University of South Carolina Libraries
lewis m. grist, proprietor, j |it Jnbejpbent Jamilo ftefospapcr: Jfor % |rtmtofion of tjjt $fflitical, facial, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Sontji. {TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 28. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 1882. NO. 4. - - j> -ii JUt Jftorg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL. BY HERBERT JOHNSON. CHAPTER III. The gray light of dawn was already streaking the horizon. More than an hour?an hour which had seemed like days?had elapsed, and still nothing was known of the fate of the little boat, or the larger craft to whose rescue it had gone. The latter, indeed, was now visible, a dim black mass defined against th lowering sky; but a steady rain had l)egun to fall, which effectually blotted smaller objects from sight. The guns had ceased to sound. All was silent, save the dashing of the breakers and the moaning of the wind, that blew the spray, with * -? --- ii- ~ orniln,l snarp iorctfj 111 UlC liiucs ^avacicu mvuuu* "The tide is turning," observed one of the men, in a low voice. "It'll be easier for them, comin' back, than I feared." "Purvided they ever getsback," was the discouraging rejoinder of another. "Hold your tongue, Sandy Wells,1' said the first speaker, sharply; "you're always for croaking without cause. There ain't nothin' to hinder 'em comin'back?" "Purvided they've got where they was goin'," finished the other, not to be checked in his doleful prognostications. Captain Russell turned suddenly to the man who had spoken first. "Quick, Harper, your glass. I think I see a speck upon the water, between us and the ship." Harper hastened to hand him the glass. The Captain, in his excitement, had forgotten to bring his own. He took it, and tried to adjust it, but his hand shook so that it was not easy for him to do. "Confound this rain," he muttered, "it blows into my face so that I can't see; blurrs the glass, too. Look through it, Doctor, may be you'll have better success." "I think," said Dr. May. after a moment's inspection, "that I see the boat; but I can't tell whether it is going or coming." "I'll look, sir, i? you please," said Harper, respectfully ; "I'm used to keepiu' a look-out in most weathers." The glass went from hand to hand. Some thought the object in view was the boat, while the opinion of others was that it was a piece of broken mast, or other fragment of the ship. "We'll have to wait," said Harper ; "we can't tell nothin' for certain, yet." At last, however, to their inexpressible relief and joy, the form of the little fishing smack v as plainly discerned. It was approaching the shore. Wave after wave alternately lifted it upon a pinnacle and cast it down into an abyss; but fortunately, it had not to contend against the tide, and the violence of the wind had also begun to abate. "IIow many on board," asked the Captain, trembling with anxiety. "Two?four?six?eight," counted Harper, whose practiced eye and steady hand were rarely at fault. "Eight I see, and a bundle of some sort between 'em?looks like a prostrate figger. Somebody hurt, I guess." "Can you make Harry out ?" asked the Doctor, seeing that his friend wanted, but feared, to ask the question. "Can't make nobody out clearly yet, Doctor. "I think, however?I ain't sure?that I do distinguish him now. Yes, that's him. I know him by his hat. Leastways, I'm pretty certain ; I couldn't swear to him." A few seconds later, he confirmed the cheering statement. "It is him, for certain; I see him plain enough, now." "Thank God!" muttered the Captain, devoutlv. "And the others; are they there ?" "Joe Granger, I see," said Harper, still scanning intently, "and Andy?yes, that's Andy in the red shirt. I guess that other must be Sam; though I see two blue shirts, just alike. One on em's a sailor off the ship, I guess. So are the others. Now I see what that figger is, layin' on the bottom. It's a man ; looks like lie's dead; but maybe he is only hurt some way. Here they come. Hooray! hooray! They're all right now, for this trip, anyhow." "Ilooray!" went up in a chorus from the rough but kindly group, all hearts joining with fervor in the glad thanksgiving to which they gave no other utterance but this. Nearer and , nearer came the boat. Soon it reached the shore, and one after another the dripping crew sprang out. Ilarry, white as a ghost, with a handkerchief bound round his brow, staggered and would have fallen, but for his uncle's supporting arm. "How's this, my boy ; you are hurt," exclaimed the old gentleman. "It's a trifle, sir; an iron bolt knocked me on the forehead, that's all. It bled a little, but I'm all right now." "Captain, he's a trump." said old Hardy, slapping him on the shoulder; "saved a man's life?that fellow they are bringing off the boat?and nearly lost his own. But there's 110 time to talk about it now, I'm off for another trip. The ship'll settle after a while, but she'll hold out long enough for us to save all on board, and maybe some of her cargo, if we are lively enough. Harper, I guess that smaller boat can stand the water now ; the storm's going off. The two of 'em will make quicker work. Come lads, who's ready for trip number two V" The call was responded to in a twinkling. All was bustle and excitement, and in a shorter time than it takes to record the fact, the two lioats were ready to start. Every one felt that the worst peril was over; and with their first great anxiety lifted from their breasts, those 011 shore could turn their attention to the person whom Ilarry had so bravely rescued from drowning, and who was still in a helpless and almost unconscious state. He was a middle aged man, handsome and well-dressed, and evidently a gentleman ; had he been otherwise, Dr. May would have given the same directions concerning him, viz.: that he should be carried immediately to his house, while a messenger was sent to forewarn Mrs. May, and desire her to have a room prepared. ''Do you come with us also, my lad, and I'll see to that cut of yours," he added, kindly, to Harry. ''There's somelHxly at home that will l>e glad enough to welcome and congratulate you, though she doesn't even know what you have been about, yet." It was a glad and thankful group that gathered around the Mays' breakfast table that morning ; though, in the excitement, which still prevailed, every one felt more inclined to talk than to eat. Harry recovered from his temporary