidly, her eyes flashing indiguantly with the intensity of passion to which she had wrought herself. "Take aire," said Blanche, warningly, in a low voice. "You remember Hamilton Belmont saved my life at the risk of his own. He was none of your heroic looking men." "You will find that Redmond Clarke is not a second Hamilton Belmont. If I could know for a certainty that he ran away from any danger, threatened or real, I should never again allow him to touch even ray finger tips. I should feel so humiliated that such a map had ever dared to ask for my love." "Don't judge too harshly?too hastily," said her friend, gently. She knew that Redmond Clarke and Louise Rand were fitted to make each other happy, could the latter have the mists of doubt cleared from her wilful eyes. "Clarke had really intended to return to fltfl PnKoeofiff aa do ko kuft nrnmiacri bllt mv VUiJiMOVI'V 4AVUQV ?*S uv iiuu wwv the gentleman whom he sought was absent, and the last stage left before his return. Ashdale was a primitive, unambitious town. Its only connection with the great world was the regular stage. Its hills and valleys had never yet echoed with the shrill whistle of the locomotive. He paced backward and forward on the piazza of the quiet little hotel where he was to pass the night, under the poetic skies of a fine evening, thinking of Louise Rand. Her haughty iraperiousness had a charm for him. He smiled to himself as he thought "She will thoroughly believe now what she suspected when I left her, that I should not return tonight." He was prouder than she. There was a depth beneath that indolent exterior she had not 30unded ; and because she had doubted him?she whom be loved?he would not deign to inconvenience himself to gain her approval. A man with less iuherent haughtiuess would have acted differently. The smoke of his fragrant cigar curled upward and dissolved in the moist, thin air. He removed it from his lips for a moment, thoughtfully. "She has no reason to judge me. Thank Heaven ! among all my failures, cowardice has never been justly attributed to me." His memory went over one or two deeds of daring in the past, of which he never spoke. "She may one day find out," he thought, as he replaced his cigar. He retired early and was soon in a deep slumber. It did not prove refreshing. A feverish, restless dream wreathed in and out of his brain. He saw Louise suspended over a waste of waters cliuging to some thing that threatened every moment to snap with her weight, and she be engulfed forever. Then the scene shifted, and he saw as plainly as if it were reality, the building where he had left her enveloped in flame, and amid I the cries of frantic men aud women. Louise j I in her white night robe at a window where the j flames were rapidly closing round her, reaching out to him with wild shrieks for help. He woke with the agony of the scene. Perspiration was starting from every pore. He sprang out of the bed and threw up a window. The night was sweet and fair when he retired, with the added glory of the full moon, in the j fuller light of which the stars were paling i | their modest brightness. Over the fair land- j 1 scape were fiung lengthening, sleeping shad* J ows of tall trees, shrubbery, and homelike , ! cottages in their inclosure. The scene calmed, sobered him, but did not dissolve die hurried impression of danger, j Was his dream a warning? He tried to I smile and put it away as the offspring of | j diseased imagination. But the vivid hor-! ! ror of the scene stood before his vision with I ! too much reality, and he turned to dress with I j quick, nervous haste. The moon shone direct- j | ly into his room and its light was all sufficient, j j He was only four miles from Woodville. He ! | could walk that distance. He could not rest I j with this horrible impression upon him? j i something might even now be happening. ! He let himself out noiselessly at the front j door, and commenced a rapid walk. The church clock tolled the hour?twelve. He ! would reach there in less thau an hour, i What if he should find his dream realized? ; He was a good walker, and the distance be- ! | tween him and Woodville rapidly lessened. ! As he drew near he began to feel a reaction? | indeed, almost inclined to turn back. He j came suddenly upon the village, lying serene- j i Iy and lovely under the moonlight. The | Oohassett House, to which his gaze was di! rected, loomed up large and tall among the ; quiet cottages around, and stately elms threw their protecting shadows over its white walls. Ah! what is that? The mirror of the dream is repeated! a broad angry sheet of flame suddenly burst from one of the windows of the east side of the the building ! It is not far from the room occupied by the two girls. "Merciful heavens!" burst from his lips. "The fire must have made terrible headway inside !" He rushed up the steps and rang the bell violently, while his voice sounded on the stillness with