Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis im. grist, Proprietor. | Inbeprnbent ,|amiln gtctospaptr: t|e promotion uf {fee |ulitica[, ductal, ^jriraltnral ani> Commercial Interests of % Sontji. |TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 38. YOEKVILLE, S. C? THUESDAY. JUNE 1, 1883. NO. 33. ?rigimrt foetrn. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE SOUL FANTETH FOR REST. BY ORION. Eager the searching needle flies Around its narrow bowl, Each course for rest in vain it tries While absent from the pole. Trembling, it ever pants for rest, And till that rest be given, Roam it will, for 'tis only blessed When at the pole?its heaven. This needle, like the soul, it flies The whole creation round, j Seeking for rest in vain, it tries To find it in the bound Of worldly pleasures, seusual schemes And honor's titled sound, ? ?" It.iffhf HrpaniS! in snimng wohuu u< h?h?i " , . Bat there 'tie never found. I For rest, the soul's immortal rest, Is not upon this clod; The immortal spirit will never be blest Till it returns to God, Where, like the needle, there it lies Content, submissive, meek, Nor wishes more to roam or rise, But there at home to keep. Oh! home, sweet home, the spirit's home, Bright mansion of the sky, When shall I dwell in thee to roam No more, but there on high With all the just of every age, Join in hosannas sweet To Jesus, while all worlds engage In worship at His feet ?? Where sin and sorrow, toil and pain, . Shall never there be found, And friendship's pure and golden chain Will never be unbound ; But love will reign in every breast And animate each soul, And all pure joys will be increased As time shall onward roll. Thither my weary spirit tends; II struggles to be free From earth, where nothing it befriends, To fly, O God, to Thee? "Its life, its joy, while time shall last. Its hope in years to coute, Its shelter from the stormy blast ? And its eternal home!" lite idler. A DOCTOR'S STORY; CHAPTER I. It was a Summer evening, and I was standing in front of my consulting room door, rattling a bunch of keys, after having locked up, ready to repair to my bachelor establishment. I believe I was then considered a rising young physician in our quiet little town, in one of the States of America. At any rate, I had patients enough to warrant a respectable office down street, and a luxurious suite of apartments in the best boarding house the town could afford. Well, I was, as I said, rattling my bunch of keys ; and my friend, Horace Bertram, was standing near, wondering, I suppose from the way he was looking at me, what I meant to do next. I was the first to break the silence. uDo, Horace, come over to ray lodging and stay with me to-night. I always feel so lonely, somehow." "I have 110 doubt of it, Wilfred; for you're a man with great social qualities. Glad to come, old boy. But why do? you wear out all your best days by yourself ? Why don't you look out for a better half, to brighten up that smoky den of yours ?" "I'm afraid she might prove ray worst half, Horace. I am not one to make a leap in the dark, 1 can assure you. I have the highest respect for the fair sex ; but there are exceptions to every rule, and a man must look twice before he plunges into marriage." .Just as I was saying this, 1 noticed two young ladies coming along in our direction. "Hush, Wilfred," said Horace ; "here come two of our angels now, and I happen to know them. Isn't it a fine thing to l>e so fortunate its to know everybody in town ?" They were ladies of cultivated tastes?one could judge by theii dress; for I was very observant of the minutiai of a lady's costume. They had been shopping, too, that delightful occupation of the gentler sex. As they passed us, [ caught a few snatches of their conversation. Tiie taller and more queenly looking of the two was remarking to her companion : "I tell you, Jessie, I cannot do it; it will not be right. I must do my duty." She was speaking, I could see, very earnestly. They looked up iis they passed us, and nodded in a friendly j manner to Horace, who uncovered his curly : brown head; and we both bowed politely to two of the fairest specimens of womanhood. Then I caught a glimpse of the face of the stately lady who had such decided notions of rierht and wronc. I could see the pleased smile that llittedover the childish countenance of her companion, as Horace lifted his hat to them ; and I also noticed the Hush that mounted even to my friend's high forehead ; so I put these two incidents together and drew my own conclusions. But that was all I did notice, for I was completely absorl>ed in the statelier iady of the two who had passed v.,. The light of a pair of gray eyes had for one moment rested on mine, and I had had one glimpse of a true, earnest face, that haunted me afterwards like a dream. Horace's voice roused me from iny momentary reverie. "Building air castles, are you ?" he said. 'Well, then, my dear friend, just let me give you a piece of advice. When you people that mansion of yours, don't attempt to convert either of those two into the "lady of the manor.'" "Why, Horace V Who are they V Where do they live ? And what relation are they to each other." "Gently, my friend, gently. One question at a time. Why V Because those are ladies of 'high degree,' and very much above such poor human beings as Horace Bertram the lawyer, and Wilfred Lansdowne the doctor. I rather like that little gypsy, Jessie, myself." "I did not need to be told that," I said. "Your face is a good index to your heart. But you haven't answered the most important question of all. Who are they ? "1 was coming to. that when you interrupted me. They are the daughters of Sir Gerald Wyatt, an enormously wealthy Englishman, who came over to tue Mates nere a iew ynuo ago for his health. lie has only two children?Lucille and .Jessie.'' "Then to whom will the title and estate revert upon the death of the present owner ?" "To a distant cousin of his own, his only living male relative. He has never seen his cousin ; but Sir Gerald has made inquiries in England, and hoj>es soon to discover traces of his expectant heir. Madame Humor has furthermore informed the listening public that should his cousin be a single gentleman, Sir Gerald intends that his daughter Lucille shall marry him, in order that she may be My Lady, and that the proj>erty may remain in the family. But one needn't listen to all that is said. I'm very glad .Jessie didn't happen to be the elder." "Where did you say they lived V" "1 haven't said it yet. Why, Wilfred, how absent-minded you are ! But I'll tell you now. They have leased a villa in the suburbs called the Towers?a perfect paradise." We had reacb.ed my boarding house by this time, and Horace surprised me by saying : "You're in such a queer humor, Wilfred, that I think it would In? better to leave you alone for to-night, and spend an evening with you some other time. So good night, and pleasant dreams of the queenly Lucille." He was right. I did not feel like entertaining any one. T repaired to my cosy sitting room, and throwing myself on the lounge, was soon absorbed in exciting and perplexing thoughts. I was the distant cousin of whom Horace ' spoke. I