exhaustion after a little rest and nursing, the latter chiefly at Sophy's hands. She looked at him with eyes that magnified him into a hero. His achievements that morning had crowned him with glory. She felt a new pride in him, a new delight in the thought that so brave and unselfish a heart was all her own. It was little enough which they learned of his exploits from his own lips; nothing, certainly, in the way of self-laudation ; but i those who had been with him soon made known his gallant behavior, of which his heroism, in plunging into the dangerous waves to save the passenger's life, (the name of the latter, it ap peared, was Erskine, and lie was voyaging about in quest of health,) was only the crowning act. Not a man among the crew of the little boat had displayed more coolness, or exerted himself more successfully, throughout the hazardous trip, than he. All through the forenoon, trips were made to and from the ship, until finally she went down, and nothing more could be "brought from on board. The crew, of course, were all saved, and so were some valuables, among these, a trunk, containing Mr. Erskine's possessions; but unfortunately, the only boats at command were not large enough to bring away any considerable portion of the merchandise with which the vessel was loaded. Mr. Erskine had been the only passenger*on board. The care of the Doctor and his family restored him before long to nearly his usual condition, though he continued weak and dizzy for some hours, and was glad to remain on a couch, which was wheeled into the sitting room for ms accommodation. He spoke gratefully of the service Harry had rendered him, and with much feeling of the peril from which he had escaped. He appeared to be a sensible, serious-minded man, and his manner and conversation were intelligent, polished and refined. "I wish he would remain here," Mrs. May remarked to her husband when they were alone ; "lie would be such an acquisition to the neighborhood ; such an agreeable companion for you. I fancy he must be very nearly your age." "I fancy not, my dear," said the Doctor. "The man is sick, and has been half-drowned besides. All that is enough to add a good many years, outwardly, at least, to his true age. As to his settling down here, I don't think such a dull neighborhood can offer him many attractions. I think it would be advisable, however, to invite him to remain with us as long as lie may be detained here. He will probably embrace the first opportunity to leave. Perhaps he may go on the same vessel with Harry. Mrs. May agreed with her husband that it would be quite the right thing to do; and accordingly the invitation was tendered to him that very evening. He expressed himself as greatly obliged for their hospitality, and agreed to remain with them at least for a day or two, while he made up his mind what he should do next. "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good," he remarked, smilingly, "and the rough gale, that used our poor ship so hardly, has benefited me by wafting me into this charming haven, which I should probably have never otherwise discovered. As far as my own inclination is concerned, I feel in no hurry to depart." '"Why don't you get a house somewhere no.jv iiu \fr "PrsL-inp SmrfffiSted Ml'S. MftV. thinking it a favorable moment for the proposition, "there's a pretty place, going to ruin, just at the foot of the hill, which I believe the owner would be glad to sell." Mr. Erskine made some indefinite reply, and the subject was changed. A day or two passed without any special event occurring. Indeed, the excitement through which they all had passed seemed to be quite enough for some time to come. But one evening Harry came in looking flushed and eager, and Sophy saw at once that he had news to tell her. Her heart sank, for it foreboded, only too truly, what his tidings would be. "My ship's coming," he exclaimed. "She'll be in here to-morrow, probably ; and I'm to sail within a week." Sophy's color came and went. She struggled with herself for a minute, then made some pretext to get up and leave the room. Mr. Erskine followed her with a kindly, sympathizing glance. "So you are quite happy, I suppose," said the Doctor. "I don't know about that, sir," replied Ilarry. "I fancy I shall be better pleased at getting back again, than at getting away." "You were a little too sudden in your announcement, my dear boy," said Mrs. May, gently. "It was very stupid of me," said narry, penitently. "May I go after Sophy, Mrs. May V" She made an affirmative sign, and he quickly profited by the permission thus given. Dr. May turned to their guest. "Those two," he remarked, "are the most perfect children I ever saw. The idea of tlieir being engaged to be married seems preposterous. I can't accomodate myself to it, somehow." "It is an engagement of longstanding, however, is it net V" asked Mr. Erskine. "Oh no; it's quite of recent date." "Is that so 9 I understood, from something Mr. Fielding said, that they had been attached from childhood." "So they have," said Mrs. May; "at least, Harry has been fond of Sophy, he tells me, all his life, and has always looked forward to making her his wife. It is a natural result of the close intimacy which has always existed between them." "But the idea of my little Sophy being anybody's wife seems absurd," continued the Doctor. "It was but yesterday that I danced her as a baby on my knee." "Along yesterday," said Mrs. May. "I became your wife when I was two years younger than Sophy is now." "But I, at all events, was of a respectable age," he rejoined. "That boy is not yet twenty-one." "Isuppose, however, as Mr. Fielding is going to sea, it will be sometime before they are mavvioil '> ciid ~\fr "Oh yes! they won't be married for years," was the Doctor's reply. Mrs. May laughed. "I don't know what Ilarry would say if he could hear you," she remarked. "I know that he looks forward confidently to being married on his return from his first voyage." "Absurd," said the Doctor. "I liojie, my dear, you have not encouraged the idea. I can't give up Sophy for at least five years to come." Mrs. May thought it would be unwise to press the subject farther just then. She knew very well that her husband would relent when the time came. Mr. Erskine presently observed that he thought people did not very often carry out a first attachment, but that such marriages, when they did occur, were apt to be particularly happy ones. "At least," lie