the most horribly ominous words one can hear in the dead of night, "Fire!" Fire!" The house was aroused in a moment. Partly dressed persons of both sexes rushed wildly along through the halls, which were filled with suffocating smoke. The fire had the upper hand. There was little time to save aught but precious lives. Redmond who had at once opened the door with his latch key, rushed upstairs to the room which his friends occupied, but was horrified to find the passage in a living flame. "Good God" he groaned how shall I rescue them?" He rushed out again and joined the crowd who had collected under Louise's window. No sound issued from the room. Perhans thev were alreadv suffocated. Redmond shouted ; no answer. Two men went hastily for a ladder; it would be an eternity before they returned. Meanwhile they were in the very jaws of death ! A tall tree rose firm aud grand near the window. Redmond flung his coat on the dewy grass and ascended it quickly. How, he could not tell, but he gained a projecting branch and threw up the window and vaulted into the room. He was a clever gymnast, hut in his hours of amusement he never dreamed of this terrible need. The room was full of thick smoke that almost stopped his breath. The girls lay unconscious in a sleep that in a few moments more would be eternal. He caught the first one, and supporting her light form in one arm, with the other he aided his downward descent, and placed the unconscious form in hands outstretched below. The lurid light showed the still face of Louise. Till then he had not known which one he had rescued, for he had purposed to save both, or die in the attempt. This had been the work of a moment. It was only that of another to re-ascend, perform again the brave deed, and give to trembling arms the other unconscious form. Redmond Clarke had a large reserve power in his organization ; but his real strength, physically, was far from enormous. The need for the exercise of his tremendous will being over, he toterred and fell insensible a few rods from the spot were the two girls lay on seme bedding that had been thrown out from the burning house. Kind neighbors were making preparations for the removal and accommodation of the sufferers. Louise, under the reviving influence of the night air, gasped once or twice, and then slowly unclosed her eyes. She looked around on the burning building and disordered scene with a strange, unreal sensation. She rose slowly to a sitting position, and saw Redmond lying still as death on the dewy, green sward. The flames leaped and roared, and the harmless silvery moon light paled before their lurid, wrathful gleam. "How did I come here ?" asked Louise, in a dazed, bewildered manner. "You have been carried out of this burning building, unconscious," said a gen tleraan standing near. "That person," pointing to Redmond ; "saved you both. He has not spoken since." a i'? ?i,? JLVCLiinunu viamc ; cue caua, nan uiwuujily. "He was not here last night. He went to Ashland to escape the flood," and she again sank' back unconscious. The three were carried to the same house, and in a few days the girls recovered their usual health. Redmond's recovery was slower. He had not robust health, and the anxiety and extra exertion of that terrible night, coupled with a cold taken while lying on the damp grass threw him into a fever, from which he recovered slowly. The two girls attended him with thankfulness for the privilege to show their gratitude for the service he had rendered. Blanche magnanimously refrained from reminding Louise of the thoughts to which she had given expression on that memorable day. There was no need. Louise remembered with regret for the injustice. In Redmond's eyes she seemed to have developed into a new character; she was so gentle, so womanly. The elixir of life seemed to emanate * 1 . mi.. J A. ?C \ irom ner presence, ine unaercurreui ui ?cr thoughts ran thus: "Can -I ever admire enough his noble courage?" She wondered how he came there that night. He had not returned when she retired at a late hour, but the matter had not been mentioned between them. In his weak state the physician forbade the least excitement. One day she stood, looking at him as he seemed to slumber on a low lounge, to which he had been removed from his bed. He looked very pale, but beautiful as ever. "I never thought he would prove such a hero," she said, half aloud. "I see now how false are appearances." She touched his forehead lightly with her soft palm, and then was turning to go, but a clasp of his large, white hand detained her. "I have heard your words," he said, looking into her flushed face and unsteady eyes calmly, steadily. "Will you sit a moment beside me ?" She obeyed the request. The inherent power of bis nature was rising to the surface, and a stronger individuality than her own was making itself felt above mere physical weakness. "Will you say that you love ine, Louise?" The question