had not known until this moment ! that my relatives were anywhere near me. ; And now, the face of the very one for whom | the unknown cousin was destined struck my I ; fancy, and was so indelibly impressed upon my j : mind as to defy all efforts at effacement. This Sir Gerald Wyatt had loved my moth! er, when the two were scarcely more than I children. They were cousins. But, after | that, as mother had dften told me, they bej came separated ; yet Sir Gerald had never for-1 gotten the love of his young manhood. To j dissipate his grief at the kindly but decided j refusal he had received, he went to travel on { the continent. Years elapsed before lie re-1 turned, and when he did so, he brought back a j beautiful bride, to reign as Lady Wyatt over I the home of his ancestors. While he was absent, my mother married my father, to whom she had long been secretly attached ; although, in point of social position, he was not quite her equal. Immediately after their marriage they proceeded to America, where my father, who was, like myself, a physician, had hopes of securing a better practice than in the home country. But a few years of fruitless endeavor to get a good start in business, broke his spirit, and unluckily, he gave way to habits of intemperance. While in this condition, he had the misfortune, in prescribing for a patient, to make a fatal blunder, which cost the patient his life ; and, for this, ! my father was apprehended and imprisoned, i But while awaiting his trial, he died ; and thus ; left in poverty and obscurity, my mother and j T f/, rmr J?ticrlieh hfimc ! Jltld US she I was too proud to let her rich relatives know of i her situation, she changed her name, buried j herself in a humble village, and devoted herself to her boy's'education. When I was about eighteen years old, my darling mother's weary eyes closed in their last sleep, ar.d I was left alone in the world. Every tie that bound me to my native conntry having been severed at my mother's death, and being of too independent and proud a nature to make myself known to my titled relatives, I returned to America?the welcome refuge of all free spirits. Determined that I would not let life conquer me, by my own exertions I managed to procure a medical education, and then settled down in this lovely lit tle spot. It was easy, therefore, to understand that Sir Gerald Wyatt had great difficulty in ascertaining the whereabouts of his cousin's child ; for though he may have ascertained the name of the man whom she married, I had never adopted that name, and was not known to any one by it. For many years, indeed, he had not troubled himself about the matter, being absorbed in the love of his beautiful wife; and ! it was only when the latter, transferred to the ! colder climate of England, drooj>ed and died, leaving no male heir on whom he might bestow his title and estates, that he remembered his cousin, my mother, whose son, if still alive, would lie his nearest male relative. He was, thus far, as I understood, in search of this relative ; and here was 1 within a mile or so of him, and he did not know it. I CHAPTER II. I was again walking home one evening, some weeks afterward, when Horace, to whom I had not revealed my relationship with the wealthy Englishman?met me, and told me a startling piece of news. "I say, Wilfred, the English cousin has arrived. They've killed the fatted calf over there at the Towers, for the old gentleman is convinced that he has at last discovered the missing man." "Von don't tell me so ! Why, that cannot be?it is utterly impossible." "I wonder why it cannot be just as possible as the fact that Miss Lucille is going to marry this very same cousin." "How did you leant all this, Horace ?" "Don't look so white and solemn, man. I never thought it was so serious a matter. Why, you see, I met Jessie at Mrs. Jackson's last night, and she told me all about it. Lucille is terribly distressed, for she has taken an unaccountable dislike to her cousin. But her father will have his own way, the stubborn old fellow." "But can't you," I asked, "tell me something more about this cousin V" "Nothing more, scarcely, for we had so much else to talk about. Only that he is very handsome, and Sir Gerald is completely taken with him." "Did you hear his name ?" "It is Guy Radcliffe, 1 believe." *..*1 ? ?.l,rka,r_ itaucuue was my lamtri s naiur, mm nnwi er this cousin was, he must have learned some- j thing or other of our family secrets. I felt staggered and dazed, and my friend noticed it, I but lightly attributed my confusion to some- j thing less serious. "I say, Wilfred," he said, laughingly, as he left me, "the castle has tumbled down hasn't it V" . I I made a sickly attempt at a smile, but said ! nothing, and rushed upstairs. Lucille to be | sacrificed ! I would not allow it. I had not j met her; but one way was always open to me, j and 1 determined to get my mother's letters i and make myself known at once. I knew 1 , had proofs more convincing than any impostor ! could produce. But I was not long in my j j room before there came an impatient ring at the door-bell. Evidently some one was in a hurry. I listened for a few moments, and then quick steps were heard coming up the stairs, and there was a sharp rap at my door. I opened it, and the servant was there with a ; note in his hand. "A man is downstairs with a carriage and j i he says you must come with him right off. He told me to give you this." Bidding the boy tell the man 1 would come directly, I read the brief note: "Sir Gerald Wyatt would esteem it a favor j if Dr. Landsdowne would accompany the liearj er to the Towers, where his professional seri vices are required." ! In few minutes I was ready, and whirling j I ranidlv thither. I asked the coachman who it was that needed me. "Miss Lucille, sir. Site's awfully shook up, j I and none of them can do anything with her." j Some nervous affection, I presumed, and I I supposed that some exciting circumstance [ ! had taken place to throw her in such a state. | i We were soon at the gates of the Towers; and ! as I passed hurriedly through the extensive J grounds, I noticed that everything showed j signs of wealth, lavishly yet tastefully ex- ! pended. A servant received me and ushered J me into a room, where I saw, leaning against the black marble mantelpiece, a stately look- j I ing old man; and on the opposite side, also j leaning in a graceful attitude, one of the handsomest fellows I had ever seen, but with a sinister expression about the linely curved month that 1 did not like. As soon as I had set my eyes upon him I recognized him ; though he did not seem to know me. He was the son a former valet of Sir Gerald's, before he went to Italy. I had seen the man, and mother ; had told uie who he was a great many years | since, but I was gifted with a remarkable | faculty of remembering a face, after I had | seen it once. All this I took in it a glance, before Sir Gerald came forward to meet me. I "Dr. Landsdowne. 