added, "my own experience goes to prove the fact." "You are married, then V" said Mrs. May. "I am a widower, madam. My wedded life was very brief* My wife?a beautiful child? ! died six months after our marriage. "We had | loved each other from infancy; there was ! four years' difference in our ages, and I was I barely twenty-two when I lost her. That was | twenty years ago, and I have roamed the ! world, without any special object in life, ever | since." A silence naturally fell upon Mr. Erskine's hearers after this little history ; though he had spoken quite simply and quietly, without any display of sentiment in either look or tone. Probably the events he had referred to, being so long past, seemed to him as scarcely a part of his present life, lie might almost feel, in relating that brief episode, as if he were telling the story of some one else, or as if the "beautiful child," he had once called wife, were a vague shadowy vision, a poetic dream, rather than the memory of what had heen a living reality. Before any one spoke again, the young lovers came in. Sophy's eyes were very red, and her cheeks pale ; but she had evidently schooled herself into composure, and for her sake no farther allusion was made to Harry's coming departure. With unobtrusive tact, Mr. Erskine led her thought away from the subject which saddened them. lie began to speak of his different traveling experiences, and, without addressing himself directly to her, succeed in interesting her so completely that she- was quite cheered up before the evening was over, and caught herself laughing as merrily as the rest over some droll anecdote, which he related with more humor than he had ever yet displayed. The expected ship did not arrive until two days later. The commander, a bluff, hearty old fellow, a sworn friend of Captain Russell's, became the guest of the latter, who prevailed * 1 - ? 1 lAncrot* on mm 10 remain 011 isuurc iui a inuici lun^ti period than he had at first intended. lie fell in love with Harry's intended at first sight, and declared that if he hadn't had a wife and eleven children at home he would have carried her off on his ship, instead of Harry, and never come back any more." "You are a lucky youngster, sir," he said, "and I'm surprised, with so strong an attraction on shore, that you should care to adopt the roving life of a sailor." "I have been brought up in anticipation of the life, Captain Truman," replied Harry, "and Sophy has known always that I meant to leave her, some day. She is willing to be a sailor's wife, and sail over the ocean with me wherever I go. I hope this parting will be our only one." "Well, my lad, well! I don't want to discourage you, I am sure. This sea has .been a good friend to me, and I should be the last to quarrel with any man who wants to follow in my footsteps. Please God, I'll bring you home safe to your sweetheart this time, and after this, as you say, you needn't be parted any more." "How is it your wife doesn't go about with you ?" asked Captain Russell by way of a joke. "She might have come with me and welcome, if she was the only one to be considered; but with eleven young ones, ranging between the ages of two and sixteen, what is a man to do ?" The two old officers were quite merry over this ; but Harry was in no mood for jesting. He cared for nothing but to be with Sophy, to soothe the pain which wrung her tender little heart, and which, to tell the truth, found its counterpart in his own. It seemed as if the time which remained to them was all too short to allow them to say what was to be said ; and when the day of parting finally came, as such days must, sooner or later, they felt as if another year would be too short too contain the words still left unspoken?sweet vows which they could never tire of renewing ; fond adieux mingled with comforting anticipations of a joyful meeting when this first voyage, dreaded at least by Sophy, should be at an end. It was over. The last embrace, the last pressure of the hand, the last lingering gaze, had been bestowed ; the noble ship, "The Southern Star," spread her fair sails, and was borne <^way before the freshening breeze that blew from the shore. Through blinding tears, poor Sophy watched her until she faded out of sight. Then turned, in all the desolation of this her first grief, back to herhome, where all that remained to her now of her lover, was his photograph and a lock of curly brown hair, relics which she kissed and cried over by turns. CHAPTER IV. "Mrs. May," said Mr. Erskine one morning, a day or two after Harry's departure, which had a left a sad blank in the little circle, "you spoke to me once of a house near here which was for sale. Can you tell me something more concerning it ?" nr\?. i,. e.mi ;t /looiro Innl.' nf. V/UI UUIIIJ-' j ill JLClV/l IJ. JUU UVQ1JLV w AWJt. %?V it, I will walk there with you whenever you like," she replied. "I should like to look at it. I have been thinking a good deal of that suggestion you made me in regard to settling down here. I am tired of roaming about, and don't know that I could find a more congenial spot than I this for a home," Mrs. May was much pleased. "We will go at once, if you are ready," said she. "It is not far, just a little beyond the foot of the hill. The place is not large, but the house has been a very nice one, though now a good deal out of order. The owner, Mr. Churchill, lives almost entirely abroad, and his agent, who was here some months ago, said he would be willing to part with it if he could get a suitable price." J They descended the hill by a shady winding road, and soon found themselves at the entrance of the deserted place. A large shrubbery, much overgrown, surrounded the dwelling house, which had been, as Mrs. May had said, a very nice one. It was two stories high, and prettily constructed, with wings, and a quaint little turret surmounting the flat roof. In front was an open space which had once been a lawn, dotted with flower beds ; but the grass was dry and dead, and only a few witli' ' * --i * wIioto flio llnu'. 