was low, steady and firm. The answer came lower, and with a slight quiver in the tone?"I love you." "I am not exacting a debt of gratitude. Do you love me of your own sweet will ?" She looked at him. A new atmosphere seemed to surround him. He was not to her the Redmond Clarke of o'd. She reached her other hand for him to clasp. "I do not love you through gratitude. If you had saved the life of ray greatest enemy I should have admired and loved you as well." * She was noble in her surrender, as she had been conscious in her doubts. "At last, at last," he said, and with her hand in his he glided into a gentle slumber. Afterwards he told her of his dream and midnight walk. She was puzzled. "Ah, Redmond, we can truly say with Hamlet, that. "There aro more tilings in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" "Well we had a fire instead of a flood," said Blanche, who had been gladdened by the turn of affairs. "1 suppose we snan nave to call that the fulfillment. What did the story mean, anyhow?" "Half fiction, half truth, like huudreds of other things," said Redmond. "I shall never regret the weeks spent at Woodville?they brought me the happiness of ray life." And his eyes met those of Louise in a tender, happy smile. Value of Newspapers.?The newspaper is just as necessary to fit a man for his true position in life as food or raiment. Show us a ragged, barefooted boy rather than an ignoramus. His head will cover his feet in after life if he is well supplied with newspapers. Show us the child that is eager for newspapers. He will make the mau of mark in after life if you gratify the desire for knowledge. THE MYSTERY OF HOLLY HOUSE. In the romantic and picturesque region of the White Mountains stands a large, fine ho! tel, which once was the popular resort for miles around for tourists and summer boarders, whom the beauty and healthfulness of tbe place brought to that vicinity. Holly House was known far and near as furnishing the best accommodations, the most courteous attention and.greatest amount of pleasure excursions, of any hotel in or about the place. Yet Holly House stands to day empty and deserted?gloomy and forbidding?among its joyous sister hotels ; for around it clusters the horrors of a mysterious tragedy which cannot be forgotten. The story is as follows : In the summer of 187?, Holly House was filled with more than its usual number of wealthy and fashionable guests. Among the number was Mrs. James Hunter, with her two daughters, Beatrice and Theodora. , Beatrice, or Trix, as she was called by relatives and intimate fiitnds. was a quiet girl of twenty-three or fou^/atW plain, though lady-like and attractive in manner. Theo, on the contrary, was a beauty ; one of those beauties of whom one cannot tire?a beauty made up of rippling smiles, girlish blushes that came and went on the sparkling, changing face, and the joyous laugh and springing step of unconscious, happy girlhood. . Yes, Theo was a glad, always welcome, creature,.a universal favorite, the young loviDg her for her ever ready and genial spirits, the old for the sweet touch of reverent respect and kindliness which marked her intercourse with her elders. And yet on this sweet and happy girl fell the terrible tragedy of Holly House. On the night of the nineteenth of August, a grand hop had been given at the hotel ; Trix and Theo were both present. Trix,who was passionately fond of danciDg, enjoying herself in the ball room, Theo, more fond of the romantic and sentimental, spending the evening strolling up and down the piazza or chatting in some remote or moon-lit Corner, now with this one, now with that. As the hour grew later Trix sought out her sister, and finding her comfortably ensconced in a corner talking with young Harry Gardner, warned her of the lateness of the hour, and advised her in a kind, elder-sisterly man| ner, to retire. Tiieo promised to obey in five minutes ; so Trix left her and retired to her own room. The five minutes had lengthened into a half hour when Theo came up-stairs humminnr irnvlv "fa &-J V * "Good-night, Trix !" she cried, rapping lightly on her sister's door as she passed. "Good-night, Theo !" was the response ; then Theo passed down the ball to her own room, and Trix, heard the door shut and fastened behind her. In the morning Trix waB late at breakfast; but late as it was Theo was still later, not having yet appeared below stairs. Ten o'clock came and passed, and the half hour had rung from the parlor clock, when Trix, growing uneasy, rapped at the door of her sister's room. No response greeted her summons. Growing thoroughly alarmed, she called for aid and demanded that the door be forced. . It was done, and the sight which met their eyes was horrible to witness. Theo was sitting before the dressing bureau, her hair hanging about her shoulders, quite dead. The expression of her face was one of unspeakable horror ; the eyes were starting from their