1 presume?'' "The same. You sent for me, I believe ?" "I did. Women are such queer creatures. My daughter has taken it into her head to make herself sick on accountof a foolish whim. Then followed an introduction to the handsome, Italian-looking "cousin," the real one j bowing his head to the impostor. But I proceeded: "In order to understand how to treat your daughter, Sir Gerald, 1 would like to become acquainted with as many of the particulars of her illness as you may judge proper to disclose." I "Well it is simply this. Here is Mr. Guy Hadeliffe, as good a young man as any one need see. whom I intended that Miss Wyatt shall many. In confidence, Doctor, L owe it to Guy's mother?who in fact was mv cousin? to make some reparation for having neglected her and hers so long. Besides, 1 know Buy will make as good a husband as Lucille can lind. Isn't, that true he said addressing Mr. Jladeliffe. "You flatter me too much, Sir Gerald. I certainly intend to make my cousin as happy i as is in my power. At any rate, she will do her duty by obeying her father, and I will endeavor to win by kindness the love she now 1 refuses me." "Certainly she will obey my wishes, for she has always been an obedient girl. Indeed, she has never yet refused to agree to my proposition in this instance, only expostulated until she saw that I was determined, when she commenced to droop. This evening she was seized with a sort of fainting spell and has not yet been roused." "Then surely there is no time to lose. Please let me see the patient at once, Sir Gerald." My blood was boiling with rage against that low-bred impostor, who dared to call her his "cousin" and who dared to offer her his false love. But we had reached the room of the patient, ? * * - lh.l U and an indignant tnougnts were twpeueu uefore the idea that Lucille lay stretched there, perhaps dying. I went up to the bed, where her sister was kneeling, crying as if her heart would break, and at once directed my attention to the resuscitation of the motionless figure liefore me. By the use of such restoratives as were in the house, and constant chafing of the thin white hands that lay so listlessly in my own, I soon brought a faint tlusli into the pale cheeks and lips, while a heavy sigh told that she was returning to consciousness. In a short time her eyes opened and rested upon mine. She must have caught my eager look. I turned to her sister and said: "If you can make her drink wine until the medicine I send for arrives, I will consult with your father for a few minutes." I then left the room to see the baronet, with whom I requested a private interview, lie conducted me into his library. "Sir Gerald," I began, "I merely wish to give you my professional advice and opinion. I i?erceive your daughter's constitution and temperament are of the highest nervous type. She is now broken down by mental suffering, and to prolong the strain might imperil life itself. I would beg you, therefore, if you love your daughter, not to mention the subject of her cousin to her until I speak with you again. For this purpose I shall be glad to have an interview with you to-morrow morning." "Certainly, Doctor. As to your instructions, I promise to obey you; meanwhile her eititov will f?.iVp thpjwsf esirenf thenatient." When I got back to my lodgings, and was locked in the secresy of my room, I gathered together several letters that passed between my mother and the baronet, her miniature and also that of Sir Gerald, which he had given to his "cousin Addie," when both were quite young. The latter was set in sapphires and pearls, and was stamped with the Wyatt escutcheon. CHAPTER III. Early the next morning my buggy was standing at ihe entrance to the Towers, and 1 was ushered into the same library that I had left the evening before, and found Sir Gerald waiting to receive me. He greeted me with a hand shake. After assuring me of a marked improvement in my interesting patient's condition. he begged me to state the ebject of my desired interview. I merely placed my little packet in his hand, saying: "This will explain all, Sir Gerald. Hut if you wish more conclusive evidence than that which the beloved touch of the dead has hallowed, I can easily furnish it." He had opened the bundle, and the sweet face of my mother was the first object upon which his glance rested. "Addie?my dear little cousin Addie! And my picture too !? the very same I gave to Addie 011 her seventeenth birthday. In the name of all that is wonderful and incomprehensible, who are you ? How did these things come into your possession ?" "Simply from my mother, Sir Gerald, for I am Addie Treherne's only son and childWilfred Treherne RadcliiTe, otherwise Lansdowne." "How is that possible? Here is Guy Radcliffe who claims the same relationship to Addie Treherne. He certainly brought no proof; but 1, anxious to find my cousin's child, believed all he told me. If you are Addie's son, why are you called Lansdowne and not RadcliiTe ?" "That is a long story," I said. "My mother's marriage was one of affection, but not of prosperity; and the circumstances under which my father's career came to an end? and of which I may tell you more at leisure? led us to drop the name of RadcliiTe, and adopt that which I bear. It served the double purpose of screening us from the prying eyes of the world, and the scorn of my mother's richer friends." For a few moments the baronet sat in moody silence, as if reflecting 011 the past, when all at once he said : "If all this be true?and I do not doubt it?who is this Guy Radcliffe?" "Do you remember Hugo Rascelli V "To i>e sure I do. He was a valet of mine many years ago." "Well, this man is none other than a son of that valet of yours." "Xow that I think of it, 1 remember who it is. 1 was trying to discover who he resembled. And to think 1 received the son of a servant I had to discharge for dishonesty, as my heir and the prosjjective husband of my daughter !" It was some minutes before the wrath of + 1./. lw./.f L'lianf itcolf ProuGlltlv liflU'CVPl' Liir uaiwiin a^/uuv ivovm *. ivuvnvij, .. v , , lie began to speak of my mother and his eayly connections with her. He was thoroughly persuaded that I was the person I represented myself to be, but I was anxious that my motives should not lie misunderstood. "Sir Gerald," said 1, "1 wish you to understand clearly that I have discovered myself to you with no other motive than to benefit your daughter" "I do not doubt it," said the baronet. "Yet it is my earnest desire that Lucille should marry my prospective heir ; and as my cousin Addie's son shall inherit my property, it would add a double weight of gratitude in my obligations to you, should you succeed not only in restoring her health, but in winning her affections. I must tell her of the changed circumstances, and " "Not so fast, Sir Gerald, if you please. If all these changes take place at once, it will be too great a shock for your daughter. I would j advise you to examine this Guy Radcliffe, as i he calls himself, and dismiss him privately. You can easily keep the matter quiet. Then tell Lucille that you have been too harsh with her, and you will not compel her to marry a man she does not love. That news, I think, will do more towards raising her up than any medicine I might prescribe for her. As for myself, I hope I have a clearer idea of honor than to present myself as a suitor for a lady's hand under such circumstances. I freely confess that I have seen your daughter before, ' and by some mystery, unknown even to lovers these!ves, have fallen very much in love, lint in order to leave my cousin's mind entirely unbiased, I would like to win her love simply as Dr. Wilfred Lansdowne, instead of the long-lost cousin her father wishes her to marry. Does this plan meet with your approval V" | "Kntirelv, although it is a young man's romantic idea. But meanwhile, L shall say nothing of all this to Lucille." I found lav patient reclining before the open window of her room, while her sister was " . ? i ..a i j?