61'6G DllSIlt'S rejllillllCU IU OIJIMV nnuv n.v ers had bloomed. "IIow desolate it looks,'' said Mrs. May ; "It seems a good deal more out of repair than when I was here last." "It does not, however, require very much to be done to it, was her companion's rejoinder. "With these grounds trimmed up and planted afresh, and a little paint and carpenter's work on the house, it would be quite a charming abode." "You like it, then ?" "Very much ; I suppose we can get into the house ?" "Yes, there is an old man close by who keeps the keys; I dare say we shall find him at home." The old man was found, and the keys were obtained ; and soon Mrs. May and her friend were exploring the empty mansion, whose bare (loors and walls sent back resounding echoes to their tread. The rooms were large and well-arranged, abundantly lighted and ventilated ; the wood-work was all whole, and really nothing but fresh paint, with here and there a touch of plastering, was needed to make it quite habitable. "I wonder what price is put on the place V" said Mr. Erskine, after they had gone all over it. "I cannot tell ; I have never heard it mentioned," replied Mrs. May. "Are you inclined to become a purchaser ?" "I am. I think 1 could make a very comfortable easy home here ; and it would l>e refreshing to feel myself once more master of my own dwelling, after being, like Cain, so long a wanderer and a vagabond upon the face of the earth. I am sure you would kindly lend me your advice and assistance in getting things to rights?" "Yes, indeed," interrupted Mrs. May. "And with your family for neighbors, and a good library, which I would speedily furnish myself with, I would never be lonely, or find lack of employment." "I hope the price will suit you, so that you can make the necessary arrangements at once," said Mrs. May. Mr. Erskine, that very day, borrowed a horse and rode to the nearest town, to see Mr. Churchill's agent, who resided there. His negotiations were satisfactory, and he returned the following morning with the announcement that the place was his. It soon became evident that no restrictions, in the way of expense, were to be laid in the way of all desirable improvements and repp'*on his new property. Carpenters, bricklayers, painters and gardeners were immediately set to work, and their combined exertions wrought wonders in a very short space of time. Mr. Erskine took up his abode in the little turret, (notwithstanding the request of his friends that he would continue to reside with them until the house wa? finished) and superintended everything himself. At the end of three weeks all was in order. The shrubbery was trimmed and cleared, the garden beautifully ' ' * "* nr*/1 laid out, IU6 House, ouiuunum^o <iuu iuuuuo stood fresh and inviting in their new dress of paint, and nothing remained but the selection of furniture to make the interior all that it should be. This was the work in which Mr. Erskine desired Mrs. May's help ; it was indispensable, he said, to the comfort of a house, that feminine taste should direct its appointment ; and the whole party, including even the Doctor, went to town on a fixed day, and visited furniture dealers, upholsterers, carpet and crockery stores, with most satisfactory results. The Mays thought that their new neighbor must be a very rich man. lie was certainly very liberal, and spent money with a lavish hand. It was some diversion to Sophy to watch the progress of these arrangements. It was such an event, in that secluded spot, to have a new resident settle there, and especially one who bid fair in every way to be such an advantage to the neighborhood, that she could not but feel interested, even while her heart still ached with the sorrow of parting from her dearest friend. To her, Mr. Erskine's new house with all its adornments seemed very sumptuous. It pleased her to tread on the soft, thick carpets, contrasting as they did with the faded Brussels on her father's floors; to admire the velvet chairs and lounges, the gilded mirrors, and the tasteful pictures and various nick-nacks which beautified the rooms. The library, which according to Mr. Erskine's resolve he had lost no time in fitting up, was to her a source of especial gratification. On the oaken shelves were ranged numbers of volumes of every sort and description (except that trashy-novel sort; for that the owner eschewed) and to these she was offered free access ; an offer of which she gladly took advantage, for books were her delight. The manner in which Mr. Erskine's acquaintance with her family had heen inaugurated, and the friendliness and good feeling which had characterized it from the first, soon created a degree of intimacy between them, which mutual esteem ripened before long into a warm friendship, and in six weeks they felt as if they had known each other all their lives. Quiet and simple in manner, with a kind heart and generous disposition, a refined taste, and the inclination as well as the means to contribute to the enjoyment of others, it was no wonder that he should easily win the regard of those with with whom he was thrown into contact, and soon obtain a foothold in the place which chance had unexpectedly made his abode. lie sometimes remarked, smiling, that it was seldom a man derived such benefits as he had from being shipwrecked and nearly drowned; in exchange for solitude, and an unsatisfactory, nomadic life, he had gained friends and a home, and he declared his intention of never traveling again, so well was he satisfied with his surroundings. There was, indeed, no reason why he should ever seek other climes or scenes. So much of his life he had spent in journeying both by land and sea, that there were few parts of the world with which he was not to some extent familiar. What he had in former years called his home had long since been broken up and desolated. ^Neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, remained to welcome him to its fireside. His wife, the wife of his youth, also slept in her grave; and what had earth to offer him beyond the mere material comforts which, with wealth at his command, he could find as well here as elsewhere V The restless craving for novelty, for change, which had driven him to and fro, urging him to seek in constant excitement a respite from the trouble which gnawed at his heart, had died out, giving place to a weary feeling which made him find repose and tranquility very sweet. lie was no stoic; no anchorite in his tastes. Luxury was pleasant to him; graceful objects gratified his eyes, and he did not see why, because he lived alone, he should live without those things that suited his fancy, and contributed to his enjoyment of of life. Therefore, he surrounded himself with books and ornaments, pictures .and flowers, and even a piano?this last, it must be owned, chiefly on account of Sophy, " who was musical in a