sockets, and about the fair, white neck were the marks of eight fingers, showing how poor Theo hud met her death. Her dress had been removed?evidently before anything had occurred to disturb her, as it was carefully turned wrong side out and laid across a chair, beneath which stood the little white shoes. Upon one foot was found a black slipper from which the buckle and bow were missing ; the other slipper could not be found. No sign of a struggle was to be seen. The murderer had probably stolen upon his victim as she sat before the mirror brushing her hair ; and the death-grip was upon her throat when she first saw his face in the glass. Nothing of value was missing as far as could be determined, though at the other end of the room were several articles taken from a drawer in a table; a feather torn to shreds, some lace a pair of gloves, and also the missing bow of the slipper, with its buckle broken in half, and the hair brush which the dead girl would seem to have been using. The door?the only door in the room?was found as before stated, securely locked, and L-.I j 1 j .i 1 j. r.?. 1 Dom winuuws were cioseu, muugu iiut lumeueu. A noted doctor examined the body, and decided that the unfortunate girl must have met her terrible fate within an hour after going to her room?that is, about two o'clock. Then skilled detectives were sent for, who thoroughly examined the room, but were unable to find the slightest clew to the mystery. No theory as to the way the murderer left the room could be given. No human being could scale a smooth perpendicular wall of forty feet with nothing to give a foothold, and nothing save a flag-pole ten feet distant was there to afford the slightest help. Trix, being sworn, testified to what has already been stated. Harry Gardner swore that he had sat upon the piazza with the murdered girl until a late hour?could not tell exactly how latethought about one o'clock ; it might have been later. Theo had refused to remain longer ; had bidden him- good-night, and ran up stairs humming as she went. Cross-examined, confessed that he had accompanied the girl to the head of the first flight of stairs?kissed her when he bade her good night?went down the hall to the left toward his own room, while Theo ran up the ! hall to the right aud up another flight of | stairs. Was not engaged to Miss Hunter; | had known her about two years ; never had I | written to her in his life. | Mr. Rowland was sworn. "I am a boarder in the hotel; was upon the : piazza until a late hour on the night of the | nineteenth. Saw Miss Hunter and Mr. Gard; ner sitting in the corner ; heard them laugh, but could not hear their conversation ; should judge it was agreeable from the tones of the voices; looked at my watch ; it was ten minutes after one. Was near enough to touch the young lady a3 she passed me to go up stairs; started to go up also ; heard them ! whisper on the first landing, then heard her ' run up the second flight singing, and him go ; down the first hall." In vain did clever dectectives strive to dis; cover some clew to the murder?some motive which should lead to the detection of the | guilty party; days and weeks passed and ' none was discovered. Poor Theo was laid in her quiet grave, and j Trix and her mother, more sorrowful than ! pen can tell, journeyed homeward to grieve in i silence over their dear one. | A year passed slowly by. The season once j more opened, and II was again full of 'summer boarders. The house where poor Theo had met her death was closed?the terrible tragedy had ruined it; but other houses were opened, and were as full of beauty and life and gayety as though death and sorrow were unknown in this lovely spot. Harry Gardner was once more among the guests. Hunting and fishing were excellent in this place, and why should he shun it ? I True, he had flirted with and liked the girl, and her death had shocked and grieved him terribly; but after all she was nothing to him; and so he catne where pleasure and inclination called him. He found it less pleasant than he thought, and the foolish flirtations were unendurable, and hops were terrible bores, for some way such pleasures called up poor Theo's rigid and horrified face, set in the everlasting type of death, and he could not indulge in them; it was too horrible. But he was a hunter, and with his gun over his shoulder he spent day after day roaming here and there after game. One day, having gone much farther than usual, he was overtaken by a heavy thunder shower and, looking about him, discovered a tiny hut?the only place at which to apply for shelter. A summons at the door brought lorth a roan with rough appearance and unshaven though kindly face, who, hearing of his condition, bade him enter. "I am not used to seeing people much," he said. "I and Banjo lives mostly alone. I likes it better. But I hope I hain't got above giving welcome to ray kind when they fall in my way." "Do you live here all ^alone?" asked Harry. "Yes ; all but Banjo ; he's my son." "But how do you live ?" queried Gardner. "Well, I raise my own corn and taters," was the reply; "and I goes to the village once in a while for what else I need." "And your son ; does he always stay with you ?" "Oh, yes," wiih a griu. "I only goes about, twice a year, so I lock Banjo up when I go. He's a little peculiar, my son is. Bat I'll git you something to eat, aud then I'll introduce him." With the best intentions the strange recluse set about providing for the wiiuts of his guest, baking a hoe cake with great dexterity, and cooking some bacon and potatoes with neatness and cleverness. After his guest had done ample justice to the humble but welcome fare, the old man seated himself upon a rude stool and began to talk : "I used to be a circus performer," he said, "but the world kinder went back on me arter the old woman died; things did not seem cheerful like. Su Banjo and roe we concluded to slide. I didn't have no friends 'cept Banjo, and so we wasn't missed much. Come, I want to show you my boy." Taking the candle he led the way to a small outer room, and presented Harry, to his great astonishment to a gigantic ape chained in the corner. "He was a mighty clever performer! Could jump further than any ape I ever seed! I had taught him all manner of tricks, and I always found him straight and square, Mister. I used to see plenty of folks, but I've dropped 'era all; I dou't even read a paper no more?I'm sick of humans and their doin's, and I steer away from 'era ; I hain't got no troubles ho more?meand Banjo hain't! I'm satisfied! "About a year," he continued, after they had returned to the main room, "I thought I'd lost Banjo for good.' I had gone to the village aod left Banjo shut up at home. Well, when I got back he was gone. I hunted all t . T l Ui /* . J L! 1 | l.??A over, our i couiu c una mm uownere. j-vuuui three in the morning he came home, looking sly and vicious?more so than I had ever seen him ; and what do you think he brought? You'll never guess. See here!" Opening the table-drawer, he drew out?a little black slipper with a velvet bow and steel clasp! Harry Gardner gazed at the little shoe in mute horror, for in it he recognized the missing mate to the one found in Theo Hunter's room. Here, then, was the mystery solved ; here the murderer, in the shape oi a loathsome animal, irresponsible for tire deed. The secret was never made known. No good could possibly come from making public the discovery. Gardner told the story to his host, whose hermit-like life had prevented his hearing of it warned him of the necessity of guarding well so dangerous a creature. And Theo sleeps quietly in her lonely grave, while her mother and sister sorrow in their home, never guessing the secret of that terrible night at Holly House. The Flight of Birds.?The speed of birds offers great variety. When the flight does not exceed thirty miles an hour they are considered slow flyers. The speed of the swallow is computed at ninety miles, the hawk one hundred and fifty miles, while that of the swift is said to attain the astounding velocity of one hundred and eighty miles an hour. The endurance displayed by birds upon the wing is wonderful, and many instances are recorded which almost exceed belief. In the time of Henry IV, of France there was a falcon which became famous in Europe by flying from Foutainebleau to Malta, one thousand three hundred and fifty miles in twenty-four hours. But without going so far back we may on a summer's afternoon watch a flock of swallows for an hour without detecting an interval of rest. | Their skimming, busy, rapid wings never seem to tire. What strength of flight, too, must be required in those annual migrations which bring the winter water fowls across the North Sea to England from Scandinavia, and the summer visitors, the nightingales and swallows, from southern Europe or Africa, even. Long feats of flight are performed by some others, such as the frigate or man of war bird, which is sometimes found hunting for food in the Atlantic more than a thousand miles from shore. Yet it never seems to tire -- 1- ?4 _:.1 or IU SL'CK. rtSL, CIUICI UU tuc ui Kiib sea or in the rigging of a ship, and it is not known to visit the land except at the return of the breeding season. Life's Autumn.?Like the leaf, life has its fadiug. We often think and speak of it with sadness, just as we think of the autumn season. But there should be no sadness at the fading of life that has done well its work. We welcome with joy the coming of a new life, a traveler through the uncertainties of this world's ways. Why, then, should we be sad when all these uncertainties are past and life's work well done. The spirit seeks its home in the city of our God. As the spring is beautiful with its freshness and promise, so is childhood sweet in its innocence and the possibilities that the future may unfold. But it is a holier, rarer