_ l iiri..,* suing on a lootsiooi at ner jeei. >? out u beautiful pictlire the two made! .Jessie was the first to notice my entranee; and as she sat with a slight blush tinging her checks, I had to acknowledge that my friend Horace was a happy man in having won the heart of so lovely a creature. And as for her sister?was it my ; imagination that made me perceive a glad light spring up in those changeful eyes that I had learned to love so well i I certainly thought I detected as much. As Juicille's disorder was merely a nervous attack that I knew would soon pass over, I had no difiioultv in assuring her that exercise was the best medicine I could prescribe, but she must keep perfectly quiet for the remainder of the day. ])ays and weeks passed by, and I saw that I could no longer find a professional excuse for repealing my dearly prized visits to the Towers. My anxiety to know whether or not my love was returned, became so great, that I determined to hazard everything by speaking to Sir , Herald, and at once ending my suspense. So ; again 1 walked up the broad marble steps, and i was ushered into the room where I had always soft, white lingers, i lea ner to a rustic seat, ti I never could exactly tell what followed ; all c! that I knew was that I was i>ouring forth the w wannest words of love, and she was listening A to me with downcast eyes and blushing face. <a What did I?what did she?say? lias not f< that "old, old story" been often told, and as tl often set "two fluttering hearts aglow ?" w "Are you sure," said I, after the first burst of \\ rapture, "that you love me for myself?just as v, I am ? Suppose your father still clings to his (< idea of your marrying your cousin, what would ci you consider your duty then ? Would love t; settle the conflict between Right and Wrong, Lucille ?" b "Oh! do not ask me, Wilfred. When he C( saw how truly we loved each other, he wouldn't f. compel me to p;iss through the same trials from b which I have just been released. And it would tl beathousandtimeswor.se now, since I have t< loved another." w "Listen to me, Lucille. I, and not your j father's recent visitor, am your English cous- n in." And then, seated together, while she ? wept tears of gladness, we talked of what you, ^ dear reader, already know. i, Many Chrismas Eves have passed, and many b long and happy years have frosted over the t< brown and golden hair. The voices of chil- S( dren?those of Horace and Jessie, as well as c| ours?sing from the flowery terraces and shady t] coverts of Wyatt Towers?our ancestral home a in Old England. I am Sir Wilfred Radcliffe J now; for the good old man who was so true a j, fvit.nU tn mo li!i? lnnfr since been lrnt.hered to i. "" '"v) ? o J CI u his fathers. {,; p. Vkxxok's Prognostications for the 0 Summer and Fall.?Henry G. Vennor, the Ij Canadian weather prophet, in forecasting the a weather of the.cojuing season writes as fol- b lows: tl "Out of thirteen long range and general c< predictions which I liave given forth and caused I to be published in the leading newspapers of a. the day and in tny yearly almanacs, between t< the years 1H75 and 1882, only two have been se- S riously "out" or astray, with respect to the a summer season. Having said this much in re- tl spect to former forecasts, 1 desire now brietly f< to give a short but comprehensive outline of A what, in my humble opinion, are likely to be d the most remarkable features of the Summer > and Autumn of the year 1882. d First?A season that will merit the designa- tj tion of cool, to cold and wet, generally. Xot fi that there will not be teems of Summer warmth tl and even intense heat for periods, but rather a that these last will appear in the retrospect as o of comparative insignificance, or as the excep- is tion to the general rule. o Second?The season will be marked by not s< only great precipitation, but by a mugginess of " atmosphere, generally caused by the reeking c; condition of the earth and the long continu- u anee of clouded sky. This will result in pe- o riods of extreme sultriness and heavy weather, s< during which the thunder and hail stoi^ns will tl occur. In other words, the Summer will be ri the reverse of clear and dry. n Third?There is a likelihood of June and tl - ? ** i-i -? I; August irosism j\oiTnt'rn, >ve?ieiii?iiuouuui- x ern sections, and a general cold wave may oc- in cur towards midsummer. w Fourth?The Autumn months will continue si moist. September will probably give rain and k floods in Western Canada, and in western and n southern sections of the United States. Oc- f; tober will be much the same, with early eold n and snowfalls. November will l)egin the Win- g ter of 1882-83?a Winter likely to be memora- si ble 011 account of its except ionally heavy snow- k falls and very cold weather, over the whole ii Northern Hemisphere. That a cold and wet u Summer is invariably followed by a cold and a stormy Winter, is a truth now so well proven y and borne out by the testimony of past records h that we cannot lightly put it aside; and, if we si have good and sufficient grounds for predicting tl the former, as we most assuredly have at this si time, it is but right that \e should warn the people of the latter in good season. Fifth and last?The approaching season will probably be the first of a couple of wet Sum- j. iners, and as 1882 is, so is 1883 likely to be. ^ llut here we must stop for the present." i. A Nkw Theoky ok Consumption.?Mod- ^ jern research in physiological science lias tend- " ed strongly toward the belief that the com- . moil eruptic or splenic fevers?such as small- <l pox and typhoid lever?are caused by growth * within the body of small parasites, generally 1 termed bacilli. A young German physician, 3 who made himself famous by his investiga- J" tions in this line, has been studying tubercular disease, and has made the very important 1 discovery that the tubercles of consumption of h the lungs and cognate disease of the liver and 11 kidneys are infested with and produced by a these same bacilli. lie moreover finds, by experiment on various animals, that these (l parasites may lie communicated by inocula- 3 tion into perfectly healt y organs, showing c ' * " - If: e i?... ,,rvf c UKll 11 UlSfllSfd CU11UI1 It'Jl LU HIU ajoiciu 10 uut necessary to their growth. It has been pretty generally believed before that this disease is v communicable, but Dr. Koch establishes this ? belief beyond a doubt that the matter ejected ^ by diseased lungs swarms with bacilli, which are virulent after being kept dry for as long as eight weeks, while the matter expectorated