modest way, and to whom he had apparently taken a most warm and fatherly liking. lie interested himself in all her tastes and pursuits, and, finding that she had a talent for drawing, even offered to become her instructor in that line. For, as it proved, he was himself an artist of no small merit, though in an amateur way. Perhaps what won her regard more successfully than anything else was the way in which he would talk to her of Ilarry, and of her engagement; lie seemed to have such a complete sympathy with her feelings in regard to him, with her loneliness in his absence, that she could not ' but respond to bis kindly effort to elicit her confidence and soon found herself speaking to him of her plans for the future, as well as her reminiscenses of the past, almost as freely as | she would to her mother, or to Harry's uncle. Moreover he brought to her from the village post-office, Harry's very first letter?and what greater happiness could he have bestowed on her than this ? Amid all her other occupations, Sophy made it her duty, as well as her pleasure, to devote much of her time to Captain Kussell, who, now that his boy was gone, found his chief j and almost only solace in her society. lie [ missed Harry terribly, and though he made it ! a rule to appear cheerful, there were times | when he could not conceal his feelings ofJone| liness and depression, notwithstanding all his j efforts to the contrary. He brightened up j however, after getting favorable tidings of the ship, and learning that "the lad" was well and ! pleased with everything. Capt. Truman wrote , that he made a tip-top sailor, and was bound j to rise high in the profession some day. Ilarj ry wrote from every port they touched at, as ! well as by every passing opportunity. So when j once they had begun to get letters, they heard j from him tolerably often, though of course not regularly. To his uncle and Sophy both, these letters were treasures of inestimable value, but more especially to the latter. She would read and re-read them until she knew them by heart, and usually carried one in her pocket ' until the next came, when was the former transferred to a neat little package in her desk, labelled "Letters from my dearest H.," and tied around with a ribbon as blue as her own eyes. ITow often this package was untied and its contents investigated, it boots not for ! the historian to relate. Harry wielded a facile pen. Ilis descriptions of his new life, of everyj thing that he saw, were delightful; but it is probable that this did not constitute the chief j charm of his corresi>ondence in Sophy's eyes. Her only trouble was that she could not answer [all of his letters, as half the time she did not know where to write to him. The vessel he was on was constantly cruising about. By the time she heard from him at one port, he was pretty sure to be far away in another quarter, and ft was vexing to know that often her replies did not reach him until they were long out of date. In the beginning of Winter, a cause for anxety arose in the May household. The Doctor's health, never very robust, began to fail. A rrenpmi ri<Oiiiifv nrpnt. over him. creating a langour and unfitness for exertion, which lie at first battled against, but which by degrees gained the mastery over him. He laughed at his wife's anxiety, declared that it was nothing of consequence, and that with the return of Spring he would regain his strength and be as well as ever. Mrs. May tried to conceal her fears, but they were not allayed ; on the contrary as time went on and his indisposition increased, rather than diminished, she became seriously uneasy, and did not rest until he consented (much against his will) to seek proper medical advice. "I can treat'myself just as well as any one else," he said ; but to satisfy you, I'll ride to town and consult Stanley. I have confidence in his opinion, and I know he'll tell me the exact truth." Mrs. May wanted to accompany him, but this he would not hear of. He detested carriage-riding, and prefered going on horseback. So he went alone, and returned on the third day pretty thoroughly worn out. "What did Dr. Stanley say V" asked his wife. "Oh ! he said a good many things ; some foolish and some wise. I can't repeat them all now ; in fact I've forgotten half." "But you can't have forgotten the most important," said Mrs. May, whom this evasive answer did not tend to reassure. "What does he consider the matter with you ?" "He thinks my liver is somewhat affected, I believe." "Anything else-V" "Yes, he pretends that my heart does not beat as regularly as it ought. That's stuff, however, and I told him so. Mary, I'm too tired to answer any more questions now ; 1 | just want to rest for the next week." Dr. Stanley had told him a good deal more, but this he did not choose to acknowledge ; nor could Mrs. May's urgent inquiries get anything else out of him but what he had already admitted. The truth was, his case was a more serious one than he had been, or was even now, willing to believe. The town physician, who was a personal friend of long standing, had urged upon him the necessity of taking great care of himself, and also of employing certain remedies which he was. very reluctant to try, one among them being a sea-voyage?an undertaking, in his eyes, so formidable ps not even to be thought of. About a fortnight after his visit to town, his friend Dr. Stanley, much to his discomfiture came to see him, and to find out whether he was carrying out his directions. His first words to him (his wife being out of the way) were these? "Stanley, I charge you on pain of my everlasting vexation, contumely and contempt, not to breathe a word to anybody regarding my case, beyond my permission. I didn't tell my wife half that jargon I heard from you, and I don't mean for her to hear it, either." "My dear May," said his friend, sitting down by him, "why .will you so absolutely disregard the dictates of prudence and common sense ? You are a physician of experience, and know, as well as I do, that you would treat any one else, troubled with the same symptoms, exactly as I wish to treat you. Is it not better for you to take your case in time, than to procrastinate until remedies can be of 110 avail ?" "Do you really mean to say." asked Dr. I uti.af v/-m /?nnuir1ar it, linlikfilv that I Call , tnuv jvu W?W.MV. ? y _ recover, without going to sea ?" "1 am sure that that would be the surest expedient for you to resort to. Of course, I