beauty which the waning life of faith and duty wears. The full, refined harvest suggests no thought of sadness. It is only when the bird drops, blighted, or the mildew blasts the grain and all hope of a rich harvest is gone, that one may well be sad. When the ripened year sinks amid autumn flowers and brilliant leaves, why should we regret? And so a life that is ready and waiting for the doue" of God, a life that has truly faded as a leaf and becomes more radiantly beautiful as the autumn of life draws near?should be given, back to God in uncomplaining reverence aiyl gratitude that oue life has so well fulfilled life's purpose. Coffee drinkers should read the advertisement in another column headed Good Coffee. IpSfdtawaiw leading. SOCIAL ETIQUETTE. When friends meet or a viator is ushered into a drawing-room or sitting-room, the nsoal salutation is, "How do you do ?" When leaving, the visitor says "Good-bye" and the hostess repeats "Good-bye." When the health of either hostess or visitor is inquired after, it is after saying "How do you do;" which should be said with no inflections of the voice, and without speaking the name of the person addressed. "Good morning" is used when addressing, or when taking leave, of business or other acquaintances with whom you have nothing in com men in a social way. The salutation is said to be the touch-stone of good breeding. Between gentlemen a nod suffices; but if a lady is walking with you or the one to whom you bow, the hat must be slightly lifted. A well-bred person bows instinctively the moment that he recognizes ao acquaintance. Bowing once in passing on a public promenade or drive, is all that civility requires. In subsequent meetings the eyes may be averted, or if more than a mere acquaintance, one smiles slightly. A bow of ceremony should not be accompanied by a broad smile; but unless you are bowing to a superior in age or station you should let a beam of goodwill lighten your eye. Gentlemen invariably offer the right arm to ladies, when it is necessary to give the arm, instructions to the contrary notwithstanding. This rule is the same on the street, without regard to the wall, as it is in the parlor, at marriages, at all entertainments and on all other occasions. A lady does not take the arms of two gentlemen ; nor does a gentleman offer both of his arms when walking with two ladies. American gentlemen do not smoke when driving or walking with ladies. Introductions are not made on the street, unless a lady is walking with her host or hostess ; in which case if either meet a friend an introduction would be given. When two persons are introduced in a house both bow slightly and commence conversation. A gentleman is introduced to a lady: "Mr. Grey, Mrs* Birch," is the form. Young ladies are taken up to be be introduced to elderly ones, and the unmarried to the married. A gentleman when introduced does not offer his hand to a lady, as that is the lady's privilege. The mistress of a house shakes hands with every one who is introduced to her in her home?whether the person is brought by a common friend, or comes by invitation. She would not shake hands with a visitor who came to call on a guest, unless she had some special reason for doing 80. A gentleman rides on the right side of a lady. A lady keeps the right hand side of her carriage, unless another lady older than herself is driving with her. A gentleman does not permit a lady to sit with her back to the horses, even though she be younger than himself, when he can, by taking that seat, give her one facing the horses. Never speak of your children as "Miss Ethel," or "Master Harold," excepting to servants. Give them their Christian names. Gentlemen should precede ladies, to clear the way, in a public hall,'unless there is an usher preceding them. In entering a drawing room, the lady precedes the gentleman, but never takes his arm. To yawn in the presence of others, to beat time, to bum or whistle, to lounge, to put your feet on a chair, or to do anyting which shows indifference, selfishness or disrespect, is unequivocally vulgar. Snuffing, expectoration, hawking, scratching the head, gulping, picking the teeth and blowing the nose, should be avoided in society. ? SPARE TIME. Young people of only moderate means, who are obliged to toil daily for the means of existence, urge as an excuse for neglecting the cultivation of their minds that they have no time to spare. Now let us see how truthful this assertion is. Eight or nine hours out of oworv frmr innqf'. H? crivpn tft slftfln. I -"-"V ?? t> ? rEight or ten and sometimes twelve hours, with recesses interspersed, must be given to daily labor. There are four hours, more or less, left for incidentals, attending to social duties and miscellaneous work. Now this we can portion out largely as we please. The man may spend it in smoking cigars, in visits to the corner grocery, in lounging about the streets, in loafing at