j from lungs in a healthy condition contains no ? parasites. These minute bacilli, he. points out, ? may float in the air like dust, and many doubtless produce disease in lungs which inhale air infected by consumptive patients. If it is ? true, as he asserts, that one-seventh of the r human race die of tubercular diseases, Dr. Koch's investigations should receive the most profound and grateful consideration, because _ j they point to a remedy for the dread disease a of consumption. For vaccination in the dis- v case of small-pox is simply an introduction j? ! into the human system of the parasite which J: [ produces the disease, in a form so modified by circulation in the animal that it prevents an 51 ' infection of the more virulent form ; in the v j same way it is hoped that the bacillus lubercu- !; i losis can be so modified by cultivation that * ! consumption may be prevented by inoccula- 1 j tion with it. In a letter to the London Times, 51 i which is reprinted in the New York Tribune : | for May '>, Prof. Tyndall gives and discusses j ^ I the results of Dr. Koch's researches, and j calls attention to their great importance, i , - - 1 I Faithfulness to Employkks.?There is ! j no greater mistake a young man can commit j i ! than that of being indifferent to the interests j c i of his emnlover. It must be admitted that , e ; then* are circumstances under which it would j a i seem almost impossible to feel an interest in j I j an employer'sjuisiness ; but, for all that, it is ! e I worth a trial. Be faithful in small things, be r j attentive to your duties, shirk no employment 1 | that is not dishonorable, feel that your em- 1 j plover is fairly entitled to every minute of time s j which you have agreed to give him for a stipu- v lated remuneration. The wages may be small, ? too small; but if you have contracted to work c for a dollar a weeek, when your work is worth ten, stick to your bargain like a man until c your term of service has expired. It may r" seem very hard, but it will instill the great o principle of being true to your word. f found a kind welcome, and where Sir Gerald J was seated. < "Well, my boy, wliat is it now V" "I have come, Sir Gerald, to ask you to give me Lucille." "All ! I thought it would come to that. Wilfred, I am only too thankful that at last I s' am enabled to cany out my long-cherished 1 plan and call Addie's son my own. If Lucille u consents, you need fear no opposition from me. b Besides, the impostor has received his cow/c."' t< It is 110 matter what else we conversed f? about; suffice it to say I lefttfie kind old man's ? presence with only one thing wanting to com- o plete my happiness. I wandered along the o graveled paths, hoping to iind Lucille, yet not v knowing exactly where to look for her. I hap- a pened to remember a favorite arbor of hers, c " ... , <T where 1 found her nxing up me n ailing oranen- * es of arose. I scarcely dared disturb the love- " ly picture, and yet I felt she must not be only e an image to me, but a loved reality, and so, si catching the spirit of England's laureate, P whose description of "Rose, the Gardener's i< Daughter," entered my mind, I stepped into ei the arbor where she was standing, and said tl Ah! one rose, si One rose, but one, by those fair lingers culled, a Were worth a hnndred'Jtlsses pressed on lips ii Less exquisite than thine. p She silently handed me the "one rose"?a o pure damask?and then, still clasping those gi iHiscclhiucous Reading.: A CHAPJ'EK ON MALE ATl'lKE. ? The true art of dressing well, an authority u tates, is to make a careful toilet every day. c 'lie man who has once formed this habit linds a l it an ever recurring pleasure ; it ceases to t e a trouble and consumes no more time than a d dress carelessly. The man who buys one suit & ir all occasions is never well dressed and al- f: lost invariably "seedy." When some State a ceasion compels him to get into his venerable a Id dress suit, the last state of that man is g ,'orsethan the first. He feels awkward and i: neouifortable, and looks as if be had hired his ii lotlies from an undertaker for So per night, t 'lie only way to overcome this awkward feel- a lg of being "dressed up" is to frequently n hange the business suit for a demi-toilet? 11 half dress suit. A knowledge of what is 3 roper in dress, together with the habit of con- 1< inning to the same, gives an appearance of a legunce in 110 other way to be acquired, and is a be only way in which a man can learn to appear s t his best. We often hear men say, with the c ir of having conquered the seven deadly sins 0 1 the act : "Well, I buy a suit of clothes, and b ut 'em on and wear 'em till they are worn ut." One bows and smiles in the presence of uch exalted virtue, and quietly makes a note bat it were a better plan to buy two suits of lothes and wear them alternately till they rere half worn out, and then buy a third. r lany men of genius, education and the high- a it intellectual attainments are utterly indif- q jrent to their personal appearance, and fancy n iiis is a very superior frame of mind to be in, f( rliile really it is 110 credit to tliem in the g mrld. To be well dressed and in conformity nth the usages of good society is a thousand ild more creditable, and people who affect the ontrary are generally actuated more by vani- |} f than superior sense. ^ A ( 4-l.io timn lmm-tic rrromic nlivp ill una paivituiai biuiv uivivu^ v??.v ? rowns, and greenish olives are the coming S( olors. Grays have by no means passed out ot ivor, but olive and brown tints are preferred j>( y those who lead the fashions. Between ;l liese leading colors there are numberless in- -j n mediate and intermingled colorings. There ^ ras a few years ago no medium between plain c ark goods and "high fancies."' JSrow their j, arae is legion. The favorite worsted diago- a als are shown in stripes, pin checks, plaids, 'v juare blocks, large and small, and in color- q lgs which combine green, brown, red, blue, n lack, and olive, but so cleverly harmonized as ^ ) have the appearance, at a little distance, oi ^ Bid colors. The old style wale has been j, Imnged to a variety of weaves representing g lie corkscrew and the Barathea or ribbed di- q gonal, the effect of which is excellent. The ^ roundwork of most of the combination color- e igs is diagonal and at a distance the tints j( lend into a solid color. Tailors who follow a Inglish styles recommend Berlin worsted or n in checks for summer suits to take the place ^ f cheviots and flannels, which look so "awful- 0 r ready made, you know." These worsted re in finest wool, of black and white and j, rown and white, alternate dots no bigger trail a pin's head, which blend into one light |, olor, and look cool and (ahem !) genteel. t 'his is the sort affected by young men who can \{ fford to pay ?75 for a summer suit, for a ina- j3rial that cannot be imitated in cheap goods, j, triped trouserings are in great favor. They ' Dine in stripes varying from the invisible to a lie distinctively marked, and the former have 't jiind much favor with conservative people. s l fancy cassimere vest, striped trousers and e ark coats are much affected by well dressed (Tew Yorkers. Cincinnati