don't say that you are bound to die unless you do ; but I think the chances are ten to one against you. Be guided by me, and embark on the next vessel that comes along." Dr. May shook his head. "It's impossible ; I am not equal to the effort. I verily believe it "would kill me to go. If that is all that can cure me, I must go uncured. But I differ with you in opinion." "I don't think you do, honestly." "Ilush, here conies my wife ; not a word to her of this, I charge you," said Dr. May, earnestly. Dr. Stanley was at a loss to know how to act. lie could not treat the sick man as if he were a child, yet he felt anxious to have Mrs. May know his opinion, thinking that her influence would probably be of greater weight, in carrying the desired point, than his own. He determined, however, to wait a little while longer, and be guided by the State of Dr. May's health as to the course he ought to pursue. T-Tr. Hmi-Dfnro tiipm without saving any lie VI1U WUIV *V4? WW tiling farther on the subject, intending to pay them a second visit in the course of another week or two. "L'homme propose, mats Dieu disposesays the French proverb. The truth of it was fully verified in this case. The very night after Dr. Stanley had taken hit> departure, Dr. May was seized with a sudden and alarming illness. At that hour, it was not practicable to summon assistance. With the morning light a messenger was dispatched to town, but, before the town physician could arrive, it was too late for human aid to be of any avail. The trouble in the region of the heart, of which the patient had been warned, had culminated ( to a fatal point, and the end, as is usual in such cases, was very sudden. Ilis wife and daughter had scarcely begun to realize his peril, when he expired, leaving them almost stunned by the unexpected blow. It is sad, in any case, where a husband and father is snatched away from his family by death ; but it is doubly sad, when the tie thus broken has been of a nature as tender and as close as that which bound together this little circle in the house upon the hill. The very solitude of their dwelling, their isolation from the world, had invested their domestic relations with a peculiar sacredness. They had been all in all to one another, until within a very recent period, and even then Sophy?s new relation had in no wise impaired the tenderness of the bond between her father and herself. As to Mrs. May, she felt as if 110 prop in life remained to her. Her husband had been her sole dependence, her tower of strength, and left thus without him she was desolate indeed. [to he continued.] IgfottnMMttjs grading. STORIES ABOUT BUND MEN. % Three men, two of them blind, were drinking one night in the room of a public house, and, as is often the result of such convivial meetings, one of the men quarreled and came to blows with the man who could see. IIef? was likely to be a battle not by any means on equal terms. But the other blind man was equal to the occasion. That the man who could see should have no undue advantage over his less unfortunate opponent, up jumped the blind man and turned off the gas, and so they pommeled each other harmlessly for a time. We have given an illustration of the warlike passion. As an offset we could give many illustrations of that gentler passion, love, for the blind are eminent disciples of Cupid and Ilymen. As a rule, a respectable blind man has no dilliculty in getting a seeing orifo otifi vdrv nfrpn with trood looks to boot. And when we consider the delicacy of touch in the finger of the blind, the latter is not to be wondered at. Blind men, however, do not always marry wives who can see. "We know many instances in which both husband and wife are blind, and have managed to rear families without the occurrence of any serious mishap either to themselves or the children. And the cases are rare in which the latter are defective in sight. Only lately the marriage took place of a blind couple somewhat advanced in years, she being his second wife, and he her third blind husband. The marriage was not wanting in the elements of romance, for in their young days they had courted, and parted, blind in a double sense. We will conclude with a courtship, but in this case will not vouch for its truth. A blind man on several occasions met a widow, who was not, however, like himself, blind, and and latterly concluded that she would make him a good wife. lie resolved that he would "pop the question" without loss of time. Accordingly, one evening found him at the widow's house for that purpose, when his suit was entirely successful. But so elated was he with his success that, on leaving her door, he forgot he was up a flight of stairs. The staircase window being very low, and happening to be open, he felt the air on his heated brow, and at once stepped out without thinking where he was, and fell into the court below. The widow hearing the noise, ran down, greatly alanned, but was fully reassured that no bones were broken by his remark, "Maggie, ye hae a big step to your i door!" ? ? ? Railroad Building.?The year just closed has been one of the most remarkable on record miimml onnstriietinn. Of Ill IIIC liltllici UL Killiuuu vvuwv*?v?.,H. new track, 8,24*2 miles were laid, which is 1,008 miles more than were laid in 1880, a year in which the railroad construction mileage of the United States exceded that of any previous twelve months except those of 1871, when the figures were 7,379. To the grand total the New England States contributed but 9*2 miles, representing operation on 13 lines; the Middle States, 409$ miles, showing work on 35 lines, and the South, 2,896$ miles, the result of the extension of 79 lines. A very large proportion of the railroad growth of the country during the past year has been in the region west of the Alleghany and east of the Rocky Mountains and south of a line drawn east and west across the continent below the great lakes. In the South by far the greatest degree of activity has been shown in those States through which the Southern Pacific and Mexican systems of roads must pass. The only States in which no new track is reported having been laid are Connecticut and. Delaware, and the only Territories Idaho, Indian Territory and Utah; although it is probable that a few miles were laid in the latter. Texas leads the country in respect of railway building, having added last year 1,411 miles, which final returns will probably increase to 1,500 or more. Colorado