home, and in various other ways that may be pleasant at the moment and leave no results of a valuable character behind. Or, he may employ it in acquiring a knowledge of science, of mechanics, j or literature, of theology or, of whatever else j be pleases. The woman may spend it in making ruffles, iu embroidery, in superfluous nicety of housekeeping, in making cake and pies, in gossip with her neighbors, and in ten thousand other ways that leave no results of a valuable character behind. Or, she may employ it in acquiring knowledge and accomplishments of various kinds. Buttbese young people cannot "have their cake and eat it." The matter is entirely a question of choice. The husband must relinquish what be calls his pleasure, or give up the idea of acquiring knowledge ; while the wife must neglect many of the trifles which she deems almost indispensable. To keep her mind fresh and growing she must give it daily food. If she hasn't time to do this, and to keep her bouse "spicand-span," she must choose whether she will have her mind hung with cobwebs or her house ; whether or not she will forego the company of gossipping neighbors for the companionship of such authors as will lift her continually higher; whether she will load her table with dainties expensive in both time and ?? i - J money, or sit at intellectual symposiums ana feast with philosophers and poets ; whether she will adorn her person with elaborately made clothing, or her mind with imperishable treasures of thought and acquisition. But one or the other she must relinquish. The Habit to Work.?There is scarcely anything of greater importance to a young man than that he should acquire early the habit of regular application to some pursuit Many persons who are not of an indolent nature live on, from day to day, from month to month, from year to year, without accomplishing anything worth while. They wonder that others are successful, and they are not; that others progress and they remain stationary. The difficulty with them is that although they are not particularly averse to labor, they have never learned how to work to advantage. They have never formed the habit | of regular, systematic application. Desultory aud merely impulsive efforts are attended by very insufficient and unsatisfactory results. The first requisite is to know what you want to accomplish. Have some purpose?some plan. Then see to it that the sun does not set on a day in which something has not been done to carry forward that plan?to promote that purpose. Have, so far as possible, regular hours of work, and let no light interruption interfere with tbem. If you take a day's recreation, be sure that on the morrow you promptly resume your work, and give to it the benefit of refreshed strength and renewed vigor. At the end of every week, regalarly review your work. Consider just he w much you have accomplished. If you are satisfied with what you have done, it will bring you a feeling of repose and content. If you find you should have done more, then make sure that the coming week shall show an improvement on the past Finally let nothing?no matter what?daunt or discourage you. Glory in a resolute and invincible will! If all the young men now coming on the stage would scrupulously observe these simple instructions, what an increase of success and of happiness there would be! ADVICE TO THOSE USING GLASSES. Men engaged in literary pursuits should read most bv dav and write most bv niirht. It is worthy of note, that reading causes more strain to the eye than writing, and that copying work in writing makes a greater demand upon the organ of vision than off-hand composition Twilight and a mixture of twilight and artificial illumination should be avoided for any kind of work. The pale cobalt-blue tint is the best that can be employed when protection for the eye from the inten se glare i9 sought, as in the case of traveling upon the snow-fields in bright sunshine. The green glass that is often adopted for this purpose is not, by any means, so worthy of confidence. Reading in railway traveling is objectionable in the highest degree, for a very obvious reason. The oscillation of the carriage continually alters the distance of the page fiom the eye, and so calls for unceasing strain in the effort to keep the organ in due accommodation for the ever varying distance of the dancing image. The exact fitting of the framework of spectacles to the face and eyes is of more importance than is generally conceived. If the centres of the lenses of the spectacles do not accurately coincide with the certres of the pupils of the eyes, the consequence is that the images in the separate eyes are a little displaced from the positions which they ought to hold, and that a somewhat painful and injurious effort has to be made by the eye to bring those images back into due coriespondence for accurate vision. An incipient squint is apt to be in this way produced.. Mr. Carter recommends