men incline to the n ark coat and vest en suite and the striped j, rousers. In these latter garments the change j rom loose to tight is recognized by all classes, liougli the extremely tight fitting trousers are ccepted by comparatively few. This fashion . f trousers differing from the rest of the suit : i the result of the present close style, for one !' oat and vest usually outlast two pair of trou3rs, from the tendency of the latter to get ? baggy" at the knees, a circumstance which auses the average young man of fashion more ^ neasiness than the condition of his bank ac- P ount. We are confidentially informed by a Dciety man, the "set" of whose clothes are j; i.q anU nf a wide circle of adini ers, that the only way to prevent their baggi- ^ ess, which has been a cause of anguish to ? liree continents, "our Continent" and the P I astern and Western Hemispheres generally, 5 to give the trousers a little hitch at the knee : /hen you sit down, and under no circum- ^ tances to crook the pregnant hinges of the nee too much when seated, but to leave the ether limbs extended in a not ungraceful ishion. Eternal vigilance is the price of lore things than liberty, and a moment's for- d etfulness will be fatal, for the cloth once ^ tietched and moulded by the shape of the j* nee, not all the pressing, sponging and block- " ig of every tailor's goose on Vine street can c ndo the mischief. You will be suspected of J1 desire to show your neat over-gaiters and our olive or cardinal lisle thread hose, and eedless people will stumble over yom> out- ^ tretched limbs, but you will be sustained by & liat consciousness that nerved Virginius to 0 trike the fatal blow, and say with him : 11 There is no way but this. c Much of course depends upon the material, 0 ertain elastic cloths being quite unlit for f rouserings, and much depends upon the cut- ^ er. The careful man measures from hip to u nee. and from knee to foot, and locates the y nee at the exact point. The careless man ^ measures the length of the leg and supjMises j lie knee to be "there or thereabouts." Most epends upon the maker, the handicraftsman ,*ho sews the garment. He can make or mar; I in putting the pants together he slips one 1 ide up or down a quarter of an inch, the ^ /hole garment is out of balance. Naturally * ut few men do this line and careful work, and J; hey command their price, and the buyer must J ay it. You can have a coat made by a "$5 1 ian"orau12 man." The difference in the ^ 11... A. . A..i. il.A 1 ppearance Ol tilt* garments cut num mc same loth, and made by the two men, is just the ? iffereiice between a well dressed man and bis ! liabby neighbor. Always supposing the lirst 1 oat can be afforded, the wise man has his c lothes made by a master workman. In the cut of all coats a tendency to shorter c raists and smaller sleeves is noticeable, and v ustomers favor the change, especially men j rho go in for a style when it first conies out. lut these ultra fashionables are not the men ? I'ho give best support to the business, and so i he tailors move slow, and present modified tvles to catch the solid men. The single and 11 louble breasted cutaway are the popular styles I or business coats, though sack coats are by 1 io means in disfavor. The cutaway (single 1 reasted four button) can be made to answer ? lie double purpose of a high or low roll, but j he style continues to wear all garments losing high. It is cut with a narrow shoul- J ier, narrow side body, short waist, long skirt ; nd small sleeve. The vest is single breasted, vithout a collar, cut to close high, short and ' taight at bottom. The new sack coat traces ? he form of the body without any loose cloth, ["his close fitting body calls for a close sleeve J ,nd a narrow shoulder, cut to fit without vadding, and the more sloping it appears the letter the men like it. The fashionable length ( or a man live feet eight would be about j wenty-nine or thirty inches. They are usu- ^ .lly made from suitings where the coat, trous- , rs and vest are made of the same material, j die vest is short and the trousers to order, f r"ii? prions of these, coats are either braided , kit or double stitched one-quarter of an inch \ ietween the rows. i The walking coat is also known as a morn- i ng coat, a shooting coat, and a variety of t ither names. The best style is single breast- 1 id, closing with five buttons, intended to be 1 vorn with one or all buttons closed, and is i mt little cut away. The tendency is to short- c r waists and longer skirts, though a happy i nedium is just now preserved. It is much ( iked by men who never wear ultra cutaways, ( )ut like, a garment graceful and elegant. This ( uit has single-breasted vest, either with or t vithont collar, medium cut trousers, and is ] ;enerally of the same cloth throughout, but r onsidered in good style with striped trousers, j The fashionable "top coat" is a lly front i versack faced with silk. The front is soft, i aced with silk, and arranged to close up high a r be thrown back. The garment is produced 1 rom the finest material and lined thonghout. r leeves included, with a rich silk serge, a rnateial which defies cheap imitations. The edges re flat braided, making a practical and conenient and, at the same time, elegant garlent. The silk facing turned back from the ndercoat looks well, and when the coat is arried on the arm with the silk side out, quite ccidentally, it fills the beholder with admiraion, if a woman, and if a man he wonders, in vague way, "how so and so manages to be 0 confoundedly well got up." Among the uncy colorings and weaves of overcoat goods line of fine twilled English cassimere, known s buckskins, is prominent, especially in the ray shades. The most striking color in these 1 a drab that looks like a drab kersey. Made nto a fly front overcoat, faced with silk to lie front and flat Draiaeu, witn a arau uraiu nd silk to match the goods, it is a garment othing, if not aesthetic. Dress suits show o change in style, except the waist is a trifle hotter and the front a little smaller, making iss width of lapel on the breast. The vest is sluide higher, and the trousers plain, straight nd medium close. A fine, wale diagonal is upplanting the broadcloth among those who an rise superior to the superstition, centuries Id, that dress suits must be of hard finished lack cloth. THE DUTY OF THE HOUR. THE IMPORTANCE OF REGISTRATION. [Chester Bulletin.] Every man who wants to vote this fall must egister. The law as to that is unequivocal, nd it is useless to "kick against the pricks.'' .'he man of whatever i>olitical party that does ot register cannot vote. Every man, thereore, who would perpetuate good government hould lie sure that he registers at once. [Chester Reporter.] There are some we know who declare their urpose to be not to register. They say that hey are natives of the county, that they have oted ever since they reached the lawful age, nd that they do not propose to degrade them elves now by carrying a certincate to tne oils to show their right to vote. Those who eel this way would be justified in so feeling, nd in acting in accordance with their feeltigs, if registration was confined to any paricular