appears to come next with about 500 miles. Iowa comes next witli nearly 500 miles, and Dakota and Ohio also show thus far between 400 and 500 miles. Indiana, Illinois, New Mexico and New York appear to have added between 300 and 400 miles. The narrow-gauge makes no insignificant showing in the list of railway mileage constructed in 1881. Of the 258 different lines thus far reported to be built during the year no less than forty three, or over 17 per cent., were of three feet gauge, and of the 8,240 miles of new track which we already rei>ort 1,490 miles, or about 14 per cent., were of that gauge. ?. < Insanity and Genius.?And now we can explain the fact, so often commented on, that, : J:? ...UV while talent runs in iamuies, genius uies wiwi its possessor. If the man of genius is really a morbid variety of the human race, with a nerve structure mysteriously changed from the normal type, we may expect to find him either sterile or productive of an offspring in which the issue neurosis shall take some other form than that of genius. It is a wise instinct that leads the man of genius to choose his connubial partner, as it has been remarked that he so often does, from among the less gifted daughters of men ; so that his off spring have a chance of inheriting from the mother a better system of nerves than the father can bequeath them. It is equally a matter of congratulation that brilliant women so often choose commonplace men for their husbands. Were it not for these engraftings of stronger and coarser nerve fiber upon the attenuated nerves of the excessively intellectual, society would by this time be a perfect bedlam. So dull people have their place and use in the world ; we cannot spare them ; and those zealous in the cause of universal education who think that the development of a high intellectuality among all men will hasten the coming of the millenium, would, find, if their labors could attain their object, that the expected reign of universal intelligence had ended in universal idiocy. Of course j we are not be understood as decrying the education of the masses; there is no danger at present of their receiving too much education But those schools for the upper classes in | which the high pressure system is in vogue may take note of our statement for what it is worth. It is meant to be a parallel to Ilagar's prayer for "neither poverty nor riches."?Prof. Chas. Dod in New York Home Journal. ? ? How Cheaply One Can Live.?Bread, after all, is the cheapest diet one can live on, and also the best. A story is told just how cheap a man can live, when he gets "down to mush." figuratively speaking. Colonel Fitz gibbon, was, many years ago, colonial agent at London, for the Canadian government, and was wholly dependent upon remittances from Canada for his support. On one occasion these remittances failed to arrive, and as there was no cable in those days, he was compelled to write to his Canadian friends to know the reason of the delay. Meanwhile he had just one sovereign to live upon. lie found that he could live upon six pence per day, or about 12? cents of our money?four pennyworth of bread, one penny worth of milk, and one penny worth of sugar, which served for breakfast, dinner and supper, the milk being reserved for the last meal. When his remittances arrived, about a month afterward, he had five shillings remaining of his sovereign, and he liked his frugal diet so well that he kept it up for two years, possibly longer. Twelve cents a day is certainly a small amount to expend for food; but a man in Minnesota, about three years ago, worried through a whole year on ten dollars. lie lived on "Johnny cake." We know of a theological student in an Ohio college, who, sustained by grace, rice and corn bread, lived thirteen weeks on ten dollars; but there were several good apple orchards near the coljege and the farmers kept no dogs. It is not the necessities of life that cost much, but the luxuries; and it is with the major part of mankind as it was with the Frenchman who said if he had the luxuries of life, he could dispense with the necessities. Mere living is cheap, but as the hymnalogist says, "It is not all of life to live."?American Miller. The Oldest Republic.?The most ancient republic in the world is that of San Marino, a little Old World spot about ten miles from the Adriatic Sea, and which is as completely forgotten by the rest of the world as the name of the first ship-builder. Of all the republics of the Italian middle ages, this is the only one now left. It has withstooa assaults iroin an sides and in all forms. Moorish invaders, Italian condottieri, Papal aggressors, the great first Napoleon himself even, have failed one and all to pluck the astute Marinese from their lofty hill. The entire population of the republic is 8,000, all told, and the army is one thousand strong. The government is vested in a Sovereign Grand Council of sixty inhabitants, forty being plebian, and twenty aristocrats by birth. At the end of this magnificently christened executive stand the captains regent?the supreme presidents of San Marino. One of these gentlemen must also be a plebian, and the other an aristocrat. Their term of power lasts only six months, at the end of which time they retire, and other two captains regent are duly elected into the vacant place. Nearly every- , body, therefore, of note or unusual intelligence in San Marino has a chance of receiving at the hands of his fellows the greatest honor in their power to bestow upon a Marinese citizen. The most laughable feature about this tiny toy-box republic, however, is its legal machinery. No less than twelve members of the Sovereign Grand Council, it appears, are told off to assist the captains regent in any litigation which may arise?a number which would seem to point to an exceeding litigiousness on the part of the inhabitants. Yui.towstoxe Park Curiosities.?Min ing shafts, to the numberof sixteen, have been discovered in the park. The deepest is twenty-five feet. They also are the work of the race of the stone age, for at the bottom of these shafts were found stone hammers and stone knives. The object of the prehistoric man seemed to be to obtain a yellowish clay for paint, and handsome ornamental stones. There is also evidence of there having been either two ages of stone, or two tribes who made their tools differently. Col. Norris has stone implements and weapons that are flat on one side and rounded 011 