that people should look to the centreing of their spectacles for themselves. This may be easily done by standing before a looking-glass with the spectacles in their place. If the fit is a good one, the centre of the pupil should then appear in the centre of the rim. Fully formed spectacles are always to be preferred to'folding frames, because they permit of more satisfactory adjustment in this particular, and because they are more easily kept in the right position with regard to the eyes. The only advantage which the peb'ole enjoys over glass for the construction of spectacles, is the immunity which it possesses against scratching and fracture on account of its greater hardness. The Edinburgh Review. - ?? "The Way of a Serpent on a Rock."? The movement of a snake in climbing ,? perpendicular surface, as I have observed it, is a ? " ? ? M ? M /I M i! M IMAitAn nnl U1 1 f vtrriuiuumij uuuuiatiLig uiutiuu, uuu o^iku uuu straight up the face of the eurfaee. I have 9eeu a black snake thus glide up a beech tree with that easy, careless grace of movement which is characteristic of that snake when moving over horizontal surfaces. The bark of the beech affords few inequalities into which the edges of the gasteropodous bands could be thrust claw-fashion, and I have no < doubt that atmospheric pressure is the force that holds the snake against such surfaces in climbing, sucker-fashion, as the boy lifts the brick with the piece of wet leather. I once knew a black snake to ascend a stucco wall to the second-story window, and another I saw go up to the eaves of a carriage house to the swallows' nest; straight up the up-anddown boards. I have seen them glide from tree to tree and leap down from near the top of large trees, but never saw one descend by climbing down a smooth, perpendicular surface. I have no doubt of their ability to do so, however. I do not believe that this pow er is enjoyed by the copperhead or rattlesnake, or any venomous sort with which I am familiar, they being heavy and sluggish in their movements. I have seen them go up on leaning trees a. d crawl into the foliage of bushes, however.- Forest and Stream. Be Happy.?It is the easiest thing in the world to be happy, if men and women eould only think so. Happiness is only another name for love, for where love exists in a household there happiness must also exist, even though it has poverty for its close companion ; where love exists not, even though it be in a palace, happiness can never come. He was a cold and selfish being who originated the saying that, "when poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window," and bis assertion proves conclusively thai he had no knowledge of love, for unquestionably the reverse of the axiom quoted is nearer the truth. When poverty comes in at the door, love?true love?is more than ever inclined to tarry and do battle with, the enemy. Let those who imagine themselves miserable, before they find fault with their surroundings, search in their hearts for the cause. A few kind words, a little forbearance, or a kiss, will, open the way to a flood of sunshine in a house darkened by the clouds of discord aud unamiability. The Decrease of Villages.?The last census showed a decrease of the population in villages in the United States. This same decrease is now deplored in England. It is said that people congregate in towns, because life in town is really more decent, more agreeable and more profitable. We should like to know the test of the argument. There is some truth in it, and that jies in the two words, "public opinion." Public opinion makes many people respectable, that otherwise would not be so ; they dare not give way to indulgence because the public eye is upon them, when they would freely do so, were no such correcting medium about. Then the homes of country people are so poor and wretched often, that they prefer the sound walls of a tenement bouse to the tumble down shanty of a village, and would rather live in close quarters with others than drag out their days in miserable loneliness. The congregating of human beings is one of the great features of the coming generation. Saving.?A saving woman at the heac! of a family is the very best savings bank established. The idea of saving is a very pleasant one; and if the women imbibed it at once, they would cultivate it and adhere to it; and thus, when they are not aware of it, they would be laying the foundation of a competent security in a stormy time, ond shelter in a rainy day. The best way to comprehend is to keep an account of all current expenses. Whether five hundred dollars or five thousand dollars are expended annually, there is a chance to save something if*1he effort is made. Let the housewife take the idea, act upon it, and she will save something where before she thought it impossible. This is a duty, yet not a sordid avarice, but a more obligation that rests upon women as well pa men.?Home Journal.