class, and they were included in that lass. But such is not the case. The law i universal in its application. It includes 11?the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the /bite the black, alike. Governor Hampton, rovernor Hagood, Chief Justice Simpson, lust all have their names in the registration ooks, otherwise they must stand aside and ee the affairs of State settled without their aving a voice in determining the result, urely no good citizen, who will give the uestion calm and unprejudiced consideration, an hesitate as to where his duty lies. The xercise of the right of suffrage is not a priviige only, it is one the duties of citizenship, nd he who fails to vote when the State eeds the voice of all her intelligent citizens o guide her affairs is derelict in the duty he wes to his State. Others that we know say they will not regJter because they think the law is a bad one. rrant that they are correct in their judgment, ow can they ever secure its repeal unless hey register and elect representatives to the igislature who will repeal it. The logic of he situation demands of this class particulary that they should register. T.uaflv tti<i nnaniniifv with which the blacks re registering all over the state shows that he Radical party is preparing for a desperate truggle next fall to recapture the State Govrnment. A remembrance of the black days hat preceded 1876 ought to be enough to ierve every white man's heart to leave nothtig in his power undone to prevent such a ire calamity. [Aiken Journal and Review.] We can scarcely believe what the papers of he State tell us as to the apathy of our citizens a this matter. The colored voters are regisering to a man. Can it be that sensible and easonable white men, with so much at stake, an be so blind, or indifferent to their intersts as to fail to qualify themselves for deteraiuing the future government of South Caroina? You can as easily buy without money, s deposit a ballot in November without regffering within the time specified by law. .'his is no mere question of politics. It is lie of the institutions of public safety, of aorality and decency. The next election will e very closely contested. Citizens of Aiken ounty, remember your responsibility. Be rue to yourselves, your families, your dear Id Commonwealth! Be sure to register! [BamburR Chronicle.] No man should allow prejudice to stand etween himself and duty?duty to the party ; utv to his wife and children ; duty to his Itate; duty to himself as a man. Let the .ifference created by the passage of the Stock nv be buried, at least so far as registration is oncemed, for it is certainly cutting off one's iose to spite one's face to refuse to register ecause you are dissatisfied about the Stock iw or any other law. It is useless to deny he fact that we have before us darker days ban have been known for many years, and ur struggle for supremacy this year will be s great, if not greater, than it was in 1876. low, then, can a man, other than a Republian, refuse to aid in securing a continuance f Democratic rule in South Carolina by reusing or neglecting to register V Democrats, hink of this matter well before you deteraine to not vote with your party, for unless ou register you forfeit your right to vote, nd welcome back to our State black negro iadical rule. [Horry Telephone.] If the white men do not register, this couny, which is beyond a doubt strongly Demoratic, will unquestionably be carried by the tepublicans next fall. Our fears are not idle, tut are based upon solid facts. To name hem : In Ducks Township, last Friday only hirty-five white men were registered, against omething over one hundred and five colored. 11 Socastee Township the proportion was not ;S great, yet the result was anything but satsfactory. This will not do, Democrats. There s too much at stake to let our individual pinions and prejudices govern us in a matter 0 vital to our interests as is this elective franhise. With it we can make or repeal laws; vithout it we are powerless, and to refuse or leglect to use the power placed in our hands lecause a certain law does not meet our fancy >r is not conducive to our wishes or convenences, is like cutting off our nose to spite our ace. The intent of the law is not to abridge 1 single right of any citizen, though he be as >oor as the historical beggar or clothed in mrple and fine linen, but to meet a requirenent of that rotten fabric, the Constitution >f the State, and to prevent fraud by rei>eatng. The law is a harmless instrument to all f rinbef oro if tut. lUUCSl liKMl, UUt IV |n/lltiVCfri iii^aukuiu *w wv :omes <111 instrument of torture, a constant horn in the side, and hence their opposition o it and endeavors to inilame the minds of >eople. We invite the closest scrutiny and the Everest criticism of the law, feeling assured hat it will stand the test and meet the apirobation of all who desire the purity of the )allot-box. Look Out, Young Men.?When it is said )f a young man, "He drinks," and it can be iroven, what store wants him for a clerk V iVhat church wants him for a member ? Who vill trust him ? What dying man will ap>oint him his executor ? He may have been tarty years in building his reputation?it goes lown. Letters of recommendation, the backng of business firms, a brilliant ancestry canlot save. The world shies off. Why ? It is .vhisjiered all through his community, "He lrinks, lie drinks !" When a young man loses lis reputation for sobriety, lie might as well )e at the Dot torn or me sea. j nere are yuung uen here who have their good name as their mly capital. Your father has started you nit in city life. lie could only give you an iducation. He started you, however, under Christian influences. You have come to the :ity. You are now achieving your own for,une, under God, by your own right arm. tfow look out, young man, that there is no loubt of your sobriety. Do not create a sus)icion by going in and out of liquor establishnents, or by any glare of your eyes, or by any innatural flush of your cheeks. You cannot ifford to do it, for your good name is your ony capital, and when that is blasted with the epntation of taking strong drink, all is gone. WEALTH HvJT HAPPINESS. j The gilt-edged skeleton *z r.u more lovely I than one of the ordinary kind, even if it cost I more money. A case of matrimonial infelici| ty in a wealthy family is made worse rather i than better by the surroundings of costly luxj ury which mock the misery of strife, and the ! princely possessions which are chief among the i bones of contention. Lieutenant-Governor j Tabor, of Colorado, has the empty satisfaction of owning more money than any other man in ! the State, but he has the dissatisfaction of J having in his house a skeleton, the ugly rattle of whose bones is heard wherever his name is mentioned. Twenty-five years ago Tabor and his wife were a happy young couple in Maine. With the world before them, they left Maine behind them and went to seek a golden future in the West. For years their lot was one of short commons and hard work. They toiled along bravely until their toil w;is rewarded with the very thing they were working for. Wealth struck them like a whirlwind. It suddenly