the other, so that the edge is formed by the sharpening process on one side only. This peculiar feature is noticed on arrow-heads, lancepoints, and knives. Then the same articles are found with both sides rounded. Some curious objects we see are the stone sinkers which were used by some ancient race on fishing lines. One stone that is round and pointed at the ends has a hole neatly bored in one end, while another of similar shape has a groove cut all around its length in which the line was fastened. Nature's handiwork is beautifully displayed in several stone discs that are perfectly rounded and slightly hollowed on both sides as evenly as if done by a sculptor. This curious feature was produced by the action of the water turning and grinding these stones in some recess in the rocks with gravel for a cutting substance. The Construction of Chimneys.?We often receive communications requesting information as to the best mode of building chimneys. A few simple rules are sufficient to guide any person in the construction of a chimney. The higher the chimney the better its draft. It should be made of good non-conducting materials like brick, because the warmer it can be kept from the base to the top, the better will be the draft, as it is the heat of the gasses that causes them to ascend. If the giisses were condensed in the inside of a chimney, its draft would be destroyed. The flue of a chimney from an engine boiler, should never be run underground unless it is drained Kc?rt,,oo ;+ i"alHilp tr? almnrh moisture Ln;iicaiU} uctouou * w <u <iW*v _ from the ground, and thus absorb heat and ininjure the draft. As it is convenient, in some instances, thus to construct the flues of furnaces at some distance from the chimney, this information will be useful to those who re-, quire such arrangements. The inside of a chimney should be made as smooth as possible so as to offer little resistance to the ascent of the heated gasses, and also for the purpose of having few projecting surfaces for the adherence of soot.?Scientific American. Boy Inventors.?Some of the most important inventions have been the work of mere boys. The invention of the valve motion on the steam engine was made by a boy. "Watts left the engine in a very incomplete condition, from the fact that he had no way to open or close the valves except by means of levers operated by the hand. He set up a large engine at one of the mines, and a boy was hired to work these valve levers; although this was not hard work, yet it required his constant attention. As he was working those levers he saw that parts of the engine moved in the right direction and at the exact time he had to open or close the valves. He procured a strong cord and made one end fast to the valve lever; the boy had the satisfaction of ' seeing the engine move off with perfect regularity of motion. A short time after the foreman came around and found the boy playing marbles at the door. Looking at the engine he soon saw the ingenuity of the boy, and . also the advantages of so great an invention. Air. Watts then carried out the boy's inventive genius in a practical form, and made the steam engine a perfect automatic working machine. The Effect of Out Door Life.?A foreign scientific journal states as a curious physiological fact, that although open air life is so favorable to health, yet it has the apparent effect of stunting the growth , in early youth. Thus, while the children of w'ell to do parents, carefully housed and tended, are found to be taller for their age than the children of the poor, they are not so strong in after years; the laborer's children, for instance, who play in the lonely country roads and fields all day, whose parents lock their humble doors when leaving for work in the morning, so that their children shall not gain entrance and do mischief, are almost invariably short for their age; the children of working farmers exhibit the same peculiarity. After sixteen or eighteen?after years of hesitation, as it were?the lads shoot up, and become great hulking, broad fellows, possessed of great strength. According to these statements it would seem that indoor life forces the growth at the wrong period and thus injures. A Mexican Salutation.?As the white mules pace sedately down the roughly paved streets, the ladies keep a hand ready to make the customary signal of greeting from the carriage windows to their friends at the windows and balconies of the street. It is an indescribably fascinating gesture?so swift and subtle, almost like a fleeting expression across the face. It is made by a quick flutter of the second finger, and the hand being raised, palm inward, to a level with the eyes. How much its charm is enhanced by the beau ty of those dark Southern eyes it nan conceals, it would take a very stolid observer to decide. It seemed to me excessively intimate; in Morelia, I believe, it is kept for one's friends only, but in the capital it is the usual greeting at a distance between acquaintances. I have seen nothing prettier in their social customs, except the way the ladies meet and lean their cheeks together, and pat each other softly on the back of the other.?Century Muyazine. Want of Punctuality.?It is astonishing how many i>eople there are- who neglect punctuality. Thousands have failed in life from this cause alone. It is not only a serious offense in itself, but it is the fruitful parent of numerous vices, so that he who becomes the victim of it gets involved in the coils from which it is impossible to escape. It rnilkes the merchant wasteful of time, it saps the business, the hopes, and reputation of the lawyer, and it injures the prospect of the mechanic. In a word, there is no profession, nor :>t station in life, which is not liable to the canker of the destructive habit. Many and many a time has the failure of one man to meet his obligations brought on the ruin of a score of others. Thousands reman poor all their lives, who, if they were more faithful to their word, would secure a large run of custom, and make their fortunes. Be punctual if you would succeed. Curran once said to Father Leary: "I wish, Reverend Father, that you were St. Peter and had the keys of heaven, because then you could let me in." The shrewd and witty priest saw the ?artasm, and turned its sharp edge on the skeptic by replying: "By my honor and conscience, sir, it would be better for you that I had the keys of the other place, for then I could let you out,"