lifted them from their low estate and nliined them on the verv uncomfortable pinna cle of high social position to which they were unaccustomed. Somehow or other?it is none of the world's business to know how it began or where the blame was?the happy unanimity which had ! marked the earlier career of the Tabors took ! wings and flew away. There is an old saw about when poverty comes in the door, love flies out the window. It is a i>oor sort of love that flits away at the approach of jjoverty. It never was worth anything, and so it may as well go as not. But in this case riches came in and love flew out. The Tabors were beyond controversy happier when they were selling big boots and tin pans to the miners than after Tabor "had struck it rich3' and become possessed of his millions. From the thickets and bramble-bushes of the present divorce proceedings, perhaps they look back to the days of hard work and scanty fare and think what peaceful times they enjoyed and how sweet the memory is still. Then they had golden dreams. Wealth is a good thing if we are prepared for it and have learned how to use it. But wealth in itself is not happiness. When it brings the elements of discord, the more there is of it the worse it is. We are all toiling for wealth, despite the failures, here and there, of those who have made a miss in using it. Every man hopes to avoid the blunders and mishaps of his neighbor. Nobody knows who next is going to "strike it rich." May the next party have better luck.?Philri<lplp1nn Times. Chinese as Farmers.?I urn convinced that the average Chinese farmer can give any civilized agriculturist points on tilling the soil and still beat him. Xot only are the native gardeners and farmers as industrious as ants, but they are untiring and there is no such thing as waste ground on their diminutive plantations. Every foot of land is thoroughly cultivated and every foot yields generous returns. They have neither barns nor stables, and the ducks, chickens, pigs and dogs, in most cases, live in the house with their owners. Many of the houses are built on the canal banks, and it was not uncommon to find a village all the principal thoroughfares of which are canals. I notice that all the most beautiful spots in this charming landscai?e were occupied by Joss temples, and people were constantly moving in and out of their doois. ip' , Hundreds of scurvy beggars, many of them made hideous by disease, swarm around the entrances to the temples and entreat alms of every stranger. They always assume that an American is rich, but they are unable to tell which of their countrymen are well-to-do, as all dress alike, except government officials and merchants in the cities. The middle-class Chinaman invariably conceals his wealth and affects poverty, knowing that if it becomes generally known that he has a large amount of money he will be squeezed by the government. Letter from China. "Ax Edgefield Gentleman or a Corpse."?Mr. J. R. Randall, the staff correspondent of the Augusta Chronicle and Constitutional isf, was on the train when Judge Bond recently returned to Baltimore. He has much to say of the Judge. The following is an extract from his letter to his paper : The Judge evidently considers that there is something fierce in the very nature of South Carolinians. He says: "1 once expressed the intention of making a trip in the upper portion of the Palmetto State. This expression was accidentally overheard by a good friend of mine, who begged me to desist, as 'the Springshooting had just commenced at Edgefield.' " Another anecdote the Judge tells with much unction. It is this : "Down at Charleston, one term of Court, I met General M. W. Gary. In his emphatic and hearty way, he begged me to go home with him and spend Xmas week. I told him my preference would be Baltimore. Gen. Gary still insisted, and, as an extra inducement, declared that if I would accept the invitation, he would send me back, at the end of the week, an Edgefield gentleman or a corpse. I finally told him that, under such circumstances, it would be necessary for me to telegraph home to know which of the two alternatives my family preferred." Likely enough General Gary amused himself with Judge Bond as General Toombs, just after the war. did with the Tribune correspondent. | "Make it English."?Mr. Fox, the faI tlier of the orator, Charles James Fox, trained ! his son from childhood to share in the goveni, ment of England. This anecdote shows the ; child's precocity. While the elder Fox was Secretary of State i he used to allow Charles to read all his dis| patches. One day, when the secretary brought I home a paj>er .which he h;ul very carefully I written?an answer to lie sent to a foreign i government with whom England had good I cause to find fault, he gave the paper to 1 Charles, and asked him to read it. The lad did so. "What do you think of it asked the pa| rent, earnestly, for he thought it extremely i gOOU. The boy shook his head. Then he looked into his father's face ; then he straightened himself to his full height, and smiting his little fist upon his swelling breast, he exclaimed : "Oh !?make it stronger ! make it?big !? . make it?English !" Fox caught the inspiration from the look, the lone, the words of his boy. lie threw the paper into the fire, and then sat down and wrote again, and produced a paper which electrified the country. . ? + | IIow Some People Talk.?Most people ! talk nonsense when they are idle. The human 1 brain is naturally vivacious and elastic, hence ! that versatility which is always to be found in | men of sense. Sensible people talk about the 1 weather when there is no sense in talking I about it, just as naturally as they do about any| thing that suggests itself to them when they | are unengaged. For instance, we heard a genj tleman say recently, "We need snow badly." ! Of course, he did not know why we needed ! snow, but such were the circumstances under { which this profound declaration was delivered ! that the words seemed to come naturally, and I with an honestness which proved that their i conception and pronunciation was irresistible I to the man. This is a world of ups and downs, ; turbulences and mutabilities: and one of the. oldest and yet most reasonable peculiarities of 1 its inhabitants is the soul-harrowing, inno! cent inclination of all mankind to talk about i the weather. And?do you think it will rain V * * Precision in Business Matters.- How many misunderstandings arise from the loose j way in which business matters are talked over, j and then when each party puts his own con | SU'UCnon Oil LUt; cunvtrrsiiiiuii, Lilt; maun in i dismissed by each with the words, "all right, | all right.'' Frequently it turns out all wrong, ; and becomes a question for lawyers and the ! courts. More than three-fourths of the litiga1 tion of the couhtry would be saved, if people ; would put down their agreements in writing j and sign their names to them. Each word in our j language has its own particular meaning, and ; memory may, by the change of its position in i a sentence, convey an entirely different idea j from that intended. When once reduced to | writing, idpasarefixed, andex|>en.sive law suits avoided.